#it's possible: the bridge crew is always coming back from the dead

[nighttimepotato]

One might think Picard wouldn't get rid off its best character because that would be stupid.

But then again that's exactly what Strange New Worlds did. And Discovery (like at least three times). And oh yeah the previous season of Picard...

[frostedclock]

Powder Monkies

Drabble

Warnings: Drinking, Cursing, Suggestive themes. It's pirates guys. Treating Mei and MK like actual young adults. possible Grammer and spelling mistakes. No beta we die like mortals on my blog.

Enjoy

---

" I really think this is a horrible idea. "

It was late afternoon, and the sun was about to die in the west, the dark red sunlight leaked through your open window like streams. You adjusted the sash that held the pants you had decided to wear out, instead of your usual silk robes and jewelry. You dusted the wrinkles out of the soft cotton yi you had found and grinned over towards her. You look to Nezha, who stood with his arms crossed, in clear disapproval.

" Oh it will be fine! No one will recognize me like this. "

" And if they do and your father finds out that you went off drinking in some pub? What even have you the crazy thought that this was a good idea? "

You sigh and smooth out the tangles in your hair as you walk towards the open window. " It's a few drinks. No need to be so serious about it. "

" With a notorious captain. " You heard him sigh out beneath his breath, and his eyebrow twitched some. " Is he really worth all the trouble? You barely know the man."

You stop messing with your hair and you look below at the paved stone path beneath your window, you were only up on the second floor and it would be easy for you to find your way down. " I want to though... " You look back over your shoulder. " I've been stuck in the same routine for most of my life, this one time I just want to do something for fun. You know better then most how my father can be, he controls this island and everyone just sees me as the Emperor's daughter. I just want a few hours with some people who don't look at me like some fragile flower or something. "

Nezha rubbed the bridge of his nose. " He's just short of a pirate- "

" Privateer is what he prefers to be called." You correct but it goes ignored.

"This Sun Wukong. It really isn't that good of an idea to go out and drink with him and his rowdy crew. "

" You think walking around the port is a bad idea to. If it was up to you and father, I would be just stuck in these walls until he found some noble to pawn me off on. " You grip the window sill. " I'm going, " you turn and fully face him, " you can always come with me if you are that worried. "

You offered, but you knew the honorable Imperial Naval Officer Nezha wouldn't be caught dead at some seedy pub on the docks.

Nezha's nose crinkled. He made a deep sigh. " Just be home before morning, I will not cover for you if your bedroom is found empty in the morning. "

A big smile stretched across your lips, you quickly moved and wrapped your arms around his neck. " Thanks Nezha! "

" Just be careful. There are some out there that would take you for ransom. " He said as you pulled away from the hug.

" I am the definition of careful. " You let a laugh escape at the expression Nezha gave you. " I promise, I'll be careful. It's just a few drinks and some fun. "

" The last time you told me that, the stables burned down. "

" I was ten. " You roll your eyes and dust a bit of dirt off the lotus embroidery along his shoulders. Then you made a hum. " And I never expected that gust of wind in my defense. "

" That's what I mean. You never think things through properly. "

You move away and smile as you pick up the small pouch that you had filled with the funds to help your night of fun - without having to depend solely on the generosity of 'privateers'. You made your way back to the window and threw one leg over the ledge and let it dangle, you look back at Nezha.

"I'm a grown woman, Zha-Zha, " you pulled the childhood nickname with a grin pulling at your lips, " I think things through. "

You gripped the ledge next to your hips, as you threw your other leg over. The wind whipped by the large estate, making your hair lash about. You take a deep breath. The world rushed as you let yourself fall down to the paved stone below. You tucked yourself at the last few moments and you tumbled instead of falling flat. It still stung, but nothing except for a few scrapes. You picked yourself up, dusting yourself off from the stray dirt you gathered in your less then graceful landing.

You looked back up at your window for a moment before you turned your back on the large estate and set your eyes on the southern exit, the only person who patrolled there was your cousin, and you knew if he caught you that you could talk your way out of it. You smile and you take the quickest way across the courtyard, you pause only when you see the outside patrolling dog sleeping in front of the southern gate.

Xiaotian, you knew the dog. Faithful only to your cousin, and had a bark that could wake the entire island. You had to quietly pass the sleeping black dog, taking your sandles off to make less noise. You swore you held your breath until you were safely outside of the estate walls.

You look out to the torchlight that danced and signaled the town just below the hillside where the Palace and it's estate resided. It was like looking at a reflection of the sky sprawled out below as the night slowly took hold and the reds faded to blues and blacks. You took a deep breath of the crisp air crawling in from the wind from the sea. It was nice in the town, it was always lively at this time of day. You could hear the sailors and fishermen who had returned from the docks began to enjoy their wines and rums that the pubs and taverns.

Your stomach was in knots as you made your way through the winding streets. People stumbled about, some linked arm and arm, others just trying to make it home. No one really spared you a second glance. Music spilled from almost every corner and alleyway, all muffled by the sound of people attempting to speak over the volume of the music. You tried to recall the name of the pub Wukong had told you of. What had he called it?

Something with fruit in name.

You began to scan to signs as you reach the block of shops, inns and pubs near the docks. You looked for anything that struck your memory, your eyes settle on a two story pub set out by itself, it was settled on the docks itself and had a big sign hanging out front. ' The Rotten Peach' written in whispy script, you blink and look at it. You look up to the second floor to two peering faces.

Then just as quickly as you looked up and noticed them, they were gone in a flash of green and brown. You tilt your head some but you move to the entrance and push the large wooden door into the pub. You smiled as the bright yellow wash of candle and firelight warmed your face as you got inside.

You let your eyes go across the faces of those at the bar and the surrounding tables. You saw plenty of drunken sailors, ladies dressed in hanfu that the slit was only closed by the size of their thighs, fishermen speaking bolstiously about their catch. You didn't see Wukong anywhere in sight, or any of his crew that you had met. You walked in a few steps before you felt a hand on your shoulder. You spun around quickly and was met by the friendly face you often saw by Wukong's side, though you didn't see his partner in crime. MK stood behind you with a big grin, his tail waved about behind him in swishing and twitching motions. He wore his faded red yi and ku, the sash tied around was a bright yellow color. You didn't often see him wearing anything else now that you think of it.

" Hey, MK, damn you startled me. " You made a light chuckle.

" Heh, sorry about that. Come on, Captain sent me down to get you. " MK rubbed the back of his head, " We are all upstairs." He motioned for you to follow. You trailed behind the young simian, the sound of several loud voices broke through the drone of bar patrons as you both reached the staircase to the second floor.

As you both crested the top of the staircase, the voices became recognizable, especially Mei's enthusiastic chanting of 'chug'. You glance at the top floor, it was mostly empty except for the rowdiest bunch you've met on the island. Wukong stood in the center of the group of four crew members, he held a pitcher of some amber liquid that he was drinking straight from the mouth of what was supposed to be a serving glass. When he slammed down the pitcher, Mei threw her arms up into the air with a loud shout, the other three seemed less enthusiastic but made laughs.

Wukong wiped the drips from his chin as you and MK approached. He looked over and his tail waved about behind him as his eyes met yours. " Tao! Just in time!" He let out a snicker.

You let a smile reach your lips. " I can see that, though I think I'm a few drinks behind now."

MK reached over as he reached the table and snagged up an unattended cup, then he swished it about. " Don't worry, I'm sure you can catch up. " He chuckled.

Wukong put his arm around your shoulder and guided you to the empty space next to him in front of the table, " MK's right! We have plenty of time for you to catch up." He pulled over a cup that was already filled to the brim with froth and dark liquor, maybe made with some kind of barley from the scent hitting your nose. He scooted it to your hand and smiled.

Pigsy, if you remembered his name right, made a snort. His snout wrinkled just a little as he looked out of the corner of his eye. " How can she catch up with how you drink? We've only been here an hour and between you, Mk and Mei, you all have already swallowed a barrel full."

Mk made a ' pfft' and took a big drink from his own cup, then he put his arm around the pig-mans broad shoulders. " You're exaggerating, Pigsy. "

Pigsy took a swift from the short stout glass of his own. " Oh I am?"

The dark haired man with the spectacles, pushed the brim of his glasses up his nose. He didn't have a glass of anything, instead he had an empty bowl with a pair of chopsticks across the rim. " Come on Pigsy, don't be like that. We all work hard and deserve a little relaxation time."

The very large, but surprisingly friendly blue man spoke up, his cat wast perched on his shoulder. " That's right, my sweet and sour pigsy. Especially you. " He snickered and pat the top of Pigsy's head much like a child.

Pigsy swatted at the hand and growled, a tusk showing. You had to hold in a laugh and you turn your attention back to your own drink and Wukong, who seemed to look away from you the moment you turned your head and put his face in his own drink. Had he been staring at you? You shrug it off and take a deep drink from the tin cup. It burned on its way down but it tasted of spices and barley. You must have made a face because Wukong cocked an eyebrow at you.

" Have you not had spiced ale before?" His tone was definitely amused.

" Most of the time I drink wine, " You admitted. " But it doesn't taste bad. Just, different I guess. "

Wukong chuckled and his tail swayed behind him lazily. The sound of the music being played below began to get loud enough to seep through to the second floor, some kind of fiddle and a set of singers. You couldn't make out the words, but the tone seemed lively. You hum and tap your foot some as you drink.

" It must be nice. " You speak after a moment and Wukong set his empty cup on the table, he made a hum of acknowledgement.

" What must be?" His thick eyebrow was cocked and his golden eyes shined in the flickering firelight from the candles and sconces.

" Being able to come and go from the island as you like. " You finish your first glass and Wukong was quick to fill your glass back up with one of the many pitchers that littered the table.

He leaned against one hand, his elbow propped on the table. " I suppose it is nice. I've always enjoyed drifting place to place, only returning to my home Flower Fruit Mountain once a year to check up on a few things. No one's there anymore so no point in hanging about there. " He made a chuckle but it almost seemed sad to you.

" Well that's why you have such a colorful crew. " You let out a puff of air akin to a laugh.

Wukong leaned over, letting his hand fall, just a couple inches from your hand resting next to you recently filled cup. " They are from all walks of life, that's true. " His tail twitched some, a smile on his lips. " You could join us too."

You felt your heart stutter in its beats. " I... I would love that... To leave and go off with you, " you saw his smile grow a bit bigger, or perhaps it was a smirk now, " a-and the others. It seems like such fun. "

Wukong made a hum in his throat, his eyes narrowed to where you could more vividly see the streaks of teal on his eyelids. " Oh it can be. "

You rubbed the bottom of your cup like a worry stone. For a moment you listened to the padding of feet behind you as MK and Mei swung about and laughed as they danced haphazardly to the beats of the music below. You smiled softly. " Would you take me? I'm not a fighter but... "

You felt a hand cup over yours and your eyes moved from the ale bubbles popping at the top of your glass to meet glowing gold. Wukong laughed gently. " I would gladly take you with me when we leave,Tao... Tang over there isn't a fighter either. " His grin stretched some into a playful smirk. " You can hide below deck with him. "

You snort a laugh and your shoulders relax. When had you tensed them? Or had they always been so tense? " When? How long had you all planned to stay?" You tried not to sound to eager, but you are sure it still came off that way.

Wukong's tail flicked and waved some. " Another week I think. "

You clasp his hand with both of yours, ale all but forgotten. " Then take me with you when you go."

Wukong's eyes met yours for a moment, and you saw a dusting of pink going across his cheeks. His smile grew impossibly wide, and you felt him pull you closer to him. He was deceptively strong, it almost felt like you had glided across the wooden floor. "Of course, peach. You just had to say the word." He snickered and you felt his tail brush against your pant leg.

You felt hands on your shoulders and you were suddenly shaken from behind, Mei let out a sound not unlike a dragon's roar as she shook you vigorously. If Wukong didn't have a good hold on you, you might have fallen over.

" A new crew mate! Fuck yes! Oh girl! I can't wait to show you around the ship! Just two fancy ladies tearing the sea asunder!" Mei shouted, she let go of you and you had to take ahold of Wukong's yellow yi for more support as the world stopped shaking. . " MK! Go snag that pipa and flute guy from below, this party is about to get wild and we need some good music!"

MK did a mock salute before he took off down the stairs. It didn't take the brown furred youth long to track down the poor sap. When he was unceremoniously set down on the ground, he looked at the mixed company he was in. The sack of gold was one way to get the music playing again, though you weren't sure where MK had been hiding it. The song started up again, the same tone as before.

Wukong laughed and you felt his arm snake around your waist, " Let's dance." He looked at you, his eyes seemed to glow brighter for a moment as your eyes met his.

Your heart felt like it stopped for a brief moment, then you nod. He pulled you along with him to the more clear area of the room, avoiding the two young charges he had on his crew that had begon their rambunctious dance that seemed to become a contest of who could spin the other's drink out of their cup.

The world whirled for a moment as the last few steps, Wukong swung you about so you were facing him and his hands rested on your hips. You made a laugh, and he grinned widely. The music was a fast pace, the strings being plucked matched the movement Wujing began to lead you in. It wasn't like the elegant dances you had been forced to endure during your childhood or even your teenage years. You let out laughs as you were picked up, your legs swung about as he spun you around.

When he brought you back down you tucked your legs against his hips and his hands held you up by your thighs, his hands held you tightly. You ran your fingers through his hair and the smile held on your lips was so wide you were almost squinting.

You hadn't felt felt this happy in a long time. Or ever perhaps.

The song stopped and you were left catching your breath, you felt the heat going to your cheeks as you look into Wukong's eyes a few inches from yours.

" Tao I...." Wukong began.

Your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your chest, your head was dizzy from the dance and the ale swishing about your skull. You placed your hands on his cheeks, the long orange pieces of hair were soft in your fingers. You leaned down and captured his lips in a kiss.

You had to ignore the hoots and whistles from Mei.

[willtheweaver]

Alpha-write

Thanks for the tag @the-golden-comet

A- At last, land on the horizon.

B- Building after building looked abandoned, as if no one had lived in them for years. All except for the last one. It was gaudily painted, and loud noises emanated from every crack.

C- Crabs…why? It did not seem fitting for the favorite Lieutenant of the Demon King to command an army of crabs.

D- “Dude, how long are you going to stand there?”

“Until either I get the high score, or the arcade owner kicks me out.”

E- Every head turned in the direction of the door. The hall fell silent. Jaws slacked, and some people even gasped at what they were seeing.

F- Flanders was hell. Every hour the din of the big guns could be heard, every shot that landed stirred up the mud and wire that lay for miles in between the trenches.

G- “Griefers? AGAIN??”

“It was your idea to try 2B2T!”

H- “How did you manage to graduate the Academy at the top of your class?”

“I cheated.”

I- “If I hear you recite Ozymandias one more time, I’m turning this car around”

J- “Jam? Where I come from, it would be jelly!”

“You Americans have always done things backwards!”

K- “Keep this between us, will you? No one needs to know what happened to the iguana.”

L- Laying between the house and safety was nearly three hundred yards of open field. There was no way she could run across it without attracting attention.

M- Messy would have been an understatement. The room looked like a bomb had gone off in it before a hurricane scattered and smashed everything that hadn’t already been destroyed.

N- No one left the room all day, or all night. The doors remained closed, and no amount of pleading or threatening would get the guards to open them. It was early afternoon the next day when it was announced that the council had reached a decision.

O- “Out of all the possible last words, you choose ‘I think I left the A/C on’?!”

P- Pools of water looked inviting, but they knew not to touch them. Plumes of steam and colorful extremophile bacteria were signs of water that was near boiling. The guide also told them that the water was highly acidic.

Q- Queens, Kings, Dukes, Ministers, and Presidents; all the world’s leaders were gathered inside.

R- “Really? An Anime about flower arranging?”

“Hey, it got good reviews, and it’s been renewed for five more seasons.”

S- Ship. Three masts, square-rigged with a gaff on the mizzen. Deep hold, crew probably about 200 or so, both sailors and officers. Armament of thirty four guns, equal to a Royal Navy frigate.

T- “Two over, carry the three, then shift back to letters, A becomes K, move every other line, and… seriously? This is such an important message and they didn’t bother to change the code?!”

U- “Underneath this bridge here is a troll.”

“It’s concrete, man.”

“You try and find something interesting in Seattle!”

V- Vendettas were nothing to laugh about. Everyone fell dead silent.

W- With all the noise going off, no one had noticed that the mimic had vanished.

X- “Xylophone? Seriously?”

“Would you rather me play kazoo?”

Y- Yet for all their bravery, the knights lacked wisdom. Had they a lick of sense, they wouldn’t have charged headlong at the masses ranks of halberds and crossbows.

Z- Zulu. Alpha. Kilo. Sierra. Lima. Echo. Echo—“Alright! Quit messing around with the flags, or you’ll get worse than double graveyard shift!”

Tagging @the-ellia-west @aintgonnatakethis @fortunatetragedy @eccaiia @paeliae-occasionally

@darkandstormydolls @words-after-midnight @tamiveldura @winterandwords @oh-no-another-idea and open tag

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Master Chief drabble inspired by @bloodgulchblog and this post. John doesn't introspect often, but when he does, it's a bit like heartburn.

-

It's late when John heads back to Blue Team's quarters. Briefings, reports, responsibilities; all the things Team Leader is used to shouldering seem to weigh a little heavier these days. Bad news pours in from all sides and allies seem fewer and far between.

Restlessness is not a luxury he can usually afford, but aboard the Infinity is the closest he's felt to safe in a long time. It also still means he'll patrol if possible. Even among his team, John doesn't want to spend any extra time in small rooms, and there's always work to be done.

He's not alone as he travels silently down gunmetal gray halls, but by this time most of the crew is changing shifts or used to Spartans moving. John's aware of how they look at him; the IIs move differently than the IVs but to the techs on their way to the hangars he's just another 7ft tall, 350 lbs of muscle to stay out of the way of.

Funny how being out of the armor helps him stay invisible.

There's movement down an auxiliary hallway that catches his eye, but he dismisses it when he sees troopers huddled together, handing off contraband and the like. John pauses and notes the cameras, the vents, and the blindspots. Not amateurs then, though it's hard to tell these days. They all look so young.

His eyes catch flashes of packaging before it's shoved into pockets or down shirts and the group disperses. Tobacco gum, self-lighting cigarettes, and other nicotine sources disappear along with nondescript datachips and small flasks. They don't notice him - he would have lost his touch if they had - and the group splits off, nonchalance a little too forced.

He'd make a comment, spook em a bit while he's this nameless Spartan who caught them. Some old, ugly sonuvabitch with weird eyes, too many scars popping out of the shadows wasn't a fun encounter or so he'd been told.

At least he would have if he didn't freeze in place as someone lit up and the too familiar smell of a Sweet William cigar hit his nose for the first time in over five years.

The pungent odor - old boot-sock smoked over a dung-fire - hit him full force even if the marine smoking it was down the hall. It sat in his sinuses, and the scar on his chest hurt as he jerked away.

John had known several people to have smoked those cigars - most of them were dead now. And with his luck he was there when it happened.

There were a lot of memories tied up with that scent. Johnson, of course. He had always seemed to have them on him, always smoking so much John often considered commenting about him giving them away. It was a scent that was tied to the man's presence, be it in a dropship, on the ground, or stopping by to drop off a tank. The first time John himself had tried one of the cigar, he had been 15 years old and ended up coughing so hard from the first draw that he reopened his neck wound.

Johnson had showed him how to be a leader then.

Mendez had smoked them too, and Captain Keyes. Mendez had them in his desk in his office on Reach. Halsey hadn't liked them, and like with most things, she would make her opinions clear. But that had been a lifetime ago. John didn't like to dwell on how he became what he was today. It was necessary, but the reminders of the human elements, the smoke drawing up old memories, made him uncomfortable.

He'd lived his whole life around foul-mouthed, paranoid, contraband using marines and ODSTs. He had been honored to serve with those men and women. Tobacco was passed around as often as MREs no matter the campaign. It was familiar even after all this time.

Even Captain Keyes had his pipe, the lingering scent of tobacco on the bridge of the Autumn. Cigars weren't his main staple, but John had come to associate him among the men who smoked them.

It had been forever and only a few short months since he had been in the presence of a lit Sweet William.

His chest burns, something more than regrown skin over the burn scar. He leaves - as silently as he arrived. The crewman continues to enjoy his contraband, smoke rising into the vent above, going to be scrubbed and recycled back.

-

Thanks for reading! There's an updated and finished version of this fic here.

[abandonedaccount1234]

MY THOUGHTS ON EPISODE 7X08

First off: RIP RICO PRIEM. There needs to be better safety precautions and LAWS put into place, not just contract negotiations, to ensure the safety of all cast and especially crew. No one should have to die to see our favorite show get made. We can week a few weeks/months between episodes if that is what it will take. Our little weewoo show is not more important than people getting home safe.

-honestly, tell him how it is Amir. Bobby affected more lives than just the 148 he took. As much as I love his growth and how he’s healed, the trauma extends past his victims into generational trauma that will probably be felt for several generations.

-it’s so emotionally jarring sometimes to see fun loving bobby who’s worked hard to piece his life back together. and then also remember, he’s the cause of 148 lives being taken. like....how does the man have a job? he would not experience the same treatment of the freedom he’s been allowed post apartment fire if he was a man of color.

-i love how the characters are flawed and not perfect people.

-MAY GRANT where you been my baby

-Athena/Bobby goals 🥰

-so bobby comes from a long line of abusive alcoholics and has been a people pleasing emotional therapist for most of his life, good to know. good. to. know.

-i haven’t personally been too fond of the whole amir’s gonna burn the building down because it kind of plays into stereotypes of black men being violent and unable to work through their emotions in a healthy way.

-i do think race aside, it’s a possibility but after tonight’s episode, it’s not something i wanna be dead set on or right about because fighting fire with fire is not good for anyone involved, no matter how much gut wrenching pain they’ve caused you.

-i mean the cartel is a storyline they haven’t touched on before. i wonder what’s next? bridge collapse? plague outbreak? eddie being demisexual?

-side note: that guy’s flowing long hair is actually so pretty

-his mother should have stepped in more

“you can keep your amends, i didn’t ask for it. it doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.”-oh damn damn DAMN they got me crying on bridgerton day AGAIN

-oh please don’t tell me bobby learned how to cook out of trauma of almost burning his house down because he had to take on the role of his mother after she left his alcoholic father

-Bobby Nash? Nah. Bobby BURNT.

-Get up Amir! Don’t die! You’ve come too far! (in the wise words of my father: a black man can’t ever catch a break, can he?)

-is he actually a ranch worker? don’t trust a man with a truck you don’t know kids. DONT DRINK THE WATER. ITS GONNA KNOCK YOU OUT.

-of course the guy with the car WAS HIS GRANDSON

-did i not just tell you to not take candy from a strange man you just men in the middle of nowhere?

-BOBBY NASH DOES HIS OWN STUNTS

-ommercial break mantra to calm myself: athena will always find you, don’t worry. do what you gotta do to survive guys.

-back to bobby/amir: i think it’s important for bobby to meet someone who can’t forgive him for what he’s done, who no matter how much he’s grown, will never be able to see him apart from the trauma and pain he inflicted. it’s more realistic.

-Who Can It Be Now? Song by Men at Work

-Bobby’s dad dies in an alcoholic accident after he verbally assaulted him for being a kid who was left on his own to figure things out is INSANE TIM MINEAR SHIT.

-i don’t think he’s alive anymore bro...

-is bobby can drop to his knees and pray or something?

-welp he dropped to his knees

-poor little bobby

-NOT HIM BLEEDING ALL OVER THE SCRAPBOOK WHAT IN THE WORSE THAN EVAN BUCKLEY TRAUMA IS THIS SHIT WTF THAT’S UNCALLED FOR NO WONDER HE BECAME AN ALCOHOLIC JESUS CHRIST

-stay alive by matt alder

-I hope Amir sticks around. I like him. He keeps things emotionally interesting. I needed a good cry.

-commercial break thoughts: where tf is charlie now? i didn’t realize how much older he was supposed to be

-BIG PROPS to the makeup team

-i like this new girl, hope we see her again. her hair is flawless.

-acting pro peter krause

-“i live my life just trying not to make anything worse”

-michael jamal warner. incredible work tonight my man.

-what in the offbrand huge hulk loke tommy/buck/eddie are those firefighter dudes

-DONT DO IT LITTLE BOBBY YOU ARE A CHILD WHY DID THEY LEAVE HIM ALONE

-I WAS RIGHT THEY TRY TO BURN BOBBY’S HOUSE DOWN WTF I WAS RIGHT I BET ITS THE DAMN CARTEL

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

For the Descendants prompts - some kind of AU where two of the Hooks ended up in the same crew, or maybe it's just that Harriet and Uma's crew banded together for survival over the winter or something. Anyway, everyone having to deal with two Hooks in positions of authority on the same ship. And that's without throwing CJ into the equation.

Hmm, it's probably not what you meant but turns out that absence of Uma draws out the worst in people.

So. Insults, swearing, and overall toxic relationships. I don't make the rules. (Sorry?)

(Uma is okay, Ursula just left the Isle with Hades and possibly other *Villains* belonging to Greek Parthenon when Hades got bored. Stuff happens.)

Also, I want to write a second chapter for this. The vague plan involves regicide. What with no one there to stop the Hooks.

Things are going fine, they really are.

Totally.

Well, fine. No one is actively dying, at least, which is about as good as it gets on the Isle.

The Hooks aren't yelling at each other – a rare occasion, that!

Sure, it might be because Harriet is, ehm, busy in her cabin, and CJ is nowhere to be seen, but Harry is enjoying not having his sisters around for once.

They're annoying, you see, and always think they're in the right. A trait that definitely doesn't run in the family.

Harry sneers at that thought, lips curled and eyes cold. If he bothered to look up, he'd see his crewmates frozen at the sight.

If you'd ask them, they'd tell you he is more haunting the deck of the ship than anything else: Sitting at the railing of the command bridge with no care in the world, reading an overly pretentious book he probably stole from his sister or his father.

Scaring the pirates into actually performing their tasks with his mere presence.

A blood red phantom of what could be.

Harry smirks and taps his lips with his hook, only glancing up to tell Desiree to move it unless she wants to be scrubbing the deck for the rest of eternity, and off her own blood at that.

He gets back to reading without checking if she obeys her command.

Next time Harry looks up, it is to greet Ginny Gothel, who just walked from the Captain’s cabin, smudged lipstick and tangled hair. Self-satisfied smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which are so dark they might be black holes. Pupils and nothing else.

She doesn‘t look him into the eyes much longer.

„So long, witch,“ he tells her, sliding of the railing and coming closer, „Ad arbitrium.“

She catches his hook before he can touch her cheek: „Fuck you, Hook,“ she says.

The deck is silent.

„You wish,“ he answers, or maybe „Is my sister not enough?“

Maybe he said both, and maybe neither; Ginny laughs, high and wild. The wind carries the mocking sound away.

She never answers.

Harry doesn’t look after her as she leaves the ship. After all, Ginny Gothel is not his problem. He barely cares if she lives or dies.

He takes out a flask from his pocket; his rings clank on it way too loudly as he opens it. He takes a sip of the vile liquid inside.

His sister, the mighty Captain Harriet Hook of Dead Beauty, stumbles out of her cabin and immediately tears the flask out of his hands. He lets her have her drink before he pushes her away and takes <i>his</i> flask back. She can get her own alcohol, please and thank you.

Besides.

She just saw Ginny.

„She left already?“ Harriet asks. She does not sound heartbroken or sad in the slightest, nope, not at all. She is a Hook and they don���t have a heart, anyone could tell you.

Harry doesn’t deem it worthy of an answer anyway.

With another drink, he says: „And this is why I should be the Captain, sister dear.“

She sneers at him, grabbing the alcohol again. He will be resupplying from her personal stock.

Unsurprisingly, the taste of cheap rum does nothing to lessen her sneer.

„You, sister dearest, spend your time drunk and fucking that witch of yours, or worse yet, the Tremaine Lord wannabe.“

If the deck hadn’t been dead quiet and abandoned before, it certainly was now.

„You say that as if you didn’t fuck half the Isle, frater care,“ Her knuckles turn white where she holds the flask. Neat.

„And you drink as much as me.“

„Are you calling me a whore?!“ he declares in mock offence, loud enough for half the port to hear, really.

„And I ain’t lying!“

Neither of them knows who started throwing things at this point, and the crew is too scared to tell.

Sometime during the fight, CJ comes, sneaking around them to get to her cabin; the older siblings interrupt their fight barely long enough to ask her where was she so long, and where does she think she is going?

„Why,“ the youngest Hook turns her nose up, „I’m crashing at Freddie’s now. Just getting some weapons and jewels and stuff. Eyeliner.“

„Touch my eyeliner and die–“ They both threaten at the same time, „Touch my jewels with one of your fingers and I cut off your whole hand, savvy?!“ adds Harriet.

„Geez, chill a bit. As if your stuff were Freddie’s style,“ sneers Calista, undisturbed by her older siblings, „Also, Anthony’s coming over. Just thought y’all would like to know.“

CJ cackles as her older sister pales considerably and uses the distraction to slip away from her siblings’ grip once more. Chaos cannot wait and all that.

„Well,“ Harry drawls, „I'll leave you to your amans, then.“

Harriet glares at him, but for once, she doesn't shout; she takes a swig of (her own) alcohol and steadies herself by gripping his shoulder.

„You could go scare him off,“ she suggests, „I'm not in the mood for him right now.“

Yeah, no. She isn't in the mood for him because he is likely going over to scold her for getting too drunk or too high with Ginny, or possibly just for not including him.

And Harry isn't gonna stop that, no. He likes seeing his older sister in trouble.

He pushes her off his shoulder.

„Well, that just sounds like a you problem,“ he tells her, „Have fun!“

„I'm gonna kill you and skin you alive and feed your toes to Tick Tock one by one—“

Harry just smiles at the death threats, all teeth, and blows her a kiss.

He dodges the lamp she threw at him without breaking his stride and jumps back at the railing; he gets back to pretending to read.

He flips the page three times without seeing the words before Anthony shows up, but that's fine, he has it memorised. Then he drops the pretense, still as a statue: The lordling will barely notice anything but Harriet anyway.

Anthony Tremaine struts on board as if the whole ship belonged to him. He doesn't bother asking for permission to board, which makes Harry snarl at him.

Anthony doesn't as much as flinch.

„Harriet,“ he says instead of greeting.

Silence; the crew barely breathes.

„Don't be a bitch, sweetheart.“

Harriet finally shows up at the insulting nickname and she is glaring daggers with burning eyes.

Harry whistles – that was fast.

She glares at him too, though she gets back to piercing holes through Anthony rather quickly.

„What do you want?“ she asks with her arms crossed over her chest.

Anthony unwisely steps closer to her and Harry holds his hook tighter.

„Why, can't I check on you?“ he replies with a question on his own, still playing that ridiculous game. She only quirks her eyebrow and he speaks again, his voice noticeably colder:

„I told you not to do <i>that</i>, Harriet.“

„Do what.“

Harriet is playing stupid and no one is falling for it; Anthony steps closer to her yet.

He grabs her wrist none too gently as he pushes against her and tells her: „I told you not to take Ginny's stuff, Captain–“

„It's not good for you.“

(But what if she doesn't care?)

„It's not good for her either.“

(Ginny definitely doesn't care.)

„She just leaves you on after.“

(Like you don't; like anyone wouldn't.)

„I told you <i>not to–</i>“

„You don't <i>get to</i> tell me what to do, Tremaine!“ she finally snaps and pushes him away; he stumbles a bit, but stays on his feet.

Shame.

Harry slides down from the railing and circles closer, quiet as the air before the storm.

„Yes I do–“ protests Tremaine, as if he got a say, „As long as we–“

„As long as we what, Anthony?! What?!“

He can't answer and everyone knows it. He steps back to her and tries to take her hand – she jerks away from the contact violently, swaying only the tiniest bit.

He doesn't move to catch her.

„You don't get to give me orders, Lord Tremaine, and I don't want to see you – go away!“ she shouts at him and before can touch her again, she pushes him again.

He falls on the hard wood and in a heartbeat, Harry is between him and his sister.

There is a hook at Tremaines cheek and there is blood at the hook.

Harry bares his teeth at the boy who dares bother his sister and Captain and behind him, Harriet cackles.

„Go away, Tremaine!“ she shouts loud enough for the majority of the Isle to hear, „Go away and don't come back!“

„Bitch–“ Anthony hisses as if he were in any position to complain and more blood drips down on the board of Dead Beauty.

„Tell Ginny not to come either, everything is her fault anyway.“

Harry lets go of Anthony, as this lover's spat is getting a bit tiresome; coincidentally, the other boy thuds down on the board rather hard. Interesting.

Anthony slowly gets on his feet as Harriet banishes him from the port again.

He spits blood on the already stained wood and looks her in the eyes, back straight and head held high.

„I don't need to come to the port,“ he tells her, „You'll come crawling to me sooner, you vain bitch.“

Harriet only points to the bridge with her hand and flames in her eyes; her crewmates duck away further into their futile hideaways.

Heartbeat of delay, and her anger is going to be lethal.

Thus, Anthony takes his sweet sweet time with an exaggerated curtsey and way too intense eye contact. Which Harriet is reciprocating, because of course she is.

„No one – absolutely no one – is going to the Tremaine saloon until I clear it!“ calls out Harriet as soon as Anthony rounds the corner.

Harry melodramatically sighs and hangs loose on one of the less important ropes of the ship.

She cares nothing for annoyed sighs and complaints of her crew, and Harry? Well, he has a program for tomorrow.

You see, he just found himself in a dire need of a haircut.

[hekate1308]

Fictober #29, How Did This Happen?

Prompt: How did this happen?

Fandom: Star Trek TOS

Pairing: Gen

She was a beautiful lady, alright. There was a reason she was the flagship of the Federation, destined to go where no man had gone before; and she would go far, he knew that – well, even farer than she had before. Granted, he didn’t know much about this Captain Kirk as of yet, just that he had seemed to be a boy wonder at the academy, and those might work out for the best or end up useless; but as long as he had something to tinker with and an engine to take care of, he would be alright.

After all, he had been through many a storm already with different ships, how difficult could it be?

A few emergencies later, he had to admit he had not reroll considered what it would mean to have to make things up on the fly when everything went wrong, but still, he managed. After all, that was what he was here for. He was not just tinkering away on old cars in Edinburgh, as his grandfather had done; he was working on a spaceship.

Still, it was not a welcome surprise when they suddenly found themselves dead in the water – dead in space, he supposed he should call it.

The life support still worked, but other than that, nothing. Which in some way was good news because at least he had time to figure out what was going on without them suffocating in the meantime.

Still, he knew what he had to do in such a moment as this, so he made his way unto the bridge.

”Scotty, how did this happen?” were the first words out of the captain’s mouth and despite everything, he had to suppress a smiled. The instructors in the academy had always told him he should stay professional because no captain worth a damn would call him by a nickname, but Captain Kirk had proven them wrong right from the start.

“I don’t know sir, but I am working on it.”

He nodded. “Spock?”

Mr. Spock, as could be expected for any good scienced officer, had a few theories, but nothing concrete as yet, whereas the good doctor was slightly worried about the crew, as he always was, but rather happy that sickbay was still fully operational, so to speak.

Kirk nodded at him and he returned to the engine room to figure out what was going on.

It didn’t take long to learn that actually, everything should have been working perfectly. There really was no reason for it not to, apart from the fact that they were in space and everything was possible, there. He quickly did the math. Wall in all, things were not too bad – they still had a little over 84-hours until they would all end up dead; they’d had to dela with much less.

What he hadn’t counted on was how it would feel too slowly watch all their theories crumble to dust while absolutely nothing changed. It was just as well thy were blessed with such a Captain as Jim kirk and such a first officer as Mr. Spock, because these two at least kept a cool head. And Doctor McCoy for all that he could start complaining as soon as he woke up in the morning, also knew what to do in such moments as this.

Still, they had to find something, and soon.

It was young Chekov who gave him the idea. “You know, sir, in Russia, we used to do something called schemitsa. Bear hunting. It was… a trap. When a bear tried to get through, it would get stuck and either starve or be killed when the hunters returned.”

He nodded more out of politeness but then realized that this might actually make sense. Trapping her in this place, waiting for whoever had laid the trap to come back…

“Sir” he hit the intercom, ”I’ll need more scans of the area immediately surrounding the Enterprise. I think there might be something there.”

“Consider it done, Mr. Scott” the Captains’ voice replied.

A few minutes later, he had the scans. Yes – just a small but significant higher concentration of epsilon rays than should have been there. It might not have been much, but it was what he could get, and he would work with it.

“Sir!” he all but shouted through the intercom again. “I Think I’ve got it!”

It was a little bit more complicated than just dismantling the set of rays that had been laid out like a bear trap in Chekov’s story, but still, three hours later they were free, and he was rather sure it would make an interesting report for the captain to send in.

When he entered the Bridge, the captain said, “Well done, Mr. Scott.”

“Aye, thank you, Captain. All in a day’s work.”

[preemshots]

the definitive post of WHERE IN THE WORLD IS JOHNNY SILVERHAND’S BODY?

AKA the post of HERE’S WHY I WANT TO BELIEVE WE ARE GONNA GET JOHNNY’S BODY BACK IN DLC. 

buckle up, gamers. it's time for some lore. this is a very long post. 

warning: this will contain a million spoilers. both for details of multiple game endings, a wee bit of the “where’s johnny” comic, and the cyberpunk RED book. if you want a sparknotes version this is the post for you. my main source here is the cyberpunk RED book as well as as some references to the cyberpunk 2077 world book to cross examine the lore. 

i have no idea if someone has made this post before or what anybody else has been finding in their own lore diving. this is just me documenting my own findings from the sources i’ve been using.

it would be disingenuous not to preface this with the ways in which cyberpunk 2077's telling of the arasaka assault differ from the version told in the TTRPG books. the books =/= the game. pondsmith acknowledges in the intro of RED that this is a bridge between the old cyberpunk world and the new world of cyberpunk 2077. 

we also know that johnny's an unreliable narrator and his memories presented to V are often different than real events. but on top of that we don't know if the reason why many elements are changed is simply CDPR editing/adjusting/condensing the storyline for their own canon, or if it's due to johnny's construct being manipulated by outside influences such as arasaka.

some of the main differences you need to know from cyberpunk RED canon:

in 2023 johnny doesn't bring the nukes to arasaka tower. he's solely there to free alt.

johnny and rogue and their team from the atlantis/the aldecaldos are actually hired by morgan blackhand. 

morgan blackhand is the one who plants the nuke, unbeknownst to many members of the team. 

morgan blackhand promptly disappears after this event and no one knows if he's alive or dead. (claire confirms this fact to jackie and v before the heist in 2077 canon)

johnny's silver cybernetic arm is its own character, separate from himself. it seems to have a mind of its own and johnny interacts with it and/or is influenced by it.

when he, spider murphy, rogue, thompson, shaitan, and a team of los lobos from the aldecaldos (who are there in place of santiago, as he’s busy as the leader of the aldecaldos at this point) are attacked by adam smasher, johnny and his arm actively choose to draw smasher's fire in a deliberately suicidal move. smasher downs him instantly, but the distraction is enough to also save his friends.

spider murphy shoves a mysterious chip in johnny's dying head as they escape that alt had downloaded to her a long time ago.

johnny's body is later "rumoured" to have been retrieved from the rubble by a full-body borg groupie that was a first responder to the ground zero of AHQ and then hidden away in a nearby garage.

here comes the political lore that makes my eyes cross, so hopefully this accurately summarizes it: the 4th corporate war begins to end. arasaka is ultimately blamed by the NUSA government to have nuked themselves in a political move to protect their secrets and promptly banished from the USA. arasaka denies this all the way back to japan, then eventually returns to “liberate” night city in the unification wars.

but what the public doesn't know is that kei, saburo's oldest son, had actually hidden an EVEN BIGGER MORE DEVASTATING NUKE at the bottom of the tower to, well, do exactly what they were being accused of doing, even though blackhand was the one who actually dropped the smaller nuke on them. and luckily the bigger one didn’t go off.

arasaka tries to find their nuke in the rubble so they don't get in even bigger trouble, only to discover that it was moved and hidden away to... surprise! a nearby garage.

to compare with 2077:

in RED: we have no johnny loading the nukes into the elevator. no johnny being carried off the premises. no meeting saburo. no johnny getting soulkilled.

in 2077: there's a parallel moment to RED's version of events right after johnny uploads "liberator" from alt's old cyberdeck with spider's help into the arasaka mainframe in saburo's office. adam smasher comes for him as he's trying to escape, knocking him off the second floor of the atrium into the rock garden below.

visually this is the same atrium we always meet alt in in cyberspace and also where V meets johnny for the first time. hmmm. meaningful, perhaps.

not unlike what happens in RED, johnny unloads a clip into smasher at that point, but from there the scene instantly cuts to him running to the roof attempting to board the AV with rogue, where smasher shoots him down again. it’s possible johnny actually died to smasher in the atrium and we have some fabricated memories going on. 

either way, in 2077, we lose the character beat of johnny dying for his friends, and the current-day general consensus from rogue and others is that he’s perpetually a selfish asshole with ulterior motives. 

and, just to wrap up the politics of it all: morgan blackhand is rumoured to have been secretly hired by the militech-backed NUSA government to help end the 4th corporate war by... you guessed it! nuking arasaka.

HERE'S WHERE JOHNNY'S BODY ENDS UP IN CYBERPUNK RED (SPARKNOTES VERSION):

RED ends with a story called "black dog" set in 2045. black dog is the last song johnny recorded right before the assault on arasaka tower, but the final copy is a bootleg copy of the song and only a fraction.

we're introduced to a fun group of cybernetic-enhanced characters that represent the classes in the TTRPG and based on/designed by real people in collaboration with CDPR.

this group includes trace santiago, santiago's son, who is a media that is curious about the mystery surrounding the circumstances around his father and the arasaka bombing. 

just connecting lore here: if you talk to saul at the aldecaldo camp in 2077, he confirms that santiago was killed for his involvement with johnny and the bombing, something that rogue and johnny reference when they talk about their now-dead crew from the afterlife, and in chippin in, santiago is a friend that johnny lists as someone he had disappointed.

the group sets off to find any info about black dog, and meet up with a full conversion chrome woman named samantha in a garage who is blatantly a johnny silverhand fangirl. trace discovers she has a history with johnny, having rescued him from a studio fire at some point in 2015 and speculates she could have been a groupie also.

she mysteriously has a more complete recording of black dog, though not perfect, and offers to trade it for a service: she wants the group to transport a large crate to a facility in new mexico, asking them not to open it.

shit goes down. evidently everyone in night city wants to kill them for this package once it starts moving. eventually they open it. it's the arasaka nuke that had been hidden and never went off, emblazoned with warnings.

trace inquires about the circumstances surrounding the arasaka assault with an older member of the lobos who had been present with rogue and johnny. the man mentions that it was weird, because morgan blackhand organized the whole thing and then ran off immediately with a mysterious bag that we now know contained the nuke. 

michiko arasaka intercepts the gang, explaining the situation around the bigger nuke, that other factions in arasaka want to utilize it for their own goals (presumably hanako and yorinobu) and her father's legacy, that she feels responsible for. she escorts them to new mexico so that the nuke can be dismantled once and for all.

they meet up with a woman named angel in new mexico that takes the crate from them, at a facility that specializes in nuclear material. she gives the group the full recording of "black dog". the group leaves successful.

this woman is also a johnny silverhand stan. once alone, she calls up samantha, who says, "i promised i would get him to you in the end" and reveals that she had already gutted/dismantled the original nuke and discarded the material into the bay.

angel opens the "nuke" to reveal a hidden cryochamber, and greets the face of the person inside with, "hello, my love."

i mean, holy shit. okay! so that’s DEFINITELY johnny’s body. cool!

now let’s go into all the references to this story in the actual game of cyberpunk 2077 that SUGGEST we are going to pursue this story AND johnny's body since it’s such a HOT FUCKING TOPIC. 

and i know many of the following can just be considered easter eggs. but my personal interpretation of this game is that it has a really delightful way of intentionally glossing over important story details—and not by ONLY putting them in shards (which people tend to dislike because lol reading) but by also hiding them in plain sight, constantly deferring to V's own ignorance, distracting us with shallower, shinier things, encouraging us to actually play as the fool hero of this story. 

so here's the fun list of “””evidence”””:

this one’s a reach, but fun. in the initial arasaka assault flashback in 2023: we can interact with the groupies at kerry's show as johnny. samantha doesn't appear to be present, but the first person and groupie you can encounter in the flashback has a passing resemblance to angel in that she has a cybernetic arm.

in chippin' in, where we go to johnny's "grave" in the oil fields: if we are to take the 2077 retelling of events as truth, the story could instead be pretty easily be changed that samantha procured his body from there.

mike pondsmith, who wrote these stories and created the TTRPG can be heard on the radio narrating various conspiracy theories. and sure, these can just be easter eggs, intended to reference the differences between the TTRPG lore and the game, so take it with a grain of salt:

johnny. bro. tell him it was morgan blackhand

to top it all off, mike also directly references the actual WORSE nuke arasaka had hid in another arasaka conspiracy: 

SPOILERS FOR GAME ENDINGS AHEAD.

in the rogue ending of the game we discover rogue has a son. it's possible her son is trace (edit: nvm NOT LIKELY, since in RED’s black dog story rogue is listed separately from santiago’s mom in conversation) OR possibly one of the other characters. she tells her son to "pull over and look at the stars" or something along those lines. maybe just details, so that screams nomad to me.

rogue also has a photo of herself and johnny with mike pondsmith in her apartment/office in the afterlife. i initially read this as a delightful cameo but it also can mean mike the CHARACTER knew johnny and rogue, and rogue therefore has some kind of relationship to him and these conspiracies on the radio. and why the fuck not make him a full on character? we have a smattering of streamers and personalities already integrated into quests in the game. the creator of all this should be no exception. fuck it! 

rogue and johnny constantly dance around this accusation of her “selling out”. it’s repeated over and over that she and adam smasher worked for "the same people". i'm beginning to wonder if this wasn't meant to imply only arasaka since smasher mysteriously disappeared after the AHQ assault in 2023 and returned to SOMETIMES take jobs from arasaka... but possibly morgan blackhand and/or by extension, the NUSA or any other greater influences. (like nightcorp? we still don’t know where all this shit with nightcorp/the peralezes/sandra dorsett’s discovery about their research into mind control is gonna go) this also doesn’t account for the multiple factions inside arasaka with VERY different motives. 

morgan blackhand and adam smasher are rivals in the TTRPG, a role that appears to be at least partially filled by johnny instead in 2077. in relation to the arasaka factions, it’s worth nothing that smasher specifically works for yorinobu as his bodyguard at the beginning of the game, in part i assume because yorinobu is avoiding working with arasaka security details as he stole the relic and is plotting against his father. he is then promoted to head of security by yorinobu when yorinobu assumes power. 

in the ending as you work your way through arasaka tower with rogue and shaitan and johnny, rogue remarks:

michiko at this point in 2077 is the leader of the more “liberal” faction within arasaka, so it’s possible we’re seeing that while rogue and smasher work for the same people/family, they couldn’t be more different. 

you can also encounter rogue more than once on the phone fighting with wakako, who has apparently crossed her. wakako also seems to have her own ulterior motives and works mainly with the arasaka-backed tyger claws. she notably gives v/takemura the parade security info for “play it safe” without asking for anything in return, enabling hanako’s kidnapping. my theory is that yorinobu intentionally leaked the parade info to her to give away to put hanako in danger or at least continue to destabilize arasaka. 

in the takemura/devil ending of the game, there is a point where violence breaks out at the arasaka board room meeting when yorinobu-allied security open fire on them. one of the only people that survives along with hanako is michiko arasaka, who was at odds with hanako’s decisions, but  very involved in the preceding discussion.

and now for is my favorite detail! in the afterlife AT ALL POINTS IN THE GAME (but it can only really be inspected in the rogue ending when we are allowed behind the bar), we can find a photo of the squad that transported johnny's body from samantha to angel on the shelf below johnny's tequila, of them hanging out in front of the afterlife sign:  

this implies rogue has some relationship with them, and sentimentality, if we're to judge by the placement. she maybe even took the picture. i don't know, it's charming, it could be all easter eggs. who fucking knows.

either way, rogue and these kids both have in common that they worked with or at least interacted with michiko arasaka. 

and you know what my final evidence is? more wishful thinking! black dog plays on the radio in game. we got a full recorded version of it by refused. if not an oversight, i go ahead and take it to mean the final version was finally released to the public by those kids that were looking for it. 

i haven’t the slightest idea how this is gonna wrap up in future DLC. who has johnny’s body now in 2077, decades after it was dropped off in mexico? what is the truth?? where the fuck is morgan blackhand?? from the devil ending, we know that arasaka stole jackie’s body and put his soul into mikoshi, so the idea that they would just toss johnny’s corpse has always been laughable. the “where’s johnny?” promotional comic was even about thompson unsuccessfully trying to find johnny’s body. i know i am biased here but i cannot fathom all this talk about johnny’s body ending off with us NOT finding it, whether it’s just to bury it, shove johnny’s engram back in it, make out with it, or WHATEVER.

if you made it through this slog, congrats. thanks for reading! 

[viking-raider]

Hoist the Colours - Part II

Summary: You try and survive being Henry's captive, while your father plans on how to get you back.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 7,629

Warning: PG-13 - Pirate!Henry, Some Dark Themes, Language, Kidnapping, Ransom, Captivity, Possible Trigger Warning, Unwanted Physical Contact, Angst, Fluff, Bondage

Inspiration: Pirates of the Caribbean and Henry Cavill!

Author's Note: Gotta love Pirates!

Tag List Blog: @viking-raider-taglist

Henry woke with the sun glittering off the ocean and into his face and groaned, rubbing at his bearded cheeks and sat up, rolling his stiff neck and shoulders. His body was sore after the battle the day before, he crossed the swaying room and poured himself a stiff drink and quickly downed it with a groan.

Splashing some water in his face from a small basin, Henry peeked through the narrow gap between bed curtains and saw you sound asleep, before a light knock sounded on the still locked door.

“What is it?” He asked, opening the door to his first mate, Benjamin Nullings.

“Morning to you too, Captain.” Nullings greeted him back, with a smile.

Henry shook his head at the man, a smile tugging at his lips. He and Nullings had known each other for a good many years, back when they were both crewmen on another Pirate's ship, before Henry acquired the Crimson Jersey, a Spanish Galleon, and he made Nullings his First Mate, being one of the only men that he trusted.

“Good morning, Benji.” He replied to him.

“Well, good is going to depend on how you take the news I have for you.” Nullings answered, his brow creasing.

“What news?” Henry frowned, not liking the tone or the look Nullings was giving him.

“It's Valentine.” Nullings said, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his bald head. “He was injured in the skirmish yesterday, took a musket ball to the arm. The surgeon had to take it off during the night, but he ended up bleeding out and died early this morning.”

Henry's head dropped back with a growl. “Fuck.”

“Exactly.” Nullings nodded, pressing his lips together. “You know old man Norris entrusted us with his son to try and straighten the boy out, not get his arm blown off or him killed.”

“He's going to kick up quite the fuss back at the Island for this.” Henry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Has Quartermaster Astley tallied up the new loot?”

“He has, and we should make a very tidy profit of ten thousand pieces of eight.” Nullings informed him.

“Divided by a thirty man crew.” Henry squeezed his eyes closed and did the math. “Three hundred pieces per man. Norris will want his son's portion plus compensation for his death. Give him Valentine's portion and I'll compensate Norris for the death of his son.” He told Nullings, pushing his jaw forward.

“Once we get back to the Island, that is.”

“I'll have Astley make a note of it in his logs.” Nullings nodded, agreeing with his Captain and friend. “How's our bargaining chip holding up?” He asked, with a knowing smile.

“Stubborn and feisty.” Henry replied, glancing over his shoulder.

“Typical of all women.” Nullings laughed, his head thrown back.

“True enough.” Henry agreed, looking back at him. “Have Ellis keep us on course for Tortuga, but we won't be harboring there. So, have him anchor us off shore and the men will row out to it. They've earned a jaunt on shore after being at sea for the last eight months.”

“When we get the girl's ransom, do we still intend on returning to the Island?”

“Yes, we won't be able to hold anything more and we're already starting to ride lower in the water than we should.” He commented, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, we'll be in Tortuga within two days.”

“Excellent.” Henry nodded, pleased. “Have Valentine's body put in a shroud and we'll pay our respects to him this afternoon.” He instructed him, hearing you start to stir, disturbed by the sound of their voices.

“Aye, Captain.” Nullings nodded his head at Henry and went about his duties.

Henry closed the door as you pulled back the curtains, whimpering as the bright sunlight hit your unprepared eyes. “Good morning, pet.” He purred, smirking at you as you brushed your sleep tousled hair out of your face.

You huffed at him, rolling your eyes at his continued nickname for you, but didn't answer his greeting.

“Someone is a grumpy morning person.” He chuckled, openly teasing you.

“Only with bloodthirsty pirates.” You growled at him, trying to soothe the wrinkles in your skirts.

“Well, they don't call me Henry the Red for nothing, pet.” Henry grinned at you, unashamed and proud of himself. “We'll anchor off the coast of Tortuga in two days' time.” He informed you, combing his fingers through his messy curls.

“Tortuga?” You frowned up at him, surprised. “Why not Lockemirth?”

“I'm not going anywhere near Lockemirth until your dear papa has your ransom.” He replied, pulling his hair back with the leather string. “I'm not a stupid man, if I was to go near that island before hand, it would give him and the Crown amble opportunity to try and overtake my ship and crew. So, we'll wait in Tortuga.”

“Then, how will you know my father will have it?” You asked him, lifting a brow at him. “Tortuga and Lockemirth are eighty kilometers apart.”

Henry smirked at you, impressed. “A woman that knows her cartography.”

“I'm an educated woman, not the plague ridden whores you gallivant with.” You hissed at him, venomously.

“I have much finer tastes.” He replied, his stormy blue eyes scanning you for a long moment. “Anyhow, I have my ways of getting messages between the islands. So, you don't have to worry about that, pet.”

You glared daggers into him, wishing you had some means to wipe that smug look off his face. Henry stared back at you, he could see the thoughts flitting across your mind, you were either terrible at hiding how you were feeling or you weren't bothering to do so. Either way, he wasn't threatened by it or worried that you could pull it off or even attempt it to begin with, and he let that show on his own face.

“Enter!” He shouted, just as a knock came, causing you to jump at the sudden sound.

His cabin door opened and the same man from the night before entered with another silver tray with food upon it, he paid no attention to you as he bowed his head to Henry, set the tray down on his desk and left again.

“Are you starving this morning as well, pet?” Henry asked, picking up a few bits of food off of his plate and popped them into his mouth, making a big deal out of chewing and how good it tasted.

You watched him eat and felt your stomach rumble in your stays, you hadn't eaten since early afternoon the day before and were parched beyond belief. Henry lifted a silver goblet to his nose, swirling its contents and taking a whiff of it with a satisfied hum, before taking a deep swallow.

“Mmm, simply remarkable.” He said, after rolling the mouthful of wine in his mouth for a moment, before swallowing. “A 1681, Spanish Red.” He spoke, licking his lips. “I've always loved red wine, so it works out in the end.”

You gulped, feeling your hunger start to break down your willpower as you watched him enjoy the wine and food, purposely taking his time and making a show of it. With every bite of food and sip of wine your hunger and desperation grew, to the point you almost became unhinged. Henry set his goblet down and picked up yours, holding it out to you, a playful and teasing smirk and expression on his face, continuing to poke holes in your weak resolve.

“You know you want it, pet.” He hummed, lowering the deep timber of his voice, taunting you. “Wet those sweet lips of yours.” He purred, his tone teasing more than one meaning of his words. “Be a pity to let yourself go to waste.”

Gulping and licking your lips, the last of your will dissipating as you shot forward and snatched the goblet from his hand, making him laugh, as you hastily downed it, your mind not taking a moment to ask your taste buds how it tasted. Henry picked his own goblet back up, slowly sipping his wine, while you started to gorge yourself on the food. He plucked up the uncorked bottle of wine on the tray and refilled your goblet, the rich and deep red liquid splashing onto the stained oak wood of his desk as the ship bucked on the waves.

“Easy, pet.” Henry cooed at you. “Don't make yourself sick.”

You slowed down, looking up at him as you swallowed down the bit of food you had been devouring, the look in your hungry and exhausted eyes shifting, then you gulped down, audibly. A broader smirk crossed Henry's face and he rolled his eerily blue eyes at you.

“I ate the same food off the same plate, pet. It's not fouled up.” He laughed at you, increasingly amused at your silliness at thinking he, or the cook, had some how poisoned the food. He touched his fingers under your chin, smirking at you.

“For Lord's sake, you're no use to me dead or damaged.”

Another knock sounded at the door and it opened without Henry's permission, revealing Nullings. “Captain, Valentine and his shroud have been prepared, all we wait for is you.” He informed Henry, lifting a brow at the two of you.

“If you aren't busy.” He added, clearing his throat.

“I'm not.” Henry replied, dropping his hand from your chin. “Just making sure the Governor's daughter had her breakfast.” He chuckled, gently patting your cheek, then polished off his wine and set it down on his desk. “Come along, pet. All aboard are required to attend.” He told you, starting for the door.

“Attend what?” You asked, staying where you were.

“One of my men, Valentine Tash, was injured in the skirmish yesterday.” Henry replied, pulling on his jerkin. “He died, after having his arm nearly blown off.” He explained to you, settling the garment on his body.

“What's that matter to me?” You snapped, narrowing your eyes at him. “You were the monster that attacked my ship. It's your fault, he's dea--”

Henry bolted across the room, the back of his big hand connecting to your surprised cheek in a harsh smack; if it wasn't for his desk, you would have crumbled to the floor, instead you fell upon the desk, sending the tray of food crashing to the floor and spilling your goblet and the bottle of wine across it.

“Every man, and woman, on this ship knows the difficulties and dangers of being on these seas and in this occupation. Death is part of that expectation, no matter who they are. If they die, from whatever the cause, they have been cautioned and informed of it, and still they chose to come. That isn't on my head or on my heart.” He hissed at you, face twisted with rage.

“So, I suggest you watch your tongue, especially when you speak of things an insolent and ignorant girl does not understand.” He grabbed you by the elbow and yanked you up onto your feet. “Do you understand what I've said?”

You looked up at him, sniffling, eyes brimming with tears and your cheek welted with his knuckles. “Y-e-s.” You hiccupped and gulped thickly.

“Good.” Henry replied, tense. “Now, we're going out there and you will behave yourself, and if you try anything stupid, you won't leave this cabin again, until I have everything I want from your father in three days.” He warned you, shoving you in the direction of the door.

You tripped over the threadbare rug on the floor, but was thankfully caught by Nullings, before you fell. He gave you a soft and sympathetic smile, supporting you until you managed to right yourself, then kindly let you go. Henry moved in behind you, making you shiver as you followed Nullings out of the Captain's cabin. You blinked at the bright light of the morning as you stepped out onto the main deck of the ship, it seemed by the amount of people there as well, that the entire crew was out and waiting for the ceremony to send Valentine off to his watery grave.

It would be a lie, if you said you weren't interested in how pirates dealt with their dead. You had spent much of the voyage on the Kilmartin dreaming up scenarios about pirates and their ways of life on the high seas; but being kidnapped and held for ransom wasn't one of them though.

You saw a canvas wrapped body on a long wood platform that was balanced on the edge of the ship with two men holding onto it, so it wouldn't prematurely fall into the roiling sea below. The men gathered around their Captain, removing what hats they were wearing and bowed their heads. Henry stood tall beside you, his broad shoulders straight and tense as he surveyed his crew, his expression hard and unreadable.

“We gather here in honor of our mate, Valentine Tash.” He said, speaking loudly over the waves crashing against the hull. “He was a good man, a hard worker and a sound fighter. It is unfortunate that we have lost him, but he will forever be remembered.”

The crew let out three cheers in agreement and honor of their fallen comrade, before Henry gave a stiff nod of his head and the two men holding the body, lifted the platform and the shrouded body of Valentine Tash slid off of it and into the abyss below, never to be seen again. The crew lingered for another moment of quiet, before silently returning to their stations. You stood beside Henry as he continued to stare after the now vanished body, you saw, now that his men were gone or distracted by their duties, the look in his ordinarily hard and guarded eyes was one of a raw heart, one that had lost many men over the years and, even after telling you he felt none of it, was a man that had felt all of those deaths as if they were his own.

Henry caught you staring at him. “What?” He snapped, regaining command of his face.

“Nothing, just enjoying the sunshine.” You replied, blinking up at the blue and cloudless sky. “You?”

His eyes narrowed, then blinked at you, softening slightly. “Same.” He answered, his voice calmer. “It won't last though.” He added a second later, squinting into the sunlight.

“Why do you say that?” You replied, frowning and trying to see what he was talking about.

Henry dropped his eyes to you, amused. “I've spent my entire life either on or by the sea.” He replied, moving to the railing. “All that experience teaches you the language and nature of it. Even if it looks calm, sunny and beautiful, there's always something brewing just beyond the horizon.” He told you, leaning his forearms against the worn and sun faded railing.

“There's a storm coming.” He whispered, narrowing his eyes at a very thin strip of dark clouds. “But, we should be off Tortuga by the time it arrives.”

“Will we make landfall then?” You asked, gulping at the thought of being on the ship, any ship, with a storm going off.

“No.” He chuckled, shaking his head and looked over his shoulder at you. “We'll be as safe on the ship as we are on land.” He could see the fear and anxiety in your face and eyes. “Don't fret, pet. I've sailed this ship around hurricanes and she hasn't sunk yet.” He grinned at you, giving you an odd feeling of safety, but also a feeling of uneasiness.

“Then again, she can't.”

“All ships sink.” You frowned, shaking your head at him.

“Not this one, pet. Not this one.” Henry replied, still grinning as he looked his beloved ship over. “She's special.”

“Special how?” You answered, starting to worry for the pirate's mental soundness.

Henry pushed off the railing and caught your chin in his fingers, tipping your head back to look up at his amused face. “That's nothing for you to worry about, pet. There are some things beyond your innocent understanding in this world and beyond it.” He told you, his eyes darkening with an almost sinister delight.

You jerked up with a gasp as a crack of lightning struck the water, so close to the Crimson Jersey that Henry's cabin lit up like broad daylight. You gripped the blankets of Henry's bed as the ship tilted and swayed at nauseating degrees under the heavy winds, the torrential rain hammered every part of the ship, pattering against the glass of the stern windows like small pebbles. You gasped again as a hiss filled the cabin, but slightly relaxed again, a spark of light flared to life and illuminated Henry's face as he leaned over his desk to touch the flame to the blackened wick of his tallow candle.

“I didn't mean to wake you.” You spoke, barely audible above the storm.

“You didn't.” Henry replied, crossing the room with a small struggle.

“I'm impressed how well you and your men can walk across the room or deck, when the ship is bucking like a wild animal.”

“It's land that tends to be tricky for most sailors.” He chuckled, pouring a drink, unphased by the glasses moving across the table. “Your body gets so used to the sway of the ship, it doesn't know how to react when you're finally on unmoving land again.” He told you, picking the glasses up and crossed over to you, holding one of them out.

“It's like watching a newborn babe try to walk for the first time.” He laughed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I'm supposing this is your first time at sea.” He said, sipping his drink.

“It is.” You nodded, staring into your own glass for a moment, before lifting it to your lips. “I would have rather stayed in London.”

“With your mother?”

Your eyes jerked over to him.

“You were the only woman on board the Kilmartin that my men and I encountered.” He clarified. “I doubt your father had you himself, so that leaves your mother still in London herself.”

“She is still in London.” You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip and trying to hold back the overwhelming wave of tears that wanted to overtake you.

You were so consumed by all the events of late, being forced to leave the only home you had ever known, to sail half a world away to a teeny island, where you knew no one other than your father. Then to be kidnapped by Pirates and held for a ransom, that you feared if your father didn't or wasn't able to pay would only end badly for you. It was all adding up on you, especially when you were still trying to deal and come to terms with your mother's passing.

“I doubt we could have brought her, even if we wanted too.” You mumbled into your glass.

“Did she not wish to join you both?” Henry asked, head slightly tilting as he noticed the cloud that crossed your face, even in the crepuscular light of the cabin.

“I'm sure she would have come with us, if she could have.” You looked up at him, eyes shining and red. “But, sailors already believe a woman on board is a bad omen, I shudder to think what they would have said about transporting the dug up coffin of one.”

Henry's mouth dropped open for a moment, before he regained his composure. “She's passed on then.”

You nodded your head, dropping your eyes back to your barely touched drink. “A year ago, this past month.” You whispered, ringing the tip of your finger around the rim of the glass. “She was sick for a very long time.” You sniffled and gulped, feeling your strength start to waver.

“I'm very sorry.” Henry whispered, softly. “It must still hurt you deeply.”

His words were the keys that opened the floodgates to everything you had pushed behind it. The walls of your throat closed and your eyes burned with the liquid fire of your tears, your breathing hitched, catching in your throat, and your shoulders trembled as tears washed over your cheeks, dripping into the glass still in your lap. Henry sighed, his face pinching in concern and sympathy as he watched you melt into sobs. Setting both glasses on the rocking floor, Henry reached out for you, resting his hands on your arms and gently pulled you into his arms and lap, tucking your head under his chin and rubbed your back, letting the sway of the ship rock the two of you. You clung to him and cried yourself out in his arms, drenching the shoulder of Henry's shirt, but he didn't care, he was a pirate after all and used to being wet.

He gently traced the outline of the whale bones sewn into your corset, beneath your dress, feeling the steadily growing weight of your body on top of his as you calmed down and fell half asleep. Biting and pressing his lips together, then sighing, Henry stood with you in his arms and leaned over the bed, gently laying you down and covered you up, before tugging his tear stained shirt off over his head, tossing it on his desk. He studied your sleeping form in his bed and sighed again, before taking the two neglected glasses back to their tray, then returned to the bed, sitting down on the edge and stared out the stern windows as the storm continued to rage around the ship.

“Look after us.” He muttered to himself, before getting into bed with you and pulled the curtains closed against the bright lightning flashes.

Henry stiffened as you whimpered in your sleep, at a rumble of thunder, before rolling into his side and relaxing again. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, but didn't move away from you, not that he could to start with, he was already laying on the very edge of the bed, so if he wanted to get away from you, he'd have to go back to where he'd been sleeping below the stern windows. So, he didn't move or push you away from him, knowing you would likely only find your way back up against his side, figuring if it gave you some measure of comfort, he might as well enjoy the warmth of your body pressed up against his, being the first woman of any standing to share a bed with him in many months, even since the last time he was on land.

“Land ho!”

The cry woke you from a sound sleep and for a moment you forgot what ship you were on, until you opened your eyes and saw Henry pulling on his discarded shirt and his boots, before unlocking his cabin door and stepped out onto the deck.

Glancing out the stern windows, you saw the mid morning sun was shining and there was even the cry of seagulls, as if the storm had never happened, and the first real sign there was actually land nearby. Excitement blossomed inside of you and you jumped to your feet, quickly going out of Henry's cabin, hot on his heels. Henry was standing on the starboard side of the ship, a spyglass held up to one of his eyes as he swept it over the glittering water.

You didn't need a spyglass to see the approaching stretch of land and felt your heart and spirits soar as high as the seagulls beginning to circle the masts. Tortuga. You heard several of the men aboard murmur across the deck as they gathered, grinning and clasping each other on the back and shoulders, excited at the prospect of touching down on land again, getting their hands on quality booze and ladies of the evening. You couldn't wait for the opportunity to sneak off the ship and find safety somewhere on the island, surely some kind soul would point you to the Mayor or Governor, a British Subject, who would then give you safe passage to your father in Lockemirth.

“Nullings, have Ellis anchor us close enough off the island that the men can row out and enjoy themselves.” Henry barked the order, snapping the spyglass shut.

“Aye, Captain!” Nullings shouted back and ran up to the helm to relay the message.

“Drop the long boats once we're anchored offshore, men!” He yelled to the gathered men on the deck.

“Aye, Cap'n!” His men roared back, throwing up their hands in cheer.

“You.” Henry called, turning towards you.

You started and looked at him as he strode over to you, catching your elbow and turning you back towards his cabin, marching you through the door.

“From this point, until your father gives me my ransom, you are not leaving this cabin.”

“Why!” You protested, planting your hands on your hips.

“Because, I know in that little head of yours, you're already plotting on how to get yourself to that island and I'm not losing my bargaining chip, and if my men have to spend their first time on land, in months, looking for you, they'll bitch about it until we get home.” He told you, sternly.

“Now, stay put and behave.”

“And if I don't?” You retorted, lifting your nose at him.

“I'll tie you to a fucking chair for the rest of your time here.” He replied with a growl, then slammed the cabin door shut, the sound of it locking following.

You let out a frustrated shriek and stomped your feet, before angrily pacing the cabin, mumbling under your breath about how much you hated him and his stupid pirate crew, hoping your father and the Crown sunk his unsinkable ship with him on it. You soon felt the ship slow and the scrapping of the anchor chain unwinding from its storage as they dropped anchor, no doubt close enough to the island for the crew to row the longboats out to shore and enjoy themselves.

“I hope they all get the bloody pox!” You shouted at the cabin door, picking up a glass from Henry's desk and launching it at the door.

“I want you to employ our usual method of message running for our ransoms.” Henry told Nullings as they stood on the deck, huddled together.

“Aye.” Nullings nodded, taking the heavy pouch of gold coins Henry held out to him. “The auction should be bustling, taking in all the ships currently in harbor.” He observed, glancing at how packed Tortuga harbor was. “I'll have Barnard and David take our messenger to Lockemirth Island. With any luck the Kilmartin survived the storm and is already anchored in their harbor. But, if they're late getting in, I'll have them wait.” He explained to Henry, running a hand over his smooth, suntanned and sweat drenched head.

“That leaves one other thing.” He sighed. “What if they wrecked in the storm? What do we do with the girl?”

Henry rolled his jaw, mulling over the possibility. “We'll deal with it, if it happens. Until then, act as if its still sailing.”

Nullings nodded. “Aye.”

With that, Nullings boarded the first long boat that had been lowered into the water and rested as the men manning the oars rowed them ashore. Once they landed, Nullings marched up the crowded beach, smiling as a few of the Crimson Jersey crew called out to him or made lewd gestures before vanishing into the streets to find the taverns and whore houses. As much as Nullings wanted to do the same, he was on official ship's business, so it would have to wait until later in the day, once his task was completed.

It only took a handful of minutes for Nullings to find the place he wanted to be, the Tortuga Slave Auction, melding into the crowd that pressed in on the auction block, voices from various positions in the crowd shouting out prices. He waited until he found one of interest and joined the chorus, not allowing the other buyers to push him out, until he finally won the bid and left the crowd to pay and collect them.

“You understand English?” He asked the teenaged boy, pulling him into a quiet and discreet corner.

“Yes.” The boy replied with a mild accent, and a nod of his head.

“Excellent.” Nullings smiled. “What's your name?”

“Hany.”

“Well, listen here, Hany. I'm the First Mate of the Crimson Jersey, and I have a task for you; a task that once you fulfill, you'll gain your freedom and a passage to any place you wish to go or a place on our crew, that will be left up to you.” He explained to him.

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes, I do.” Hany nodded again, blinking at Nullings, wide eyed.

Nullings removed a small, rolled up piece of parchment out of his pocket. “You will take this to the Governor of Lockemirth Island, two of my men will take you there, then wait for his reply and return here with it. You will find me at the Golden Mermaid, ask for Nullings.” He said, handing him the note.

“Any questions?”

“No, sir.” Hany shook his head, tucking the note into the pocket of his filthy and tattered pants.

“Great! Follow me.” Nullings nodded, then took the teen to the boat where Barnard and David were waiting for him.

With that done and nothing else to do, Nullings went to the Golden Mermaid tavern in central Tortuga and ordered a room, a pint and a woman to fill his time, while he waited for Hany, Barnard and David to return with Sir Thomas's reply.

Thomas was a mess after Henry had taken you for ransom, going from spurts of violent anger to deep depression and lamenting. Captain Davis tried his best to keep the new Governor's spirits up, but more often than not, failed at it.

“The vile things that damned pirate and his men could be doing to my beautiful and innocent daughter.” He raged, pacing the cabin in a highly agitated state. “I swear, if he harms a hair on her head, I'll hang the bastard thrice!”

“You must keep your composure, Thomas.” Davis replied, watching his friend pace from his seat behind his desk.

“Composure!” Thomas roared, stopping before the Captain's desk and slapped it with his palms. “I don't have to do any such a thing! You are not a father, you do not know the pressure and responsibility it is for one to care for their children, especially their defenseless daughters!”

Davis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. “You know my meaning, Tom.” He replied, exhausted. “We'll be in Lockemirth harbor in a couple hours time, then we can muster what we need to rescue her, in safety.”

“Yes, we will.” Thomas growled, starting to pace again. “I'll be damned if I give that abominable pirate a cent from anywhere! The only payment he will get will be to the hangman's noose.”

A few hours later, the HMS Kilmartin docked in Lockemirth harbor and Sir Thomas disembarked from the ship, meeting the welcoming party the gentry of the island had put together for him, and you had you been with him. But, Thomas was in no mood for a welcome party and good cheer under the circumstances. He demanded to be shown the base of his operations and have all the top officials of the island to be assembled there, at once.

Several people branched out from the large group that had congregated around him, to set about his orders, while the rest of them showed him the Governor's office.

“What is the meaning of this?” One of the officials demanded as he entered Sir Thomas's office.

“Yes.” Chimed another, entering behind the first.

“We have serious business to conduct.” Thomas snapped, glaring at the full room of officials.

“What business can be so urgent that you must conduct it the moment you've stepped on the island?”

“While we were sailing here, we were attacked and boarded by pirates.” Thomas replied, his temper mounting more and more.

“Pirates!” Several gasped.

“Yes, pirates!” He barked, impatiently. “They've not only stolen several valuables from the HMS Kilmartin, they've also kidnapped my daughter and are holding her for ransom.”

A murmur went through the collection of men in the room, agitating everyone.

“What is the pirate's demand for her back?” One of the men asked, lifting a brow at Sir Thomas.

“Three-fourths of the islands money and goods.”

“Absolutely not!” The man roared back. “You can't just show up here and give them almost all that we have, I don't care if the pirate has your mother!” He protested, several of the others agreeing.

“I have no intention of giving them anything, you fools.” Thomas hissed, banging a fist on his desk.

“Then, how do you propose we retrieve your daughter back?”

“That—what is it?” Thomas barked as the door to his office opened to his clerk, Samuel.

“There is a boy here to see you, Sir.” The clerk replied, sheepishly. “Says, he has a message for you.”

“Tell him to wait.”

“But, Sir, he says it's from a man on a ship called the Crimson Jersey.”

Thomas stiffened at his words. “Let him in.” He said, pushing off his desk.

The clerk pushed the door open and stood out of the way, omitting Hany into the office. He looked around at the full room and gulped, slowly removing the note Nullings had given him out of his pocket and held it up, looking into the face of everyone in the room, not sure which of them it was meant for.

“Governor?” He said, hesitantly.

“Yes, that's me.” Thomas replied, stepping from behind his desk. “Hand it here.”

Hany took a couple steps forward, meeting Thomas halfway and allowed him to take the note from his hand. “I wait for reply.” He informed your father, uncomfortable.

“Yes, yes.” Thomas nodded, breaking the wax seal and unrolled the stiff paper.

“To the Governor of Lockemirth Island. I send you this note to inform you that I and your daughter, who is in good health and condition, are quite nearby to your island of Lockemirth. I send this messenger and expect him, and your answer, back before first light tomorrow morning. If he, or your reply, do not return by that time, I will take that as a sign of your refusal to pay her ransom and your leaving her to my mercy. Captain Henry Cavill of the pirate ship, the Crimson Jersey.”

Thomas read the note aloud, his hands slowly starting to shake with the multitude of emotions he was struggling to keep at bay.

“What is your plan, Governor?” One of the men asked, watching him restlessly pace the room.

He paced the room for several more moments, trying to gather his thoughts and form some sort of plan to get you back from Henry. Stepping up to the globe that was beside his desk, he studied it for a long moment, before turning to his desk and took up a quill and a piece of parchment paper, scribbling down his reply to Henry's note, and sealed it, pressing the signet ring on his pinkie into the cooling wax to make it official.

“Take this back to him and tell him we'll be waiting for him at that location.” He told Hany, then dismissed him to return to Nullings with the reply.

“Sir?” A man impatiently growled.

“We'll be meeting the pirate on Hafstead island.” Thomas replied, meeting the group's eye. “There is only one likely place that the Pirate and his men would make harbor in, and that's Tortuga. It's the only Island close enough to us and is friendly to their kind.” He explained his logic.

“Putting Hafstead island between Tortuga and Lockemirth, a perfect neutral ground for our transaction.”

“You stated you wouldn't be giving them their ransom demands? How then, are you planning to get your daughter back from them?”

“Misdirection.” Thomas smiled at him.

“We'll fill two crates with the goods and the rest with something else that will weigh roughly the same as the real two. They'll demand to see proof that we have their demands, so when they do, we show them the first two. Once they've handed my daughter over and move to start loading the ransom onto their long boats, we'll have guards from here attack, and all will be well.”

“I'll have my daughter back and the island will lose none of its profits.”

“You're sure this will work?”

“Yes.” He nodded, confidently.

With what men who wanted to go ashore gone, Henry let some of the tension go out of his shoulders, before heading back into his cabin. He opened the door just as you were opening one of the windows at the back of the ship, crouching in it, poised to jump into the water blow.

“Don't you dare!” Henry barked between clenched teeth, pointing a finger at you in warning, his lip curling with anger.

You looked over your shoulder at him, heart racing in your chest and hands shaking as you gripped the open window frame. Both of your hearts paused for a frightful moment, and everything became slow-motion; Henry taking a slow step forward as you gradually let go of the window and tipped forward out of it. Reality caught up as you slipped out the window, free falling countless meters, just as Henry stuck his head out the open window to see you crash into the foamy waves.

“Fuck!” He shrieked, enraged and concerned.

Glancing behind him for a moment, Henry tore off his jerkin and boots, before swan diving out of the window and into the water after you. Making it into the water, Henry saw you slowly sinking and struggling to swim with the weight of your clothing bearing down on you. Bubbles rose towards him as you struggled to hold your breath and quickly losing the fight. Kicking his feet harder, Henry reached you and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you against his sturdy body, buoying both of you, before his fingers dug into the ties of your corset and dress, ripping them open and letting the heavy garment slip off your body and sink into the oblivion of the ocean below. Kicking his legs in unison with yours, Henry propelled you both to the surface of the choppy waves.

“You fucking brat!” Henry hissed, shaking his head, his long hair coming free from its tie, before sticking two fingers into his mouth and let out a shrill whistle, right beside your ear, uncaring if it hurt you as you coughed and sputtered for air.

A shrill whistle sounded back as he guided you around to the side of the ship, the remaining crew leaning over the railing, to see the two of you treading water.

“Man overboard!” A call went out, the men jumping to action.

“Captain overboard!” Another corrected back.

Several of the crew helped Henry haul you back onto the ship from a small ladder built into its starboard side. You stood on the deck in nothing but your shift, hugging your arms against your chest and shivering violently in the strong breeze. Henry finally set his soaking feet onto the deck, the men huddled around him for a moment, to make sure he was all right, but his blue eyes were burning holes into you.

“Go back to your duties!” He bellowed at his men, who paused for a moment, then scattered out of sight.

Henry snapped across to you, his hand raised and stopping a centimeter away from your cheek, you scrunched up your body, wincing and turning your head away, anticipating the slap. He shook, throat bobbing up and down as he struggled to control his white hot anger. His hand unclenched and squeezed around your jaw, in a bruising grip. He jerked your head forward to look up at him, making you whimper. Your frightened eyes looked into his furious blue gaze, like he was tearing you apart with his sight alone.

You shivered again and whined, cold and scared, the suspense of not knowing what Henry was going to do to you, for your open and continued disobedience.

His hand moved from your chin and grabbed you by the neck, making you yelp with alarm, terrified he was about to kill you. But he growled deep in his throat; dull nails digging into your skin. Henry jerked you sharply towards him, crushing you against his soaking body and crashing his lips to your cold ones, in an angry and sloppy kiss, his other hand coming up to tangle in the back of your wet hair. You struggled against him, squirming, beating and clawing at his chest, but Henry wasn't deterred, his continued to kiss you, for a long moment, before breaking it, then, with his hand still in your hair, Henry dragged you back into his cabin and shoved you onto his bed, uncaring that you would get the blankets and mattress wet.

Stomping across the cabin, he retrieved a coil of twine that was on a sideboard and crossed back to you. Yanking your arms up, Henry tightly weaved the rough twine around your wrists and tied it off, leaving a length of it hang from it, before cutting the excess with a small knife that was in his belt. Taking the lead of your bonds, Henry tied it to one of the bed posts.

“You're a fool.” You hissed at him as he picked up his boots and jerkin, closing the window as well.

“Am I?” He laughed, tossing his jerkin over the back of his chair.

“My father doesn't suffer Pirates.” You replied, jerking on your bonds. “He never has and he never will. You may think you'll get what you want. But, the moment he has me. He will kill you.” You told him with a deep conviction.

“He's been killing Pirates, better than you, before you were alive.”

Henry turned towards you, eyes wide with focus as he regarded you and digested your words, but before he could answer you, the door flew open and Nullings came flying in, skidding to a stop as he noticed you tied to the bed, then looked to Henry with a questioning look.

“What's the word?” Henry asked, ignoring his expression.

Clearing his throat, Nullings replied. “The Governor has replied to our ransom, he'll meet us at Hafstead island with our demands in exchange for the girl, tomorrow afternoon.”

Henry gripped the back of his chair, drumming his fingers against the carved dark wood, then glanced over at you, before pushing off his chair and hustled out of the cabin with Nullings, closing the door behind them.

“It's a set up.” Henry told him, keeping his voice low.

“What?” Nullings snapped, brow and forehead creasing. “Why do you say that?”

“Something she said.” He replied, carding a hand through his drying curls. “I want you to go back into town, find a girl her height and appearance..”

“I'm sure the man knows what his own flesh and blood looks like, Hank.” Nullings huffed, shaking his head. “Be real.”

“Listen to me.” Henry growled back, chest heaving. “Cover her head, so they don't see her face. That way, we find out just how truthful the dear old Governor is being. Take everything they bring for the ransom, only after everything loaded, will you give her to them.”

“And where will she be?”

“With me.” Henry replied. “I know Hafstead island, I know a good place to keep her. If anything goes wrong, I'll take her back aboard here, we'll all come back to the ship and head for our island.”

“You want to take her back to Shipwreck Island, if something goes awry?”

“That was the deal.” Henry barked at him. “His refusal to pay, would forfeit her to my mercy.”

“What do you bloody plan to do with her?” Nullings asked, exasperated.

“I'll figure something out.” He replied, unperturbed. “Do you understand the plan, Ben?”

Nullings tapped his foot, antsy, as he ran through the plan in his head, things were getting so much more complicated than he anticipated.

“Yeah, yeah!” He sighed, giving in. “I got it, Hank.”

“Great, get about it.” Henry smiled, patting his friend on the shoulder and going back into his cabin. “You and I, my sweet pet.” He grinned, tilting your head back to look up at him.

“Have a date tomorrow.”

[razorblade180]

Thin Divide: Among Us

Eight people, two imposters. Snuff them out or complete the required tasks. Good luck!

Nora:I call it now, it’s definitely Jaune.

Jaune:You see that make you look suspicious Nora, but that’s so in character of you that I’m pretty sure you’re just a crew mate.

Nora:Maybe that’s the plan? Hehehe.

Weiss:Are you blaming Jaune or incriminating yourself?

Ren:Don’t even. Just don’t, she’s gonna do this the entire game.

Ruby:Alrighty! Let’s do this guys. We have our tasks, just keep an eye out for anything suspicious....

Nora:I’ll be watching Jaune like a hawk! I’ll catch him in the act!

Jaune:This is going to be a long game....

Pyrrha:Or a really short one.

xxxxx

Several minutes pass. Everything seems fine and people are on task. Yet things are a little tense. No one is talking. They’re all learning the rules and being cautious. Nora casually follows Jaune to do wiring and go just about everywhere. She can feel it in her gut. “I’m onto you.” She thinks as he suddenly sprints around a corner out of sight. Suddenly, lights shut off. Things suddenly feel like a bad idea.

Nora:What the!? That’s cheap. Maybe stalking someone alone was a bad idea. Oh! I’ll get Ren t-

xxxxx

Emergency Meeting!

RWBY JPR:Huh?

📢Yang: Oh, so that’s what that button- oh geez, Nora’s dead!

Ren:Wait, what!?

Everyone looks at the character icons to see Nora’s crossed out. Ren goes pale.

Ren:Nora! Who’s responsible for this!? Where was the body found!?

Blake:Nowhere, Yang pressed the button. However....*looks at Jaune* I did see her following you.

Jaune:You know why! I didn’t do it! Ren I did not do it.

Ren:I’ll vote you out right now. Jaune I swear-

Jaune:I just finished doing wires! I’ve been focusing on task and nothing else. Yeah I saw her spy on me, then lights went out. Now we’re here.

Blake:I’m just saying you had all the opportunities to do it. The fact that you’re so offended isn’t helping.

Jaune:We have no proof and you’re suspecting me!

Weiss:You were the one with her.

Pyrrha let’s not jump to conclusions. Someone could be framing him.

Ruby:Where was everyone? I was doing trash.

Blake and Yang:Med bay.

Weiss:This map is confusing. Communications, maybe?

Jaune:No, I was there. Unless there’s another one.

Ren:A room with a tree.

Yang:It’s totally Jaune. He’s alone and already knows the map.

Ruby:I know the map. Weiss is just bad. You’re bad if you don’t know the map!

Yang:I know it.

RWPJ:THEN YOUR POINT MAKES NO SENSE!

Times up. No one voted. Two imposters remain.

Jaune walked back two wards communications. The group had gotten pretty familiar with all the cool things possible. Cameras, vents, everything. This time two people followed Jaune. Yang and Blake. He started sweating.

Yang:Why are universe lady killer? Running out of luck?

Jaune:It’s possible. You two could possibly kill me then cover it up. Do your tasks!

Yang:We were together all the time last round. We’re in the clear.

Blake:It’s you that’s in the hot seat.

xxxxx

Ren:*getting oxygen* Who do you think did it?

Ruby:I don’t wanna point fingers, but Yang would totally thrive in this game. But Weiss is possible too. Stay focused. Killing Nora was to make you stirred up. Keep a cool-

Reactor Meltdown

Ren:That’s not good.

Ruby:You go left, I’ll go right! Be safe!

xxxx

Jaune:I’m going to stop the-

Blake:It’s taking you awhile on that panel Jaune. Don’t tell me you’re stalling?

Jaune:No, I’m just bad! Let me go the reactor or we lose!

Yang:Ooorrr I go. If Blake dies then you’re dead! If you don’t finish that panel-

Jaune:You have 30 seconds!

Yang goes sprinting out of the room. Blake goes to do her task across the room. She’s definitely sure it’s Jaune. This plan is full proof. Yeah if she dies then that would suck but-

Jaune:Ummm why hasn’t anyone stopped the reactor yet?

The counter was already at ten. What was taking Yang so long!? Both ran to the door in a panic to reach the reactor but then-

Report!

Everyone spawned back at the button. Well not everyone. Yang’s named was crossed out, and Ruby had teary eyes with a finger pointed at Weiss.

Ruby:MURDERER!!!

📢Weiss:Ruby it’s not what you think! I-

Ruby:Oh I saw! I saw perfectly! Right on the bridge leading to the reactor panel on the right. You were right over her corpse!

Blake:What!?

Weiss:I know it looks bad, but I found her like this! I run because I saw 1 out of 2 on the panels-

Ren:Me. I was on the other panel. Ruby was with getting oxygen and chose to get the other one.

Ruby:Yeah I wasn’t expecting to walk in on a crime scene.

Weiss:Wait! I was all the way at the bottom of the map. You should’ve gotten there before me.

Blake:Oh now you can read a map!?

Weiss:It takes time! It has to be Ruby.

Ruby:WHAT!?

Pyrrha:I was in electrical by the way. I know nobody was with me but I promise I’m innocent.

RWBR:We know Pyrrha.

Jaune:I don’t think it’s you but the fact you’ve been alone twice now.

Blake:Oh no, you’re definitely still an imposter Jaune.

Ruby:NONE OF THAT MATTERS! I want Weiss out right now!

The reaper puts her vote in.

Weiss:Ruby!

Ruby:Sister killer! You were by yourself too. I know you Weiss, always plotting. I came across a locked door while heading there that slowed me down. Nobody can confirm where you were, and you could’ve easily vented to get where you needed to be. You’re just mad I caught you so you self reported.

Weiss:That’s- I....don’t be a dolt. You all can’t be serious, right?

Pyrrha hugs a crying Ruby while the others have their heart ache at the sight. They all look at Weiss suspiciously, taking the risk to vote. It was unanimous. Weiss was immediately escorted to the air lock, struggling the whole way.

Weiss:You’re being tricked! I’m innocent!!

Ruby:Tell it to the souls you’ve taken.

She was shot into space. All of them watching her drift away. Ruby rubbed her eyes, then gasped.

Weiss was not an imposter. 2 imposters remain.

Ruby slowly backed away towards Ren. Right now, he was the only trustworthy one. Someone’s playing mind games and it’s working two well. Nobody had the chance to get anything done before Jaune presser the emergency button.

Jaune:Okay, we obviously need a minute to reevaluate-

Blake:You’re an imposter!

Jaune:We were in a room together! Why wouldn’t I kill you and vent away. At that point I could’ve made up a story! But no, I just wanna shoot asteroids!

Pyrrha:Fair point, it would’ve been a double kill.

Ruby:All of you look suspicious except for Ren! *votes Jaune*

Pyrrha:Ruby! He only pressed the button to clear the air!

Ren:He did just come up with a good argument.

Blake:I’m voting for Jaune.

Jaune:Well I’m skipping! Pyrrha please skip two before there’s two imposters and two crew mates. This is very bad time to throw caution to the wind.

Pyrrha:I agree. *skips*

Ren:....*skips* If someone dies next round and it isn’t Jaune then it’s definitely Jaune. You’re on thin ice, so are you Pyrrha. You agree with him easily.

Pyrrha:Ren, that’s not suspicious. I do that in real life.

Blake:And he’s using it to his advantage.

Jaune:You’ve been gunning for me since the start basically, even though you were with me. That’s pretty suspicious.

They all went their separate ways except for Ren and Ruby. This was dire. Everyone sounded sketch and friendships were crumbling. Next time for sure, a vote needed to happen. Pyrrha found herself going back near the button whe Jaune came out of a room to the right, alone. Both of them looked at each nervously.

Pyrrha:What are your tasks? I’ve already seen two other people enter that room before?

Jaune:I was checking vitals. We’re all alive and my tasks are done. What are you doing?

Pyrrha:I was gonna call another meeting. Say, are you saying I’ll go in that room right now and we’re fine?

Jaune:There is no body in there. Check for yourself. If I was an imposter then I’d be on cool down. Plus you could report and I’d feel the vaccum of space.

Pyrrha nodded and peeked in. No blood or anything. She went to the vitals to confirm that everyone actually was alive. The imposters must’ve known how risky things are now. It was fine. Tasks were almost done. Jaune was finally looking normal. She breathed a sigh or relief.

Jaune:Don’t tell me you were expecting a body?

Pyrrha:*red* I’m sorry!

Jaune:It happens. Honestly I thought you were about to stab me.

Pyrrha:I don’t like this game. It’s stressful. Doubting my friends isn’t exactly fun.

Jaune:What we need is a trap. A play that leaves Blake and Ruby red handed.

Pyrrha:You think it’s them?

Jaune:It has to be, and I know just the way to check one of them and keep us in the game. Pyrrha, I have a plan....

xxxx

Ruby and Ren watched the cameras in silence. Blake was at the trash while Pyrrha and Jaune were near the button. Ruby looked at Ren and smiled.

Ruby:It’s Blake and Jaune.

Ren:How can you tell?

Ruby:Unless Blake has a similar task, I did trash already. Shall we question her, or wait for actual proof.

Ren:Tasks are almost done. We might be able t-

Reactor Meltdown

Ren:Shit, Pyrrha can’t press the button now.

Ruby:But this also gives us a chance! Imma about to catch them red handed! Ren, stay on cameras and watch me go to the left. That way you can report my body if get killed, or out them if they self report. Jaune’s not dumb. He has to go right in order to act innocent and cancel the meltdown. Pyrrha would catch on otherwise. Especially if Blake goes right and nothing is fixed or they’re both alive. Meaning...

Ren:Blake has to go left or stay where she is.

Ruby and Ren high-five and get to work. Ruby starts sprinting as fast as she can. Ren checks the right side and sure enough, Jaune has a hand on the panel. Blake comes up from the bottom to where Pyrrha is. It would be dangerous if Blake killed her, but then she would definitely get voted out. The faunus slowly gets closer to the red head when suddenly, the cameras get jacked.

Ren:What!?

xxxxx

Pyrrha:Go left!

Blake:Gotcha!

Blake runs to the left to get the other panel. So far so good. Let’s see how right Jaune is. Pyrrha stared at the camera. Strange, she was certain it was on earlier. Now it was off, then flicked back on briefly. Seconds later, the meltdown ended but she didn’t press the button. Not yet. She was told to wait five seconds. In that amount of time, Blake might-

Report!

📢Blake:Guys, Ren is-

RJP:You killed him.

Blake:Wh-What? No, I found him on the ground in the camera room!

Ruby:Yeah, where you killed him. I thought you’d go after me. Sloppy mistake, Blake. Now we caught you.

Jaune:I cut off the meltdown, and Ruby had to get the other one. I found it funny how eager you were to get rid of me by vote. You killed Nora to add to the suspicions. You couldn’t kill me directly because of Yang. She wasn’t an imposter but stuck to you like glue.

Pyrrha:So you had your partner kill her because you couldn’t do it without outing yourself. But if Jaune died alone with you after all that blame then you’d be caught! If you payed attention then you would’ve saw the cameras were on this round. You killed Ren without him noticing then checked them yourself.

Jaune:You soon realized you could only self report because the meltdown ended. No way you could get to the panel that fast unless you vented. Now the real question is how committed are you two bluffing, Ruby Rose? If you don’t vote Blake....

Pyrrha:Then you’re definitely the second imposter.

Blake:Ruby don’t believe them! We know Jaune is definitely-

Ruby:*votes Blake* You betrayed my sister and made me accidentally vote for Weiss because I swept up in emotions. Just like how you got Ren to look at Jaune after Nora died. I’m done with you.

The others voted for Blake. The girl could say nothing. She was at a loss for words. The trap was perfect, calculated to a the last detail. Blake took a deep sigh and walked to the airlock, giving Jaune one final look.

Blake:Well played...

The airlock opened and the three watched their friend get launched into space.

Pyrrha:Jaune that idea was amaz-

Blake was not an imposter.

Pyrrha felt her blood go cold. Those were not the words she wanted to see. She didn’t even turn around to look her “friends” and chose to stare out the window. She felt both of them pat her back. 2 imposters still remained. A problem for her, the remaining crew mate. The sight of Ruby holding a gun and Jaune with a knife was visible in the window reflection.

Ruby:Knife or bullet. You deserve the choice.

Pyrrha:Jaune’s stabbed me in back metaphorically already. Might as well do it physically.

Jaune:That’s fair.

Imposters Win

[post game]

Jaune and Ruby:Oh yeah!!!! That’s why we’re leaders!

Weiss:You can’t say that after killing your teammates!

Nora:I demand an explanation!

Jaune:Ren is too smart and figures things out fast. Had to kill you first anyways. You saying I was an imposter was just an unfortunate coincidence. But let’s talk about how you were my only kill.

Pyrrha:Ruby, you killed everyone else!?

Yang:I walked halfway up that bridge thing to the panel and then she comes running down it and kills me. Now I’m watching as ghost as she jumps into a vent and waits for Weiss to find me to put on the most believable performance of her life. You killed me, then cried about it!

Weiss:I was pleading to a murderer! You put blame on Jaune so he could do it to you and throw the trail off!

Ruby:I also told Ren that it was either you or Yang, that way he’d vote the way I wanted. I think Blake was the real crown of the plan.

Jaune:This is why you don’t blame people so fast. You had to go.

Blake:Ren, what happened to you?

Ren:*face palming*So I was watching everyone until the cameras went out, which I now know was Ruby’s doing, because she had the nerve to kill her camera last. She looked right into it as she jumped into a vent back to me.

Ruby:If you were watching then I knew you were still there and alone. I killed him, took a vent back to where I was supposed to be, stopped the meltdown, and pinned the death of Blake. All with the simple lie about me taking out the trash and not killing Ren earlier.

Jaune:And I used Pyrrha’s trust. Thank you.

Pyrrha:Don’t talk to me! You got me to skip a vote and vote Blake off! Ruby, you cried in my arms! How could you use me like that!?

Jaune and Ruby:Because you’re so helpful! Thanks Pyrrha!

WBYNR:Yeah, thanks Pyrrha.

Pyrrha:*red* I’m sorry!!!

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hey I read your oxygen loss scenarios and I absolutely loved them, even if they made me really sad at first, but I still love them entirely! If you're still doing them, could you do one with Fort Max?

Thanks a bunch! Angst with a happy ending is kind of my favorite thing in the world, so I'm glad others feel the same! It absolutely works well with our big Maxy boy!

Here's the other posts for this prompt!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: You're Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Fort Max

·Somehow, he's fallen for a being so small they fit in his cupped palms, and yet the two of you fit together so well he can't complain. Though he's a tad bit overprotective, you don't mind at all, and understand what drives the behavior even if he doesn't say it. What matters is that he's improving, and adores you so much every little activity is better in his mind when done with you, even just chilling and managing his security reports. That's why you're on his desk at the moment, relaxing on the human sized furniture he occasionally uses as paperweights when you're not around. Every so often you'll look up and find him glancing your way with a loving expression just visible through his attempt to remain neutral, after which point he'll dart his optics back to his work and pretend he's been busy the whole time. You can't help but think you're the reason he can't get much done.

·In addition to his filing reports, he has his monitors open at all times, each of which feeds him the security information for the various sections and systems of the ship. Most of the time there's nothing to report, save for hijinks going wrong or an experiment accidentally knocking things offline, yet he's always quick to respond. The rapid reactions to potential threats has put him on surprisingly good terms with Red Alert. Thus you're none too alarmed when he sees something unusual on one data feed and immediately gets to investigating, his large digits tapping away for answers while he vocalizes his thought process. Curious as always as to what might be the source of the issue, you move in wordlessly and are placed on his shoulder without having to ask. Having you watch him work always makes him feel quite proud after all.

·Initially the issue appears to be a simple bug in the programming of the communication systems, an inconvenient but none too hard to fix dilemma. Seeking out the source however, he finds none of the expected signs of an internal miscalculation, and before you can ask what's wrong he's messaging the bridge with a full alert. You listen as an audibly erratic signal forces him to keep things brief; emergency defense units and protocols need to be scrambled now, the ship is suffering an encrypted hack and a physical assault is undoubtedly inbound. While you feel instinctive fear at every word, somehow being in his presence and seeing him take command lessens that to a remarkable extent, for not much can get through your partner when he's on alert. Unfortunately for him he's anything but unafraid.

·When the line inevitably goes dead, he actually struggles to recall the next phase of his crisis response plans, as having you right beside him makes doing anything but protecting his delicate partner seem insignificant. Only by reminding himself that protecting you requires him to protect the ship is he able to get moving. Double checking your position on his shoulder, he clarifies that you'll be going to the nearest secure zone before he heads off to check various rendezvous points, as the crew is trained for this and the silent alarm has already been triggered. As you settle in on the broad expanse beside his helm, he just manages to grab the last of his spare weapons before a cataclysmic tremor rocks the ship. An audible rumbling through the ship blocks out all sound as you briefly tumble through the air.

·Catching you in a mad dash, he bombards you with questions as to possible injuries before you can clarify that you're fine. Tragically the relief on his face isn't something you get to enjoy for long. A second metallic rumble through the Lost Light turns his expression to a scowl. The enemy must have snagged them with a kind of anchor, he surmises, which no doubt means they'll be boarding in very short order. He needs to get you out of here now. Knowing that high stress situations can exhaust him in ways he's still not used to, you hold one of his digits tightly from your place on his palm. You're ready, you assure him, and you know he's going to be just fine. It works in the smallest way. The two of you draw strength from shared reassuring smiles before he leaves the safety of his office to start moving.

·As usual, he's not really afraid for his own sake as he moves through the hallways, due in no small part to his massive size and strength. For you though, he has to at least admit to himself that he's terrified. Hearing and feeling the tremor as intensely as he did means it must have come from somewhere uncomfortably close by, and that means the likelihood of encountering a threat in the next few minutes was remarkably high. The intensity of Cybertronian combat made such an occurrence not unlikely to be fatal for squishy little you. Yet as he recalls the closest potential drop off spot he can secure you at, he can't help but think on his role as a protector of this ship and how his responsibilities seem divided at the moment. While he has to keep you from harm, the same is true of the crew, and he can hardly ensure your safety if the ship is compromised...

·The decision to take the route he settles on is one not made easily, but it still feels proper. By going a less direct way he can check on multiple key locations only a little out of the way, helping to ensure that protocol is being followed and that the enemy isn't overwhelming their defenses. He can get you somewhere safe, while protecting you and the rest of the crew at once. It doesn't feel ideal, but he has to do his job, right? You can't be safe without the ship, unlike a Cybertronian who can at least endure the vacuum of space and even has a fair chance of surviving a planets fiery atmosphere... Primus, he can't handle thinking about those things. Focusing on getting you to safety along with everyone else is what he has to think of instead, especially with the sensation of your tiny body so warm and delicate in his palm, which he tries to also draw comfort from.

·As you trust him above all else, you don't ask any questions as he moves through the ship, sneaking as much as a bot of his size can in the open hallways. You're hardly scared for your own sake with Fort Max holding you close to his spark. In fact, the world beyond doesn't seem scary at all from this perspective. Being such a massive bot equals out to a rather strong spark, and as close to it as you are, you can feel it humming even now. It's kind of like a miniature sun with how warm and alive it makes you feel. Silly as it sounds, you do believe it feels stronger than when you first met him, as if the healing he's done since has made his very spirit grow brighter. For the sake of that hard earned recovery you hope everything goes smoothly today. It's enough to make you hold on to him a little tighter, just to convey your support.

·Eons of training prevent him from being taken by surprise, but he feels far from prepared as he detects enemy movement down a hallway. The aliens are large, numerous, and well armed. Regardless of their intent to take prisoners, he knows he can't let them go, as the mere possibility of them hurting even a single being on this ship is too much for him to take. Knowing they have to be taken care of is unfortunate with you in his care, as he doesn't want you to see him in combat. But... he trusts himself enough not to take it too far, a realization that makes it easier for him to whisper a warning and secure you in a tiny maintenance hatch, from which you will be safe and hopefully won't observe much. As soon as you promise to stay put he takes off to end the threat as quickly as he can.

·From your spot the chaos of battle is mostly the noises that reach your ears, but through them you're still able to recognize Fort Max as the imminent victor, if only because the fight is so one sided he hardly has to make a sound. It still makes you curl up in the little shelter and hope for it to be over as soon as possible. Yet the darkness of the maintenance shaft makes worrying a tad bit difficult... in fact, it makes you oddly tired. Exhaustion you didn't even notice is suddenly weighing you down, making the battle seem so far away and insignificant, all despite how clearly you realize now isn't the time to sleep. Perhaps the rush of all this has simply worn you down?

·Max finishes off the batch of enemies quickly and without a trace of the usual thrill of battle. He doesn't want to enjoy combat the way he once did, or feel the way he used to when he was at his worst and tearing foes apart actually felt good... As soon as the last enemy is down he returns to you, actually thinking he made the right call for once in checking key locations like this, for now this batch won't be able to hurt anyone. Though his usual luck shows through when he returns and finds you extremely groggy, to the point that even as a bot without medical experience he knows something is wrong, and he scoops you up immediately to start looking for injuries. You react amicably to his concern and assure him you're fine, but your breathless tone gives away that something is obviously affecting your respiration. In a series of horrifying realizations he connects the dots.

·The ship being hacked must have affected everything, including the life support systems you need for the air to be breathable, which he should have considered as a possibility from the very beginning. Without a moment to spare, he tucks you close to his chest and charges towards the medical bay. It's painfully obvious to him now that he made the wrong decision. He should have prioritized you over everything, should have anticipated there being additional threats, should have done a million other things... Hearing your weak reassurance only makes it hurt more. Unable to comprehend what's going on and not getting anything from him but whispered apologies, you just try to stay awake to support him as he runs through the ship at full speed. The only thing that stops him is an ambush from a full legion of enemies, though thankfully he still has enough of a grip to shelter you when the energy weapons start firing. Your tiny form is shielded by the impenetrable armor of his curled body as he briefly retreats to secure you once again, but this time his charge into combat is anything but controlled.

·From a little cubby you watch him unleash total vengeance on a horde of unprepared combatants, his incredible strength reducing enemy weapons and bodies to shreds without a trace of hesitation. Yet as you slip from consciousness there's no fear in your heart. Only sadness, for his sake and your own, as his resurfaced trauma tears into him yet again. It's worse than that though, he blames himself almost more than the enemies he tears apart, because protecting you was supposed to be his job. He'd told himself you needed the ship secure to be safe, but had he even considered the air you needed to breathe? It should have been obvious. Fighting somehow dulls the pain, as if the little rush of every kill helps his processor subdue the ache, and as the enemy needs to die regardless for their crimes against you he doesn't hesitate to go all in. The heated blur of battle overtakes him so completely he almost doesn't realize when he's joined by backup Autobots on his security team until there's not an enemy left to kill.

·Your last conscious perception is his face as strong hands lift you gently, followed by muffled instructions to get you to the medical bay. Some part of you knows he won't rest until every threat on the ship is dealt with, and you're correct. As you're whisked away to the medical bay, he takes no prisoners as he initiates his defense, rallying the gathering bots to annihilate those who would have turned them into a quick profit. But with every blow, he can only think of you. As he's cheered on by his fellows, he can only think of you. At the final declaration of victory and the rebooting of the systems, he can only think of you... Not even knowing the medics saved you and that you'll fully recover assuages his guilt. If anything, as he washes the blood off his servos and forgoes the festivities to sit by your bedside, he's certain he's never felt more like a monster...

·When you wake up there's a lovely warmth all around you, coupled with a gentle hum through the air that you know has been there in the past. Open eyes let you see a familiar wall of a chest, and through the oxygen mask you happily whisper Fort Max's name, making the hulking bot twitch in surprise as he looks down to you. It's with a smile you realize he was dozing with you shielded beneath his tented form. Remembering the haze of chaos and danger, you reach out to him as he offers a gentle hand to adjust the blankets laid loosely over your small body, but despite the fact that you're both okay you only see sadness in his optics. At your first prompt he lightly deflects with a sad smile. At your second his face falls and the whole ordeal comes tumbling out of him, with particular emphasis on how he failed to protect you when it truly mattered, something that impacts him so greatly he sheds a few tears as he lays his head in his hand.

·Heart breaking at the sight, you quickly point out the multiple times he charged into battle for you, though he counters by recalling how savagely he killed his enemies in front of you. It was the kind of brutality he'd thought himself beyond, but if he isn't, how can he be safe for you? It takes all the strength you have to sit up and firmly request his attention. At what point, you ask, were any of his actions not in some way motivated by the greater good? Even if he didn't know everything that was going to happen, did he once abandon you? Of course not, because he's a good bot, and you know he is. Before he can bring up one more point about his perceived failure you remind him that he's come impossibly far, enough that no setback today could undo his progress, and that you're so proud of him. As the weakness forces you to lie back and he leans in with concern, you smile and point out that everything he's done has been to the benefit of others, whether it be you or the crew. For once he can't argue. Curling protectively around you once more, he decides to let himself be happy that you're safe, shaken but reassured by your faith in him. More than anything, it gives him faith in himself.

[lucycola]

The Lone Survivor: Part 5

TOS!Spock x Fem!Reader

Spock saves the reader from an icy starship crash, only to accidentally form a bond with them in the process. They are called to investigate a happening in the morgue, seemingly to face the unseen enemy that caused the crash in the first place.

PART(S) ONE TWO THREE FOUR

WARNINGS: Blood, violence, death, corpses, language, and sexual implications. The body eating gets vivid so if you can’t ride, please don’t. 

I’m so so so so sorry this took so long to come out. I’m not good at actions scenes so I did my best! Part 6 will be out soon. If I missed you on the tagged list I’m so sorry! 

Part 5: Isn’t is lovely? All alone. My heart made of glass, my mind of stone.

Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy tried to shield you from the carnage, but you broke through their human shield to see Commander Craft surveying the morgue with a grim expression.

Only a portion of the crew were brought aboard-the rest were still being recovered by multiple teams below. Along with Craft came other starships to help with the recovery. The tundra below was harsh and made recovery an even more difficult process. Bodies that were still intact were brought aboard the Enterprise to be identified. The others well were left in makeshift morgues below waiting to be put together with their other pieces.

What you hadn’t known before yesterday was that some of your crew had been devoured.

More had been devoured now. Bodies were littered about the morgue, torn from their bags. Some were only half eaten at the limbs and thighs. Heads and torsos were still left in contact where it was less meat and more viscera and soupy organs. The poor morgue workers were left alone.

“Blunt force trauma,” McCoy noted into his recorder. “Why didn’t it eat them?”

“It appears...it only ate the Calvary crew. The ones that had been on ice,” Kirk murmured, fist pressing into his teeth.

“It likes its food served cold,” you said, absent mindedly.

“Fascinating,” Spock said.

You glanced over the logs last input by the crewman, “He listed finding my father. Right here! Doctor L/N. My father’s dead. It must have kept his form.”

“Which must be why the creature could not be detected on our scanners. It perfectly mimicked the dead,” Spock said, bouncing ideas off of you, “It may be possible to feign the absence of a pulse or temperature-or perhaps it can alter its physical state enough to where it appears to be a lack of both.”

“Why did it take so long to recognize Doctor L/N, then? The man’s been dead for years.”

“The bodies were beamed up in droves, Jim,” Bones answered, “Then picked through. After were found the Calvary’s lone survivor we stopped bringing up one by one.”

“How...” Commander Craft said slowly, through ground teeth, “Could you be the only one?”

“I don’t know,” you answered.

“Four hundred men dead and you...still alive having wrecked in an escape pod,” the commander snarled, seemingly refusing to even look at you. He still surveyed the frozen dead.

“What?” you asked in disbelief, “I was in an escape pod?”

“Don’t play cute with me,” he jerked to look at you finally, eyes blazing, “You launched the pod right before the ship went down. My crew scouted out the area you were recovered from. Only a single pod launched with only you in it. Or did your husband not tell you that’s where he found you?”

“Spock, is this true?” Kirk asked.

“It seems I may have accidentally omitted such a finding...as I was not aware of it.”

“You’re a Vulcan-you don’t miss things,” Craft spat.

“One forgets my human half-although I have never found myself so personal with you, Commander, to share such a fact.”

Craft looked to you and back to Spock and then back to you again.

“You were both with one another the whole evening?” Commander Craft asked.

“I had two guards posted out side their quarters,” Kirk said, his temper flaring, “I doubt she’s in cahoots with the damn thing. Spock looked into her mind and it seems she’s nothing but a scapegoat for a monster to get its next meal! Now you can stop targeting my officers and start cooperating.”

You reached for Kirk’s arm desperately, “Captain, I didn’t put myself in that pod. Captain, I didn’t do this-you’ve got to believe me still.”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. What see is your crew in bits and pieces down here and that thing is going to do the same to my men,” Kirk said, patience wheedling thin. “Bridge, this is the captain. Issue a red alert. Lockdown all decks.”

“But captain,” a woman’s voice replied, “You just issued a command stating that the ship take a landing and to disregard any other orders.”

“Lieutenant, where was I when I gave such orders?”

“On deck three.”

x

The red alert beacon seemed like it would never fade into the background but it was eventually drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in your ears. Kirk had ordered you all to stay together after a trip to the armory and that you were all going to the third deck, whether the commander liked it or not.

The assent to the third deck was painful as the commander and Kirk had it out with one another. The lift felt extremely cramped, but the tension in the air made it worse.

Splitting up the party had perhaps been briefly suggested by your husband to cover more ground, to which the commander argued, “Don’t let Spock take her anywhere. I don’t trust those two!”

“No ones going anywhere unless it’s with me,” Kirk retorted, “Set your phasers to stun. We don’t know who the real crewmen will be apart from this thing. We don’t want to kill anyone else.”

“Then how to do we know you’re not the imposter then? How do we know the real you isn’t already on the third deck or even the bridge by now?” the commander asked, nearly spitting.

“I wouldn’t have asked to land. I’m getting really tired of you,” Kirk said.

The doors to the lift finally opened, showing and eerily empty third deck washed in the red light.

“Daddy?”

A small voice, a woman’s voice in fact so far away you could barely hear it.

The doctor stepped passed you eyes bugging out of his skull, “Didja hear that?” He whirled back around to you, “Did ya’ll hear that?”

“Indeed, doctor,” Spock replied, “It seemed to be coming from that corridor.”

“Daddy!” came the woman’s voice again, now sobbing and strangled.

“Joanna?” the doctor asked, immediately breaking away with full stride.

You seized him around the waist, trying to prevent him from going, “Wait-doctor-!”

“Simon!” came a wavering moan from the adjacent hall.

Commander Craft was less vocal than Bones and bolted immediately with a tailing Kirk who was then seized up by Spock, “Captain, don’t-”

“Daddy!” Joanna’s wail was blood curdling and McCoy broke free from your hold like a frenzied horse. You bolted after him immediately.

“T’hy’la!” Spock began to which in the confusion Kirk said, “Go after them-I’ll get Craft!”

x

Could it possible the creature could multiply? You hadn’t seen it for yourself, but fear blazoned in your body and drove your legs to pump themselves as far as they could go. You were younger than Bones, but your weak leg gave out. Spock was faster than you anticipated and with thundering footfalls you felt him upon you.

He swept you up quickly, “That was foolish.”

“It’ll kill him, Spock!”

“I do not think it can be many places at once or it would have acted upon the crew sooner.”

“It’s just throwing its voice?”

“Possibly.”

He was moving at a light sprint, cradling you up like a baby.

“If it likes its food cold it will go for the bridge. It’ll wreck the ship to the snow below,” you breathed, clutching onto Spock’s uniform.

“I suspect the same thing-” his running faltered a bit, “-it will pursue the captain in attempt to control the ship.”

“Fuck.”

x

“Jim!”

“Sam?”

Long ago had Kirk lost sight of Craft, now lurking beyond every corner. It seemed the third deck was empty and he found out quickly why it was so quiet, save the bells. He came upon the mangled bodies of his crew, not eaten, but twisted like rag dolls in their heaps.

Now it was mimicking his brother. The bastard of a thing-whatever it was.

“Jim, help!”

“I’m coming, Sam!” Kirk called, moving carefully down the hall, phaser in hand. It was leading to him to his own cabin. He knew his brother was dead, but it was almost like he couldn’t stop himself. It was a painful desperation and it burned like fire in his chest.

He opened the door and stepped inside. His room was the same as it had always been. Bed in one area, dress and mirror in the other. His antique weapon collection of old era muskets, sabers, and spears freckled his walls but were hard to be seen as the lights were oddly set dim.

“Captain!” a distressed voice cried from the corner. A female voice.

“Y/N?” Kirk asked, moving closer, “Kitty, is that you?”

The person moved from the corner and into the light and indeed to the captain it appeared to be you. But how? Kirk questioned.

Your face was beaten and your body was bloodied. Your dress which once was white was almost completely dyed scarlet and it was ripped all the way down, revealing your right shoulder and breasts.

Kirk snatched the blanket off the bed and brought it to cover you. “How did you get here so fast? Did it do this to you?”

“It ran as soon as it heard you. It was a man. He looked just like you. I thought it was you,” you cried.

He skimmed the tears off your face with his thumb, “There, there. I’m here now.”

“You’ve got to help me. Spock tricked me, Jim,” you said, moving closer. “I need you.”

x

The third deck was so confusing you (the real you) thought you and Spock would get lost but you honed in on the doctor’s desperate cries of “Joanna!” like breadcrumbs.

You both came to a dead end to see the doctor there, bumbling at the wall, clearly confused.

“Doctor!” you cried in relief.

“I heard Jo one second and the next-I’m at a loss!” he attempted to explain, scratching the back of his head.

The doctor stared at the bare wall as if his daughter was apart of its making. She was there in his ears and the next she wasn’t.

“She was never there,” you sighed, still cradled in Spock’s clutch.

“It was a trick, Doctor,” Spock concurred.

“Lemme down,” you reached for Bones almost desperately.

You felt like you had to touch him to truly know he was alright. His face looked alright as well as the rest of his body, but his eyes were still large with bewilderment and grief. Joanna had not been there, but she had sounded so real and seemed to be in so much pain as the ghost of your own father had been.

“Doctor, are you well enough to care for my wife? It seems she has reinjured her leg to some extent,” Spock inquired, allowing you to bear weight on your good limb.

Bones reached for you immediately and then asked Spock, “Where the hell are you going?”

“I must relocate the captain and Commander Craft for their safety,” Spock explained, already having turned promptly to leave.

He broke out into another sprint, which looked faster than it had while you were being carried. Vulcans were faster, stronger than humans naturally, it seemed.

Bones fussed over you and you shushed him, “It’s just a limp-I’m fine-no, we are not going to sickbay!”

“Where do you suggest we go then? We might as well be sitting ducks.”

“We’re going to catch up with, Spock,” you said in a definite tone.

“In your condition and mine? it’ll take this old man two weeks to get you there,” he said, shaking his head.

“Hey,” you grinned, “It’s not the first time you’ve walked a pretty girl down the aisle.”

Bones face heated up with a large grin.

x

The door shifted open and Spock was greeted with the sight of his nude wife fondling his captain. Except you were had been left in Bones’ care behind him. Something white hot and broiling ignited in his very being.

You could feel it from down the hall.

He’s mad-why is he so mad? you questioned internally, limping as fast as you could.

Kirk fired his phaser immediately into the creature’s belly, after letting it draw itself close. The mirror version of you somehow enclosed its hand around the firing phaser, crushing it completely.

Kirk shook his hand free, screaming. The creature seized Kirk by the shoulders and flung him effortlessly into the wall. He hit part of his antique weapon collection, spears and swords clattering to the ground with him.

“Captain-!”

“I’m alright.”

The imposter whirled around and grinned like a Cheshire, “Well the infamous Mister Spock! I can read the crew’s thoughts y’know. Plenty of gals seem to like you. But you only like this one, don’t you?”

The imposter ran her hand down her naked form, taunting him.

“Too bad your captain got the upper hand on your wife first. Didn’t even stop himself when given the opportunity.”

“That’s a lie, Spock,” Kirk choked.

Spock shot at the creature, phaser still set the stun. The creature was knocked back only a little, seemingly unfazed. Spock shot multiple times only with the same result.

“I like it rough,” the creature laughed, “Keep on.”

“Why did you place Lieutenant Y/L/N in the escape pod when you could have devoured her?” Spock inquired.

“I seek the weakest link of all that visit my land. I seek their fears, their sorrows and hers was most adequate for my use,” it said, “The other ships that follow after every crash always tend to stay longer when there’s someone to blame. Everyone likes someone to blame.”

“How many other starships have you sabotaged?” Kirk asked, moving slowly about the weapons on the floor.

“Enough to feed me my due.”

Kirk launched one of the old spears at the imposter and it grazed its belly, spurting purple blood.

“Run, Captain!” Spock ordered.

The creature seized the spear and thrust it a Kirk as he ran to the door. Spock was faster and quickly moved in front of Kirk, catching the spear deafly with one hand. The blade was merely inches from his nose. The phaser clattered to the ground.

“Fascinating,” the creature said mockingly and changed it form from you to Spock himself.

x

Eventually you and Bones were able follow the trail of downed crewman to the captain’s cabin. Upon opening the door you were gifted with the sight of two of your husbands wrestling with one other over some ancient spear.

Where the hell did that thing come from?

Long forgone on the floor was Spock’s phaser and you knelt to grab it.

“Jim!” Bones exclaimed.

Kirk was once again a heap on the floor, already having been assaulted twice by the imposter and saved by Spock. He was bleeding from his right flank.

Bones quickly moved to him, dragging you long with him.

“We’ve got--got to kill it--” Kirk stuttered, staggering upward. You caught him under the arm, supporting him. “The phaser doesn’t seem to work on stun. You have to set it to kill.”

Bones caught the other, “But how can we? Which one is it?”

You shakenly pointed the phaser even though it seemed it had no effect.

“Alright you two!” Kirk yelled, ‘Stop or we’ll be forced to shoot the both of you!”

The wrestling came to a still and the spear was tossed aside, rolling to your feet.

They were identical, completely. Fuck.

“T’hy’la, it is I,” said the one on the left.

“No, that is incorrect,” said the one on the left.

Down to the nose, the hair, the faint hue of green in their cheeks and lips. The familiar warmth pulled you at the back of your mind.

“Kitty, what are you doing?” Kirk began.

You moved forward, with two fingers extended, “Husband, attend.”

The one of the left immediately came forward and you felt the warmth surge closer at is it, enveloping your mind as your fingers touched.

“Fools!”

The one of the right’s entire mouth opened up as if it was a venous fly trap, launching itself at you and Spock. You fired the phaser, blasting a hole on its left side but it still came.

Kirk was faster on the draw, and launched the spear into the creature’s mouth, splattering purple liquid everywhere. Its lifeless body hit the ground with a wet thud.

The spear had ripped through its body and pierced itself into the wall behind it.

“Good shot, captain,” Spock said. “And you as well, wife.”

“Second time’s the charm,” Kirk said, holding his injured side.

You let out a dry sob, mixed in with a laugh. Bones patted your shoulder, letting out a large sigh.

PART SIX

tagged: @groovyfluxie @dontgivedeath @lumar014 @pringtella @moonchildlonan @superninjapervert420 @love-wanderlust15 @ischysiaclark@imyourspacegirlfriend @hiddlestonme @fandoms4ever97 @mywellspringoflife @rebelchild93 @nilalunis16

[joel-millerr]

The Change

Chaper Two of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.9 K

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence. there is a scene towards the end that isn't exactly torture, but it is pretty graphic so please read with caution!, a bit of angst, and grief (talking about loss).... if there’s anything I missed please let me know so I can update it

Summary: You and Mando on your way to Nevarro so he can collect the bounty on your head but something happens, forcing you to land on another planet, and you begin seeing him in another light

Hope you guys like it!! 

Tagged: @1800-fight-me​🧡 // @tillytheslytherin​🧡

As the Mandalorian’s ship—Razor Crest, climbs higher and higher into the sky, the sun’s beginning to rise over the city. Taking one last look at the capital, you mentally add “getting snatched by a bounty hunter” to the list of things you hate about Kijimi.

Maker, the silence in the cockpit is deafening. The Mandalorian doesn’t acknowledge you at all, his helmet glued to the windshield of the ship. You think about saying something, anything to break the awkward tension that seems to be multiplying in the small area of the cockpit, but from the very short time you’ve been with him, you don’t get the impression that he likes to talk. So awkward silence it is.

Once in the atmosphere, the Mandalorian prepares to make the jump to hyperspace. The stars’ light twinkles off his chrome helmet, and you’re too busy staring at him to notice another ship zip across the windshield, and then within seconds, the radar’s alarm is blaring through the cockpit. The shrill sound is piercing your ears and your eyes wrench shut, as if to try to block the noise out.

Two green beams of light appear out of nowhere, skimming the ship’s hull, and as the enemy spacecraft comes back into your peripheral for just a few seconds, your jaw nearly drops to the floor when you recognize whose ship it is.

It’s your ship. Someone is inside your ship, shooting at you. “That’s my ship!” You shriek, jumping to your feet and quickly making your way to the window. The Mandalorian says nothing in response, just letting out a couple of grunts and huffs. Your ship continues to bombard you with green beams, but the hunter is sharp enough to evade each shot. The jolts cause you to lose balance, and because your hands are still bound, it becomes more difficult for you to keep yourself upright without falling over onto the control panel.

“Get back in your seat,” The Mandalorian says through his visor. His voice is calm but stern. If he was panicking at all, his voice doesn’t give you the slightest suspicion.

You open your mouth to protest, to beg him not to shoot your ship down, to plead with him, but you know it would be a battle you couldn’t possibly win. Fumbling back into the seat to his right, a shot narrowly misses one of the thrusters and hits just above the belly of the ship. It sends you flying out of the seat, and you land on the ground hard, your shoulder taking the brute of the hit.

You hear two more blasts explode against the ship. The Crest is taking a lot of damage right now, but the Mandalorian manages to stay quiet during the entire ordeal.

“Let her go, Mandalorian.” A distorted voice comes through the radio.

Time seems to stop. The sirens still blaring through the cockpit penetrate your ears less and less until they are just a bunch of muffled clamors. That voice can only be from one person. The only other person in this galaxy that knows how to hijack your ship, and actually be able to fly it.

Tye.

Without any warning, the Crest begins a steep incline, and just as you’re finally able to seat yourself back in the chair, pulling the seatbelt across your torso and clicking it into place, the Crest flips upside down. If it weren’t for you being strapped in, you’d be flailing around the cockpit. The ship does a full circle before straightening out right behind your ship. The Mandalorian begins firing, three shots immediately pierce the hull’s integrity. The dark nothingness of space is suddenly luminated by a giant inferno; your ship begins plummeting back down towards Kijimi. You want to scream, to rush over to the pilot’s seat and scream into the radio hoping Tye would respond, but your body feels weighed down, like your limbs refuse to work.

As you watch your ship plummet towards the city, life drains from your body. For a moment, everything is still and fast at the same time. You had come to terms with your fate, you aren’t an optimist—not anymore anyway, but when you saw your ship, a flame—no, a glint of hope started to build in your bones. Maybe the Maker was giving you another chance. You were dead wrong.

Once the blaring alarm quiets, the Mandalorian initiates the jump sequence. The whole thing is over within minutes.

The Crest doesn’t spend much time in hyperspace though, because now the hyperdrive alarm is blaring again and you’re both launched right out, the ship spiraling in open atmosphere. The Mandalorian swears under his breath and begins frantically pressing buttons in an attempt to get you back into hyperspace. Despite his efforts, he’s unable to make the jump.

“Dank farrik,” The vocoder comes out strained.

“One of the shots must have damaged the hyperdrive.” You find yourself saying.

“Yes.” Is all you get.

He changes course and begins descending towards a planet you’ve never seen before. From space, the planet looks mostly swamp green, nothing particularly breathtaking or enticing.

“What is that?” You’re not really expecting an answer, just asking out loud, and you’re surprised because he actually answers you this time.

“Sorgan.”

You’ve heard of Sorgan. Some of your crew had resided on the planet since there was a spice smuggling base located there. Given the fact that Sorgan was a relatively unobtrusive planet, it was smart idea to put a camp. It was mostly covered in thick, dense forest which enabled the camp to be hidden fairly easily. Landing on Sorgan was a blessing in disguise. You could possibly send a message to the base there and maybe, just maybe, get rescued. Almost immediately you could feel excitement tingle your nerves. Okay, maybe you hadn’t lost.

Entering Sorgan airspace, the Mandalorian searches for a forest glade. It doesn’t take long for him to spot a small clearing just at the edge of a foliage of massive pine. He descends slowly, making sure not to hit any trees on the way down. You can’t help but be impressed by his flying abilities. He pilots like it is second nature to him. Always maintaining his cool demeanor, even if he is being shot at. Despite the fact that you resent him for possibly murdering the only person left you considered family and stealing your freedom, that aviator part of you is enthralled by the Mandalorian.

Once firmly landed, he cuts the engine and steps out of his seat.

“Stay here,” His voice is as deep as ever, not bothering to meet your eyes as he walks through the door to the cockpit and begins to descend down the ladder.

You linger in your chair for a few minutes, twiddling your thumbs in your lap. You’re not sure how much time you might have to send a message to your fellow smugglers, but you also don’t want to waste any more time waiting on him to come back. Fumbling slightly with your seatbelt, you all but leap towards the pilot’s chair to get to the radio. You finger toggles over the button to record your message. Why are you hesitating?

Chewing on your lip, and letting a deep breath exhale through your nose, you fight the urge to retreat back in your seat. Just as you’re about to record, you hear footsteps on the ladder behind you.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuck,” you curse under your breath and you scramble to get back to your seat without the Mandalorian seeing you. You hear his boots hit the metal floor just as your butt hits the chair. The beskar helmet peaks through the doorway of the cockpit as if he’s just checking to see if you followed his orders.

“No, I haven’t moved,” you say to him, annoyingly.

“Come down.” He instructs, turning on his heel and already making his way down the rungs of the ladder.

“Why?”

The Mandalorian stops in his tracks, “Because I can’t keep an eye on you if you’re in the cockpit.”

You really don’t want to go down there. Not because you’re scared he’ll throw your ass in carbonite, but because if he gets you down there, you’ll have no reason to get back up here and send out a message to any smuggler who might want to help you.  

“You can trust me.” It’s a desperate attempt. Usually you can use your charm to bend others to your will, but the Mandalorian is unlike anyone you’ve ever met. You already know it won’t work.

“No.”

Pressing your hands down on your knees, you push yourself to your feet. You eye the control panel one last time and actually consider locking yourself in the bridge just long enough to get a message out. While the idea becomes more and more tempting by the second, you need to be smart about this. If you plan on escaping or getting a message out, it has to be perfectly timed and planned. It didn’t take him long to catch you, and you need to be a lot smarter the next time around.

So you head down the ladder like he told you to. The ramp is down, and your feet irk to run down the ridge and escape into the lush forest in front of you. Every instinct inside of you is screaming to run, to take your chances and hope to lose him in the fog of the greenery, but you have no idea where you are on this planet. You have no idea if the camp is relatively close to you or not. If you ran now, you’d have no supplies, no sense of direction, never mind the fact that your hands are still bound.

First things first then; get him to release the shackles.

He’s currently inspecting the damage Tye inflicted on the Crest. The hull of the ship is smoking, and there’s a few new dents on the sides of the ship, but there isn’t any damage that a couple days’ worth of work wouldn’t be able to fix. Luckily for you, that gives you a couple days to think of the best way to take off.

Not entirely sure where to go, you stay by the ladder, standing like an awkward kid waiting to be told what to do.

The Crest is much bigger than you thought it was. Most of the space inside the ship is housing the carbonite chamber with the three other companions you’re convinced you’ll end up joining. Next to the chamber is what you assume is a locker full of armory. You make a mental note to raid that locker before your escape. To your left, there’s a narrow, small cubicle that could only be used for sleep. Even though the door is closed, you can tell that it’s already too cramped for the Mandalorian, and you wonder how he can fit in such a tiny space.

Honestly, you’re more concerned about whether or not he’s ever had anyone in there with him. Surely if the space is too small for him, then he couldn’t possibly have had any lovers in there with him, right? Heat begins to coil in your stomach and the thought of that makes you shift in your stance. You really shouldn’t be thinking of whether or not the Mandalorian’s fucked anybody in his poor excuse of a bed, but you can’t help yourself. It’s been a long time since you’ve had the pleasure of being with a man or even taken care of yourself and it doesn’t help that the Mandalorian exudes this ferocious confidence and control. Does that make you wonder if he’d still as controlling when he’s balls deep inside you? Would be still be quiet like he is now, or would he be a babbling mess?

“Hey.” The voice pulls you out of your thoughts and causes you to jump.

The Mandalorian is standing just arms distance away from you, and stars, he is an absolute sight. Built like a monument—tall, firm and fucking intimidating. In your everyday life, you always walked with your head held high, refusing to show any weakness, but right now? Your head is down, only peering up at him through hooded lids. Something about the Mandalorian scratches a primal instinct in you that you’ve only observed in animals. Predator, prey—you’re giving up control, and what’s worse is that you actually like it. When it came to lovers, you had always been the dominant one. Every run you’ve made since you can remember, you were the one calling the shots, ordering your comrades around, but in the very short time you’ve known the Mandalorian, you can tell he likes control, and order.

You should hate him. You shouldn’t feel this kind of attraction for him, but despite your efforts, it’s there. You areattracted to him—he basically owns you now; it definitely shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does.

“Sorry?” You manage to choke out. Your throat is bone dry and Maker, you swear if he was any closer, he’d be able to hear your heart fucking hammering in your chest. His gloved hand reaches out and grabs the binds on your wrists. It’s not even his fucking bare hand but it has you holding back a moan. You wrench your eyes shut hoping it will alleviate some of the tension building between your legs.

“I’m going to unbind you,” The voice behind the helmet begins to say. “But if you run, I will catch you again and I won’t hesitate to throw your ass in carbonite. Do you understand?” It comes our breathy, almost like being this close to you is affecting him the same way it’s affecting you.

You can’t find any words, now. All you can do is nod slowly because your mind is on fucking fire being this close to him and you want to rip off that helmet and crush your lips together but also you want to drop to your fucking knees and show him how much he’s affecting you.

The grip on your wrists relaxes and he’s taking the binds and tossing them to the floor of the ship. You continue to stand just a few feet from each other. The visor is too dark to make out his eyes, and you curse the Maker for it. You’ve heard stories about Mandalorians. How they never take off their helmets in front of others, how they swear to the Creed to live a life of anonymity. You couldn’t possibly imagine living that way. It sounds incredibly restricting, but you do respect it. Everyone has their own beliefs in this world, and you aren’t one to judge another for the path they’ve chosen. Look at yourself, you were a nobody mechanic and then you became a spice smuggler. The path you’ve chosen isn’t exactly noble, so who are you to judge how the Mandalorians choose to live their lives?

It takes you a couple of seconds to realize he’s no inches away from your face. He’s halfway down the ramp when he calls you.

“Let’s go.”

You stumble for a couple steps and then pick up a small jog to catch up with him. The walk is a little uncomfortable now due to the slickness between your thighs, but you push through it.

“Where are we going?” You ask once you’re by his side. You look up at him but when he answers you, he keeps his attention peeled to the landscape in front of him.

“The hyperdrive was damaged.” His strides are much larger than yours, and you need to trot to keep up the pace. “I saw a town not too far from here. Hopefully there’ll be someone there that can help.”

You spot the town—barely a town, it’s just a couple of huts and then a bigger one at the centre. You wonder how anyone would choose to live here. It’s too quiet, too uneventful. There are a couple merchants selling krill—you know Sorgan exports a lot of krill and is basically the only way farmers make a living here.

You enter the common house—maybe it’s an inn, you’re not entirely sure. It’s nothing like the cantinas on Kijimi or Tatooine or any of the other planets you’ve visited. It’s ridiculously quiet and charming. There aren’t any patrons playing sabacc and screaming at one another when one of them loses, or others getting incredibly intoxicated on spotchka and brawling on the floor of the bar. Just a couple of humble farmers, some making a pit spot, and other locals keeping to themselves. It’s refreshing and also unnerving. You’re used to the commotion of more lively planet cantinas, staying in the shadows and observing, making sure you’d be ready in case someone tried to pick a fight with you. There’s no need for that here. Not only does everyone in this place look completely harmless, but you’ve also got a fucking Mandalorian on your left, and you doubt anyone would be stupid enough to try to fight him.

Unlike your choice to sit in the back of the common house, the Mandalorian chooses a table smack in the middle of the room. That’s the difference between a Mandalorian and a smuggler. You would rather choose a quiet place to sit, not drawing any attention to yourself. He—on the other hand, doesn’t put that much thought into where they should sit. Smugglers are always being hunted. Mandalorians? No one wants to fight them.

Once seated, you tense immediately. There are voices behind you, and not being able to keep track of what they’re saying, or if they move really distresses you. Granted, you doubt anyone here has a mean bone in their body, but you stay on edge regardless.

One of the women behind the counter takes notice of your arrival. Patting her hands clean on her apron, she walks over to you.

“Can I interest you in anything, travelers?” She asks, all smiles.

Her immediate kindness puts you at ease—slightly.

Before you can ask for some spotchka, the Mandalorian’s vocoder cuts through the helmet.

“Is there anyone here that can repair a ship?”

Her brows pull together tightly, pressing a finger to her chin. “Hmm… I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Sorgan is a farming planet, and we don’t get many visitors around here.”

He sighs, and you peek down from the woman standing over you to see his fist ball up on the table. “Fine.” It comes out strained, like it’s taking all his strength not to blow up and scream.

“Would you like anything else?” She asks again. “Maybe something for you, ma’am?” Shifting her body to face you, you open your mouth to answer, but the Mandalorian speaks first. “No, thank you.”

You whip your head to face him. You may be a quarry, but you still have ­some rights.

“Actually,” You point out, still looking at the helmet that burns right into you. “I’d like a bottle of your finest spotchka, please.”

He tilts his head just enough for you to notice, fist still balled up on the table. The lady seems to take notice of the tension, but she says nothing further. She simply nods and retreats to the bar. Returning swiftly with a bottle in one hand—two cups in the other, she places them between you two. You reach into the side thigh pocket of your pants and pull out a handful of credits and place them in her hand. She nods in gratitude. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

“Thank you.” The hunter grits through his teeth.

Immediately you pour yourself a glass and throw it back, a couple droplets leaking from the corners of your mouth. Using the back of your hand, you wipe your mouth clean. You know you’ll probably regret the little stunt you just pulled, but it’s been a long fucking day and you just want to relax for a bit.

Okay, so maybe you’re not entirely relaxed because there’s a Mandalorian just a few feet away from that seems to be getting more and more cross the longer you stay in the common house, but you also want to see how far you can press him before he snaps. Besides, he shot down your ship. You deserve this.

Three more glasses of spotchka later, and you’re feeling warm inside. The kind of warm that lowers your defenses and makes you giggle at everything. The kind of warmth that releases the tension that’s nestled in the deepest corners of your body, and makes your vision a little fuzzy. It’s probably early evening now, because the common house is getting livelier. They must be coming in for a meal.

“Get up,” The Mandalorian orders, rising to his feet.

“So soon?” You pout. You’re definitely feeling the effects of the spotchka.

“We’ve wasted enough time here. Now get up, we’re leaving.”

Normally, you’d fight till your last breath, but with the alcohol swimming in your blood, your inhibitions are lowered, and you’re way too relaxed to actually get your brain to fight back. Besides, there’s barely any spotchka left and you don’t have any more credits to spend.

Getting to your feet is a little bit of a struggle. Once standing up, the room starts spinning. Not enough to completely knock you off balance, but enough to make it difficult to stand without swaying. Turning on his heel, the Mandalorian heads for the door, cape mimicking his movements. Your legs aren’t moving as fast as you’d like them too, and the spotchka is really getting to your head, now. You drank a lot more than you should have.

Luckily you’re able to catch up to him, somewhat out of breath though. He doesn’t say anything to you—no surprise there. As you stumble through the forest, there’s a gentle breeze in the air. Tree branches creak as the wind passes through, and stray hairs from your ponytail brush across your flushed cheeks. You’re too preoccupied with enjoying the clean, fresh air to notice he’s now a couple feet ahead of you. The cape attached to his armour flows in the gentle breeze. Stars, you’re completely captivated by him. By the way he carries himself, like there’s not a shred of self-doubt behind that armor, and you want to know everything about him. Now that you’re pretty drunk, the thoughts you pushed away can roam freely in your mind.  When was the last time he took off that helmet? Why did he—a Mandalorian, decide to be a bounty hunter? How many quarries has he captured in his life? How old is he? Are Mandalorians allowed to have sex with non-Mandalorians? Your mind is coming up with an endless number of questions, but you never find the strength to ask.

“You know, you could have asked me to help with the ship,” The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. The Mandalorian stops in his tracks and waits for you to catch up to him. Once you’re at his side, he turns his head to look in your direction.

“What?” Deep, rough, and somewhat irritable.

Your shoulders shoot up and down twice, body swaying with the breeze. “I’m a mechanic.”

“Yeah.” He says, brushing off yours words and resuming his tread.

“No, seriously.” Chasing after him, you want to reach out and grab hold of his arm, but you catch yourself before you do.

“Just how much spotchka did you drink?” He taunts, voice condensing like he’s scolding a child.

“I… don’t know.” Holy maker, did you drink an entire bottle to yourself?

The Mandalorian actually scoffs at you. If you could see his face, you’re certain he’d be rolling his eyes at you.

“Okay, well I used to be.” You clarify, still struggling to keep up with his gigantic strides. Kriff how fast does he walk? “Can you just stop walking for a second, please?”

“No.”

You let out a loud, childish groan. At this point you basically have to run to keep up with the hunk of metal heading back to his ship.

“I used to repair ships with my father on Tatooine.” Your tone is breathy, your lungs trying to get as much fresh air as possible.

This makes him pause. Turning around, the ‘T’ of his visor looking directly at you. Stopping at arm’s-length away from him, you bend forward, hands resting on your knees. He gives you time to regulate your breathing.

“I can fix the hyperdrive. I’ve been doing it since I can remember.” You try to assure him. You don’t even know why you’re offering your help. The longer it takes to fix, the longer your freedom lasts, but the alcohol has made you soft, more accommodating. Seeming to come out of nowhere, your vision becomes extremely blurry. You swear there’s now two Mandalorians in front of you. Blinking profusely, your eyesight doesn’t clear. You feel like you’re floating while simultaneously being pulled to the ground. Fighting to keep your eyes open, you feel your limbs cave in, and everything gets dark.

The sound of crackling fire wakes you up. It must be late, because the fire is the only source of light. How did you get here? The last thing you remember was walking through thick forest with the Mandalorian and now you’re laying by a fire, back near the Crest. You can’t remember the last time you actually passed out from drinking so much. The spotchka here has to be stronger than any other time you’ve had it. You can handle your drink, and this is downright embarrassing.

Wait, did he actually carry you back to the ship? Despite the little stunt you pulled back at the common house? He could have easily thrown you into carbonite once you both got back to the ship and you wouldn’t have even known it, but for some reason, he chose not to. You want to ask him—to show your appreciation, but you hesitate. Maybe just letting it slide is the right course of action.

Propping yourself on your elbows, you see the Mandalorian sitting on an old, mossy stump. There’s something between his legs, but you can’t make out its features through the fire. Pushing yourself to your feet, you notice another stump just to your right. He must have put it there for you to sit once you woke up. You have a pounding headache, but the fire’s warmth helps a little.

You can now make out a few more details about the creature sat between the Mandalorian’s feet. It looks like a child, but you can’t be sure. Your eyes must be deceiving you because it appears to be green, the type of green you’ve only ever seen on the plains of Naboo.

Stars, its ears. They’re massive, just like its eyes. Your mouth curls into a smile. It’s adorable. You’ve never been partial to kids. There was never something inside of you that longed for a child, or to take care of one, but this little thing at the Mandalorian’s feet is making you rethink anything negative you’ve ever said about babies.

“What…is that?” You ask as you sit down on the stump he placed for you.

From the embers of the fire, you see the little thing’s eyes find you and it coos. Kriff, he’s so fucking cute.

“He’s a foundling.” Oh, so it’s a ‘he’.

You wait for him to explain, but the Mandalorian isn’t one to talk or elaborate unless directly addressed or absolutely necessary. Continuing to examine the child from a distance, it—no, he, is also looking at you, almost like he’s studying you as well.

“How did he come into your care?”

“He was a quarry,” His voice is quiet, the modulator distorting his tone to make it raspier than usual.

“You haven’t delivered him yet?”

Your eyes shift between the man in armor across the fire from you, and the small green alien-looking child between his legs. The Child’s head tilts from side to side as he watches you, the reflection of the flames glistening in his big black eyes.

“I did.” He deadpans and leaves you to fill in the rest of the blanks.

You want to bore him to death with questions. Why did he go back for him? Does this mean he’s its father? How does he plan to raise a child being a bounty hunter? Does that mean this kid will also become a Mandalorian?

None of these questions actually come out of your mouth, though. Given the circumstances, you don’t think the Mandalorian even has a clue what he’ll do, and it’s not really your place to bombard him with your curiosity.

So, maybe this Mandalorian was different from the stories you’ve heard—not that you’ve heard much honestly other than them being amazing killers, but if he went back for the Child, then maybe there was a soft, kind heart under all that beskar.

“I can do it.” Your voice is just loud enough for him to hear you. You continue to stare into the flames, waiting to see if he’ll respond. He doesn’t, but that’s fine with you.  

You’re not entirely sure when you even fell asleep but when your eyes flutter open, you’re lying on the ground, back against the uneven terrain. Using the ground to push you up to your feet, you shake the dirt off your pants and begin stretching your back by twisting your torso until you hear a satisfying crack. Your mother used to scold you for cracking your back. “You’re going to hurt yourself one day,” she used to say. When you were a kid, you’d roll your eyes at her and then she’d give you a gentle but still stern slap across the arm, the kind of slap only a mother could get away with doing. You were never really one to listen to authority, so it’s a habit you never grew out of.

It’s a beautiful day. The sun is beaming down on your skin, not a single cloud in sight. Sorgan is quite breathtaking, really. On most planets, no matter where you are, you can hear the commotion of city centres or see ships coming in and out of the atmosphere. Not on Sorgan, though. The only sounds you’re able to make out are tress swaying in the breeze, and the occasional bellow of the beasts in the forest.

The sound of the Child startles you. He’s at your feet, little arms extending out to grasp the material of your trousers. When did he get here? You crouch down and wave your index finger at him, little coos emitting from the green baby. His three-fingered hand wraps around your finger. This warm calmness comes over you, putting you at ease. Untensing all your muscles, your aches disappear, and the only thing that exists is you and the Child. You close your eyes, completely giving into the stillness. Maker, you swear you can hear the Child say something. Your eyes are still closed, and you don’t actually hear him say anything, but he is. You hear it in your mind—It’s faint and muffled, and you have to focus all your energy into narrowing down what he’s saying, and then it becomes as clear as day.

Grogu.  

“Good. You’re up.”

The Mandalorian’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He’s headed straight for you, just as stoic as ever; the sun’s light ricocheting off the beskar. The Child’s grip slackens, and you straighten out to meet the Mandalorian’s gaze. Your breath hitches as he continues to make his way towards you. Something as simple as a walk shouldn’t make you feel the way it does, but you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. Shifting in your stance, you can’t help but notice the heat building in your lower abdomen. Stars, get a grip. He’s the enemy, you shouldn’t allow yourself to feel this.

Leaning over, he picks up the Child and holds him with one arm. Almost immediately, you observe the way the Child wraps his tiny hand around one of the Mandalorian’s gloved fingers. There’s no stopping the stupid, shit-eating grin that appears on your face.

“The hyperdrive.”

“Right.” You respond, the smile falls from your face and you stand there awkwardly for a few seconds. The Mandalorian turns his back to you and makes way for the Crest. You follow him like a lost puppy, keeping a couple feet distance between you and him.

Once inside, he sets the Child down on one of the cargo crates near the ladder leading up the cockpit. You head up the ladder first, and he quickly follows suit. To your left is a small cubby hole in the wall that accesses all the wiring to the hyperdrive. It’ll be a nightmare to crawl in and out of, but you offered your services to him, so you can’t turn back now.

“I’ll get straight to work, then.” Turning away from him, you crouch down to your knees to examine the damage. There are various wires that are disconnected and thrown around, smoke emitting from one of the panels hidden inside the wall, and looks just about as worse as it can get. You’ve never seen anything this bad, before. How the Kriff was he able to fly this ship in such a horrible state? You start by grabbing a blue and red wire that hang loosely off the wall. A bit of copper and aluminum cords are splitting at the end of the cable which makes you think they might have touched each other causing some kind short circuit. Shrugging off the idea, you start to work.

After working on the hyperdrive for a couple hours, you decide to take a break. Climbing down the ladder near the cockpit, there’s no sign of the Mandalorian or the Child. All of a sudden, you’re aware of how sticky your body feels. Dirty, grimy, and uncomfortable. Now would be the perfect time for a shower. You turn your head to the fresher behind you and consider taking one, but you don’t want to intrude. You’re still a quarry and you assume the Mandalorian wouldn’t appreciate you taking a shower in his refresher. On your walk to the common house yesterday, you had spotted a lake not too far away. Maybe you could take one there. Then again, if you were to venture off, he might think you’ve run off. Your eyes shift between the fresher and the outside.

“You can clean up in the fresher.” Despite his tone always been low and rough, it still startles you. You whip your neck to see the Mandalorian leaning against the wall of the ship. You swear he wasn’t there a second ago so to see him just a few metres away from you not only puzzles you, but sends immediate shockwaves to your cunt. You feel like you’re being stalked, and it shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. The Mandalorian is built like a goddamn Star Destroyer; one look at him and you’re instantly intimidated, almost scared. You’ve never met anyone who can be so big yet so quiet, so frightening yet also so caring. It’s actually quite impressive. From his demeanor, no one would be able to guess he’s got a fucking kid back in his ship.

At first you want to protest, not wanting to push any boundaries or make either of you feel uncomfortable, but you know he’ll end up winning any argument you try to make for yourself, so instead you give him a quick nod before turning on your heel to the refresher. You don’t turn back to see if the Mandalorian is still looking at you, but your cheeks feel red hot anyway.

The fresher is pretty small considering the size of the ship, but if he somehow manages to fit in here, you have no problem. The water is warm, and cascades over your skin, instantly relaxing you. It feels amazing until it suddenly doesn’t. Your arm is burning, it’s on fucking fire and then it hits you. Looking down at your arm, you see scorched skin and are reminded of your injury from… well you’re not quite sure how long it’s been since he captured you back on Kijimi. It’s maybe been two or three days since. In the same moment, you realize you never got to put any bacta spray on it to stop any kind of infection. The skin surrounding the wound is turning a deep green-purple shade. Not a good sign.

“Kriff…” You whisper. You were supposed to put some bacta on it once you got back to your ship but obviously, things went differently than you expected. You take the bar of soap sitting on one of the ledges inside the fresher and begin washing away the dirt and sweat from the last couple of days, being extra careful when cleaning the area around your injury. Realistically, you could stay here for hours, letting the warm water drip down your figure, completely soothing your sore muscles and calming your mind, but you don’t want to take up more water than necessary.

When you come out of the fresher, there’s a pile of clean clothes resting on the rungs of the ladder. Tilting your head at the garments in front of you, you take them in your hands and smile to yourself. He must have gone out while you were working on the ship and somehow was able to find you some clean clothes. You change quickly, out in the open, hoping he won’t walk in and see you—okay maybe you do kind of hope he’ll see you. Once you’re fully clothes, you’re pleasantly surprised to notice they fit you perfectly. The cargo pants hug your frame like a glove, and you can’t help but notice they make your ass look great. Your tunic snatches your waist and is low cut enough for just the smallest amount of cleavage to pop through.

Taking the ladder two steps at a time, you reach the top in record time. You can see the smooth convex of beskar in the pilot’s chair, so instead of immediately resuming your work, you poke your head into the doorway of the cockpit. The Child’s pram rests on the seat to your left. It’s closed which means he’s probably asleep in there.

“Thank you for the clothes…” You’re not sure what to call him, since neither of us have actually properly introduced yourselves. However, you’re sure he knows your name given there’s a bounty on your head.

He doesn’t turn to face you, just continues whatever he’s doing. “Mando,” He clarifies, somehow answering the question you were thinking. “And you’re welcome.”

You linger for a couple seconds, not entirely sure why. He’s not much of a talker, but you still want to hear his voice. Before you can conjure up with something to say, he breaks the silence.

“When will you be done?” There isn’t any annoyance in his tone, which is usually accompanied by that question. You heard it all the time when you worked back at the hangar. “Hey lady, when are you going to be done?”, “What the Kriff is taking so long?”. You’ve grown to let those condescending questions roll off your back, but the Mandalorian’s tone is surprisingly gentle. Maker, are you falling for the Mandalorian?

“Well,” You begin, taking a few steps into the cockpit. Your hand comes up and latches onto your forearm, squeezing it. “I noticed that the hyperdrive was only functioning at 50% capacity before it broke down completely, and I was going to ask if you wanted it back at 100% before we takeoff because that’ll take—”

“Just fix it enough for us to get back to Nevarro.” He interjects, the baritone coming out dry.

It catches you off-guard, but you’re quickly reminded once again that you aren’t just somebody fixing the ship. You are a prisoner, and he doesn’t actually owe you any more kindness. He was kind enough to let you live, let you clean yourself in his refresher, and give you clean clothes. You’re chewing on the flesh inside your cheek, wondering if there’s something else you should say, but nothing worth saying comes to mind. He must notice your presence still there, because he swivels the pilot’s chair to face you. You swallow the giant lump in your throat and shift in your stance.

“You’re hurt.”

You glance over to your arm and then back to the visor. “It’s nothing.”

Pressing down on his knees to stand, the Mandalorian stalks towards you. Nerves and arousal are pooling in your stomach, now. Your chest is heaving as he gets closer. Stopping just at arm’s length, a gloved hand reaches out and clasps just underneath your injured bicep. The touch makes you pull back, not because it hurts but because it feels too fucking amazing. You’re seeing stars and he’s barely even touched you. Mouth agape, your breathing is so fucking uneven.

“That’ll need more than just cauterizing in order for it to properly heal,” His hand now moves down, ever so gently caressing your elbow. Your head dips down, unable to look at him directly. It’s pathetic really. You’re usually a fairly strong-willed person, who doesn’t bend at the will of anybody. You stand tall, even despite your size. Others in the smuggling game have a huge respect for you and see you as a leader, but now you’re cowering under the Mandalorian. You’d obey every one of his commands if he ordered it. All the power you hold, your bad habit of resisting authority would vanish in an instant if he pushed you.

“There’s bacta spray in the medical kit near the armory. You should take care of that before it infects.”

Your brain is racing, and the ability to form words had completed disappeared. All you can offer is a barely noticeable nod. You want to stay in this moment for as long as you can. Just the two of you standing inches apart, the tension growing thicker and thicker in the small area of the cockpit. You wonder if he feels it, too. If he wishes for this intimate moment to last forever. Swallowing your nerves, your eyes shit from the floor up to the visor. Trying to gauge for some kind of reaction but even if he is affected by this, his body gives no sign of it. Must be all in your head, then.

The Mandalorian’s finally the one to break up your little moment. He lets go of your elbow and you fight back the moan that threatens to escape your lips. You want him to touch you again, anywhere and fucking everywhere. He sits back in the chair and rotates it towards the control panel, so his back is facing you again. You probably linger a little longer than you should before finally retreating back down the ladder to get the bacta spray.

Once the spray mists over the gash, you instantly feel relief. The strain you didn’t realize was still in your body dissipates and you let out a deep breath through your lips. Thank the Maker for bacta spray.

The next few days go by relatively fast. Despite the awkward/sexual tension that clearly exists between you and Mando, you’re able to endure it. The encounters don’t last that long anyway. Usually, he’ll ask you about the progress on the hyperdrive. The conversations don’t last particularly long, but it’s enough to work you up into a sweaty mess.

And if you’re being honest, you probably could have fixed the hyperdrive in two days. You’re a damn natural when it comes to repairs, and you’ve fixed hundreds of hyperdrives in worse shape believe it or not. But you’re were taking your sweet ass time, giving yourself more time to be with Mando. It’s silly and childish, but you truly enjoyed his company, even though the conversations are mostly one sided.

Unfortunately though, the job had to get done. Once Mando noticed the hyperdrive had been fixed to 65% capacity, he was satisfied enough with your work. He decided you’d spend one last night on Sorgan and then leave at first light.

You’re all sitting by the fire. The Child propped up on a stump between the two of you. The night is calm, not a single breeze passing through the trees. A clear sky showered in stars. Forgetting the fact that this is essentially your last night of “freedom”, you’re really loving this.

“Twenty thousand.”

You’re in the middle of sipping bone broth you bought off a merchant in town—with Mando’s credits, when his voice catches your attention. “Hmm?” You mumble, using the back of your hand to wipe the little dripples of soup that trinkle down your chin.

“You asked me how much your bounty was,” His helmet stares into the fire a few feet away from him. The orange hues reflecting off the beskar.

Your lips form a thin line. You didn’t know the New Republic had that kind of money to spend. Twenty thousand is a pretty generous bounty.

“Wow, that’s pretty high.” That’s actually really high. It’s hard to make an honest living, and the New Republic throwing around thousands of credits like that makes you uneasy. Instead of using that as an incentive for other to hunt criminals, it should be distributed to those less fortunate. The thought makes you chuckle to yourself. A smuggler explaining how a government should be run. How noble of you.

“I wasn’t born into this, you know…” Your voice trails off, unsure if Mando wants to hear you or not. The helmet turns in your direction, giving you permission to continue. The Child looks up at you and coos. Your eyes avert their gaze to stare into the flames.

Clearing your throat, you begin. “I was raised on Tatooine. My parents were lucky enough to own a hangar, so my dad worked there, and my mom was a seamstress. Just a couple of ordinary people.” You weren’t particularly less fortunate than anyone else in your town. Your belly was always full, and you always had clean clothes on your back. Most of the residents in your village weren’t as privileged but your parents were generous, offering what little excess they had was given those who couldn’t afford food or clean garments.

Early on, they taught you never to flaunt what you had, always be humble when speaking to others, and to always be respectful. You loved your parents more than you could say, and ever since they died, you shut off a part of yourself. Heartbroken and alone, losing yourself in work seemed like the only way to cope with the loss. The more sorrow you felt, the more work you forced on yourself. If it weren’t for Tye, you’re not sure if you would have been able to get through it.

And ever since then, you vowed never to let yourself experience any kind of love again. The risk was just too high. Not knowing if one day your loved one would come home or not, investing so much of your soul into someone, relying on them only to have it snatched away from you without warning; it just seemed foolish. When they died, you cried every morning and every night for months, until one night you vowed never to cry again.

And you haven’t since.

People called you heartless, scum, cruel, but their words never managed to pierce the iron exterior you mentally built for yourself when your parents died. No one would be allowed to access that sensitive, caring part of you. Not even Tye. You loved him like a brother, but once that loss had punched through you, you could never look at him the same. There was a distance, now. Whether he knew it or not, he never confronted you about it. He gave you space, and when you were ready to let him back into your life, albeit not really back in, he never pressured you or expected your relationship to go back to how it was.

“So when they passed, I just felt like I was lost. I needed to escape.”

“And smuggling was your only option?” There’s a hint of mockery in his tone.

“Yeah, I’m a smuggler and you’re a bounty hunter. We all make choices in life. I’ve made my peace with that.” Your tone comes out a little more defensive than it should, and you think about apologizing, but fuck it. You have nothing to lose anymore. Even if you thought he might not turn you in, the possibility of getting twenty thousand credits is too much of an opportunity to pass up on.

Neither of you speak for the rest of the night.

You’re awakened by Mando nudging your feet with his. You snap out of deep sleep, rubbing your palms against your eyes. Sitting up, you moan softly and begin trying to adjust your vision to the Sorgan darkness. The only light that the night offers is the moonlight reflecting off Mando’s armor. The helmet’s looking directly at you, and a finger comes up to where his mouth would be, signaling to be quiet. Still half-asleep, you nod.

Ever so slowly, you rise to your feet and quickly brush the dirt off your pants.

“Get to the ship,” He orders, voice low and gruff.

“What’s going on?” You whisper, still standing in place.

“Hunters.” He says. “Get to the ship.” Mando orders again, his tone becoming much more assertive. You want to fight. You’ve never run from a fight before, and you’re not about to start now.

“I can help.”

Before having the chance to respond, red blasts come flying through the trees in the distance. Mando grabs you by the waist and shoves you behind him, shielding you with his body. “Get to the fucking ship!” He yells.

You want to argue with him, really you do. Realistically, you know he could probably take care of this himself, but that doesn’t mean you want to cower away and hide in the ship while he takes care of business. Then panic swarms you.

The Child.

Your head whips back and forth, and the relief that comes over you when you catch sight of his pram just your left, the gloomy night shielding him from sight, instantly calms your nerves.

The shooting stops all at once, becoming eerily quiet. Mando pivots, trying to keep eyes all around him. Your body mimics his movements, even though you’re completely defenseless. Twigs snapping, bushes rustling—not from the breeze, but from intruders trampling over them, coming closer. One, two, three, four hunters come into view, flanking you from all angles.

Okay, so this worse than you thought.

“Ah, Mando!” One of them calls out, blaster pointed directly at Mando’s chest.

“We don’t want any trouble, Mando,” Another pursuer taunts. “We just want the girl.”

Fuck.

They begin drawing in closer. You don’t want to underestimate Mando’s ability to fight, but with four hunters closing in, and having only one blaster, you’re not seeing how he can win this. You’re conjuring a plan inside your head and praying that he’ll catch on. If someone’s going to get credit for your capture, it sure as hell isn’t going to be this gang of thugs.

“Fine.” You throw up your hands in defeat, stepping aside from the shield that is Mando. You face the man directly in front of you, assuming he’s the one who’s leading the charge.

“What are you doing?” Mando’s voice is fucking low, somewhere between a whisper and a growl.

“Trust me.” Your tone gentle, eyes pleading with him.

You begin taking slow footsteps towards the blaster pointed now at you. “I can assure you, I’m more valuable alive, so why don’t we put our blasters down before someone gets hurts?” Arms still up, hesitating to take any more steps forward.

“You think we’re stupid enough to listen to you?” One of them shouts behind you. You flinch on impulse. Your chest is heaving, but you need to a grip if you plan to walk away from this alive.

You can slightly make out the hunter’s features. He looks somewhat familiar, like when you see a stranger in a dream, but you can’t pinpoint where you’ve seen him before. You’ve encountered plenty of hunters before, maybe they’re just all starting to look the same to you. Only Mando stands out, now.

The moon’s mellow and radiant reflection is starting to make out the hunter’s features. He doesn’t look entirely human, but you don’t manage to get close enough to actually see what he is.

“Hi, sweetheart.” The hunter sneers, his mouth curling into a malicious grin.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you remember who this is—but how? You shot him in the chest. You saw him fall. Sure, you didn’t actually check to see if he was dead but how could anyone survive being blasted directly in the chest? You must be remembering wrong. No, he shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here.

“Surprised to see me?”

You refuse to show your disbelief, keeping your jaw tense. “No, it’s just more target practice.” You spit.

Eerie laughter erupts from deep inside the man opposite you. Never slacking on the grip on his blaster, he shifts the barrel from your chest to directly between your eyes. Okay…what the fuck do you do now?

Mando and the kid are still a few feet behind you. You’re running out of ideas, fast. If you went to attack your pursuer, he’d definitely shoot you before you got close enough to him, and the three behind you would shoot Mando down before he even had time to react. You need to play this out smart, maybe you could—

Before being able to finish your thought, you hear whistling, and bodies hit the ground. Instinctively, you want to look over your shoulder to see what happened, but there’s still a blaster pointed at your face, and you’d be dead if you wasted even a second to turn around. Charging at him, you narrowly miss three blasts as they come flying by your cheek, shoulder, and neck. Once you feel close enough, you lunge at him, knocking you both to the ground. Your body lands on top of his, the blaster rolling a few feet away from your conjoined bodies. Grabbing hold of the lapel on his jacket, you wind up your fist and connect it with his jaw. He cries at the pain, retaliating by slamming his knee into your abdomen. The air is completely knocked out of your lungs, but you stifle the wail that threatens to spill you. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You reach out aimlessly for the gun, and the joy you get when you feel the gun in your hand is unmatched. Scrambling to your feet, and clutching the gun in your hand, you point it at him. Mando wastes no time rushing to your side, blaster also on him.

“Don’t.” You tell him. No, you want this kill to be yours.

For a moment, you think he’ll ignore you and shoot him anyway. The man on the ground, now resting on his elbows spits, droplets of blood landing on the ground, a small trail dribbling down his chin. It shouldn’t bring you this much satisfaction, to see him bleed and completely at your mercy, but reason has escaped you. You want to hurt him; you want him to feel as much pain as any person can take. He threatened you, Mando, and the kid. He’ll pay for it, you promise.

“Go ahead, kill me.” The man swears. “But know that we’re only the beginning. You think you’re the only one who got a tracking fob, Mando?” A smile curls up on the corners of his lips. Your body is hot—it’s actually scorching. This surpasses any emotion you’ve ever felt before. The scalding need for blood and pain engulfs you. You’re not even sure why you feel so angry, but you are.

“Hunter scum,” You spit, kicking him hard in the stomach. More red fluid punches out of his mouth, causing him to cough aggressively.

“Hey,” Mando’s free arm grasps on to your bicep. “Stop.”

Your head’s shaking violently. No, he needs to suffer. “No, I’m gonna savour this.” You swing your leg back to kick him again, but Mando’s voice rips through the vocoder. “Stop!” It comes out aggressive, like he’s giving you an order.

Your jaw is tight, every fiber in your body is telling you to shove Mando out of the way so you can wreck this hunter scum that lies at your feet.

“You g-gonna let him order you around like that, sweetheart?” His last word cuts through you like a vibroblade to the chest. Your free hand balls up into a fist, white knuckling so hard, you’re sure you’re breaking skin with your nails. The man on the ground laughs, he’s fucking laughing at you and that’s the final straw, the thing you needed to push you over the edge. Unclenching your fist, your hand shoots up and flexes around what you imagine is his neck. He coughs, and starts gasping for air. Shaky hands shoot up to his own throat, as if he thinks that’ll somehow relieve the pressure you’re creating. It feels good, seeing him fucking struggle for breath, watching the light behind his eyes becoming dimmer and dimmer. It’s happening all too fast, and you want to take your time.

“Fuck this,” Mando shouts, his blaster coming up and shooting the man in the heart. Your grip slackens, and you drop to your knees. Struggling for breath, one hand on your chest and the other on your knee, you feel like you’re going to pass out. Mando’s drops to your side, a big, gloved hand resting on your back. Your body shudders at the touch and you pull away from him. Determined to put some space between you two, you straighten out, and take a couple steps back.

“What the hell happened there?” He tries not to startle you; his voice comes out a rough whisper.

Feeling your breathing evening out, your palms come out, trembling. You stare down at them, then to the corpse lying near Mando’s feet, desperately trying to understand why you couldn’t stop, why you couldn’t control your anger. The words aren’t forming, you can’t bring yourself to understand how it happened.

“I-I don’t know.” How could this happen? How could you let this happen?

A distorted sigh comes through the helmet. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“I didn’t,” Your voice comes out as gentle as you can, given the circumstances. “I’ve just always had it.”

Mando takes a step closer to you and halts; he’s asking for permission to get closer. You give him a barely noticeable nod and within seconds he’s towering over you. His hands twitch at his sides, and you wonder if he’s going to touch you, but he doesn’t, and you start to believe that maybe a jail cell is exactly where you should be.

[theiceandbones]

Nova Scotia Bones: a brief listing of famous haunts in Canada’s ocean playground

Nova Scotia is a lobster-shaped granite peninsula that juts out into the North Atlantic on Canada’s east coast. It’s ancient, it’s damp, it’s rocky, and it’s home. It’s also wildly haunted. The impenetrable granite bedrock that we live upon seems to act as its own tomb for the energies of those who departed their earthly vessels on the volatile shores and in the coniferous boreal interior. Or, perhaps, it is our own maritime culture, one that is freckled with memento mori, that adds fuel to these legends that have been passed on through the ages. A culture that lives and dies by the sea is no stranger to tragedy and haunts, eventually one learns to live alongside them. For better or for worse. 

I’ve collected a few ghost stories that have stood out to me over the years. When one grows up in Nova Scotia these are a select few that everyone speaks of, some may be lesser known but still thoroughly chilling. These will be arranged in order of popularity. 

1. The Young Teazer The Young Teazer was an American privateering schooner who, in June of 1813, would find herself in the waters of Mahone Bay being pursued by the British fleet. Her commander, a Lieutenant Johnston, knew that if he were to be captured he would most certainly hang, and knowing this, he ordered his crew to abandon ship in a major way- the Teazer was exploded, all onboard except for eight perished in the blast. It is now a well-known local legend that on a warm summer’s night, one may still see the reflection of a ship on fire in Mahone Bay’s quiet waters. 

2. The forerunner It’s just now occurred to me that I cannot possibly continue without speaking of the forerunner. This phenomenon features extensively within Nova Scotian folklore and is a key aspect of maritime superstition. A forerunner is an omen of death. It may take the shape of the doomed themselves, their scent, a light, an overwhelming sensation of dread directly linked to the individual, a falling photograph of or other object related to the individual, or one’s name being called by the individual. When expecting company, a traditional maritime host will set the large Pyrex kettle on the stove, always containing at least half a dozen teabags, to boil, but sometimes the recently-expected guest may not arrive- ever again. Here are a few selected tales of forerunners from Nova Scotia’s past. 

Anyone who is familiar with the series Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark will remember the story of “The Thing.” What they may not know, however, is that this story is based on a real event which happened in Victoria Beach, NS. A Mr. Thorne and his friend, Joe, were out walking at night when they spied behind a neighbour’s house a long, spindly, pale creature dressed in a white shirt, black trousers and black braces peering back at them. Well they had no idea what this creature could be and so they ran back to Joe’s house after it had given them a right spook. Eventually the pair returned only to discover that now the creature was standing atop the fence in the neighbour’s yard, a fence so old it crumbled under a person’s touch, and that’s when it was decided they were done chasing this thing for one evening. 

Years later, Joe took ill with consumption and died. Mr. Thorne, his ever-faithful friend, had stayed up with him right up until the very end. Joe’s condition had wasted him away so powerfully he was nary more than skin and bone by the time he’d passed. Mr. Thorne through the years had been hesitant to tell this story at all, for a good reason. Because, he says, toward the end of Joe’s life, lying in bed in his graveclothes, he looked just like The Thing.

In Liverpool, NS, a Mrs. Viola Oickle was seated at the kitchen table playing cards with her friends when she looked up and in the window, plain as day, was her Uncle Ernie. “There’s Uncle Ernie” she said, they’d heard the latch on the door open, but Ernie never showed. After cards she decided she’d go round to Ernie’s house to check on him, and there he was, peeling apples on his front step fit as a fiddle. However, mere hours later, Ernie had died of a heart attack at his home. 

Marion Bridge in Cape Breton is home to a wealth of ghost stories, of course the forerunner is one of these. In addition to one’s apparition, three knocks may also be an omen. A Mrs. MacGillivray tells the story of her mother waiting up one night for her father to come home when she heard the sound of a wagon being pulled by horses up the road. They stopped, then came three knocks at the door- which was strange, but her mother figured he may need a hand with something outside. Looking out, she realised no one was there at all. Of course she knew what three knocks meant and feared the worst for her husband. Eventually he returned home in his usual health, but her mother was still confused. A while later the body of a man was found up a nearby road and the men who’d discovered it stopped at the house to change horses at night. They knocked three times on the door, exactly the same sequence of events which transpired when her mother had heard the knocks before. 

3. Treasure The province has a storied history of pirates and privateering, so it comes as no surprise that stories of buried treasure are quite popular. As superstition has it, when digging for treasure, one must not speak until the task is done. If a word is spoken, the treasure will never be found. The spirits of pirates go to great lengths to ensure this, one tale tells of a man digging for a hidden treasure with his wife and young daughter. His wife pipes up, “oh would you look at those monkeys!” This is eastern Canada, as such there are no monkeys native to the area. Unsurprisingly, there were no monkeys to be found, and the treasure itself was never uncovered. Speaking of pirates

4. Black Rock Beach/Maugers Beach In Halifax’s early days as the port city it remains today, it was no stranger to pirates. Pirates, however, were not so welcome in Halifax as one may assume. When a pirate was caught in Halifax, they would be hanged and displayed in an iron cage at Black Rock Beach at the harbour’s mouth, or at Maugers (pronounced locally as Major’s) Beach on McNab’s Island a little further out. This is how the latter gained its name as Dead Man’s Beach. 

5. Other phantom ships Nova Scotia’s ties to the sea are a major part of its cultural superstition. From “red sky at night” to “never sail if you see a forerunner,” seafaring superstitions are etched into the fabric of life around here. It comes as no surprise, then, that there are so many stories of ghost ships in the mix. One such story comes from 1874, an experience of a Captain Hatfield from Fox River, NS as he was sailing from Cuba to New York. Asleep in his cabin one night, he felt three taps on his shoulder and a voice urging him, “keep her off half a point.” He figured this was the mate or another of his officers, but they each assured him it was not them. He felt the tapping and heard the voice again. As he was growing annoyed, he got up to look around and saw a man climbing up the ladder but was not dressed like the others onboard. Nevertheless, he got up and gave the order to keep the ship off half a point. When morning came, a wreck was spotted half a point off course of his ship, and onboard came Captain Amesbury of the schooner D. Talbot, his wife, child, and his crew. Captain Hatfield recounted the story of the night before to the captain and his wife, to which the wife informed him the man he saw was her father who had passed ten years prior. 

A story from Seabright of a fishing vessel that was lost in a sou-easter tells of a captain who’d not turn back as the other boats did, but instead dared the lord to stop him from staying behind. The ship was lost, of course, and for ages onwards sailors would recount seeing a bright light at night that disappeared during the day. It would tack when the respective vessel tacked, but no one ever saw the shape of the boat itself- just its light. But, as sailors do say, one can feel a ship just as one can feel a person nearby. 

6. St. Paul’s face in the window This one dates to the time of the Halifax Explosion which occurred on the 6th of December 1917. St. Paul’s Church is the oldest building in Halifax, its foundation having been laid in the year of the city’s founding in 1749.  As legend has it, the deacon of the church was standing in the window parallel to the Narrows of the harbour when the French munitions ship, Mont Blanc, exploded. His profile remains in the window to this day and can be seen via Argyle Street. 

7. The Black Window House Another Halifax legend, the Black Window House on Robie Street has a long history of superstition. It was built in 1840 for the first elected mayor of Halifax, William Caldwell. It is said to be haunted because of its infamous black window. Local legend states that once a man peered in the window and saw witches dancing their dance of death on the verandah. When the witches caught him spying, they turned the window black. 

8. The Town Clock One of Halifax’s most iconic landmarks is the Town Clock on Citadel Hill. This is one of the few surviving round structures designed by the Duke of Kent during his visit to Halifax in the late 18th century. It is said that before the clock was constructed, there existed a well near the site where it stands today. A young girl was reportedly playing near this well when she fell in and died. Her spirit is said to remain in the clock tower to this day. 

9. Citadel Hill No discussion of Nova Scotian haunts is complete without discussing Citadel Hill. The Halifax Citadel is today a national historic site, however in the past it was used as a fully-operational military fortification and is one of the best-remaining examples of a star fortress worldwide. Ghost stories from the Hill are many and varied, and some workers have reported seeing strange phenomena themselves such as footprints behind locked metal grates. In the month of October, ghost tours are given by costumed interpreters at the site where famous stories are recounted. Some guests report their hand being held by a smaller, invisible hand, others talk of seeing a ghostly man in the uniform of the 78th Highlanders Regiment walking the grounds only to disappear. It is worth noting that the Citadel never once fired a shot in anger. 

10. The Five Fishermen This popular (and pricey) Halifax restaurant serves up fine dining and spirits...not always of the alcoholic variety. Restaurant staff over the years have reported cutlery flying off of tables, seeing apparitions in the washrooms turning the taps on and off, doors closing on their own, and hearing their name called when no one is around. The form of a grey figure is also said to wander down the staircase. 

11. The gallows For a time after Halifax’s founding, a gallows was set up on the corner of what is now Lower Water and George Streets. Public executions were a spectacle that could be viewed by all townspeople of all ages. According to local legend, on a clear night the ghost of a hanged man is said to be seen swinging by his neck in the spot where the old gallows used to stand. 

12. Dagger Woods I cannot stress enough how creepy and unsettling this area is. In northern Antigonish County there is a forest known as Dagger Woods. In this forest, there is said to live a demon known as the Hidey Hinder who steals unsuspecting visitors to the underworld, the person is never seen or heard from again, supposedly vanishing into thin air. People travelling through the woods report hearing strange and frightening cries that they cannot place, and, understandably, avoid the area afterwards. The woods are the subject of a song by the same name by Nova Scotian folk metal band, The Stanfields. 

13. Peggy’s Cove Peggy’s Cove is by far one of Nova Scotia’s most popular tourist destinations. As a lifelong resident of Nova Scotia, I encourage you to visit this beautiful point but please, PLEASE, stay off the black rocks for god’s sake. Anyway, the ghost who is lucky enough to live here is, of course, named Margaret. The story goes that Margaret and her husband settled here after a shipwreck claimed the lives of their children. Margaret was heartbroken, and so her husband decided to cheer her up. He made his way onto the rocks where Margaret would often sit and lament her lost children and performed a dance for her, but it would turn out even worse- he slipped and fell to his death. In a fit of agony, Margaret threw herself off the rocks and into the sea, and her ghost is said to haunt the rocks of Peggy’s Point to this day.

14. Caledonia Mills, or Mary Ellen’s Spook Farm Back in 1922, the MacDonald family lived on a farm in Caledonia Mills situated in Antigonish County. Their adopted daughter, named Mary Ellen, was not held in high regard. A series of fires that had taken place during the winter devastated the family, and Mary Ellen was said to be at the root of them; it was believed she was born of an evil spirit. When she denied these accusations, she was sent to live in an asylum. Her spirit still resides in her farm, and to any unlucky visitor who’d like to bring back a souvenir, they might find that mysterious fires start to ignite in their own home. Best to leave the farm in one piece.

15. Horton’s Cove This is not one that’s widely known to many, however it is a story very personal to myself. On a spot of land in Guysborough County, the remains of a young boy who died in the early 20th century are buried. The grave is unmarked and the boy’s cause of death is unknown. That being said, his presence can be felt in both the field and the hills around where his resting place is said to be, and trust me when I say there is no feeling quite as unnerving. 

16. Cole Harbour Poor Farm/Bissett Road Asylum In the 1920s there existed a mental asylum in a quiet part of Cole Harbour, outbound toward the harbour itself. The building is no longer there, said to have burnt to the ground in a fire, however the spirits of its residents can be felt in the vacant lot on the hill where it used to stand. Across the street on the edge of a sprawling field is a small fenced cemetery containing ten unmarked white crosses. It is rumoured that these graves house the remains of children who used to live in the asylum, though it is more likely that these graves were intended for adult residents. It is not yet known whose remains these are. 

Dealings with the paranormal and superstition is a way of life for many in Nova Scotia. It is our maritime history and culture which largely feed these beliefs, whether one believes in them is entirely up to the individual themselves. One thing that isn’t so easy to shake, though, is the sensation that there’s something in the trees or that field over there. Say, what’s on the water? 

[jiyuus]

A Surprising Confession

I've really just been feeling like writing, but not at the same time. But Fire Force needs more love and if I have to do it then so be it!

This was gonna be for Hinawa, but quickly changed it because Vulcan would fit better with this.Also, I will have a bnha fic with a similar title so look forward to that~

Also, Vulcan is 18, so the reader is also 18 and or older. And the reader is shorter than Vulcan who is 178 cm or 5'10ft.

[Vulcan Joseph]

—————-

It wasn't abnormal for you to be hanging around the office, you did work there technically- technically. You had joined after their Nether adventure as Vulcans assistant, but you also helped Viktor when needed.

Today, Vulcan had told you to leave the workshop not giving you a chance to ask why. All you knew was that the matchbox had taken a lot of damage in the most recent "outing" to put infernos to rest. So here you were, sitting on Arthurs desk with your legs swinging back and forth.

"Y/N, you know that you can't just sit on the desk while we're working." Hinawa didn't look up while talking, his pen never stopped. You only looked around the room, not stopping.

"Well, Arthur isn't using it- I mean, he's nearly dead." You looked at Arthur, him leaning back against the chair and his eyes rolled back as drool came out of his mouth. Hinawa sighed as he dropped his pen and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Arthur, get back to work, you as well Y/N."

"I can't."

"And why would that be?" He ask, finally looking up from his paperwork. You shrugged, hopping off of Arthurs desk and going behind him.

"Vulcan just kicked me out, I didn't even do anything this time-"

"Are you sure about that?" Viktor walked in while you tried to shake Arthur from the dead.

"Honest to Sol, I don't know why I was kicked from the work station." You sang, giving up on helping Arthur awaken. To be honest you felt hurt, it was no secret to any of the other crew members that you liked Vulcan. He was kind and had an amazing sense of family, loyalty, he was insanely smart, and of course good looking- but that's besides the point.

"Have you tried to get back in?" Maki suggested, you shook your head.

"Even if I did try, Vulcan probably put some trap up so I wouldn't and even if he didn't, he would probably just kick me out again." As you shrugged, you couldn't help the hint of hurt in your voice. You wanted to be working- you loved inventing just as much as Vulcan and Yuu, hell even doing regular maintenance was fun for you.

But you couldn't.

"Well, how about you help me with dinner tonight?" Maki asked, even though she would normally cook with Tamaki, she was busy studying to become a full fledged sister. You nodded, not having anything else to do and followed Maki to the kitchen.

"So, why do you think Vulcan kicked you out?" You jumped at the sudden question, almost cutting yourself.

"Maki, don't suddenly ask things out of the blue." You scolded, even though you were almost the same age as her. "Maybe he wanted to work alone today, I know I get like that some times. You just want it to be you and the noises your tools are making." Shrugging, you finished peeling the last of the potatoes before cutting more vegetables.

"But Vulcan didn't seem to mind-"

"Maybe he's just in a bad mood today, woke up on the wrong side of the bed." You smiled, your eyes glossing over.

"I'm going to shower, I feel a bit groggy. I finished most of the cutting, sorry, Maki." You patted her shoulder as you walked out of the small kitchen, Maki watched as your slumped shoulders trudged to the shower.

You didn't really understand why you were feeling like this, you knew that sometimes people needed to be alone. And that people don't have to say everything, but not knowing how he was feeling- it hurt for some reason. Was he tired of you? Did he not like you anymore? Were you too annoying?

As you were making your way to your room, you bumped into someone.

"Sorry-"

"Y/N?" You looked up to see Vulcan, his eyes filled with worry as his eyes land on your face.

"Are you okay? Whats wrong?" He gripped your shoulders. Biting the inside of your lip you nodded, brushing him off before quickly excusing yourself.

"Wait, Y/N, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Vul, I just want to shower.” With your lip quivering you gave him a sad smile before trying to walk off again.

Keyword, trying.

“Something’s clearly wrong, your lip was quivering.” Vulcan stepped closer to you bringing his face closer to yours. His turquoise eyes looking into yours, pleading.

“It’s stupid, Vul, just drop it please.” Your voice was quiet as you looked away from him, but he lightly grabbed your face and titled your head to look at him.

“Nothing that comes out of your mouth is stupid, maybe whatever comes out of Arthur and Shinra’s mouth, but never yours.” You felt more tears weld up as you looked at Vulcan. Taking a deep breath, you pushing the tears away and looked at Vulcan.

“Are you tired of me?” Vulcan’s brows furrowed, not really understanding your question.

“What are you talking about?”

“You kicked me out of the workshop today without any reason, normally I would understand, especially if I did something, but,” you stopped, taking a deep breath.

“What I really want to ask is if you’re okay, Vulcan, but I’m selfish-” you were cut off when Vulcan pulled you into his chest. Blinking away any of the tears that were welding up in your eyes.

“I could never be tired of you.” He petted your hair, comforting you. “I’m sorry you thought that, I wanted to surprise you.” When he pulled away, you looked at him with curious eyes.

A surprise?

“What kinda surprise?” He laughed at your question, seeing how easy it was to take your mind off of your own self doubt.

“I’ll show you,” grabbing your hand, he pulled you to the very place that you spent countless nights together trying to fix and maintain the equipment that your crew mates used almost every mission. When he pushed you into the room, he walked over to a dark and light gray sphere.

“When I was younger, my pop and my granddad made something similar to this.” He smiled, “but the day I joined Company 8, the traitor destroyed it.” You had heard about what had happened that day, and it broke you because you knew what it was like to lose a piece of your family. You walked over to him and placed a hand on his bicep.

“The point is, I wanted to make something like that. That’s why I kicked you out, I wanted it to be a surprise.” Vulcan walked away and turned the lights off after pressing a button that was on the machine.

Soon the room was filled with red, with images of you and him together as well as some videos from random moments of celebrations at the 8th. At the end there was a video of Vulcan and you working on a new invention, something to help Tamaki with her lucky lure. You didn’t even notice that there was a camera. What you did notice was the way that Vulcan was looking at you while you twisted a nut into place.

“Why are you staring?” You asked wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand.

“I’m not, I just want to see what we have to do next.” You laughed as the video faded to a single video of Vulcan sitting with his shirt off and oil on his cheek.

“Hi, Y/N. I’m sorry I kicked you out of the workshop, I wanted to finish this as soon as possible and I knew that you would want to help, but also because I wouldn’t be able to keep my eyes off of you.” He smiled, “ever since the day you joined I was fascinated by you, you’re such a creative person coming up with amazing ways to help other members of the 8th.” He wiped his face only to leave more oil instead.

“I’m always confident when it comes to others and my inventions, but when it comes to you- you make me weak.” The video faded and you turned to look at Vulcan, who was looking at you with a sheepish smile.

“I hope you feel the same, but if you don’t it’s fine-”

“You’re stupid.” You cut him off as you hugged him, nuzzling into his chest.

“Does that mean-”

“You really are stupid, everyone else can see that I have feelings for you- despite you being a genius inventor.” Smiling, you look up at him.

“Then, will you date me?” Nodding you hug him even tighter as you feel his arms wrap around you before you heard someone shout that dinner was ready.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ THE PROPOSITION ❜

with Angel Reyes.

Chapter Three, final. Index.

Request #1: Hola! Angel asking for Felipe to have Marisol's ring cause he went to propose to his girlfriend. But Felipe says No cause he thinks EZ deserve its more. ( And cause WE know he love EZ more ) So Angel is like " Fuck this shit" And either is breaks in Felipe house to steal this ring Or Either he go brought the biggest and perfect ring ! 🤩

BY ANON

Request #2: Hey! Angel do something very impressive for his girlfriend ( like big and impressive asking for marriage or Travel 5 states just for see her) and this ending by Felipe being very impressive by his Sons and take conscience he is a bad dad for Angel. 🙏❤️🤟🤟

BY ANON

Warnings: none.

Word count: about 3k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @pantherclawz

Masterlist.

Almost one week without hearing his voice. Receiving one or two text messages per day, just to tell you that he's tired or that he's working. You know he is hiding something, confirming your suspicion when EZ began to decline all your calls. And, when you talked with Felipe three days ago, the only thing he told you was that he didn't know anything about his kids. So you started to think the worst. At first you thought that maybe Angel had an accident and his brother was trying to cover him, but when you called Bishop this morning, you heard your boyfriend's voice saying that he was ‘going to pick up the girl’. And now, you don't know what to think.

Licking your lips, sitting in the back garden of the house, you play with your phone between your fingers. It's almost midnight and it's a little cold outside, wearing nothing but an Angel's shirt. You decide to call him again, but it's his voicemail who answers again, even if you shouldn't be doing it after drinking too many beers, while your friends are sleeping and resting for the last seminar the next morning. But you wait for the last tone.

“Hey, it's me… your girlfriend, remember? I've been calling you… I don' know, maybe the fucking whole day. Where the fuck are you, Angel? And don't you fucking dare to tell me that you were working, 'cause I heard you this morning talking about some bitch to pick up. But fo' say something, first you have to answer the fucking phone!”

Sounds pathetic the way you are talking to him, saying all the things that you wouldn't say to him being sober. Hiccuping, you find yourself crying unconsolable, with an agonic pain oppressing your chest and squeezing your heart.

“Just… two fucking weeks, Angel! You couldn' keep your fucking dick inside your pants, for two fucking weeks! Is that the… shit I mean to you? Two years thrown overboard because of what? How many times have you done it, ah? All these… shit about not calling during a run… were you doing the same shit, Angel? How many fucking times has you betrayed me?!”

You can't help but laugh bitterly, cleaning your tears with the back of your hand, trying to calm yourself and to not wake up anyone.

“I fucking love you… with all my heart. I didn' complain about anything, never…” Although your voice sounds low and a little bit calmed, inside you there's a storm devastating you. “I put you first, always, since the first moment I met you… I can't fucking believe you're gonna lea—leave me and… the way you're doing it… I thought you were different, but I guess I was wrong”.

Hardly sniffing, you close your eyes letting go everything inside your chest, before finishing the message. Curling up your legs to surround them with both arms, you rest your chin over your knees. You can't avoid thinking about all those times he has promised you a future together, living in a big house and having children. Or about all those times he has been crying clinged to you, talking about how his father has been always putting him apart. You have cared about him more than anyone in his life. You have given him all. Without asking anything back, more than loyalty. And you wouldn't even have to ask for it.

Even so, you're starting to regret all the things you have said, without knowing if it's true or not. But how are you going to find it out, if anyone says nothing?

“Oh, shit… Oh, shit, shit, shit…” Angel is sitting on top of his bike, with a hand holding his phone and the other rubbing the bridge of his nose.

His brothers are looking at all the gestures that he's drawing unconsciously on his face. Rage, sadness, incredulous… When the message ends, he lies down over the handerball, softly hitting his head against it. He tries to call you, but your phone is practically dead, off of battery. Bishop walks towards him, having a sip from his beer.

“All good, Angel?”

“She thinks I'm fucking cheating her, because he heard me say about picking up Leti, this morning”. Stepping out from his motorcycle, he looks for Tori's number, hoping she answers the call.

Walking around the parking like a locked lion in the zoo, he's starting to think about driving right now to Los Angeles.

“The hell is wrong with you, shithead?” The female voice sounds tired, being interrupted by a long yawn.

“Tori, listen. Find (Y/N). She's drunk, thinking I'm cheating on her”.

“Yeah, 'cause you have been ignoring her ass”.

“I've been workin—”.

“Nah, c'mon, Angel. Tell these tales to someone wh—”.

“I was working to buy a wedding ring”.

Silence. Tori suddenly sits up on her bed, turning on the lights and waking up Sarah. The girl who was sleeping peacefully, now is being woken up by shaking her left arm. Having some growls as response, she looks at her girlfriend frowning, while she hears Angel's voice through the speaker.

“Just listen, please. Calm her down, okay? 'Am coming tomorrow to LA. I already talked to your boss and I can't tell you anything else. Just… calm her down, please”.

“Okay, we got this, Angel”.

Hanging up the call, both girls jump off from the bed, walking towards your room. Empty. But following your crying, they stick out their heads by the window, finding you in the garden. This hurts them too. They were with you the night you met Angel, and they also love him a lot. They know how much he cares about you and even if Sarah and Tori couldn't believe that he was with another girl, it wasn't normal his way to act the last days. But now, everything has sense, and they are pretty excited to see him tomorrow and discover what he has been preparing for the proposition.

Going downstairs and trying to hide their happiness, your friends sit by each side to hug you. A collective hug to make you feel somewhat better, but you can't stop crying.

“Baby… what's up?” Tori asks, caressing gently your hair.

“This… fucking bastard… I fucking gave him all, the best of me!”

“You talkin' 'bout Angel? C'mon, (Y/N)! He told you he made the most of his time to work a little more, and not miss you. Two weeks is too much time for you both”.

“I heard him talking about another girl”.

“So, what? Since when he can't have friends, ah? I have slept with him at his house… hundred times, and that doesn't mean that I cheated Tori, or he cheated you. And believe me, your boyfriend is a fantasy even for me”. Sarah says, making you chuckle in some way. “I'm sure he has been working hard, as you do when he is traveling. So, don't think any bullshit about Angel. He loves you more than anything, okay?”

“Let's go to bed, okay, honey? We have to be awake in five hours for a long, long, long seminar. Lucky it's the last one”. Tori says standing up on her feet, helping you to get up from the grass.

Angel comes into the clubhouse with an excited smile on his lips, like a child on Christmas Day, rubbing his hands and clapping happily calling everybody's attention.

“You got it, hermano?”

He nods energetically, walking fast to the main round table, where the oldest were waiting for him to come back from the jewelers. The Reyes tucks a hand inside his pocket in complete silence, putting over the wood a small red velvet box. Between his fingers, he supports the bottom part to open the top, showing the ring for what he has been working too hard the last two weeks; without sleeping, without resting, without a drop of alcohol, without partying. Nothing. Just working hard. The fine gold ring is perfectly resting inside a small gap, showing only the top of it. A king's crown with a diamond in it, that shines so easily with natural light that could illuminate a whole room. The crew is looking at it fascinated. And yes, the ring couldn't be perfect, but it's the feeling of pride for Angel that makes them smile.

“Fuck, brother… If she doesn' want to marry you, I will”. Creeper is captivated by the jewel, with his eyes fixed on.

“Why the fuck she wouldn't want to marry me, dumbshit?”

“Ignore him, carnal”. Coco palms his back, resting his arm on a shoulder.

“So, what you say, ah?” He asks, anxious to hear Bishop, Tranq and Taza's opinion. Without them, it couldn't be possible.

“Fuck, man, I would marry you too if you propose me with this ring”. Che is the first one, taking the step to grab the small box and have a closed look from it.

“You did a good job, Angel. You deserve it”. Tranq just says with both arms on the table.

“Prez?”

Bishop keeps looking at the box, seeming thoughtful, slowly raising his eyes to the others after some seconds in silence.

“I think you are doing the right thing for the first time since I know you. That girl deserves a man like you, Angel. And I know she is not the kind of woman who would care about the ring, but you found the perfect one”.

Your boyfriend can't feel more proud. It would be impossible.

“Go change your clothes, you have four hours of road ahead”. El Presidente places a hand on Angel's nape with a soft narrow over it.

He just nods, keeping again the box inside a pocket to get up and leave the place to his dorm, where he has been sleeping the last two weeks. The black jeans and the white shirt are perfectly stretched over his bed. The Reyes hurries up to have a shower, not wasting a second more, brushing and doing his hair with trembling fingers. He hasn't known anything about you since he talked with Tori and Sarah some hours ago, hoping that they finally calmed you down and got you rid of those ideas about him cheating you. When he's already dressed, sitting on the edge of the mattress to put on his boots, Angel grabs the black bomber jacket trespassing the box from a piece of clothing to the other, zipping the pocket to not lose it.

Coming back to the main room of the clubhouse, his brothers receive him between whistles and cheers.

“Man, you smell good”. Coco says coming too close.

“Ah, ah. Take care, brother. Don't want you to stain my fresh clothes”. He says taking a step back.

“My apologies, your grace”. He chuckles.

“Bishop?”

“Templo”. Taza says having a sip from a coffee.

Checking the hour on his phone, assuring himself that he has enough time, the Reyes leads his steps to the meeting-room, closing the glass colorful door behind him.

“Already leaving?”

“Yeah, prez, I just… want to thank you for giving me the three k left. I will continue working to gi—”.

“Take it as a wedding gift”. The mexican stops him with his own words, shaking his head and making a light gesture with a hand.

“I couldn't do it without you, Tranq and Taza”.

“I heard what you told to your brother. In the office”. He says then, lying back on his chair. “I am not going to… give you my opinion about your father, but he shouldn't behave like that, Angel”.

“I know, Bishop. And… I would thank you for not telling anything about it to (Y/N). She loves my pops”.

“That honors you”.

“Don't know, but I don't wanna be like him”.

El Presidente simply nods.

“Bring back Mrs. Reyes”.

Your head hurts like hell, having to use your glasses because of the blurry gaze you have got by the hangover. The seminar is turning out eternal. The last thing you care about right now is how to operate with an open heart, you have already done it and you could skip this part. But it's for compulsory attendance. So there you are, drawing nothing on your iPad as if you were taking notes, fighting against the pain, the tiredness and the uncertainty about Angel. He continues not answering your text or calls, and you can't help but think about what Sarah told you last night.

“... you for coming, and I hope that these two weeks have been productive for your learning”.

The claps flood the conference room, while the other doctors begin to pick up their stuff and finally leave the place. You can't believe that it's already done and that you're allowed to come back home, checking again your muttered phone expecting to find something. But the notifications bar is empty.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you don't mind, I'm going to steal you a couple minutes. Sit back, please”. The voice of your boss through the speakers makes you raise an eyebrow.

“The desire to be noticed by that man fucks me up”. Tori chuckles with a low tone, sitting again over her seat.

“I know that we all are tired, but it's just going to be a couple minutes, I promise. I just want to help a friend”.

“No…” Sarah looks at her girlfriend really surprised, making you frown confused.

“Girls, the fuck you did?”

“You just… enjoy the show, my dear”.

You can see your boss making a gesture to someone by a side of the stage, to come closer. But when your eyes find Angel walking over it, your blood freezes and your heart stops. Lucky you're between almost more than two hundred doctors and surgeons. Leo gives up the micro to your boyfriend, looking for you. And obviously, your two friends start to yell like crazy to call his attention.

“Hey, ahm… You don't know me and I don't know you, but… I'm Angel. Dr. (Y/L/N)'s boyfriend and I came to… give her an important message”. He says with a nervous tone, before smirking at you, clearing his throat. “Hey, baby, can you… can you come here, please?”

“Go”. Your friends push you to get up, but your legs feel like butter about to fall downstairs.

As soon as he's able to hug you, he does, not caring about the claps from the people in front of you.

“Okay, okay, listen”. Holding one of your hands and pulling himself away, he laughs a little bit nervous for a second. “We met two years ago, in the middle of nowhere. I was fuc— sorry. I was hurt because of a fight. And you fixed up my wounds with so much love, patience and care, that I fell for you”.

“Angel…”

“Sh, listen. I think I'm going to have a heart attack, so let me talk before falter to the floor. Listen, you have been my best friend, my anchor, my reason to live since then. I love you more than I could ever love anyone... I can't live without you, baby. And before you say anything else like last night, no. I didn't try and I'm not going to do it, because I'm lost without you, (Y/N). So, ahm… Hey, boss, can you hold the mic'?” Turning to Leo, the man takes it back.

You're trembling, looking at your friends for a moment trying to find an explanation. But when your gaze is again on your boyfriend, he's already kneeling with a hand inside a pocket grabbing something. A small red box. And you can't believe what's happening. Taking a step back and covering your face with both hands, you start to cry like a child, with your pulse racing under your skin.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), would you marry me?”

The crew is waiting anxiously at the porch, after not receiving any news back from LA. But they all get up from their seats on the sofas and the stairs, when they hear Coco's car being driven by Angel coming closer. As soon as he parks it close to the bikes, not finding you on the passenger seat and looking at the devastated gesture on his face, they know that the proposition wasn't as they were expecting. Stepping out of the car, he just shrugs his shoulders.

“Hey, carnal, it's okay. She will reconsider it”. Coco says hugging his friend, trying to comfort him.

“She will say yes, Angel, don't give up”. Bishop palms softly his nape.

And you are drowning in laughs hidden on the floor of the back seats. Looking slightly through the window, you find the crew very affected because supposedly you said ‘no’. Taking some air, you jump out of the car yelling with a huge smile on your lips.

“Surprise, madafakas!”

“Jesus fucking Christ! I'm too old for these frights!” Taza shouts at you back, indignant with a hand on his chest barely breathing.

“I'm confused”. Gilly says from nowhere.

“What? Doesn't sound good Mrs. Reyes for you?” Walking towards them, raising the hand with the amazing ring, they all look surprised.

“I'm going to fucking shoot you, Angel”. Bishop threats him, before leading his steps to yours. “Welcome home, querida”.

“Thank you”. Hugging him, you rest your head against his chest. “Angel told me you help him”.

“It was nothing, kid”. Clicking his tongue and pulling himself away, he caresses your cheek for a second.

“Yo! Mami! You look stunning now that you're engaged”. Coco lifts you up between his arms, narrowing you under his grip.

“Yeah, you see?!”

“Hey, hey, social distancing”. Your future husband takes you off from his friend's hands, to hold you closer with an arm surrounding your neck.

“Look at you, Mr. and Mrs. Reyes”. Creeper says very proud, nodding in accordance.

“Let's celebrate it that you didn' kick my ass, mi dulce”.

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