#so she does it first. but god he stays with her. that pirate clipped the edge of his hook into her heart and she never manages to shake him

[potato-on-your-head]

listen Emma Swan is morosexual and exclusively attracted to men who are cringefail in one way or another, the most functional person she sort-of dated was probably Graham and even then their first makeout happened after she'd spent the whole day with him while he was having a nervous breakdown. her other flames include a pretend furniture salesman who fake pined after her until she noticed him, a 200-year-old twentysomething conman who taught her how to commit felonies at age 18, and a pirate who flipped from Kitten Thinks Of Nothing But Murder All Day to puppy-eyed pining for one (1) Emma Swan in the course of like a week. she was a goner the moment Killian Jones sauntered onto the scene. she's kicked his ass. she's seen others kick his ass. she watched him get hit by a fucking car. he said the dumbest flirty shit to her until she mashed her face into his from the sheer sexual tension.

it was always just a contest between which brand of moron she was going to pick in the end. she chose to be ride or die for Hot Eyeliner Pirate and we love her for it

you know who else in funny? Neal. I cannot get over how much of a loser he is. And the fact that he thought he ever stood a chance when it came between him and Hook??? Guy Liner McPuppy Eyes? Emma walks into his his line of sight and his world is instantly rocked. Killian Jones would NEVER get engaged to a random woman on the street because he was too scared to face Emma. Also Neal has zero drip. Man is wearing a dirty t-shirt and sweatpants 100% of the time. Hook is in dashing black pirate attire. He’s got a detachable hook for a hand and has alluded to having ~other~ attachments for it as well. Baelfire calls his dad “papa” despite being a grown man. “When I win your heart, Emma, and I will win it. It will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.” Neal baby i’m so sorry but you could nevvvverrrrrrr

[magicalincorrectrobodokiquotes]

TVTropes Associated With Each Doki Clip (Part 10)

Charlotte rushed in, hair in curlers and wearing a green face mask. “I’m trying to nap before the big event, what on God’s earth is going on?”

“It’s Wheeler, lost all sense of navigation.” Gertrude mused.

“Of course, silly, your bandana is in your-”

Beat.

“-face…” Charlotte gulped. “RAVEN!!!”

“What is it now?” Raven peaked in.

“LOOK!”

“He’s sleep-wheeling!” Henry added.

“...Oh. Well…I don’t know what spell could work to get him to stop…” Raven didn’t know how to react. 

Does she laugh at how new this was? Or not? 

It was chaos, though, so…

Sleepwalking

---

“Hey.” Serenity fussed. “He’s 8 now. He can throw a dart at a balloon.”

“Yeah, well he could still get hurt.” Glitch reminded.

“Oh come on, let the little one try.” the carny offered. “Show us what you can do.”

Radley grinned, aiming a dart at a balloon-

-as it missed, hitting someone’s cotton candy.

“...Selfie!” the girl squealed. “Life’s unpredictable events…that’s a good caption.”

“I hate those Insta girls.” Serenity admitted. “Look, it wasn’t his-”

“Radley…” Glitch glared.

“Sorry…” Radley sulked. “I didn’t mean to hit it.”

Childish Tooth Gap

---

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Frances cheered.

Polly smirked. “Ya remind me a bit of Ricardo.” she mused. “Chaotic rascal.”

“Ricardo? Who are they?” Agatha asked.

“Ricardo, where do I begin? He’s the best first mate a Capt’n could ever yearn f’r.” Polly explained. “Eager, excitable and as restless as a pirate crew on a heist!”

“Sounds just like Frances.” Agatha chuckled.

Frances groaned. “I get it, I have a problem.”

“Well this one night, the waves was rocking our wee lil’ ship like a mere leaf and I was in me hammock, reading, when Ricardo looked over at me eagerly, unable to sleep.” Polly explained.

“This sounds more and more like Frances.” Emily smiled. “They can’t sleep, half the time.”

“Half?” Polly paused.

“More like ALL the time.” Edgar laughed.

Polly facepalmed a little. 

Facepalm

---

New Year Has Come

---

“Are we all set?” Cookie asked. “Snacks?”

“Check.” Schmitty checked a list.

“Party hats?”

“Check!” Nate beamed.

“Noisemakers?” Cookie went over the list.

“Check!” Booloo tossed one over.

“Drinks?”

“Ask Bob.” Aianna winced. “Sugar rush.”

“Movies for the kids?”

“I got a couple!” Kandi beamed. “Holopod and regular!”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, last but not least, twelve alarm clocks set for New Years?”

Guy raised his hand sheepishly. “Yep.”

Continuity-Nod

---

“Let’s see…” Wheeler checked. “Hmmm…do I have everyone?”

“Whatcha doing?” Polly asked.

“Roll call.”

“I won’t stop ya.”

“Good, good. Let’s see…Lionel the lion- check. Cobra the snake and Tyger the tiger- check and check. Brown Bear the bear, Nino y Nina the penguins, Crawler the spider and Pinto the…the…the monster.” they blinked. “Check, double check, check AND check!”

“That’s everybody.” Polly mused.

“Not really.” Wheeler realized. “Okay, we also got Chilly the husky, Rita the raccoon, Cupcake the lion, Raisin the ladybug, Boop the seal, Rover the rottweiler, Billie the goat…and…and…and- and Angel the horse.”

Polly nudged him. “Where’s Betsy?”

“FUCK! Come on, Polina! We got a giraffe to find!”

Security Blanket

---

“Okay.” Roxanne looked in the back. “Who wants to drive? My battery is starting to get low.”

Buzz raised his hand. 

“Thank you.” Roxanne sighed.

Buzz smiled. “No problem. My sleep schedule is ass.”

Sleep Cute

---

Polly smiled a little. “Uh…interesting dream, Fran?”

“Thanks. There was also a part where you gained a compact or something, kinda fuzzy, but you had to fight in someone’s place.” Frances shrugged.

Beat.

“God, I WISH.” Polly chuckled. “I’d be like that Tuxedo Guy who fights with those magical girls in sailor uniforms.”

“Mask.” Bob said.

“Yeah, that. I’d be Tuxedo Mask Pirate!”

Call-Forward

---

“Kiruru.” Aianna glanced at Bob. “...Was I too harsh?” “No. No, you weren’t.” Bob reassured her. “Maybe if we pinch each other, we’ll stay awake.”

Guy listened to the entire thing within the closet, knowing he had to act.

He had to sacrifice himself for the two so they could talk Kiruru down.

Undying Loyalty

---

“Mmm hmmm…” Avery was on the verge of falling asleep in a stack of pancakes. Bob gulped and grabbed their collar to catch them.

Bob chuckled. “Pancakes are saved.”

“Great save.” Buzz agreed as the two glanced at Booloo.

“The Komugi cake still looks fire.” Booloo admitted. “Love the colon three face! You’ve captured it well.” “Thank Bob for that one.” Aianna smiled. “Resident baker.”

“You’re…welcome…” Bob smiled before trying to keep Avery from crashing into the pancakes a second time. “Just…tryna…save the…pancakes.”

“I getcha.” Booloo smiled as she took a bite of them. “Delicious!!!!”

“Thanks! As Robodenki, it IS my job to help protect…and glad you like the food.” Bob helped Avery sit upright. “There we go.”

Funny Background Event

[shofics]

So tumblr ate the ask (thanks! I hate it!) but @knifemartin sent the prompt 13. pirate au but make it... sky pirates with Earhart, Zolf, Sasha, and Wilde! This got frighteningly long so I had to put it under a cut, I hope you enjoy my ramblings. <3 They’re going to kill a dragon!!

I think I genuinely might clean this up and make it into a proper fic. Watch this space. 

Zolf Smith is a miner. Zolf Smith dreams of the sky. Zolf Smith kills his brother. Zolf Smith takes flight.  

The Meritocracy doesn't have air forces- don’t really need ‘em when you’re a huge fuck-off dragon who can fly- but they’re worried about the increased presence the separatists are having in the skies above their lands, so they’re building one. Zolf leaps upon it like a life raft.

When the ship goes down, there are two reasons he doesn’t die; his past, and his god.

The Reliant answers the emergency call, and that surprises Zolf- a known separatist vessel, making an attempt to save the crew of a ship in the Meritocratic Air Force- but a lot of things surprise him about Captain Earhart. It’s not the Reliant’s fault that he is the only survivor. It is due to the Reliant that there is an only survivor at all.

His family were Harlequins. Captain Earhart recognises him, visits him in the sick bay as her medics do their best to save his legs, asks after his father, asks after his brother. Gives an understanding nod when he refuses to speak about them. Offers him a job, because he desperately needs one.

It’s a lot all at once, and they can’t save his legs, but he finds he doesn’t need them. Dwarves don’t have the build that most of the Hermes lot have, but he’s never let not fitting in stop him. The feeling of the wind in the rigging is like wings on ankles he doesn’t have anymore. He’s freer than he’s been his entire life.

//

When he is thirteen years old, Brock Rackett successfully makes it out of Other London and out of the clutches of the Rackett clan by chopping off his ring finger and escaping on the first air vessel that will take him. At least, this is what Sasha believes. She’s sad he left without her, but she knows well that when an opportunity comes, you take it. She hopes he made it out safe.

Nine years later, at twenty-two, Sasha’s opportunity finally comes. She heads for the aeroport. Maybe she’ll be able to find him.

Barrett’s men are following her, she can feel them on her tail all through the crowd like a bad smell; she needs a cover, needs somewhere to hide. There’s a drunk in the corner of the bar, some once-foppish-looking dandy, and Sasha decides to make him her cover.

She slides into the seat next to him and tries to be as inconspicuous as possible, but the drunkard starts and leaps to his feet, swaying. “Keep your trousers on,” she hisses, jumping up to pull him back down in front of her- he’s tall enough, he should provide good cover.

The man staggers out of her grip and produces a dagger from nowhere. He tries to fend her off with it- poorly- and then his eyes roll up and he collapses. Sasha just barely manages to catch him before he hits the ground.

//

Wilde knows the Meritocracy is crumbling. He can feel it in the air; something big is coming, something very bad, and he really doesn’t want to be here when it finally arrives.

Though maybe the sense of impending doom he’s getting is just from lack of sleep. But he’s sure that’s fine. It’s fine. He’s fine.

So he puts his bardic talents and his espionage training to work, following the trail of the odd orders and the disappearing agents, and realises quickly that if he stays, he’ll probably end up disappearing as well- or worse, become one of the people giving the odd, conflicting orders. He doesn’t know what that’s about. He doesn’t want to find out.

Wilde fakes his own death in the hopes it will throw off the scent, and decides, like so many others seeking the separatists, to head for the Americas.

In a bar at the aeroport he is accosted by a mugger, and he knew he was being conspicuous, but with everything blurring and the ringing in his ears he’s in no shape to properly defend himself. Instead of killing him, though, the dark figure hauls him up and runs.

He’s not lucid enough to take in the scene of the room she drags him into, and so he doesn’t resist as someone snaps something cold around his wrist, and he at long last sinks into a deep and dreamless sleep.

//

Earhart knew the look of people like Zolf Smith- lost, angry, needing. She’s seen plenty of it, in her years as an airship captain, because there are only a few reasons why people set out for the skies. And so she took him on, and he proved a fantastic first mate, knew his stuff inside and out and indulged her more reckless tendencies.

Plus, he’d been fleeing the Meritocracy. That automatically put him in Earhart’s good books.

Famous (and infamous) Harlequin airship captain Amelia Earhart was, by that point, becoming famous and infamous enough to become a thorn in the Meritocrats’ sides. They decided to target her. The fact that they tried to take down the Reliant was not her fault. The fact that she turned the whole ship around to attack back, causing a wreck that killed almost all of her crew and blew the Reliant into unsalvageable bits… that was.

The only reason she hasn’t drunk herself to death by this point is her ‘fantastic’ first mate (she’s regretting that now, in an angry way), who for some unknowable reason is unwilling to let the guilt swallow her whole.

//

Zolf Smith was an airman. Zolf Smith dreams of gods and wings and roads not taken. Zolf Smith is given a choice. Zolf Smith chooses no.

Zolf Smith loses his magic.

Earhart is trying to die, and he’s doing his best without access to his healing magic, but it won’t work forever, not when she’s this determined to let herself waste into nothing. He’s not good at talking, and that’s what she really needs- someone to talk to. Someone to listen. But he’s got no legs, and he’s got no magic, and he’s got almost no hope left, and nowhere to go.

They take refuge in a seedy bar in the closest aeroport and report the crash; two survivors, him and Earhart. They’ve been there a month and a half when the door to their room bursts open and a terrified kid with dark shaggy hair and an enormous jacket practically falls through the doorway, lugging an unconscious man in a blue and green waistcoat.

For a split second they all just stare at each other- everyone except for the unconscious man, of course, being as he is unconscious (and bleeding, from the nose and from the ears, and Zolf may not have magical healing but he has medical training and he knows that’s bad)- and then the kid drops her charge like a sack of potatoes, slams the door closed, and dives under the bed.

“Are you in trouble?” is all Zolf asks, and the kid nods, petrified and utterly silent. “Fine. Stay there.”

The unconscious man begins to shake and cry out as Zolf manhandles him into his bed, as though having a nightmare. He wakes with a scream, eyes wide and terrified. Someone bangs on the door. “Do you mind?” Zolf yells. “Little busy in here!”

The door bursts open a second time- those poor hinges- and two men of the kind who aren’t holding knives until you look at them from the right angle, and then they definitely are, and they’re pointed right at you, appear in the doorway. They take in the sickroom and the man with the two prosthetic legs, look nonplussed for a second, and then one nudges the other and tells him to “get a move on, she’s in here somewhere,” and they disappear down the hall.

Zolf pulls the door shut behind them and goes back over to the man in the waistcoat. It takes a bit of figuring out, but eventually, in desperation- the man is obviously dying- Zolf fishes out the anti-magical handcuffs issued to him as soldier and medic in the Meritocratic Air Forces, and clips one around his wrist. He goes limp.

He turns around to find the dark haired kid staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers. “Were they lookin’ for you?” he asks, and her eyes narrow.

“Why do you want to know?” she asks defensively- as though they could be looking for anyone else. The kid has ‘runaway’ written all over her.

“‘Cause I’m tryin’ to save your life,” Zolf snaps, and that seems to shock her, “so if you could work with me here, that’d be great, I’ve got enough on my plate tryin’ to save her life-” jerks a thumb to Earhart- “and apparently this one’s as well-” to the now asleep man taking up his bed. “Who are you? Who’s he?”

“I dunno,” says the kid, “he just kind of fell over.”

//

Sasha does not make the decision to trust him then. She doesn’t even tell him her name. She makes the decision to trust him when he tells her, a day later, as they sit against the wall and watch the man in the waistcoat mumble in his sleep, that he used to work on an airship.

“I’m Sasha,” she says. “Can I come with you?”

The white-haired dwarf named Zolf Smith- he looks too young to have white hair, but Sasha knows not to judge from appearances- grimaces. “I mean,” he says. “Dunno why you’d want to.”

“I want to see the sky,” says Sasha, who has spent her entire life underground. Zolf looks at her and seems to see something in her that pains him.

“I dunno where I’m goin’,” he warns her mournfully, looking back at Earhart, who is also sleeping. “But you can come with if you want. ‘S your choice.”

He doesn’t ask Sasha’s surname. She decides to trust him.

//

The name of the man in the bed next to her is Oscar Wilde, and Earhart starts frantically reaching for a gun, any gun, forgetting in her automatic fury that Zolf had taken them all off her weeks ago. A Meritocratic agent-

“Ex-agent,” says Wilde politely. “Please don’t shoot me, Captain, I’ve almost died once this week and I’m not really eager to repeat the experience.”

Earhart feels more lucid than she has in ages as she listens to him describe the strange series of events that brought him there, how sure he is that something is brewing within the Meritocracy’s upper ranks, the disaster that is coming. She can feel Zolf’s eyes on her as all her grief and guilt and despair and boiling anger calcify inside of her.

Wilde is like her, like Zolf, like Sasha- lost, angry, needing.

Wilde has information she can use.

“Mr. Wilde,” Earhart says, her voice hoarse with disuse but filled with more fire than she’s felt since the crash, “you are going to help me kill a dragon.”

//

She didn’t like him at first- he talked down to her, and his posh affectations grated on principle- but Sasha has to admit that Wilde is smart. She stares in disbelieving wonder as he produces a bag of holding full to the brim with more gold pieces than she’s ever seen in her life. His Meritocratic funding, he tells the spellbound group, because he can spellbind even without his magic. He liquified as many assets as he felt he could get away with before leaving.

“Pick a ship,” he says, “any ship. We can buy it. No need to steal.”

“We’ll need elementals,” Earhart says. “At least two.”

Wilde turns to Zolf. “You’re a cleric, aren’t you?” he says. “You can summon elementals.”

“Not anymore,” Zolf bites.

“Why?”

Zolf makes a face. “I don’t- when- okay.” He sighs. “Look-” and casts Spark into the fireplace. He jumps back in shock.

“I… don’t see the problem?” Wilde says after a good minute of silence, looking from the roaring flames back to Zolf. Sasha gets up and goes to dry her hair by the fire; the weather around the ports has been awful lately. Zolf stares into the flames in surprise.

//

Zolf Smith was a cleric. Zolf Smith dreams of a new ship. Zolf Smith finds a team, full of people who need healing, the kind he can now provide. Zolf Smith has hope.

[angelthefirst1]

Diverged 2021, and converging.

We are getting very close to Beth, the symbolism in Diverged is extremely exciting.

What are we watching? A combination of many things... 1. Mostly Beth's missing funeral story (symbolically) 2. Repeats from 510 Them, 506 Consumed, Grady and many more... 3. A recap of Carol's past including her constant desire over the years to run away... Beth as Jesus = Light, salt, water symbolically, remember that as we go. And also Leah's knife = Beth. The previously on clip is showing the past and future at once. It's a play on Carol at Terminus saving the group while covered in walker slim, her family took her back in then, because of what she did to save everyone at Terminus, even though she was banished for killing Karen and David.

But...Carol here is also a Beth repeat and Lydia becomes Daryl. Daryl will do something to stop Beth's body being eaten/killed after Grady/The tower (which was the hospital) He will put/pull her somewhere safe just as Lydia does here with Carol, stopping her from dying.

Carol then talks about food being scarce, and Maggie's people returning, so there are more mouths to feed. Repeating season 5 when Carol first comes across Maggie's new group (Abraham and co)

Terminus had just been destroyed and the group had no supplies. Its also repeating the second time Maggie's people return...to the church after the failed trip to Washington because Eugene lied. Not long after returning with her people the second time, Maggie finds out Beth is alive.

Carol talks about the decisions she's made being all to protect them. Repeating her season 4 self killing Karen and David to "protect the group".

Back then Rick banished her effectively separating Daryl and Carol, which is re-done here in Diverged, because she “killed” Connie. Carol leaves Rick in a car with a "I love my dog" sticker...

Repeating her-this time leaving with actual Dog... As I mentioned in my previous post on Diverged, Carol leaving at the crossroads with Dog is also a representation of Beth and Carol both ending up at Grady.

They are combining and converging every scene where Carol/Daryl, Beth/Daryl go in different directions... The opening scene shows Carol and Daryl walking together, Carol struggling to open her water bottle. Daryl offers to help, but Carol won't let him, just like this scene below from season 5, after Terminus.

Daryl offers to help carry the water, he even spills water on the ground, which he repeats when he gives Dog a drink.

Daryl then offers "Leah's" (Beth's) knife to Carol to help get into the water bottle, inverting Carol giving Daryl, Beth's knife in 510.

This scene is a combination of Carol following Daryl when looking for water in 510, giving him the knife and then leaving. In 510 Carol asks to come looking for water, Daryl says no but Carol says "You gonna stop me" repeating her jumping on the back of his bike in "Find me" even though he didn't want her to come...

He didn't stop her then or now, and we see them exchange knives and Carol go a different way, while Daryl wants to stay out longer to look. Just like 510, when they don't find water Carol says " We should head back" Daryl says "nah, I'll stay out a little longer" and then the knife exchange happens, it's reversed.

All this, is about repeating and converging the events leading up to Beth's Death, inverted they will lead to Beth alive... Past, present and future combined = infinity When Carol first gets back to Alexandria she comes across this scarf... 

This scarf is a call back to her head scarf in 304, the episode Rick (Daryl) loses his wife (Future wife Beth). Carol lost this head scarf while in the tombs...

Carol and T-(dog) get stuck together while in the tombs where Carol loses her head scarf, which Daryl eventually finds and throws away on the floor.

Carol finds it on the floor and eventually puts it in the trash, at the end of this episode... Carol and T-(dog) in the tombs with her head scarf is also repeating Beth and Noah at Grady trying to escape.

Surrounded by walkers Carol/Beth shoot at them in the dark. The lights go on and off, but the opposite happens in that Beth doesn't escape Grady just like T-(Dog) while Carol/Noah do. The lost head scarf will eventually become Beth's, in that it will be used to wrap her head wound after Grady, but she then gets "lost in the tombs" or goes missing for all these years...

The one Carol finds even has a "gun shot hole",and she wants to "Fix it" because somebody (Daryl) loved it!

She finds the head scarf which someone dropped during "The evacuation" basically repeating Carol "evacuating"-running into the tombs from the past and in the future it will come off Beth's head when she "evacuates" or leaves her "tomb" because of walkers-around the time of her funeral. Carol offers to make soup (so around the time Beth's funeral/body is lost, someone tries to make food for the group) Stone soup is a story about strangers convincing a village to share their food to make soup for everyone. 

Part of me thinks this will possibly come into play after Grady at the White houses, possibly with Chase, who was seen filming at the houses. Strangers will want some of the supplies the group found at the food bank before Coda and I have a feeling they will probably "pirate" the food, not so much "share it"-like the stone soup story depicts.

More like the book Carol picks up, mid way through making the soup would suggest...

So... we have: 1. A lost head scarf/bandage 2. An offer to prepare food. Possibly by a stranger. (Stone soup story) 3. A "rat" causing a... 4. Lack of food. 5. And Carol/Beth going missing into the "tombs" Beth like Carol will lose her "head scarf" or bandage as she "disappeared" into the dark "tombs" after her "funeral". Opposite to Carol

It’s during the time Carol is in the tombs, that Rick hallucinates Lori, the three stories combined (Carol, Sofia and Lori) will lead to Beth

Carol offers to make the soup with mushrooms...

Which could be what leads to Daryl hallucinating. As I talked about in Find me 2018, when Daryl was hallucinating Merle during his search for Sofia, Merle accused him of eating special mushrooms, which made him "see" the Chupacabra a blood sucking dog ("Walker" Beth after her funeral).

Daryl in the episode Chupacabra is looking for Sofia so it's fitting that this is repeated with his search for Beth (Sofia 2.0) If this "Rat"/"Stranger" convinced the group to let them make food for everyone, they could have "spiked" the food with special mushrooms. Leaving the group especially Daryl in a vulnerable state, unable to fight back and making it easy to steal their supplies and leave. Meanwhile Beth gets out of her "resting place" whether that's in a car or coffin and she leaves or gets taken away. (I'll explain this more soon)

Daryl then sees what he thinks is "Walker Beth" the blood sucking dog or Chupacabra fulfilling season 2 episode 5.

This delusion could also be in part the reason for the episode we now know as 2018 Find me. If he is somewhat intoxicated with some form of poisoning and then tries to find Beth, it could make some sense of 2018. Jerry says to Carol

Which is symbolic of Beth the "Light of the world" being broken or gone. Biblically it represents Jesus and his followers “You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden" "Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven” Carol later in the episode fixes the lights with the solar panel using Leah's knife (Beth) but it ends up flashing on and off again too, when the rat gets away. Which would also = Beth leaving, because the two are connected, which I will go through soon...

Carol adds salt to the soup, and she uses "Beth's" knife to get into it just like the water bottle.

Jesus who we all know Beth's story is paralleling, is not only called the light of the world and the living water that wells up to eternal life...but his followers are called the salt of the earth. Jesus said: You are the salt of the earth, but if the salt has lost its flavor, with what will it be salted? It is then good for nothing, but to be cast out and trodden under the feet of men. Salt is used as a preservative to save meat and food from spoiling, as Jesus saves and is the cure to mans soul being separated from God for sinning and falling from grace. This is why Beth is going to bring a cure at some point, because just as Jesus provides a cure to mankind, she will too... Beth the (knife, salt and light) is in the same location as the food and Carol. Carol adds salt to the soup but also throws salt over her shoulder which is something done as a superstition after a funeral, to keep away bad spirits.

Depicting this is about Beth's funeral. Carol then hears dog (Daryl) going crazy in the next room he is destroying the room trying to find the "rat". When Carol goes to check on Daryl the dog she leaves the knife (Beth) with the food. It's while Both Carol and Daryl are not around that the rat runs into where Beth and the food are kept. Someone in those 3 missing weeks is a "Rat" that compromised Beth and the group, leading to her going missing... This theme was backed up by Father G saying that they sacrificed one of their own, referring to the aftermath of events with Beth.

As Carol is trying to settle dog (Daryl) Carol picks up The Golden Age Of Piracy, a book about:

Whomever they come across during Beth's "funeral" and while food is being prepared will be a "pirate" or thief. But it's also referring to 509 when Ty on the radio hallucinates hearing about inhabitants of coastal towns being plundered and attacked. This will come into play again when Beth is back but a version of it would have happened back then too. Carol is telling Daryl the "dog" off, for going crazy because of this "rat".

The rat has chewed through or compromised Daryl's lamp or "light" (Beth) and Daryl the dog is not happy...

Dog then runs after the rat and in the process the little food Carol had gets destroyed...

Sirius reference is always about Beth, but it also now links Beth to the “missing” food.

I’m thinking that the car Beth will be left in will also have the groups supplies in it and the rat will take off with both.

The rat gets away, Carol banishes Dog (Daryl) and Carol tires to catch the rat so she makes a trap using Leah's knife (Beth), but then she needs butterfly pliers to finish it, so she goes and gets a set in Daryl's room.

The funny thing is that Daryl is doing the exact same thing on his mission, because the tubing on his vehicle has been “Chewed through” just like the lamp.

Carol then lays the trap for the rat and says:

Daryl repeats and inverts this later on when he kills the soldier walker... linking the "rat" to these "soldiers" So Daryl goes looking for this "soldier/rat" and finds it stuck in "a trap"... He looks for this soldier rat on foot because his ride is not working, and he doesn't have the knife (Beth) which he panics over losing...

He kills the "soldier" and takes back what the soldier/Rat "stole"... Food, ammo and a set of butterfly pliers...which is what Carol needed to finish the trap.

And again, along the way he sees "walker Beth" the Chupacabra...

Which he doesn’t put down...

They are repeating and inverting this, going one way with Carol and another way with Daryl, but Daryl and Carol's stories here are the same. Prior to this we see Daryl is out in his own and his main mission is to get his broken down ride (motorbike) going...

He is searching high and low through cars for a replacement tube. As i said before the tube has also been "chewed" from the looks of it, just like the lamp wire, by the rat.

His search though cars is not only repeating he search for the car with the white cross that took Beth originally, but it seems Daryl after Grady, will repeat this search for Beth who gets taken in a second car. 

This bottom picture is from 509, while the top two are from 1021

The "Rat" not only drugs them and steals their supplies and Beth’s body, but also stops them following by "chewing" through or messing with their vehicle so it doesn't work... Again linking the "rat" to the problem's with Daryl’s vehicle... Daryl can't find Leah's knife (Beth), because he left it with Carol...

Carol does catch the rat, in her trap for a time, but it gets away, and runs into the hole in the wall which she then blocks up with the scarf...

So Carol may well have this rat trapped but lets it get away, leading to the events above and Daryl trying to follow and kill the rat to get Beth and the supplies back.

The hole in the wall = Beth's bullet wound which gets covered with the scarf... Symbolically I believe the wall with hole/scarf and the rat hiding behind it, is Beth in a car possibly being driven away and used as a “shied” by the rat...

So Daryl hunts the rat and sees the Beth walker at a distance but can’t get to her. Once he has killed the solider rat (there ends up being 3 of them) and gets the tools he needs, he starts fixing his bike.

This takes all night and while he works we hear wolves howling in the distance. A good sign that Beth is close considering she is the Wolf that will come home.

And a call back to 509 where Michonne stands in front of the Wolves not far sign. Carol and dog share a bed for the night and it's telling future Beth/Daryl romantic story, but also Daryl with Beth's “body” wanting to be close to her and possibly kissing her, because "the fights gone out of her"...

It's also depicting Beth and Carol at Grady with Dawn. Dawn talks about Noah coming back, because they always come back...

Obviously it’s a callback to Beth saying “you miss him don’t you” to Daryl regarding Merle.

And...Carol leaving the group after Terminus, Daryl comes along to stop her leaving and that's what leads to them taking off after the car with the cross and finding Beth.

Which is then depicted in the very next scene as Daryl gets his bike going and takes off along this road repeating this...

Carol and Dog (Daryl) then go down stairs with flashlights and look for the hole in the wall with the scarf (Beth) and the rat. Repeating but reversing Daryl and Carol back in Consumed looking for Beth when they sleep at an emergency accommodation at a place that Carol had been before.

Carol fighting through the wall, will be inverted with Beth fighting to get out of a car or coffin and that's why we see through it from the other side.

It's will also be what causes Beth's head scarf covering her bullet hole to get caught and left behind.

Carol sits down exhausted after trying to get through the wall and dog comes and sits next to her...

Repeating Carol being found in the tombs by Daryl, exhausted but alive-but not wearing her scarf.

Carol tells Jerry she had a bad day and Jerry figures out its because she didn't come back with Daryl, repeating Carol being taken to Grady and not coming back with Daryl. Jerry says 2+2 = Eureka

2+2 episode 22?

Let's hope! Carol tries to give Daryl Leah's knife back (Beth) But it stays with her because Beth the knife and Carol are symbolically both at Grady.

In the future we may see Daryl try to return Beth's real knife to her. Daryl and Carol end the way they began by going separate ways, but this time it's with doors closing.

Daryl and dog (Carol) go one way and Carol (Beth) the other. Carol goes into the “Car” garage, repeating Beth getting in to the car on the way to Grady. All why the music plays "Oh oh oh" (oh moment)

In the future we will see Daryl and Beth together and Carol go a different way. One last thing I want to talk about is this drawing in Daryl's room. While it's "Dog" front on, it's also a side portrait of 2 creatures touching noses or kissing...

Aw....

[hitchell-mope]

(Third film. After “goodbye”. 23 years ago. The afternoon after the isle was set up. Olympus. Zeus is milling about the throne room excessively drinking in celebration. The marble floor cracks. From them vines fly out and form a Venus fly trap. The mouth opens and out steps a figure in a dark verdant hooded cloak. They send vines in Zeus’s direction which wrap around neck)

Zeus: WHO ARE YOU!!!!

Persephone (removing the cloak): who the fuck do you think it is your “majesty”

Zeus: eurghooh uh. Lady Persephone. To what do I owe the pleasure

Persephone: oh stuff it you old sot. You know what you did!!!!

Zeus: I assure you. I have no idea whatsoever as to what you mean

Persephone: my husband and my two week son where missing when I woke up this morning.

Zeus (feigning concern): really? That’s horrible

Persephone: he did it didn’t he? Adam. He set that, that horrible god awful prison up

Zeus (dropping all pretences): I’m happy to say he did. Now all of those, ahem, people, for want of a better word, are where they belong and can no longer harm us. Oh don’t look at me like that my girl. This is a good thing. Now you’re no longer bound by that pissy little contract he forced you into. You can rejoin your mother here on Olympus and all is as it was a should be before my idiot little destroyed your life

Persephone: if he destroyed my life I wouldn’t be here defending him you stupid slut. Nobody gets it. Nobody has ever seemed to have gotten it. I went through that fissure. I approached the skull throne. I threw myself at him. Being up here was a fucking snooze fest of banality. So I took the first out I could find. And I could not have been happier of what my life has become. The only reason the contract exists is because my mother threatened humanity’s livelihood should I stay there. If it were up to me I would’ve never have come back. I had to sign that to save the mortals

Zeus: how can you possibly be happy in the worlds basement

Persephone: hades is a good husband and provider. He respects my boundaries. He’s never strayed without my consent. And unlike you. He’s never purposefully killed anyone.

Zeus: and what of what he did to my son?

Persephone: ok. I shan’t defend him for that. Because he doesn’t defend himself for it either. He knows he did something disreputable. But he’s more then made up for it. Among other things he paid for and officiated the boys wedding

Zeus: where the Helios was I in all this?

Persephone: you were wine drunk, literally swanning about and harassing anyone and all naiads that stayed still long enough for you to approach them

Zeus (fondly): ah yes, good times, good times. Wait. Where are you going

Persephone: I’m going back home. Pain and Panic are good babysitters. But when Persey cries she tends to burn their limbs

Zeus: who cares. They’re the help

Persephone: they’re family.

(She leaves the way she arrived. On the isle. It’s dark, cold and barren. Hades (John Barrowman) is unconscious. There’s a large green and yellow bruise on his left temple. He’s woken up by the sound of crying)

Hades: hey kiddo. It’s alright. We’ll be ok. I tbini. We just have to get to shelter

(A very large very angry dragon jumps out of the fog. End of flashback. Underworld. Present day. Persephone is at her desk on her laptop)

Persey: see ya ma! I’m going out

Persephone: goodbye dear. Wait. Where are you going?

Persey: Auradon. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard? Chad Charming’s gone postal, stole Verna’s wand. Ben’s missing and Lonnie just sent out the batsignal.

Persephone: oh my goodness. Wow. Do you need me to help?

Persey: just look after our home.

(They disappear a wisp of steel grey fire. Outskirts of Auradon. Elsa’s unconscious on the ground. The girls have found her)

Lonnie: oh my god

Jane: your majesty

Dizzy: we’re off to a great start

Jane: your majesty wake up. Please wake up

Dizzy: the bazooka use the bazooka

Jane: right yes of course

(She squirts ends with the bazooka which instantly wakes her up)

Elsa: ouch. Use that sparingly dear. We may need it more than you think. Could somebody help me up please. Thank you Lonnie

Lonnie: what happened?

Elsa: I teleported here and then I hit something

Jane: it’s a barrier. She put up a barrier around Auradon

Dizzy: ohhhh she’s good. I mean she’s an evil psychopathic bitch. But she’s clever

Lonnie: how do we get inside?

Elsa: Jane?

(Jane makes confused questioning noises)

Elsa: if you would be so kind as to assist me in getting past the barrier?

Jane: ohhhh. Yeah sure let’s do it

(The ice queen and light fairy use magic to create a hole in the barrier. As they do so a flaming comet zooms down and crash a few feet away from them)

Elsa: what the hell

Barrowman!Hades: Name's Hades, Lord of the dead. Hi, how ya doin'?

Jane: fuck

(Elsewhere in Auradon on the school grounds Mal and the others have just touched ground. Mal’s a human again doubled over in pain)

Mal (groaning painfully): urgh. FuckDAMMIT!!!! Jesus I’m not made for this

Hadie (worriedly): are you alright

Mal: I will be. A minivan I am not.

Hadie: was this the first time you’ve carried this many people?

Mal: yeah. Normally it’s just Ben. And even then it’s only if he asks.

Hadie: really.

Jay: let’s just say he wouldn’t watch GOT for the political intrigue

Carlos: or HYTTD for the animation

Evie: or merlin for the story line

Hadie (knowledgeably): ahhh, he’s a scaly

Core four: yep

Harry: can you let me go now?

Jay: uhhhh. Nah

Harry: why?

Mal: because we may yet need a human sacrifice. And you’re the only schmo who fits the bill.

Harry: huh?

Carlos: Gil and I are loved by everyone. I’m the kings adoptive son. He’s the kings brother. You’re the ground people use to scrape gum off their shoes

Evie: that’s an insult to shoes gum and ground. And scraping

Carlos: my apologies. To shoes gum ground and scraping

Harry: I hate you all.

Jay: don’t expect us to lose sleep over it

Harry: besides. I’m the last person who should be a sacrifice

Evie: that specific criteria has been discontinued

Harry: huh

Jay: people like you can be scarified now

Harry: shit

Mal: oh no. Oh no no no no no. This is not good

Evie: they’re all asleep. DOUG

Mal: BEN

Gil: LONNIE

Evie: please pickup please please please pickup.

Mal: nonononononono. Gah. I miss you

Gil: please be safe

Jay: Jane isn’t answering either.

Mal: ok ok ok. So. The king. His major-domo/regent. And both their regents are missing. All the remaining students are asleep. It’s only half past two in the afternoon but I already want to take a brandy bath. Because Auradon has no leader. So we’re all screwed to fuckery

Jay: well that’s not entirely true is it. Hadie could you summon the three little bitches. Cause I really really want them to see this

(Hadie makes Uma, Harriet and Cj appear via grey smoke)

Uma: what the hell’a going on?

Harriet (very confused): we were still on the bridge and what’s all that funny coloureds stuf on the ground?

Jay: you three are gonna hate this. You, Uma, especially are gonna hate it. (In his announcer voice) NOW PRESENTING. MALEFICENT BERTHA. THE ACTING QUEEN OF AURADON

(He bows to Mal, closely floored by Carlos Celia Gil and Hadie. Evie is pulled to her knees by Carlos. Mal looks like she was just clipped by a car)

Uma: what?

Jay: well after the wedding she’ll be queen legally. But for now she’s just the regent. It’s wonderful don’t ya think?

Hadie: it’s marvellous. Now bow heathens

Harriet: fat fucking chance.

Jay: oh but Harry’s bowing to the one true queen

Harry: Celia bent my spine

Celia: it was my pleasure

Uma: I am not bowing to that.

Jay: oh you act as if you have a choice

(He uses magic to make the three pirates kowtow to the dark fairy)

Jay: there ya go. Isn’t that better?

(Mal takes a swig of her hipflask and disappears into purple smoke. Everyone stands up again)

Gil: where did mal go?

Jay: I think I know

Evie: then tell us ohhhh. Yeah. Sounds about right

Hadie: where is she. I’ll go to her. Me Evie and Harry

Harry: I don’t fucking think so

Hadie: she’s family. We have to help her

Harry: I’ll bring the coughing

Evie: if that’s going with you then mal will probably commit a sin on sacred ground

Hadie: where is it that she’s gone to?

Jay: you’ll see

(He moves his lower arm around creating a cloud of gold smoke that surrounds Evie and Hadie. When it clears they’ve disappeared. The smoke deposits them on stone steps. Hadie’s clutching Harry’s arm)

Harry: I hate you. I honest to mmmmother hate you

Evie: feelings mutual. Come on let’s go

Hadie: where are we Evie

Evie: where the king was crowned a year and a half ago

(They enter the cathedral . Only Mal is now where to be seen)

Harry: well she’s not here let’s go

Evie: up bup bup. There is one way to lure her out of hiding. Hadie the dagger please

Harry (having flashbacks to when he was 14): no Nono don’t you dare dont you fucking think about it. FUUUUUUCK! She did it

(Evie uses the dagger to slash Harry’s shin. He falls down in pain. Mal pops up from behind the pulpit)

Mal: I heard Scottish screaming (realises she was played) aw crap I shoulda known. I hate it when you do that

Evie: it’s a tested tried and true method. Plus it’s fun to maim him

Mal: yeah...(she heaves a sigh and sits down heavily on the stage) I’m queen. “Yay” I want Ben. Is that pathetic? It sounds pathetic

Evie (sitting down next to her): no. I want Doug. Does that make me ok pathetic?

Mal: no. It’s a change though. Did you ever think two years ago we’d be wanting our boyfriends here protecting us?

Evie: two years ago I wanted to sink my claws into a prince. Now I have the perfect man

Mal: no, the perfect man bypassed you and asked me out. But Doug’s a close second though

Evie (cackling): bitch

Mal: sister. Older by a day

Hadie: May I scoot in if we’re sharing things?

Mal (making a space for him between her and Evie): sure. What do you want to talk about?

Hadie: I never knew my mother. And before you say “don’t rub it in”. I wasn’t born on the island. I’m an Olympian by birth. But when Adam set the isl...you know what, let’s just call it what it is. When Adam created the prison he convinced our beloved uncle Zeus to put our dad there first. Theory was that if Satan could be subdued by a human. Then other “undesirables” would be easier to round up. So when I was two weeks old, Zeus and Hypnos used their combined magic to put him and I there. I have never known anything else. And the next year Hook uh “hooked up” with a street walker, Harriet. And uh

Evie: not a lot stuff to do over there

Mal: well you know except

Evie: don’t. Please. Don’t. It’s bad enough I’m related to that thing on the floor. But having to imagine THAT happening. Gah...it crosses a line

Mal: thanks for the nightmares

Evie: you started it.

Hadie: I’m a hedonist. A disciple of Dionysus to be precise

(Evie looks at him with her mouth agape)

Evie: well that took a turn

Mal: what is a “disciple of Dionysus”?

Evie: it’s basically some sort of cult. Mostly guys. Girls are there as well. I had the unfortunate honour of delivering a flyer to one of their clubhouses last month

Hadie: sorry about that. I told them to be a little bit more discreet after that

Mal (overjoyed): no

Evie (slightly sick): it can’t be

Hadie: I was eighteen and bored. What else was there to do but set up a club

Evie: try to find us.

Hadie: whenever I wasn’t with my friends or our dad I checked up on you. One time you were trying to puncture the barrier with magic. And another you were crying in an alleyway Mal. I even tried to make a wig for you when you were in the market place with a buzzcut Evie.

Mal: that’s actually quite sweet.

Hadie: I just want to tell my mother “don’t worry. My life wasn’t completely terrible. I’m happy”.

Mal: when this is over I wanna tell Maleficent “fuck you, you giant living accessory, fuck you”

Evie: I want to tell Grimhilde. “You were wrong. Princes are not for me, Doug is perfect for me and I eat what I want when I want”

Hadie (wistfully) and Mal and Evie (vengefully): I cant wait to see the look on her face

(This is when “hey look ma, I made it happens. At the school Gil has a peace offering)

Uma: what the hell are these?

Gil: berries. They’re amazing. Blueberries, blackberries, strawberries, fun fact, never get in a strawberry eating contest with Mal. You will lose. And need your stomach pumped

Uma: this is this supposed to make up for what you did? You betrayed me. Abandoned me for this. No amount of whatever this shit is is gonna erase that

Gil: I didn’t leave because I wanted to hurt you Uma. I left because it was best for me. You know as well as anyone that the island is an awful place for people like us. So, yeah, I left. But that’s what you wanted. I did what you wanted. Just not how you wanted it to happen. The fact of the matter is Uma, you scare me. I still love you. But you scare me. All I could think of at the dance when you were attacking the ship was “this is what I get for trying to be happy”. I still have nightmares about it. If you care so much about getting kids off the island why were you so mad that I left. Irrespective of who I left with. Shouldn’t you be happy I got away at all?

Uma (standing up to her full height which just barely reaches Gil’s chin): you left me. To go galavanting off with them. You may not think it. But a lot of sins are never forgiven. So no. I’m not “happy that you got away” because you betrayed my loyalty to do so

Jay: Gil, buddy, leave her to stew. She’s not worth it.

(Gil leaves heartbroken and joins Carlos and Celia near some of the sleeping students)

Uma: lemme guess. You’re his bit on the side? Or is he your chippy?

Jay (chuckling sarcastically): oh Uma. He’s with Lonnie. I’m with Carlos. He and I are not together. But he’s done so well here. He’s great at chess and tourney and R.O.A.R. He’s set up a book club. Every month he goes to the isle and hands out flyers and food and blankets and weathers the hate he for it. He’s a good guy. And him “disrespecting you” wasn’t malicious. Because here’s the thing. You seem to be belabouring under the impression that this is your story. It’s not. It’s ours. It’s always been our story. Mal and me and Carlos and Evie. You don’t even get a look in until way way after this whole thing started. It is not about you. It has never been about you. I’m just sorry you still think that after all these years.

Uma: you don’t deserve to have people celebrate you after what you did.

Jay: what about what you did. You set Harry on Carlos five years ago. You kidnapped Ben and tried to murder him to get under Mal’s skin. Face it “Captain”, you say that what you do is for the island but it’s not. It never has been. What you did was for you. To make yourself feel less worthless than you are

Uma: so what now? You gonna kill me?

Jay: no. Not today. Not while Mal still feels guilty about the shrimpy incident. But I want you to know something. I would’ve done it you know. I would have murdered you if you murdered Mal and Ben. And neither Evie Doug Carlos or Dizzy could have stopped me. Because that is what you get when you mess with my family. And I would’ve made that thing that follows you around like a fixed mutt clean up your remains. Just bear that in mind next time you try to wrest control from my queen

(At the cathedral Harry’s trying to bandage his leg. Hadie sits down next to him and heals him with magic)

Hadie: there you go. All better

Harry: I guess I should say thank you.

Hadie: nah. Don’t expect you to. But I do wanna show you something.

Harry: what?

(Hadie flicks his wrist and there in a darkened bedroom. A baby’s bedroom. It’s filled with roughshod burlap sack stuffed toys hand stitched and fraying. A makeshift mobile of various coloured glass hangs above a safe looking but old crib)

Harry: where are we.

Hadie: where you should’ve been for the past nineteen years if I hadn’t panicked and took you to the Jolly Roger.

Harry: this is my room? At the wherever it’s was you lived.

Hadie: our room. At the lair.

Harry: holy shit. You two. You two wanted to

Hadie: yeah. Dad wanted to keep you. But I was four. You got stuck on the way out. I thought I broke you.

Harry: yeah well, a lot of people would say that there is as nuffink you coulda done

Hadie: I could d waited for dad to wake up. I could’ve asked her what to do.

Harry: like you said you four. When I was four I went down to the docks to try and get rid of ol leftie here. Thought it’d get dad to like me

Hadie: I know. I heard the story. Tick-Tock wouldn’t go for it.

Harry: why settle for the after mint when you can have the rotting steak? You can still see the scar. Look.

Hadie: is that why you carry the...

Harry: the hook? Yeah. That and added protection. For some reason people don’t really like me. Might be the skull face. I dunno

(Hadie laughs. Evie enters the illusion)

Evie (drolly): how sentimental

Hadie (brightly): hey sis

Evie: I mean I haven’t been this choked up since got a chunk of moussaka caught in my throat

Mal (also crashing the conversation): Doug made her laugh at a state dinner eight months ago.

Harry: well I’ve seen him. He doesn’t have to do much.

Evie: have you ever had a telekinetic wedgie?

Harry: no

Evie: oh. Then we’ll be in for a treat then

(Her eyes glow briefly, the illusion breaks and Harry’s lifted ten feet in the the air by the back of his underwear yelling in pain all the while)

Evie: you know, I’ve been thinking. The ember is defunct because calamari thee it in the bay. So we need to reignite it. And correct me of I’m wrong but hades has a massive temper problem?

Hadie: not for years but yes.

Evie: and Hook is the angriest person I know. So. If he by some twisted non miracle gets his hair set on fire while he’s holding the ember then it can work again.

Hadie: don’t appreciate the word phrasing. But I understand the general idea

Harry (bored): so how’re you gonna do it. Beat me up. Conjure up my worst fears.

Evie: talk to you. I’m just gonna talk to you. Believe me. It’s gonna hurt me a lot more then it hurts you. At least not physically

Harry: like I give a shit. Just get on with it so it can be over. Who’s got the pebble

(It conks him on the side of his head)

Mal (sarcastically): oops

Harry: ok first off. I hate you and your carcass needs to be burned with you still breathing.

Mal: immune to fire.

Harry: I meant iron.

(Mal lunges are him it Hadie holds her back)

Evie: now where was I? Oh yes. Breaking your spirit. You realise of course everyone hates you. Your father, us, Jay, Carlos, Ben. Hell. Even Gil only hung around with you out of pity. And Uma. The first chance she got she dumped you like yesterday’s trash. Because that’s what you are Hook. Trash. Useless rotting disgusting trash. Nobody loves. Nobody cares about you. Nobody wants you around.

Harry (nervously): Uma

Evie: threw you away and branded you traitor the minute you questioned her judgement. She never wanted a first mate or a, whatever it was you were to her, she wanted an easily malleable, easily swayed, lapdog. That’s all you were to her “Icarus”.

Harry (voice brittle): Harriet

Evie: lied to you for nineteen years. To save her own skin.

Harry (weakly): stop. Please. Stop

Evie: sorry for what I’m about to say Mal but it’s necessary. (Turning back to Harry). Did you stop when Carlos begged you to stop chasing him in the market that day. Did you stop when dizzy asked you taking all the money from the till? No? Then why the hell should I stop now? Face it Icarus. Nobody wants you. Nobody likes you. Nobody loves you! You mean nothing to anyone. You were born useless. You will die useless. So stop wasting everybody’s time and just do it. Die like the dog you are!

(Harry roars and lunges at her. She evades him easily and he crashes into the stage. He stands up. The verbal beat down worked. His eyes are glowing blood red. His hair on fire in the same colour. The ember has reactivated)

Harry: now it’s your turn

(He shoves his palm out and Evie’s thrown into the wall. Brass candle stands wrap around her neck and starts to dig into her skin. Evie screams hits and kicks at the air. Mal calmly walks up to Harry, uses the sceptre to stab him in the back and pulls out his heart)

Mal: put her down gently. Good. Now lie down like the bitch you are. (She notices Hadie looking at her in horror) what? Did you really expect me to touch him with my bare hands? Here you go (she swings the aorta over to him). You can put it back. You alright E?

Evie: yeah I’m ok. I’m just going to stomp on his face with SPIKED CLEATS!

Hadie: that horrible experience worked. Now we gotta try to make it work for all of us

Mal: how. And don’t say what I think you’re gonna say because I am not working with him

Hadie (sane time as her): we need to work together as a family

Evie: fuck

Mal: how’d you propose we do this then.

Hadie: friction. I think. When I got us out of the isle I rubbed the ember

Harry: and covered it in your own blood

Hadie: yes. So if we replicate that. Then maybe. Just maybe. We’ll all be able to use it.

Evie: good plan. But again. How do we all do it. Cause in case you haven’t noticed. There’s three of us. And one ember.

Hadie: Harry’s here as well

Evie: I know. I intentionally left him out. To me he doesn’t count.

Hadie: well dear you’re going to have to get into his headspace.

Mal: my Scottish accent is legally classed as offensive

Evie: it’s true. Absolutely fucking horrendous

Hadie: heh?

Mal: one time in class we had to put ourselves in the shoes of evil we hate most.

Evie: all four of us chose Harry.

Harry: now ya see what I gotta put up with?

Hadie: indeed I do.

Mal: gargh! Fine. We’ll do what you think is right. But only because I need to stop Maleficent. Ok.

Hadie (smoking giddily): ok

Evie: urgh fine.

Harry: whatever it takes for me to get away from these two twigs

(This is when “friction” happens)

[seraphiixa]

Questions for the mun. @kingofdesert​ asked:  3. Are there any particular aus or plots that you’d really like to write? 13. Who are five of your favorite characters? (In the rp community or otherwise)

3. Are there any particular aus or plots that you’d really like to write? 

     I’ve been toying with the idea of an au where Lyra takes her battleship to defect and become NOT a pirate, but a sort of maritime vigilante. She wouldn’t call herself a pirate and she wouldn’t raise a black flag, but she would be sailing without orders, challenging crews that bring harm to people, and trying to bring islands and towns under her dedicated protection in a way that she can’t do as a Marine (she would effectively be a pirate, because illegally sailing makes you a pirate however you wanna slice it, but she wouldn’t want to use the word because of old prejudices). 

     However... I just can’t see Lyra ever leaving the Navy. The way she sees it, the only way to fix the corruption in the Navy is to stay in long enough to fix it yourself by either advancing in rank high enough to effect change through regulation and law, or by training and producing generations of Marines under her with the same values as her own.

     As for plots... it could be fun to write her encountering the Beasts pirates because as far as I know, don’t they collect Zoans? She’s a Mythical Zoan and I could see that bringing conflict about. I’d also really like to explore her worsening reputation among the Navy with other Marine writers, but we are few and far between. She’s a bit of a black sheep in the Navy in the post-Time Skip because of the limitations of her Fruit, so I wouldn’t mind writing that out a bit with someone who actually does treat her like a black sheep. Also, Lyra was trained by Vice Admiral Tsuru and sailed under her for the first fourteen years of her career, so a Tsuru or a Doflamingo/Donquixote Pirate to plot and develop a writing relationship with would be great, since she would logically have been close to Tsuru under her mentorship and she would have encountered and clashed with the Donquixotes numerous times because that’s who Tsuru chased. Come get you a hateship or a mentorship. : ).

13. Who are five of your favorite characters? (In the rp community or otherwise) 

     I’ll keep this to One Piece. I can’t possibly rank them, so this is in no particular order.

1. Smoker. Listen. Obviously, I am very biased towards Marines. I love that he fiercely loves and protects his redneck Marines (as a friend put it once). He executes the mission but he also knows when to call bullshit on unlawful orders and when to let people go. He was beaten to a bloody pulp by Doflamingo to let the Straw Hats and Law get away. He fought Vergo until he couldn’t move anymore because the guy betrayed the trust of his Marines and he was pissed. He can put aside his personal pride when it comes to the greater good. Smoker has an awesome moral compass but still does his damn job, and I love that. (Also, Vice Admiral Momonga and that female Marine on the Giant Squad get honorable mentions. I love that Momonga is one of the most formidable Marines as far as we know, he’s just a swordsman with no Devil Fruit. And that female Giant Marine gave 0 shits and attacked Oars Jr. head-on; she is fearless and I love her. )

2. Sir Crocodile. I’m a sucker for a mafia boss. Listen. Crocodile is just so cool. I love his attitude, his design, his laugh, the way he talks down to EVERYONE, his awesome sand powers, the fact that his own arrogance was his downfall, not necessarily the power of his opponent, and just... Every time Crocodile’s on the screen, I’m grinning ear to ear, loving everything that comes out of his mouth. I used to write Crocodile and I miss it. He’s a bad bitch and I love him so much. I hope he’s doing well in the New World; I believe in him.

3. Doflamingo. If you can’t tell, I love villains. I love villains with vast underground criminal empires and surrogate mob families and long eerie laughs. I love that Doflamingo is unquestionably evil. His background, his actions, his perspectives --- he has incredibly few redeemable qualities and the series doesn’t try to sugarcoat it. Even when he’s kind to his Family, you know it’s just because he’s using them. After all, he says he won’t forgive anyone who hurts his family, but he also asks them to kill themselves for him. He is straight up terrifying when he is angry, with those veins in his forehead and giant grin on his face. I love that his power of strings could have been so unassuming but he made it so insanely powerful. I stan (1) puppet-master. God save the rightful King of Dressrosa. 

4. Warden Magellan. Listen up. I feel like people forget how unbelievably awesome Warden Magellan is. He was an absolute nightmare for Luffy. The only reason Luffy got out of there alive is because of Ivankov, just by a fluke chance, being there to save him from the poison, and Bon Clay, by fluke chance, giving them the escape from the prison by opening the Gates. Magellan, considering his power, could very well be one of the most powerful people in One Piece that no one remembers. He can literally wash hundreds of people away in a tide of poison and they will die from it so long as they don’t have special poison resistance and you can’t touch him or you’ll get poisoned, too. More important than his incredibly underrated power, when everything in Impel Down was going to Hell and everyone was freaking out because of multiple crises occurring on multiple levels, he maintained his composure and demonstrated INCREDIBLE LEADERSHIP for subordinates by giving concise and clear directions for them to follow and then taking the lead on challenging the most dangerous threat to them. He also imprisoned Shiryu because he was being cruel to prisoners, stating that the prisoners are just there to be held, they’re not to be toyed with. He has a heart, he‘s a good guy just doing his job of keeping the worst of the worst behind bars so everyone else can be safe. I love Magellan so much. I hate that he stepped down from his position as Warden because he literally did the best he could with the circumstances he was given; no one could have done better. I hope he returns to the series.

5. King of Wildfire. I’ve known of King’s existence for all of four days and I already love him. I’ve seen (1) clip of him and I read his Wikipedia. That’s it. I’m not that far in the anime at all, but the clip I saw... just showed me that he’s my kind of person. Something was happening so he went and fucking handled it. And they played heavy metal in the background while he did it. I’m all in on King. ALL IN.

AND OBVIOUSLY SHANKS. WHO DOESN’T LOVE SHANKS. THE MAN’S A LEGEND.

[ohtheseboysilove]

Joe’s mermaid [Joe Mazzello x F!Reader]

Words : 700 K +

Warnings : nothing else than fluff

Summary : Joe introduce is girlfriend to his borhap co-stars.

Note : Wouhou unbelievable but first writing about our cutie pie Joe ! So I wasn’t sure if the request was a joke or not 😂 But anyway I went for it, im not good for fantasy stuff so I kind of cheat, it was pretty fun to write so thanks for the request ✨

🌼Requests are open 🌼  ☀ Masterlist ☀

(Oh my gad this gif is pure gold😭)

@/ none of these gifs are mine xx

"Did she really exist at least ?"

"Ben, don’t be jealous. She does exist and unfortunately for you, she’s way sexier" The ginger teased with a smirk, earning a roll of eyes from the blond. "My delicious girlfriend is somewhere in this sweaty mess"

They all glanced around them, the house was indeed really crowed. All the cast were in America for the award season and one of Joe’s friend from school had throw a massive party, inviting everyone. It was the perfect opportunity to finally introduce you to his co- stars and friend after months of teasing from them.

"Do you know what is her costume at least ?" Lucy asked peering through the crowd even if she had only see few pictures of you.

Yep, it was a costume party, no one could entered if they weren’t dressed properly.

"Of course I know, we got matching costume ! Like every powerful couple, Lucy” Joe laughed as he kept looking for you.

"So you’re a pirate...is she a parrots ?" Ben joked as he playfully lowed the pirate hat on the ginger’s head, obstructing his view.

"Oh fuck off you with your ugly face, my girl isn’t a parrot" Joe put correctly his hat as Ben poured dramatically.

"Hey ! I did his makeup very well Mazzello so shut up !" Lucy had, indeed covered Ben’s face to look like the joker in batman, and the result was very impressive. "It take me long enough, thank you"

"Your makeup is amazing Lucy, don’t worry”

“I didn’t know Sherlock Holmes was an ass licker like that" Gwilym chuckled at Joe’s comment and gave him a slap with his cane on his bottom. “Ouch, Gwil ! Only (Y/N) can slap my precious ass"

"I thought it was only me but I guess I was wrong” Ben sighed deeply, pretending to me disappointed. "Speaking of witch, where is she ? I can’t believe someone really handle dating you more than six months, she deserved a fucking medal"

"Oi ! You’re just fucking jealous Benny, that’s cute" Joe almost pinched his cheeks but Lucy’s death glare, as he would probably ruin the makeup, stopped him before he did. "Anyway...she is somewhere...here she is ! The prettier girl in the room. No offence Lucy honey” Joe pointed toward of group of girl with a large and proud smile.

"Is she the one wearing that sexy devil costume ?” Asked Ben with he checked out the girl discreetly.

"Not this one, the other !"

“The unicorn one ?" Gwilym wondered as he frowned. "I don’t see the link between pirate and unicorn"

"Oh for god’ sake, are you all blind or what ? I’m talking about the mermaid !" Joe exclaimed with a toothy smile, every gazes falling on you.

An Oooh collective echoing between them, finally getting a piece of the mysterious girl you were for them. You were chatting with your friends, excited to meet Joe’s friends but you had quickly lost him in the crowd both you being social butterfly. You were wearing a long and tight skirt covered in fake sparkling scales, imitating perfectly a mermaid tail. For the top, at Joe’s demand, you played cheeky and only wore a bikini with two shells to decorate it. Classic but effective. You let your hairs loose with a nice starfish clip to stay in the theme.

"(Y/N) !" You turned around when you heard your name and there your goofy boyfriend waving enthusiastically at you.

You smiled, amused by his excitement and joined him, kissing gently his kiss. He did look very gorgeous in pirate, giving a wild side that you weren’t complaining about.

"There is my pretty mermaid. So this is Gwil, Lucy and Ben. Guys, this is my girl (Y/N)" No one missed how proud was Joe when he said my girl, his arm wrapped around your waist.

"Oh my god Lucy, I love your Rapunzel costume, it’s amazing !” You beamed as you examined his complicated dressed, looking very similar of the one from the Disney movie. "And I love the hairs !”

The blond blushed with a soft smile and made a little twirl to show you the rest of the dress.

“Thank you (Y/N), I love yours too, you and Joe matches perfectly”

"Told you my girlfriend was real, guys" The ginger joked to the two men who teased him endlessly for months. "And like I said, sexier than you Benny” He winked at you and pressed a kiss on your red lips, earning an aaaww from the group.

"Dude, you’re dating a fucking mermaid, doesn’t look real to me” Replied the blond a smirk.

"Oh fuck off blondie"

[imaginemycroftholmes]

@grand-admiral-luna

“No one can know about her,” Moriarty fussed to his loyal sidekick Sebby, the Terror Tiger, looked unfazed by the declaration from his boss.

This wasn’t something new to him considering their gigs as superheroes for the greater part of London.

As Pyro Professor and Terror Tiger they constantly battled with the evil masterminds such as Ice Man, Purple Pirate or even worse, tango with their favorite henchman, Captain Action.

It was always a game of cat and mouse as the lone duo tried to rid the city of their influence and control while managing to evade arrest. A deed, most annoying slow considering Mycroft Holmes aka Ice Man had his hand in the pockets of every major business and authority.

To have their own sibling Eurus as their mole was a blessing the city couldn’t afford to lose as she had a watchful eye on both her brothers evil schemes. 

“Boss, if the Ice Man and Purple Pirate haven’t caught onto our real identities by now then I don’t think we have to worry about it,” Sebby rationalizes to Jim, “I mean they still won’t come to terms that the Holmes brothers are villains so why worry about us?”

“Because if they figure out who we are our families will be in danger,” Jim stresses, “They  could be used as bait or worse!”

 This isn’t the first time that Jim had gone off like this about his sister _____ after a difficult foiling of the dastardly duo but this is one of the few times it was too close for comfort.

However, being an orphan of war Sebastian can’t imagine what it feels like to lose someone but if its anything by the way Jim acts he know it can’t be good.

Not one of them could figure out why or how ______ kept ending up near their battles but it was starting  to put Jim on edge and when Jim is on edge then he’s crawling up his back with complaints that makes him want to claw off the backs of the infamous Holmes brothers just to make Jim stop crying.

And he just got his titanium claws resharpened just for the occasion. 

Watching and (tuning out) his boss’s ramblings about keeping his sister safe Sebastian turns his attention to the big screen showing off the city’s zones praying for a distraction when a cellphone rings.

“I’m holding out for a hero! I’m holding out for a hero until the morning's light..”

If it wasn’t for the fact that Jim was surrounded by some of his most dangerously sensitive bombs-the ones that only required just a light pressure to set off- Sebastian might have found it funny how he fumbled for his phone to answer it. 

With his cat-like reflexes he swooped in to drag the the nervous man from dropping his device on what would be an instant death for them both and answered the phone for him.

“Hello?”

“Sebby,” comes an excited voice from the other line, “It’s great to hear you! How has the canning business going with you two lately?”

Sebastian winces both at the moniker that ____ picked up from her brother and the fact that she still believes that lie.

How anyone believes that lie is beyond him but then again, people still can’t believe that Sherlock Holmes is the Purple Pirate DESPITE WEARING THE SAME OUTFIT EACH TIME BUT ONLY PURPLE. THERE’S NO MASK TO OBSCURE HIS FACE OR HAIR BUT WHEN HE TRIES TO SHOW PEOPLE THAT THEY THINK HE’S “CRAZY”.

But thanks to his ever witty and not good with lies on the spot partner the first thing that came out of his mouth for their nightly activities is starting a canning business and they’re in a relationship.

Needless to say, this puts a damper on his dating life but for the life of him Sebastian doesn’t have the heart to cheat on Jim for fear of _____’s private version of “You hurt him and I’ll make sure you have a 4 year slow death in the backyard tool shed back in Sussex where no one can hear you scream.”

If ______ is anywhere near as bad as Moriarty Sebastian doesn’t want to be on her bad side. 

“Yeah, its going great _____,” Sebastian says convincingly while shooting a glare at Jim who is piteously trying to reach for his phone, “So what are you up to sunshine?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” she continues with enthusiasm, “You see, I met this guy...”

“You met a guy you say,” Sebastian parrots loudly knowing good and well that it would send her brother into a rage.

“A GUY?? WHO IS HE?? SEB! GIVE ME BACK MY PHONE!”

It really shouldn’t bring Sebastian as much joy as it does but Jim jumping desperately to retrieve his phone but it does and he continues to torment him.

“So what? you want me and Jim to meet him,” Sebastian carries on causally like Jim isn’t trying to scale him.

And failing.

“Yeah, actually. I’ve kinda been seeing him for over 2 months now and want him to get acquainted with you guys because I might be bringing him home for Christmas this year,” she states with more confidence than her brother wearing spandex tights.

“Ya know that’s a pretty big step in a relationship right?”

“I know,” _____ agrees, “But this guy is just so right for me that I don’t feel like its too big of  deal.”

  ‘Yeah I know,” Sebastian concedes, “But you know that your brother is going to have kittens right?”

“Well, that’s why I want you to come with. Nothing can settle someone down like their spouse am I right?”

“Spouse...right...”

“Speaking of which is my brother around?”

Looking around and finding that Jim had skunked off somewhere was alarming.The guy never gave up that easily which was why he was the Purple Pirate’s favorite target. 

“I think he may have ran to the loo-” Sebastian tries to say before an image of terror, Moriarty running full speed with one of his guns toward him with a battle cry of “GIVE ME MY PHONE” being heard throughout the hide out. 

“No, wait! ____, here he is,” Sebastian cries as he throws the device at Jim and runs for cover.

The phone is quickly caught by Jim who purrs his hellos to her and then promptly hangs up.

Sebastian doesn’t have to turn around from his hiding spot to know that its Moriarty standing behind him. His voice is dark and deadly as he leans closer.

“You tease me like that again when ______ is calling and I’ll clip those claws permanently.” 

“Yes boss,” Sebastian responds carefully knowing that when Jim is in one these moods that his life can very well be in forfeit because for all of Jim’s silliness he was a damn genius with an affinity for violence and murder. 

He could only shudder of what horrors Moriarty would unleash if he had not been on the side of angels.

“So, when are we meeting him?”

“Next Tuesday at 6″, Jim spats coldly, ‘And you had better not make us late.”

“You know that’s not my faul-” Sebastian says defensively until he sees the look of murder in his boss’s eyes. “I mean, sure boss,” he corrects himself, “are you going to use Eurus to spy on the bloke?”

“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I want to know the scum who’s shacking up with my sister? I want to know who he is, what he does and what he shits to see if he’s good enough for her! I wanna maul the guy with all the dirt I have on him so he’ll fuck off and leave us alone.”

Poor guy Sebastian thinks as his boss stalks off to Skype Eurus he can’t be all bad if ____ likes him.

                                XxXxXxX

“YOU.”

“Believe me the feeling is mutual.”

“Guys, can we settle down please! We’re in a public place!!”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

Here, sitting before him in the flesh in one of his bespoken suits, is the Ice Man at one of the nicer restaurants in London acting like he’s an honest to God good man beside Jim’s sister. 

Like the guy hadn’t tried to murder them last week for foiling their slave labor camps in India or tortured them on occasion.

And to make matters worse his hand is on _____’s thigh, oh my God Jim is going to murder him before the waiter even arrives.

________ has her hands up as is to stop her brother from launching himself over the table to fight and pronounces quickly, “I can explain!”

Well this would explain why Eurus couldn’t find information on him Sebby muses as the air becomes frigid. 

Crap, its one of Ice Man’s classic moves Sebastian thinks as other civilains begin to feel the icy sting.

“Explain what,” Jim spits out venomously, “that this monster brainwashed you into thinking that it loves you? That not even you can recognizes that he’s the Ice Man, the man responsible for the poverty and waste in our country? That he’s so evil that members of his own family are trying to end his tyranny?”

“Jimmy!”

“Now you see here, you two-bit genius,” Mycroft interjects, “I may make up causes and strife for my own gain but my love for ______ is one of the few things from me that are true.”

“Bullshit! You’re just using her to get to me!”

“Why would he want you when you already have Sebby,” _____ cries.

“I’m not gay!”

Sebastian can already see their waiter in the distance looking far too nervous to approach the shouting match that was their table so he shooed him off with a “come back later.”

Realizing that this would not only lead to a needless blood bath but to unmasking their identities to the public Sebastian tries his attempt to at least save this meal.

Tapping his glass to get their collective attention Sebastian starts,” Shut the hell up, you guys are causing a scene.”

Pointing at Mycroft accusing Jim begins to mouth out, “But he started-”

“I don’t care who started this I told you to shut up!”

He looks around the table at the lot of them.

______ looking confused and hurt that anyone would accuse Mycroft of anything less than sainthood, Mycroft torn between tearing ____ away with him like the villain he is or staying to suss out any evil intent toward her and Jim seemingly five seconds from ignoring the command to maul the Ice Man outright.

Praying to whatever deity that cursed him into a situation like this Sebastian began. “Look, we can’t outright believe that Ice Ma-I mean, Mycroft has the best intentions toward you _______-”Only to be interrupted by Jim’s HA!

Giving Jim a glare Sebastian continues, “However, JIM, we also can’t lawfully say that Mycroft’s feelings aren’t true because we aren’t mind readers.”

“I bet I can find us one on Craigslist!”

“Jimmy shut the hell up,” ______ hisses before gesturing for Sebastian to carry on. “So, my proposal is that we, Jim and I, monitor you two just to make sure that you’re safe.”

“But I’m 32,” ______ complains, “I’m too old for a chaperone!”

“Listen, I’m doing what I can _____. It’s either this or Jim’s going to try and murder Mycroft when you’re not around. It’s a compromise.”

“As if he could after all this time,” Mycroft snidely remarks.

“Maybe I just didn’t have the right motivation,” Jim counters getting squared up.

“Promises, promises,” Mycroft teases as he gestures for a waiter,” Besides we both know who the better genius is.”

“Yeah, your little sister.”

The air was becoming increasingly frigid to the point where Sebby was sure that he would have to evacuate people from the premises until _____ leaned onto Mycroft’s shoulder, melting away the frost.

“Guys, guys! Let’s stop the banter and eat! I’ve been dying to try this menu for ages,” _______ says cuddling Mycroft’s chill into submission.

“Anything you wish ______,” Mycroft says fondly in a way that makes Jim’s skin crawl.

Later after the bill was (fought over) and paid for  _____ hung back with him while Mycroft and Jimmy went to “talk” about some ground rules in private.

 “Sebby, why do Mycroft and Jimmy hate each other,” she asked innocently, “I know they never went to school together and Mycroft rarely leaves his office so how would they know each other enough to despise one another?”

Cursing his boss and this ridiculousness of their town Sebastian states, “We’re rival canning companies.”

“Oh, well that makes sense.” 

Listen, I’m not the best at superhero/villain names so cut me some slack. 

[suggestionsofthecaribbean]

The Black Pearl: James and Elizabeth

The rescue mission is finally underway, and in precious snatches of privacy James and Elizabeth are trying to figure out the dynamic of their love life.

CW: An attempt at mild bondage that is quickly abandoned.  Eventually, at the end, there is relatively explicit sexual content.  This post is extremely long.

Tia Dalma said the way to Jack Sparra was as hidden as the inner chambers of the heart, beneath wave and earth, beyond time and reason.  A deep cavern, neither of land nor of the ocean - and when you came out of it, not even of this world anymore.  Her jewelry rattled, her eye glimmered; every man or woman in the room had shivered.

And Will Turner had spoken up first.  “So who’s for spelunking?”

And the Pirate King had looked away, eyes distant, maybe misty, jaw tight.

---

Teague and Barbossa handled being crammed onto the Pearl startling well.  Teague was more elegant in his ways than his son was and not desperate to prove his dominion over the ship, and Barbossa, for his part, was as obsequious to the father as he’d been mutinous to the son; their shared humility led to an agreeable and easy co-Captainship.  The Pirate King was superior to them both, but also the least qualified and the least knowledgeable; and so she marched around and looked important, got on gamely with everyone, asked Teague more about the Code, ribbed Barbossa about his monkey, and practiced her Cantonese; and all day long she barked frequently specific orders to her dog without partaking much of his company - nor that of her ex-husband, her civility to whom matched her treatment of the other captains, yet whose presence seemed to provoke zero consideration or emotion from her at all.

There were bets taken among the crew for which of her men she was on with.  Some had it that her clipped cordiality with Turner meant she had chosen him, since she spoke not a word to Norrington that was not an instruction, and thus probably meant to give him a hard time; others had it that Turner was out and the attention to Norrington was a show that she liked him - the Pirate King bein’ a female, and that bein’ the ways of females an’ all.

In spite of all of those bets, however, not a man aboard noticed that one of them joined her in her cabin that night.

---

James had her in his arms the moment he shut the door.

“Elizabeth-”

Not content only to see her again, he picked her up and hefted her onto the crook of one arm, turning her across the floor like a newlywed and then kissing her deeply.

Elizabeth gasped and laughed and then shushed herself, smacking him on the shoulder scoldingly for making her make so much noise, and rendering this scolding toothless by kissing him back with equal ardor.

“Do you know the trouble it’s been, staying reserved and silent all day when all I wish is to adore you-”

“Oh, but you did so well-” she said, running her fingers through his hair while clutching his shoulders with the other hand. “You did everything so well…”

“One does one’s best,” he said, before kissing her again.

She let him, wrapping her arms further around him, pulling him close, pressing herself closer. James carried her to her little cot and gently lay her down against it, leaning over her and seemingly, for once, uncaring of his hair falling in his face. Elizabeth pulled him closer still, guiding him down between her thighs while kissing him with increasingly soft kisses, before holding his head against her throat, tilting her head back and groaning in sharp, sudden frustration.

“I was so angry at Tia Dalma I didn’t ask after a quondam-!”

James flinched. “Well, I suppose we’re even now-”

“I’m so sorry, James-”

“How long has it been-”

“I don’t know - I should be due soon-”

“Do you suppose it’s been three weeks?”

“Yes?  Yes, it must have been -  Elizabeth blinked, breaking the mood a little. “Lord - has it already been three weeks-”

James was visibly lost in thought.

“I- if it’s been three weeks the odds are low, very low-”

She started clutching at him a little too obviously.  “Oh - really, James-?”

“I- I think,” he said warily. “I’m not positive-”

“Do you want- should we try?” she asked, pushing herself up on her elbows.

“I-”

His hand warily settled on her belly, followed by his line of sight.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I would hate to do that to you before you desire that as a possible outcome.”

Elizabeth’s shoulders sank, but her legs stayed wrapped around his waist.  She slept in a shirt most nights, but changed into a more flattering nightgown if James were invited to her cabin - tonight, particularly, she had donned it with enthusiasm.  Currently it was bunched around her hips, too long to do anything else.

“But what are the odds of that, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not the kind of thing one can tell out of hand.”

“James,” she prompted. “We could die on this quest.”

“...that’s a fair point,” he said, though he had to look away from her as he did.

She rubbed the back of his hand.

“I have not yet shaved,” he said abruptly- and, following that, he immediately winced. That, if anything, only barred them from further alternatives to what they were both considering at the moment.

“I don’t mind,” she said - touching his beard affectionately.

“Elizabeth-”

He sat up beside her.

“If you were to fall pregnant- with my child, no less-”

She pulled a bit of a face, but endeavored to appear to be listening.  “Not precisely unheard of to raise a child at sea,” she coaxed him.

“Yes,” he said patiently, “but with this whole… dog thing we’ve worked out-”

“I don’t care if anyone knows you’re the father.  And you would be a good father-”

This clearly gave him pause- James had not expected to hear anything quite so sweet as that at a time like this, and he smiled almost reflexively.

“But would you wish to be a mother?” he asked, putting his hand flat on her belly again. “It’s asking a great deal more of you than myself.”

“I’d manage,” she said, after a short pause.  She had not planned on anything that had happened to her in the past three years; this was, therefore, probably true.  “I’m sure not all pirate children grow up to be depraved little monsters with tattoos everywhere.”

“Ha,” said James, giving her a very level look. “It’s not as though either of us would set that example to start with, unless you have plans.”

She smiled at him, perhaps a little mysteriously.  “Not at present.”

“Mm. Well, I can’t say it would change my good opinion of you.”

“I was thinking about getting one,” she admitted hesitantly.  “I’ll tell you about it… later, I think.  When I’m not so embarrassed-”

“I don’t mean to pry,” he said, kissing her shoulder for good measure. “They’re quite common in the Navy, regardless.”

“Mmmm, this isn’t the Navy, James-” she sighed, shutting her eyes and tilting her head back.

“Of course not,” he said, kissing under her jaw. “If it were, I would not be doing this-”

He leaned back and added, with a stern point of the finger, “I know the sort of joke you’re thinking of, and I’m telling you now that it is not as clever or original as you may believe.”

“I can honestly tell you I have no idea what you mean,” said Elizabeth, pulling that hand to her breast.  “I only have one thing on my mind, I’m afraid…”

“What’s that?” James said dryly. “Motherhood?”

“Fatherhood,” she rejoined, and started to laugh.

“If you’re certain-”

He kissed her again.

“-you and the child will want for nothing-”

Elizabeth rubbed his chest as she kissed him back.  “You know,” she murmured.  “Captain Barbossa’s not half bad with children himself…. Perhaps sailors are just very well-suited to child-rearing.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “though I suppose you would be breaking new ground as far as carrying one goes.”

“That’s not so,” she countered.  “I don’t know too much about Jack’s mother, but I gather he was born at sea himself.”

“And Grania O’Malley had a sword in her hand two hours after delivering,” James added, “though she was, I believe, around thirty at the time. What do you think as regards naming it, hm? I suppose Weatherby is the obvious choice for a boy-”

“James,” she said faintly.

“You already said Eliza for a girl- I suppose they won’t all turn out to be little Sparrows, would they?”

“I don’t know.  Teague’s a good enough sort, I guess, but rather eccentric; you would probably be a sterner father - and a more affectionate one, I think.  Little Lizzy the Second would be much better off for that, I’m sure-”

“Wait- what does Teague have to do with it-”

“What does-?  James, you can’t be serious.”

James had gone a little frantic around the eyes, in that subdued, tamped-down way of his.

“I know you like to believe he was more a father to me than the admiral, but I never knew the man-”

Elizabeth was so incredulous that she started laughing - and she had never been good at reading the subtle details of emotion.  “Oh, come on - you’re having a go at me.”

“It’s a- well, I assumed it was a cultural sort of thing,” James began lamely, looking away from her with wide, staring eyes. “I didn’t think-”

“But they look exactly alike,” she said helplessly, still laughing.  “Anyway - why did you think Teague came on this rescue mission, he doesn’t involve himself in much else- has to be impartial to enforce the rules, I suppose - well, it explains a lot, doesn’t it?  Jack’s always been a better sort of pirate than most of them.  Cares a lot about what’s fair, in an each man to his own sort of way-”

James stood abruptly and paced across the floor. There wasn’t a lot of room to do that, and he ended up turning back to her almost immediately.

“Oh, my God.”

Elizabeth had not noticed the early stages of his panic, but when he broke from her, she knew it at once, if not the reason for it.  He found her sitting up uneasily, looking concerned.

“James?”

“Teague’s son?” he blurted. “That man- Jack bloody Sparrow-”

“Yes,” she said, hesitant to confirm it.  “Are you - come sit down-”

James groaned and sat down on the edge of the cot, pushing his hair out of his face in irritation.

“You mean to tell me,” he said, “that I threw over four hundred men into a watery grave chasing down the son of the man who saved my life-”

Elizabeth went abashedly silent, unsure of how to proceed from here.  The guilt he felt, the reality of it were so enormous she couldn’t hope to fix them.  

“James, I didn’t- I didn’t think, I’m sorry-”

Touching him gingerly on the shoulder was a poor excuse for comfort, but she thought to pull closer to him would only be smothering and counterproductive.

“I always exempted Teague,” he said faintly. “Did you never realize that? When Beckett began the purges- I fed him as much misdirection from the start as I could to keep him away from you, from Turner- and from Teague.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“And any family I knew him to have, which was none. My God- if I’d known, I never would have sailed into that fucking hurricane-”

Elizabeth tried to rest her unhappy head on his shoulder and impede him as little as possible.

She had no idea what else to do.

“At least-”

He sighed. “It ended all right for me, I suppose. I can’t say as much for the others.”

“It was the law that was wrong - not you,” she said quickly, though her voice was a little flat - she felt numb.  “How could you make a choice? You had none.”

“The law didn’t tell me to pick up a bottle,” he countered, with a sad smile. “That’s the kind of thing that damns a man, wouldn’t you say?”

“Be damned with me,” Elizabeth whispered, turning her face to meet his gaze.  “I- I can’t say I’m not sorry for how we got here, but -”

She bit her tongue for a moment.  It was not fair to compare Will to four hundred men and boys rotting underwater, broken heart or no.

“-  I’m glad we’re here all the same.  I don’t care if it’s selfish.  You belong with me.”

James touched her cheek.

“I know.” He took a slow, shuddering breath, and added, with a similarly sad, drained laugh, “I haven’t indulged since- Good God, July?”

He paused.

“My God- Elizabeth, is it October already?”

“You know what this means,” said Elizabeth, focusing on something distantly, with a forlorn expression on her face.  

“I know something,” he said, “but nothing important right now-”

“We are really bad friends to Jack Sparrow.”

“Jack Sparrow is not my friend,” James retorted, “and it took his father just as long.”

“He’s my friend,” said Elizabeth fiercely.  Then she deflated.  “Well, he was until I murdered him in cold blood and all of that,” she added miserably, and buried her face against his arm and groaned.

“Perhaps I can bargain with the witch to bring back the Dauntless,” James said mirthlessly, “or at least the men aboard.”

“That would be a little difficult,” Elizabeth said, muffled against his arm.  “If not for her, then for them to go home to families that have spent two years mourning them.”

“I know,” James said fully. “But even so-”

“You would only be condemning them to lives as outcasts,” she warned. “Three years is a long time to be dead.  And then all of them just come back? A miracle; or summoned from hell?  And what will they go back to - wives remarried, children adopted, houses and belongings all sold - James.  There’s nothing you can do for them.”

“And yet Hector Barbossa is stomping about overhead, playing at schoolmaster,” James said, with a bitter laugh, “and Jack bloody Sparrow’s died three times now and we all have to undo that, of course.”

“One of those times was my fault,” she reminded him quietly.

“I nearly hanged him,” he said, rubbing her between the shoulders. “And came rather close to shooting him-”

“Both of those things were different. It’s - oh, nevermind.  You weren’t there.”

James smiled, but it turned into more of a grimace. “I was probably in Beckett’s office about then.”

“It’s one thing to kill a man in self-defence,” said Elizabeth, after a long moment; the silence of the cabin was terrible.  “But to preventatively kill him, to save yourself?  To kill a friend?”

“Elizabeth…”

He pulled her up a little higher, to lean on his shoulder.

“What happened back there-”

“Davy Jones sent the Kraken after him,” said Elizabeth with a pleading insistence. “We tried to battle it, but nothing worked.  Jack wanted all the survivors to pile into the longboat and make for shore while it took down the Pearl-- but it didn’t want the Pearl.  Just Jack. So I -”  Elizabeth blinked quickly.  “ - please don’t make me finish this.”

“-so you considered the greater need of your party,” James said gently.

“- I kissed him, and chained him to the mast while he was distracted,” Elizabeth said bluntly. “Will saw the kiss and looked away after, I presume.  He spent the next year thinking I was-”

She had to stop again, now feeling the tears stinging her eyes.  “This isn’t like you, terrified out of your wits and picking up a bottle in a storm.  There were more righteous ways I could have thrown Jack to the creature - could have put the matter to a vote, or told the crew what I did, or whatever.  I deceived him and then I lied about it, James.  Don’t try to protect me from this.”

“Elizabeth,” said James, though there was a note of discomfort he couldn’t quite conceal. “That’s- well, you were proactive, I suppose.”

“That’s why he hates me so much.  That’s also why I have to come rescue him.”

“Then we are alike in obligation,” he said grimly.

She kissed him on the cheek. He smiled a little at that and pressed his hand to her own cheek, as though to hold her there a little longer.  She responded by bringing her kisses down his jawline, not minding the beard one bit.

“Changed your mind?” he teased, slipping his fingers into her hair.

“You know I like it,” she said, a little miffed, as she moved her lips to his throat.  “I just also know that you don’t.  And you can grow it out again if you change your mind…”

“More like if you change yours-”

“Well, I wanted to give you the illusion of control over your own life,” she said with a low laugh. “James, get on the bed.”

“Do you mean to say you would prefer me on my back?” he asked. “I’m afraid I’m already on the bed.”

“Yeah.  I mean get on your back, on the bed,” said Elizabeth, already sliding onto the mattress.

James obligingly lay back and swung his legs up onto the mattress, with a little palm-up gesture, as though to say that there she had him.  She had him indeed; she was on top of him in a moment, hands in his hair and kissing him.

“Does this please you-”

“Touch me,” she commanded, instead of answering him.

“Where?”

“Wherever you want most-”

He began with her hair; that would be the easiest way to keep himself from getting carried away, and it was so close already to the neck he moved on to kissing almost immediately after.  Elizabeth shut her eyes and arched into it, her own hands creeping down to his chest to remove his shirt.

“I love you,” he breathed. “It still- I am still dazzled, to be so wanted by you after all-”

This didn’t propel her to greater heights of desire; it made her feel uncomfortably guilty.  As much as she had tried to anchor her feelings in their past, she could not fully deceive herself that wanting James had not been new.

“ - I love you too,” she finally responded, passing it off as having been distracted by his touching her, and turning her head to kiss the palm of his hand, a gesture he reciprocated.

“I did not think you would choose me over him,” he said, reverently, against her palm. “I hardly dared to dream of it.”

“You - never?” She hadn’t wanted to follow him down this line of thought, but her discomfort pulled her there anyway. “Not after everything?”

He lifted her hand from his mouth to look up at her with sad, knowing eyes.

“I didn’t know. It was difficult to think that things might have mended again between you.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze for long.

“I’m sorry I didn’t… I didn’t do enough to assure you.” Even with her eyes cast down, she smiled.  “That you were mine. That I intended to keep you.”

“Why, Elizabeth,” he said, reaching up to touch her face, and then pull her downward to kiss her, “that's very nearly a threat.”

“Captain Swann to you,” she whispered against his lips, smirking.  Her tone was as sultry as it was dangerous.

“Your Majesty,” he said, in a low voice.

“One day,” the Pirate King continued conversationally, gliding the backs of her knuckles over his temple, “I will have you so thoroughly that you’ll be saying that as you climax.”

“Would you like me to work on that?”

“I suppose I’ll have to train you.”

“With what instruction?” he asked, lifting one leg and firmly bending it over hers.

Elizabeth reached up and behind him, sliding her hand beneath the pillow for something she’d had prepared.

The notorious silk curtain tie.  

“Touch me a little while longer, my love,” she said with a look of profound satisfaction on her face. “Because in a moment I will ask you to give me your hands, and I will expect you to comply.”

He grinned. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

He kissed her again and pulled her down as much as he felt his station allowed.

It was, by and large, Elizabeth who took advantage of the minutes in which she allowed him to caress her - guiding his hands to pull down the bodice of her gown, nuzzling the palm of his hand, taking his fingertip into her mouth.  She saw no need to disguise that this was more for her benefit than for his.  It was an open secret, really.

“Does this please you?” he asked, pushing his fingers back through her hair.

She had been straddling him for the better part of it, all the greater pity they could not do as planned.

“Why don’t you check and see?”

“There are many kinds of pleasure, sweetheart.”

“Indeed, but I seek one at the moment.”

“Am I to look for a change in climate, then?” he asked lightly, gliding his free hand downward.

She was forced momentarily out of character by an eruption of laughter. “Climate, James?”

“If I may be so cautious-”

“I don’t enjoy your caution in this context.”

“I thought you might prefer to see your time extended.”

“Oh, it shall be, darling.  I just want you to feel how I feel before I lash you to this bed,” she said with a gentle kiss.

“What- are you hiding more ropes in there-”

He patted down the length of her body, somewhat facetiously, while raising an eyebrow at her.

Elizabeth laughed again, pulling both of his hands back to her bared breasts.  “Just your hands tonight, darling.  One cannot learn too much in a single evening.  Instructing you will take some time.”

Her smile was merciless and clearly baiting him.

“Would you have me blinded again, Your Majesty?” he asked, with an almost distressing degree of sincerity.

“Not tonight.  One peculiarity at a time, I would think, is sufficient.”

“Ah,” he said. “Er, Elizabeth-”

“Poor thing,” Elizabeth laughed, stroking his jaw affectionately. “Would you have liked that?”

“Elizabeth,” he said, and he tried to soften it with a rather embarrassed-looking smile. “I- I don’t think I particularly desire to be tied up.”

“ -oh,” said Elizabeth in surprise, the little rope still in her hands. When she lowered them, without thinking, the rope sagged as though it had overheard, and had its hopes dashed. “What do you particularly desire?”

“I’m still sorting that out,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s- Elizabeth, you know I love you very much, don’t you?”

She laughed again, once and loudly. “A bit of insurance before you tell your mistress you’d rather not be tied on a leash?”

“Well, in a sense-”

Elizabeth chewed on the inside of her cheek and then proffered the ties again. “Do you wanna do it on me?”

“What, tie you up?” he blurted, looking startled by the very idea.

Elizabeth smirked at him.  “Could make it a game, hm? Pirate hunter and captured Pirate King?”  She was tickling him under the chin with one of the tassels. He laughed, and gently pushed it away, but let his hand linger on hers before lifting it to his lips.

“I want to stay here with you,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it neatly across the palm, “and talk, and enjoy your company, and take a little time to appreciate that you’re mine…”

“There’s not a lot in there about, ah, rutting each other senseless, is there-”

“We’ll see if we can work up to that,” James teased.  

Elizabeth looked at him stubbornly.

“Do you not know where I am sitting? I think you’re worked up to it.”

“I haven’t,” he pointed out, “and I’m in no hurry to do so. May I kiss you again?”

“Hmph,” she said, with a demure nod of resignation.

He did, lips parted, and clasped her hands in his.

“I don’t want to simply rush into having a go at you,” he said, leaning his forehead to hers. “I know you don’t mind it, but- putting you to it first thing when I have been away from you for so long- as though I’m using you and worrying about the formalities later-”

“But I love doing it,” said Elizabeth, somewhere between petulance and remembered ecstasy.  “How can it be using me?”

“I hope this doesn’t constitute too much of a problem,” said James.

Elizabeth slid gingerly off his lap.  “I think you underestimate how much I want you.”

“I’m not going to challenge you to prove it,” James said lightly. “I suppose- well. I always had a very specific idea of what our marriage would entail, and the physical aspect was- never mind. I did not like to dwell on it.”

“The physical aspect was what,” she asked suspiciously.

“Rather low in my consideration,” said James. “As I said, I did not wish to dwell on it. It seemed improper.”

“What was your ‘very specific idea?’” she asked in growing, flattered curiosity.  “I- we- might implement it, if you like, if I care for it.  I think what we have now is very like what we might have had,” she said, and mortified herself by being shy.

James’s eyes widened as he looked at her, then looked away and down.

“I- I mean to say that I had thought- expected- more companionship than… physical acts,” he said, looking sidelong now to the cabin wall. “That was the very specific idea. I could not bear to think of much more save that I wanted to know you might enjoy said physical act-”

“Now I do - really, really do - and you avoid it,” she pointed out, with a small, pleased smile.

“I’ve a rather complicated history there, darling,” he said, looking back at her again to assure her he was not offended.

“Mm, yes. And you’ve a rather complicated history with me,” she agreed, rubbing his chest so as to assure him that she was not either.  “I wish I could ease your conscience some.  You have no idea how much I long for you - all day I do - and then being here with you, finally… I suppose you are less afraid of using me and a little more concerned that I am using you.”

“Lettie was not my first woman,” he said carefully.

“I had not thought she was. Men have more reign in these matters than women do, and you are a sailor.”

He smiled unhappily at this. “That’s hardly an excuse.”

“Nor indeed do you need an excuse,” she said, rubbing her thumb fondly back and forth over his chin.

“A woman would be expected to supply one,” James retorted.

“You know I think that is a wagon of horseshit, too -”

“Does it not seem rather unfair to you that a man is not, then?” he asked.

“Of course it does - but not in that direction,” she said incredulously.  She leaned up a bit on her elbow and stretched her legs out.  “I believe,” Elizabeth mused out loud, “everyone should do whatever they please, whenever they want to, and be obligated to no person - so long as they do no person any harm.  Of course… If the East India Trading Company were to take a loss… or justice were dispensed towards those who do harm on a regular basis….”  Elizabeth started to laugh, the kind of low but uninhibited laughter that often accompanies drowsiness.  

“Those are rather unconnected phenomena, darling, that’s nothing to do with carnal matters-”

“Well, I am not merely speaking of carnal matters,” said Elizabeth peevishly. “You know people are limited in more ways than that.”

“If your father had seen the… disgraceful way I was carrying myself as recently as the week I brought the pair of you to Port Royal,” James protested, “he might never have given me his confidence around you- especially not after your incident in the library. It’s only through the grace of God I’m not poxed-”

Elizabeth shrugged.  “I don’t mind. I’m only a bit jealous.  I too would like to have a string of conquests behind me - Sao Feng left me his ship, but the rest of what he gave me wasn’t very nice, and I wasn’t with Jenny for long enough -”

“Oh, God,” James groaned. “They weren’t conquests-”

“Indeed, you were the conquest in every encounter, I am sure -” Elizabeth smiled at him teasingly.  “At least you are with me, whether I may tie you down or not-”

“They were encounters, at best,” James said. “And frequently paid. And God, that’s not accounting for-”

He grit his teeth and took a breath.

“-fumbling with boys in the dark. That was hardly conquest either. We avoided looking at one another’s faces. We knew each other too well for that. Some of the others were busy with conquest, but one learned to look the other way and try to avoid the sound of it. There was a sort of stratification- some of us simply had to get it out somewhere, and another’s hand was as good as anywhere, and others- well, God forgive me, but they were practically sweethearts. It seemed unreasonably cruel to suggest it.”

“Cruel to suggest what?”

“Parting them-”

“I don’t know why you think it is my place to offer commentary on this,” said Elizabeth, after a pause. “I wouldn’t have done any differently.”

“Squandered yourself on people for whom you felt nothing but lust, and sometimes not even that?” James asked skeptically.

“What!” she exclaimed, in some surprise; this was so little like her own way of thinking. “Gained a bit of experience and made the passage of time considerably less dull - lord, James. It’s not as though I haven’t done a few things.”

“Less dull- well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, but I could probably have made captain another two years earlier had I not been frittering my life away on drink and loose behavior-“

“And what would that have gotten you?” she challenged.

“I don’t know- something to keep me too busy to chase Sparrow halfway across the damned planet and in position enough to curb Beckett on my own,” he said bitterly.

“Something that took you away from me?” she asked, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice, and surprised that she felt it.  It was selfishness, pure and simple - she could not pretend James was possibly happier with her now than he would have been in such a universe as he described now - but then too, Elizabeth was selfish. “Well, one of us would have been better off, but I’d much sooner have you for my dog than somebody else’s Rear Admiral.”

“Even if you had known of the drinking and wenching?” he asked dryly.

“I would have wished I could have signed up,” she said, grinning.

“Elizabeth!” he said, with a sudden, very visible flinch.

Concern flashed over her features; she touched his shoulder.  “What is it?”

“Thought of you in the uniform.”

Her hand slid off. “What,” she said flatly.

“The breeches and all that-“

“Oh, James, God!” she exclaimed in exasperation, and she shoved him backwards.

“I told you, it’s difficult to not think of such things-“

“I don’t mind,” she insisted.

“I mind!” he said, staring up at the ceiling rather than her from where she had shoved him.

“Why?” she demanded to know. “You’ve seen my legs.  Kissed them. Kissed very much between them, too-”

“I know- and I enjoyed it, thank you-”

“Then what’s so awful about picturing me in a pair of trousers?”

“It’s rather forward- and Elizabeth, I’m meant to be the one pleasing you-“

“It pleases me to be thought of. It pleases me to know you blush when you think of me. It pleases me to be wanted-”

“I do not blush-“

“More’s the pity-” she slung back heatedly.

“Elizabeth,” he said, “I’m beginning to fear I cannot keep up with you-“

That stung a little.  That stung a lot, actually; and Elizabeth was ready to retort something else at him when she found she had not the words.  She stared at him with her mouth barely open, and then, blinking angrily, she asked, “What do you think you mean by that?”

He couldn’t see her from this vantage point, did not recognize the pain in her voice, and continued, with an embarrassed and apologetic half-laugh, “I must be a dreadful disappointment to you.”

“You’re not-”

Suddenly she was leaning over him, cupping his face with her hand, tender and adamant; and just as suddenly she was kissing him. James gasped and started sitting up again in surprise.

“Elizabeth Swann,” he said fondly, “I will never deserve you.”

She growled a little and pushed him back down to the bed, absolutely devouring him.

“Elizabeth!”

It wasn’t much of a protest this time; he pulled her to him with a laugh of relief.

“I’m sorry about the ropes-“

“Forget about the ropes-” she said breathlessly.

“Ah,” he said. “Good, very good- I think I’d rather keep the dog bit out of the bedroom, if it’s all right with you-“

“My offer still stands,” she said with a lopsided smile.

“What! Oh, no, no-“

“No?” She looked mildly put out.

“Elizabeth,” he said, a little breathlessly, “I don’t think that’s at all to my preference-“

“No? Not even to do what I planned to do to you? I think you would like that.”

“I would rather be able to touch you,” he said, trailing a finger along her lower spine through her nightgown to illustrate this point.

“I just want to control you,” she said with relish. “But never mind it - I shall do so when the sun is up.”

“And I suppose, if you may accept this as an offer of trust,” he said, “you are welcome to pull my hair and grope at me as you will.”

“What?” asked Elizabeth, stupefied.  “Really? I know that your reputation is largely set in stone and that you’ll be my kept boy in all the annals of history, but do you really want that on the record?”

“If it is set in stone, it scarcely matters,” James retorted. “And I'd rather that than the ropes.”

“Look, I….”  She had to sit up and give this the thoughtfulness it deserved.  “I am not unopposed, but - not in front of Will, if that’s all right with you.  To be perfectly honest, I would rather we not do it in front of Barbossa, either, but that’s another story - he’s just too smart to fall for it.  He knows I’m a little off my head about you, and he won’t stop letting me know how much it annoys him.”

James laughed at this, and kissed her hand.

“I'm quite amenable, I assure you.”

“Well,” said Elizabeth, her eyes still wide. “I suppose that gives us something else to live for.”

“I rather assumed you enjoyed it,” said James. “God knows that without your attentions I might well have given up on my hair by now. It's damned annoying when it can't be secured.”

“It’ll grow out and then you can secure it,” she said, sliding her fingers through it now.

“I know. I know, that's how I continue to commit myself to it.” He closed his eyes and relaxed under her touch. “Though it helps to be in a situation where one can have a bit of one’s vanity back.”

She watched him a while longer with a satisfied smile.  Seeing his face still stirred more than a decade of memories, all of them more valuable now than they had ever been.  After a moment of recollection, Elizabeth leaned over to kiss him on the cheek - repeatedly, and whispered: “Dog’s head buckles…” before giggling and pressing her face into the pillow, leaning on him for support. James put his arms around her, nuzzling into her hair and kissing her temple.

“Yes, of course. Those are an absolute, are they not?”

“Mmmm,” Elizabeth agreed, leaning into it and rolling over.  “James, would you like me to indulge your vanity a bit more?”

“Mmm. Yes, I suppose,” he said, closing his eyes as he tightened his grip, a little possessively. He had earned the right to be possessive, he thought. She was his. She had said as much.

Elizabeth shut her eyes and melted further into the embrace.

“Well, looking at you….” she said, and slid her own arm around his waist, tightly. “You look like a proper pirate.”

“Good heavens,” he laughed. “Is that a compliment, now?”

“From me? You have to ask?”

“I know, I know,” he teased. “It’s more simply a wonder that I have ended here-”

“I wonder at that, too - every time I look at you and recall the last decade of our acquaintance,” she said affectionately.  She ran the flat and then the back of her hand over his chest.

“Mm,” said James. “I’m glad to know you approve.”

“More than approve,” she said softly.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “it is as much pleasing you, and knowing that I am doing so, as it is simple vanity.”

“Let me tell you again how much it pleases me…” she murmured.

“Oh, do,” James said, in a voice reduced to a low, pleased rumble. “I shall work to keep that in mind.”

“Better yet, I could show you…”

“Or both,” he said, unable to prevent another chuckle from entering his voice. “You know how much I seek to live up to any admiration I receive-”

“My dear Captain Norrington,” said Elizabeth, lips on his throat, “is that what the French call a double entendre?”

“A what?”

He opened his eyes and lifted his head at this.

“Living up to my admiration, darling?” she asked, with a strategic caress.

“Elizabeth, good lord-”

“I assume that was a no,” she said, struggling to control her laughter.  It was easy enough, though, to bury her face against his throat and resume her attentions there. James lay back down, still a little startled, and laced his fingers through her hair.

“I meant only that I want to deserve that kind of indulgence,” he clarified, with an awkward clearing of the throat.

“The indulgence is mine. You’re mine.”

“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten my place.”

“To be fair, until the acquisition of certain objects, you cannot properly inhabit it.”

“Elizabeth-” James blurted. “My God-”

“Do you object to that?” she asked, a touch exasperated.

“I’m still accustoming myself to your frankness-”

She snorted.

“There is a difference between the degree of opinion which I have always known, and been delighted to know you possess,” James said carefully, “and this… freedom of expression.”

Elizabeth lifted her head, unable to fully conceal either her embarrassment or her sincere pleasure in his admission.

“Really?”  She cleared her own throat.  “Delighted, I mean?”

“Elizabeth,” he said, “I was not thinking of you in trousers yet when I granted that you might borrow them from the Marines.”

“Delighted does not mean resigned.”

“I was delighted, I assure you. I distinctly recall laughing.”

“Oh,” she said, doubtfully.  “I suppose I remember that.”  She lay there a moment longer with his heart beating against her arm where it rested on his chest, her fingers combing through his hair.  “Can it really be so,” she wondered out loud, when she could control herself no longer, “that I’ve fallen in love with you - an older brother at most, later an unwanted suitor, uptight, honorbound, and extremely uninteresting?  Pinch me; I think I dreamt it.”

James, with no change in expression, gave her a sound pinch on the rear.

She burst into laughter.

“Not so unwanted now, it would seem,” he said dryly.

“Not a suitor either. You only call them suitors when they are still trying to win you,” she said, cupping his cheek.  “Oh, how though?”

“Something to do with the promise of dog’s head buckles, it would seem,” he said, closing his eyes and just barely allowing himself a smug smile.

“It began well before that -”

“Well, for whatever reason, I’m yours now,” James countered.

“Yes, but you were mine already,” she said - gently this time. “I just didn’t claim you.”

This time, he burst into laughter in return.

“Fair enough-”

“Now I do with pride.”

“And I gladly accept such an arrangement,” he said, leaning to kiss her on the top of the head.  Elizabeth shut her eyes and smiled.

“James, have we talked enough for your tastes or is it still too early in the evening for you?” she teased.  “Pardon me for my forwardness, Captain, but all this talk about ownership does things for me.”

“Ah, but I so enjoy seeing you like this.”

“Like what-”

“Breathless and eager-”

“Careful application of your hand will get you more of it-”

Of course it would; even saying so did.

“-and finishing you off would put a swift end to it. No, I think I should prefer to enjoy prolonging it a bit.”

She let out an affronted peal of laughter, but even as that died down she looked at him with earnest wonder. James lifted his eyebrows in questioning amusement.

“What is it?”

“I wish I knew,” she said sincerely.

James tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and smiled up at her from where he lay.

“Perhaps it is not ours to question,” he said, “only to be happy in it.”

She returned his smile, leaned in to kiss it.

“I hope,” she said, hesitating after beginning, then going on anyway, reaching to clasp his hand as she did, “we would have found our way to this if we’d married, too.”

James paused, blinked a few times, and then slowly smiled again.

“One can only hope.”

“Even if you would not show me your scars on our wedding night,” she teased him.

“A gruesome topic for a wedding night, wouldn’t you say?” James retorted. “I know I’m hardly ravaged, but there’s a time and a place for such things-”

“Yes,” agreed Elizabeth, her voice low and warm, cupping his cheek again and leaning in as though to kiss him. “The wedding night.”

He laughed again, defeated. “All right, a fair point. You may look on them now, if you like.”

“Why don’t you show them to me?” asked Elizabeth, languidly propping herself up on one hand.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Of course-”

James pushed himself up and started trying to extricate himself from his jacket as quickly as possible, with a gesture for her to be patient.  She wasn’t, though, and helped undo the closures with an air that made that very plain.

“Show me - show me like you would have shown me then,” said Elizabeth - her shyness returning, though her ability to breathe did not.  “As if we were starting - from the beginning.”

“...ah,” said James. “Well, ah-”

He made another gesture for patience and stood- nearly rolled himself from the bed, in fact, and tried to recall who he might have been three or four years previously under circumstances such as these.

“Elizabeth,” he began- he linked his hands behind his back, without thinking- “I don't wish to alarm you, but I feel as though I cannot proceed in this without a bit of preamble-”

Elizabeth swallowed back a laugh and did her best to look innocent and cautious - and then, actually remembering what she had been like back then, a little dubious.  She had not meant this sort of mummery, but when faced with the opportunity she would gladly claim the idea as her own.

“Certainly you are aware that the Navy man’s lot in life is not an easy one,” he continued, lifting his chin despite his back still being turned to her. “I count myself very lucky, for a man of my rank.”

“Will you not at least turn and face me?” asked Elizabeth, starting to remember, too, why she had liked him less then.

His posture loosened as he turned around- he had to remind himself to straighten it again, as though he had not very recently buried his face between this woman’s thighs.

“Forgive me.”

“That is easily done, with perhaps a bit of encouragement, J- Commodore Norrington,” said Elizabeth, recalling with a pang of guilt that she had called him that even up to the end of their engagement.

“I don't wish to alarm you- or invoke your pity, either,” said James. “Only to prepare you-”

“For what? I am not ignorant of the- the customs and expectations of matrimony-”

“I don't mean to impose anything further than the awareness of- the ways in which I have been marked during the course of my career,” he said carefully.

“Oh?” asked Elizabeth, with perhaps more interest than she would have actually shown if such a day had come to pass.  

“Er, yes,” said James. He came to sit beside her again and took her hands in his.

After a moment of looking her in the eyes, he faltered.

“This- er, well, I probably would have removed the wig here,” he said, “so we can probably just ignore that-“

Elizabeth rubbed his hair, which was a bit longer than it would have been.

“And I suppose I would have done that, too. I want to believe I would have, at any rate,” she said, with a faint, agreeable smile.

“This would have shown on its own,” he said, pulling his hair back from the scar on the side of his head. “Rather starkly, at the time. You’ll have to imagine that.”

“And I would have…”

She brushed her thumb over it.

“Do you want me to continue like this, or…”

“Please.”

He cleared his throat.

“All right,” he said. “That's the worst of them. I hope that is a reassurance.”

“Is it?” asked Elizabeth, dubious again.  “I don’t mind to see the… the proofs of your courage, Commodore.”  And though she rather suspected this was not actually how things would have gone, she touched him on the shoulder and said, more softly, “- or James. May I call you James?”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course, Elizabeth.”

“I’m sorry I did not do it sooner,” she said, and realized with a flush of warmth that she was worse than sorry, and not at all playing pretend. The sudden shine in her eyes was real.

“I don't blame you,” he said softly.

He could have kissed her in that moment, but belatedly recalled that she wanted to continue play-acting. James blinked rapidly and looked down.

“Shall we continue-”

“May we?” she asked, rubbing her nose swiftly and decisively.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose I ought to get to it.”

He returned to unfastening his weskit, with the occasional brief look in her direction.

Elizabeth set her jaw determinedly and tried to stay in character.  James was making it very easy - boring as he had ever been - but guilt was making it a challenge for her.

“Would you-”

She had found herself too authoritative, addressing a question as though it were a command, and had to shut her eyes and work out the more hesitant, softer tone necessary.  “Would you like my help undressing?”

James paused with his hands on the closures as his eyes met hers. A moment later, he nodded and moved his hands away.

She’d helped him do this twenty times now at least, and somehow it still felt different in this context.  She had been aware through all the stages of their relationship of what it might have been, and it hung over them now like a heavy curtain.  Her breath caught at the sight of him as if she really were ridding him of a military uniform, and she flushed with embarrassment at that.

“We’ll pretend this was more difficult, I suppose,” James said awkwardly. “Cravat and all that-”

Elizabeth kissed him on the throat in response to that - timidly, she recollected just in time.  Self-consciousness provided her some realism.  

“Would you have minded this terribly?” she asked, touching his collarbone.  “You had always been so overdressed around me.”

“It was a uniform, Elizabeth,” he said. “I hardly gave it any thought past keeping it in order.”

“Yes, but to be undressed right in front of me,” she pressed.  She maintained eye contact as she insisted, but her eyes dropped to his chest as it was revealed to her.  “And to be - to be staring, I would have stared -”

“You would have been my wife,” said James.

“As though that would have made a difference to your shyness so soon-”

“It would have been expected of me,” he retorted, “and as I don't exactly have anything to hide under here-”

“All right,” she said, with a touch of impatience, meeting his eyes sparingly but fiercely - rather a bit too like she had once done.  “And it isn’t as though you hadn’t seen me undressed - twice, by that point.”

“There would have been nothing to mind,” he said. “I would not have wished to impose further, had you expressed any reluctance.”

“I wouldn’t have, but you would have seen it just the same. Sent me to bed and slept beside me as stiff as a tin soldier - not in an enjoyable way, either-”

“There was no right to be claimed- my studies of how to please you or no, I would not have wished to force you-“

“I would not have needed you to force me,” she said, a hard note of insistence entering her voice.

“I know you would have stared,” he said wearily. “Why else would I have undressed before you in Tortuga?”

“Did you like it? Did you want to-” She glided a fingertip down his chest and to his navel. “-Provoke it?”

“You were married,” he said grimly, “or at least, I thought you were at the time.”

“Being engaged to you did not prevent me from staring at other men,” she reminded him, sharply, so as to dissolve his guilt.

“You did not love me then.”

“- no, I didn’t,” she said, uncomfortably.  “And I would not have on our wedding night.  But I would still have had eyes.”

“I would not have wanted you like that on our wedding night,” James admitted, after a long silence.

Elizabeth took his hand and clasped it a long time.

“When would we have… do you think…”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It grew further from my mind the longer the engagement progressed.”

“Because you could tell, you mean-” she said bitterly.

“...yes,” he said. “Because I could tell. I thought- perhaps at sea-“

Elizabeth pulled him to her and kissed him quiet. James put his arms around her in relief and gratitude.

“That is what happened, isn’t it - after all-” she managed between kisses.

“In a way- good lord, Elizabeth, is it terrible to be glad we were never married-“

“Would we have still found this-” she asked, with her eyes finding his.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I can only hope so, but with so little to be sure of…”

“I’ve spent months wondering about it - how I gave you up, how I ruined your life -”  Elizabeth drew him back to the bed, drowning him in kisses.  

“Elizabeth- for all you know I might have lost you with the Dauntless-“

“As if the sea could claim me -” scoffed Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth-”

“I’ll only let you do that,” she murmured against his mouth.

“How are you so adept at this?” James said, as impressed as he was confused. “You have a greater knack for steering everything in that direction than any man I’ve ever known.”

“What direction?” asked Elizabeth, straddling him on the bed - “sex?”

“I was attempting to be more delicate than that.”

“Perhaps it is only because I am not a man,” she said, smirking.

“Mm. By now, I daresay it wouldn’t matter if you were.” He pulled her down and kissed her.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that….”

She licked him on the ear and whispered, “I’d have really fucked you by now.”

James was shocked into laughter.

“Elizabeth-”

“You’d have liked it, James,” she baited him, moving her mouth - and her tongue - over to his mouth.

“Of course I would have,” he said, making a fist in her hair. “It’s you, after all-”

She groaned a little loudly, shutting her eyes.

“-and you remember what I told you, months ago-”  

“God, as though I could forget-”

“Really?” He sounded surprised, but pleased.

“James, that was the most romantic thing I’ve ever been told-” she said, pulling back to look him in the eye, although a shy expression of pleasure came into her gaze.

James blinked in slow shock, and then moved his hand from her hair to her cheek.

“...it’s true,” he said, in a soft voice. “Every word of it. God help me- it might have been easier if I did not love you for some time there, but… I don’t believe it’s anything that can be helped.”

“Thank you,” she said, when she had found her voice again; “for waiting for me.”

“I would wait decades for you, if I had to,” James said, stroking along her cheekbone with his thumb.

“You don’t need to go so far as that,” said Elizabeth, biting back a greater smile and looking aside, just slightly away from his eyes.  “I plan to never make you wait again.”

“Will you still have me as your dog?” he asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“For always, I hope,” she said, meeting his eyes now.

“Before others,” he said, “I think that is what I must be.”

“They’ll know I love you,” she said, caressing his cheek, first with her fingertips and then her knuckles, back and forth, and then his throat, just the same.  “They may think something a little cruel in that love, but I won’t be able to hide it, so I will not try.”

“I can manage that,” he said. “I didn’t spend twenty years in the service to rankle under authority.”

“Especially authority as sweet as mine,” she said coaxingly, before laughing at herself.  But she touched his lips and said sincerely, “You know I love you, James.  So much.”

“I know,” he agreed. “I do know, now.”

She kissed him, cupping his cheek as she did.

“It is a greater gift than I dared hope to receive any longer,” James said, pulling her against him and embracing her, nuzzling into the mass of her hair. “God- Elizabeth, there is no world in which I could not love you-”

Elizabeth held him and rolled over hard, to bring him halfway on top of her.

“In this world, at least, I promise you won’t lose me either,” she said in a near whisper.

James had to brace himself, with an awkward little bark of laughter, to keep from falling on her. The whole cot was sent rocking.

“Noted-”

“Oh, James-”

“What is it, love?”

Elizabeth let out a tiny laugh that died on her lips, tilting her head as she looked at him, fond and a little embarrassed. “Oh, James,” she had to repeat.

She had not reacted like this since the night she had saved him in Tortuga, and that somehow seemed more distant to him than even their former lives. Those seemed to exist nearly simultaneously, but behind a pane of glass- inaccessible, yet always visible. Their life now- his life, this life- had become so much the status quo already that it was strange to think that its course had begun so recently.

He pushed his fingers back through her hair and she shut her eyes and leaned into it.

“Don’t stop that,” she whispered, biting her lip.

“This- now, this, I might easily have done on our wedding night-”

“Mmm.”

“It seemed indecent to even think of it.”

“Touching my hair? Oh, James, good lord, imagine-”

“It’s a matter of context-”

“What a delightfully filthy idea,” she continued to tease him, wetting her lips and smiling.

“Didn't tend to imagine it quite so golden, though-”

“Well, no. It wasn’t.”

“Mm. Well, I like it golden-”

“I like that you like it,” she murmured.

“I like everything about you,” he said warmly, pulling her in for another kiss.

Elizabeth felt her face heat up and broke the kiss, as well as she could given the overall mood of the evening. “Surely not everything-” she faltered.

“Elizabeth, you're forcing my comments toward the filthy,” he half-grumbled. “Everything is close enough-”

“I did not mean it like - that,” she said, mortified.  “I only meant - my pride and my stubborness. My tact - or if you rather my lack of tact-”

“Mm. Well. I was not thinking of that-”

“Something less literal? You like the idea of me?”

“Oh God- Elizabeth-”

He scrubbed at his face with his free hand, his voice a barely audible mutter.

“I like- I enjoy looking at you.”

“Oh my G- was that all it was? You like everything you see?”  She started laughing, momentarily more relieved than flattered.

“Yes,” James groaned. “Christ- I'm still accustoming myself to this degree of informality between us-”

“Oh, dear, do you need a little bit more practice?” she asked, too innocently to mean anything but carnally.

“Oh, my God-”

She rubbed the back of his neck with a fraction more sincerity. He leaned into it- James never recognized his own muscle tension until she was relieving it- and gradually lowered his face to her shoulder in an attitude of defeat.

“I feel I am doomed to perform very poorly at being dreadful on your account if I can't handle so much as this,” he confessed. “I am brought low far too easily.”

“I do not mind you brought low - you have done some of your very best work for me in such a state as that,” said Elizabeth, holding him possessively closely, “but if you can see to it you are only done in by me, I would appreciate it. Remember who you belong to.”

“I know,” he sighed. “My God. I can promise you, I used to be better than this.”

“Why did becoming a pirate make you worse.”

“It was preceded by a long period of drunken wretchedness,” James said flatly. “I imagine that’s to blame.”

“We’ll make you better,” she said decisively.

“I am working on it, whether you can tell or not,” James said, with deeply wounded dignity.

“I can’t,” she said gamely, “though that is also because I can’t tell you have performed poorly by your own standards. I always find you competent at the very least. I have always admired you, and now that my admiration is joined by tender feelings and not a little bit of lust, I am probably blind to your faults.”

“I used to think that that was my worst,” he said. “The way I was… then. Not before you, but at sea.”

“And what do you think now?” she asked, briefly pausing in her administrations to the back of his neck.

“Well,” he said grimly, “I haven’t been back in battle in a good while.”

“Oh, that will probably change sooner than you’d like, and it will probably be ghosts or sea monsters or some other thing.  This is an awful crowd.”

“Indeed,” he said dryly. “And there I will be, with none of my earlier resources to draw upon.”

He lifted his head enough to smile at her and assure her he wasn’t completely sinking away again.

“Yes; you will have something better,” she said, and she whispered into his ear something entirely too filthy.

“Oh God-”

His head dropped again. Elizabeth started to laugh at him again, faintly, barely suppressing it against his shoulder.

“Will that not fortify you?” she pressed on.

“I meant,” he said, “without my typical resources toward inspiring terror-”

He felt like a petulant child, and shut himself up again as he weighed his words. When he finally spoke again, his voice was lower, more even.

“You may recall that I had another name before I was Her Majesty’s dog,” said James. “The Scourge, they used to call me. God help me, I had earned it, too. I used to fear your learning of it in any detail. I suppose that hardly matters now.”

She stroked his hair. It did not matter, but she was impressed with it nonetheless.

“I doubt that carries much weight among these people any longer, regardless,” he said. “One can hardly keep up that kind of reputation when rumor has it one is being bent over a desk on a habitual basis.”

That was another thought for another night - she did not think it would have been fair to suggest it when they had still been unable to enjoy each other the other way around - and she reluctantly put it out of mind.

“I don’t think it would be impossible to remind them,” she said diplomatically.  “Surely it will all come back in time.”

“One can only hope dog’s-head boot buckles and what have you can inspire a similar degree of dread as the slow removal of one's coat,” James commented.

After a pause, he added, “Because of the bloodstains, you see-”

Elizabeth shut her eyes tightly. James pushed himself up in concern.

“Are you all right?”

She bit her lip. “I’m picturing it-”

“Oh, my God-”

“So if we had married, things would have come around eventually,” she said optimistically.  “You couldn’t have kept that a secret.”

She remembered with some shame how insipid, how oppressively bland she had thought being married to him would be, but that only meant that her turnaround would have happened all the more willingly.

“That's true,” he conceded. “I couldn't exactly tell your father of any of that, either.”

“I would have been besotted,” she laughed.

“Once you stopped fussing, perhaps,” he said, leaning up properly now to brace himself up on his elbow. “I used to- oh, God, it sounds ridiculous to explain it now-”

“Please go on.”

“Cheap wine skins under my shirt.” He patted at his side to illustrate where he could have situated them. “Flat, unnoticeable. If they were slashed, my clothes would be soaked red in an instant. A bit of warfare of the mind, you could say, to fool an opponent into believing I was fighting through a wound that ought to have been lethal-”

Elizabeth started to giggle.  “I don’t think fussing would be necessary, for I would have gotten the shirt off you to see how bad the wounds were and uncovered the deception too quickly for that-”

“The devil you would have! I would have warned you first.”

“Either way, you cannot pretend you would have fooled me.”

“You're a great deal smarter than most of these people,” James said dryly. “Most of them seemed to believe I was up and about with an impossible head injury, at that.”

“I’ve had….”  This was an unpleasant thing to talk about; she wanted to keep on talking about James, Scourge of the Caribbean, and fancy a better ending for them if they had gotten married when planned, but once the topic had been brought up, it was the honorable thing to do to at least acknowledge it. “I’ve had four times the education anyone else here has had,” she admitted, then, not sounding proud of it.  “And I squandered a lot of that to read about pirates anyway.  I am sure I would have been very stupid if I had not been forced to my studies.”

“Ignorance and stupidity are two very distinct things,” James said, rather dismissively. “Believe me, there's plenty of both to go around in the Navy as well.”

“Look,” she said, after a moment, a little unwilling to argue.  “My first experience with pirates - an experience you shared, if you recall - involved ghosts and curses. I doubt that it is really that strange for a lot of these people to consider that the Crown may have undead pirate hunters to sic on them.”

“Oh, naturally,” he scoffed. “That's what made it so easy to exploit. I suppose we shall have to decide how that factors into my current status.”

“What is more fearful,” she teased, grateful to be off other topics, “death, or woman leaders?”

“A woman leader followed by three dead men, I would imagine.”

Elizabeth giggled again, leaning up enough to nuzzle him.

“We’ll have to devise a new impossible wound,” he said lightly, putting his arm around her. “The previous one is already out of sight most of the time, and will only be more obscured when I can tie my bloody hair back again-”

“Ohh, poor James,” she said, continuing to burrow into his arms.

“I’m not suggesting it’s the end of the world-“

“No, of course not, merely a great burden for you to shoulder,” she continued in the most tender tone of voice, rubbing his back.

“It's damnably annoying- I am permitted to be annoyed, you know-”

“Believe me, if you were not, I would remind you,” said Elizabeth, laying back again, and smirking up at him, tendrils of sunbleached hair falling in a tangle over her forehead.  She touched his lips absently. James kissed that fingertip and stretched himself beside her, pushing her hair from her face and letting it trail over his hand.

“I know I hardly need to ask this,” he said, “but I dearly hope you never cut this off.”

“I was not planning to. I did consider it, when I went incognito after Will and Jack, but I decided my reluctance was all the advice I needed.”

“Your impatience with it would be worse than my own,” James chuckled, leaning in to nuzzle it- and her as well.

“I do like that you like it,” she admitted, touching his own hair, and urging him closer. “I like that more than I like it myself.”

“Ah, now there's a familiar feeling,” he said, muffled by her collarbone.

“Which is?”

“To enjoy being liked for some particular quality more than that quality itself.”

“Well, I only feel that with you - and my father,” she amended, gently chucking him under the chin. “To hell with what other people think of me.”

“Mm. I have come to feel similarly about you.”

“Good boy,” she whispered.

James laughed, startled.

“You’ll note I have not yet shaved-”

“Yeah,” she said, gripping him by the jaw affectionately.  “I admit I am a little bit relieved. I like you roguish.”

“I knew it-”

“I only wanted what was best for you,” she protested.

“I’m not sure I have a best anymore.”

“Well, on that we are not in agreement; I have decided what is best for you is whatever I like most.  On that note, you are keeping the beard.  I don’t mind that it tickles. I have nothing to compare it to, anyway.”

“Noted,” James said dryly. “I shall try not to disappoint.”

“You never have,” she said fondly.

“I'm not particularly disposed toward the suggestion of a scarf.”

“Then ignore it.”

“I'm not going to stop complaining,” he said, very firmly. “I've earned that.”

“You have not!”

“Other than that,” he said, “I suppose I'm at your disposal-”

“I think earrings. Or an earring. Not one of those little manly hoops, though - something that dangles.  It’ll blend in with your hair, I think, for the most part, but catch the light and look so pretty.  Silver, I think.  It’s a better color for you.”

“I'm sorry, what-”

He leaned back up on his elbow in abject alarm.

“I believe you heard me, Captain.”

“Yes,” he said, “but I never can tell when you're joking-”

“Well, I’m not,” she said crossly.  “Don’t complain about this one, please.”

“How, exactly, do you intend to go sticking a new hole in my body-”

“Gin. Needle. Your sweet patience and an earring - something expensive, I think.”

“Oh, my God,” James groaned, laying back down.

There was a pause.

“... something dangling, though-”

“Yes.  You really couldn’t pull off hoops, I don’t think - you’re somehow too….”  She frowned at him. “Delicate.”

“That's a new one,” said James.

“Refined, perhaps.”

“It's going to be some time before I've enough hair for it to blend with, as you put it.”

“I don’t care. You’ll let me have what I want, won’t you?”

“I- yes, of course,” he said as he lay back down, a little bewildered. “How long have you been thinking of this?”

“At least all of today,” she said airily, to disguise how she felt about what she was about to confess.  “I thought we could share a pair - although I do not look better in silver. I am willing to make a concession for you.”

James scoffed. “This is your idea. If you’d rather gold, it’s all quite the same to me.”

“No, you wouldn’t wear it well enough.”

“Fine-“

“Well, now all of that’s settled,” said Elizabeth, stretching herself out on the bed while sneaking a look at him that was not sneaky enough not to be noticed, nor intended to be.

James’s eyebrows drew together.

“What now?” he asked suspiciously.

“What indeed,” she said, sliding her leg over his.

“Ah,” he said. “That.”

“James,” she pleaded.

“I haven’t got a quondam-“

“Well, maybe we should start a family. Though I am not naming any son of mine Weatherby.  I’ve always told father that.  We agreed ‘Henry’ will do; it is his middle name.”

James slowly sat up again, staring at her unbrokenly as he moved all the way up.

“...Elizabeth?”

“Darling?”

“Are you- darling, are you serious?”

He reached for her hands.  She laced their fingers together.

“I don’t want a child,” she said earnestly, but held onto him tightly, and kept her eyes on his - willing him to see her sincerity.  “But would it be so terrible if we had one unplanned?  We could die on this rescue mission. That would be a reliable form of birth control, to be sure.  Then perhaps we may not conceive at all.  And if we conceive, and we survive, then… well, then we would certainly have our work carved out for us.  I don’t know how long you could be my dog before it interfered with our child-rearing, but…. We could work it out as it happens.  James?”  She rubbed her thumbs over his knuckles, then leaned in and kissed them.  “We’re free out here.  We can do anything we want.”

“I know,” he said. “And truly, I would give you all the assistance you require. But Elizabeth-”

“Yes, James?”

“Are you certain-”

“Yes - yes, I’m absolutely certain-” she said, a little feverishly, pulling him to her.  “It’s worth the risk - and I have no worry for the consequences. I know that I can do and handle absolutely anything that falls in my path - and that you would be a wonderful father -”

“Elizabeth,” he reminded her, though he had to pause for a kiss- “Elizabeth, nine months is a rather long time-”

“Grania O’Malley,” she murmured. “Nothing shall ever slow me down-”

“Elizabeth…”

He kissed the edge of her mouth, already moving down toward her throat.

“Come back up here-” she laughed, wanting to taste him.

“Mm- you're right, it's safer up there-”

“Safer?” she asked, pausing as their lips touched, knowing she wouldn’t want to keep speaking once she kissed him.

“Less likely to lead anywhere unplanned,” he laughed.

“Ah, well - let’s do it anyway-” she laughed, and smooched him.

“Swann or Norrington, do you think-”

“James!”

“I'm making certain you're certain!”

“Swann, then!” she griped, and putting her arms around him she fell backwards to the bed.

“Mm- noted-”

He didn't add anything after that. His mouth was rather preoccupied.

The thought of having a child - of becoming pregnant with one - still left her with a quiet sense of unease.  It was mostly to do with the immediate concern of their plans, Pirate King and dog - the reality of raising a baby could not emotionally touch her no matter how much James implored her to consider it, so instead she was hung up on what a difficulty it would be to make all the sea quake with fear of her when she was pregnant and enormous - to make others dread James again, while keeping him firmly beneath her boot, when they were raising a child together.  To say nothing of the fact that the language she had adopted towards him in public could never, ever reach a child’s ears - children cannot hear their parents say such things to each other, even in play; they are too young to understand it.  

But she was not lying when she told him that if it happened, she could weather it - they could weather it together.  Perhaps they would have to raise a baby instead of raising hell - perhaps they would not be so terrifying as they wanted to be.  But what was the point of wanting freedom if one only gave oneself new restrictions?  She would not be tied down by her dreams of power; she refused.  And just once, just one chance to know him - she would take the risk for that.  Sometimes it seemed inevitable that he would die on this mission - in her mind, it was always James she feared dying, never herself - and she could not bear even the imaginary grief.  Having him beforehand would probably not lighten that if it came to pass, nor did she think, if she were to conceive, that raising a child alone after losing him would be any easier; but those hardships seemed to pale in comparison to the possibility of regret.  To never have him at all, to have loved him and lost him and never had him, would have been the worst possible feeling for her.

There was, however, nothing frantic in the way she kissed him; now that she had finally persuaded him, she felt free to take her time.  The only reminder of her plans now was in the way she led him between her thighs, and even that, she did slowly - there was so much else to do in the meantime.

James’ hand had settled on her belly in a pensive way even as he kissed her collarbones, over her breasts, her shoulders. He had remained sober for a few months now; there was now an even greater pressure to remain so if- somehow, God forbid- things went predictably in the most complicated possible direction and she fell pregnant. He was not a violent drunk, except where taverns full of taunting pirates and the chance to kill Jack Sparrow were concerned. Most of the brawling he’d gotten into during his low year had been miserably sober and in the pursuit of getting drunk again, and that was less of a concern around a hypothetical child. But he was reckless, he knew that much, and that frightened him just as much.

And even if he and Elizabeth somehow turned into outstanding parents on the first try, his stomach clenched uneasily at the thought of raising a child on board the Empress, bearing witness to engagement after engagement, being shushed while he or Elizabeth dealt with prisoners, wearing the tiniest imitations of pirate finery either of them could find-

“If it's Swann,” he murmured, lips against the soft inside of her wrist, “you may have to reconsider Eliza for a girl.”

“Why’s that?” she murmured, extending her fingers to brush them against his cheek.

“Imagine it. Sixteen years from now, a second Elizabeth Swann running about the oceans, raising Cain with the wind in her hair, attracting all kinds of attempts on her life meant for her mother-"

“-whom, I assume, she would be like enough in temperament to handle it,” said Elizabeth, before admitting in a quieter voice, “I can’t even picture sixteen years from now.”

“Suppose she were not,” James said softly. “It would be a heavy burden to place on a child’s shoulders, that sort of legacy. Any child of ours will have some degree of that. I'm not worried that either of us will turn into the Admiral, but I was raised at sea and in his shadow all the same. Any child we have will be notorious from the moment you begin to show, whether they like it or not.”

“And I am not worried any child of ours will grow into Jack Sparrow,” she said impatiently, “but we wouldn’t be the first to do it, and we cannot be worse than Teague - or your father, for that matter. Anyway everyone must have some variation of this concern when they join in the marriage bed, and many people who don’t think about it end up with inadequately cared for children.  We’re better off than many, and children are the primary result of this kind of cohabitation.  Even if we had a quondam, it wouldn’t be a guarantee - so unless you are expecting me to live with you and long for you without satisfaction for the rest of my days, you cannot convince me not to want you by threatening me with babies.”

“If you insist.”

There was another little pause.

“And all this assumes only one child-”

She burst into laughter, but it was a bit edgy at this point.  “God, James!”

“I'm not the one to carry and deliver it,” James insisted. “I must ask you to take this seriously-”

“How much more seriously am I to take it?”

“Are you eager enough to have me that you are comfortable with that risk?”

“The risk will always be there! So yes-”

“It will be much less of one when we've located a quondam-”

“And when that is located - will you then finally stop-”

“Yes! Elizabeth, that's all I'm waiting for-”

She looked frustrated and uneasy, clenching and unclenching her hands on the sheets.  Finally she tried to relax her jaw, and said, “James, I don’t - I don’t want - if something happens to one of us - “ to you, though, as she thought privately - “I don’t want us to have never known each other.”

“My mouth has been- honestly, Elizabeth, I believe I’ve known you better than many men know their wives in decades of marriage-”

“It feels incomplete,” she said mournfully.

“You’ve likely had a more complete experience by that method than I could give you by entering you to begin with,” he said flatly.

“It’s not about - James, it’s not about just - that,” she said, flushing.

“I know,” he said. “But… Elizabeth-”

James settled his hands on her shoulders.

“I love you. I love you too much to ask you accept this lightly.”

“It must be accepted whatever happens,” she whispered, struggling with her agitation. “Whatever we do, quondams or not - it will always be a risk, don’t you understand that?”

“I don't understand why it must be like this,” he said, a little wearily.

“Like what?”

“In a rush, with our thoughts elsewhere and this sense of dread hanging over us both-”

“You are the one bringing both of those things! I just want to adore you, dammit-”

He kissed her.

“Elizabeth…”

“What now-” she asked, but her anger had dissipated considerably.

“I’m sorry,” he said.”But I cannot do that to you. It's painful, it's dangerous- good Christ, some women are practically disfigured by an unfortunate enough pregnancy-”

She could have choked, pushing him back very quickly to look him dead in the eye.  “Never? You mean to tell me we are never-”

“When the risk is lower,” he said, trying to take her hand. “It will always be possible, but damn it, Elizabeth, we cannot play dice with this-”

Elizabeth groaned and pressed her forehead against his chest. James threaded his fingers back into her hair with a moody sigh of his own.

“I don't understand why this matters to you,” he said. “I've heard it's not terribly pleasant on your end to begin with.”

“Because it-”  She broke off sharply and bit her lip, pushing her face against him harder.  

“Because what? It appears if I die, the lot of you can come back for me,” he pointed out.

“Because it’s what spouses do,” she said through gritted teeth.  “Degenerate pirates may do whatever they like and call that binding but a husband and wife do one very specific thing to consummate their marriage and I haven’t done it.”

James had to stop and take this in for a moment, going still against her.

“Well,” he said, “we are not married, and I can assure you that even if we had, similar precautions would have been taken-”

“Would they have been?” she asked, with a strange flood of relief, and a pang of guilt. “Did you never want a child with me?”

“Oh, God, Elizabeth,” he said. “Of course I want a child with you.”

“Really?  Then why-”

“Haven't you got enough on your plate without that?” James asked.

“Now.  But not then-”

“Living at sea? On a patrol vessel? The consequences would hardly have been any less dire then than they are now if any part of it went away.”

Elizabeth smiled wryly.

“I say this for your sake,” said James. “I hope you can at least understand that.”

“I don’t think you know what is for the best as well as you think you do, but I do understand.”

“My mother was well nigh crippled carrying me,” he said, a little ruefully.

“She wasn’t carrying your older brothers,” Elizabeth pointed out.  “Women are not supposed to give birth so late in life.”

“She was scarcely twenty when she birthed Lawrence,” James countered, “and had the fever for four weeks after. I believe the difference there was comprised of Lawrence being the fruit of their wedding night, and not a nasty shock.”

“Is that why you wouldn’t have had me on our wedding night?” Elizabeth asked - not a demand, but too forwardly.  “Trying to avoid being at all like your father?”

“What? Oh- no, no, it's nothing as… charged as that,” said James.

“I don’t understand you at all,” she pressed onward. “You had scarcely managed to convince me you had loved me and truly wanted to marry me for myself and not simply my father’s favor before you began to impress upon me just how far from yourself you intended to keep me.”

“A lack of intent to use you for my own enjoyment is not distance.”

“You don’t want me.”

“Of course I want you,” he said, cupping his hands around her face.

“You want to preserve me,” she said, grimacing. “That is the only way you express your love.  I feel - God help me, James, I thought marrying you was going to be like being shut up in a little box, and I still feel like I’m in there sometimes.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he insisted. “I would think that’s something different.”

“I only want -”  

She caught herself before blurting something insensitive, pulling his hands from her face out of a sense of duty.  James might not want to hurt her, but she had a startling knack for hurting him.

“Elizabeth,” he said, “there are other ways we can pass our time, you know.”

“It isn’t the same.”

“You’re right, it’s more enjoyable.”

“James,” she said firmly, “I enjoy your company, I enjoy talking with you, but it isn’t the same.”

“I wasn’t speaking of conversation.”

“I don’t want you to think of me as your mistress,” Elizabeth said heatedly, without thinking.  “I am not some - some -”

Elizabeth let off with an agitated hiss through her teeth.  She did not know what she meant to say, but none of it could have been good.  She ran her fingers through her hair til it fell over her face, and then she pressed her eyes into the palms of her hands and sighed.

“Forgive me, James, I want to be your wife.”

James’s response was not even hurt so much as concerned.

“Do you consider it the lot of a wife, then, to be impersonally emptied within and then dismissed to sleep?” he asked, tentatively brushing her hair aside.

Elizabeth shook her head.

“I don’t want to serve you - I know you would never take me like that anyway. That was never even a concern before.  But I am - I am so burdened by the inverse.  You wanting always to serve me, barely wanting me to touch you - I want to be together.  This is not together, James, it is just… it just you playing forever at being my dog.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said. “This is… exactly how I might have treated you as my wife.”

He shook his head slowly.

“Then we would have come to the same place eventually, I suppose.  I thought - I thought you must have been treating me differently.  Oh, God’s wounds, I know that you hate the place but I wish we were back in Tortuga.  I miss what we were like in Tortuga.”

“Has it changed?” he asked, his frown deepening. “As I recall, I did not consider it wise to do what you ask of me there, either.”

“I don’t know. It seemed more domestic then.”

“I have not changed in my feelings toward you, if that’s a concern.”

“I already know your heart is mine,” she murmured, pulling him wearily into an embrace.  “It’s the rest of you I lack.”

James put his arms around her.

“There are few things in the world more one-sided and joyless than a man penetrating a woman,” he said, “or so I have been told. When one adds to that the consideration of the physical complications of pregnancy, I fear above all else that I would be inviting your resentment.”

“Then let me have you otherwise,” she said with a note of desperation in her voice.  “You cannot tell me you are sparing me your selfishness when you are merely displacing it onto me instead.  Let me tend to you, the way you tend to me - you make it seem as though it is a chore to be endured -”

“I don’t derive the degree of enjoyment you wish to give me from that,” James said, rubbing her shoulder now. “I’m much happier tending to you, I can assure you-”

“Now who is being selfish?”

“Elizabeth,” he laughed. “Lie down, and let me enjoy you.”

She did not comply - she did not say anything.  She looked up at him moodily and her eyes flashed betrayal.

James sighed heavily, looking away.

“I don’t know how I can convince you of the intensity of my wanting,” he said, holding her a little tighter, “without feeling that I am using you for my own benefit.”

“At least do me the honor of acknowledging you are making me feel as though I am using you for mine,” said Elizabeth, her stubbornness colliding with her temper.

“I don’t mind it- heaven’s sake, Elizabeth, it’s all right by me. I don’t enjoy feeling helpless and drained- the blindfold was one thing, but-”

“But I do,” she said desperately.

“Are you saying you want to please me?”

“Yes!” she blurted, taking his face in her hands.  “In this one thing, please, please let me be a wife to you and not a king-”

“I don’t want you to be a king then either!” James blurted. “Dear God- that sly, smiling pleasure in seeing me brought low- that’s all very well in front of others, but here-”

That stung.  Elizabeth had thought it a game to play, not a cruelty at his expense, and she had believed - he had given her reason to believe - that he had enjoyed it as well as she.

“Let us leave this conversation off for another night,” said Elizabeth in cresting irritation.  “Let us use this bed for the only purpose we can agree on.”

“All I’ve ever wanted of you was a wife,” he said, putting his hands on her face in reciprocation. “I was settling for a king. I believed a king was all I could have now.”

“No, you don’t want a wife,” she said, yanking his hands down.  “You want some kind of doll-”

“What?” He stared, confused and hurt and completely, genuinely at a loss.

“What made you believe that? I- Elizabeth, if I could have you now, I would. It’s a great difficulty, wanting you as I do and being unable to do anything about it- and feeling all the more ignoble for it.”

“You don’t!” she cried indignantly.  “You practically wince if I touch you - as though you hate it!”

“Pardon me for not enjoying an ongoing litany of how helpless I can be made to look, then,” James said stiffly.

“I am going to bed,” said Elizabeth poisonously, making good on this threat by standing abruptly and walking to the side of the bed, getting into it and staring sullenly at the wall, her back to him.

“Elizabeth,” he said, sitting down behind her and touching her shoulder. She shrugged his hand off.

“I said I am going to bed, Captain.”

“I will not trouble you any further if you wish to be left alone after I give my explanation to you,” he said, “but I would like to apologize for my lack of transparency in why I have felt such reluctance to accommodate you. I understand that my actions have been… confusing, in light of how I have asked to be treated in the company of others. I have sought to avoid treating you with any carnal disrespect, and I see now that that has…” He paused and swallowed.

“Miscommunicated the nature of my desire for you, and what I desire of you. For that, I am sorry. If you will have me, I would gladly offer myself to you.”

He touched her shoulder again- more deliberately this time- and stroked her hair away from her neck.  She had not turned to look at him yet, but at this, she sank into the bed with relief.

“I am plagued by fear that I am misusing you. I never meant to make you believe I don’t want you. It’s- well, it’s a lot of things. But not wanting you has never been one of them.”

Elizabeth swallowed.  “Lie down with me,” she said.

James cautiously stretched himself out alongside her and put his arm around her.

“How's this…?”

“Yes - good. I mean, yes, that’s what I meant -”

He kissed her at the soft place where her neck joined her shoulders, gliding his hand further down her body.

“Forgive me my misunderstanding.”

She took his hand and held it, pressed against her stomach, without any intended meaning behind it.

“If you will forgive me my silk rope…”

“It still makes an excellent blindfold,” he reminded her, with a weak laugh.

“And do you care for an excellent blindfold?”

“I can enjoy an excellent blindfold.”

“I see.  Was your enjoyment at all enabled by the fact that you were servicing me at the time?”

“I won't pretend otherwise.”

“So was the blindfold part of that, or…?”

“I felt it improved my focus,” he said, with a small shrug.

“Ah,” she said knowingly; “my very thorough former Commodore,” she added affectionately and turned her head to nuzzle him back. James smiled and kissed her, holding her a little more possessively now.

“This is really not a trait of yours I thought I would come to enjoy, and I seem to be growing used to it,” Elizabeth observed, tilting her head back against his shoulder so that she could just sort of look at him.

“Which trait is that?” He had closed his eyes.

“Your professionalism,” she said, choosing the word particularly.

“It prevented me from any untoward thoughts,” he said, just as particularly.

“Not precisely a problem in my eyes.”

“And at the time,” he said, “wishing to avoid thoughts of drink.”

“Well, I thought you were a bore,” said Elizabeth, rubbing his hand.

“I'm aware,” he said flatly.

“You still are, but it’s…. I’m learning to work my way around it.”

“Thank you,” he said, even more flatly.

“I suppose… It was always an inflexible notion in my mind. That you were you, and I was of course too different from you - James, why didn’t that seem like an obstacle to you?  We are so different.”

“I have always loved you as you are,” he said, giving her hair a gentle ruffle.

“And you thought we would - forgive me, you thought we were a suitable match regardless?”

“I was planning to bring you to sea,” he pointed out.

“Yes, where I would apparently be remaining a virgin for some time,” she teased.  

He laughed. “I would like to hope, in retrospect at least, that the sight of me covered in blood and wine might have assisted things somewhat.”

“Christ,” she swore. “I would like to see that now.”

“Another reason for you to prefer me in black.”

“I would have torn your soiled clothes off you, darling.”

“Mm. How good to know…”

He kissed her again. Elizabeth squirmed in order to turn over onto her back, and James drew her closer to his body.  She freed her hand to touch his face, then his hair, which she gripped as she deepened the kiss.

“You're allowed to do that-” he said softly, in a light gasp from the intensity of her kisses.

She closed her hand into a fist and pulled his head back - smoothly and deliberately, not with a short jerk.  

“Good,” she whispered, before kissing him again.

Between pulling him backwards and pushing herself up to take a more aggressive tactic with him, she had soon pushed James onto his back, leaning over him, pressing him into the cot, smothering him, all her hair spilling over her shoulder and over him.

“Do you like this, darling-”

“Of course I do,” she gasped, out of breath.

“Ah- good, then-”

“Do you?”

“Mm- yes, quite-“

She smoothed his hair back over his forehead and smiled down at him.  It was done almost grudgingly, but the smile was sincere, if becoming tired.

“Ah- mm. How do you feel about rolling over and-“

“Really?” asked Elizabeth, startled and, perhaps, not displeased.  “You want to do that?”

After a second’s pause, she asked, without a change in tone, “With what?”

James had to give himself a moment and run a number of calculations in his head to follow what she meant.

“What? Oh- oh, no, that’s not what I-“

Elizabeth burst into peals of laughter. “So you don’t want to do that-”

“With what, to begin with-“

“That’s what I asked!”

“I was going to ask you how you feel about letting me have a run between your thighs-“

“Oh - I have no idea what I feel. Rather, I have no idea what I would feel- do you happen to know?”

“Well,” he grumbled, “I’d probably have to start you off first-“

“Oh, and now you don’t like that?”

“It sounds as though you don’t-“

“I love it,” she said fervently, “I just wish you would let me touch you too-”

“-and all else aside,” he said, “I can’t fathom it working without getting you good and slick-“

Her mouth opened. James grimaced.

“I know, that’s not what you asked for, but I feel as though I’m going to have an apoplexy if we don’t do something-“

“Oh, please let’s do something-”

Emboldened by this response, James took a moment to consider things one last time, swallowed, and nodded.

“...Eleanor if it’s a girl. What do you say?”

She gave him a very flat look. James had to look away.

“I… God help me. I want to be inside you-“

“I think you have successfully changed my mind on the viability of that suggestion,” she said, albeit more gently than she had initially intended, upon seeing his reaction.

“...right,” he said, feeling more keenly than ever that he was God’s perfect idiot.

She put her hand over his affectionately. James’s eyes flicked toward her and he had to look away in embarrassment.

“Oh, good God,” he muttered.

Elizabeth kissed him on the cheek.

“It’s not as funny as you seem to find it,” he said. “That- good Christ, I’m an idiot-“

“Why?” asked Elizabeth, walking her fingers up his hand and over his wrist teasingly.  “Because you want the same things as I do?”

“I regret saying anything on the subject.”

“I’m glad you did. It’s been… enlightening,” she said, scooting close enough to him to lean her head back onto his shoulder contentedly.

“I suppose I’ve little choice now but to lie here consumed by lust,” he said flatly.

“There are other ways to be inside me,” she suggested - a bit shyly, given his record with the topic.

He looked at her in mild discomfort.

“Elizabeth,” he said.

“You liked it before,” she said crossly.

“I don’t understand how the entire process doesn’t strike you as rather unhygienic-“

“If I can go from having regular baths and a personal maid to the lifestyle of a pirate captain, to say nothing of the honeymoon suite I stayed in in Tortuga, I think I can manage one measly little-”

She cut herself off, embarrassed.

“...it’s not that little,” she said feebly.  “You know what I mean-”

“No offense taken.”

“Besides, you like doing it to me-”

“You don’t… emit anything with that force-“

“What’s the force got to do with the hygiene?”

“Nothing erupting in my face, for one-“

“Oh, lord, James, I don’t mind any of that-”

“I mind!”

“Please let me have you, James,” she murmured, touching his chest, rubbing her thumb over his bare skin thoughtfully, her eyes dropping contemplatively to her hand and unfocusing.

“I don't know how long I can give you,” he said, a little mournfully, as he stroked her hair back from her face again.

“Such is the way of the fates,” said Elizabeth, voice dropping to an intimate whisper.  “I don’t dare to question it.”

“Elizabeth…”

He pulled her closer and kissed her deeply, then just barely released her.

“Touch me.”

He kissed her again, and did not let go this time. James shifted his hips under her to give her better blind access.  She did not need to be told twice, biting his lip sweetly at the same time as she gripped him.

He froze up a little- it was impossible not to, not with some of the associations still churning around in his head- but he used the sudden tension in his muscles to pull her down further, harder, almost painfully.

Elizabeth gasped against his mouth, having to pause her kissing to catch her breath, but she returned to both tasks quickly, with earnest enthusiasm and a little bit of initial fumbling. James dragged her down beside him.

“God-”

“You don’t have to call me that, darling,” she said indulgently, before silencing him with her tongue in his mouth.

“Mmf-”

He gripped her shoulders tightly. Elizabeth had to kiss him more slowly in order to focus the lion’s share of her attention on him, but this she did not mind.  She could better savor him.

“Good God, Elizabeth,” he gasped. “More-”

“Like this?” she panted.

“Ah- yes, yes-”

“Oh, darling,” Elizabeth moaned against him, shutting her eyes, taking him in.  

For a short moment she found time to sympathize with his statements in support of the blindfold, but it was very brief.  Her eyes opened soon after to etch his expression into her memory.  The look in his eyes when they met hers - that loyal, distracted, proprietary blend of adoration and timid trust that so often provoked feelings of guilt and inadequacy - only brought from her tenderness now; a desire to protect him and please him all at once.  She leaned over him a little better, unable to help the wavy lock of her hair that slipped over her shoulder - bare, now; the shoulder of her nightgown had fallen down - and over his face; she was leaning up with one arm braced on the mattress, and would not have withdrawn her other hand from him for every piece of eight in the New World.

“God,” James was moaning. “God, you’re beautiful-”

She smiled without thinking - she was too distracted to reply, but she bit her lip and beamed at him anyway.

“Forgive me my- my earlier reluctance-”

“Forgiven - easily, always - oh, James. My love. My darling Captain-”

“I- oh, Christ, Elizabeth-”

This continued for several minutes longer, before James’s shoulders relaxed and he sank, breathless, into the bed. Elizabeth floated down beside him with a surprisingly solid thunk, nuzzling into his shoulder and shutting her eyes.

There was a long silence.

“Well,” James said at last. His voice was groggy.

She kissed him gently on the cheek.

“Thank you for letting me have that,” she whispered.

“Mmf. Think nothing of it,” said James, closing his eyes.

She kissed him swiftly on the eyelid and then the other, buying her giggling in his collarbones after. James put his arm around her and pulled her to his chest.

“How far along are you?” he murmured.

“Mm - pretty far, I think. I tend to be, you know, you-” She was tracing a shape over his chest with her fingertip idly. “- do things to my senses-”

“Let me… let me see if I can do anything about that…”

He rubbed her thigh.

Her administrations had left her compromised.  She let out a very wretched gasp.

“Don’t you need - some time-”

“Only for a certain part-”

“Yes, but to concentrate- don’t you want to - I don’t know, cuddle first?”

James burst into exhausted-sounding laughter. “There's a reversal for you.”

She pouted.

“Of course, sweetheart, of course…” he said, wrapping his arms around her again. She buried her head in his chest again, loving the salt smell of him, the sturdy weight of him.

“Are you completely convinced about the earring?” he teased, his voice a soft rumble against her ear.

“Of course I am,” she said, leaning up to nip his ear.

“My suspicions accounted for a tattoo,” he said, “but never that.”

“A tattoo…” she said, touching his chest again. “Perhaps if you are thoroughly convinced you will love me forever, you could get-”

“Oh, here we go-”

“A swan,” she said offendedly.  “What did you think I was going to say? ‘Property of Elizabeth Swann’?”

“You're very thorough yourself,” said James, “though I’m sure you already know that.”

“What’s that mean-”

“Only that you have an impressive number of ideas at your disposal,” said James, reaching up to rub the back of her neck and leaning his own head back into the pillow again to make his hair fall away from his face, if nothing else.

“You are an impressive figure; it’s fun to devise ways to improve on that,” said Elizabeth, perhaps growing drowsy.  She rolled over onto him as though she were about to curl up and call it a night, but started kissing him instead - slow and sleepy kisses of delight and gratitude.

“I always wanted to be a project,” he said dryly, but with too much of a smile to imbue it with any real disapproval.

“Maybe not,” she said in a wry voice. “But you did always want to be mine, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” he said, his caressing growing lazier. “And I’ve no point in saving my pride here; I have done nothing less than ask you for exactly this.”

“Oh, James. I still- I still can’t- oh, forgive me for saying it one more time, but I still can’t believe it’s you,” she said, tactless with affection.

“Neither can I,” he admitted, smiling a little abashedly at her.

She matched his expression with a hint of the gawky girl she’d been, before she’d found grace and wit and boldness in spades, and impulsively she kissed him.

“Did you truly think I expected to leave you at home, corseted and doing sums?” he asked, settling both hands comfortably on her back and lacing his fingers together.

“Mmhm. I thought you had no use for me but to make an alliance with my father.”

“I already had that,” he said, a little wistfully. “I had… hopes, that eventually one day you might want me- I felt as though it would eventually be inevitable, some time into our marriage. I'm aware of my good fortune in at least that sense, relative to most of my former peers-”

“I told myself the same thing,” she said, in a distant voice - too profound for apology. “But it seemed so far off at the time.”  After a few moments of consideration, hushed and bitter, Elizabeth brightened, nuzzling him to get his attention.  “In one matter at least there is a happy certainty. I thought you unappealing enough in the navy uniform that I think I would have been thoroughly struck upon seeing you out of it.”

He laughed at this, too, with perhaps a little bitterness but no anger. “How kind of you to say.”

“I remembered enough of your pig shit ensemble - after you’d joined Beckett’s fleet - that in the period between our parting ways and my seeing you again, I could still remember…”

She trailed off, letting her fingers speak for her as they glided over his throat, mesmerized.

“...ah,” he said. “Well. Thank you-”

“I don’t imagine I’d mind it so much now,” she said on reflection, “now that I love you for thoroughly enlightened reasons, and have seen you nude, of course, but at the time it was a convenient place to sink my dislike. I could not dislike you personally, of course; I had known you since for-ever; you were too nice to me; so the uniform came in handy.”  She squeezed his hand.  “I think I really just did not like the thought of marriage.”

Marrying Will did not seem to be comparable; they had to marry in order to consummate their love, and besides, in that case, she was marrying down - it meant more liberty than she had ever otherwise known, but her father had meant to provide for her as well as he could, and so she had not faced the financial insecurity that would have otherwise meant.  Marrying Will had meant a significant loss of standing and status in Port Royal’s civilized society, and that had been welcomed by Elizabeth with open arms. It had been her first step towards the place she stood now, she understood - embracing the comparable freedom allowed if she could only step away from the limitations of a class-bound, female-unfriendly world and into independence.

She hoped Will understood that someday.  That she really had loved him, regardless of whether not she’d eventually stepped beyond him, too.

“Ah,” he said, taking a moment to reflect on this. “Well.”

He fell silent for a little longer, and then abruptly added, “For what it's worth, I would have forgone the damned wig around you whenever possible.”

She smiled faintly. “I would have appreciated that.”

“For that matter,” he added dryly, “I would likely have tried to fit rather more hair beneath it.”

“I think,” she said, in a soft, reconciliatory tone of voice, “that my feelings on the marriage would have changed, as I came to know that you really cared about me, for my own sake - that you wanted my company.”

“I can hope,” he said softly.

“And perhaps we would have walked the deck together and you could have told me about the winds and the stars, and… I would have fallen in love with your attention, and your patience, and your love for me,” Elizabeth said, dazzled; uncharacteristically shy.

“Is that before or after you've torn off my bloodied clothing, hm?” he asked, more wry this time.

“I like to think before. I want to think so - that you would have gotten to know me better in conversation - long before I would have fallen in love with all of your - oh, your danger and courage -”

James kissed her for that. “I hope I can offer you plenty of that now-”

“I would like it - I would like you to-”

“Yes, Elizabeth- anything-”

“- Perhaps if you ever… tire of being my dog… you could still tell me those things, you know. I only know so much - and I don’t know any English lore at all, I’ve just learned from Tai Huang - and we could still…. Walk on the deck, and you could tell me those things, and your old pirate stories - the things you wouldn’t tell me in my father’s house - all the things you were going to tell me after we - You know, after we married -”

Her voice crept upward in pitch just enough to have become a plea.  

“I imagine I could do that now,” he said, “if one were to redefine ‘dog’ as strictly more of a wolfhound sort of role.”

“It won’t be the same,” she said with a hint of bitterness playing about her lips. “I still have to be the Pirate King, you know.  But - when we’re back - when we’ve returned to the Empress, our ship -”

“Our ship,” he repeated, taking her hands in his. He brought them together and kissed them.

“I-”

James shook his head, as though he were not only surprised, but confused by this turn of events.

“I have so much wasted time that I must make amends for- so much time spent wanting and not having, and then feeling filthy and common for the wanting- and then, to find you believed I never did-”

He let go of her hands now and put his arms around her instead, closing his eyes.

“My God. Elizabeth- you believed I did not want you? I had to tell myself I wanted you less, that I was deluding myself, just to get by. Perhaps- perhaps you were right, and my feelings have been morbidly cool. If they were, they were through my own effort.”

“I wasn’t wholly ignorant,” she protested, overpowered by two different sources of guilt - that she had not wanted him back at the time and that she had now caused him this new crisis. “I knew you wanted to marry me.  But I mistook your motives-”

“Because of my own actions,” said James, “and my decision to forcibly estrange myself from my desires.”

“James,” she said, uncomfortably. “It might not have made a difference-”

“I might have been more demonstrative-”

“I don’t want to give you unfounded hope that that might have been enough to capture my heart at that stage in things,” said Elizabeth gently.  “I was so much infatuated with Will then, for such a long time.”

“I don't think hope matters for three years in the past.”

Elizabeth sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, willing herself to regret less.

“I only wish…. I wish father could see us.  Not perhaps at this particular moment, but just to know-”

“He was proud of you to the very end,” said James. “I don’t know how he would feel about me, but he never regretted your course save to fear for your safety.”

“He’d be smug to be right,” said Elizabeth, opening her eyes with a wry look in them.  “About us.  He would try to hide it and frame it as about my happiness, of course, not entirely incorrectly, but I’d still be able to tell.”  

Elizabeth’s smile faltered, and she pressed her cheek against James’ chest for a bit of comfort.

“...I miss him so much,” she said, feeling a tear leak out of her eye, though she otherwise kept a good lid on it. James pulled her up a little closer to his shoulder and pushed one hand into her hair.

“So do I, love. Every day.”

“I’m glad we…” Her voice squeaked out to nothing, and she cleared her throat. “I’m glad we have each other now - there are many other reasons for that, but I think we are the only two people who really -”

He kissed her forehead in silent understanding. She tilted her head up to accept it.

“Then doesn't matter anymore. You're mine now.”

“Captain Norrington,” said Elizabeth with a sniff and an easy laugh. “Please.”

“He used to slip up and call me that even after I made Admiral. For that matter, before I'd made Captain. He never made that mistake with others.”

“Father?”

“It was an affectionate nickname, at first. After that, we had relatively little chance for him to grow used to ‘commodore’, and he knew what Admiral Norrington brought to mind.”

Elizabeth smiled faintly. “I thought he was a bit blinded by paternal pride when he began to transparently push us closer together - in you, not me.  I thought he wanted you for a son enough to overlook that you would be ill-suited to his daughter.”

“Do you think he would approve of… this-“

He broadly waved a hand over himself.

“If he approves of me, I don’t doubt he does. He’s probably grateful - probably would be grateful - to you for turning pirate just to take care of me.”

“I thought of him when I did.”

She smiled.

“I can only hope it does not disappoint him to see me doing wolfhound-ish activities on your account,” James added, with a small stressed-sounding laugh.

“I can only hope his vision is limited,” said Elizabeth, affronted.

“I’m beginning to itch for that.”

There was a small pause.

“Don’t worry,” he said, with no change in tone. “I’m as surprised as you are.”

“....by what?” she asked in bewilderment.

“I had assumed I would have been engaged more often by now.”

She had completely misinterpreted his itching and was momentarily disappointed, but the notion of James in battle overcame that quickly.

“Ooh, I’m so sorry,” she said with a sly smile. “I promise when we return there shall be lots and lots of ships to raid and wayward pirates to shepherd.”

She kissed his throat and upward, finding his lips with satisfaction.

“I miss the fear,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. “God, I miss the fear.”

Elizabeth pressed her face against his neck, momentarily taken aback by that - feeling her cheeks flush and her pulse pound in her temples.

“Oh, God, James,” she whispered.

“What is it?”

He lifted his head in concern. Elizabeth turned her face up to look at him, flushed and breathless and visibly self-conscious of it - then, meeting his eyes to be sure he saw, deliberately rolled down her shift.

“Ah-”

He made a delighted sound and pulled her up for a kiss.

“Further down,” she complained.

“Ah- oh, yes, of course, you poor creature-”

She urged his head to her breasts with her hands in his hair and over his face, slipping her fingertip into his mouth, ruffling his hair, murmuring insistently.

“I want-“

“Not as much as I do -”

“-to be bloodied for you-“

“Ohhh-”

“Will you let me-“

“I shall direct you myself, my love-”

“Your scourge-“

“My darling Captain,” she repeated, feeling the blood rush to her face again. She cupped his face in her hands and just barely tilted his head back to look at him as she glided possessively into his lap, letting her skirt gather around her hips.  She released him and moved her hands to his, lifting them to her mouth to kiss his knuckles, then turned them over to kiss his palms.

“Your hands are so rough,” she murmured. “And so strong.  I know you will do great things for me with these hands-”

“This- this is what I wanted-“

“Hm?” she queried, taking his fingertip into her mouth and meeting his eyes so that he would know how she felt, how overcome she was with wanting him.

“When I said I would be your dog-”

“Oh, darling, I know,” she said, releasing his finger, and going to the next one.  Holding his hand against her face, and bringing the other to her waist, she shut her eyes and said fervently, “Every soul on this ocean is going to fear you - the corsairs who think themselves above all law and order, even the most basic of decency to his fellow man - how they shall dread you again. The East India Trading Company knows damn well what to expect, and you’ll confirm their worst suspicions.  Every fat merchant too rich for his own good, every Spanish galleon, every navire français, they’ll bring back their stories of you, James, you shall blacken the Norrington name, you shall haunt it, you shall be better known than your miserable excuse for a father ever was - he’ll come to regret throwing you away on this backwards, lawless place, they’ll wish they kept you in their pocket for the war effort, but it is too late, your fate is quite decided, you have fallen to pirates and the Pirate King; you are mine, my darling, my Captain - they shall know you are the man who holds the heart of Davy Jones to ransom.  And I - you shall be my wolfhound and my love - you shall hold my heart too - how does it feel to be the most powerful man on the ocean?  I’ll show you. Let me give you that - oh, James-”

He wanted his mouth free to murmur whatever crossed his mind. He slipped the hand on her waist further down.

“Tell me more.”

For a moment she could not even speak, though she was far from silent.  Then she swallowed and said, her voice trembling, “You’ll be - every inch - the exact man - I always wanted you to be-”

She took a shallow breath.

“And James- soon I shall have every inch-”

“And more.”

He grinned terribly and intensified his efforts.

It was much too difficult to talk, not even to tell him how infamous and dreadful he would be - she would have to picture it.  James with windswept hair, bleeding from minor cuts, probably not soaked with wine - she would have him in black, she thought, so that wouldn’t show.  A single earring; a woman’s earring, decadent and incongruously pretty against the aura of menace she knew he would project.  James was well-built, tall and broad; all in black, no less, he would stalk more than he would stroll.  A long coat, perhaps, would whip in the wind behind him.  He would wear boots in black leather, and tarnished silver dog’s heads would be on them, and on his belt, and his hand - beringed, and she would put the rings on him herself, she thought of that too - would rest on a pistol at his hip, while he directed defeated sailors to await judgment with a lazy, confident gesture with his sword.

And he would bow to her when she emerged to pass that judgment - he would catch her by the waist and she would take him by the lapel and she would dip him - she would force him to drop to one knee and she would kiss him.  She would taste blood on his tongue, some blow to the face causing his teeth to cut the inside of his cheek at some point - she would smell blood and sweat on him.  She would taste it on him later - and everyone would know, they would look at them and know they were in love, know as soon as their victory had been attended to properly that they would have each other at once - spread the story in England and Jamaica and Cuba and Spain and everywhere else where there be sailors that the Pirate King and her dog are dangerous and indefatigable and very, very deep in love.

She could not form the words to tell him all of this, but she managed to gasp out: “You shall be - positively - the most dreaded man in the Spanish main -”

And it struck her as a familiar thing- had she said it to him before? - when she realized she had said it to Jack, when she had seduced him with drink til he had passed out, and what that had possibly meant about her feelings towards Jack even so early as that, and she pushed that out of her mind.  She had manipulated Jack to her own ends then; she had meant nothing, she was certain of it. To James she knew she was being sincere, if for no other reason than that she intended to be the most dreaded person, and it suited her to have James be as dangerous as she.

When it was over, he wiped his hand on the sheet and kissed her again, enjoying the weight of her joyously exhausted body on his as he lay back again.

“Did I please Her Majesty?”

His voice was low and rumbling beside her.

“I thought of you,” she said softly, resting her hand wonderingly on her face as she looked at him.  “I mean of what you’ll be like, when this rescue mess is over, when we’ve got the Empress back and are doing what we’re meant to be doing.  I was seeing you… cleaning the blood from your sword… in my mind’s eye just as you bid me finish,” she said, and she bit her thumb and grinned at him.

He laughed a low, tired, throaty laugh and nuzzled her throat.

‘Such high expectations to live up to.”

Her pleasure was still very near to her, and the slightest touch of his lips to her neck made her freeze up and let out another little cry of his name.

“I shall do my best to exceed them…”

“Yes,” she said faintly.  “Very - just so.”

“What were you thinking of?”

He was in her hair again, breathing deeply.

“You,” she said, after thinking of how best to describe it and failing to come up with anything so succinct as that.  “Winning battles for me - with me - how handsome you are going to look all in black - how good it is going to feel when I kiss you in front of captured crewmen.  Flaunting to all the world how much we -” Her breath caught; she still struggled with openness on this account. “- love each other.”  She kissed his temple, which was where her lips fell when she turned her head.  “Oh, James, everything you do to me is - is wonderful, but I - I can’t wait until you are - properly situated-”

“Once we’ve finished this, I intend to prioritize that.”

He turned his head to kiss her properly. At least they had that much. She took out her frustrations in that kiss.

“Then we shall be - as good as married - in every way that matters -”

“Yes-”

He was beginning to push her atop himself again, to get a better look at her. When he looked up at her again there was a warm wonder in his eyes and a smile playing around his mouth.

She met his look with a soft smile of her own, wistful and wanting.

“I barely feel satisfied.  I want you all over again and I’ve just had you.  I begin to live and breathe wanting you,” she complained.

“It’s all right. I’m never leaving you again.”

Elizabeth tenderly settled back down again, lying atop his chest as if she were reluctant to leave even that much.

“All in black, hm?” he teased, rubbing her on the small of the back. “The better to match you, I suppose.”

“I don’t know that I will never let you wear a color again, but it is difficult to imagine you in one - I assume blue is right out, and don’t think red is wise - so black, in different textures.  Besides: you have very dark hair, and very green eyes; black will look excellent on you. And you are enormous, so you might as well make the most of that.”

“Ah, yes. Looming.”

“And they’ll tell stories,” she said, stretching out on top of him, “of the man-eating Pirate King and her werewolf consort, I am sure…”

“Oh, my God- is that why I’m resigned to the beard-”

“Perhaps it is.  And perhaps I just like the way it scratches when you’re between my legs.”

“With the rest of this insanity, I suppose sea werewolves were only a matter of time.”

He slipped his free hand down toward her thighs and lightly rubbed the inside of one of them, as though in response to her comment about scratchiness. Elizabeth whimpered.

“That is not fair, you know how wet I still am -”

“I’m making up for time wasted.”

“I’ll say,” she said gingerly.

“So much for morbidly cool, eh?”

“Shall you fixate on that for the rest of our lives?”

“Perhaps. It did hit rather close to home.”

“How so?” she asked, snuggling closer.

“I have always been adept at ignoring certain inclinations,” he said, adjusting himself for her comfort.

“So why take offence to it now?”

“I had assumed everyone did something of the sort.”

“Good God, no-”

“Why not-”

“Because,” she said imperiously, though she did not have a ready answer. “Because I would have gone mad if I had tried and I had a very large, very empty bedroom - does that satisfy your curiosity?”

James paused.

“...ah,” he said. “That’s not what I meant, but. Well. That much is understood.”

“Is it?  Do be honest. I can demonstrate, if you like, if you require it,” she said, innocently widening her eyes.

“Oh, no. No, no, no-”

“No?  Absolutely certain?”

“I was thinking of going between your thighs next, let us not grow hasty-”

That knocked the wind right out of her.

“Oh-” she said wretchedly.

“I was not always this way,” he said, curiously defensive for a man who had just brought her to shuddering ecstasy. “I grew disgusted with myself-”

“How could you do that, when you did such lovely stuff with your Lettie?  That should have made you feel proud of yourself-”

“Well, you see, that was with Lettie- and for Lettie, at that-”

“I don’t follow.”

“It was one thing when it was one woman- quite another when- oh, God, never mind-”

“I can’t never mind, you have to tell me.”

“I was sixteen, seventeen, on double pay and already a drunk. What do you think I did ashore?”

“James,” she said, exasperated. “If not for the complications - of which you’ve spent half the night informing me - and the certainty of social ruin, girls wouldn’t behave any differently.  You can surely remember me at that age - trying to spend as much time as I possibly could with Will, and - well, with you, you may recall.”

“Would you have been sitting at the gambling table with a bottle in your hand and a girl in your lap, with her hand in your trousers?” he asked, in a very flat voice.

“Oh,” said Elizabeth, with an involuntary shiver.  “Hell yes.”

“...ah,” said James. “Poor example-”

“You must face it, James, you are no less a degenerate than the rest of us,” she said, sounding bored, but really thinking about how much she’d have liked to have sat in James’ lap in Tortuga with her hand in his trousers - how unfortunate he could not handle a bottle.

“No.” he said, “I’m probably worse-”

“Good. You are a pirate, and you are my consort, besides - I require worse.”

He closed his eyes in a mixture of resignation and amusement, pushing his hair back with one hand.

“Pity I can’t rely on the scar any longer,” he mused. “It was such a petty thing, but it had its uses for being worse.”

She kissed him on the temple, and, watching his face, and going slowly for his comfort, slid her hand down the front of his trousers again.

“...ah,” he said, opening his eyes. “There you are.”

They finished opening rather wider than usual.

“And there you are.”

“That’s… all right, give me a moment to think this through-”

“May I help you think?” asked Elizabeth, the moisture from sucking on her lower lip glistening in the low candlelight when she parted her lips and continued to stroke him.

“Do you want me between your thighs or not-”

“Of course I do-”

“I- oh God, Elizabeth-”

He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.

“We don’t have to-” she said hastily, upon seeing him upset.

“What- oh, no, no, darling, it’s-“

He grit his teeth.

She laid her hand on his waist, to be safe, and slid off his lap and to the side of him.

“...I think I’m making a bit of a mess.”

“No, no, you can-”

He reached for her hand and, after a couple of awkward groping tries, laid it on the partially open front flap of his trousers again. She smiled ruefully and slipped her hand inside.

“Thank you, James, but I’m afraid that’s not what I meant.  You can say what you like about forceful emissions, but at least you do that all at once and have it done with.”

“-ah. I'd noticed, without thinking of it.” His voice was hoarse.

“James, are you all right?”

“Mmm. Yes, I'm just a bit- compromised-”

“Do you mean this?” she asked with a squeeze.

“YES, THAT-”

She smiled, taking his hand as though to hold it, and guiding it instead to the state of her thighs.

“So we are even.”

“You poor creature. I thought I had relieved that.”

“Hardly at all.”

“Mm. Suppose I’ll have to try harder-“

“Or perhaps…”

Elizabeth bit her lip, glancing down at her hand, and then met his eyes with a growing smile. James leaned up on one elbow and returned the grin.

“You’re thinking of something.”

“I think you know what I’m thinking of,” she whispered.

James very nearly made a joke about what they could name the resulting child, but if she felt safe with the idea…

What was a child but something else to fight for?

“Are you certain?”

“Don’t you want to?” she asked, touching his face. “The timing is just too perfect- you are ready, I am ready… and I want you, and you want me…”

She smiled distantly, her mind on something else.  

“...yes?” James asked.

“Nothing,” she said, looking into his eyes again abruptly.  “As I said.  We’re both - ready, and willing, and wanting-”

“If you’re not ready,” he said, putting his hand on her thigh, “I won’t hold it against you.”

“I am,” she said, with a short laugh, looking down at his hand and rubbing it.  “It’s just…. I was ready to do this with someone else.  I don’t think about him as much as I used to, but he’s here on this ship now - right now.  While I’ve been in your arms. I forgot him.  I forgot he was there.”

“... right.”

James bit the inside of his cheek.

“I can't grudge you that-”

“I don’t know how I could have done that-”

“I would hope it is because you love me,” James said softly.

She looked at him, startled into silence.  Her eyes were very bright.

“....I think it is,” she said, squeezing his hand. She wiped at her face, suddenly. 

“Elizabeth…”

He pulled her toward him and put his arms around her shoulders protectively.

“Oh, I ruined the moment-” she groaned, and laughed tearily.

“Possibly for the best. Imagine if I had gotten you with child.”

“I don’t know if I mind the thought of it. Children - with you,” she admitted in a small voice, with a sheepish laugh.

“...I certainly don’t,” said James. “For a moment, I was nearly… looking forward to it.”

“But I truly, truly think…. We should terrorize the seas first.”

“For the greater good, of course-“

“Oh, I think not,” said Elizabeth, sidling up closer to him, and resting her hand on his thigh again.  “For our reputations. For each other.  And because it’s fun.”

“...and the greater good-“

“I shall leave that to you,” she said, kissing him. James allowed himself to fall back against the bed and take her with him, perhaps a bit physically unsatisfied but personally content.

“I will do my best to fulfill it, then-“

“So, James,” she said, a little muffled.

“Hm?”

“What was the - other thing you were suggesting -”

“Mm. I had a few thoughts.”

“It’s so late that by now, it’s most likely early,” said Elizabeth, with something that could only be called a giggle. She nuzzled his throat.  “Tell me while we still have a chance to make something of the night…”

“I could have a go between your legs, though I don’t know what you’d derive from that,” he admitted.

“What would you derive from it?”

“...I don't know. I've never done it, it was always more of a… two-man sort of business-”

“I don’t mind being that for you,” said Elizabeth, more than a hint of mischief in her smile.

“You’re missing a rather vital point of friction,” James teased.

“Touch me then,” she murmured, kissing his bearded chin and moving her lips along his jaw, running her hand up his thigh and gently squeezing.  “Let’s not be wasteful.”

He ran his hand down her back and around the curve of her hips and her rear.

“Like this…?”

“I thought more that - while you are having your go - if perhaps I am not being satisfied…”  Elizabeth leaned her head against his shoulder, far enough back to look at him and smile.

He thought this over.

“Oh- oh, no, I don't think the position would work for that, love-”

She looked briefly disappointed, but curiosity won out.

“What is the position?”

“Front to front-”

“Oh, I thought it was - nevermind-”

“You thought- oh, good lord, Elizabeth, I would be afraid of accidentally-“

“Don’t want a little risk?” she asked, rubbing him with her hand.

“Do you? It’s not… the most comfortable-“

“I think you could make me comfortable,” said Elizabeth softly.

“We don't- you need grease of some kind for-”

He cut himself off, mortified, and covered his eyes for a moment before pushing that same hand back through his hair, exhaling hard.

“We don’t have to do that one,” said Elizabeth, the bluntness of her tone momentarily breaking the soft intimate atmosphere they had built to at present; and, surprising herself with that, she laughed, further breaking up the mood.

“Oh, thank God-”

“Doesn’t appeal to you?”

“Not particularly.”

“I could…. Get on top of you…”

His eyes widened.

“That's… dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” asked Elizabeth, eyes widening in mystified delight. “How?”

“Again, the risk of an accidental entry-”

“James, everything fun is a risk-” she pleaded.

“You could take me into your mouth-”

Her mouth opened.

“That is to say, if you wanted to-” James said, too quickly.

“James! You are distracting me - of course I want to, but -”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to do something where we….both…. You know.”

“We’re a little low on options now, sweetheart.”

He touched her cheek.

“Let’s do what we did in Tortuga,” she argued.

“Which part-”

“On the beach, after the storm,” she said, touching his thighs encouragingly.

“Oh- ah. Was that- did you enjoy yourself that much?”

“Ohh, James,” she said- biting her lip in remembered delight.  “You really don’t know, do you?  That was - my first time, I suppose, in the most liberal sense - Will had never… He wanted things to be very proper, I think.  I was already quite fallen - breaking off the engagement with you, being sullied by Barbossa - and spending all of my time with Will teaching me to use a sword, I never saw another invitation from the moment Will and I became engaged. But he was so stubborn. I think he had something to prove.  We didn’t…. There was kissing, but it was all standing up.  Leaning against a wall, at most… He didn’t want me to touch him.  Well, let me correct that - I am certain he wanted me to, as he wanted to touch me. But he wouldn’t let me.”

It was an unexpectedly sad, if distantly sad, burst of speech, and Elizabeth had to take a moment to return to the topic at hand. But she did, with a mischievous smile, pulling James’ hands to her breasts again, as though to relive the moment.

“It was… the first time I had ever been touched here. The first time I had ever felt a man stirring, or at least been sitting on him.  The first time… Oh, James, the first time I ever knew pleasure outside of what I had taught myself-”

“Oh, thank God,” James blurted.

Elizabeth could not contextualize this response.

“I’m sorry, come again?”

“I didn’t realize- I was mostly just- pleased to have you.”

“James, you had your mouth all over me,” she said, flushing as she realized what she’d said.  “- of course I enjoyed it.”

“Enough to recall-”

“I recall it often,” she said, with reverence. “It was such a beautiful night.”

“Oh-“

James moved his hands up from her breasts to her face again, beaming and a little ashamed of it.

“Yes, James?” she asked, smiling.

“I… I am glad to have pleased you,” he said, grinning a little helplessly.

“Mm,” she laughed. “Can we do it again?”

“Yes- oh God, we're going to have to wash after this, aren't we-”

“We can just fill a basin and wipe down with towels, it doesn’t have to be complicated-”

“I know that-”

He pulled her down and kissed her.

Elizabeth kissed him back eagerly, sliding into his lap.  Though in Tortuga, they had both been fully-clothed, and it was only her jumps and her shirt he had removed from her - this was different, and she broke the kiss with an abrupt, loud noise.

“Elizabeth?”  

He pushed himself up in alarm.

Elizabeth pressed her hand sheepishly over her mouth, barely situated in his lap.  She dragged her eyes agonizingly to his and took a moment to pull her hand away, resting it on his shoulder, and whispered, “...that’s wonderful. Sorry, James.”

“What was that-”

“What was what?”

“You cried out-”

She felt her face grow hot.  “Because it’s-”  She grit her teeth. “- Can’t you tell?”

“I wasn't certain. I feared I had hurt you-”

Elizabeth groaned as much in exasperation as from physical sensation and pressed her face against his shoulder to prevent herself from rolling her eyes.

“-or done something wrongly-”

“James.”

“Yes?”

“God help me, you are so dumb.”

“You stopped, and I feared-”

“I am… trying to get my bearings,” she said, privately hoping that she could stay quiet this time - not merely because she feared being overheard, when Will was on board, but because she did not want him to stop and check her for injury every time she made a sound.  

There was a better way to prevent his fretting over every detail, and she implemented it as she might a defensive maneuver - simply began kissing his throat and gently gliding her fingers through his hair to pull his head back to give her better room to do so, before she began to move against him once more.  She could still not help but whimper, but he couldn’t possibly mistake it for discomfort when it was his name she was whimpering, while clinging to his impossibly broad shoulders.

“Lisbet- how's this-”

“Oh, darling, lovely-”  Somehow the nickname provoked shyness from her, in spite of the circumstances.  Elizabeth pulled her head back enough to look at him, but only barely, and she smiled with an obvious self-consciousness.

“James - touch me-”

“Like this-”

He slipped it downward, between them.

“Oh God-” she moaned.

“Ah, there we are,” he teased. “Good girl-”

Elizabeth shut-up kissed him, rocking in his lap perhaps just enough to make the cot squeak at them. James pushed his free hand back through her hair and gripped at the nape of her neck, forcing the kiss deeper.

“Call me - call me Lisbet again-”

“If you want to be Lisbet in bed,” he said as he dragged the kiss down to the edge of her jaw, “I shall never call you anything else-”

“No one else has - ever called me that-” she managed, though she could no longer catch her breath.  She clumsily tried to kiss him.

“You were never theirs as you are mine,” James retorted, meeting her mouth in a rough kiss and then refocusing his oral attentions on her breasts.  Elizabeth threaded her fingers tightly through his hair, more tightly than intended or realized.  She did her best to keep the volume down, but it was difficult - she was not accustomed to inhibiting herself, and her natural inclination was to cry out his name - over and over.  She pressed her lips to the top of his head, first in a sincere kiss, and then to keep her voice smothered.  

It was indeed a dangerous place to be - more than once James forcibly gripped her hips or her ass to slow her movements, lest he enter her - but the need for caution had its uses beyond the practical.  It was an unnecessarily lengthy period of time before they finished, melting into the sheets in each other’s arms, incapable, momentarily, of speech, and filthy, and trembling, and besotted with each other.

Elizabeth rubbed his stiff shoulders with one hand as she clung to him, unwilling to unwind herself from him just yet. James curved one hand back to entwine his fingers with hers and squeezed gently.

“...how are you managing?” he asked, in a quiet voice.

The response she murmured sounded delicate in tone, but the precise language used, about precisely what manner of woman she was becoming under his tutelage, was not.

“That, historically, has not been enough to dissuade me.” James pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

“We are a smart match again,” said Elizabeth with a self-satisfied yawn.  “Former commodore turned pirate, former governor’s daughter turned --- pirate.”

She smiled against his chest.

“Oh, don't go on about that. Everyone will think I’m social climbing again,” James laughed.

“That’s what my maid said the night you proposed.  A smart match.”

“Do you know what the rest of the garrison said the day before?”

“Oh, tell me.”

“‘Her? Good luck, Jamie, you’re going to need it.’”

Elizabeth laughed ungraciously.

“I doubt many of them are surprised by your latter fortunes,” he said as he closed his eyes again and crossed his arms over her back.

“It turns out, James, that you are even better a pirate-hunter than your reputation stated.  You got me in the end, didn’t you?”

“Good heavens- I suppose, if you want to think of it that way-”

“You bagged the pirate king. Good job!  And with such - “ yawn; “ - vigor, James, too…”

“Of course. I've a reputation to uphold, you know-”

“That’ll- show her…” Elizabeth murmured. “Heard you made her scream, Commodore.”

“A great deal of begging. I shan’t share the finer details in polite company.”

Elizabeth giggled into his chest.

“She’s a lucky woman, to tell you the truth.”

This broke the mood, though in the gentlest of ways. James looked pensively down at her for a long moment, with a faint, pleased smile.

“Do you suppose she is?”

Elizabeth still half-slept, responding without waking.  

“What pirate… or woman… ever entered better custody? And though she evaded capture for so long, now there is nowhere else she would rather be, not in all the world…”

“You flatter me.”

“Mm, what a comfortable prison… So broad and strong.”

“I wish that I could have presented more impressively to you to begin with.”

“Didn’t matter,” she yawned. “Loved Will.”

“Mmph. I meant now.”

“You said, ‘begin with’.”

“After defecting, then.”

“Oh.”  She smirked, slowly.  “Didn’t matter… already loved you.”

“Ah. At least one of us is satisfied,” he said, relaxing and closing his eyes.

Hers, on the other hand, finally opened, blinking and adjusting to the dark; she hadn’t realized all but one of their candles had blown out.  She poked him crankily in the thigh.

“Which one of us do you mean isn’t?”

“Oh, you seem quite pleased-”

“So do you, Captain.”

“In one way, at least. I'll settle quite happily for that.”

“What now,” she sighed, resignedly dragging herself up to sitting, realizing as she did so both how exhausted she was, and how sticky.

“Lie back down, it's nothing important.”

“We’re soiled,” she said amusedly.

“Oh, God.”

“It’s all right, love, it happens,” she said, gently teasing him. “It’s just as well for I’d be disappointed if we were clean.”

“Have you anything to clean with?”

“There may be a pitcher of water in here,” she said, a little unconcernedly looking about.  “Let me…. Yes, I think it’s still there.”

“I would offer to clean you,” he said, with a yawn, “but I fear restarting the entire process…”

Elizabeth smiled back at him in the dark of the cabin, listening comfortably to the creaking and groaning of the ship - the waves beyond them - as she took up their last candle and made it to the pitcher.  To save him from temptation, she took care of herself before bringing a fresh cloth and the water back to him.

“I’ll clean you,” she said generously. “I have no fear of anything.”

“I do,” said James, but he lay back with an unusually trusting gesture anyway.

She was probably less thorough than he would have tried to be, but the water was only so clean anyway; she did not see the point, and she wanted to sleep.

“When do you want me to set the phone alarm for,” said Elizabeth after she had finished and unceremoniously tossed another dry cloth at him to pat down with.

“When are we expected to make landing?”

He was visibly trying to pull away from the soiled patch on the sheets.

“I don’t know or care.  After I’ve slept, I hope.”

“Have I exhausted you?”

“Thoroughly.”

Elizabeth slid into the bed, not caring about the state of it and rolling immediately onto her side. James leaned in to kiss her shoulder and put an arm around her, and she responded warmly, pressing her back against him snugly and embracing his arm with a sigh.

“You know,” James murmured, “even this- this is more than I ever hoped for.”

“You wanted to marry me, James,” she argued sleepily.

“I didn't think on this at all. It seemed too intimate…”

“It would have - “ She suppressed another yawn. “- happened eventually anyway-”

“To feel the warmth of your body against mine-”

“Mm.”

“I'm happier than I think I have ever been.”

“I’m glad I brought you off, too,” she said, patting his hand.

“Elizabeth- that's not what I meant, I would have been quite content without-”

“I know, my love.”  Elizabeth laced her fingers with his and pulled his arm tightly around herself, tucking his hand against her breast as she settled in contentedly with a little wiggle.  “But it was… mm… lovely just the same...”

The chances were very good that the conversation did not end there - not on his part, anyway - but Elizabeth closed her eyes, and soon heard not a word of it.

[ernmark]

prompt: Juno finds a fake military uniform in peter's bags and is Into It

I had a little too much fun with this one.

NSFW ahoy~

The stress of a long day and a rough case melts off Juno’s shoulders when he opens his front door. Instead of the daunting quiet of an empty apartment, he’s met with the soft noise of running water in the shower and the barely-distinguishable sounds of Peter’s humming echoing off the tile.

He walks past the pile of luggage on the living room floor and lingers in front of the bathroom. Thin rivulets of steam are escaping under the door, spiced with Peter’s ridiculously overpriced body wash, and every inhale leaves Juno feeling a little more human.

He knocks at the bathroom door. “Hey. Mind if I come in?”

Peter’s voice is mostly obscured by the rush of water, but Juno catches enough of the tone to know it’s a yes. He slips inside, shutting the door behind him fast so the heat doesn’t get out. 

The bathroom is hazy with steam. Peter’s long body is stretching underneath the spray of water, kneading white lather out of his hair. The shower curtain that divides them is transparent, but between the folds of the plastic and the rivulets of water on its surface, Peter’s body is more a suggestion of nudity. Even so, Juno’s pretty sure he’s got the clearer view between the two of them; Peter’s glasses are on the bathroom counter by the sink.

“Enjoying the show?” Peter asks, his voice as soft and hazy as the air.

“Always.” Though it’s less the titillation of a shower curtain than it is the comfort of Peter’s presence– the sound of his voice, the second-hand warmth from water turned up past what Juno can stand, the planes and angles of Peter’s body that are so very familiar even when they’re half-hidden. Just sharing this space with him eases away the hurt and headache of today’s case. “God, I missed you.” 

Peter hums warmly, turning off the water and pulling aside the curtain. “Why don’t you come join me, and I’ll show you just how much I missed you?”

It’s a tempting offer, but Juno knows better. Peter fumbles the hot water knob in a way that has nothing to do with his poor eyesight; he’s swaying as he stands, less because he’s trying for sultry and more because he’s having trouble staying upright. Probably the only reason he took a shower instead of going straight to bed is that Peter hates the smell of the spaceport decontamination chemicals. 

“Later,” Juno promises, pulling a towel off the hook and wrapping it around Peter’s shoulders. “Maybe after you’ve had some rest.” A second towel is thrown affectionately over Peter’s head. 

“That does sound–” However that sentence was supposed to end, it’s lost in a yawn wide enough to show off his molars. “I should take care of my things first, though. I’m afraid I left my luggage all over the living room.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Juno offers him his glasses, though they’re too fogged to be much use. “I’ll put everything away.”

Peter leans in, sweet and sleepy. “Only if you put me away first.” 

By the time Juno shuts the bedroom door, Peter is already snoring gently, cushioned on half a dozen pillows and wrapped in as many blankets and kissed so thoroughly that he’ll be finding second-hand lip stain until his next shower. 

It’ll be hours before Juno’s wound down enough to sleep, and so he busies himself with the four oversized space chests on his living room floor. 

Usually Peter travels light; he knows better than to bring his latest prizes home with him. He rarely ever travels with more than a single carryon and whatever he can fit in his pockets.

Bringing back this much all at once? That’s unusual. 

(”It’s evidence, mostly,” Peter had said, nuzzling against Juno’s chest with still-damp hair. “I caught wind that one of my old safe houses was slated for demolition. Those things are old, but some of them are still incriminating. I probably should have sorted through them all back on Trappist 1B, but...” He paused as his lips found bare skin. “I was in a hurry to get back.”)

He taps in the code that Peter gave him before he drifted off and opens the first of the chests.

He has half a mind to call Rita over-- between his eyepatch and the chests of mysterious treasure from a space-faring rogue, she’d be squealing about pirates for the rest of the week-- but Peter deserves his privacy as much as his rest, and Rita won’t give him either. Best to leave her out of this.

Besides, he’s too curious to wait for her to come over.

In the smallest of the boxes are piles of passports for confederacies that no longer exist, and stacks of money that are barely worth the paper they’re printed on, except maybe to a collector. He remembers some of these names; he was still in the HCPD when the news hit that these systems surrendered. The passports he sets aside to be properly destroyed. 

In another box he finds little knickknacks-- jewelry and statuettes, little pieces that might have looked at home on a rich person’s coffee table, puzzle toys and technology so out of date that even Juno can recognize it. Nothing in this box is so large that it couldn’t be squirreled away in one of Nureyev’s pockets, which suggests that these are the little souvenirs that Peter took without thinking, carelessly picked up and just as carelessly discarded. There are a few items in there that might be worth keeping; the rest can probably be pawned, after Rita’s had a chance to dig through them.

The next contains real pirate treasure, by Rita’s standard. These are the kinds of things Peter would have gone out of his way to steal, art and artifacts carefully wrapped to protect them from time and unsteady hands. He knows enough about art to recognize the skill that went into some of these pieces, and he’s worked with Vicky long enough to know that she wouldn’t mind fencing these on Peter’s behalf. 

And in the last, clothes. They’re old and a little musty, but otherwise they’re in good condition. Some are the kind of clothes that Juno might see in a vintage shop, but most of them are uniforms of one variety or another, along with the little props that sell the disguise. A janitor, a delivery person, a health inspector, businessman, and a few other odds and ends. And there, buried among the rest, is a military dress uniform.

He quickly shuts the lid of the trunk, looking around to make sure Peter isn’t lounging in the door. It’s a stupid thing to think-- Peter’s exhausted; there’s no reason why he’d wake up just to watch Juno rifle awkwardly through his luggage. 

He tells himself he’s being an idiot, but his face still heats as he opens the trunk again.

It was just a phase, and it was a long time ago. Mick had (infuriatingly, accurately) guessed that it was just the natural extension of Juno’s childhood fixation on a certain Chainmail Warrior. As a teenager, Juno couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be someone like Andromeda or be with someone like her-- and in a world without dragons or talking lions, the best place to find both was in the Solar military. 

So maybe there had been some fantasies. Maybe, in the last years of the war, he’d hooked up with more than a few people in uniform. Maybe all of that is rushing back to him right now. And maybe, just maybe, he’s imagining what Peter Nureyev would look like in a uniform like this, with the sharp lines and the broad shoulders and the classy boots that you could see your face in.  

Maybe Peter had the right idea with that shower.

Juno never thought he would see this side of Peter.

His willowy thief is gone, replaced by straight lines and hard angles. When he moves, all that slinking elegance is replaced by measured, precise motions.His back could be used as a straight-edge. His slender shoulders are made sharp and broad by a captain’s epaulets. The tailored uniform clings to his body the way Juno wants to, the gold trim leading Juno’s eyes on a tour of Peter’s chest, his hips, his thighs. Peter wears it like a declaration, every inch of the uniform conveying absolute power and unquestioned control. 

And Juno does what anyone would, faced with a sight like that: he sinks to his knees and surrenders. 

Peter’s boot comes down on Juno’s shoulder, heavy and imposing and just threatening enough to make Juno’s heart pound. He tips his head, pressing his lips to the lab-grown leather. The scent of the polish is so sharp and acrid that it leaves him dizzy. 

A rigid hand catches Juno under the jaw and forces him to look up. Even bending over him, Peter’s posture is perfect. 

“Juno.” His voice is clipped and hard, two syllables of pure command, and all of Juno rises to attention.

[syxjaewon]

overture; ‘that which bends must break’

                                                                                        five years ago

Vera Noriko Regalis mon Blackhound sits at the head of the table like the right hand of god, steel woven into her clothes, into her skin, into her bones, the shiny metal reminiscent of her eyes when she’s at her finest. across the surface of the stained wood before her, a plethora of legality documentations, star-charting, navigational means, messages hidden in code, all of which are within her means of reach and reason, her many years on this job subsequent enough to render her well-versed. her name, its length and many years both whispered and shouted across the verse, has enough reputation wherever she may tread, enough lethality to keep troublemakers at bay, enough command to lead her ship and her crew steady and true.

or at least, that’s way it’s been, the way it’s always been, except for this past year. she’s gaining in age; there’s a reason one doesn’t see many older space pirates about, a reason why adventure is for the young. and vera is not young anymore, not for a while, not healthy enough for these sorts of excursions for too much longer, not patient enough to continue her job and her livelihood the way it has been all these years. she grows tired, spent, the bones in her body feel long and worn, the steel trapped in her heart now threatening to revert and poison her, the way she supposes all people must go through, all people must accept about themselves eventually. age. death comes to us all one way or another, by either a bullet or a breath.

she knows she’ll need to give this all up one day, she’ll need to pry white-knuckled fingers from the metal of this ship, her ship, her home, her whole life. there was at one point a time when vera had nothing except this metal casing, left to die, left to rot, unprotected by the people who had raised her, kept her, molded her, their scorn and abandonment leveled only by the sheer rejection and betrayal of her own sister. a long, long time ago now, old wounds, old scars— but when the dust had settled, vera had found herself a new life, a new family, and this mega heaping scrap machine had been one of them.

the ship shakes for a tense moment, a low rumble filling the bird, something down in the engine no doubt shuddering and threatening to snap off. yeah, she’s getting old too, already older than vera even. won’t be long now that neither of them can stay in the sky, hover between star clusters, run ahead of everyone else. both getting slow, getting weary. she knows she’ll have to do something about that pretty soon, make the announcement, make the arrangements. say goodbyes.

but then— someone screams.

BAM

the shot echoes out from behind her, from the quarters section of the boat, where most of her crew is asleep, the hour late, the air previously calm, and she is out of her seat like a lightning strike, the chair almost tumbling over as she makes her way towards the rooms down the hallway. she doesn’t need to think twice about where she’s going or how she’ll handle things when she gets there; she already knows, already has the past six months rehearsed in her head, the same lines of dialogue and phrases filling her mind as she reaches for the room closest to the bridge, the noise having prompted her first mate to the hallway and one of her pilots out of their seats.

she disregards them, but her pilot speaks up. “what the fuck’s he on about now?”

“return to your station, gavon.” she has no tolerance for his shit right now, punching in the keycodes for the door to force it open despite its lock.

“was that a gun blast? he’s gonna blow a gorram hole in the hull and get us all killed—”

the door opens but she steps away from it, the steel of her resurfacing as she enters gavon’s personal space, so much more than just a woman, just a captain, just a commander— she is a thunderstorm clad in black, the smoke and ash from a volcano, the deepest, darkest recesses of ariel’s oceans, the only light this side of the verse beaming through blue-grey eyes, glaring widely at her pilot as he runs his damn mouth off. the force of her presence, all ebony hair and sharp cheekbones, a mirrored image of space itself, actually manages to intimidate him backwards a step, the man blinking and cutting himself off, his disgruntlement no match for her forty-plus years of a hurricane personality.

“i. can. handle. it,” she tells him slowly, teeth bared, hand at the weapon sitting on her hip, enunciating each word so he’s sure to understand, despite being an idiot. “get. back. to. your station. pilot.”

she can see gavon crumble a little bit, but another bang sounds behind her, this one not a gunshot but something falling, and she immediately turns away from him to tend to it. there’s a reason the bedrooms are set up the way that they are, a reason why she knew this room would be perfect for its occupant; double-sided walls, extra steel around the hull in that particular spot due to protection needed around the bridge. it’s colder than most the other rooms, but it serves a stronger purpose than just warmth.

when she climbs down the ladder and lands on the ground, she finds jaewon in a mess of his own bedding on the floor, blond hair askew, the shelving toppled over and used as some sort of barrier he’s pressed himself back against, a gun in his hand. immediately she ducks, gets down to his level on her knees as she listens to him heave in breaths, only a vague light in the room cascading down from the doorway behind her, illuminating them both softly.

“jaewon…?”

“sh!” he shoves his hand out to her, fingers outstretched but shaking, she can see the sweat glisten off his skin, his arm, his chest, his face, see the wildness in his eyes— those strange gold eyes. she hadn’t known what to think when he’d come back to her with those gold, mechanical things implanted, hadn’t really approved, hadn’t really gotten over the way his original irises could be deeper than the abyss sometimes, expressive even when the rest of him wasn’t. the fires inside him used to be something muted, controlled, revealed only when one fell into his gaze, understood him enough to appreciate the black flames he exhibited, but now it’s like he is a burning man all the time. she misses the way he used to look, the way he used to sleep through the night.

it had taken them years when he was a child, to erase the ptsd he’d suffered with from valluria, the way his dreams brought him back to the deaths of his childhood friends, seeing their blood splashed against the walls, their bodies split open. he used to tell her he could still smell their corpses at dinnertime, still imagine them running through the hallways in the mornings. the scars on his skin still sang when he took showers, but he’d always refused to cry at his branding, miraculously managing to turn it into a source of pride for himself. and then as soon as he’s recovered, as soon as she sees him rested and smiling, not whole but working on it, what does he go off and do? join a goddamn war.

“they’re here,” he whispers, shivering lips, shifting eyes, breaking voice. “they’re here, they’re here, they’ve come—”

“no, there’s no one here, rat, it’s just us...” she keeps her tone steady as possible, inching towards him.

“no- NO, they’re here, they’re trying to get in, they’re going to cut off the fourth division, i can hear the missiles, i can—“

“there’s no bombs, child, it was just the ship.” he’s gripping that gun handle so tightly, finger on the trigger, without paying enough attention to where he’s pointing it; including at himself.

too busy pleading with her, desperation in his growling, croaky voice “we have to, we have to stop them, vera, vera, they’re coming, we have to—“

“who’s coming, jaewon? who are you talking about?” both her hands outstretched, her mind pinned to that gun in his grip, eyes flickering over to the darkness in the rest of his room. silent. empty.

at that though, he doesn’t answer, jaw clenching and unclenching, his thoughts obviously running a million miles a minute, suddenly unsure, as though he’s hearing too many things at once and she creeps a little bit closer, hoping he won’t turn the barrel on her to keep her back. again. after another few intense seconds, he moves, peeks carefully over the edge of the shelf, searching and searching. she knows he got those eyes for better sight, better focus, she knows he can’t see anything, but that’s only just one sense, isn’t it? one out of six.

“the war is over, rat.... it’s over....”

he looks back at her for a single moment before shutting his eyes, drops the pistol and pulls away from the shelf, hyperventilating, his scarred, tattooed chest rising and falling as though there’s not enough air in this room, on all the planets in all the verse, for him to inhale, for him to recover. he collapses in on himself like a dying star, hands covering his head as his forehead touches the floor. she collects the gun carefully, quickly sets it out of his reach before coming over to him slowly, gently putting her hands on his shoulders.

“ghosts,” he sobs out before she even realizes he’s crying, his hands clutching and scratching at his ears, his body flinching from imagined bomb blasts. “i can hear them dying.”

even as a child, he’d always been strong, always something impenetrable about his onyx eyes, broad shoulders, fearless demeanor, the way he’d keep his sentences short and clipped, direct to whatever point needed to be made. it was in his walk, in his scrutiny, in his determination, his drive, his understanding of the verse around him; if she could label valluria’s perfect son, it would be this boy who’d named himself, who’d taught himself, who’d pulled himself out of the gutters, away from the trash, to earn a place in life, to earn a legacy, to earn respect and title, even among her crew, who tended to be amoral brigands and rogues at best, monsters through and through at worst.

the more he grew into a man, the more she understood there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about anything he set his mind to, the boy becoming himself regardless of what anyone else thought or did around him. and she cherished that, encouraged that, even when he’d told her he was going off to fight in some damn fool-hearty war for an independence she’s never believed in anyway. she knew she couldn’t influence him. tensions between the core and the rim planets had been rising for years now, but it hadn’t touched vera’s ship, hadn’t messed with her operations, not until one of her engineers, the older one, had stepped off to go fight for it, and jaewon too.

she can still remember the way it felt to watch him walk away, pack slung over his shoulder, the light in him burning bright as though he really thought he would make a difference— and who knows, maybe he did. maybe things would have ended a lot sooner and a lot bloodier without him. she’d watched him, watched the piece of her soul, her heart he’s always carried leave with him.

and she’d thought that was hell. until he came back and showed her what hell really is.

this. the boy who wouldn’t cry, the boy who wouldn’t bend or break, not for storms or bullets or death itself, decaying before her eyes, disintegrating down to embers on this cold metal floor, muttering about the dead who haunt him, who call to him, beg him to die with them. the war has hollowed him, embedding itself deep into his chest like jaws, the memories, the battle tactics, explosions, screams, gunfire, hopelessness, the stench of carcasses, the certainty of slaughter— it all replays in his mind over and over, broken and breaking him.

she wraps her arms around him tightly, squeezing her eyes shut, the ends of her fingers burying themselves in his skin, hoping to reach further down into him than the war ever could. someday, he’ll get his light back, he’ll remember he is all molten lava and solar flare, but for right now, she just holds onto him and tries to keep him together. she hates the alliance for what it’s doing to the verse, but not as much as she hates the independents for what it’s done to her boy.

[wordsysayswords]

sooooooooo if you're still taking fluff week prompts, remember that fic you did of Tucker high on good meds and Wash having to deal with it? How about the reverse of that, Wash getting the good stuff and Tucker getting the joy (or horror) of seeing a Freelancer high on pain meds

I had a blast with this prompt - thank you!  Originally, I struggled to turn it into a fluff piece, given angst is my default setting. But the appearance of loopy Washington in season 15 got the ball rolling, and it was tons of fun.

The Better Stuff

Sequel to The Good Stuff

“He doesn’t need to stay here so long as someone’s watching him, right? We already share a room–he can go if I keep an eye on him, right?”Grey flips through her notes. “Given this is one of Agent Washington’s less dramatic visits to my infirmary, I think that can be arranged.”

Or, the tables have turned and Tucker finds himself looking after a very loopy Wash for the evening.

Read on Ao3

Tucker feels like the designated driver at a house party.

“Wash, I swear to God.”

The Freelancer is laid up in a hospital bed wearing only his undersuit. Bandages peek out from the collar and Tucker’s willing to bet they continue down to wrap around his chest. The asshole takes broken ribs like a paper cut. Tucker’s got an arm spread over the Freelancer’s shoulders, unsure how to best pin him to the bed without fucking up his ribs any further.

“I don’t need to be here,” Wash insists. His voice is clipped, clearly forcing himself to articulate each word. Anyone else with the amount of drugs Wash has in his system would be slurring and struggling to form a complete thought.

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Tucker grumbles, trying to avoid tangling Wash’s IV line while the man struggles to sit up. “But you can’t even fucking walk –that was not an invitation to try.”

Wash manages to swing his legs over the side of the bed and is halfway to his feet when he suddenly lists sideways. Tucker lunges, grabbing for the man’s waist. Somehow, he keeps them both from crashing to the floor.

“Seriously, dude–”

Wash furrows his brow. “Don’t need to be here,” he says, but this time it’s a little less sure.

“Yeah, sure,” Tucker huffs, lowering the Freelancer until they’re both sitting on the edge of the bed. “Whatever you say, Wash.”

“Agent Washington,” Grey’s sing-songy voice has both men looking up. She’s standing in the door, hand on one hip and in the other a clipboard. Smiling, she cocks her head. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Moments like these: faced with her too cheery smile and a voice that says she already knows the answer to the question she’s asking but is daring you to lie; make Tucker think back to the time they’d had her ‘negotiate’ with a captured pirate.

“I’m fine,” Wash tells her with an air of authority, but the effect is lost since he’s glaring somewhere high over her head.

Grey taps the clipboard. “Your charts would disagree, silly.”

She sets the materials aside to check the bandages on Wash’s neck. Tucker doesn’t miss the way she keeps her hands in the Freelancer’s line of sight as she reaches for him. How she waits several long moments for his eyes to focus on her before she touches him. Wash’s movements are stiff and his entire body tense as he turns his head, exposing his neck to Grey. Tucker’s sitting close enough to hear the way the man’s breathing hitches when her hands travel too close to the back of his neck.

“Well,” Grey chirps as she replaces the gauze. “Everything does appear in to be in order. Though, I would prefer to keep you under observation for the evening.”

Wash is already shaking his head. “I…I’m fine,” he struggles to form the words, dropping his head to his hands. “I just…back to my room…”

“Agent Washington, observation typically requires someone to do the observing.”

The Freelancer doesn’t look up, just runs his hands through his hair until it’s sticking every which direction. “Can’t be here,” Wash maintains.

Grey and Tucker share a look. The doctor leans down closer to Washington.

“Wash,” Grey prods, voice gentle, “you say you can’t be in the infirmary?”

Again, Wash shakes his head. His hands become fists in his hair as he mumbles.

“What was that, Wash?”

The Freelancer groans. “Ng…don’t. I don’t want to be here. It’s too…clean? Or-or…sharp? I don’…I don’ kno…” He trails off into unintelligible murmurs.

And just like that the room is suffocating under the weight everything unsaid: the reasons Wash can’t handle hospitals or hovering medical staff. But Tucker knows. And Grey knows. And Wash knows that they know.

“I’ll watch him,” Tucker says all at once because his mouth can outpace his brain any day of the week.

Grey’s eyes flick towards him. “I can have a chair brought in. Or a cot.”

“No, I mean,” Tucker drags a hand down his face and glances over at Wash who hasn’t moved from his hunched position. “He doesn’t need to stay here so long as someone’s watching him, right? We already share a room–he can go if I keep an eye on him, right?”

Grey flips through her notes. “Given this is one of Agent Washington’s less dramatic visits to my infirmary, I think that can be arranged.”

Tucker’s getting serious flashbacks to college. Or the idealized version of college he’s seen on TV, given being at war with an alien race throws a serious wrench in day to day life. It’s hard to enjoy beer pong and wet t-shirt contests with the threat of the planet being blasted out of the sky constantly hanging over your head.

So far, Tucker thinks, dealing with a heavily medicated person isn’t much different than dealing with a drunk one. Grey pulls him aside to discuss the details of watching Wash, most of which boil down to don’t let him do anything stupid. In this case, though, there’s more concern about him wandering into the training room and pushing himself until he punctures a fucking lung than there is about him falling asleep in public and getting dicks drawn on his face.

“That’s a high dose he’s on,” Grey tells Tucker as he shuffles out the door with a steadying grip on Wash’s arm. “He’ll fall asleep soon.”

The sim trooper nods. Wash is too fascinated by the light fixtures to add anything.

Just like putting a sleepy, drunk person to bed, Tucker thinks. Piece of cake.

The barracks are a lot farther from the infirmary than Tucker remembers. The fact that he’s basically dragging a jacked sack of potatoes doesn’t help.

Wash relaxes almost immediately after leaving the medical ward, which is a good thing because that means he’s no longer tensed to punch anyone who touches him without warning. Unfortunately, that also means Wash’s shaky grip on coherency is gone.

“’was the name…of–of the conste–constellation,” Wash slurs, waving his hand vaguely.

“Wash, we are inside and that is an exit sign.” Tucker grips the Freelancer’s waist and bicep, keeping Wash at his side even as the man lists back and forth. The halls are deserted, which is a blessing because that means they don’t have an audience. Wash would probably use Tucker as target practice for fucking grenades if anyone got a video of the Freelancer stoned out of his mind. But no onlookers also means no one to offer assistance. Tucker regrets not calling Caboose to carry the agent.

Wash flaps a hand that nearly swats Tucker across the face. “Bu’ ‘was it called.”

Tucker sucks in a breath through his nose and lets it out. “The exit.”

“Oh,” Wash says with genuine surprise. “tha–tha’s…neat…” He trails off and Tucker gets the distinct sense Wash doesn’t remember what he was even talking about.

“Super neat,” Tucker agrees, deadpan. “Come on, we’re close–”

Before Tucker can finish the thought, the Freelancer wobbles and Tucker finds himself dragged sideways.

“Shit, shit, shit, fuck, Wash!” Tucker’s heart catches in his throat as they stumble because the last thing Washington needs to another head injury. Wash collapses against the wall with his shoulder but stays standing. Tucker is immediately in front of him, tentative hands fluttering before Wash’s bowed head.

“Wash? Wash, what’s wrong?”

The Freelancer rolls his head up until he’s pressing his temple against the cool cement. He squints at Tucker accusingly. “Tell tha floor ta… quit moving.”

A laugh bubbles up Tucker’s throat in relief. He fights a smile. “I’ll get right on that. But first, you think you can walk to the room? We’re like two doors down the hall.”

“Yesss,” Wash says with all the authority he can muster, which isn’t much considering he’s slurring like he just downed the contents of an entire bar. “Ye…ah, I can walk.”

He straightens up, pushes off the wall, and topples head first into Tucker’s arms.

“Whoa, okay, shit,” Tucker wraps his arms around Wash’s chest, somehow managing to support the Freelancer sagging against him.

Wash mumbles something from where his face is buried in Tucker’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, okay buddy,” Tucker murmurs back mindlessly against the man’s hair. “Here, Wash. Can you get your arm–like this?”

It’s slow going but Tucker gets Wash’s arm over one shoulder. The Freelancer’s head flops against his own shoulder, bleary gaze turned to Tucker.

“’orry,” the Freelancer sighs.

“Don’t worry about it. Grey’s got you on the good stuff. Heck, maybe even better stuff than she gave me that one time.”

Wash stares at the floor and doesn’t respond. Tucker feels his shirt tighten and looks over to find Wash fisting the material of his t-shirt where the man’s arm is slung over Tucker’s shoulder. A glance down reveals Wash’s other hand wound up in the edge of his shirt and it doesn’t look like he’ll be letting go anytime soon.

Wash murmurs indistinctly.

Tucker leans in closer. “What’d you say?”

“…don’t,” Wash lets his head droop. “Don’ wanta go ta infur-mary.”

“What–no, no, no, we’re not–Wash, look at me.” It takes several long seconds but Wash’s cloudy eyes find Tucker’s. “We are not going to the infirmary. We are going back to our room and going to bed. No infirmary. Okay? You hear me?”

Wash nods.

With a bit of prodding, Tucker gets Wash moving again. They’ve barely made it a dozen steps when,

“…ther’ yet?”

Tucker rolls his eyes. “Geez, everyone’s always rushing to get into bed with me.”

Wash lets out a wheeze and Tucker stops dead in his tracks, grip on the Freelancer tightening before it hits him that Wash is snickering. Actually snickering. It’s not a dry laugh. There’s no rolling eyes. He’s really laughing at Tucker’s joke.

Tucker’s face lights up.

“What, you don’t believe me?” Tucker scoffs. “I’m highly valued commodity. Or is it come-odity?”

Wash rolls back his head and laughs like Tucker’s weak pun is the funniest thing he’s ever heard, and Tucker almost walks straight into their door. A giggle of surprise escapes him as he stares wide-eyed at Wash. Wash looks over at him and starts laughing all over again. Just like that, they’re both cackling like idiots, laughter bouncing up and down the hallway.

As Tucker gasps for breath, he hears a door open.

“Do you cock bites know what time it is?”

The blue soldier looks up to find an unhappy Grif standing in a doorway just up the hall, arms folded across his chest.

Simmons’ head pops out behind him. “Grif, it’s only like 7 pm – Jesus, are you two okay?”

Tucker’s still got Wash slumped against him, and the Freelancer’s not doing a great job of supporting his own body weight. Wash’s head hangs as he wheezes around quiet giggles.

Tucker nods, voice still breathless. “Oh. Yeah, yeah. We’re fine.”

“M’lungs broke,” Wash says helpfully.

“No, Wash.” Tucker looks back to the Reds. “Broken ribs,” he explains, pawing for the doorknob.

Wash notices the two soldiers for the first time. He waves and gives them a grin so stupid Tucker wishes he had a camera. “Heeey.”

Simmons’ eyebrows edge towards his hairline, while Grif’s jaw drops.

“Is he drunk?” Grif gaps.

“Yes, pleas’,” slurs Wash, as he slumps further against Tucker.

“Nah,” Tucker grunts, trying to hip check the door. “Just high off his ass on painkillers.”

Tucker fumbles for the knob again, but it’s impossible to get the door open with the weight of a Freelancer pinning him to the door frame. Goddamnit, he doesn’t want to sit Wash down. The man’s so far gone it’s going to suck getting him back on his feet.

“Here, I got it.”

Tucker looks up to find Grif standing in front of him. Without waiting for a response, the orange soldier swings the door wide open for them.

“Oh,” Tucker blinks, “thanks–”

Suddenly, Simmons is there, ducking his head under Wash’s free arm and taking the literal weight off Tucker’s shoulders. With his help, Tucker hauls Wash inside.

“Which bed’s his?” Simmons asks.

Tucker kicks some laundry under the nearest bed, taking a tangle of unmade sheets with it. “You get three guesses.”

Simmons just huffs and heads for the neatly made cot in the corner of the room. There they carefully lower Wash to sit. The Freelancer wilts like a puppet with its strings cut.

Simmons stands back. Behind him, Tucker sees Grif leaning against the door. The maroon soldier rubs at his arm. “Do you guys need anything?”

Tucker glances back at Wash who’s staring at his shoes, doing a pretty good impression of a zombie.

“I think we’re okay,” Tucker tells them, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks.”

Simmons nods and Grif rolls his eyes. The reds leave, and Tucker thinks he hears the orange soldier make a comment about ‘how the tables have turned’ before the door closes.

Tucker turns his attention back to Wash and leans down toward him.

“You still with me?”

Wash starts, lifting his head and blinking. “Wha–what?” He manages to look alarmed even with his eyes drooping.

Tucker chuckles and waves a hand to get the Freelancer’s attention. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he puts a light hand on Wash’s shoulder. “Just checking you were awake.”

“Awake,” Wash echoes, nodding. “I can stay ‘wake.”

“Not really the point of the happy drugs, but at least we can get you changed.”

Luckily, Wash is still coherent enough to lose the undersuit and put on some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Tucker keeps him upright and prods him along whenever he starts to stare off into space. Finally, Wash sinks onto the bed and flops back with a sigh.

Tucker snorts. “Sorry, dude, gotta check your bandages. Grey’s orders. In case you pulled something on the way here.”

Wash makes a disgruntled noise, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. With a sigh, he tries to sit up. Tries being the optimal word. The Freelancer doesn’t even make it off the mattress. Smirking, Tucker sits down beside him, presses a hand to his back, and helps him the rest of the way.

“Alright, real quick,” Tucker reassures, lifting the hem of the man’s shirt to check the bandages wrapping around the side of his chest. He probably should have thought to do this when Wash had his shirt off, but too late now. Satisfied, Tucker moves on to the man’s neck and shoulder. He tugs gently at the collar of Wash’s shirt. “Okay, now, Wash, can you turn your–”

Before Tucker even finishes speaking, Wash tilts his head.

The teal soldier doesn’t move. He’s too awestruck at the sight of Wash freely exposing his neck to him without flinching, without even tensing.

Tucker realizes his mouth is hanging open. Snapping it shut, he swallows and tries to speak around the tight feeling in his chest. “Ah, y-yeah. Okay. Yeah, like that.”

The teal soldier checks the bandages with feather light touches, waiting for Wash to react to hands so close to his implants. Instead, when Tucker brushes his chest against the man’s shoulder, Wash leans into the contact. Tucker’s hands stutter.

“Who are you and what have you done with Wash?” Tucker mutters as he finishes with the bandages.

Wash looks up at him, blinking hard in a desperate attempt to keep his eyes open.

“What? Wha–I’m ‘wake.” He says a bit too quickly.

Tucker snorts with laughter. “Yeah, dude, that’s the problem. You should be sleeping this off.”

He’s not sure what compels him to do it, but Tucker tussles the Freelancer’s hair. He’s also not sure what he expects to happen, but he certainly didn’t expect Wash to press into his hand. Slumping further into Tucker, Wash drops his head, burying his face in Tucker’s shoulder.

The teal soldier goes stone still. For several long moments, there’s no sound but the brush of Wash’s breath against the fabric of Tucker’s shirt. Tucker swallows, hardly daring to breathe himself and break the spell.

Tucker’s long since grown used to giving Wash space in moments of weakness (hover just close enough to help if he asks, but he doesn’t). Wash pulls away from offered hands, help. Tucker hasn’t yet decided if the man’s trying to prove something or punishing himself. So, he’s entranced by the way Wash leans into him, openly drinking in the support in a way Tucker’s never seen.

What’s he supposed to do? Hug him? Or will feeling restrained freak him out? Tucker tests the waters, running a lagged hand through Wash’s hair. It earns him a sigh and, if it’s possible, Wash relaxes even further into him.

Dropping his head to the Freelancer’s ear, Tucker whispers, “Alright, Wash. We’re gonna lie down now, can you do that?”

The only response is an indistinct hum, but Wash goes obediently as Tucker guides him down.

Once there, Wash curls up, buries his face in a pillow and doesn’t move.

Tucker stands up and pulls at the blanket underneath the Freelancer. “Come on, buddy. Otherwise, you’ll be freezing your ass off later.”

Wash shifts a bit, though his movements are slow and uncoordinated. Tucker maneuvers the blanket out and spreads it over him. Wash remains boneless, his face still hidden in his pillow.

Tucker smiles to himself. Ready to settle into a few hours of Freelancer babysitting duty, he turns, reaching for a nearby desk chair.

There’s a tug of resistance as he takes a step away from the bed. Tucker looks back down to find Wash has flung an arm out from the bed and managed to hook Tucker’s belt loop, his aim accurate as ever despite his drugged-up state.

“Don’ leave,” the agent slurs, his half-lidded eyes peering out over the edge of the pillow.

Tucker puts on a smile and ignores the tightening in his chest. “I’m not leaving–I’m just getting a chair.”

Wash shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut tight.

“Don’ leave,” he says again, voice trailing off, “pleas…don’ leave.”

Heart in his throat, Tucker sits back down on the edge of the bed, beside Wash’s pillow.

“Wash,” he says, waiting until the Freelancer’s unfocused gaze is back on him before continuing, “I’m not leaving. I swear, I’m not leaving.”

Wash rolls his head, bumping his forehead lightly to Tucker’s hip.

“Warm,” Wash says.

Tucker raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’re warm.” It’s the most coherent he’s sounded in hours. “Don’ leave.”

This whole evening has been one big display of trust from Wash to him, so Tucker’s not exactly jumping to crawl into bed with the Freelancer drugged out of his mind–even with the most innocent intentions. So, he does what he does best: distracts with humor.

Tucker flashes a cheeky grin. “I know, right? I’m one hot piece of ass.”

And just like that, the stoic leader of blue team is giggling like a child. Fucking giggling.

“Oh, come on.” Tucker teases, giving the man a shove. “I am!”

Wash snickers behind a hand, smiling as he closes his eyes.

“Yeah.” He says. “I know.”

“It’s like, a scientifically proven fact–whatthefuck. Did you just agree with me?”

Eyes still closed, the Freelancer sighs as he presses back into the pillow.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Tucker says, leaning in closer. “You don’t get to drop shit like that then fall asleep on me. Wash, you fuck, get back here.”

Wash’s eyes flutter open and he lifts his head. “What? What? I’m here. I’m ‘wake.”

Tucker snorts. “Yeah, I believe you were just saying something about how hot I am?”

Wash curls a bit closer to where Tucker is seated on the edge of the bed.

“You’re warm,” he tells Tucker, closing his eyes again.

Tucker rolls his eyes. “So I hear.”

When Wash doesn’t respond for several long moments, Tucker goes to stand. And again, he’s tugged back by the agent, who this time has a fistful of the teal soldier’s t-shirt.

“Don’ leave,” he groans.

“Jesus, you’re clingy when you’re high. Alright, here.”

Tucker takes a seat at the head of the bed, reclining back against the metal railing (his back is going to hate him tomorrow). He stretches his legs out atop the blankets and scoots in as far as he dares. He’s teetering on the edge, doing his best to give the Freelancer a bit of personal space. Not that that’s an option on the tiny cot. Wash doesn’t seem to mind though. He leans into the sim trooper, apparently content to leech off the heat even with the layers of blankets between them.

“Happy now?” Tucker asks, looking down at the man. But Wash doesn’t answer, just nudges his head against the teal soldier’s side. Eyes closed and breathing even–Tucker doubts he even heard him, until,

“Yea…” the Freelancer breathes, so soft Tucker almost misses it. “’anks, Tuc-ker.”

The bars at the head of the bed dig into his spine and there’s nowhere to rest his head. But even with Wash finally sleeping soundly, Tucker doesn’t move to get up. Instead, he stares down at the top of the agent’s head where his hair is already sticking a thousand different directions. And with a hesitant hand, he runs his fingers through the mess of locks. He thinks he hears Wash’s breathing change, but he can’t be sure.

Tucker’s got several long hours ahead of him, but he isn’t thinking of that. He’s wondering about the morning. Wash likely won’t remember tonight. Tucker’s wondering if he should slip away before Wash wakes up, letting his friend continue unaware that the teal soldier knows just how deep the Freelancer’s trust in him runs. Or Tucker could stay, wait for Wash to open his eyes and for his shields to come back up.

And maybe, just maybe, those walls won’t be so high this time around.

[icecubelotr44]

Brainwashing (Whumptober/Inktober Day 14)

For the inktober whump prompts HERE.  Thanks @whumpreads! @killian-whump, @ladyciaramiggles, @cocohook38, @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable, @xhookswenchx, @gusenitsaa, @pirate-owl

All prompts: HERE

Previous Days: Knees | Bag | Cell | Noose | Explosion | Bone | Guilt | Scar | Self-inflicted | Gunpoint | Sacrifice | Starvation | Sleep-deprivation

The gun shakes in her hand, her target across the room with his hands raised in supplication.  She knows what she needs to do, is sure that she’s in the right, but can’t bring herself to pull the trigger.  There’s just something a little bit off, the ringing in her ears and the reasons that she’s sure this man needs to die are just out of reach.

“Swan,” he speaks gently, and she starts, her finger twitching on the trigger.  She’s not sure why he’s calling her a bird, nor what he hopes to accomplish, but he’s distracting her.  The tone of his voice quiets the ringing a bit, makes some of the fog lift, but it’s not enough.

She has to take him out.  He’s dangerous.

“It’s all right, luv.  I forgive you.”  He nods easily, a little smile quirking up the corner of his mouth that makes her almost lower the weapon.

Almost.

“Try to remember that, will you?  After this is all over?  I know this isn’t you, Swan.  I know this isn’t your doing.  So I’m not going to blame you.  Not ever, do you hear me, Swan?  I’m going to forgive you because I know that you won’t forgive yourself.  All right, Swan?”

He keeps talking, keeps referring to her as a swan and she’s not entirely sure what to do with it.  She wants him to keep talking, to maybe talk until the ringing in her ears goes away and she can just think for a minute.

“Emma?” he whispers, and when did he move closer?  She takes a step back, keeping her distance, and steadies the gun.  She shakes her head to try and clear it, but the ringing comes back and with it, her orders.

Take out Killian Jones.

It’s like someone is chanting it in her ear, like if she doesn’t shoot the man who is standing in front of her, it will be the end of the world.

But she doesn’t want to shoot him.  She doesn’t know why, barely even knows her own name at the moment, but she’s sure of that.

She doesn’t want to shoot this man.

There are a hundred reasons that she should follow her orders.  A hundred reasons that she knows if she could just stop and think about, she would understand.  She’s sure that there’s a reason he needs to be taken out, sure that she would have weighed the pros and cons and found him lacking.

If only the noise in her head would quiet down some more.

She could ju-

“Swan?” the man tries again, his arm outstretched towards her.  “Will you give me the gun?”

She wants to.  God, does she want to.  But the moment her arm starts to lower, the ringing intensifies and it’s all she can do to keep from collapsing.  Her hands come up to clutch at her head, the cold steel of the gun shocking against her temple.

Shoot him!  Shoot him now!

There are hurried footsteps and a sharp cry from the man as he crosses the room.  “Swan!”

She fights through the haze and the pain to steady the weapon again, her target coming to an abrupt stop just paces away from her and raising his hands again.

“I’m never going to stop loving you, Swan, no matter what he makes you do.  Do you understand?”  He ducks his head so that their eyes meet, and God, does she want to be swallowed up by them.  “I loved you when I first met you and I loved you even when you didn’t want me to.  I loved you last month and last week and every moment that we’ve been looking for you.  I love you now, and I’ll love you always.  No matter what.”

There’s something there, something dangerous, something that she wants to understand.

But time is growing short, the ringing drowning everything else out, and she finally understands that there is only one way to make it stop.

The sharp crack of the gun going off is only second in her ears to the ringing, but his cry of shocked pain echoes through the room that has finally gone blissfully silent.

Killian!

As if the sound of the weapon discharging was a magic spell breaking, Emma Swan remembers everything with startling clarity.

Just in time to see her partner, her best friend, her husband collapse to his knees in front of her.

“No,” she whispers in horror, the weapon falling from cold, lax fingers as she stares, transfixed.  “No, please God, no.  What have I done?”

He coughs weakly, clutching at his chest with one hand and reaching out with the other.

To her.  For her.  Always for her.

Killian.

Emma takes two steps towards him before she, too, collapses under the strain of what she’s done.  Of what the bastard who’d captured her made her do.  She can’t think of the hours, the days, the weeks, not right now.

Now, she has to save Killian.

He falls forward into her arms, a little choked cry the only allowance for the pain that he’ll voice when he knows - she knows he knows - how much it will tear into her.

“Oh God, no.  No, please.  Hang on, Killian.”  She reaches for the radio clipped to his belt, sees the badge pinned there as well, and calls for assistance as if she had been doing it for years.

She has.  God, how could she have forgotten the years at his side?  As his partner before they went to separate units for just this reason.  Once she gave in to her feelings, there was no going back.  The relationship was always far more important to them than the prestige.

And now she might lose him.

“I’m here, luv.  I love you,” he whispers, clutching her hand with his own.  “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is,” she argues.  “I should have… I… I love you.”

He smirks before it turns to a grimace.  “I know.  I’ve always known.  After all, who could resist my charms?”

He’s shaking in her arms now, and she’s sobbing quietly into his hair.  His blood is leaking out under their combined pressure.

“Stay with me, damn it.  I love you.  I’m so sor-”

“Don’t,” he commands, stopping her apology.  “I’ve already forgiven you.  Just kiss me, Emma, please?”

It’s an order she’s only too happy to comply with, ignoring the taste of salt and copper as she makes sure that he understands just how much she loves him with the fervor of her kiss.  They only break apart when the sounds of sirens fills the room and the shouts of their colleagues clearing the room interrupts them.

The paramedics pull him away from her, but Emma refuses to let go of his hand.  Not now, not ever.

“I love you,” he calls weakly before his grip goes slack, only the erratic beeping of the machines in the ambulance keeping her from dissolving into hysterics.

She pulls his hand to her lips, kissing the knuckles softly before replying, “I know.”

[cali-holland]

Beautiful- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Prompt: The four times Tom was in awe of your beauty.

Word Count: 1400

Based On: Never Seen Anything Quite Like You by the Script

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

“So, Tom, I heard that you have a celebrity crush-” Ellen stopped herself to laugh at the embarrassed Tom. He ran his hand through his hair as his face became red, “Look at you! You’re all red and flustered.” She exclaimed. She placed her elbow on her armrest and leaned into Tom on it. “Would you look to tell the audience?”

“No, no, no. Please no.” Tom begged.

“Okay, well, then Tom from two weeks ago- was it?- can tell them.” She replied, pointing up to the screen and a clip from a different interview with Tom popped up.

“Who is your celebrity crush?” The interviewer asked. Almost immediately, Tom answered.

“Y/N Y/L/N, definitely her. She’s absolutely beautiful and she’s killing it right now with Divergent and Cinderella.” On-screen Tom eagerly replied as present day Tom hid his blushing face behind his hands.

“Aw, Tom, why are you embarrassed? It’s cute.” Ellen teased as the audience laughed and cheered, “Y/N even agrees.”

“What?” Tom asked, looking at her in confusion and slight excitement.

“Y/N was on the show yesterday and she said she thought you were cute.” She explained.

“There’s no way.” He replied in disbelief as a clip started to roll on the screen.

“So congratulations on Pirates. It’s a brilliant movie.” On-screen Ellen told you and you smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Tom Holland also agrees.” Ellen added and you laughed lightly.

“So I’ve heard.” You nodded.

“Have you now?”

“Well, when you’ve got a massive comic book fan as your best friend, you tend to know when the new Spider-Man actor admits he has a crush on you.”

“If Tom was to be watching this right now, what would you say to him?” Ellen asked. Tom’s focus was on the screen, on what you might say to him; his attention was anywhere but behind him, where you currently stood silently shushing the audience.

“Tom, I find you to be very cute and very talented. Good job on Civil War and good luck with Spider-Man.”

“Isn’t that nice?” Present day Ellen turned to Tom as the clip ended and he reached for his mug.

“Yeah, but, uh, it’s still embarrassing.” He replied, drinking some water.

“Oh well, you’re about to be even more embarrassed then.” She chuckled.

“Boo!” You exclaimed from behind him and he spit out his drink, bolting to his feet.

“Oh my God!” Tom shouted, covering his mouth.

“Hi.” You laughed.

“I told you, Tom. That was hilarious.” Ellen couldn’t help her laughter as a slow-mo replay of Tom’s actions was shown on the screen.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” You smiled, holding your hand out to Tom.

“Y-yeah, I’m so sorry. My brain is trying to process all of this. Wow, you’re even more beautiful in person.” Tom said, making you laugh. As he shook your hand, he made eye contact with you and it quite literally felt like time had stopped for both of you.

“You’ll thank me one day.” Ellen said, breaking your trance and making both of you laugh.

~~~

(One month later)

You were doing press in London for your latest film and finally got a day off, which meant you could stay in your hotel room the whole day in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt with absolutely no need to get dolled up. Around lunchtime, you rang for room service and a few minutes later there was knock on your door.

“Coming!” You said, standing up from your couch and heading over to the door. You opened it and you were greeted with, instead of a hotel employee bearing your lunch, Tom. You yelped and shut the door quickly.

“Y/N, are you okay? It’s just me.” your boyfriend said.

“I know. What are you doing here? I thought you had to be in Atlanta.” you asked, trying to steady your breathing. The last time anyone had seen you like this was years ago and you were not prepared to let Tom see you in jeans with no makeup on.

“Laura had a scheduling conflict, so she had to back out. I got another few weeks off while they search for a replacement.” He explained, “Why aren’t you letting me in?”

“I-I’m not decent.” You stated.

“Yes, you are. Just let me in.” He knocked again and you sighed.You slowly opened the door and let him inside your room.

“If I had known you were coming, I would have looked better.” You spoke as he closed the door behind him.

“You look beautiful.” Tom said in awe, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Not really.”

“Yes, really.” He stated, planting a quick kiss on your lips, “How has the press tour been?”

“Busy and today’s my day off. How did you know where to find me?” You asked, sitting on the couch and he sat beside you.

“I have your manager’s number.” Tom replied, “I would have called you, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“So Laura is gone? How will you find a replacement?”

“Well…” He trailed off, “I kind of told Marvel I knew a famous actress who’s schedule would be open soon and who would be willing to play my love interest.” Tom smiled at you hopefully, “So what do you say? After you finish up promo here in London, do you want to come back to Atlanta with me and be my Liz?”

“Did you ask my manager about that too?” You asked.

“Maybe.” He shrugged, making you giggle.’

“I’d love to be your Liz.” You smiled, kissing him.

~~~

(A couple weeks later)

The day you and Tom would be shooting the scene in which Peter goes to Liz’s house before Homecoming came around and Jon Watts believed the scene would be even more realistic if Tom hadn’t seen you at all that day or in your Homecoming look. Thus, you hadn’t seen Tom since the night before and he had no clue what your Homecoming dress would be like. You nervously stood behind the door, mentally rehearsing your lines, as you waited for Jon to call action.

“And action!” He announced. You opened the door and walked onto the kitchen set.

“Wow, doesn’t she look beautiful, Pete?” Your ‘dad’ asked Tom. Tom turned around to face you and he was speechless.

“Y-yeah, she does.” Tom nodded. Forcing himself to stick with the script, he turned back around to face your ‘father’.

“Good answer, kid.”

“Dad, don’t embarrass me.” You said, smoothing out your pink dress as you walked to stand beside Tom.

“Let’s get this show on the road.” Your ‘dad’ announced.

“Wait, wait, pictures first!” Your ‘mom’ said, pulling out a camera for the two of you.

Jon called cut and Tom turned to you in awe.

“You really do look beautiful.” He said and you blushed.

“Thank you.” You replied, kissing him quickly.

“Y/N! Peter can’t have Liz’s lipgloss on him.” The makeup artist stated, making you laugh as she gave Tom a napkin.

~~~

(Two years later)

You were nervous, you’ve never been this nervous. ‘Don’t fall, don’t fall’ you reminded yourself as your clutched the flowers in your hand.

“Y/N, are you ready?” Your best friend and maid of honor asked.

“Let’s do this.” You let out a shaky breath and she smiled at you. You watched as she left the room and you followed her. It was silent, all you could hear was your heart beating and the soft music. You slowly rounded the corner. Your eyes went up the aisle and straight to Tom’s. He smiled brightly at you. Everyone stood and watched as you walked past them.

You came to a halt at the altar, standing in front of Tom. You handed your bouquet off to your maid of honor and your hands fell into Tom’s…

“Mrs. Y/N Holland. I like the sound of that.” Tom whispered in your ear during your first dance.

“I quite like the sound of it too.” You replied with a laugh.

“You look so incredibly beautiful in this dress.”

“You say I look beautiful in anything.”

“Because you are beautiful. I’ve never seen anything quite like you. I love you so much, my wife.”

“And I love you too, my husband.”

~~~ Tag List: @gray-rose13 @devan-d @flammy-whater @cutefluffy89 @ria132love

[girlwithsword]

so, because this comic has been //haunting// me for months I wanted to attempt a Definitive List of Everything sTUPID Steven Grant Rogers Has Done Since Bucky Barnes Told Him “NOT to do anything Stupid” in 1942

signs up for the US Military under a fake identity for like the //fifth time//

tries to run away when he thinks he’s in trouble for this

volunteers for a Super Elite Army Boot Camp when he is an asthmatic stick

jumps on a //fucking/// GRENADE

signs up to be experimented on by a German scientist whose track record was, so far, poor

doesn’t //run screaming in the other direction// when the last time he saw the guy who’s handling the mechanical aspect of this shot in the dark, said guy CRASHED A CAR

gets in the METAL DEATH TOMB

allows himself to by injected with A THOUSAND NEEDLES full of blue Mystery Serum

allows himself to be freaking MICROWAVED or something

runs through Brooklyn barefoot to chase down a Nazi

launches himself at some kind of mini submarine and riPS IT OPEN to pull out said Nazi

TOURS AMERICA IN SPANDEX AND SHORT SHORTS

makes propaganda reels

smiles LIKE A FUCKING DORK at /own/ propaganda reels

goes after PROBABLY DEAD best friend against orders

gets /flown across europe// by that SAME GUY WHO CRASHED A CAR AND MICROWAVED HIM

jumps out of a plane take 1

takes on an entire Nazi base //by himself//

attempts to fight the only other guy who is as strong as him but has been for longer

does not RUN AWAY SCREAMING when that dude /PULLS HIS OWN FACE OFF/

marches a PLATOON across Europe just to be sassy about it

puts together a diverse band of homicidal people to take down Hydra bases one by one

zip lines to a moving train

... 

loses his best friend

sits alone in a bombed out bar and drinks despite no longer being able to get drunk

....

takes on more Hydra bases with previously mentioned diverse, homicidal band

gets in an airplane with his mortal enemy

crashes plane instead of, idk, landing it safely somewhere, just to be dramatic

wakes up in a hospital, notices suspicious surroundings, and does not, ask questions or subtly try and figure it out, but rather throws two guys through A WALL and /runs through Manhattan/

Fin First Avenger.

seemingly spends the next few months either

a) sadly wondering the city alone

b) sketching, alone, sadly

c) staying up at some old time-y gym, slowly destroying all of their punching bags, sadly, and alone

gets flown to Germany in a //ridiculous// skin tight suit to take on a GOD by himself

tries to out sass The King of Sass: Anthony Edward Stark

jumps out a plane take 2 for the purposes of //fighting MORE GODS//

breaks into SHIELD storage

gets into a fight with a bunch of temperamental superheroes

attempts to fix a highly advanced engine when he is a couple of decades behind on the technology

adds the guy who was just trying to kill them all to the team without even thinking about it

once again, does not ///run screaming// when a GIANT SPACE WHALE comes out of a HOLE IN THE SKY

tries to tell some new york city cops what to do while still dressed in a //ridiculous// skin tight suit

takes on ALIENS in New York, with temperamental superheroes he was just fighting with while STILL WEARING A //ridiculous// skin tight suit!!

throws a woman into the air so she can catch a ride on a flying alien scooter

eats food at Tony Stark’s suggestion

Fin Avengers One.

instead of making friends the normal way, by //introducing himself// and //starting a conversation//, he puts on his tightest shirt and runs laps around the guy until he is annoyed into talking to him

flirts //outrageously//

jumps out of a plane TAKE FUCKING THREE onto a pirate ship full of hostages in order to avoid question about his love life

instead of fighting the french olympic gymnast/wrestler whatever with everything at his disposal, he //clips in his shield// tossES HIS HELMET ASIDE and says the french equivalent of ‘come fight me, bro’

/scolds/ Natasha Romonoff for doing her fucking job

mouths off Nicholas J. Fury for also doing his /fucking job/

visits own Smithsonian exhibit to stare sadly at Wall of Dead Best Friends, freaks out a child

attempts to get advice from ex girlfriend suffering from Alzheimer’s who has her own damn problems

stalks new friend to his place of work

attempts to solicit him for life advice

suspects a possible break-in in his apartment so, as one does, sneaks in through the window

witnesses an assassination and chases down the suspect by crashing through his own window and DESTROYING AN ENTIRE OFFICE BUILDING

throws his supposedly impossible to catch shield and just sorta stands there dumbfounded when the murder robot catches it with his MURDER ROBOT ARM

takes the very senstive information handed to him by a dying man and decides to hide it in a VENDING MACHINE

is rude to Sharon Carter for doing her job (which you know Peggy would be very disappointed in him for)

slowly becomes aware that an assassination attempt is being made on himself in aN ELEVATOR and instead of.... finding a way out or leaving by some means //before// it starts he ... wAITS, makes a fucking /QUIP ABOUT IT/ before getting tackled by like TWENTY GUYS

JUMPS OUT OF THE ELEVATOR LIKE 30 STORIES UP and then /GETS UP// 

sTEALS A //motorcycle/ to escape SHIELD HEADQUARTERS WHILE //UNDER FIRE//

destroys a plane with his BODY???

attempts to go undercover by... wearing a hoodie???

is genuinely /SHOCKED/ when his BRILLIANT /hide the drive in the vending machine/ plan diiiidn’t work out

is so bad at being a spy that he literally cannot keep //realistic cover/// for like //30 seconds// under the scrutiny of an Apple store employee

balks at kissing NATASHA ROMONOFF which like WhY?

““borrows”“ a strangers car

learns that his sacrifice and all the work his loved ones did to honour it amounted to nothing and that the organization he DIED to end, has been waiting in the shadows all these years

sticks his shield in a computer screen to no damn avail

while on the run from the law and after having been almost BLOWN UP, goes to the home of the man he met /maybe twice/ to ‘lay low’

does not ‘lay low’ but instead immediately hatches a plan to, and I quote “kidnap a SHIELD officer in brOAD DAYLIGHT”

KIDNAPS A SHIELD AGENT IN BROAD DAYLIGHT

while under attack from the MURDER ROBOT while //weaponless/ and ///without his shield/// just fucking /stops/ because... he maybe just saw his best friend again, or the ghost of his best friend, for the first time since 1945...

breaks into the Smithsonian and gets some poor guard in /trouble// just to get a little /retro chic/ at this big bad fight

decides to take down SHIELD with like 3 guys, some micro chips and an inspiring speech???

gets on SHIELD comms to give The //InsPIRING Speech// to Rally the Troops like the HUGE PATRIOTIC JERK that he is

(it works????)

decides to take on SHIELD and the MURDER ROBOT who /might? be? his best friend? COMPLETELY BY HIMSELF

gets into another fight with the MURDER ROBOT who /might? be? his best friend?

saves the world at the last humanly possible moment, partially ‘cause he got shot a bunch but also maybe because he’s just fucking dramatic

picks //yet another// fight with the MURDER ROBOT who /might? be? his best friend?

stops fighting

drops his shield

doesn’t fight back

hopes, hopes beyond all hope, hopes enough to put his life on the line, that the one thing he could always count on - that Bucky has his back - was still true

falls

wakes up in a hospital bed once more

[khrisjavier]

Sam, and the Whore.

PT. I

Saturday night, just out of work, what to do, what to do. These six-day work weeks are killing me. Meet me at the bar I can’t spend another weekend binging on Netflix. 

I can’t wait, these days have been ridiculous from start to finish. “Sam get the final prints here, Sam edit the articles there”, “…Oh Hey! Sam! We’re going to need you to wait until nine on Saturday to receive those fresh clips from out east for Sunday roundups!” I just want a drink and to think of anything besides work, and if this bitch doesn’t respond before I get in this taxi I will change my damn Netflix password.

“Sam?”

“Yes?”

“This is your Uber I am rounding the corner now.”

“Ah! Thank you see you at the curb.”

Still no response and my driver is about to turn past Kellogg’s on Grand.  I hope D is already there, three L.I.Ts down and too busy having a good time to answer.

“Right here Muhammed and thanks for the ride! Have a good night and get home safe.”

“You too Sam, Good night.”

I don’t see D through the window but the bar is fairly packed, I just need a drink, today has been the day of days. At least Phil is working the door tonight, good ol’ Phil.

“Hey Phil!”, I can’t help but smile at Phil and that big ass pirate beard he sports. It is definitely not Security Guard standard but honestly I feel it should be. Great mix of welcoming and affirmative somehow, or maybe that was just Phil.  

“Hey Sam! How you doin’ long time no see.”

“Yeah I have been working these six-day weeks the last month so it’s been tough to make it out to the Nest, how have you been? How’s Stella? Laurie doing better after poppin’ that thing out?”

“Stella is beautiful, thanks for asking. Babies are always so beautiful right out the oven, Sam give me a second?” Phil’s big arms unfold to open the door for some loud college crowd coming out en masse for a cigarette and now it’s a bit too loud outside for us to catch up and Phil knows that he will have to focus on bouncing and not storytelling so he welcomes me inside. I forgot to ask if D made it through already, and still no text. Well the bar it is and an old fashioned for these old bones. John’s not behind the bar but some tall and beautiful girl that hopefully doesn’t need an instruction manual is in his place.  

“You’re new, covering for John?” “Mhm, what can I get you?”

Honestly being a little closer I started to grow a bit of an odd attraction to this girl, as if she went from softly beautiful to strikingly gorgeous in ten steps, did the dark lighting in here really rob her of so much?

“Can I have an Old Fashioned to start? Open my tab thank you.” As she walks away with my credit card I still can’t put a finger on what makes her so beautiful. Her modest frame? Beautiful posture? She is far from a lusty vision which one would want behind the bar in a club, hanging halfway out of her dress from the front and back. She does seem though, like she belongs in a museum, a marble statue that escaped from Manhattan and became a Brooklyn bartender. I must admit above all those looks, she does make a damn fine drink.

“Excuse me what is your name?” I had to ask, especially after tasting her work.

“Diana…”

“Thanks Diana, you make a fucking great drink and you’re beautiful, really, really beautiful.”

She just smiled back and lowered her eyes shyly, winning herself an amazing tip with that modesty. Still, halfway through this drink and no response from this bitch, I can’t believe this. What can she be doing? Seeing that guy again? The one with the pretty hair? I never fail to respond to a text from her even when I’m with someone. I just go to the bathroom and make a quick “heyyyy I’ll be busy tonight” or “They’re almost asleep I’ll see you there in 40 minutes.” Though here I am, again, waiting for a damned text when I finally decide not to pussy out of a Saturday night out. I don’t want to be that person sitting at the bar alone all night, and I also don’t want to be the person texting outer circle friends at Ten on the weekend looking for plans. Am I going to have to call her and really be that person hounding down their friends? I need another drink, and now someone is taking up the empty seat next to me.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” I never really had a thing for blonds, not after my last… three.

“Want some company?”

“What makes you say that?” Honestly, what makes someone say that? Do I look lonely? Or is it just that obvious that I am neither waiting on someone or with someone currently?

“Well besides no one being here? I saw when you came in and noticed when you gave up looking around the bar and started staring at the waitress instead. Sorry if that sounds weird… just the truth.”

The truth, well that’s interesting, many people believe they know the truth but mostly they just don’t know they’re wrong. Maybe they’re telling the truth, maybe they’re as observant as I am behind those blue eyes.

“Good call, well I am alone but not exactly looking for company… though if you want to join me that’s fine with me.” I can outwit this kid in a conversation till they just go running back to their friends with god awful stories about me, and me to D, telling her all about ruining their life in her absence.

“Excuse me Diana, can I have another?” She was already winning my heart again by being so attentive and swift in her bartending, distracting me from... “Excuse me, what’s your name?”

“Mine? It’s Tracy, and yours?”

“Sam”, “Sam I am!”, am I drunk already? It has been a while since I could kick back curled around a glass, I really hope I am not making an ass of myself. At least Tracy laughed along with my nervous laughing.

“So Tracy, are you alone in this bar as well?” This bar is being overpopulated by beautiful people it really is hard to believe they’re all alone. “Actually my friend is bartending tonight and asked me if I wanted to tag along and keep them company.” He slips a look at Diana and she gives the same modest smile she gave me when I complimented her.

“So you and Diana, great choice I mean I would if I could, congratulations.” I definitely slurred some if not all of that.

“Oh, oh no, trust me I would too but we’re just friends, I’m just keeping her company since I have no plans for tonight.” I can’t tell if Tracy’s face is embarrassed or sad but I immediately knew I had to change the subject.

“Did you just get out of work?”

“For the most part I’m a little out of work as of this week, and Diana is feeding me drinks for free tonight, one of the many perks.”

“Ah, what did you work in?”

“Online work… Mostly streaming and editing, my PC just died though putting me into a little hiatus.”

“Oh… interesting”, I lied, it has blown up so much I’m not surprised and not impressed.

“How about yourself?”

“I’m a junior editor at The Hub. It has its perks but the hours really kill any fun I used to have before it.”

“Like?”

“Sex.”

I must be drunk from this second drink I just let that one out and now Tracy is struggling to make eye contact. Either roll with it Sam or keep it moving.

“So next time you see a priest tell him he’s in the wrong profession if he wants to get out the word!” I’m a horrible drunk and I think Tracy knows it. Though after an hour of bad puns back and forth between us I think I made up for it, and I think blond is affecting me again. I need a cigarette to clear my mind.

“Going out for a cigarette, be right back”

“Can I join?”

“I wouldn’t mind if you do, I wouldn’t mind if you don’t.” I feel light on my feet, obviously flirting but less obviously not having a care in the world either way. I could leave now and fall asleep happily alone, or with anyone, even Diana, hopefully Diana, that would be something.

“Hey Phil!” Those eyes were shut and his mouth was slightly parted and yawning through his beard.

“Oh hey Sam, still here at this time?”

“Yes, yes, need a coffee or something?”

“Shit if you wouldn’t mind asking Diana for a Redbull for me I’d appreciate it.”

I pass Phil my cigarette even though he doesn’t smoke, head back inside and right back out with the caffeinated poison of his choice.

“Thanks Sam” He passes me back the cigarette, it wasn’t even lit. Tracy was about a quarter of the way done with his cigarette, he couldn’t wait I don’t blame him. Luckily he decided to move to my usual spot on the wall downwind from Phil, far enough outside the bar’s spotlighted front to not be a nuisance but close enough to call for help if something happened, which has happened but thankfully has become less frequent with Phil here. Standing next to Tracy, lighting my cigarette with one leg propped on the wall behind me, I feel quite cool, quite comfortable with the fact that I came here alone. I wonder if D decided to stay in tonight, I wonder what stories she’ll bring me tomorrow, I wonder if she’ll even care to tell me the truth or just write it off till I find out from someone else. I’m being awfully quiet, thinking here to myself next to new company.

“Sorry if I have been quiet.” My cigarette was nearly done, his has been cast away.

“It’s okay, silence can be warm and welcoming sometimes.”

“It can be you’re right, you’ve been warm and welcoming tonight.”

“So have you.”

And all at once I don’t know which happened first, if I rolled in front of him or he in front of I but we were connected by the lips. My eyes closed I felt him on me and I on him. Fingers tracing each other’s backs as if we were looking for a way in, but in fact we were looking for a way to come closer, just then I remembered Phil and backed away.

“I’m sorry… that was, um, unplanned.” I felt all at once aware of how the scene looked and needed to escape it all.

“I’m going to uh… head home it was nice meeting you.” Running away from Tracy and back into the Nest I nudge past the rowdy college crowd which still hasn’t settled down and settled my tab with Diana. I hope I didn’t look as rough to Diana as I felt putting myself on exhibition on the street.

“Have a good night Phil, get home safe and send my love to the family!”

“You too Sam have a good night!”

I don’t know where Tracy is but I’m glad I didn’t have to explain myself, though honestly I don’t know what I would say or how I’d apologize. I don’t feel like apologizing though, I feel like taking him home with me, using what I just had a taste of and leaving him behind in time for Sunday brunch. Past the corner is just two blocks till home, even if I’m drunk and alone I should be able to make it home and to bed okay.

“Hey, Sam!”

Oh no, not…

“Sam, it’s Tracy wait up!”

Fucking seriously this is not good, how do I run, if I run does he follow? Do I want to run? I just have to turn and face him.

“Hey Tracy… Sorry about that. It’s been a while since I’ve drunkenly hooked up with someone outside a bar.” I can’t help but be honest. I’ve been fighting his blue eyes for too long and they have drained me of all my strength, either that or I’m too drunk to lie.

“It’s okay, I just didn’t want to have you leave on that note, it really was nice meeting you and spending the night together.”

“You too…”, at this point I know what I want and know how to get it, I just have to ask.

“...do you really want to stop spending the night together or would you like to keep me company at home?” I asked, and to my surprised he hesitated before saying yes.

Before I knew it we were through the threshold, clothes on the ground, again on top of each other without clear knowledge of who started on who, just lost in it all. I could feel him all over me, hands on my hips, pulling me closer as I try to grasp his entirety between my legs. His hands can’t stop wandering from my legs upwards and I can’t help wanting more.

“Choke me” I let my fantasies slip from my subconscious.

He hesitates again, so I guide his hands to my neck.

“Don’t worry just do it and kiss me”, I grab his neck and drag him close, hoping he would grab me with the same force. It was lacking until I said “harder”, then I couldn’t help but moan “right there.”

We both fell asleep, but I don’t remember when or if it was at the same time. Though I’m awake now and the sun in spilling in through my curtains. Tracy was face down in the mattress next to me, either I stole the pillow or he decided to let me have it instead of trying to share. All night he has seen my naked body but I just want to wrap myself up, as though he wouldn’t approve in the daylight. What was I thinking? Am I a whore now for bringing someone home the first night I meet them? I needed it, I know, but was this the best solution to my dry spell?

“Hey, good morning” He slid over and caught me covering myself.

“Did you really need to cover those girls up? I was hoping for a bit more of last night this morning.” Those blue eyes were squinting at me, but their effect on me was waning with my hangover.

“Yeah sorry, have some early plans today, need to head out.” I lied, of course, but I don’t want to turn a one night stand into anything more so quickly. I need time to think, I also need a big breakfast. “That’s okay I’ll get out of your hair, I don’t know if we traded numbers last night but I’ll leave mine on the table in case you want to meet up again.” Then I just realized we actually never became intimately connected past first names and started dressing faster. Tracy must’ve noticed my own haste to get dressed and rushed himself into his clothes from the night before. Finally, completely dressed we both looked at each other through fresh eyes, and give out a sigh. “I’ll just leave my number here”, he picks up a pen off of my night stand and begins writing his name followed by his number on a tissue.

“Thanks, maybe I’ll call you this week if I’m not swamped by work?”

“That’d be cool, I remember you mentioning how work was a real struggle recently for you...”

“mhm, well…” I take a few step forwards and he guesses that it is his cue to start walking towards the exit. At the door he turns and looks at me, waiting for a kiss, and although we had an amazing night, I couldn’t help but give just a single kiss on the cheek. He smiled behind a “thank you, see you soon hopefully”, then made his way out of the apartment complex.

Gone, gone, gone, finally gone and finally I can think. What is wrong with me? How can I let myself do that? All of that? Was I really becoming such an irresponsible and easy girl? Is it really so bad to simply know what I want and take it when I want it? Most importantly over all, where in the damn hell is D so I can get another opinion on this?

I give in and call, and I guess D gives in and starts caring about her friends.

“Hey D where in the hell have you been?”

“Heyyyy Sammmmm, I’ve been a bit busy I got caught up with some people last night.” She was obviously still high from the night before.

“Whatever D, want to meet me at Café Olé for breakfast?”

“Fuck yes that sounds great right now, meet you in thirty.”

Café Olé was a good thirty minutes from either of us so we arrive at basically the same time and take our usual seats outside under an umbrella. Our young waiter comes equipped with a menu and water for both of us, taking our drink orders then returning inside to the restaurant.

“You look… refreshed.”

“So do you!” D has such a bubbly attitude though she works in accounting. On the weekend her tightly packed hair bun becomes a cascade of curls that animates every phrase she says into a huge theatrical statement. During the week that bun must be necessary to be taken seriously, I halfheartedly wish she was wearing it now so I could take the conversation seriously. 

“Why didn’t you answer you phone last night?” my stern expression was faced with her laughs. 

“Welllllll, I got a call from an old someone early last night and took a little trip, as you can say, kinda lost track of time but here I am!” her smile was obnoxiously cute, to the point that my seriousness has melted into laughs.

“Wait… so you’re telling me you tripped last night?”

“Mhmmmmmm, it’s been a w h i l e.”

“You don’t say, years I bet, since Tom moved away to California.”

“Mhmmmmmm”

“It was him wasn’t it, the “old someone”…”

“Mhmmmmmm”

“Oh wow it was?” I suddenly remembered the last time we spoke of him, D wasn’t so much excited to admit he was leaving, yet not outspokenly sad about it either. It was hard to pin down exactly what D was feeling in the moment, and usually took a while to get an answer after the moment has passed.

“…Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, and you? How was your night.” D was smart enough under all that bubbliness to know how to smoothly get off a subject.

“Long, weird, still stuck in it a bit.”

“Wow Sam, who did you let in your cookie jar last night?”

I can’t help but laugh at my transparency and her juvenile way of bringing my attention to it, “Shut it Delilah, no one wants to hear about my cookie jar over brunch.”

“Well I beg to differ Samantha, who wouldn’t want to hear about a petite and nubile cookie jar getting into some frisky business?” Those damned curls really make this conversation so hard to get away from.

“Okay, okay, it’s true…” I try to whisper to her as our waiter comes out of the restaurant with our mimosas, “someone has… gotten in the jar last night.”

“Finally!” she yells it loud enough for the waiter to take personal offense to it and start walking faster to the table.

“Who was it? Billy from the Creative Department? Hasn’t he been sending you not so subtle hints for the longest time?”

“Oh hell no, never Billy. It was someone new you don’t know about.”

She is left speechless at this, motionless even, as if a crime scene unfolded in front of her.

“How. Drunk. Were. You. Last. Night?” after this staccato response a rush of questions came at me from the other side of the table like an avalanche.

“Was it someone you know? Where were you? Were they someone from work? Did you go to theirs or did they go to yours? Was it good? Was it bad? Are you going to call him? Her?!” then a breath, “Was it consensual?!”

“Very, no, at the Nest, no, my place, can’t remember the rest, and yes it was consensual or I’d be having this conversation with the police!” I was out of breath sooner than she was and it became apparent to me that the waiter was back for our order.

“The Special with Pancakes, please.”

“I’ll take the same.”

The waiter walks away with a bewildered look on his face.

“That waiter might spit in our food…” I truly couldn’t blame him after that last fiasco.

“No he won’t, he’s been checking us out this whole time.”

“Hope you’re right…” my attempt at changing subjects was detected and D was back on it harder than before.

“So Sam, going to call back the mystery guy or not?”

“His name is Tracy and I don’t know.” I truly didn’t know. He was interesting, but nothing to break my head over. Good in bed but I had to tell him what to do. His saving grace was that he listened. It took a little while but people usually never listen or just listen when it is too late.

“Maybe again to rattle my brains if he is down with no commitment but that’s it.”

“A guy that would be down with no commitment, that’s really hard to find.” Her sarcasm was just as animated as everything else she said.

“You’d be surprised.” She really would be surprised, sometimes it is the hardest thing to find, because even if you make intentions clear everyone always wants more.

“So you’re joining the wild bunch? Swearing off relationships and using men for the only thing they’re good for?” She smiled at me behind this statement but I could tell she was hoping for a sappy response to warm her heart and reaffirm her lost faith in love.

“No, not yet, but I’m considering it. I mean if I can find someone that can take all my bullshit and my work schedule, great, but if I can just have someone to jump on top of when I feel like jumping, that would be great too.”

She smiled and was quite speechless at this, and I knew the next thing she said would be an attempt to embarrass me to the fullest extent.

“My Sam is finally becoming a woman!”

There it is, the eventual salt to the wound that I saw coming from miles away. It is alright though, with each insult I become a bit stronger, a bit more immune.

“If only you could follow in my example, huh D?” I’ve learned to bite back a bit.

“Hahaha sick burn Sam, back to business however, how is business? Any hope in escaping hell at work?” my quip calmed D down a bit and brought a more serious tone to her.

We went on for well into our meal about the intricacies that is junior editing for The Hub. The go getting, the long nights, the tedious copies and summarizations that eventually go unused, the meetings, oh god the meetings. As if we needed another hour in our sixty-hour work week to be told what to do. The frivolous memos, and worse, the amount of ass-kissing to be seen day in and day out. You can’t expect any different from a modern day internet start-up that has blown up into a corporation. Everyone is trying to make sure they’re on the next Zuckerberg’s dick before he makes the new Facebook. I tell her that now you’re either the innovator, or the curator. You’re either making something new, or reporting on what was done. To move up to senior editor I would have to do the same, I would have to either make something new inside the Hub, or find something inside of it good enough to piggyback on.

Either full of conversation or pancakes, I’m not too sure, but we left Café Olé walking silently for a while until for some odd reason the conversation returned to work for a moment. D began talking about her job, which she rarely spoke of beyond the odd, “If I never see an excel sheet again, I will be a happy lass”, I knew next to nothing about her accounting firm.

“Y’know there’s this guy John in Acquisitions that who went through a bad breakup, his fiancé left him for an old boyfriend from College...”

I looked at her a bit confused as to why this came about, but curious, “Wow that kinda sucks…”

Under her breath she continued, “that’s not the worst of it, this happened only a week before the wedding… everyone in the office was invited.”

“Holy shit, wow, that really sucks.” My response was genuine; I couldn’t believe someone could wait that long to leave someone out on the wire outside of maybe a movie. Though it must’ve sounded out of character because D became quite defensive.

D pulls out a cigarette, something she usually does when drunk or mad, after that meal it had to be the latter. “I’m serious, and I couldn’t believe it… it was crazy to hear. The guys almost didn’t want to tell me about it because they thought I would side with her, can you believe that? They thought I would somehow rationalize a person waiting until after ten thousand plus dollars is spent on a reception, just the reception mind you, with some feminine romantic spin on story. As if I, head of the budgetary committee, would be so airheaded to see pass the financial loss. After I heard it from my secretary I went right to the break room to see John and told him, “that bitch could go fuck herself, you’ll find better”, and the chatty guys finally got together and told me the rest of the story.”

“Wait there’s more?”

“Plenty.” She passes me the cigarette and proceeds to pull her tangled curls into a messy ponytail.

“So she left him two weeks ago and the wedding was supposed to be last weekend. I didn’t find this all out until this week because I didn’t R.S.V.P. for the wedding anyway so I guess I didn’t deserve a cancellation notice. I also guess the guys didn’t find out until late because I remember John took off sick during the beginning of the week. Anyway, as the story goes…”

D reaches out for the cigarette which was mostly filter at this point, takes a drag then tosses it aside, continuing her story.

“As the story goes, the guys decided after hearing all this the best remedy for John’s broken heart was a quality person to fuck it back together.”

“They got him an escort?”

“They got him a fucking escort. For what would’ve been his wedding night.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Oh wow indeed, so when I told them congrats on being the best co-workers a person could ask for and actually went to go in for my first high five in the office I was really pissed when it wasn’t immediately returned.”

“You actually went for a high five?”

“I fucking did and they just stared at me until Bill, openly singing Taylor Swift sober at Office Karaoke night Bill, came out of the copy room and gave me one, not even knowing why.”

“That’s fucked, so then what happened?”

“Then the whole thing turned into a discussion on the financial pros and cons of hiring a hooker over tying the knot until Fisher came out of his office and we got back to work. No one would want to have a conversation like that next to that born again Christian.”

“That is pretty great, so why are you mad about it?” I light up a cigarette and pass it to along.

“Where we left off the conversation. We basically agreed that paying just for sex saves you plenty in the long run, for both sexes, but when I began to bring up my last points for the biggest expenditures a woman could save on in an economy with legal prostitution, the intern that was listening in on the whole thing laughed. I asked why and he simply said, “who would hire a male prostitute instead of going out and getting it for free, only an ugly broad, and I mean ugly, would have to do that” and everyone else started to laugh at that too, so I became mad and started to defend why even I would consider it, and that’s when Fisher’s door opened.”

“I hope he didn’t hear.”

“Christ I hope he did, exorcise the stick that guy has in his ass.” She passes me back the cigarette, returning the favor with an ace that I quickly toss away.

“Can you believe that intern though? The balls to make a statement like that?”

“I mean, if I could pay to make sure that the dick I was getting was worthwhile, instead of getting strung around on three dates I have to put hours of commitment in just to find out he’s married, and can’t get it up, why not make the investment?”

“Exactly, sometimes you just need a little and that’s it, back to business. We all have needs; they just weren’t getting it.”

Of course I had my own cynical view of hiring a male prostitute but who wants to get into a debate this early on a Sunday afternoon. The intern was an asshole, but he has a misogynistic point. In the relationship world, women do have the upper hand in being able to pounce and flirt better than men. It wouldn’t be hard for me, or D, to find some Joe in Café Olé, or even on this walk, and convince him to give us his number, and we’re not supermodels. I wouldn’t doubt any women, of any shape, size, or form, would have too much of an issue finding a suitor. Though where the intern put his head up his ass is when he used that word ugly. It immediately implies that he, and everyone that laughs, owns a standard of beauty and may use it to take advantage. To tell someone they have to pay for it, or to treat them like garbage and leave them on the curb after taking whatever they want. It’s how they rationalize all the worst things, “she’s ugly, she’s lucky she’s getting any in the first place”, or “better pretty up or you’ll go nowhere”, we’ve all heard it before in some form.

The more I think about it however the more I start to rationalize the use of a male escort. The control to say, “please leave”, without remorse or ramification would be a nice start. How about not having to meet another group of friends that seem to have a collective IQ lower than their collective alcohol content? If we’re being really imaginative, how about being able to not go to another reunion or banquet alone or with your best friend? The perks are there, especially if it was legal and regulated, because we all have heard that one story that has come out of that one long relationship, where suddenly, everyone has chlamydia. By the end of the walk to the subway there was only two thoughts on my mind, why isn’t this legal, and what kind’ve money can even be found in a business like this.

“So D, did you ever find out how much the guys paid?”

“That’s the crazy part, they told me they really felt bad, so they pooled together as much as they could spare from that payday and hired one for about six grand.”

“Wow, that much? That can’t be normal.”

“Oh no, not at all. They got him the Ferrari of escorts. I wouldn’t doubt that girl did things to him they don’t even allow on the internet. I asked them the usual going rate and they told me if you don’t want to wind up with itches and creams you usually spend the better part of a grand, but if you want to take a coin flip, three hundred isn’t bad odds, though anything less, and you’re asking for it.”

“Still that is black market sex, in a regulated world I bet that would drop.”

“It would but to be honest”, lightening up a little D removed her scrunchy, releasing those curls from their prison, “whoever is running that black market gambit is making plenty scratch, especially those Ferrari dealers.” As she said this she slipped out a smile and the oncoming train sent her curls in a frenzy.

“Well I guess I’ll see you later!”

The train stops and the doors open as we open up from our hug. She waves goodbye to me and I to her as the doors close and the train speeds away. Walking down the stairs of the station, in through one corridor, then up another stairwell and onto the downtown platform I started to think of the last night, of this morning, of everything. Of all the quirks, of all the stories, and most of all, the possibilities.

 PT. II Soon.