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carelessannie · 3 years

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lookin for love (in all the wrong places)

chapter five

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

In CA:CW Steve kicks Spider-Man in the chest, awakening a soul deep bond and sending Peter into his first heat, before running away to Wakanda.

The soul bond, omegaverse, Spidershield angsty romance everyone needs.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Peter Parker Chapters: 5/ Chapter word count: 6.5K Fic Rating: E Warnings: mild violence and implied sex trafficking, extreme levels of fluff Read it here on AO3 Title is from this song by Johnny Lee

Steve

The ferry docks in the Åland Islands for a few hours overnight, allowing the two of them to sleep in shifts to be safe. After dinner, they had swept the ship for suspicious persons and bugs, tagging three places around their hallway with ears to keep an eye out for possible threats.

Even with the precautions, Steve feels on edge as they sail in the morning. Neither he nor Natasha get more than a few hours of sleep, and once the sun rises, they decide to spend the rest of the journey on the upper deck. Separating for the duration of the trip, Steve takes the helm while Natasha lounges closer to the stern.

There’s no attack, no threat to be concerned about— so when the ferry docks a few hours later, the two of them are already seated in their car and driving down the off-ramp. Steve takes the wheel first, while Natasha guides him East, following the sun until it sits high in the sky.

They stop at the border to Russia and switch vehicles, easily slipping through as the newly-mated Alpha and Omega couple on their Russian passports.

And if Natasha bats her eyes and gets them a free passage to St. Petersburg, Steve isn’t complaining.

It’s as they’re driving away that Natasha flinches at something one of the border police says under their breath, and Steve raises his eyebrow in question as he steers to merge back onto the highway. If Natasha is showing her reactions, it has to be important.

“They thought…” she pauses, chewing on her lower lip, before starting over, “When they reviewed our documents, they thought you might be my... trophy Alpha.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly, furrowing his eyebrows, “Is that bad for us?” He doesn’t quite understand what the issue is, or why Natasha might be anxious. The two men— Betas, probably— had given them a suspicious onceover, but otherwise let them travel in peace.

Natasha makes a frustrated noise, “I’m not translating it right. They think you’re my stud— that I brought you in from America or England to… breed.”

Horrified, Steve almost swerves the car off the road. “What— does that happen often?”

“Often enough that they may call it in. It’s not illegal, technically, but if they catch wind of possible trafficking…”

“Oh,” Steve checks the rearview mirror, suddenly all too aware of the surrounding cars and trucks. “What’s our move, Nat? Do you think they’ll actually come after us?”

She shakes her head again, “Best to get to St. Petersburg. We can call Tony from there, and switch out cars. If someone’s on our tail, they’re bound to know where we’re headed anyways. Stark can get us new documents by the time we reach the base.”

“Fine. I assume you know your way around the city?”

“Steve,” Natasha coos, “haven’t I taught you not to ask questions you already know the answer to?”

He shoots her a grin, “Good, then you’re in charge of ditching our ride. I’ll make a few calls.”

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” Natasha murmurs as she reclines in the seat, shifting to give herself a good view of both side mirrors while still seeing clearly out the front windshield. She crosses her feet at the ankle and pulls down the lid of a carefully worn baseball cap. If Steve didn’t know better, he would assume she fell asleep in the passenger seat.

They spend the last two hours of the drive in a tense silence, both of them on high alert. Steve knows from experience that Hydra likes to hide in plain sight— so he scans license plates, calculates distances, and carefully surveys the people in each car, looking for anything out of the ordinary. So far, nothing.

That changes when they enter the city.

Immediately, both of them sit up straighter, scanning the surrounding lanes for a threat.

“Do you—”

“Yes, stay alert,” Natasha hisses. Her hands are digging rapidly through her backpack until they pull out their last international phone. In one swift motion, she destroys it on the dashboard, lowering the window to sprinkle pieces onto the highway, sure to be crushed further by oncoming vehicles.

Steve changes lanes, inching closer to the quickly passing exit ramps. He doesn’t see a suspicious car— no black sedans, no tinted windows— but the feeling of being watched is undeniable.

“Exit here.”

Natasha’s voice is flat, and if Steve wasn’t listening for it, he would have missed the direction. Instead, he steps on the gas and throws the car into the right lane, barely avoiding the traffic cones as he speeds down the single exit ramp.

“Slower,” Natasha is reaching behind him as he merges back into traffic, this time heading West into the heart of the city. “When we get into the city, look for a coffee shop. You’re going to drop me off. Drive around the corner and watch for me— I’ll order you a drink inside and pretend I’m grabbing an item from my car. Instead, you will switch places with me, and sit outdoors drinking what I order. Keep your eyes up, run if you need to. I’ll rendezvous within an hour. Got it?”

“Got it,” Steve confirms, already slowing down as they breach the populated city limits. It isn’t long until he’s pulling up to a small café and Natasha is sauntering down the sidewalk, drawing any nearby attention to herself as he swings the car around back.

Traffic is thick, stifling, and he’s grateful to have the intel portion of this operation. Within five minutes, Natasha is in his rearview mirror, and he steps out of the vehicle to offer her the wheel.

He pulls his own hat lower to shield his face before slipping into the coffee shop, sidestepping immediately and settling into a corner table. There are three other patrons, all scattered throughout the space and engaged in the work in front of them. No threats yet.

“Peter?” a heavily accented voice calls, and Steve has to stop himself from flinching. It’s a common name— he needs to get himself under control. The voice calls out, “Peter?” once more, just as a tall, well-built man strides through the door, walking up the counter and picking up the drink.

The man turns around, “Huh. Didn’t know you were goin’ by Peter these days.”

“Sam,” Steve breathes, meeting his friends’ eyes with a shocked smile. He jumps to his feet and pulls the other man into a hug. It’s shakey— both of them chuckling and holding on tight— but the embrace is warm and feels like home.

“The hell are you doing here?” Steve grabs his arm, steering them both outside and towards the patio. “Not that I’m not grateful to see you, but… how did you find us?”

Sam shoots him a disbelieving look, placing the coffee cup between them before reclining back in his seat, “I got a tip a few days ago— something about Hydra and a base nearby. Stark got me a ride over yesterday and said I could plan on intercepting you here.”

Something in his face turns thoughtful, “You seriously didn’t see Redwing on the way in?”

“Uh,” Steve sorts through the details of their fast paced cut into the city, but can’t remember Sam’s drone being anywhere in sight.

Sam chuckles, “I followed you from the moment you entered the city— c’mon, you can’t tell me you didn’t see him, not with the way you were driving.”

“Dammit, Sam,” Steve curses. “We thought…” and then he laughs, slumping back into the patio chair and scrubbing his face. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

Sam spreads his arms wide, and gives Steve his widest, most charming smile, “Takes one to know one, Cap.”

There’s a beat of silence as Steve sips his drink— it’s perfect, not that he expected anything less from Natasha. Sam looks good, if not a bit tired. The smile on his face is practiced, and Steve knows it’s more for his sake than anything. They’ve never lied to each other, never had the opportunity to, so if Sam is appearing strained and weary, Steve knows he’s supposed to notice.

“Decide not to take a pardon, then?” Steve hedges, watching as Sam raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“No, Steve,” he looks out into traffic, carefully thoughtful, “it’s been a rough few months since Germany, but Sharon and I have been doing some ground work wherever King T’Challa is willing to send us. There’s a lot of shit going down, and— up until now— the only goal I really had was finding you again.”

A rush of guilt hits Steve in the chest, and he winces, “Look, I’m sorry for leaving you—”

“Hey, no— don’t do that,” Sam dismisses him, waving away the apology with one hand, “I knew you had to go to Wakanda, I had other shit that needed to get done.”

“Still, you deserved a better friend than that.”

Sam laughs, but the sound lacks any real joy, “I think we all deserved better than we got.”

There’s not much to say after, and Steve takes a long pull of his drink, trying discreetly to check his watch. Forty minutes until Natasha returns.

And speaking of, “So where did the Widow herself head off to?” Sam asks, checking his own watch. “Thought I’d catch both of you here.”

“Switching out cars. We assumed Hydra was tracking us into the city,” Steve narrows his eyes across the table, and it makes Sam laugh again.

“Damn, well... can’t say I’m sorry. Stark wanted me to keep a low profile until we crossed paths, and…” Sam sits up taller and leans across the table, forcing Steve to meet his eyes, “he mentioned something about keeping you stable.”

“God dammit—”

“Language.”

“Shut up, Sam,” Steve huffs, scrubbing his face with one hand, “why can’t Tony keep shit to himself.”

“Something I shouldn’t know about?”

Sam’s always been good at coaxing answers out of him, and Steve curses the other Alpha mentally for it. Why does he always attract friends who know him better than he knows himself?

“I found my soulmate, Sam.”

Jerking forward, the other Alpha’s eyes grow wide as his hands come down, hard, on the table. “Shit, Steve. When on earth did you have time—”

“I didn’t, Sam. That’s the thing. Fuck—”

He feels rage flow through his body for the first time in ages, and Steve’s hit with a flash of their bonding moment, marred by fear and devastation from his young Omega. He closes his eyes, remembering the residual pain from each heat. Scared and empty and alone.

There’s a hand on his arm, but Steve shakes it off, “Remember the kid Stark brought to Germany? Spider-man?”

“Sure, Bucky and I fought the kid, and he stuck us to the floor.”

“I fought him, too,” Steve sighs, rolling up the sleeve over his left arm to show the bright red and irritated word etched into his skin, “and I kicked him right in the chest.”

Sam doesn’t reach forward to touch. He barely gives it a glance, reaching over to roll up his own sleeve. Steve has to stop himself from growling in sympathy— the writing is black, smudged and illegible.

“Sam…”

With a sad smile, Sam rolls his shirt back in place, “It was years ago— and we bonded in combat. I got a few years with him on active duty, and then I felt when he was shot out of the sky.”

Sam meets his eyes, “Fucked me up good for a few years.”

“I had no idea.”

“I’m better now, sure. Wouldn’t show you if I wasn’t. Just letting you know, whatever you’re going through with this kid— because obviously you’re not with him now— that you’ve gotta value whatever time you get. In our line of business? I’m grateful I got years instead of moments, you know?”

Something clenches in his chest. Steve feels tears prick his eyes. He has to look away, afraid of the suddenly all too real possibility of crying in public. Quickly, he covers it up with a swig of cooling coffee, letting the emotions wash away alongside the bitter, familiar taste.

“I’ve never even met the kid, Sam. All I know is that he’s an Omega, and he has a strong bond with Tony.” Steve sighs, checking his watch again, “We were supposed to be extracted in Oslo, but got the tip instead. I’ll head home to him after we take care of the threat here.”

He can tell Sam disapproves of this choice, but the other Alpha just shakes his head, nodding to draw Steve’s attention back to the street, “Looks like our ride is here,” he chuckles just as a beat up Jeep swerves across traffic, coming to an abrupt stop in front of them.

The window rolls down, and Natasha makes a show of lowering her sunglasses, “Pickin’ up strays, Rogers?”

Both of them stand and approach the car, and Sam smiles as he takes the backseat, “Good to see you too, Romanoff.”

“I hope you brought your uniform,” she muses, swerving back into traffic once both of them are buckled in, “we’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

---

Peter

I think you’d hate my friends, Alpha. I don’t know, maybe not. I think you’d like that they wanna take care of me, even if they’re both little pieces of shit. I bet a visit from Captain America would shut them up. Or… Are you still Captain America, Steve?

Just as Peter finishes the line, the main cafeteria doors slam open. Both of his friends— MJ and Ned— have their arms in the air, gesturing animatedly.

“There you are!”

It’s as if he summoned them. Damn Spidey-senses, never working when he needs them to.

Peter squirms in his seat, “Hey, guys…” he checks his exits, noting quick escape routes. Sure, he’s never actually needed to run from his friends, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. “What’s up?”

Ned scoots into the bench next to him, pressing in close and draping an arm over Peter’s shoulders. MJ takes a seat on Peter’s other side, and both of them give Peter award-winning smiles— terrifying, really. Matching smiles only usually mean one thing.

“Can’t we just hang anymore, Parker?” MJ rolls her eyes, taking a discreet look at the pages in front of Peter on the table.

He quickly closes his notebook, “Sure, sure. I mean, we can hang— we hang all the time,” Peter catches them exchanging a glance, and sighs, “is there something you want? I’m trying to get homework done before practice.”

With a shake to his shoulders, Ned chuckles nervously, “No, no… we’re just looking out— ow!”

Peter looks down. MJ definitely kicked him.

“— I mean, we’re just wondering…”

“You wanna go to a Halloween party, Peter?” MJ cuts in, flicking at Ned’s arm where it’s still draped around his shoulder. Her face is open, fairly honest, and it catches Peter off guard.

“When’s Halloween?” he asks, thankful when Ned pulls his arm back.

The two of them exchange another look, “Uh…” Ned clears his throat, “it’s today, Peter. Today’s Halloween.”

“Oh.” Peter peeks into his folders to check the date on today’s homework, and sure enough, October Thirtyfirst is printed clearly across every page. Huh. He’s usually great at remembering holidays like this. “I wonder why May didn’t say anything…”

“Because,” MJ grabs his backpack, starting to shove notebooks and textbooks back inside, “we asked her to keep it a surprise. And your mom, too. We just didn’t think you were enough of a dumbass to miss the whole holiday.”

“Honestly, Peter, I don’t get how clueless you can be.”

He just nods along, letting the two of them pull him out of the cafeteria and walk towards the carpool lane. Maybe some part of him wanted them to find him today— who knows? Several other, better, hiding spots come to mind, but Peter doesn’t have it in him to protest.

A night off sounds like too much fun.

His mood immediately improves when they step outside. Parked closest to them, dark and intimidating on the curb, is one of Mr. Stark’s cars.

Happy is standing outside, holding the back door open, “Hey, kid. C’mon— haven’t got all day.”

“Oh!” Peter turns to his friends, both of their expressions smug and satisfied, “Please tell me the party’s at the compound? Oh god, I literally have nothing to wear. I have no idea—”

“We’ve got it taken care of,” MJ pushes him from behind, and Ned laughs, motioning for Peter to get in the car first.

“How did you—” Peter slides into the back seat, freezing when he sees who’s waiting for him, “Mama!”

Mr. Stark smiles— wide and genuine— and opens his arms wide. “Hey, kid. Surprise?”

Peter melts into the older Omega’s arms and squirms to get closer, ignoring how his friends laugh and tease him as he does so. Mr. Stark ruffles his hair, and rearranges them as the car starts moving. Ducking under his arm, Peter settles into Mr. Stark’s side and lets his eyes slip shut with the steady movement and noise of chatter in the background.

“You have a good day, Pete?”

He looks up to Mr. Stark and smiles, “It was okay, a lot better now. Did you help plan this?”

“What do you think, bambino? These friends of yours are… passionate.”

The description makes Peter chuckle. He’s fully aware just how passionate his friends can be. They are digging through the amenities stored in hidden compartments, and somehow both end up with a can of soda and several boxes of candy.

Peter ignores them in favor of burying himself into the warmth of Mr. Stark’s scent. There are lazy, calloused fingers in his hair, and he relaxes even more— a pleased purr building effortlessly from his chest.

When they eventually pull up to the compound, Ned and MJ are out in a shot— barreling through the doors and screaming into the empty halls.

Before Peter can leave the car, Mr. Stark grabs his shoulders and turns them to face each other, staring intentionally into his eyes. “If you don’t want to do this, Peter, we don’t have to? I have about fifty people coming over for a costume party, but I can cancel it and we can spend the night just us, if you’d like?”

He takes a moment to actually think it over. His skin is crawling, eyes already heavy with exhaustion. The thought of socializing with more than a few people is turning his stomach, and he looks into Mr. Stark’s eyes with a helpless grimace, “I guess I wouldn’t mind a party…”

“But you’d rather not?” Mr. Stark guesses, giving him a knowing smirk. Peter scrunches up his nose and shakes his head, and gets a chuckle in response, “Alright bambino, let me make a few calls. Why don’t you go inside and coral the animals.”

Peter laughs and leans in to give Mr. Stark a quick peck on the cheek, “Okay, Mama. Don’t work too hard.”

He catches a glimpse of Mr. Stark’s embarrassed flush before hopping out of the car, skipping towards the compound joyfully. Now that the threat of social interaction is out of the way, Peter feels excited about Halloween and the evening ahead of them.

“Ned?” He calls out, “MJ? Where are you guys?”

“Try the Eastern living room, Peter,” Friday’s voice rings out in the hallway, and Peter turns around to race down the corridor in the opposite direction, still calling out their names.

“In here, Pete!” Ned hollers.

When he turns the corner, Peter comes face to face with the classiest Halloween party room he’s ever seen. Every wall is covered in glass decorations, backlit with soft lights in various colors. An entire section of the room has been converted to a wardrobe, and both of his friends are rifling through the options.

Peter gravitates towards them, pushing aside different dresses and masks, “What’s…”

“Look, Pete— I’m you!” MJ has a Spider-man mask pulled down over her face as she laughs, pretending to shoot webs from her wrists, “bet I’d be a kick-ass Spider-man.”

He just shakes his head, “I bet you would, MJ.”

“What about me?”

Both of them turn to look at Ned as he wobbles over, legs and arms shoved haphazardly into the wrong end of a Spider-man onesie. His face is so confident as he stands in the middle of the room, and Peter can’t help the cackle that bursts out of his mouth, bringing tears to his eyes as he keels over in laughter.

“Where did… what did…” he can barely breathe, and looking up again at Ned is just a mistake.

MJ isn’t any better. She tears off the mask and coughs loudly, falling to the floor in a heap, “Ned! Where did you find that?”

“What?” Ned whines, striking a pose that sends them back into a fit of hysterics, “I don’t get how you can fight bad guys in this Peter— I feel too sexy for crime right now.”

“Please!” Peter begs as he wipes away tears, “mercy!”

“What’s all the— oh mother of god,” Mr. Stark’s voice rings out in the room, and it sends all three teenagers back into peels of laughter. He stands at the entrance to the living room with his arms crossed and an indulgent smile stretched across his face, and Peter lets himself roll on the floor and laugh and laugh and laugh.

Peter turns onto his back and lets the tears flow. They drench his cheeks and drip onto the rug, creating small spots on both sides of his head. It feels good— freeing. His next inhale is deep, his mind clears completely, and Peter realizes this is the first time he’s laughed in months. That every time he’s cried in the past few weeks has been full of devastation and sorrow.

Their combined scents slowly fill the room and bind them together as the evening progresses, each of them relaxing further and further into the moment. By the time the sun’s setting, Ms. Potts and Aunt May arrive with delivery, and the small group of them curl up on the couches to watch a Halloween movie.

Mr. Stark and Pepper take the love seat, and— with one last, longing gaze at the small spot in between them— Peter settles into a lump of blankets and pillows on the far end of the longer couch. He keeps a good distance between himself and his friends at the other end, but he can tell that there’s some awkward tension in the room as the movie starts to play.

He tries to ignore it, but Aunt May keeps giving him a look from her seat on a nearby chair.

“What?” he hisses at her, pouting a bit when she smirks.

May points at the loveseat and whispers, “You should sit with them. I know you wanna.”

“Stop!” Peter shakes his head in denial, “I’m not going to—”

“Hey, pup!” Mr. Stark calls from across the room, and Peter flushes. He knows the nickname is aimed at him.

Peter pulls the blankets up around his face, “Yes, Mama?”

There’s a snort from the MJ-Ned-shaped-lump, but it’s ignored. Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts exchange a few hushed words before motioning for him to join them, “Come on over, Peter,” Pepper says with a confident smile, “plenty of room to join us.”

He’s up and out of the seat before he even processes moving.

At different points in his life, Peter has imagined how it might feel to curl up, safe and warm, between his parents. Never, in a million years, did he think he would get to experience that.

But the space between Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts feels like home. Scents like home. It’s sweet and warm in a way Aunt May’s Beta scent has never been. Peter has never scented Ms. Potts up close, but he’s not surprised when her scent has him immediately relaxing, melting back into the couch cushions.

The only Alpha he’s ever been close to is MJ, and her scent is terrifying .

Pepper lifts her arm and gives him a small smile, “You comfortable, Peter?”

Words won’t come, his senses are on overload. He feels a hand on his shoulder as Mr. Stark moves him, turning him bodily to lay across their laps with his feet in Pepper’s lap, head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder.

“Just relax, bambino,” Mr. Stark whispers, scratching at the baby hairs behind Peter’s ear, “we’ve got you.”

He lets his eyes close slowly. Both of them are scent-marking him subtly— squeezing his arms and legs, kissing his hair, and laying a blanket over him sometime later. The movie passes by completely unnoticed, and Peter dozes comfortably.

Why can’t every night be like tonight?

As the thrill of the night is fading away, Peter hears Mr. Stark offer his friends a ride back to the city. The two of them are fading as well, and it doesn’t take much convincing to get them out the door and into a waiting car.

May kisses him on the head before she leaves, “Sure you don’t want me to stay, Pete?”

“M’sure,” he murmurs, blinking up at her lazily, “you have work in the morning, right?”

“Yeah, champ. I do. You okay staying the night here, or do you want to head back with me?”

Peter looks back at Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts with a hopeful smile. Both of them laugh, and Mr. Stark waves his hand dismissively, “You know you’re always wanted here, Pete.”

“By both of us,” Pepper adds, squeezing his leg where her hand is resting.

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint,” May chuckles. She leans in for another kiss and Mr. Stark gets up to walk her out, leaving Peter and Pepper together on the couch.

He looks up at her. Everything about Pepper screams an intimidating mix of composure and warmth. Now that Mr. Stark is gone, he can separate their scents— and something about her distinct Alpha scent has him ducking his head, shy and submissive.

There’s a light touch on his arm, “Don’t hide from me, Peter,” her grin is soft and reassuring, “if you feel uncomfortable with me like this, you don’t have to stay— you know that, right?”

Her eyes are kind and not at all judgemental. He believes her doubtlessly.

“We haven’t spent much time together, have we?” Peter asks, hesitantly.

Pepper shakes her head, strawberry hair sweeping gracefully over her shoulder, “No, I don’t think so. Tony does come home smelling of you often, though.”

“Oh!” Peter sniffs his shirt, grimacing, “sorry about that, he helps me…”

“No, don’t worry, Peter,” she places a hand on his shoulder again, “I just meant that I’m familiar with your scent already. Tony even puts some of your items in our nest— I know he wants me to get used to our scents together.”

“Why… why would he do that?”

“Oh, Peter,” Pepper sighs. She shakes her head and leans back against the cushions, “we’re gone on you Peter. We really want to adopt you… at least informally.”

“She’s right.”

Mr. Stark’s voice is loud in the living room as he makes his way back to the couch. With a little bit of maneuvering, Peter is stuck in between them again, and this time he’s resting against Pepper’s chest. Her arms easily settle next to him on the sofa, aware of his space and cautious not to close him in.

“We have a secret plot to adopt and steal you away, kid,” Mr. Stark smirks and kicks his legs up, sipping on a drink as they settle together. “I just needed to get proper approval beforehand, you know?”

Peter hums, and he knows his own scent has gone sweet in satisfaction. The thought of being adopted— having a mom and dad, Alpha and Omega— is overwhelming.

“You promise?” Peter whispers. Part of him is scared of the possible rejection, even though he knows Mr. Stark rarely lies to him.

“Of course, bambino— whatever you want.”

As they cuddle together on the couch, trading hushed stories and sweet laughter, Peter has a thought.

It’s not the most responsible thought he’s ever had. If Mr. Stark digs too deep, he’ll chalk it up to being a teenager, being emotional, being an Omega.

“Mama?” Peter stares up at Mr. Stark with his best puppy-dog expression, and pouts his bottom lip, “Can I ask a favor?”

“I’m suspicious already, but sure— what is it?”

Pepper chuckles behind him, and Peter reaches down to hold her hand for comfort, “Can you get my letters to Steve?”

With a loud cough, Mr. Stark chokes on his drink and sputters. His hands fly up and wave around frantically, possibly looking for something to anchor him. Peter curls further into the shield of Pepper’s body and lets her deal with the aftermath— patting Mr. Stark’s back and criticizing him for being so dramatic.

“In what—“ Mr. Stark starts, coughing hard, “In what universe would that be a good idea, Peter?”

“I... I didn’t...”

“Actually,” Pepper interrupts, interlacing their fingers together, “I think that might be a good idea.”

Mr. Stark looks betrayed, affronted. Peter turns to smile up at her, “Really? You think so?”

“Once your hormones are stable, why not?” Pepper asks, kicking at Mr. Stark when her Omega makes a disappointed face, “It might be helpful for your Alpha to hear from you.”

“Get his head on straight,” Mr. Stark grumbles. His hands are clenched, and he refuses to look at them.

There’s a beat of silence where Peter just stares at Mr. Stark, hoping for an answer. He knows it’s a big favor to ask— but if anyone can get it done, he knows Tony Stark can.

“Fine.”

---

Hi Steven Grant Rogers, God. Would you make me take your name? I really hate that. Maybe I’ll ask you to take my name instead. Mr. Stark said I could send you one letter every month, and that if you respond, I can have that letter back. I hope you respond. Uh... I’m not sure what else to say. My name is Peter and I’m in high school. I know that makes things hard for you, being old as dirt, but I hope when we meet that it won’t be too awkward. I hope you stay safe. I’m finally on suppressants and doing better than I was before. Your words on my arm barely hurt anymore. Okay. That’s all for now. Yours, Peter Benjamin Parker Oh! PS I’ve sent a little sample of what I scent like. Mama said that you would like that.

Tag list (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @purplefreakwolffish @instantsharkskeletonpizza @justslightlycrazy @angelstarker @femmeparker @starkeraddictbaby @starkentrprises @snowstark @sarcastich

#spidershield #lookin for love #lfl #spidershield: lfl #update #fanfic #steve x peter #ao3 fanfic #fluff #found family #no hurt this chapter! yay!#chapter 5 #mcu #rare pair

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moonlit-han · 4 years

Text

these scars for you ↠ han jisung

genre: boxer!jisung au, friends to lovers, college au, almost action? pairing: han jisung x femme reader word count: 5.2k fic warnings: description of fighting, blood, injuries, and mild concussion, suggestive, swearing, mention of assault (no description), alcohol consumption by characters of age, mild angst, oh and lots of pining and fluff request: yes a/n: well, here it is—the eagerly awaited han jisung boxer au. i hope the time jumps make sense—the whole piece goes roughly chronologically, if that’s any help. enjoy! a/n.2: found a couple typos and fixed them. sorry about that!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

some boxing terminology (thanks, wikipedia~)

- jab: a punch in which the boxer extends their arm straight out with their palm facing the ground - uppercut: a punch thrown from below with a little swing to it—best for hitting the chin/jaw from below - hook: a punch in which the boxer holds their arm in an L or 90o angle and rotates their body so as to land the punch while their arm comes across their body - upper-hook: a cross between an uppercut and a hook - short straight-punch: a punch executed at short range, most easily with the fist coming from the waist - knockout: when a boxer touches the mat in the ring with any other part of the body besides the feet—the referee counts to ten to give time for the boxer to stand again. if the boxer is unable to do so before the referee reaches ten, the round is ended by knockout (KO) (even if the boxer isn’t unconscious) - technical knockout: the referee or other qualified personnel decides that the boxer is not fit to safely continue due to injuries or lack of defense. also, the “three-knockdown rule”—if a boxer is knocked down thrice in a round, that is counted as a technical knockout - round: a boxing match consists of up to 12 3-minute rounds. I’ve chosen varying numbers for the matches portrayed in this fic.

↠↞

Y/N and Jisung, Jisung and Y/N. That’s how it had always been and that’s how it would always be. Jisung was sure of that much.

You were a year older than Jisung, but that hadn’t stopped you from becoming friends within fifteen minutes of meeting each other. A mere six months later, you were so close that people often thought you were siblings. As the older one, you felt well within your rights to tease Jisung as much as you wanted. You’d called him a squirrel enough times that it became a nickname for him.

You were fiercely independent and threw yourself into potentially dangerous situations with no hesitation, which Jisung thought was totally badass. And yet, Jisung insisted, absolutely insisted, on defending your honor against the wiles of other boys and then other men, saying he’d fight them. You just pushed him, saying, “I don’t need protecting, especially from a stick like you!”

The first time Jisung watched you challenge someone to a fight was in second grade (you were in third) when the most pressing issue was whether or not peanut butter should be spread on the righthand piece of bread or the lefthand piece of bread in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He’d managed to convince you that it wasn’t worth starting a fight over—“It was a duel, Jisung”—but that hadn’t stopped you from brashly challenging anyone with whom you had an issue for many years to come.

In 8th grade, you decided that you wanted to go explore a stretch of the forest behind Jisung’s grandparents’ house. For three weekends in a row, you’d shown up at his house with an overeager smile and an insatiable desire to discover whatever treasures laid in wait amongst the trees. Jisung had agreed to go with you, if only to watch your back. By now, he was used to being the sense of safety that you seemed to lack. When you’d lost your balance for a moment while crossing a stream on a fallen tree, Jisung had nearly had a heart attack. He hadn’t thought once about his own safety, just yours. Always yours.

High school was a trial for the two of you, since your parents decided to move and, consequently, you’d gone to a different school from the one Jisung would attend a year later. As he listened to you talk about how difficult the transition was and how much you missed him, Jisung soon learned that it wasn’t just physical pain he wanted to shield you from. In the middle of your senior year, your significant other had broken up with you, saying that it wouldn’t last when you both went to college. Jisung had held you as you cried, and it was then that he knew that he would do anything in his power to prevent you from crying that much ever again.

That was also the first time he realized that he loved you.

↠↞

“Hey, Y/N!” someone called from behind you.

You turned round just in time to register a volleyball sailing down through the air, coming straight for your head. The next thing you knew, you were laying on the ground with the wind knocked out of you and your head throbbing. Closing your eyes for a moment, you enjoyed the relief the darkness offered.

A hand shook your shoulder and you heard distantly, as if through water or layers and layers of wool, the sound of a voice calling your name. You knew that voice—it was . . . it was . . .

You struggled to latch onto the sound and push through the darkness that threatened to pull you down.

“Y/N! Come on, wake up. Please,” the voice begged and you felt familiar arms wrap around you.

You slowly opened your eyes and looked up into the face of you knew better than your own. Jisung had a split lip and a black eye, with blood running down his chin. It looked like he was about to cry.

Jisung sighed and pulled you to his chest when he saw that you were, indeed, awake. You were a bit startled, but he held you so gently, cradling your tender head, that you didn’t mind.

“Oh, thank god,” Jisung breathed. “You’re okay.”

You searched for words for a moment, then said groggily, “Coursemokay.” Despite what you wanted it to do, your head lolled backward—it was a bit disturbing to have your body slightly out of your control. Jisung immediately supported your head, shaking his own as if in disbelief. After a moment, he seemed to gather himself.

“Y/N, you idiot,” Jisung grumbled. “Why did you do that? You knew he’d come after you! Seriously, don’t scare me like that.” Jisung almost seemed to be begging.

“I had to—he was bothering Lily,” you managed to say, glad to be regaining the ability to speak. Had you been knocked out?

“But you didn’t have to go punch that fucker!”

“Yeah, but he stopped bothering Lily,” you said, clearly finding some comfort in the repetition of her name. You tried to sit up, but Jisung just held you partially reclined against his chest. “Is she still okay?”

“She’s fine, but you’re not.” Jisung raked a hand through his hair. “Fucking hell, Y/N, he intentionally knocked you out. The monitor’s furious—I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets expelled. It would serve him right, after what he tried to do,” he finished darkly.

You just stared up at Jisung for a long time, taking in the familiar lines of his face that were now more pronounced than when he was younger. It was as if the world had hardened him somehow, but it made him look sleek like marble instead of weathered.

“But how did you get a split lip?”

“Don’t worry about,” Jisung tried laughed, but it sounded forced to you.

“Jisung.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” he exclaimed and tears began to run down his face. “I have to protect you. You’re all I’ve got!”

You didn’t know what to say. It was as if time had stopped but you were still spinning through space, a comet destined for impact on a new planet of understanding. You felt wetness on your face and realized that Jisung’s tears were falling onto your cheeks, as if you were crying, too.

You’re all I’ve got. What did he . . .

Just then, the field monitor came over and all thoughts fled your mind.

“What happened here?” he said sternly as he approached. “Why is L/N on the ground? Han, explain.”

Jisung gulped and then launched into a rambling explanation of the events that led to that moment. The monitor looked shocked when Jisung accused the boys’ volleyball team captain of attempted assault on a member of the girls’ volleyball team. Of course, Jisung was proud when you’d confronted the guy, threatening him with physical violence yourself and the prospect of exposure. Granted, Jisung had been worried when you told him that you’d punched someone nearly twice your size (but not too worried). The important thing was that you’d defended someone and saved them from harm.

When Jisung said that the captain had then thrown a ball directly at your head from close range, the monitor almost screeched.

“You’re telling me that another student deliberately sought and succeeded in harming Miss L/N?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it. What’s so unclear about it?” Jisung was incredulous. You tried to move to lightly shove him, but your coordination was still suspect. Jisung smoothed your hair with shaking hands, and helped you sit up a bit.

After taking a deep breath, the monitor knelt. “You’re right, Han, there’s nothing unclear about this situation.”

The captain of the boys’ volleyball team was expelled shortly thereafter.

The very next week, at the young age of seventeen, Han Jisung decided to learn how to box so he could better protect you from anything that came your way.

↠↞

The roar of the crowd was like nothing else Jisung had ever experienced. People screamed encouragement, jeers, threats, and love confessions from the bleachers surrounding the boxing ring in which he and his opponent would soon face off. He’d known it would be loud, but not this loud. This was Jisung’s first official match outside of practice, and even though he knew he was more than prepared with Changbin as his teacher, Jisung still felt a little nervous. After all, he was only eighteen years old.

“You’ve got this, Ji,” Changbin said, patting Jisung’s shoulder as they waited for the referee’s signal to mount the platform. “Just remember what we planned. You’re quick and smaller than him, which gives you something to work with. You can come in under his reach more easily. You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jisung muttered, trying to tear his eyes away from the man who’d just walked over to the other side of the ring. His opponent had on the customary red shorts to mark him as a higher rank than Jisung, who wore blue. The guy had even dyed his hair red, as if to say that no one was better than him.

“Just breathe—it’s only going to be eight rounds,” Changbin continued. “You’ve gone fifteen with Dan and still won, so this guy’s nothing to worry about. Plus, you’ve got Felix as your second.”

He was about to respond, but the referee motioned to both boxers to enter the ring. Jisung made sure the straps on his gloves were secure, set his shoulders, and took a deep breath. And, he thought of you. After all, you were everything he was fighting for.

↠↞

Jisung collapsed back onto the couch in your apartment, absolutely exhausted. You were in the other room getting your books to study, and all Jisung wanted was to rest. It was a Thursday, after all, and he didn’t have classes on Fridays. His phone vibrated with a text.

bro: hey, great job at practice today! make sure to ice and let me know if you need anything before tomorrow’s match jisung: thanks. i’ll be fine changbin. gotta go—i’m at y/n’s rn bro: have fun 😉

Jisung ignored that last text, since Changbin knew full well that there could never be anything between him and you. Ever since you’d gone off to college, you’d made it clear that there was only one man for you, and his name was Lee Minho. Damn, that bastard. Jisung just really wanted to punch him.

That didn’t stop Jisung from harboring tender feelings for you, though. Now that Jisung was also in college, and at the same one as you, he’d been determined to stick to your side like a burr. Minho had commented on this just once before you’d shut him down, explaining that Jisung was like a brother to you and that Minho had nothing to worry about. Minho, though, was not convinced and watched Jisung like a hawk anytime he was around.

“Fuck this!” you yelled, coming out of your bedroom. “I’m done, so done.”

“You good, Y/N?” Jisung said warily.

You flopped down on the couch next to him. “I’ll be fine,” you grumbled. “I just can’t study tonight.”

Jisung perked up at that. “So,” he drawled, “movie night?”

“God, please,” you begged, holding your head in your hands. “I just need something mindless. Were you just at the gym?” You’d clearly noticed that Jisung’s hair was wet and he was wearing his usual I-can’t-be-bothered-to-pick-out-an-outfit outfit of jeans and a sleeveless shirt. Since when did your little squirrel have biceps that nice?

“Yeah.” He ruffled your hair as he stood up. “Do you still have that cider I brought over last weekend?” Jisung called, heading into the kitchen.

“It’s in the fridge, right where you left it. Get me some popcorn, too!”

Jisung rummaged in the refrigerator as you, presumably, began to scroll through your choices of shows and movies. A few minutes later, Jisung came back with popcorn, water, and the hard cider.

“Are you okay with watching a sappy drama?” you asked as he sat down again.

“Depends on which one,” Jisung answered, looking suspiciously over at you.

“Soooo, does that mean we can watch Miss Panda and Mr. Hedgehog?”

“Oh god, no. No, no!!” Jisung exclaimed, taking the remote from your hands. “It’s too sappy! Plus, I’ll just crave more sweets after watching it.”

“I mean, they’re baking in it, so it makes sense,” you said, reaching across his chest to grab for the remote. “Are you sure we can’t watch it?”

Jisung just held the remote out of your reach above his head. “Nope.”

“Pleeeeease.” You were whining now, not caring if you sounded like a five year-old. Jisung leaned away from you, still holding the remote out of reach. You stood up, pushed the coffee table back, and put your hands on your hips. “Han Jisung, could you please give me the remote?”

“Eh,” Jisung said, grinning, “don’t think so. This is more fun.”

You lunged forward then, and Jisung had to lean backward out of the way. With his arm thrown back over his shoulder and you standing in front of him, there wasn’t much he could do. Plus, he was trying not to notice the neckline of your tank top as it was directly in front of his face. He tried lightly kicking your ankles, but you didn’t move. You grabbed at the remote, still leaning over him, but Jisung managed to pass it back and forth between his hands. Finally, you stood back, crossing your arms. Jisung let out a sigh of relief—that had been a tense few moments.

“Jisung,” you wheedled, “please? I just want to relax!”

“I do, too!” Jisung wasn’t quite annoyed, but he was getting there. He rested his arms behind his head, waving the remote lazily from side to side. “Let’s just watch something a little less fluffy than Miss Panda and Mr. Hedgehog, okay?”

You pouted. Jisung pouted right back at you, making you giggle. Ah, victory.

Then, you lunged forward again and caught both of his wrists. Holding them together above his head, you shook his hands so he’d let go of the remote. Jisung decided to give in, even though he could have easily broken your hold.

“Damn, Y/N. I wouldn’t want to fight you. You’re pretty feisty,” he said, as if he didn’t already know that from years of bailing you out of fights. He looked up into your face—your cheeks were a little flushed.

You just glared down at him, still holding his wrists above his head. “I’ll make you a deal,” you said. “I’ll watch whatever you want to if we can watch three episodes of Miss Panda and Mr. Hedgehog.”

“Sure,” Jisung said, realizing belatedly that his breath was coming a bit faster than normal.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You let go of his wrists, which his shook a little for effect, then went to retrieve the remote from behind the sofa.

Is it weird that was a total turn on? Jisung thought, running a hand through his hair. Fucking hell.

↠↞

“Minho, really. What the hell?” you demanded of your boyfriend.

“Y/N, if you’re going to moon over Jisung at every opportunity, I don’t think we should date anymore,” Minho said flatly.

“I don’t moon! He’s my best friend!”

“Whatever, Y/N, you do. I think you should reevaluate your feelings and priorities. In the meantime, I’m going. You’re wonderful and I loved you, but I can’t stay anymore. I wish you the best, Y/N.”

With that, Lee Minho walked out the door of your apartment, closing it carefully behind himself. You stood there, staring blankly at the door.

Reevaluate my feelings and priorities? you thought. What exactly—

A knock on your apartment door jolted you out of your reverie. “Come in,” you called, knowing it was probably Jisung. It was.

“Where was Minho going?” he asked immediately. “He didn’t look happy. Did you two have a fight?”

“He just broke up with me, Jisung,” you said, unable to muster any emotion. You’d had a feeling that your relationship was coming to an end, but you hadn’t expected Minho to just walk out like that. You sighed.

“What?” Jisung burst out. “He just straight-up left you? What the fuck?”

“He said I needed to reevaluate my feelings and priorities. That was it.”

Jisung strode forward and enveloped you in a hug, ignoring your protests and wiggling. Finally, you stopped and put your arms around your best friend, leaning your head on his chest. You could hear his heart pounding. And then, it was like something inside you broke at the feeling of warm, protective arms around you.

You started to cry. Jisung just held you, gently rubbing your back and telling you that everything would okay. Eventually, when you’d cried yourself into hiccups, Jisung let go of you.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice low. “Don’t think about Minho. You had a good time while it lasted, but it’s done now. I don’t think he’ll be coming back.” He wiped the last remaining tears from your face, and, like an annoyed cat, you wrinkled your nose at being touched. “Let’s go get some dinner and then watch whatever sappy drama you’re into now, okay?”

You nodded your head as Jisung guided you to the couch to sit down. “Here,” he said gently, “let me get you some water and then we’ll go.”

As you sat there, sniffing occasionally, you thought of just how lucky you were to have Jisung in your life. Even though you teased him and had, when you were younger, pushed him around, he really was ever-present in your life. And, he’d always protected you and stood up for you. Why couldn’t have Minho been like that?

↠↞

A month later, you stopped by Jisung and Felix’s apartment for your usual gaming and movie night. Felix let you in, sunny as ever, and you made a beeline for the bathroom. You’d been there so many times that you didn’t exactly need to observe the usual niceties.

Taking out your earbuds, you opened the door and—

There before your eyes was Jisung. But this was not Jisung as you usually saw him.

No, this was a very wet and very naked Han Jisung getting out of the shower.

Holy fuck.

You hurriedly slammed the door, but not before he realized that you’d seen him.

Your face beet-red, you practically sprinted back down the hall to the living room and Felix. “Why didn’t you tell me he was in the shower?” you all but yelled.

“I didn’t know!” Felix said. Seeing your face, he burst out laughing. “You walked in on him, didn’t you.”

“Fucking hell, Felix. What do you think?”

Felix just continued to laugh.

With your mind racing faster than a bullet train, you sat down on the familiar couch.

Well, you thought, I now know more about Jisung than I ever thought I would. Not that you were complaining, though. The mental picture of your best friend flashed—and stuck—before your eyes: abs for days, toned pecs, muscular legs, biceps that looked like ripe peaches, and . . . yeah. Nice. All very . . . nice. You hoped your mental math was correct.

But what about all those bruises on his chest and stomach? you wondered. They aren’t hickeys, that’s for sure. And were those scars? How the hell did he get those? You couldn’t figure it out.

After a few minutes, Jisung came out of his bedroom, toweling his hair dry. You tried not to stare at his arms. What the hell was going on? Get it together, Y/N, you told yourself.

“J— Jisung?” you began, stammering in your embarrassment.

“Yeah?” he said, completely casual as he leaned back in a chair.

“Um, sorry I walked in on you. But, what were all those bruises? And the scars?”

In the kitchen, Felix stopped what he was doing to listen.

Jisung sighed and let the front legs of his chair fall to the ground again. He looked like what he was about to say would be, somehow, painful. “Don’t bite my head off, Y/N, okay?” he said.

“Why would I—” you began, but Jisung interrupted you.

“You’ll understand.” He took a deep breath. “I’m a boxer. I’ve been boxing since senior year of high school, with Changbin teaching me, and now I’m even in tournaments. I’ve even won a few. Remember when you got hit in the head by that volleyball? I started right after that. I started because I wanted to be able to protect you.

“All I’ve ever wanted to do is protect you, Y/N. It also happened to be fun. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to laugh at me or tell me to stop because you thought you could stand up for yourself with no problem. I know you can, but I wanted to be able to be there for you, too. So, here I am: a boxer.”

You stared at Jisung. A boxer? You weren’t quite sure what to say, but Jisung gave you a minute to process. You could see him trying to read your expression.

“So, when will you take me to a match?” you said eventually.

Jisung spluttered. “What? No! Hell no, Y/N. It’s loud and some of the fans are kind of crazy, and I just don’t think you’d like it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you said firmly. “When’s your next match?”

↠↞

You walked into the gymnasium in which the boxing matches were held and were immediately surprised. High in the seats, someone had a banner with J.One written on it. Jisung had told you that was what he went by in the boxing world. You looked around, following Felix to just behind where he and the rest of Jisung’s group would sit side-ring. Taking a seat, you noticed the first aid stations, the ropes, everything.

After what seemed like forever, the crowd roared as Jisung and his opponent for the night, Luke, came into the venue. You cheered along with everyone else, and were surprised that your best friend had this much of a following. He was pretty cool in his red shorts. Yet again, you found yourself trying not to stare at his muscles, but it was so hard not to when they were just there for all to see.

The match was to be a full twelve rounds. At the start of the first round, you leaned forward in your seat, trying to catch exactly what Jisung was doing and planning. Round after round went on, flying by quicker than you could’ve imagined. By Round Seven, you were on your feet, hands over your mouth. It was a close match.

↠↞

Jisung climbed the three stairs up to the platform and ducked under the ropes. This was it. His first match with you watching. He could do you and Changbin proud.

The bell rang and Jisung squared off against his opponent. He’d read up on the man, and knew that he should be okay if he kept moving. Jisung darted around the ring for the first minute, occasionally landing a punch here and there. His opponent jeered, calling him “milksop” and “green bastard,” but Jisung didn’t let that phase him. He was young but he’s wasn’t green anymore. By minute three, the other man was tiring from always being on the offensive, his obvious cockiness and, perhaps, anger getting the better of him. One arm was even drooping. How was this guy even any good? Jisung thought.

Then, Jisung circled round to the side and took his opponent’s momentary lapse in readiness as an opportunity to land two blows on the man’s exposed shoulder, jarring the muscles. This would slow the man down even more. However, Jisung misjudged the strength the man had and, seconds later, ended up on the ground with the referee beginning the count of ten. He’d received two quick punches to the gut and one to chin—how he hadn’t been able to defend himself, he couldn’t guess—and was now quite unable to stand.

“Knockout! End of round,” the referee shouted, and the crowd cheered.

After a moment, Jisung struggled to his feet, cursing himself for a fool. He’d been tricked by one of the oldest ploys in the book: act weak and come out strong. As he hung on the ropes, Changbin passed water up to him and Jisung took a few sips, wiping his brow.

“So,” Changbin said casually, “did you figure out what went wrong?”

“Fuck, Changbin, of course I did. He got me when I thought he wasn’t strong enough to.”

“Just because Y/N’s here, doesn’t mean you can’t lose, Jisung. Focus. Don’t misjudge your opponent—there’s almost always a little something you don’t know, even if you’ve studied everything you can about them.” The beep signaling thirty seconds until Round Two sounded, and Changbin took back the water bottle. “Don’t worry about it—everyone goes down hard sometimes, you know that. Now go out there and prove you’re the damn good boxer I know you are.”

Jisung donned his gloves again, then stepped into his corner of the ring. His opponent leered at him. Did this guy never let up?

Still bobbing and weaving when necessary, he waited. The bell rang to signal the end of Round Five with both men still standing. They’d traded blows back and forth and Jisung was one round behind his opponent.

The bell rang for the start of the twelfth and final round, and Jisung tried to watch the other man with new eyes. Was he slower on his right side that his left? Was that just a birthmark or an old bruise? Could he really not bounce off the ropes as well as expected?

Yes. Jisung was certain of it all now.

His opponent went to jab, but Jisung blocked the punch and executed an uppercut to the other man’s chin. While he was still in close, Jisung followed this up with a short straight-punch to the ribs, where a bad bruise was clearly fading, and a hook to the side of the jaw. The other man was now disoriented and Jisung easily landed punch after punch, ending Round Twelve with a strong upper-hook. The referee counted ten as the bragging, red-haired man lay on the ground, Jisung watching from his corner of the ring.

“Knockout! End of round!”

Jisung slumped against the ropes, catching his breath. Blood ran down his chin from what was probably a tooth knocked out. His ribs hurt like fire, too. Taking another deep breath, he made his way off the platform. Changbin was there immediately with a towel and water.

“I think you’ve won, man!” he said excitedly. “You landed more accurate punches than that punch-out.”

“We’ll see,” Jisung conceded. Then, he tried laugh but his ribs hurt too much. “Turns out he could talk better than he could punch.”

Changbin smiled, patting Jisung on the back, and led him over to a chair. The fight doctor came over and started to examine Jisung. The judges deliberated for a few minutes, then came to their decision. Changbin had been right. Jisung managed to land more accurate punches than his opponent, which meant that, even though he’d been knocked out in the first round, he still had more points to his name.

Jisung had won. He grinned, and turned round to face you.

↠↞

Jisung turned his blood-covered face up to you when the judges announced his victory. Changbin and Felix were motioning for you to come down to the floor, too. You were beaming, not daring to believe the excitement and flutters of your heart.

You reached your best friend and, completely disregarding the orders of the fight doctor, swung you up into his arms. In no way did you care that your clothes were now covered in sweat, water, and blood because you were Jisung, and that’s all that mattered. You carefully hugged Jisung back, then he drew back slightly and smirked.

“See? I can fight,” he said.

“Yeah? Hmm, I guess you’re all right,” you laughed.

“Good,” Jisung murmured, then leaned in and caught your lips with his. You froze for a moment. When your mind caught up with reality, you kissed him back. You felt your insides fill with elation and what felt like sunlight, even as you tasted the faint traces of blood on Jisung’s lip. All of this felt right: you, Jisung, and some sort of fight happening. But now, you could add kisses to that list—a necessary addition, you thought with a smile. After all, you and Jisung against all odds was how it’d always been and always would be.

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rockthistowninsideout · 3 years

Text

DigiWeek 2021

Day 4 - Dark/Light

The Story

part 1 part 2 part 4

We woke up early the next morning as the sunlight sent its rays into the cave.

When we had reached it yesterday, dusk had fallen already and the temperatures had dropped significantly. So I had helped Kamemon gather wood which Ryudamon had set ablaze with its fiery breathe. As the fire illuminated the cave, it peeled out archaically drawn illustrations out of the dark. With them, Ryudamon explained to us the history of the Digital World and its most prominent landmarks. File Island, Spiral Mountain, Primary Village, the ocean, the jungle, the ice wastelands, and so much more.

How darkness and light had always lived side by side because one couldn’t exist without the other, but repeatedly dark forces had tried to overthrow this balance and spread gloominess across the Digital and also the human world. When that happened, ancient powers had called humans for help – those children were called the DigiDestined. Usually they were younger than us, aged sixteen we were old hands. In terms of Digimon, though, we were nearly completely ignorant.

Ryudamon couldn’t explain why we had been chosen. Both Digimon had simply felt the urge to go to the meadow where they’d met each other for the first time and waited for their partners to arrive. They didn’t know it would be us specifically but they felt an undeniable connection the moment we had stepped off the trolley.

We had discussed why the other DigiDestined hadn’t been with us but we hadn’t reached a satisfying conclusion so we had decided to go to sleep and see what the new day would bring us.

Now we had breakfast with the remainders of our lunch and with frost berries Kamemon had picked in a small piece of forest around the corner of the cave. It didn’t look like it but it knew the ice wastelands inside out.

“I’m a passionate traveller”, it explained. “The other Kamemon like to stay in our village their whole life – and that’s fine. But I have an adventurous soul that needs to roam free. What about you, Ryudamon?”

“I also rather stay put but this force that dragged me here like a magnet had been too strong and important to ignore. Thank the Digi Gods I have thick fur and my armour, otherwise I would be freezing.”

“Just like me!” Taki chimed in. “But Miko is like a portable heater. I always rely on her.” She smiled brightly at me.

I smiled back because I didn’t mind. On the contrary, I was happy when she was comfortable. Then I asked “How far is it to the place Frezamon indicated yesterday?”

“At least half a day’s march”, Kamemon said.

I grimaced. What was it with me and endurance sports again? “You’re not, by any chance, a flying Digimon when you evolve, Kamemon?”

It shrugged. “I have never evolved before but I don’t think so.”

“And I wouldn’t recommend riding on my back when I’m DexDorugamon”, Ryudamon said.

“A pity.”

So we had no choice but to set off on foot. Immediately as we stepped out of the cave, a beastly wind nearly swept us off our feet.

Taki and I huddled together as we marched through the snow. Kamemon was leading us up an ever ascending slope while Ryudamon was our rearguard. There was no point in stopping, all around there was only snow and wind – and more snow and more wind.

When I thought I couldn’t possibly take it any more, Kamemon announced “Look, up there!”

Taki surprisingly had been holding up pretty well but now that I looked at her I discovered just how tired she was. Then we both looked up to the point Kamemon indicated, and gasped. A round hut, not unlike a yurt, squatted in a nook of the rocks. Smoke rose out of a chimney. “Let’s go up there!”, Taki called, her exhaustion having vanished all of a sudden.

We began to move again but only had climbed a few metres higher when we all froze simultaneously. There wasn’t smoke rising from the chimney anymore, it had been replaced by the deepest, darkest black I had ever seen. It curled and writhed like a single tentacle, until it split itself into at least a dozen tentacles, they all had the same thickness for some reason even though that was physically impossible. Then again we were in the Digital World, and even though there was lots that resembled our world that didn’t mean it adhered to the same laws of physics.

The tentacles stretched until they tore themselves out of the chimney, transforming into solid spikes as soon as they left it. Swishing, they flew through the air in all directions. They disappeared from our view except for one that came straight racing towards Kamemon. It stood there transfixed, the spike coming ever closer, until it became clear to me that it would be pierced by it. Even though we only knew each other for barely a day I had grown quite fond of the little fellow and also I had sworn to be its partner. So just when Kamemon was about to be hit by the spike, I stepped forward and yanked it away. The spike drove itself into the stone with a nasty crack.

“Thank you! Oh thank you!”, Kamemon yelled and hugged me tightly which was easy because I was still holding it in the air.

“Of course”, I said in a casually but I still had to smile. Though only for a second until the cold of our surroundings started to seep into my collar and let me remember why Kamemon had been in hugging distance in the first place. I looked up to the yurt. “We gotta be careful”, I said before I started to walk again.

“You’re right. I don’t what’s wrong, if the other DigiDestined has been kidnapped by that evil force or if they’re even in there”, Ryudamon confirmed and adopted leadership. Kamemon was still shaking from the attack.

We ascended in crouched positions, ducking behind ledges and when there was nowhere to hide we were crawling up the mountain on all fours. Finally we reached the ledge closest to the yurt. I dared to peak over, only to shirk away again when another black spike came flying from the entrance door.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t see there, creeping up the mountain like insects!”, someone shouted. It was a pearly voice, it sounded as if it wasn’t actually made to transport the resentment dripping from the words it had said.

We communicated with each other using our hands and decided, despite all curiosity, that it was best to stay low. Then Ryudamon indicated a sheet of ice wedged at an angle between two rocks. It reflected its surroundings somewhat distorted – but it reflected them. That way we were able to see who was standing in the entrance of the yurt. It was a blonde girl, about our age, though she looked Caucasian in the makeshift mirror, neither Japanese like me nor Afro-Japanese like Taki.

We were anxiously watching her moves, in fact we were transfixed on the image in the ice that we didn’t notice something was drawing near until it was too late.

With a roar, a bear-like Digimon with purple-blueish fur and red and silver claws jumped up from behind our ledge. The world seemed to move in slow motion for a second. The bear Digimon – I learned from a quick glance on my DigiVice that it was called Grizzlymon – sailed above our heads and time resumed its natural flow when it landed in the snow, merely a two metres away from us.

“Uh-oh”, Kamemon gulped.

I could only second that. Uh-oh.

Grizzlymon

What if the villains “see the new light”?

“Come on! It’s only a small step!”, Iori urged. He tried to hoist Yukio Oikawa higher up his small shoulders.

“I can’t.” Oikawa’s voice was barely audible. He looked drained, his already pale face had now lost all its colour. He resembled a ghost more than a human being.

Suddenly a light appeared in front of them but behind the border between the intermediate world both were still in, and the Digital World. A round light-green Digimon with a halo of leaves on its head was born from the light. It smiled cheekily at Oikawa. “Finally we meet! I’m so glad, I’ve waited for so long”, it squeaked.

A spark of hope flashed across OIkawa’s face. “What do you mean, you’ve waited for me?”

“Isn’t that obious?” the Digimon said in a tone as if it was talking to a small child. “I’m Datirimon, your Digimon partner.”

Iori smiled desperately at Oikawa. “Isn’t that something? Come on, it’s only another step.”

Oikawa didn’t move and Iori feared that he would lose him right here but then Oikawa put his limp arm down. His hand groped around for support until it crossed the border. Now he dug his fingers deep into the soil of the Digital World. He pulled himself forward, and Iori pushed him.

Pull and push, pulll and push, until only his feet were still in the intermediate world. Oikawa’s face was flush with Datirimon, all remaining strength had been consumed by his way into the Digital World and his limp weight was too much for Iori to carry now. He knelt beside Oikawa, both were panting.

“I knew you would make it!”, Datirimon happily exclaimed. It hopped forward and bumped Oikawa’s nose.

Tears streamed down Oikawa’s face. His eyes were transfixed on the small Digimon before him. “I... have made it”, he whispered. He had no eyes for his surroundings, only for his partner, it was all he could still muster. That’s why he missed the rebirth of the Digital World.

Daisuke pointed his DigiVice at the spot MaloMyotismon had been standing on until its defeat. A new ray of light shot from it, representing the never-ending resolve he had proven to possess in the past hours. His friends followed him, Miyako, Hikari, Takeru, and the older DigiDestined sent rays of their own, and they were joined by all the children who were in the Digital World right now.

From the point where the rays touched, a soft golden glow started to spread as if the surface of the Digital World was cracking up. Where the old and lifeless soil had been torn away, the first bit of greenery started to grow. Butterflies rose and set off to shed the light all around the world.

@digiweek (didn’t tag it right the first time so it probably slipped through)

#digiweek2021 #dark/light #digimon adventure #digimon adventure 02 #iori hida #yukio oikawa #my oc #my stories #digimon

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laufire · 3 years

Text

I was tagged by @wisteria-lodge (ty!)

The Game: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some authors!

I went with the last 20 saved (well, edited) documents in my WIPs folder.

tagging: @elasticella @missbrunettebarbie @bebewrites @bombshellsandbluebells @punishandenslavesuckers @anghraine @toboldlywrite @sienarosso @grapecase and whoever else feels like giving it a go, just drop a mention so I see it ^-^

1. Castiel didn’t come to the decision easily; it shamed him to say that it had been, in no small part, a question of pride. (SPN. pre-s4 canon-divergence AU. The idea was inspired by this anon’s prompt).

2. A man in a trench coat had lurked on the corner of his eye all day; now, he waited for Dean outside his motel’s room. (SPN. This one was also inspired by an anon’s prompt (smh); it’s a Meg and Castiel role reversal AU, so now I have a whole ‘verse in my head with demon!Castiel and angel!Meg and how they’d fit in the story, meet the Winchesters, etc.).

3. Sometimes Bela indulged in the thought that the worst thing about Hell was the tedium, the rutine and repetition of the day to day; but then, the torture started. (SPN. My “Castiel gets Bela out of Hell” AU).

---

5. In the upcoming days, Silver will work hard to forget this truth: when he dared to reveal his true nature to the crew, it wasn’t because he sorely needed to replentish his energy after losing his leg; it was because he’d hoped they would kill him. (Black Sails. Vampire Silver AU).

6. John Murphy’s second life started when he woke up hungry and filthy in a half dug mass grave. (The 100. Vampire Memori AU -part of my Vamp/Blade T100 AU series. Indra is Blade btw xD).

7. The last thing Anna espected was to open her eyes again after Michael’s attack. (SPN. Self-indulgent Anna/Mary AU).

8. “I take it the interrogation didn’t go your way.” Castiel couldn’t stop himself from needling Dean, who glared at him while his hands still shook. (SPN. Endverse!Megstiel story).

---

10. Someone else might have thought they just woke up from a nightmare, but Silver knew his head had just hit against the rocks. (Black Sails. Max & Silver, Russian Doll inspired fusion, set in s1 of the show).

11. After talking with the rattled Ms. Bose, Jo could feel her luck in this hunt was finally changing. (SPN. Bela/Jo, s3 canon-divergence AU. Three guesses as to who is Ms. Bose).

12. Sam had put if off when Lucifer started raising; when he and Dean were on the plane; when Zachariah had them spilling their guts; in the hospital... but finally, he reunited a few seconds of calm to freak. The fuck. Out. (SPN. My Ruby’s Terror Twins series lmao -Ruby screams out she’s pregnant, shocks Sam and Dean enough she can escape with her knife. Then, a few months later...).

13. Ruby opened her eyes, and immediately knew two things: the slash in her stomach was healed, and she’d put her faith in the right deity. (SPN. Ruby Lives AU. Ideally, a rewrite, but that might be too ambitious xD. Of s5, sure).

---

16. What Moira first noticed about Akeri was the book he’d tried to hide beneath his clothes; the carved marks on his cheeks came second. (Black Sails. Maroon Queen x Mr. Scott -who I gave alternate names because I can’t write an entire fic about them and pretend they call each other that lol).

17. Alastair spoke to Dean in a tone that sat in between that of a lover and a proud father. (SPN. Alastair brings Bela for Dean to torture).

18. The letters -all four of them now- never came signed; for that matter, there was nothing specific or damning enough, no misstep hidden within them that he could have used, and so he stopped looking for those. (Black Sails. Rackham x Rogers Foe Yay post finale lol).

19. That very night Silver will curse himself for his naivete, for thinking you can escape from something while you plant roots on a place; but in truth, the day had started so well. (Black Sails. An attempt to explore certain ideas about Silver’s past that’s likely to go nowhere lol).

20. At the ten year mark Silver returned to land and found the wrong woman waiting for him on the beach. (Black Sails. A weird “Silver ends as the captain of the Flying Dutchman” canon-compliant AU).

Patterns: ig the most notable one is that I like to throw the reader in the middle of the action, especially in fic. Often I go back and elaborate on the context, but I like a cold open xD

Favourite: I’m very happy with them all (first lines matter to me), but I’m especially fond of 9 and 14 for Latoya and Eva’s dramatics; 5 with vampire!Silver (ouchie); and 13 for the irony xD

#supernatural #black sails #the 100 #memori #castiel #bela talbot #spnruby #john silver #maroon queen #dean winchester #sam winchester #bela x jo #anna x mary #rackham x rogers #megstiel

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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Hey guys! POTC AU update time at last! Very sorry for the delay, but s*** is really going down now in this story...

One of my biggest criticisms for the climax of At World’s End is how, ultimately, both the Navy’s armada and all of the diverse pirates gathered together as part of the Brethren Court are ultimately pointless. We get our huge confrontation between the Flying Dutchman and the Black Pearl, which ends with both ships blowing up Beckett’s flagship...and then the Navy just hightails it away with their tails between their legs, even if they still outmatch the pirates and there would surely be a chain of command under Beckett that could take over. There isn’t even anything to show that the Navy lost their nerve after losing their “great leader” or anything or were reluctant to fight to begin with. And again, that ends up making the non-main-character pirates that we only just met in At World’s End, like the Pirate Lords, completely unnecessary to the narrative aside from giving up their Pieces of Eight, which easily could’ve been rewritten to not include the Pirate Lords. This is why I’m restructuring this climax so that all of the Lords (and the Keeper of the Code) have a role in the coming battle, rather than just having them stand on the sidelines.

Black powder is a much messier, more combustible precursor to modern gunpowder, which has a very strong odor and produces a lot of smoke when it explodes. It’s better used for things like fireworks and rockets than firearms, particularly since it’s even more vulnerable to moisture than regular gunpowder is. Black powder was first developed in China circa the 9th century, before its use in firearms was phased out in favor of the cleaner, safer gunpowder we know today.

Although the traditional “Redcoat” was developed as a uniform for British soldiers in the mid-1600s, the British Navy actually didn’t have official uniforms for its sailors until 1748. Before that point, only naval officers generally wore uniforms. My guess about why the Pirates films don’t follow this model and have even the lower-rank British Naval soldiers wear uniforms in AWE is for the sake of visual short-hand for the audience and to further accent the divide between the uniformity of the law-keepers (the army and Navy) VS the diversity of the law-breakers (the pirates).

Previous part is here, and whole tag is here! Jules Farrier-Weasley belongs to @cursebreakerfarrier, Samantha O’Connell belongs to @samshogwarts, Ellie Hopper belongs to @that-ravenpuff-witch, Arjun Singh and Aishwarya Mehra belong to @hogwarts9, and Finn McGarry/Davy Jones belongs to @theguythatdraws! Also briefly referenced is Gwendolyn “Wendy” Gordon, who belongs to @drinkyoursoupbitch. xoxo

x~x~x~x

When Jules, Jacob, and Orion returned, they immediately convened a war council with the other Pirate Lords and their crews in the Hall of the Codex. There was a lot of strategizing that needed to be done before the battle the following day -- and as to be expected, Murphy McNully was instrumental in pinpointing what they needed.

“According to the Admiral’s intelligence, there are 34 Man O’ Wars out there waiting for us. We ourselves have a fleet of 73 galleons, brigs, schooners, sloops, and ketches. Now, naturally, that sounds like a lot, but keep in mind that each of the Navy’s Man O’ Wars has anywhere between 50 to 100 guns on each ship...meaning they have between 1700 and 3400 guns altogether. Even if we technically could have more guns numerically, there’s a 97.9% chance that our ships wouldn’t be able to withstand a full-frontal assault by those things. If we tried, we’d basically have to sacrifice our lives in the hundreds just to deal any damage, and even then, there’s less than a one percent chance that we could actually defeat the Navy, doing that.”

“It’d be a pyrrhic victory, at best,” said Ellie sadly.

Jae nodded. “I doubt any of us are much in the mood for a suicide mission, so we’ll need to come up with something better.”

“Especially since Carey’s on board one of those ships,” said Bill solemnly. “We can’t let him get hurt.”

Charlie, Jules, Jacob, and Orion’s eyes all narrowed at this. While Charlie and Jules nodded in agreement, Jacob’s jaw clenched and Orion clasped his hands in his lap and closed his eyes.

Ashe brought a hand up to squeeze Jacob’s shoulder, resting his head absently on top of his.

“Speaking from my own experience,” he said very dryly, “brute strength is hardly a be-all-end-all. Obviously one should think twice before attacking a larger enemy...but sometimes the element of surprise can turn the tide. Larger enemies often assume they have less to fear.”

“Aye...” said Jacob softly.

He considered the makeshift map and model ships they’d set up on the stained round table. Then he reached out to pick one of the miniature ketches and consider it carefully.

"We don’t have the firepower to defeat the Navy,” he said to the others, “but we do have stealth on our side.”

He immediately set about maneuvering the pieces around on the map, grouping all of the smaller ones together.

“The first thing we need is for a fleet made of the smaller ships -- the schooners, sloops, and ketches -- to carefully infiltrate the Man O’ Wars. Send a few of our men onto each ship in disguise, so they can load their lower decks with unlit explosives.”

“They could also easily sabotage their cannons and rudder chains, while they’re there,” said Orion softly.

Jacob shot a halfhearted glare at Orion out the side of his eye. Clearly even if they were allies and Orion brought up a great point, the Pirate Lord of the Atlantic Ocean was still a bit resentful about the Lord of the Caribbean Sea’s relationship with his sister.

“...Right. Then I say we -- meaning you, Captain Farrier-Weasley, as the Pirate King -- warn Beckett and the Navy that we’ll release Calypso, if they don’t turn back and let us leave Shipwreck Cove in peace. With Jones being with them, Beckett and the Navy either should already know or will immediately find out just how dangerous that is. Make sure to bluff Beckett that Calypso has so much power that she could destroy a Man O’ War with her little pinky, if she wanted.”

Samantha’s face lit up as she caught on to Jacob’s idea. “Oh! Then once Calypso is free and the weather starts getting bad...we can have the galleons and brigs attack the Man O’ Wars -- ”

“ -- and we can blow up the explosives on board with our cannons!” finished Charlie, exchanging an excited grin with Samantha.

Merula’s face burst into an huge smile too. “And it’ll make it look to the Navy like Calypso has given us this supernatural power boost!”

“Brilliant!” said Bill.

“There’d still be a 34% chance we’ll lose a few ships doing that,” said McNully thoughtfully, “but even if we’ll be outgunned and out-manned, the Man O’ Wars should be sabotaged enough that they won’t be able to attack right away. And the explosions we’d get would no doubt give those Navy officers a good scare, which might discourage them from fighting.”

Jacob nodded. “That fleet of larger ships can then keep the Man O’ Wars busy while Captain Farrier-Weasley and I sail the Revolution out to confront the Flying Dutchman. The Revolution’s probably the only ship we have that’s fast enough to compete with the Dutchman in a sea battle.”

“And we’ll need to overpower Jones, if we want to get close enough to Beckett,” said Jules, her dark eyes hard with determination.

“Jones is the Queen in this chess match,” agreed McNully. “He’s the most powerful piece on the board, so if we can topple him, we’ll have a much better chance. If we can then corner the King -- namely, Beckett -- we could use that leverage to win the whole thing.”

Bill and Charlie exchanged a look. Then the elder Weasley spoke up.

“...The plan’s great, Jacob -- but there’s a problem. Captain Hopper said that most of you lot were never soldiers. There’s a lot of training that you have to go through before going out to sea with the British Navy, and there’s just as much protocol you have to follow while you’re there. If one of our men makes a wrong move and gets caught, it could blow the whole ruse.”

“Then maybe we should go, Bill,” said Charlie. “We know the way things work -- we’d be able to blend in -- ”

“Not with that hair, you won’t,” said Merula dully.

“Face Paint is here at the Cove,” pointed out Skye. “They could fix that -- ”

Orion shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s still too risky. The Admiral indicated that Percy Weasley is also on board one of those ships. As much as I don’t think he’d ever wish to harm you, I don’t believe one could fool one’s family that long. And judging by how your last meeting ended,” he glanced at Charlie and Bill solemnly, “one cannot be certain he would choose family loyalty over what he believes is morally right.”

“Yeah, I wager there’s only a 35% chance he wouldn’t try to stop you two, if he saw you,” said McNully with an apologetic look at the Weasley brothers. “Though there is a 25% chance you might collide with Carey Weasley instead, and he could give you a hand...but I don’t think that’s a gamble we should take.”

Ellie’s lips twisted into a frown. “Still...First Mate Weasley’s got a point. It’d be probably best to send someone with the Artemis and the other small ships who already knows how to fit in with the British Navy.”

“If only Captain Moody were still here,” mumbled Barnaby sadly. “He was in the Navy for a long time, before becoming our captain...”

Charlie offered Barnaby a sympathetic look. Jae, however, looked rather thoughtful.

“...I do have...one contact that could be helpful.”

Everyone turned to look at him.

“He’s a bit of a loose cannon,” said Jae, “too impulsive for his own good and bull-headed as all Hell...kind of stupid, really. But he was in the Navy once, and he’s pretty good at working in secrecy. I work with him most often whenever there’s news of the East India Trading Company, since he’s got a contact who’s related to one of their most prominent merchants...”

Merula’s eyebrows furrowed. “...Wait a minute. You’re not suggesting Copper?”

Charlie and Jules both blinked.

“Behemoth Ben Copper?” said Jules in surprise. “The pirate who took out all three masts on an Italian frigate with one cannonball?”

“That’d be him,” said Arjun, and like Merula, he looked a bit skeptical. “Jae, I’m not sure. I don’t mean anything against Ben and all, but...well...it’s like you said, he’s a bit of a loose cannon. Ever since he mutinied against his captain, he’s just gotten more and more reckless -- leaving his crew abruptly with no explanation, rearranging his ship’s route on the fly...”

“He’s been acting weird,” agreed Aishwarya.

“Sounds like he’s the perfect choice, then!”

Everyone turned to look at Skye in bewilderment. Contrary to everyone else’s reactions, however, she looked perfectly undaunted, her lips curled up in a perfectly fearless, white smirk.

“From the sound of things, I’d wager Copper’s caught the same type of ‘weird’ that Orion’s had these last few months,” said Skye, shooting a significant look in her captain’s direction.

“And I reckon that kind of ‘weird’ would boost Copper’s motivation to help us by a good 63%,” said McNully very coolly from Orion’s other side.

Orion tried to feign a mild, patient expression as he bowed his head and avoided his crewmates’ amused looks, but he could not obscure the rosy color that was rising up into his cheeks.

“That settles it, then,” said Bill. “Let’s talk to him.”

Benjamin “Behemoth Ben” Copper did indeed boast an impressive height, being as tall as Bill with a scruffy blond beard almost as long as Jacob’s, a piece cut out of his left ear, and plenty of scars up and down his arms and along the base of his neck. He also came across as rather unpleasant, on first meeting. Although Jules had decided Orion and the Artemis would lead this smaller fleet in their mission, Ben seemed very skeptical of Orion from the off-set and was a bit forceful in trying to assert himself.

“For this mission, may us look to our friends, the cuttlefish, for guidance,” Orion said calmly as he addressed the small team of Navy veteran pirates they’d managed to assemble. “They change their appearance and attitude to blend into their environment, so as to evade the dangerous predators that might hunt them...and so too shall we.”

“The Navy isn’t that dangerous,” said Ben rather coldly.

Everyone turned to look at the much taller man, who was leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed.

Orion regarded him with patience, his hands clasping in front of him. “Not as dangerous as they’d like us to believe, true...but they do still out-gun us quite a bit.”

“That’d be more of a threat if half their new recruits weren’t so scared of the sound of gunfire that they all shut their eyes and can’t aim properly,” said Ben. “It’s not like most of those men have even seen combat like this, since England’s no longer at War.”

Orion didn’t respond, so Ben got up off the wall and strode over to look at him properly.

“Explain to me why we don’t just take down all of the ships ourselves, once we’re on board? We can more than take those lily-livered cowards...”

“We’re not doing that because it’s not the plan we agreed on, Copper,” Skye snapped.

“Skye,” Orion said in a quelling voice without removing his gaze from Ben.

“They’d never expect anyone to actually try attacking them head-on, so the element of surprise will still be there,” Ben plowed on, his brown eyes flashing with righteousness. “I say we just take all of their sailors out, one by one, while that pig Cutler Beckett is too busy gloating to take notice.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “‘Take them out?’ Oh, no. No, I’m afraid that won’t do.”

“You’re afraid of the ships and their firepower -- but the men on those ships are vulnerable,” Ben said sharply.

“All the more reason to not hurt them more than we have to,” said Orion. “If the Navy’s ships are damaged, most of the sailors on board will still have the time to abandon ship and leave the battle with their lives.”

“Those sailors mean to kill us -- to arrest and hang the ones we love and anyone who’s ever helped us -- ”

“Not all of them,” said Orion, and his patient voice for the first time dipped low into his throat and echoed with some edge. “And because not all of them seek to destroy us and the ones we love, we have more than enough reason to not destroy them ourselves. The ships are what we fear, as you said -- they are our enemy, not the men on board -- and without that weapon of theirs, those sailors will be unable to inflict the damage we fear.”

Ben’s brown eyes bore into Orion’s very critically. Then, exhaling through his nose in a short huff, he reluctantly nodded and stepped back.

Orion turned to Face Paint. “We’ll need to make sure all of our men look like they belong among the Navy’s ranks.”

Face Paint grinned. “Don’t worry! I’ve got this.”

With some guidance from the ex-veterans on the Navy’s usual dress code, Face Paint got to work covering up scars with make-up and dressing the team accordingly. Fortunately, unlike the British army, Navy soldiers generally had more freedom in how they dressed, so long as their clothes were neat and conservative. Once Face Paint was finished, Orion had a team of about eleven men who looked as out of place on Shipwreck Cove as he himself had looked on the streets of Port Royal.

Before Orion left with the Artemis and the rest of the fleet of small ships, however, Jacob rather sharply stepped in front of him and insisted on speaking to him in private. Skye and McNully looked notably concerned, but Orion agreed, and the two stepped aside so no one else could hear them.

“Don’t think I don’t know why you’re doing this,” Jacob murmured.

Orion raised his eyebrows, even though his expression remained grimly unreadable. “It was your plan, to send the smaller ships to infiltrate the Navy’s Man O’ Wars.”

“I was not including you when I said that!” snapped Jacob.

He took an aggressive step forward, right into Orion’s personal bubble.

“I know why you’re doing it, Amari, and it’s not just because Captain Farrier-Weasley asked you to be in charge of that mission,” he said in a very low snarl, rather like that of a territorial dog.

Orion’s eyes grew a little smaller, but remained too murky to read properly. “I daresay my reasoning is the same as why you arranged it so that you would be on the ship facing off against the Flying Dutchman.”

“Do not compare my motives with yours!” said Jacob fiercely, as his skull-like eyes flared like flames. “I don’t care what you feel for my Wyn -- you could never understand what she means to me! I would and will do anything I have to in order to protect her -- ”

“I know,” Orion cut Jacob off as calmly as he could. “I could never understand the bond you two share.”

His dark eyes flickered with a strange emotion.

“...But...I do understand what a beacon she is -- how, like a candle, she can light up a room enough to comfort you, when you’re most frightened. How the soft, warm light she gives off is for you alone...how the embers she leaves behind burn long after her light has left you. How she’ll...drain herself of whatever strength she has...just to make sure you don’t despair.”

Something cracked in Jacob’s eyes, betraying genuine vulnerability. A vein pulsed in his jaw and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Orion clasped his hands in front of him, regarding Jacob with a grim, sad expression.

“Care --...your sister...is a truly remarkable woman. She always has been, from the day I ended up on your doorstep back in Port Royal all those years ago. I can’t say for sure that I’ve loved her since then, but...when we found each other again, I realized that the freedom I have on the high seas is superficial at best...for I wasn’t free to stay with her...no more than she’s free to follow me. If she stays with Cutler Beckett...if she ends up impressed into service on the Flying Dutchman...”

Jacob’s fists clenched tighter and started to shake. Orion’s eyes rippled with pain and anxiety as he closed them.

“I can’t do nothing while Carewyn loses what little freedom she has left,” the taller captain burst out before he could stop himself. “However cruel Jones is in the legends I’ve heard, I know first-hand Cutler Beckett is a crueler master than he could ever be.”

He ran his pointer and middle finger alongside the inside of his wrist, where the “P” brand shone a tense white on his tanned skin. He breathed in and out through his nose slowly to try to calm his heart rate, before he opened his eyes to look back at Jacob.

“...I know our methods are different, but our goal is the same. Although I hope you succeed in overcoming Jones and force him to release her...I’m sure you understand why I have to take measures in case you don’t.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed upon Orion’s face, but for the first time, there was confusion muddled with the distrust.

“I already told you that Jones won’t care if my Wyn gets married and takes on another name,” he said quietly. “He said she’d still be considered a Cromwell.”

Orion’s dark eyes softened sadly. “I know.”

Jacob’s eyes scrunched up further. Then they widened as he thought of something he hadn’t before. The thought made his face go very white.

“You...”

Orion did not respond, but Jacob knew he’d figured out what Orion was thinking. It made his fists shake at his sides and his pupils narrow to slits.

‘He’s...truly that selfless?’

Jacob didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe that this man loved his sister that much.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but lash out.

“...I do not give my blessing to this! I don’t care what sincere affect you dance around with, I will never trust you with my Wyn’s heart, Amari! You could never deserve my sister!”

But Orion’s features merely prickled with the hints of a smile. "I know.”

Jacob gave an aggravated sigh, throwing his hand up in a violent smack at the air, as he threw his head back and rolled his eyes up in the direction of the ceiling.

He wanted to hate this man so much, but it was proving difficult when he wouldn’t rise to anything he said. He wanted him to fight back, to get mad -- then he could feel justified in protecting Carewyn from him...

But in truth, Jacob knew -- this man wasn’t someone to protect Carewyn from. Truthfully...he knew this man would likely do just as much to protect Carewyn as he would...

Jacob’s hollowed-out eyes ran over Orion’s face, narrowing critically. Then, at last, he said,

“...You were the boy, weren’t you? The one Wyn hid under her floorboards.”

Orion’s eyes flickered with fondness and he inclined his head in a small nod. Jacob inhaled slowly through his nose and then exhaled very heavily.

“I will stop Jones,” he said very lowly. “So your 'measures’ won’t be necessary.”

With this, Carewyn’s brother turned on his heel and strode away, his black boots clapping against the cobblestones as he went.

As the pirates set their plan into motion, Carewyn herself was finishing up business on the Flying Dutchman. She was meant to remain on the HMS Lion with Beckett for the battle, but she insisted on speaking to all of her men on the ship and leaving proper instruction before departing. After all, the Admiral argued, even if Rakepick was staying on board, she was not a Naval officer, nor was she their commanding officer. It also was the excuse Carewyn needed to speak to Davy Jones privately.

Jones looked to be in a fairer mood than she’d seen him last. Carewyn wasn’t sure for the reason for it, but she hoped it wasn’t in response to the impending battle. Regardless of how Jones felt about the pirates and Shipwreck Cove, she dreaded the thought of anyone actually anticipating the battle. Instead, however, she reassured Jones that she would pass along whatever intelligence she gathered about where Rakepick had hidden his heart.

“I know Rakepick said she was out for herself, but there are only so many places she could’ve hidden it,” she said. “Port Royal is out of the question: it couldn’t be used as any sort of leverage there. So she either one, was lying and has it close by somewhere on the Dutchman...or two, Beckett does know where it is, but Rakepick plans to backstab him.”

“I suspect the former,” said Jones lowly, his dark eyes narrowing as he shot a glance out the stained-glass window of the cabin. “I can feel my heart’s presence, so it must be close.”

Carewyn inclined her head slightly. “I see. In that case, you might be able to retrieve it yourself. I’m sorry I can’t be of further help.”

She paused. Then, taking a deep breath, she spoke again.

“Captain Jones, time is not on our side...but something’s been bothering me. When I first agreed to help you, you knew my real name, without me having told you. You said that was because you know everyone’s true name, but...”

She considered him warily.

“...It’s also because...you know my older brother...don’t you?”

Jones’s eyes narrowed. He considered her for a long moment, before he gave a clipped nod.

“...Aye. I know him.”

Carewyn’s heart sank. ‘Then Rakepick was right -- Jacob did make a deal with Jones. That must be why Orion said Jacob ‘would be disappointed’ -- ’

“...What does he owe you?”

Jones, for the first time, looked almost evasive. He turned away, casting his eyes to the opposite wall as he took a few plodding steps away.

Carewyn watched him move, her arms which had been folded behind her back slackening at her sides.

“Captain Jones, please,” she said, and some desperation echoed in her voice despite her best efforts, “I already might not have enough power to protect him from Beckett, I have to know what debt he might have with you.”

Jones was quiet for a moment longer. When he finally spoke again, his voice was very low, reluctant...even regretful.

“...The price...was a lifetime of service, from a member of his family.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened.

‘A lifetime of service...?’

Jacob’s intense, anxious reaction to the death of Charles and Blaise suddenly made sense.

‘He must’ve meant to give one of them to Jones,’ Carewyn’s mind raced. ‘Could he really have agreed to something like that -- enslave Grandfather or Blaise to Jones?’

Unfortunately it didn’t sound completely out-of-character for Jacob -- for as much as she’d hated Charles Cromwell and resented Blaise, Carewyn knew her feelings paled in the face of Jacob’s. Not only had he been older and thus forced to do more of their dirty work, but he’d also always loathed how much they hurt Carewyn when they were young, both to keep him in line and in a cruel attempt to “toughen her up.”

But now...now Blaise and Charles were dead. All of the Cromwells -- Jacob’s family -- were dead...except for...

Carewyn’s face was very white. Her lips came together and she bowed her head, casting her eyes into shadow.

“...I see,” she whispered, her voice shakier than she’d intended.

‘This is why Orion and Jacob want me off the Dutchman. Because I’m the only one who can fill Jacob’s debt.’

Jones glanced over his shoulder, his dark eye oddly ashamed.

“He did it out of love for you,” he said very quietly. “I confess, before we met, I’d seen irony in the situation. Now...I wish I could excuse the debt, but...”

Jones swallowed, and the tentacles of his beard gave a series of low pops.

“...Magical contracts...are not so easily broken. Once someone is marked with the Black Spot, the terms will be met, whether I want them to be or not. Fate will maneuver itself in such a way that you end up as part of my crew, even if I actively decide not to take you. As long as your brother and I both live...the terms are etched in stone.”

Jones then strode back over, fixing Carewyn with a solemn eye.

“Unless...you wanted to make a deal yourself? One soul could be comparable to another.”

Carewyn closed her eyes and considered this. After a long moment, she swallowed, and shook her head.

“That’s not something I can give you,” she whispered.

Jones’s eyes grew a little smaller as he faced the door. “I thought you might say that.”

He paused. His claw clicked together at his side.

“I...lament that a noble soul like yours is doomed to remain with me,” he murmured. “I will do my best to take care of you, as part of my crew.”

With another set of plodding steps, Jones walked over to the door of the cabin, opened it, and left.

Carewyn’s knees buckled out from under her. She collapsed onto the bench in front of the massive organ, staring down at her own booted feet without even seeing them.

She couldn’t thrust this burden on anyone else. How could she? No matter who they were...no one deserved to live their life in servitude. Carewyn knew she would never be able to live with herself, doing something so cruel...but...

It...it wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair! She’d already had to resign herself to the knowledge that she couldn’t shield the others from Beckett -- she’d already had to resign herself to staying under Beckett’s foot. Not only was she helpless in helping the ones she loved escape Beckett...but now...once she was a member of Jones’s crew...she would likely never see any of them again. She’d never be able to make that world that they deserved -- a world where they could live free of the fear of being captured and hanged...a world where they could live and chase their dreams in peace.

She’d never see Orion again. She’d never see Jacob again. She’d never see Bill again. She’d never see Charlie again. She’d never see Jules or Percy again.

Carewyn took a sharp intake of breath, trying to contain her emotions, but it was no use. Her hands flew to her face, clutching desperately, as she tried in vain to suffocate the tears spilling out of her eyes and the sobs erupting out of her throat.

Little did Carewyn know that a red-haired woman much taller than her had been beside the window of the captain’s cabin and had heard the entire conversation.

Under the cover of the fog that swept in that night, Orion’s team of Navy veteran pirates split up and stowed away aboard the Navy’s ships, each carrying one of the hundred black barrels of highly explosive black powder Jae had prepared for them. They would then be able to fetch more from one of the many sloops, ketches, and schooners floating among the armada the rest of the night.

As luck would have it, Ben boarded a ship that turned out to be the HMS Lion itself. He was glad of it, as he was determined to make sure that Beckett could never target anyone else again. Unfortunately, as soon as Ben arrived on board the ship, he was immediately uneasy. No one had spotted him arrive, but this ship wasn’t like any of the ships he’d seen during his time with the Navy. Everything was so unusually clean and precise and brand new, as if none of it had been touched -- and stranger still, all of the sailors, from their perfectly polished gold-buckled shoes to their blue and white uniforms to their gold-trimmed black tricorn hats, looked as identical as a set of dolls.

Little did Ben know that Cutler Beckett had higher standards of uniformity for the ship he was on than he did any of the other ships in his armada -- and so, even perfectly disguised as an ordinary sailor, Ben stood out like a sore thumb.

“You there!” said one of the lieutenants, upon spotting Ben on the staircase down to the lower decks. “Where’s your uniform, sailor?”

Ben faltered. ‘Uniform? Regular sailors don’t wear -- ’

He immediately put down the barrel he’d been carrying and turned around, putting on his strongest face as he stood up perfectly straight and saluted.

“...I’m only a new recruit, sir. I have no rank.”

“All sailors on the HMS Lion were given a custom uniform, when first they were selected by Lord Beckett,” snapped the lieutenant, his black eyes narrowing suspiciously upon the much taller man. “I ask you again -- where is yours?”

Ben immediately guessed that he’d made a huge mistake. Knowing that if he didn’t do something drastic, he’d blow the whole operation, his hand slid down to the pistol in his belt. Did he dare silence the man by force? Would that not alert the rest of the ship?

“What’s going on here?”

Another officer -- this one with a ginger red ponytail and almond-shaped blue eyes -- came down from the helm and over to the two men.

“A-Admiral Weasley!” said the lieutenant, straightening up immediately.

‘Admiral?’ thought Ben. ‘Then this is Carey Weasley?’

His brown eyes narrowed upon the frame of the Navy’s greatest hero.

'...He’s so...tiny.’

Carewyn looked from the lieutenant to Ben, her blue eyes narrowing.

“Ah, I suppose Captain Weasley’s sent over another new recruit,” she said smoothly. “Where is this man’s uniform, Lieutenant?”

“That -- I just asked that, sir,” the lieutenant stumbled over his words.

“Respectfully, I hope,” said Carewyn rather pointedly.

“That -- well -- I merely thought it was suspicious. We normally are all given uniforms, prior to boarding -- I hadn’t known that Captain Weasley was sending over any...”

The lieutenant looked a bit sheepish. It was remarkable how he looked and sounded so much more boyish around the Admiral, compared to how harsh and suspicious he’d sounded when he addressed Ben.

“No matter, Lieutenant,” said Carewyn, giving the young man a soft smile. “You thought of the safety of our ship and crew. That’s the right instinct to have, despite the circumstances.”

She turned to Ben, her eyes becoming a bit more solemn.

“What’s your name, sailor?”

“Cooper, sir,” Ben said at once, giving a salute. “Gordon Cooper.”

“Well, Mr. Cooper, you’d best come with me, before Lord Beckett sees you out of uniform. He likes his flag ship run just so.”

And so Ben reluctantly followed the Admiral down to the ship’s lower level and into the cargo hold. She fetched him a blue and white Navy uniform, but rather than just leaving Ben to put it on himself, she insisted on helping him put it on properly.

“I told you, Lord Beckett likes things just so,” she said. “I will not have any sailor under my command end up on the wrong side of him.”

“I can put on a bloody shirt,” Ben said before he could stop himself.

“See that you do, then,” said Carewyn very coolly.

Ben watched, perfectly bewildered, as the Admiral hung the blue coat she’d set aside for him off of a nail sticking out of one of the beams of the ship and smoothed the wrinkles out of it.

With a dull snort, he pulled the faded red shirt and brown trousers Face Paint had dressed him in up over his head and switched it out for the white Navy breeches, stockings, and shirt he’d been given. He tried to keep his back to Carewyn, so as to obscure the scars on his upper chest and arms.

As he changed, Ben suddenly realized he heard a soft, husky voice humming a tune in the back of their throat.

“Now some have died, and some are alive...and others...sail on the sea...”

Ben straightened up sharply.

“...With the keys to the cage and the Devil to pay,” he echoed, “we lay to Fiddler’s Green.”

He turned around to look at Carewyn, who still had her back to him.

“So you are allied with us,” he said under his breath.

Carewyn glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “‘So?’ You sound like someone already told you that, previously.”

“Two people, actually,” Ben corrected her, crossing his arms. “Orion Amari, for one. The other...”

He glanced off to the side absently, his brown eyes growing a bit mistier at the thought.

“...She...has family who works for the East India Trading Company. While one of their ships was docked in Port Royal, she’d spoken to some of the prisoners awaiting execution...and though most of them were no state to talk, the ones who were expressed their admiration for Carey Weasley -- how he was the only person on the Dutchman who showed them any kindness.”

The thought of Wendy’s face as she described what the prisoners had told her made Ben’s heart clench.

“...That kind of decency...was something I thought the Navy lost long ago.”

Carewyn’s eyes grew a little smaller and grimmer as they fell down onto Ben’s shoulder.

“I’m afraid it has, for the most part,” she said softly, “but only because of those currently in command. Our men are still good men...just misguided.”

Ben couldn’t keep the disbelieving, resentful glare from his face. He strode past Carewyn to fetch the blue coat, but the Admiral bustled in front of him, fetched a gold-buttoned white vest, and set about slipping it over Ben’s shirt.

“Here -- you’ll need this, first.”

Ben’s mouth dropped open in bewilderment and irritation.

“Wha -- oh, come on, I’m not some little lost lamb!”

“Definitely not,” said Carewyn dryly. “You’re anything but ‘little.’“

She started buttoning up Ben’s vest. The pirate gave an aggravated groan.

“Seriously? Ugh...will you knock it off? You’re acting like my mother -- ”

“Well, you’re acting like a child, so I reckon that’s appropriate,” Carewyn shot back. She then added a bit more solemnly, “Look, I can’t help Orion, Bill, and the others while I’m stuck here...but I can help you help them. So that’s what I intend to do, whether you like it or not.”

Ben’s face darkened with an embarrassed flush as he looked away, shooting daggers into the far corner with his eyes, while Carewyn finished buttoning up his vest.

“I should probably help you trim your beard too,” said Carewyn absently. “Navy men don’t wear beards much these days, even when they’re not officers...”

“I don’t need you to trim my beard,” Ben said grumpily. “I can shave myself.”

“Oh, you don’t believe in the old superstition, then. Good...I’ve had to shave some of my men’s faces for them, so that Beckett wouldn’t give them a hard time for looking scruffy...”

Ah, then it was about reassuring the men who were too superstitious to shave on board so they could still follow Beckett’s dress code, more than simple smothering. That made Ben feel a bit better.

“...Hm, well...I suppose I have been meaning to cut it a bit anyway...”

Once Carewyn had finished buttoning up Ben’s vest, she adjusted his collar.

“When did you leave the Navy?” she asked without looking at his face.

Ben considered her for a moment before answering.

“...Four years ago. I’d gone to sea to try to rise above my station...to earn enough money that I could...well...improve my prospects. But I ended up on board a ship with a captain who sacrificed the lives of his own men, not to protect the innocent, but to protect a ship he held financial stock in. A ship owned by Cutler Beckett, transporting gold, spices, ivory, and slaves to the colonies.”

Carewyn was immediately reminded of Orion. “So you rebelled.”

“Not right away,” Ben corrected. “I tried to have the captain court-marshalled first. But the Navy only gave him a light talking-to and left it at that. They didn’t remove him from service or strip him of his rank, or even publicly reprimand him -- he was allowed to just go about his business like before. And worse, he knew I was the one who’d reported him -- so he ended up retaliating against me, since he was still my commanding officer. I, well...eventually I just got fed up -- so I stopped cowering and fought back.”

Carewyn’s light blue eyes narrowed. “I see. ...You did the right thing.”

Ben’s face seemed to soften slightly. “...Thanks. It hasn’t always felt like the right thing.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t.”

Carewyn fetched the blue coat and helped Ben put it on. This time, he didn’t put up as much of a fuss, even though he considered Carewyn with a more critical, solemn expression.

“Why haven’t you fought back against Beckett?” he asked lowly. “You know what he’s doing is wrong.”

“If I were to fight now, I’d lose,” said Carewyn, “and if I lose, then the ones I love will be in more danger than ever.”

‘My future is already out of my reach. My freedom is already out of reach. If anything happened to them...I’d lose the best part of myself.’

“... I need to wait for the right moments where I can actually make a difference...like this one, for instance,” she added with a slight smile.

Ben’s eyes grew a little smaller as he studied her face.

“...It’s hard for you to stay silent, isn’t it?”

Carewyn didn’t respond, but her eyes squinted a bit too, rippling with a dark emotion as she yanked a loose thread free of Ben’s coat and adjusted the buttons.

“There,” she said at last. “Don’t forget your hat, when you’re out on deck.”

She handed a gold-trimmed black tricorn hat to him, but Ben didn’t put it on, instead holding it loose at his side.

“I won’t be on deck long,” he said. “I’ll be here below deck most of the time...I’ll be gone by dawn.”

Carewyn blinked. Then her whole face seemed to light up in realization.

“...Sabotage,” she whispered. Her almond-shaped blue eyes were almost over-bright. “Black Jack Roberts planned this, didn’t he?”

Ben was startled. “Uh...yeah, he did.”

‘Oh, that’s just like Jacob! He’s always been brilliant...’

Carewyn’s eyes gleamed with warm, intense pride and fondness as she cast her gaze aside.

Ben looked at Carewyn curiously. “...You know Black Jack?”

Carewyn beamed. “Oh, aye -- we go way back.”

“How far back?”

“We grew up together.”

‘I don’t need to explain how we’re related,’ thought Carewyn. ‘If Orion didn’t feel the need to tell him my real name, I don’t have to...it’s not exactly necessary information.’

Carewyn’s response, however, sparked an interesting reaction from Ben. Almost instantly, his hard, overly serious expression had become much softer and warmer, betraying a genuine smile.

“Really...”

The faintest ghost of a laugh seemed to fall from his lips as he bowed his head, his eyes drifting down to the ground. Carewyn smiled slightly in return.

“Now then, Mr. Cooper...I’ll leave you to your work. The barracks are on the lower deck on the starboard side of the ship,” she nodded to the the hallway behind them, “and the officers’ quarters are just up the stairs from there. The walls are thin and most of the officers will be up and about doing nightly rounds, so be careful not to make too much noise. If they catch you ‘out of bed,’ do as they say and pretend to go to your bunk -- you can always use the shortcut that goes through the spirit room on the far right wall to get back out into the hallway without going out the way you came. When you’re up on deck, avoid the windows by the captain’s cabin at all cost -- Beckett can be up when you least expect it, and if he sees any movement outside his windows, he might see fit to investigate. I’ll try to keep the other officers occupied at the helm as much as I can, so they don’t notice you.”

Ben picked up his barrel again with a nod. “Thank you.”

Carewyn saluted him, and he returned the gesture with his arm not holding the barrel.

“By the way,” he added, “the name’s Copper, not Cooper. Ben Copper.”

Carewyn’s lips spread into a full smile. “Nice to meet you.”

She reached out and took hold of the taller man’s shoulder, giving it an abridged squeeze.

“Godspeed...and best of luck.”

By dawn, Ben had finished his preparations and left the HMS Lion, slipping onto the Artemis so that it could sail away before the fog dissipated. Ben had been the last one to finish and return to the fleet, so Skye had expressed the (rather irritable) concern the crew felt that Ben might have gotten himself caught. Ben confessed that he would’ve if it hadn’t been for the Admiral, and told them what had happened. Orion hadn’t said a word or drawn any attention to himself during the entire recounting, so Ben couldn’t have taken into account how the captain turned his focus up to the large, gold-trimmed Navy ship as they sailed away from it. Neither he nor McNully also never heard Orion pull one of his crew members aside and give him one of his gold earrings, explicitly instructing him to deliver it to Jules.

“She’ll need it, for the unbinding ceremony,” he said.

At dawn, the two Navies -- Royal and Pirate -- assembled for war. All of the Britiwhs Navy’s ships got into position, completely unaware of the trap that lay under their decks. The fleet of the pirates’ galleons and brigs -- including the Phoenix, Blackbird, Naga, and Treasure -- came up around the mouth of Shipwreck Cove like a wall, while the Revolution -- captained by Jules and assisted by her First Mate Bill, Jacob, and Ashe -- sailed out in front as the pirates’ flagship.

In the midst of all of this, the fleet of smaller ships were meant to retreat into the ranks of the larger ships, so as to offer support if any of the large ships were to fall and their crews needed to be rescued. But all of a sudden, the crew of the Artemis realized that Orion was nowhere to be found. Panic set in on deck as they searched for him, with crew members all frantically trying to figure out when they saw him last. It didn’t take long for McNully to put together where Orion had gone.

McNully wheeled his chair across the deck, looking with anxiety up at the HMS Lion, sailing just to the right of the Flying Dutchman.

Bounding up through the ocean waves still trimmed with fog, he caught sight of Orion steering the Artemis’s jollyboat into the Navy ship’s shadow.

Skye came up to the railing too. When she caught sight of the jollyboat too, she violently grabbed hold of the railing, her eyes very wide with horror.

“What’s he DOING?!”

“He’s going after the Admiral,” said McNully.

“The Admiral?” said Ben, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Skye looked beside herself with anger and concern. “No, no, no, no, NO! Orion, you bloody dunce! Just because I said that your and Copper’s kind of ‘weird’ was helpful at the meeting doesn’t mean I wanted you to act on it in the middle of the goddamned battle!”

She whirled on McNully.

“We have to stop him! He’s going to get himself caught again -- ”

“There’s only a 21.3% chance of that,” McNully cut her off. “It’s a bit hard to be caught and stay caught when a sea battle is about to kick off. There’s a higher probability of him getting himself killed...”

The First Mate felt the urge to swear both out of frustration and out of anxiety, but he kept his head. He rolled his chair around to face the rest of the crew.

“Signal to the Kumiho and the rest of the fleet to continue with the retreat,” he told them. “We’re going after him.”

27 notes · View notes

kbstories · 4 years

Text

Entangled

en·tan·gled (adj.) Twisted together; interconnected.

Eustass Kidd joins the Flying Six. The Kidd Pirates go to war.

(Or: Welcome to the worst timeline.)

Tags: Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, References to Brainwashing, Rescue Missions, Hurt/Comfort (It’s a solid 80% hurt you have been warned)

Set in Wano, Act Three. Spoiler warning for all of Wano. This is an AU where Kidd is imprisoned on Onigashima and Killer doesn’t eat SMILE.

Content warning for some torture, some blood and references to brainwashing.

***

They’re dead, they said.

Wiping blood from his mouth, Kidd had laughed. “My crew? Dying to cock-faced cunts like you? Never.”

They fought to get to you and they died, they said as cruel hands dug into Kidd’s hair and put him under, over and over.

“They didn’t”, Kidd bit back. “They’re alive”, words fractured by the water in his throat, his lungs. Again – they will come – and again – they’re fine – and again – they’ll come for me. By then he couldn’t catch enough breath to speak but it was there, conviction burning bright in his chest.

They said, he’s dead, and even though his eyes could barely see and his ears were ringing, Kidd recognized blue and white and Killer. Kidd’s veins ached with whatever they pumped into him, his brain struggling to tell truth from lie, dream from reality.

The mask is there, real. The seams Kidd worked a full day and night on to get them just right, cracked apart and caked with blood where Killer’s temple would be–

They’re dead, they say and Eustass Kidd’s world shatters apart.

***

The Victoria Punk strains against the raging of the sea, waves mighty as mountains crashing against her skull and bursting into a thousand pieces. Killer doesn’t turn his head away from the spray, lets the ocean sting every inch of exposed skin.

Under his mask, his eyes stare straight into Onigashima’s soulless gaze.

“Hey, you there! Spikey’s friend!”

Strawhat’s voice rings true through the winds and the rain. Killer keeps his arms crossed and nods, the gesture over-articulated to carry despite the storm. “Stick to the plan, Strawhat! We’ll catch up to you on the other side!”

A smile and a thumbs-up from Strawhat to his right, a sardonic laugh from Law to his left. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for an optimist, Massacre Soldier.”

All Killer gives him is the bird. Kidd would’ve laughed at that, he thinks.

Wire is at the helm, hands steadfast and solid. “Keep course”, Killer tells him as he hops down on deck. “There’s a spot at the bottom of the bay. The Punk should be safe there.” Heat flanks him as the rest of the crew gathers, every face around him retaining that grim sort of tenacity that carried them through the past month.

There’s exhaustion there too, so keen Killer can sense it: None of them can quite shake that phantom presence permeating the Punk, the constellation of their very being-together fundamentally incomplete.

To sail into battle without Kidd is… wrong, inconceivable, almost. Killer has endured all magnitudes of that feeling while they scoured every corner of Wano Country in search for that element that will make them whole again, that unique gravitational pull that makes their individual parts click into each other like carefully-crafted machinery.

(It doesn’t get easier, being without him. Missing him. Killer can’t tell why he ever expected it to.)

“Stay low”, Killer reminds his crewmates, his voice as steady as it’s been since this nightmare started. “Find the Flying Six, that’s our priority. We have to get to Kidd before the raid starts, or things will get messy.”

For years, Killer’s mask has been a comfort; the immediate “Aye, Captain” he gets in return makes him wince where the crew can’t see it. It’s a necessity, for them to remain in the dark about his weakness – about the visceral fear that shot through Killer when he realized Kidd is gone and all eyes fell on him to make the next step.

(This has been a possibility since the very beginning yet Killer never expected to live long enough for it to become reality. Always together, even in death, that was the plan.)

From the moment their boots touch land, all Killer can think of is Kidd. Find Kidd, save Kidd, a near-obsessive mantra playing in his head on an endless loop as they leave the Punk behind.

For weeks he lived as Kamazo the Manslayer, every scrap of intel extracted in crimson splatters under moonlit skies. Alliances made and information combined for one purpose alone, and it’s worth it to pass by hordes of drunks and people-soon-to-be-drunks unnoticed. Every step the Kidd Pirates make on Onigashima is accounted for, their approach methodical sans the perpetual chaos Kidd’s mere existence brings.

Killer hates how easy it is, to become something other than themselves. There is no time to waste on regret, not here. They have to keep going.

Finally: There is the fortress, there are the Flying Six – and among them, a flash of red Killer would recognize anywhere, anytime. His vision narrows down to the shape of Kidd perched on the parapet, dressed black-on-black like the rest of them, and a murmur goes through the crew behind him. By some animal instinct, Kidd’s head turns and he stares right at them, too.

And for the first time in a month Killer inhales and feels his lungs unfold, his chest swell with a full breath. Kidd is there. He’s right there, and Killer’s too far away to pick up any details but Kidd is alive and now he knows they’re here, too. All that’s left is to get him out of here and regroup and–

“Soldier, watch out!”

–the shout is almost drowned out by Killer’s instincts. He tears his scythes up in the last second to deflect the little bits of something raining down on them. Shrapnel, the ground littered with it in moments.

What the…?

The thunderclap of Conqueror’s Haki precedes a furious roar he has heard a hundred times, a hundred battles over. Killer catches sight of Kidd, and how scrap gathers and swirls around him, the eye of a silver-tinged hurricane about to hit, and his mind stalls as that murderous glare locks on him.

Then Kidd is upon them.

Metal screeches against metal, the air turning sharp and heavy with Kidd’s will as his fists clash against Killer’s scythes. There’s not a shred of hesitance to the strike: A fraction of a second is all Killer gets to seek out Kidd’s eyes, glowing with the sparks exploding in all directions between them, and Killer’s gut drops at the cold fury he finds there.

That, and bloodlust so strong he can taste it. Oh fuck.

The force of the attack has Killer’s heels skidding back a few feet – motherfucker, Kidd isn’t holding anything back, is he? – before Kidd’s gaze flicks to the side and he scoffs, a pissed-off tch.

A breath, drawing deep. Flames engulf them both, then, the fire throwing up a wall that gives Killer some room to breathe.

“Heat”, he gasps, and they motion for him to move. Wire isn’t far behind, grabbing Killer by the elbow and dragging him away from the inferno swallowing the person they came to save. “You okay? Killer. Did he–?”

Killer can barely look elsewhere. “No. I’m fine, Wire, let me– What the hell did they do to him?” The last part is little more than a snarl, something venomous and ugly within him stirring. Just a glimpse of it sends Killer’s heart on a warpath, beating hard enough to throb even in his fingertips.

Wire’s expression is drawn, lips a tense line. “I don’t know but this is bad. There’s too much metal on all of us.” Which is by design, to help Kidd get around in a fight and– Fuck. Fuck.

A handful of seconds, that’s all Heat can buy them. Fire can’t hold Kidd, not for long, the man himself forged in heat and pressure just as the metal he commands. Killer grits his teeth to see Kidd emerge from plumes of smoke wiping soot off that same look on his face, lethal and so cold, and he pulls both Heat and Wire behind himself.

“Leave him to me. Take the others and–”

Wire’s hand goes bruise-tight on Killer’s arm. Heat hisses, “Killer–”

“Listen to me. Kaido’s forces will follow him here any minute. Keep them off our backs. Buy us time. Whatever this is, Kidd will fight it. I just have to make him listen.”

Two little words stick to Killer’s tongue, almost making it out of his mouth. Captain’s orders. He doesn’t have to say them, though, the tense sigh Wire exhales an answer in and of itself.

“Fine, just– Stay sharp. Let’s go, Heat.”

“Yeah”, Heat says with a final glance Kidd’s way, and they’re gone. Disappearing from Killer’s limited field of vision, and Killer trusts they will keep the crew safe. It’s not like he can turn and check, not with Kidd stalking ever-closer.

Coming for him, not the crew. Just him. A joyless smile stretches Killer’s lips wide. Good.

“Care to explain what game you’re playing, Kidd? We’re here to take you home.”

Kidd snaps at him, “Shut the fuck up”, teeth big and white against the backdrop of black leather Kidd is wearing. His face is bare for the first time in years, his hair slicked back like he couldn’t give any less of a damn how it looks. Killer’s gaze falls on the symbol of the Beast Pirates on the thick belts crossing over his chest and his heart lurches, skips out of rhythm–

“I don’t care who you are. I’ll fucking kill you for wearing that mask.”

Killer stares.

“Who I…? The mask is mine. It’s mine, Kidd, you made it for me. I’m–”

Oh shit, the earth itself shakes from the pulse of magnetism Kidd draws in every last bit of metal with, Killer’s arms threatening to snap out of their sockets as his scythes are pulled in, too. “Don’t you dare”, the words are a growl more than anything. “Don’t you fucking dare say his name”, and the pressure drops to be replaced by brute physical force as Kidd lunges.

Killer doesn’t stand a chance against Kidd, he knows that. There’s his Devil Fruit, his natural strength, his skill with damn-near every weapon he’s collected – ever since he unlocked the Haki to match, Kidd has shrugged off any and all limits imposed on him. Killer knows what Kidd can do, knows his body better than his own, some days, knows every emotion that flashes in that rust-red gaze of his.

And, with Kidd hellbent on ripping him apart, Killer knows he’s but one misstep away from a very violent death.

Countless times they’ve fought yet this is an entirely different beast: The only advantage Killer has is speed, and even that is rendered meaningless in the face of Kidd’s powers turning the metal on his body into anchors, his wrists and neck aching trying to withstand that particular gravity. Time and time again they collide, a spray of sparks and panted breath as Killer stares into the hate-filled eyes of the man he loves and doesn’t back down.

As he tells him, “It’s me, Killer, it’s me, I came back for you”, and Kidd snarls, beyond words.

Something has to give and for a moment there, Killer thinks it might not be him. Kidd is panting, growing pale and covered in sweat. This close, Killer can see the fresh wounds left to scar, dotting his chest with sickening precision, and the mottled bruises blooming on his neck, right over his pulse point.

Whatever they put him through, it’s recent enough for Kidd to look like he’s on the verge of collapse once he’s burned through his rage, and Killer despises himself for drawing hope from that.

Then Kidd stumbles, Killer hesitates – and Kidd nails him in the side, a punch too swift for Killer to block, and the taste of copper spills on Killer’s tongue as he feels his ribs give before he twists. The second fist is inches from connecting when Killer slips his hand out of the metal guard slowing him down and elbows Kidd in the face, stomach turning at the immediate gush of blood that clearly spells broken nose.

They fall apart, Killer holding the scratched-and-bruised mess of his midriff and Kidd groaning with his face tucked into his elbow. Struggling to breathe through the pain, Killer fumbles for his second scythe, throwing it to the side where it lands with a dull thud, unseen. Kidd is staring at him, mouth open and painted crimson.

Then Killer’s fingers hook into the back of his mask and he pulls it off, the world suddenly too-bright, too-loud, overwhelming – it all pales against the fear choking him, smothering any ounce of reason Killer clung to without Kidd there to guide him.

“Kidd, it’s me”, he says, the words small between them, on the brink of vanishing altogether. Well and truly lost, for the first time since they met. “Your partner. Please. I don’t know what to do. Please come back to me.”

And Kidd– He staggers towards him, like he can’t help it. “You’re dead”, he whispers, helplessly hoarse. “You died. You’re dead, Kil.”

Killer’s eyes sting as tears well up; he bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. Thinks, oh, and his mind puts together the puzzle pieces even if all he feels is his heart break.

“I’m right here. Right here, Kidd.”

Step by step Kidd’s fists lose their substance, metal falling to the ground in chunks and pieces and loose gears. Kidd asks, “…Killer?”, and it sounds so painfully uncertain, so threadbare and fragile that Killer throws caution to the wind.

Kidd’s knees give the moment Killer reaches for him. He doesn’t manage to catch the fall but it doesn’t matter, the feeling of Kidd’s arm sliding around his neck like breaking the water’s surface, like coming home at long last. His stump is left bare, bandaged and sore-looking, lacking the mechanics that have become Kidd as much any other part of him. Killer holds that shoulder before he does anything else, the tension there beyond unbearable to watch.

“Killer”, Kidd rasps, and Killer kneels so he doesn’t have to strain himself so much. “K-Kil, fuck, I didn’t– I thought–”

Half-realized words turning to heaving gasps, and Killer wraps himself around him as his shirt grows wet where Kidd’s head is tucked against his neck, equal parts blood and tears with how fucked up Kidd’s nose is. Murmurs against his hair, “It’s okay”, rubs a hand up and down the groove of his spine.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. We’re all here, Kidd. Not leaving you behind, ever, got it?”

It’s there, with Kidd in his arms, that Killer becomes aware of their surroundings once more: There’s distant cannon fire, and battlecries cut short; the cracking of rifles and ringing of blades being drawn and crossed; bit by bit, the world reshapes itself into the beginnings of a war around them. The first thing Killer sees is a loose circle of backs turned towards them. Dead ahead, the signature woosh of Heat’s breath-turned-fire illuminates the silhouette of each and every member of their crew fighting tooth and nail to uphold the perimeter.

Closest to them, Wire’s trident blurs with motion as he smashes a volley of arrows out of the air, aimed directly at Kidd’s vulnerable back. A glance over his shoulder, and Wire’s eyes widen as they meet Killer’s.

Properly catching his gaze, for the very first time. Killer nods at him, mouths, we gotta get outta here. Wire reads his lips and smiles, unwavering.

Kidd is stirring as well, eyes red-rimmed and weirdly naked without the heavy black around them. He wipes at the blood that hasn’t quite stopped dripping down his chin before he looks up. Stares at Killer like he can’t quite believe he’s there, and then:

“Shit. Fuck, Killer, your mask”, Kidd mumbles urgently, an exhausted motion of his hand pulling closer the scattered remnants of their fight. “Where’s– Ah.”

And something in Killer breaks a little more at the gentleness with which Kidd handles his mask, his fingers unsteady as they wipe dirt and blood off the blue-white stripes before offering it to Killer, those red eyes tender with unspoken emotion.

Kidd doesn’t do apologies, mostly because there aren’t many actions he deems truly reprehensible, but... If apologies were Kidd’s thing this would be it.

Killer exhales a soft breath and presses a kiss to the line between Kidd’s shaved brows. “C’mon”, he says, and he hides his face before hoisting Kidd up to his feet, a breath shuddering out of him as his ribs shift in his chest. Kidd’s hand brushes over the furrows he left on Killer’s skin, frown deepening yet he doesn’t speak.

Piece by piece, they put themselves back together until they’re Eustass ‘Captain’ Kidd and Massacre Soldier Killer once more. There is hell to pay, a war to win and an Emperor to kill – when Kidd steps forward to rejoin their crew, he doesn’t waver and neither does Killer, following close behind.

#one piece #eustass kid #killer one piece #kidkiller #one piece fanfiction #fanfiction #hi someone please take them off my hands all i do is make them suffer #this fic is also on ao3!!#my stuff #one piece spoilers #op spoilers #tagging just in case!

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lady-charinette · 5 years

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Friends, right? Mafia AU - Adrienette/Marichat

In which Marinette accidentally and unknowingly gets favored/adopted by a dangerous mafia organisation (not because she's adorable and bakes really good croissants, no).

Tagging: @graduatedmelon You mentioned wanting to be tagged in similar fics, I hope it's okay! :)

Marinette's forehead creased into a deep frown, lips pulled back into a snarl as she jabbed her finger at the smug brunette.

"Listen Lila, this is the third time this week, you'll have to pay for anything you destroy from my bakery or I'll report you to the police." the baker woman packed an impressive glare, but that didn't deter the diplomat's daughter in the slightest.

She giggled, a high pitched yowl Marinette only attributed to the ear piercing screech of foxes. The high heels smearing the remains of the freshly baked goods on the ground, a silent provocation. "Pay? Police? You forget who you're dealing with, Marionette. I have diplomatic immunity, even if you did call the cops, they can't do anything." she smirked, whipping her thick hair over her shoulder, the strands nearly hitting Marinette's face.

The dark haired woman growled, moving to kneel on the ground to gather the bleak remains of this morning's order, wasted.

She would need to make another batch very quickly if she didn't want a compliant.

Lila Rossi trotted down the streets, self-satisfied smile painted on her painted lips, phone in hand and scrolling down her calendar when darkness and a pressure around her midsection made her see black.

And just like that, the light was gone and Lila's feet were swept from underneath her, her cries unheard.

Once the hands holding her down finally moved away, along with the cloth covering her head, the Italian woman was livid.

Her eyes narrowed at her assailant, moving away from her rigidly. "How dare you manhandle me like this! My mother will hear about this and ensure you never look beyond bars again you degenerate scou-"

Lila's face fell when she noted the eerie silence of the room, the air thick with tension, as if something would come out of the shadows at any second and attack her again.

Something did come out of the shadows.

But it didn't attack her.

Not yet. Her mind traitorously told her, knees trembling and hands sweating when she noticed the green eyes and a hint of a defined jaw peeking forth from the shadows, a displeased frown settled on the impeccable features she could make out from the darkness surrounding her.

She recognized those eyes.

"A-Adrien, what a pleasent-!"

A box was suddenly thrown at her feet, causing her to jump on the spot, her entire body wracked with shivers from the loud noise when it fell to the ground.

It was a pastry box, broken and smeared with smudges of cream.

Ice settled into her veins, the breath leaving her lungs in an instant when she noted the eyes haven't blinked once since they began staring at her.

Like a predator waiting for a moment to strike.

Lila's head shot up when a voice began speaking, familiar to her in theory, but its tone was different. Cold, distant-

Angry.

"I assume you know what this is?" the green eyes visible from the shadows felt like twin daggers from emerald; sharp but beautiful.

She swallowed thickly, the saliva drying out quickly when she swept her tongue over the roof of her mouth, her throat feeling like a desert.

"I-It's a...box. A pastry box." she silently cursed the stutter in her voice and tried to hold her head high, but the action prompted the green eyes to narrow in warning and almost immediately, her head lowered, fear shooting through her core like a lightning bolt.

"Do you know where it's from?"

Trap. She thought bitterly, nails digging into her palms at the scene she made on the streets just minutes prior.

Just how fast was this man?

"...A bakery in the vicinity."

"What bakery?" the anger was more palpable now, but the carefully composed voice didn't shake or raise in rage.

Yet.

Lila swallowed, feeling like she would choke. "The...Dupain-Cheng bakery."

Silence filled the room like a heavy fog, her stomach churning in nervousness.

This wasn't some petty thief a few streets down. This was one of the most dangerous crime syndicates in Paris.

And she'd just angered their leader.

"I-I'm s-so-"

A rattling, a chain or something else made of metal, echoed in the room and the young Italian woman froze on the spot, eyes wide at the unknown source of the noise.

Something glinted in the darkness and Lila wasn't sure if she wanted to know what it was. "I thought we were friends..." the numb feeling returned to her hands, heart threatening to burst through her ribcage at the mountain pressure.

"What are you saying? Of course we are fr-"

Something sailed through the air and embedded itself into the wall next to her head, words caught in her throat at the wind rushing past her ear.

She didn't dare, she didn't, but her eyes glanced to the side anyway, spying a hint of metal looking back at her.

A knife.

Her legs shook violently and she felt like her lungs would collapse in on themselves.

The voice, his voice, spoke again, an ominous presence leaving no room for arguments, only obedience. "Isn't that right, Lila?"

She wanted to answer, but his voice made her clamp her mouth shut. "Wouldn't want anything....to be broken, right?"

This time, she didn't dare step out of line. "Y-Yes, Adr-" green eyes narrowed in a silent warning. "Lord Noir."

Satisfied with her compliance, Lila was sent away, back into the light of the underground darkness, into the street where she'd previously been.

But the invisible claws still loomed over her, following her wherever she went, her steps uneven and shaky as they led her down the street.

Bonus:

A dark haired man rose an eyebrow. "Seriously kid, didn't peg you as the type to threaten girls to break their legs." Plagg swallowed a whole cheese wedge into his mouth and Adrien rolled his eyes, stepping forth from the shadows to run a hand through his messy blond hair.

His face told of almost childish innocence but the subtle glow in his eyes suggested a more sinister nature. "Threaten? It was a suggestion, Plagg. Not like I was really going to do it...if she behaved."

Plagg chewed on his cheese, unimpressed. "Yeah, that's the definition of a threat, kid."

Adrien pouted.

P.S. I apologize if there are many mistakes, I wrote this on a whim in the tram. >.<

#protective!adrien #protective adrien #ml #ml au #ml fic #fanfic #miraculous ladybug #adrinette #adrienette #marichat #adrien agreste #chat noir #marinette dupaincheng #lila rossi #lila's ass being threatened #its my jam

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afni-fics · 3 years

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Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 18: Dragon Rising (part 2)

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 18: Dragon Rising (part 2) by C_R_Scott Chapters: 18/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Modded Skyrim, Skyrim Spoilers, Tim Drake is Dragonborn | Dovahkiin, Batfamily-centric (DCU), Tim Drake-centric

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Summary:

Battle at the Watchtower

-------------------------

It didn't take long for Tim to catch up with Irileth and her handful of city guards near the stables just outside of Whiterun's walls. The dark elf had given Tim a odd look when he arrived, but said nothing except to stay close and to keep his eyes open for any signs of dragon in the night sky.

As Tim walked along the road towards the watchtower that had been attacked, all traces of weariness had bled away to be replaced by growing sense of dread and anxiety. The hour was late, and Tim honestly wasn't sure he'd be able to spot the black dragon from Helgen against the dark night sky. Adding to his unease was the smell of smoke wafting towards them even before they saw the light from the fires burning in and around the destroyed watchtower. He immediately recognized the smell of burning wood and charred flesh, and he felt his stomach churn.

Still, he kept pushing forward along with Irileth and her guards without a word about his discomfort.

They stopped by a pile of large stones a short way from the watchtower. The soldiers and Irileth were stunned by the amount of damage. The stone structure had a jagged scar cutting through the top half of the structure, the wound illuminated by fires burning within it. Rubble from the tower and bodies of soldiers both burning and simply dead lay scattered around the grounds of the tower. However, despite all the visible carnage, there was no sight of the dragon anywhere, and no sounds except for the crackling flames and cold wind blowing through the grass.

The silence was unsettling. Tim had been around long enough to know that out in this land, even at night there ought to have other noises. Wolves... Owls... Foxes... Deer... Insects... The sounds of Skyrim's nocturnal creatures were just not there.

"No signs of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he's been here," Irileth said as she scanned the watchtower and the skies. Then she looked to her men and Tim. "I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened, and if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere." She made a motion that her men immediately recognized as a "move out" command. "Spread out and look for survivors. We need to know what we're dealing with."

When Irileth's eyes fell on Tim, he nodded as a good soldier would. Before she turned to follow her men, the dark elf's red eyes drifted to a point over Tim's shoulder and behind him, and she inclined her head in a "look over there" gesture. Curious, Tim glanced behind him and his own blue eyes widened in surprise.

"Lucien? What are you doing here?" he asked the scholar in surprise as the other man jogged up and finally stopped to catch his breath.

"What does it look like?" Lucien gasped out between breaths.

"You didn't have to come."

"Yes I did." Lucien looked at Tim square in the eyes with a determined expression. "We Flaviuses have a reputation to always keep our promises, and I will be damned if some idiot Jarl, a bloodthirsty dragon, and your obvious lack of self-preservation sense makes a liar out of me before I can get you home!"

Tim felt a small part of the anxious knot in his chest unwind, just a little, as he smiled at Lucien gratefully. "Thank you," he said softly. Then he turned to the watchtower while arming himself with his bow and a nocked arrow. "The dragon doesn't seem to be around at the moment. Irileth wants us to look for survivors."

Lucien nodded and appeared to ready a frost spell in his hands, a cold mist swirling around his fingers. "Lead the way, then."

***

The pair of them moved towards the bridge leading into the body of the damaged watchtower. Tim could see Irileth's soldiers checking on the survivors and fallen on the outer grounds, so he directed Lucien to join him at the tower itself. As they got closer, he could hear one of the watchtower guards trying desperately to warn Irileth away.

"No! Get back! It's still here somewhere!"

Tim froze.

"Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!"

Tim felt his heartbeat thudding in his ears. As Lucien went to the guardsman to check on his injuries, Tim immediately began scanning the skies. Suddenly, the guard gasped and his words sent a chill down Tim's spine.

"Kynareth save us, here he comes again!"

The statement was punctuated by a familiar terrifying roar and the sound of wind rushing past wings. Tim's eyes zeroed in on a dark shadow sailing past the blood red moon and into a bank of gray clouds in the sky. Despite himself, Tim's hands trembled on his bow.

Irileth's commanding voice cut through the night. "Here he comes! Find cover and make every arrow count!"

Suddenly a dark shadow and an unnatural rush of wind nearly knocked Tim and the others off the watchtower bridge. Tim immediately moved to shove Lucien into nearby cover with a group of other guards, who were firing arrows into the sky. Tim was about to find his own cover and join them when something massive landed heavily on the ground, causing an earthquake like tremor that knocked Tim off the bridge and to the ground below.

Pain shot through his body at the impact of the fall, and his head spun. Despite this, Tim managed to keep a grip on his bow and he forced himself to get to his feet as quickly as he could. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and screamed at him to move.

Then he froze as he turned to see face of the enormous menacing dragon staring straight at him just a yard from where he stood.

The massive beast's eyes narrowed as he stared at Tim. Though he was terrified, Tim immediately brought up his bow and fired at the dragon point blank. The dragon jerked his head up to avoid the projectile even as other arrows began to rain down on him from the other guards. Then, to the young man's shock, the dragon opened his mouth and words spilled out.

"I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!"

Tim's eyes widened. "You can talk?!"

Instead of an answer, the dragon pulled back his head with an obvious inhale. "YOL... " Tim immediately recognized the word from Helgen.

"Get back!" he yelled at the guards and Lucien in alarm as he himself ran for cover. "Fire! Fire!"

"TOOR SHUL!!"

Tim just barely dove for cover behind a pile of stone rubble as a blast of intense fire scorched the earth and air around him. He couldn't restrain the scream of terror as he huddled behind the rocks as much as he could to avoid the flames. Suddenly the flames stopped and there was a rush of air against the ground, putting out some of the grass fires around him, as the dragon took off into the sky again.

"Timothy!" A blast of cold mist washed over the area around Tim as the young man gasped for air. Suddenly Lucien was in front of him, his frosted over hands cradling Tim's face. The shock of cold against his skin startled Tim out of the fear-induced daze he'd fallen into.

"Lucien?!" Tim gasped as he became aware of his surrounding.

"We need to move! Back to the bridge!" Lucien tried to help him to his feet.

Still gripping his bow, Tim moved as quickly as he could to cover with Lucien underneath the bridge. He forced himself to nock arrow after arrow at the dragon as he flew circles around them, sending fire blasts at various targets. It was only because of Lucien that he was able to keep moving from cover to cover. Whenever the dragon roared or a blast of fire hit too close, Tim would flinch hard or even freeze in place. Rather than using his magic to attack the dragon itself, Lucien chose instead to use his ice spells to put out the various fires on the ground, which allowed Tim and the other soldiers move more safely without getting burned. The cold of the icy mist Lucien used seemed to break through Tim's fear and kept him moving.

"Look!" Lucien cried out and pointed as they felt the ground rumble from the dragon's landing again. "I think... he's almost dead!"

Tim's gaze followed Lucien's hand and stared grounded dragon. Dozens of arrows were embedded in its thick hide and blood poured from the wounds on its body and head. The membrane of one of his wings was in tattered and made it so that the beast could no longer take to the air. That didn't stop it from trying to snap at nearby soldiers daring to take up swords against it, or sending blasts of fire when it could do so with those same three words as before.

Swallowing hard, Tim lifted his bow and continued firing arrows at the dragon along with the other soldiers. Each arrow felt heavier than the last though, as despite his fear of the beast he couldn't get out of his head that this monster had spoken to him. Despite the fact that this dragon was trying to kill all of then, it was a sentient, intelligent creature, and Tim's hand was one of many working to end its life!

As Tim nocked one more arrow to his bow and drew it back, he felt his hands tremble. Time seemed to slow around him and the dragon. The beast had just finished firing a blast of fire at a soldier on the ground and had turned to glare at Tim just as his fingers released their grip on the arrow. As the arrow flew, something shifted in the dragon's expression, as if realizing something important in that one moment about the young mortal man standing before him.

Tim's arrow struck true, piercing the dragon in the throat, and seemed to be the final blow needed to fell the beast. The dragon reared its head back. "Dovahkiin? No!!" it roared in agony before collapsing to the ground.

Tim felt his eyes whell up with tears and they spilled out down his cheeks as the soldiers around him cheered wildly in victory.

"I'm sorry..." Tim whispered as his bow fell from numb fingers. From somewhere far away, he could hear Lucien calling out to him with concern, but all Tim could do was stare as the life faded from the dragon's eyes. He walked forward slowly towards the dragon's body, guilt wracking his conscience.

"Wait! Look at that!" a guard exclaimed with alarm.

Tim and everyone who had been moving towards the dragon froze as the body of the beast began to ignite and dissolve right before their eyes.

"What's happening?!" Lucien cried out.

"Everyone get back!" Irileth shouted, and nearly everyone scrambled to pull away from the dragon.

Everyone but Tim.

Tim was frozen in place. He barely even registered the chaos around him as he stared at the dragon as its very scales and flesh ignited in a cascading spontaneous combustion, leaving behind nothing but clean white bone. Then, the bones themselves began to glow with a bright blinding light as a sudden gust of swirling wind carried that light straight for him.

Reflexively, Tim pulled up his arms to shield his face and closed his eyes, but after a moment he realized that the wind was not inflicting any more pain on his body. Slowly he opened his eyes and watched with confused awe as the tendrils of light on the wind swirled around and into his body. As the winds died down and the light faded, Tim raised a hand and pressed it to his chest. Something was... different... But he couldn't quite articulate what that was. What was it that dragon had said as it died? What was that word?

"Dovahkiin?" he whispered to himself.

The sound of armored soldiers rushing to his position immediately set him on edge. For a brief moment, he thought that perhaps they were rushing to attack him, that whatever had just happened had made him a new threat in their eyes. Tim turned to them, hands upraised to show he was unarmed.

But there were no swords or bows drawn against him.

Instead, all the soldiers there were staring at him in awe and... reverence?

"I can't believe it!" one of the guards closest to him said. "You're... Dragonborn..."

"Dragon... born?" Tim echoed with clear confusion. "What do you mean?"

The Nord soldier explained. "In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed the dragon's power?"

Tim felt a coil of fear and dread tighten in his chest. He could feel himself shake his head in reflexive denial. "I... I don't know," he stammered uneasily as he turned to stare at the dragon bones again. "I don't know what happened to me."

As the guards began to murmur amongst themselves about the stories they heard as children of the Dragonborn, Tim felt like his brain was short circuiting. He wanted to deny everything that was being said around him, but he just couldn't seem to find his voice.

"That's right! My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn..."

"...born with the Dragon Blood in 'em..."

"...Like old Tiber Septim himself..."

"...You must be one!"

One of the guards finally addressed Irileth. "What do you say, Irileth? You're being awfully quiet."

Tim turned his gaze to the dark elf and was startled to find that her red eyes had been focused on him this entire time. She averted her gaze when he caught her and turned to her guards.

"Hmph. Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything about."

Somehow, hearing that made Tim feel marginally better. A little more grounded anyway. He watched as Irileth went over to the dragon's bones and nudged them with her sword.

"Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I can definitely understand."

Tim felt a touch on his arm again, and he turned to look at Lucien, who appeared to be as dazed as he felt. Still the scholar tried to put on reassuring smile. "Now Whiterun should be safe, yes? The dragon that burned you and Helgen is dead now. That's a relief, isn't it?"

Tim froze. "No... That's not right..." he murmured.

Irileth caught their conversation and turned to Tim and Lucien. "What do you mean by that? The dragon is dead at our feet."

Shaking his head, Tim searched the ground for a moment before finding what he was looking for. He knelt down and picked up a scale that had not combusted with the rest. "The dragon that attacked Helgen was black," he said solemnly as he brushed away the soot that had been on the scale. From where he knelt, he offered the scale to Irileth. "This one was grey." Even as the words left his lips, Tim felt that coil of fear and dread tighten even more. "This was a different dragon."

The elf's face became grim as she took the scale and examined it closely. "That was the hairiest fight I've ever been in, and I've been in more than a few. If dragons are coming back... If the black one from Helgen was only the first for many... Then we need to prepare. At least now we know they can be killed."

Tim bowed his head and slowly rose to his feet. The thought of another dragon dying at his hands made him feel sick to his stomach. However, the moment he stood up fully, his sense of balance pitched, and he nearly fell back down again. The only reason he stayed even partially upright was because Lucien caught him. Even then, though, Lucien was not strong enough to keep him on his feet for long. He was forced to ease Tim down to the ground gently as he could manage without hurting him further.

"L-Lucien," Tim gasped as his vision began to blur and darken around the edges.

"Damn it!" Lucien cursed as he pressed his hand to Tim's forehead. "You're burning up! You've pushed yourself too far!"

"Sorry," Tim whispered as he closed his eyes, suddenly feeling so dizzy and tired. "Should've listened to you."

Irileth knelt down as well. Her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's sick!" Lucien snapped angrily. "He was burned at Helgen and the wounds were never healed properly. They're infected!"

As Tim's consciousness faded into blackness, he could hear the alarm in Irileth's voice as she immedately started barking orders for her men to fetch a horse and cart as fast as they could. "We need to get him to the Temple NOW!"

-------------------------

Warning: This is being pantsed more than plotted, and this is not beta read. We'll see where this journey takes us. Mostly I'm just doing this for my own amusement.

Note1: If you have any questions about the playthrough and Tim's feelings/experiences that aren't described in the chapters, please ask me in the comments. I'll do my best to answer your questions as best I can.

Note2:

In my head, the Batman's "No Killing" rule applies not just to human beings, metahumans, or aliens that are humanoid in appearance, but to all living creatures that are intelligent and sentient. Capacity for speech is a big identifier of this type of sentience.

When Tim first encountered the black dragon in Helgen, he may have heard the dragon "Shouting" his spells, but didn't really register them as words at the time. Here, Tim heard the grey dragon (Mirmulnir) actually speaking, so it flipped a switch in Tim's perception that dragons are not mere beasts.

So this, technically, is Tim's first instance of breaking his adopted father's "No Killing" rule in Skyrim, and it's hit him very hard... as if his interaction with the first black dragon wasn't traumatic enough...

#elder scrolls dc#fanfiction#tim drake#skyrim fanfiction#batfam fanfic#red robin#batfam#crossover#lucien flavius#wip#afewnovelideas

#elder scrolls Dc #fanfiction #tim drake #skyrim fanfiction #batfam fancic #red robin #batfam #crossover #lucien flavius #wip #afewnovelideas

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cassthepilot · 4 years

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Bravery Checklist

aaaa, thanks so much @arrows-and-illusions & @teamfortressaswell for tagging me <3 Attempted to answer these in character as best as I could!

[ ] Spend the night in a haunted building and be subjected to all that bellyaching about “unfinished business” & “avenging murder” all night? ugh.. no thank you.

[x] Go into a burning/collapsing building to save someone I suppose that really depends. I mean.. we're not talking about anyone on Blu Team here right?

[x] Take a shortcut through a dark alleyway why go through an alleyway when you can travel over one?

[x] Stay calm with a weapon pointed at them Can you believe there are people who get upset over this sort of thing? Like they’ve never seen a gun before! All this crying & begging like it’s the end of the world. Crazy right? Some of them even wet their pants. Funniest thing.

[x] Be confident defending themselves from an attack people, yes. wild animals, not so much.

[ ] Touch a dangerous exotic animal go away

[x] Take someone else’s punishment to protect them hoo boy.. the heart sure does have a way of finding trouble doesn’t it? talk about someone owing you one.

[x] Travel to an unknown place by themselves Mann Co. contracts are funny things sometimes..

[x] Spend a night in the woods alone almost heaven...west virginiiaa..

[ ] Witness (or join) a seance and listen to the dead talk ... willingly? oh my god. only if driving a nail gun into eardrums is an immediate option.

[ ] Play a scary video game in the dark alone what is this “vidya game” you speak of?

[x] Explore a pitch black catacomb with only one light any coal mine can become a catacomb if you're not careful

[x] Contact the spirit of someone they once knew look sometimes conducting rituals on the control panel of an airplane is a necessary part of aviation ok. we all know it isn’t exact science but a plane’s got to get off the ground somehow alright.

[x] Spend the night in a cemetery It’s not the worst place to wind up face down. At least the folks there have the decency to stay quiet about it.

[ ] Sit in a room with one hundred creepy dolls professionals have standards limits.

[x] Hang their feet over the edge of a tall building does the wing of a plane count?

[x] Swim in dark, murky waters without being able to touch the bottom evading police can be tough sometimes

[ ] Use or accept a powerful magic spell probably not a good idea for anyone involved...

[ ] Be covered in spiders, snakes, or other insects look nobody wants to be bored to death hearing about a bunch of recurring dreams here

[x] Go looking for the source of a mysterious sound late at night it’s a thankless job but someone’s got to make sure Demo doesn’t piss in his work boots again

[x] Spend an hour sealed up in a coffin evading police can be tough sometimes

[ ] Go sailing miles from shore without any communication 0/10 would not do again

[x] Use a Ouija board only when necessary. I mean really - who has time to just sit around & spell out mouth words? We make sounds with our faces for A REASON y’know. I swear, they think bc they’re dead they suddenly don’t have to form comprehensible language like everyone else anymore. Bunch of waily stuck up stiff necks..

[x] Go diving in a dark, underwater cave Hiding evidence isn't always easy

[x] Climb through a long tunnel just big enough to fit through hey those weapons aren’t just going to smuggle themselves alright.

[x] Explore a spot where cult rituals were performed idk man those hippie communes can be a little much sometimes.

[x] Go walking late at night, alone not sure how else a person’s supposed to traffick organs. What you think they’re just going to stay cool during the day? C’mon now.

[x] Spend the night in a home where someone was murdered Red base has it’s charm sometimes.

[ ] Go surfing on the Dark Web who shot who in the what now?

[ ] Play an urban legend game (bloody mary, the midnight man, etc…) with those guys? no way! they’re the absolute worst at games. say one thing about how you beat them into the ground and it’s I’ll curse you this & put a pox on your family that. then mary will start bleeding from her eyes again. ugh - so dramatic! they’re really the poorest sports i’m telling you..

[x] Stay home alone with a suspected killer on the loose only until he gets home

[x] Climb a dangerous mountain where many others have died on their way to the top hey what happened on that mountain, stays on that mountain alright.

[ ] Explore ancient ruins where strange things have happened the Administrator isn’t someone anyone wants to be around if they can help it.

[x] Touch a supposedly cursed object if by touch you mean have one surgically grafted into you than ..maybe...yes

[x] Check out a creepy cellar or attic i swear, you call another person’s attic home for a month & suddenly it’s “creepy” and you’re just a “deranged hobo”. people can be so judgemental. I mean what is this here - a trial?

[ ] Cross an unstable bridge over a huge drop y’know you would think a person could just mule moonshine over a bridge in peace but police barricades have a way of ruining everything

[x] Pick up a hitchhiker in the middle of the night I mean.. how else do you expect a person to make friends? duh.

#oh man i had way too much fun with these!#thank you both for tagging me! <3 #tf2 cass

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

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THE LUCK OF BLACK CATS : MLP Fan Fiction

Return to the Master Story Index

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Return to Tales to Read AFTER the Lights are OUT!

THE LUCK OF BLACK CATS

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

1441 words

Writing begun 10/21/17

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

It is well known that Black Cats bring bad luck. It may be that it is not QUITE true.

Sugar Maple was playing outside, in her Grandmare's neatly fenced yard. Sugar loved to visit Grandmare but her mom really didn't like to bring her this far into the Everfree Forest.

Sugar climbed onto the platform of Grandmare's swing set and began to shift her weight to make the swing swoop back and forth! It was fun! The wind made her light brown mane and tail fly about as the butter colored foal swept from one end of the swing to the other and back!

The swing was almost as much fun as playing with Grandmare's cats! They were all pure, silky black and over half of them had wings like a bat! They could fly really well, too! Sugar bailed off the swing at the top of its swoop and spread her own young wings! Her glide was inexpert but enthusiastic, as she sailed about Grandmare's cottage! She almost made it all the way around, back to the swing set! Her hooves hit the lawn sod only about ten feet short of her goal!

Little hooves clattering on the stone of the front steps, Sugar dashed into Grandmare's little house! “Mom! Grandmare! I glided almost all the way around the house! I made it almost all the way back to the swing!”

Her mother set her teacup down firmly and began, “SUGAR MAPLE, what have I told you about unsupervised flying!?”

Grandmare raised an admonitory black furred wing and used the other to scoop Sugar into a welcoming hug! Taking a moment to preen a few small tangles from Sugar's mane with her razor sharp fangs, Grandmare said gently, “You did very well. Did you flap at all or was it a pure glide?”

Giving her leaf brown mother a slightly fearful glance, Sugar replied, “I glided the whole way! I did cup my wings up to land! I came down real gentle.”

The hug was pulled tighter as Grandmare smiled, showing her fangs. Shifting her voice up, beyond the hearing of most ponies, Grandmare asked, “[How is your chirping coming along?]”

Answering the same way, Sugar replied, “[It is going really good! Mom can't hear it, so I practice it a lot!]”

“[Tell me, Sugar, what you chirp in my bedroom?]”

Excitedly, Sugar exclaimed, “You got a dress horse with a costume on it! It is too small for Mom or you, so it must be for me!”

Nodding, Grandmare agreed, “It is, Dear. Go and try it on. Later, we will practice flying our way.”

Sugar dashed for the back room!

Granmare returned her attention to Sugar's mom. “Hazel, I thought that I made it perfectly clear that Sugar must be allowed to develop! Look at you! You play the part of a crippled pegasus! You do it so well that you have lost the ability to fly or even hear chirping!

“THAT is too high a price to pay for 'fitting in'!”

Hazel looked down and fiddled with her teacup before trying, “If anypony ever saw my extended wing, or Sugar's for that matter, they would scream THESTRAL! There could be a mob! I don't want Sugar hurt!”

Grandmare softened, “In that, we are agreed. Caramel Treat's is always a safe place. Those Werewolves do understand the problem and will protect us. So will Reverend Smallflower at the Assembly.”

Their discussion was ended by the return of Sugar. She was wearing the costume as a thestral witch! Two of Grandmare's cats were riding her shoulders, purring happily. One casually lifted a furry, bat like wing to scratch under it.

Grandmare was delighted. Hazel was less so, but agreed that it was a great costume.

Grandmare led Sugar outside, the cats following. Soon Sugar was fluttering short distances and landing properly. The cats were 'helping.' They thought that the fluttering filly was a great toy! Conversely, Sugar, dodging their mock attacks thought that the cats were great teachers! It only took a few hours before she was swooping and dodging with them in a game of aerial tag! Happy foal's laughter pealed down from the October sky.

Grandmare nodded serenely, “She takes to the sky as naturally as breathing. A true thestral if ever there was one.”

Hazel agreed sadly, “I know. I hope that Ponyville will be better to her than it was to me.”

Grandmare turned Sympathetic eyes to Hazel. “I do know what you mean, dear. You half breeds have it rougher than we full bloods. The unicorns have never forgiven our service to the Nightmare Throne, 2000 years ago, in the Nightmare Wars. The only thing that shows Maple to be a partial breed is her color.”

Sighing, Hazel glanced at the sun's angle and suggested, “We must return home, Grandmare. It has actually been a good visit.”

Hazel and Sugar Maple trotted back along the nearly overgrown trail that led from Grandmare's to behind the Duchess O' Red Hoof's land. It joined the trail leading from Brightmane's cottage. It became far better and more traveled after that.

They reached Ponyville proper and went into their snug little cottage home without incident. The two cats that had ridden Sugar's shoulder all the way, immediately flew from her shoulder, circling about the room, high and low. They perched on the sofa back and began to preen.

Evening fell and with it began Nightmare Night. Gathering together her loot bag and a “Witch's Staff”, Maple set out. Both cats riding her shoulders.

She joined a group making the rounds of homes and small businesses.

“Wow! That is a neat thestral witch costume! How did you turn your fur black, Sugar?”

She smiled and replied, “Just a cheap brush in dye. It will wash out.”

“Gee, I wish that I had a cat like yours to go with my witch costume! Aren't you afraid of bad luck? Yours are pure black.”

The mare in charge of the small herd was in a silly looking deer costume with phony horns on a spring gripper across her head!

Of course, they dropped in on Caramel Treat's Sweets for their famous Nightmare Night display and fabulous foal bowl! It did not disappoint! There were the very real Werewolves, Caramel and Fangrin in their Everfree Ridgeback Wolf forms, a black gryphon, several games and the foal bowl hidden under mists in a big cauldron.

The party went on toward the more residential parts of town, followed by a pegasus in a skull like mask and a costume of bones painted onto black cloth. His wings could slide out through reinforced cuts in the fabric. It hid his cutie mark.

Sugar chirped to the cats in a voice too high for ponies to hear, “[Dark Sky, New Moon, could you go back and cross his path a few times? I do not like him following us!]”

In answer, both cats hopped from her shoulder, gliding to the ground and scampering back! They paraded across his path repeatedly. Undeterred, he continued to follow the herd of foals.

The cats returned to Sugar's shoulder. The foal herd was approaching Drastin Park and its big unobstructed hoof ball pitch. He charged toward the hapless foals!

He tripped over two cats that had been watching him for any such stunt! He faceplanted, in a most embarrassing way! The whole herd of foals heard him fall and stopped to watch!

Climbing back to his hooves, he charged again! Bowling the foals over like ninepins, he grabbed two foal loot bags and leaped for the night sky!

Two cats and Sugar were on his tail, almost immediately! The cats snagged his left wing, causing him to spiral out of control! Before he could do anything to get rid of the cats, Sugar slammed her head in between his hind legs from above and power dived, flipping him over onto his back!

Fluttering and flailing helplessly, he hit the ground with a crunch! Sugar landed lightly beside him and gathered up the stolen loot bags. She was still picking up spilled treats when the rest of the group swarmed around her!

As Sugar was returning the stolen bags, one of the colts said admiringly, “We could see the whole thing! The moon lit up those thin clouds and we saw it all!! You really are a thestral! That was so neat how you took him down!”

One of the fillies came and got her loot bag. She petted the cats and said, “I guess that the thing about black cats and bad luck is true!” Giggling, she pointed to the fallen pegasus thief. “It sure was for him!”

~THE END~

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

Return to Tales to Read AFTER the Lights are OUT!

#THE LUCK OF BLACK CATS #MLP Fan Fiction #Tales to read AFTER the Lights are OUT #Written by De Writer

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

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This Girl Ain’t Going Anywhere: 4/4

Here it is, the exciting (I hope!) conclusion! @katie-dub, I can’t believe it took me almost a year to finish your gift. I really wanted this to incorporate things I know you love, strong female heroes topping that list. I hope you like it!

Summary: The Brothers Jones have built a reputation as the most feared pirates in all the realms. When they hear of the bounty on the heads of two princesses – The Princess of Fire and The Princess of Ice – they don’t hesitate to set sail on the Jolly Roger to hunt them down. But have the Brothers Jones finally met their match?

Rating: T

Also on Ao3

Words: 2,000 and some change in this chapter

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @kday426 @winterbaby89 @nikkiemms @teamhook @bethacaciakay @thislassishooked @jennjenn615 @distant-rose@scientificapricot @snidgetsafan @tiganasummertree @resident-of-storybrooke @stahlop @shireness-says @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @delirious-latenight-laughs @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @courtorderedcake

The land of the Quapah was typically still, the only sounds the wind whistling eerily. The people themselves were reserved and had a mysterious gentleness about their way of life. So when that quiet was broken by the clanging of steel and shouts, the Jones Brothers were on their feet and racing into the center of the village with swords drawn.

Killian had no idea what kind of warriors, if any, this ancient race possessed, but he shouldn’t have worried. The Quapah wielded swords of blue flame that met steel with a clang and a hiss. They moved with grace and ferocity, and combined their sword play with magic - lifting stones from the earth and hurling them at the enemy.

“Knights of Camelot,” Liam called out to his brother.

“I noticed,” Killian quipped, parrying a blow from one knight as he sent another sprawling with a kick to the stomach. “The red seal of the round table was a bit hard to miss.”

Killian’s blood ran cold as a broad, confident knight galloped into the fray atop a black steed. It was King Arthur himself. Stories of his obsession with the dark arts had become the thing of legend. His wife’s betrayal with the knight Lancelot had only sent Arthur falling further into madness. It wasn’t a foe Killian was keen on facing.

The Quapah hurled magic in Arthur’s direction, and it was a kind of magic Killian had never seen before. The earth trembled, sending rocks spraying in Arthur’s direction. A geyser of water followed after, hitting Arthur square in the chest and knocking him off his horse. The horse reared in terror, then galloped back down the mountainside. In the chaos, Killian saw Arthur race towards the path that led to the temple.

“Liam, the princesses!” he shouted as he took off after the King of Camelot. Liam followed at his heels.

Yet several of the knights of Camelot saw the brothers chasing their king, and soon Liam was battling three of them at once, leaving Killian to face Arthur alone. The king’s face blanched when he saw the hook at the end of Killian’s left arm, and the pirate smirked.

“Never faced a pirate before, your majesty?”

Arthur’s only response was a growl as he swung his sword. Killian met him stroke for stroke, but the king was forcing him up the hill ever closer to the temple that hid Emma and

Elsa. Killian had to draw Arthur away from there, so he spun and swiped at the man’s legs. Arthur anticipated the move, however, dodging to the right. The rocky, hilly terrain threw Killian off balance, and Arthur took advantage of it. Before Killian knew what was happening, he was tumbling down the hill, his cutlass flying from his hand. Well, at least I’m drawing him away from the princesses he thought dryly. His shoulder slammed against a large rock and he groaned as Arthur drew near, laughing. Killian turned his head to see his brother dispatching a knight, but two more were closing in on Liam.

“You shouldn’t bring a hook to a sword fight,” Arthur sneared, grasping the hilt of his sword with both hands.

“Well, I brought a sword,” Killian replied with sarcasm, “but I seem to have misplaced it.”

Arthur brought his boot down on Killian’s shoulder, which he had apparently injured in his tumble down the hill. Killian cried out in pain. Arthur’s sword was coming down on him, and he held his breath -

Suddenly, another sword met Arthur’s with the ring of metal hitting metal. Killian gasped to see Emma standing over him, her face contorted with rage. She had saved him! With a cry, Emma flung her other arm out, and as she did, her entire body became luminescent, her hair glowing like embers. A ball of fire hit Arthur and sent him sprawling backwards.

Killian looked up at her in awe, her name slipping from his lips like a prayer. She looked down at him, eyes ablaze and intense. Behind her, Killian could see more knights of Camelot descending on them both. Where was Liam? Emma flung both her arms out in front of her, dropping her sword. The earth beneath them shook, water spurted up, and the soil beneath Killian undulated like a wave, carrying him backward. Emma turned one palm up and flung her arm skyward. The geysers followed her movement, and Killian’s view of her was blocked by a wall of water.

“Killian!”

No voice had ever sounded sweeter, and Killian turned to see his brother being deposited by another wave of earth right next to him. He noticed Elsa on the other side of Liam, but then she flung her arms outward and ice flew from her fingertips. The wall of water instantly froze, and before Killian or Liam could process it, they were completely surrounded by walls of ice.

“No!” Liam shouted, scrambling to his feet and rushing forward. He pounded on the ice wall, yelling Elsa’s name.

“I don’t think that’s going to help,” Killian said, unable to keep the humor out of his voice.

Liam scowled at him. “Why would they do this?”

Killian arched a brow. “To keep us safe, it looks like.”

“But that’s . . . but we’re supposed to -”

“We’re supposed to save them?” Killian laughed. “Hate to break it to you, brother, but it looks like we’re the damsels in distress in this little drama.”

Liam scowled and kicked and pounded at the ice wall. He finally let out an irritated breath and turned on his brother, his hands on his hips. “They do realize we can freeze to death, right?”

As if the princesses could hear Liam Jones, a crackling fire suddenly sprang up in the center of the ice fortress. Killian threw his brother a lopsided grin before plopping down before the fire and rubbing his hands before the flames. He rolled his shoulder as warmth spread down his entire arm. Hm, Emma had even taken care of his injury.

“I don’t know about you, brother,” said Killian smugly, “but I thought Emma looked incredibly sexy saving my life.”

*******************************************************

There wasn’t much one ship could do when surrounded by multiple fleets. The Jolly

Roger had no choice but to fly the white flag of surrender.

Yet the attacking fleets had no interest in the codes of war. Anna’s knees buckled and Henry’s face turned white as the enemy ships prepared their canons. Kristoff hugged them both close, praying to every god he could think of as explosions rocked the air. They all braced for impact.

An impact that never came. When one pregnant moment faded into another, those aboard the Jolly finally, hesitantly lifted their heads. Smoke and embers float upon the air around them, as if the cannonballs were disintegrated before they found their mark.

“Look!” Henry cried, pointing.

Through the smoke, two figures seemed to hover above the ocean waves. Elsa seemed to skate across the water on a sheet of ice, wind spinning through the air around her. Walls of water poised to crash turned to ice in her wake, Emma rode along an updraft, fire at her fingertips, turning the sea water to vapor. Her hair writhed around her, her skin sparking, yet she was not consumed. Elsa’s eyes were of arctic ice - blinding, fiery, and piercing. She was a blizzard incarnate, roiling across the sea. Emma obliterated canon balls then absorbed the fiery explosions, the green of her eyes brighter and sparking like emeralds.

An inferno surrounded the enemy ships, Emma in the midst of them, luminous, incandescent, yet the vessels were not consumed. Elsa rose beside her upon a glacier rising slowly from the sea, hailstones raining down like diamonds. Each crystalized weapon disintegrated, however, on impact, the intent not to harm, but to warn. The ocean bit, chilled, blazed at the hands of the two princesses, pushing back the fleets until finally, each ship flew its own white flag of surrender.

Anna realized she was trembling against the railing, scarcely feeling Kristoff’s arms around her. She was numb, stiff, chilled to the bone. Was her sister now the monster everyone claimed?

“Look!” Henry cried. “They’re leaving! All of them!”

“Ann,” Kristoff whispered to her gently, “Anna, it’s over.”

She shook her head, pressing her face to his shoulder. He gently pulled her away, forcing her chin up to meet his eyes. He grinned broadly.

“They saved us without harming a single ship. A battle without a single casualty, Anna, it’s a miracle!”

She blinked and looked around in awe at the suddenly calm seas. Kristoff helped her to her feet and pulled her close. There, across the water, Elsa calmly walked towards them, snowflake shaped crystals of ice bearing her weight. Emma glided next to her, streams of fire pushing her against the waves. They approached the Jolly Roger with elegant ease, then clambered up the ladder to board. When the princesses’s feet hit the boards, Emma ran immediately to embrace her son, and Elsa stood before her sister, confident and with a peaceful smile upon her face. Anna blinked before words spilled from her lips in a rush.

“How did you do that? And you’re not freezing - I mean, of course you froze things, but you aren’t freezing, and . . . oh gods, how did you do that?”

Elsa laughed as she threw her arms around her sister. “We’ll explain it all soon, I promise.”

“Where are Killian and Liam?” Henry asked worriedly.

Emma bit her lip sheepishly. “Yeah, about that . . . “

Elsa laughed. “Liam will probably want to strangle me for literally putting him on ice like that.”

Emma gave a shrug and tilted her chin. “I think Killian thought I was sexy.”

*********************************************

Killian growled, yanking the tie from around his neck and tossing it to the ground. Liam chuckled and bent to retrieve it.

“Those things are designed for people with two hands,” Killian muttered. “I don’t see why I have to wear it anyway, Emma likes my chest hair to breath.”

“This is a royal wedding, little brother,” Liam countered, “I don’t know that chest hair needs to be on display.”

“It’s younger brother,” Killian corrected automatically, but he didn’t protest when LIam took over fixing his tie. It was a bit odd to be in their naval uniforms once again, albeit this time in the colors of Misthaven and Arendelle, respectively. Killian was proud of his new career, yet he would miss his brother. He arched a brow at Liam teasingly. “Do I call you Admiral Liam or King Liam?”

His brother rolled his eyes. “Technically, I’m Prince Consort Liam Jones. Queens under Arendelle law do not share sovereignty. You, on the other hand, little brother, will be king along with Emma when she takes the throne.”

Killian snorted. “I don’t think either of our lady loves need our help to lead their people.”

“No,” Liam agreed, voice laced with pride, “they surely do not.”

“Are you nervous?” Killian asked, feeling like a lad again.

“There, your tie is perfect,” Liam said, patting his brother on the shoulder, “thank the gods you’ll have a wife to do it for you after today.”

Killian was still getting used to doing things one handed, and normally it would rankle that he couldn’t handle a bloody tie. Yet having Emma at his side to help him through it all? Somehow that didn’t bother him quite so much.

“You dodged my question,” Killian pointed out.

“Am I nervous about standing up in front of two kingdoms to declare my vows? Yes. Am I nervous about declaring my vows to the woman I love? Emphatically no.”

Killian smiled in complete agreement with his brother. Watching the women they loved work so hard with the Quapah to balance their powers by calling on all the elements - earth, wind, water, and fire - and then fight for peace between all the realms had only made them fall deeper in love.

“They’re ready for you,” a voice called from the doorway.

The brothers shared a smile, scarcely able to believe how far they had come from their days of servitude. They followed the Arendelle castle steward into the great hall and took their places on either side of the priest. Killian’s heart thundered in his chest, his eyes intent on the large double doors at the end of the hall. Soon, a trumpet sounded, and the doors opened. His breath caught as he saw Emma in a long, filmy white gown, her golden curls tumbling down her back, and flowers in her hair. Elsa was there too, he knew, but he only had eyes for his own bride.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house as the crown princess of Misthaven and the queen of Arendelle pledged themselves to their childhood sweethearts in a double ceremony. When LIam and Elsa were declared husband and wife, he lifted her off her feet when he kissed her, the queen throwing her arm around his neck in a very undignified manner.

His little brother, of course, had to outdo him. When the priest announced Killian and Emma husband and wife, he dipped his bride as they passionately kissed. The crowd laughed, hooted, and cheered with joy.

Later, the royals greeted their subjects who crowded outside of the Arendelle palace. They stepped out on the balcony, greeted by cheers and shouts. Instead of fireworks, Princess Emma sent sparks of fire racing across the sky in a rainbow of colors. Queen Elsa then sent giant multicolored snowflakes floating down upon the crowds. The people of Arendelle and those who had traveled from Misthaven celebrated into the wee hours of the morning.

The Queen of Ice, however, slipped away with her husband far earlier. They had their own beauty to create. The Princess of Fire also slipped away with her husband to create fireworks of their own. The Brothers Jones had, in fact, met their match, and they were entirely okay with that.

I've searched the world to find my heart is Yours

Oh, my heart is Yours

#cs ff #frozen jewel #enchanted forest au #lieutenent duckling #captain duckling #brothers jones #frozen swan brotp

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spursjinglejanglejingle · 4 years

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All This and Heaven Too || Part 1

Summary: You are a proper English Lady of high social standing just trying to keep your twin brother alive as he tries to put a stop to raids against the oil supply lines belonging to your family. When a simple trip into Valentine turns bloody, a man in a dark hat steps in to save your lives.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan (High Honor) x Female Reader (Miss Wilson used as a placeholder name) || Male OC x ???

Word Count: Roughly 6k, 11 pages

Tags: Unlikely Pair, Super Slow Burn, English Lady is kind of a bad ass, Enemies to Friends, Friends to Lovers. TW: Animal Death, gore, violence

A/N: I plan on updating this more after the holidays, but I’m constantly working on it. Feel free to suggest what you would like to see! I’m also down for prompts or things like that! Thanks for reading!

America seemed to insist on moving at a slow crawl at all given times - it was a fact that displeased you immensely. The sand and the heat seemed to drag even time itself to a sluggish pace that would make even the Devil himself want to scream. Everything seemed to move at the same indolent speed - the bugs, the horses, even the wind fell prey to the leisurely, cumbersome drawl that the heat draped about the air.

Very much unlike the vibrant and bustling life of the London streets you were accustomed to.

Still, James seemed determined to keep himself...busy. Your brother - a twin in appearance only - seemed to be the fastest moving object in a 10-kilometer radius. Without having to look up from your needle and thread, you could feel the frustration radiating from him, if the incessant scratching of pen against paper was any tell. It was hard to focus on your cross-stitching when you could hear each and every exasperated sigh that escaped his chest as he toiled away over his paperwork. The trip into Valentine from your temporary residence - your Father’s old hunting lodge in the middle of the woods - was a long one and it didn’t take him more than a moment in the carriage before popping open his briefcase and setting to work.

You finally dared to pull away from your tiny woodland creatures, pausing in the middle of a stitch to glance up at James; the sight of him just about destroyed you. Anyone could tell by the crease in his brow and the squint in his eye how entirely miffed he was becoming. It didn’t take someone who knew him well to see how strained his patience had become over the past three months.

He had every right to be upset, you supposed - nothing had been going right since Father had sent him over here. More caravans were hit last month than ever before and each town's local law seemed to be utterly worthless when it came to capturing the guilty. Each day, he would implore for justice to be served, but even that task seemed slowed by the overbearing heat.

It was a monumental endeavor, that was for certain, and one you weren’t entirely sure he was up for. James was a kind, well-meaning man, and never meant any harm to anyone. He would be eaten alive out here, and both you and Father knew it. Father had hoped that it would harden James, stiffen his spine and let him be more confident - both in himself and the legacy he was soon to inherit. The oil portion of the Wilson dynasty would fall to him when your father, Obadiah Wilson, passed - and James was never one to be shown up by your two older brothers, Julian and Peter. Hundreds of years of hard work, blood, sweat, and tears defined the men of the Wilson family.

But James was never what one would call "business savvy" - quite the opposite, in fact. Julian always fondly referred to the youngest male of the family as "the black sheep served rare with a rum sauce" once and you had to admit: it was rather spot on. James was better suited for charming those around him, to drinking and singing and being merry. He liked people, terrible drink, gambling and, most of all, being alive. He had disclosed to you that he was terrified that he would be killed over some sort of business dispute - though he would never admit it fully to anyone else, least of all to Father. However, most of all, he feared he would fail the endeavor entirely - bankrupt their oil shares and have to sail back to England with his tail between his legs.

But someone had to make this sacrifice. With Father busy with the expansion in Africa and the Middle East, it was up to James to see the development of Oil in America. Revenue was tumbling and news of ransacked deliveries being attacked flooded in a few days before Father booked James passage on the first ship out of London. It was up to the heir to figure out who was hitting the trade routes your father had established and put a stop to it. Someone had to travel across the pond and protect the family's investments while also securing even more oil fields to begin earning back the revenue lost from the raids. Someone had to put their neck on the line to show these bloody American outlaws that the Wilson family - your family - was not to be trifled with. And as the heir and future owner of the Wilson & Sons Oil Company, it had to be James.

But James didn't have the stones for all this.

You were here to keep an eye on the ever-deteriorating mental state of your brother - much to his relief. Though you were doing less gallivanting than you had originally expected - in fact, it was more like crawling along and waiting for something to happen. But you would endure, for James’s sake.

The scratching stopped as James lifted his head, catching you as you stared at him. You maintained your gaze, refusing to break first. It was painful to see the bags under his eyes, the wrinkles that were already starting to grace his forehead and the crow’s feet that had begun to dot his temples. You watched as a strained smile crossed his lips, causing the curls of his mustache to tickle his nostrils. Your eyes narrowed and your brow quirked; you refused to break eye contact first and this caused him to falter and his smile to weaken. Unsurprisingly, he relented, eyes falling to his hands before traveling out the window to the expanse of field and dust that had become synonymous with The Heartlands. The ensuing silence sat in that cart for a long time, but the mood finally lightened as he focused instead on something other than paperwork and the ever-looming threat of failure.

“Read this over for me, would you?”

“Of course.” Without hesitation, you abandoned your cross-stitch in the seat beside you as you reached over and took the document from him. With a groan, James sat back and immediately tugged at the black-tie around his neck, returning his attention to the passing scenery.

Even with your quick glance, you could see the wistfulness in your brother’s expression. The fields surrounding Valentine were plain, but they held their own tiny hint of charm. The local fauna lazily glanced your way from the hills above, staring at the carriage as if they knew the two of you didn’t belong on this land. You saw them bound off to safety, and you felt in your heart that James wished to do the same. You both did.

It was hard not to long for home, missing it every second of every day. You longed for the family's estate, it’s imposing presence that teemed with the tell-tale signs of life. The hunting lodge was so...empty without your parents presence and you found yourself pining for them more and more. You missed the tiny facets that seemed so far away now: the sound of women’s laughter as your Mother entertained guests in the drawing-room or passing by the study to hear your Father and brothers discuss business over coffee or brandy. Still, some of the amenities of the Wilson Estate followed you over the Atlantic, allowing you - at least - a little bit of the comforts of home: the soft singing of the housekeeper, Miss Winifred, as she moved about her duties; the quick footsteps of your butler, Mr. Kapoor, who always dazzled you and James stories of his home back in Kheda. You were especially grateful for Monsieur and Madame Giroux, the cooks. They were more like grandparents to you when you were growing up, and had a habit of disobeying the will of your Mother and Father to offer you and your siblings a special treat of toast and preserves when you had been sent to bed without supper.

“C’est notre petit secret, d’accord?”

But your Mother and Father? Them, you missed the most. They loved and doted on your every need - seeing that you got the finest education money could offer. While James lived for the more...extracurricular activities, you soaked up each and every lesson a college education could offer a woman. It was partially the reason you had even decided to make this journey with him. You didn’t leave much room for discussion, packing your bags and leaving behind your luxurious home, a respectable fiance, and the only life you had ever known to go gallivanting against the “Wild, Wild West”, as it were, in the search of even more reliable sources of oil.

Because James was the twin with personality, but you had the brains behind it all.

Still, longing for things didn’t make them come true. With a heavy heart, you turned back to the document and let your mind focus on the words. It was a request to the US Government - James was trying to acquire the rights to drill somewhere further South. This struck you as odd, as the entire plan had been to go out West, expanding further inland through untapped reserves in hopes of establishing oil rights on land that wasn’t yet owned but was being cleared for civilization. It's what he had been doing for most of the month - organizing groups to travel all over the West to test for oil, to scout out new and better opportunities to expand the drilling.

You reached up to rub your temple, brow furrowing as you read further on. “What’s this about heading south?”

“It’s just an idea,” James answered, still focused on the tumbleweeds and dust outside the carriage.

The south was all but claimed. Trying to set up stakes there would be difficult, nay impossible. He would be encroaching and metaphorically butting heads with the Oil Magnates who had been there long before you had even been born. This didn’t make any sense - this wasn’t the plan he and Father had discussed. What even was south? You plucked the map from his side of the carriage and spread it across your lap. If he truly planned to travel further south, he would be heading into and rubbing against the land owned by…

“Leviticus Cornwall.” You didn’t bother hiding your disapproval, eyeing your brother from over the paper. “Have you gone absolutely mad?”

“My dearest sister, whatever do you mean?” James blinked once and pursed his lips together. It had worked in his favor with Mother when you were little, but it hardly put a dent in your glare.

“Would you like me to list all the reasons why going after land owned by Leviticus Cornwall is a terrible idea?”

“Even if I said no, I’m sure you would ignore me and do it anyway.” James rolled his eyes in a dramatic manner. He did it because he knew it annoyed you and he was right. He extended his hand for the document, but you refused to budge. Instead, he turned his attention behind you. “Matthew!”

You glanced over your shoulder, looking out through the tiny window and up into the kind face of the driver, Matthew Blatt. He had become a fast friend when you arrived in America. A former military man, he signed on early as a driver and escort. He was all pink and blotchy from the sun, his tiny wicker hat doing little to block the heat and rays. At the sound of his name, he turned to give your brother a smile and a nod. “Yessir?”

“How far off are we to Valentine, my good man?”

“Not much longer now, I reckon. Horses're makin' good time, givin' the damned heat, 'course.”

“That’s what I like to hear! Give me my letter back.”

He motioned again for the paper, trying to make a grab for it. You leaned back, making sure to press it to your chest to keep it out of reach. “Father said that we were to head further west. Not south. South is already owned and we do not have the standing to try and push for-”

“Yes, yes.” He waved you off, eyeing the letter. You gripped it tighter. “But I have a good feeling about the South. South is where the Oil is. You agree with me, don't you, Matthew?"

The driver let out a huff through the nose, which you had come to recognize as the older man's version of laughing. "Yessir."

"See, dear sister? Matthew agrees with me. Like I said: I have a good feeling."

You were all too familiar with the knot in your stomach and the throb in your head - they were never too far behind when James had a “good feeling”. They were never “good feelings”, as “good” would imply that they worked out in his favor and didn’t backfire on him in the worst ways possible. Which they always seemed to do. You wanted to inform him of this fact - remind him of the good feeling he had when he tried to sneak into a ball for Queen Victoria to see if the cakes were truly as good as he had remembered. Or the good feeling he had when he had fallen madly in love with the favorite daughter of one of Father’s long-time business partners and life -long friends during a summer trip to Paris and had nearly convinced her to elope with him under the Eiffel Tower. Or when he nearly lost your cat eight glasses of whiskey deep in a card game by promising the card shark that the poor creature once belonged to an Arabic prince.

You remembered at that moment that you were still quite bitter that he thought Mr. Albert was only worth ten bloody pounds.

You nearly hissed as you shoved the paper back to him, making sure to crumble it in the process. “South is where your grave will be,” you snapped, snatching your cross stitching up and settling back into your work, intent on ignoring your brother and focusing on the woodland scene in your hands.

Twins in appearance only.

James laughed, a snicker hidden behind a glove. “We shall see. I have already written to Father about our-"

"Your."

"Our change of plans. With luck, he’ll respond by the end of the week and we can-”

“He’ll say no.” You tugged harshly on the thread, tightening it more than you should have and creasing the fabric. The buck’s eyes were now entirely uneven, which only made your mood fouler. “The plan was to go west.”

“They haven’t found anything out there yet. We have had men out there searching for months and they’ve turned up nothing.”

“It’s still too early to tell. This is a big country and it could take months to find anything substantial to start production.”

“I don’t want this to take months!" James whined, sinking lower in his seat. "I want to be out of this godforsaken country. There is nothing here but dirt and regret and I, for one, am entirely bored of it.”

“You think you’re the only one?” Your head snapped up so quickly, it was surprising it didn't break off your neck and slam into poor Mr. Blatt's back. "This country is Hell on Earth and we both have left things back home, James."

“You left on your own volition, my dear sister. Don’t forget: I was there when Baptiste was practically begging you to stay home.”

...Why did he have to bring him up? Why did he have to take that knife and stab it in your chest? The distance was already too much and the letters were doing little to ease the pain of it all. You had resolved early on not to think about your fiance, Baptiste. Even so, when things were quiet at night and you were wondering if all of this running around and throwing yourselves in the middle of a land feud was worth it, you thought of him.

Baptiste was a handsome man from a well off family of vintners in France; their wineries were quickly becoming a household name all over Europe and would no doubt stretch even here - now that Baptiste was taking ownership. He was so kind, so gentle, and so incredibly intelligent. A man that held such a high level of charm and poise, only true gentlemen could ever dream of achieving it. His voice was as smooth as silk and his touch was as light as he made you feel when his fingers met your skin.

And you were absolutely smitten with him.

He always supported you - no matter what silly endeavors you wanted to pursue. Most men would be put off by the sort of role you took with your father and brothers’ companies. But not Baptiste. He found it admirable, even called you powerful once. "It's your strength that makes me swoon," he had said once, under his breath between kisses. "Why would I want to change that?"

But when he had heard you were making the journey to the states, he was all but heartbroken. It was the only time he had asked you if you were sure of something, that he even humored the idea of asking you to reconsider. "Do you have to go?" He asked, watching you flit about the room. "Can't James do this on his own?"

He knew all too well what James was doing was dangerous, and he knew that you would ultimately be pulled in to the middle of it all. You could see the fear in his face, the terror causing his green eyes to turn red.

It was only a few months before you were to be married on his family’s vineyard in Bordeaux - and here you were, in the middle of some nowhere livestock town called Valentine, cross-stitching deer and trees and trying to keep your brother from being shot in the back. But you would never leave James twisting in the wind, and Baptiste knew that. He watched you as you finished packing your final suitcase, waiting for only a moment before taking your hand. He gave you a chaste, soft kiss before whispering, “Write to me? Everyday?”

And you promised him that, with tears in your eyes and his lips against your skin to kiss each drop away.

You glanced up, red eyes already narrowed and your mouth open to argue - when something outside the window cut your voice short: A steadily growing black mass that was soon followed by the sound of a stampede with an underlying chorus of men yelling and hollering. For a moment, you found it hard to speak, hard to process a thought aside from wondering briefly what that ever-growing thing meant. But before your brain could come to terms with anything, the sound of a gunshot immediately drew your voice out in a shrill scream.

James lurched forward and into your lap, letting out a yell as he threw his hand up to cover his left shoulder. You had little choice but to catch him, wrapping your arms around him and pulling both of you down onto the floor. You heard Mr. Blatt let out a shout and the horses cry out in fear. "We got O'Driscolls!!"

In a beat, the once calm scene outside the carriage had become a mess of blacks and green. The whoops and hollers of men quickly surrounded the carriage, creeping in all around, pressing the walls down on you. It was enough to instill the fear of God, overwhelming both emotions and senses. You smelled the gunpowder of the rifles, it burned at your nose and made your eyes water. You were familiar with that acrid scent. But there was something under it - bitter and metallic and...and…

“I...I think I’ve been shot.”

It took a moment for everything to catch up. You knew you what you had smelled - it was enough to punch your stomach down to your feet. But your shaking hands didn’t move to do much of anything. You looked down at James, the quickly growing and irrevocably ugly black shadow on his back pulled your attention straight to it. Your fingers pull back - they were stained red. Blood...blood. Your eyes widened as you looked at Mr. Blatt, “Hurry! We should almost be to-”

Another gunshot. You immediately knew you shouldn’t have moved. You had never seen a man shot, nor had you ever seen a man shot in the head. The image of the ever-kind Mr. Blatt lurching back and slumping to the side of the seat will haunt you until the day you die. The feeling of something wet and...gritty covering your face was all but forgotten as you watched the corpse fall back, chest pointed up towards the sky. Whoever these men were, it became painfully clear that they didn't mean to leave any witnesses.

Okay. Stay calm. You had no means to defend yourself. James was turning pale and Mr. Blatt was dead. You could hear the whoops and hollers as the men drew closer. Just...stay calm. “What do I do?” You frantically looked around the carriage, trying to find something - anything - to defend yourself.

You winced when James called your name. “I...I don’t feel very good.”

“It’s...it’s going to be alright, James. We’ll be alright, just...just stay calm and…”

Your eyes fell on the belt around Mr. Blatt's waist and - as if the Angels themselves were showing you the way - a flash of silver. A gun. The poor dead man's revolver. That...that was it. If you were going to save both your skins you had to move, and quickly. Without a second thought, you grabbed at the black fabric if your skirt. With one good tug, it tore away from the rest of your garment, leaving you with enough to try to stop James from bleeding out. You pressed the fabric to his back and urged his good hand to hold it as best as he could.

Once satisfied he had a good enough grip, you nodded - it would have to do until you could get him to an actual doctor. Now...the belt. You twisted, reaching through the window and around Mr. Blatt's waist. You flinched only once as a bullet ricocheted off the wood and sent splinters flying through the air - but you steel your resolve and make quick work of the buckle.

"What...what are you doing?" James let out a groan, watching with a weakened gaze as you tugged the heavy leather through the tiny window and yanked the revolver from its holster. You opened the chamber, counting six of the seven bullet...holder...things filled.

"How do I fire it?" You asked, closing the wheel and looking it over. You just had to scare them off.

James stared, incredulously. He shook his head, eyes wide and terrified. "No...no! You don't mean to tell me-"

"James Edwards!!" You scream, glaring at him as you shakily hold the gun. "If you do not tell me how to fire this gun this instant, I will shoot you myself - do I make myself clear!?"

He didn't bother to hide the hesitation on his face. "Cock...cock back the lever. Aim for the horses - you won't be able to hit the riders."

You did as instructed, the tremble of your hands making it hard but your thumb found purchase. You just wanted to stop them or scare the horses enough to buck them off. You don't have to kill anyone.

The window to your left was closest. You glanced out, seeing 3 men with green bandanas covering their mouths, riding along the flank of the carriage. One man made eye contact with you and before you had time to rethink your plan, you aimed in the general vicinity of the large beast beneath him. The kickback of the shot was enough to nearly dislocate your shoulder and the pain shot up your arm and settled in your neck. But you could hear the cry of pain from the horse and a shout from a man. No. Not just one man. Two. You looked back out the window, seeing two men and two horses left in the dust as your carriage continued to barrel down the dirt path.

You...you might actually be able to do this; the thought of you being able to survive this all is enough to spur you into another action. You take another breath and turn to James, "What do I do now!?"

“Pull the lever back to load another- AH!”

You ducked down as a bullet passes through the carriage, drawing a swear out of both you and James. He called out your name, reaching for you and the gun - but you grabbed it before his fingers brushed against the grip. “Stay down!” you snarled, pulling back the lever as instructed. You tried to aim, tried to take down the other horse, but the man took a shot at you as well. For a moment, your life flashed before your eyes, and you had just enough forethought to duck back under your makeshift shelter of a bullet-riddled door. “Shit!!”

You had four rounds left - you knew how to do the math. With five men - perhaps more waiting up at the crossroads before Valentine - you were at a sharply growing disadvantage that didn’t seem to be changing its route anytime soon. The thought made the tears prick at your eyes as your mind raced to find a solution. Perhaps if you could just...hold them off for as long as possible? Time your shots to keep them from taking out too much of the carriage before you could be in town proper. The people would scare them off, right? Surely the law would?

...Right?

You glanced at James - and the sight of him nearly froze you in your place. He was curled, gripping his shoulder weakly and taking slow and shallow breaths. His eyes were clenched tightly...and you heard him muttering. “One...two...three...four-” He was counting. That fact alone made you want to reach out and grab his shoulder, assure him everything was going to be okay. “...five...six…s-seven...eight...n...nine...fuck...shit…I don’t...”

No. No, you were not going to risk his life on the chance that the Law of Valentine would finally decide to jump up and do their job. After a deep breath, you crawled over him and looked out the right window. A speckled white horse appeared first; with little hesitation, you took aim and shot. The blood splattered everywhere, you couldn’t watch as the wounded animal fell to the ground, taking the rider out with it.

“Kill that damn bitch!!!” One of the riders screamed, taking aim for you directly.

A gunshot fired. You ducked down, covering your head for the spray of wood...but none came. Did they miss you? Were you dead? You didn’t pull the trigger. Quickly, you poked your head out. You sit bewildered as the man who had aimed at you went down, slumping forward on his horse before falling under its feet. If you didn't fire the shot and the rest of the men hadn't decided to commit treason...who had killed him? The hope wanted to pull through, to lift your spirits - but confusion’s grip held tight. Another shot - this time, you’re able to trace its source.

The way the sun posed behind the hill, he looked like an angel of God descending from the heavens. For a brief moment, you found it amusing that this was almost too picturesque - a hero flying down from on high to rescue those in distress. Someone was certainly looking out for you in that moment. Your heart hammered in your ears and you were too tired to stop yourself from gawking as a man on a golden horse took another shot - another rider fell, his horse dragging his corpse in the dirt below.

While it was hard to make out his features, you saw the tan coat around the savior’s shoulders; the black of the hat topped on his head shadowed his brow but you swore you saw the fire in his eyes as he readied another shot. And it was easy to understand what this mysterious stranger was doing:

Saving your god damn lives.

The prospect of having someone on your side now lit the fire under you; if he would cover the right, you could hopefully take out the remaining man on the left side. James grabbed the hem of your skirt, mumbling your name. "Wha...what the hell is going on?"

“Someone’s helping us.”

There was a pause before James seemed to register what you said. His head snapped up, looking at you with pained perplexion. “Please...please tell me...it’s the...sheriff?”

“Well, it’s not like he gave me his bloody calling card, James!”

You didn’t elaborate, stepping over your brother’s wounded form once more pressing against the left side of the carriage. If you remembered right, only one man remained on this side. Hazarding a glance, you dared to slip up and glance out the window. He was close now, his horse racing alongside what was left of the stained wood. Your throat tightened as you realized his hand was outstretched, reaching out for the door or to you - more than likely whichever he found purchase with first. Purely panicked, you let out a yell and took a shot.

“Sonuvobitch!”

You tasted blood in your mouth, metallic and bitter, that lingered far too long. But the man recoiled and threw his hand in the air...or rather, what was left of it. You stared, awestruck, as your brain suddenly registered that the revolver had blown the man’s appendage clean off. The horror of it all was not lost on you, but you couldn’t help but feel...relieved. If he didn’t have a hand, he couldn’t use a gun, right?

Still, his ability to properly use the rifle on his back was forgotten as the horse let out a whinny, pulled off and away, moved away from your carriage. His screaming hadn’t stopped, growing more and more desperate and terrified as the minutes passed. After the raider was a few meters behind you, he rolled, falling off his horse and was quickly left in the dust.

The weight of what happened hit you, harder than you expected. With a sigh, you collapsed to your knees and let the pistol rest in your lap. You didn’t realize you were gasping until you felt a familiar hand settle over yours. You paused, swallowing thickly - but resolved to give James a shaky smile. “We...we have to figure out how to stop the horses.”

“Are they all...dead?” he asked, trying to lift himself up. The bleeding was worse. His side was sticky with blood.

“I...I think so. I’m not sure, the man seemed to be making shor-”

A thud from above interrupted you, the carriage rocked and lifted up on two wheels before slamming back down onto the ground. You gasped, reaching again for the pistol. You aimed it up towards the ceiling, pulled back on the lever, squeezed the trigger and…

Click.

Your heart sank. You tried the trigger once, twice, three more times.

Click! Click! Click!!

“...the blasted thing is jammed!” You hissed, and James met your horrified expression.

“What do you mean it’s jammed!? Revolvers don’t jam!”

“Well, this one bloody did!!”

The footsteps moved and from the box, a thick figure slid into place, taking hold of the reigns. You felt the lurch as the horses dug their hooves into the dirt and mud, slowing the carriage until it settled in the heat and dust.

“That’s a girl...easy now.”

The voice was gruff, deep and low in the chest. You twisted, catching sight just in time to see whoever the man was, stand up but - spied only dark pants. The clink of spurs made your hair stand on end as he climbed down from the perch. No. No, no, no. Is this the man that was trying to rescue you? Was this him? Or was it one of the bandits finally trying to collect for all their hard work?

“Stay down.” You gathered yourself quickly.

It wasn’t up for debate, though as you stood and put yourself between your wounded brother and the door, James seemed insistent on trying to stop you. “What are you-”

The footsteps made their way around the side. You took a deep steady breath - with any luck, whoever it was hadn’t heard that the revolver in your hands was practically worthless. You could probably frighten him off - worst-case scenario, you gave James enough time to make a run for it.

The door opened suddenly, causing you to jump and your aim to waver for only a moment. Light flooded into the dark, bullet-riddled carriage. It took your eyes a moment to adjust, but once they did you found yourself staring down at a tall, stocky man in a black hat. The same black hat you had seen before. His blue eyes glanced back and forth as his hands slowly rose in the air. “Ah, ma’am, I mean you no harm.”

“Who are you?” You tried to keep your voice steady, low to appear more confident than you felt. Something was better than nothing, right?

His drawl was slow and you weren’t sure if it was because he was trying to gauge the situation, size you up, or consider your mental well being. “Jus’ a stranger.” He answered after another minute of silent deliberation. “I was makin’ my way down to town when I saw your carriage gettin’ attacked.”

“So you just decided to throw yourself into danger...is that just something you do to pass the time then?”

This statement amused him. He let out a laugh, shrugging and ducking his head close to his shoulders. “Yeah,” He sighed, “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

...He didn’t seem like he was going to hurt you. That was good at least. You lowered the gun, just a little. Your eyes narrowed and your lips thinned as you looked him over. Apparently, he took this as a sign of good faith, lowering his hands. His eyes continued to look you over, taking in your ripped dress, blood-covered face, and shaking hands.

“...I still have a bullet in my shoulder.”

The new voice caught the man by surprise. His brows rose and he tilted his body ever so slightly to catch the pitiful form of James lying in a heap on the ground. Still, ever the charmer, James gave him a grin. “Please, take a breather. Don’t want to rush anyone on my account.”

“Ah, shit…” The man shook his head, turning his attention back to you. “I’ll ride yah folk into town. There’s a doctor there, he’ll be able to help you.”

You moved to kneel by James, lifting him up and pulling the black fabric away from his shoulder to inspect. You looked at the man again, nodding urgently. “Please. Please, thank you!”

“Don’ mention it.” And with a grunt, he slammed the door shut and climbed back up into the driver’s seat. “Don’ worry,” He called back to you after getting the horses back up to a gallop. “We ain’ that far out from Valentine!”

The bleeding hadn’t stopped. James was about as white as lamb’s wool and you heard the labor of his breathing. “If you die, James Edwards, I will make my way down to Hell myself and kill you all over again.”

He laughed, wheezing and nodding all the way. “Oh, how comforting.”

Still, he never lets go of your hand. You gave it a strong squeeze, pulling him towards you to rest his head on your shoulder. He’s going to live. God willing, he’ll live through this and a hundred years more. “Do your counting, James. In French this time.”

“I...I hate to do it in…”

“I know. Ready?”

He sighed heavily. “Un...deux...trois…”

He counted forwards...then backward. You listened, muttering along with him for a moment before you glanced over your shoulder and through the tiny window looking up into the driver’s box. The man’s shoulders were slumped and, aside from the whipping of the reigns, he stayed entirely still. “Sir!” You called up to him. “I apologize, but...you never told me your name!”

For a moment, you thought he didn’t hear you as he sat quietly for a moment. Just when you were about to call out again, he leaned back.

“Arthur. Arthur Morgan.”

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jamiebluewind · 4 years

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Charatcter Descriptions and Summary 2.15

This is the "short" version of descriptions. I have a much MUCH longer one with lots of quotes that I might have to split up to fit. As always, let me know if I need to edit or add anything and tag/ask/PM me about art and stories so I can check them out!

Warning: multiple blood mentions, torture, imprisonment, violence, stabbing, gun violence, canon typical violence, injuries, burns, homophobia and bigotry, gore mention, horror (including body horror), beheading, violence against animals, 69 mention, and disrespecting a mummy

***

Bad Kids

Fabian

Fandrangor stats: +2 to attack and damage. Finesse, one handed. 1d8 piercing. Burn a spell slot on a sucessful hit to add an extra d6 of damage per level.

Wrapped Alistair's foot in his sheet to trip and flip him up before deeply stabbing him in the abdomen

Held his sheet out to further protect Adaine.

Slashed Dayne with a reposte (while also burning a 1st level spell slot on his sword) as he yelled "Toxic masculinity is dead! I dance now!"

Closed in on Penelope using an athletics check that involved jumping and running across the deck. His mobile flourish pushed her to the edge of the deck before he kicked her off the ship.

Took out Alistair and Penelope (details in their section)

Stood at the helm after Bill fell off, turning the ship over due to the gravity being off

Riz

Hissed at Vraz

Got so sweaty and nervous over a terrible line ("You attacked the wrong guy!") that he missed the greesers

Shot Dayne from hiding while saying "You missed spring break" before hiding again (Fabian responding "Classic The Ball. Always shooting from hiding").

Had no clue where his father actually was, telling Bill the little thathe knew.

Got sleepy while he was hiding

Was shot out of the cannon and blasted off into the city (taking some damage). Shouted "I'm the ball!" as he flew away before smashing through a dark red and black stained glass window 200 feet below the ship, tumbling into a strangly familiar building. The room was empty due to all the devils hearing the alarms and fleeing. He rushed down a familar dark hallway.

Witnessed his father being tortured and saying that he didn't care about his son, but still misty steped into the room with the unconscious Pok the minute the devils left.

Tried to scoop his dad up into his Briefcase of Holding, but the two barbed devils came back (snarling as they saw him), one grabbing his briefcase and the other grappling Riz to restrain him. He kept trying to save Pok anyway even while restrained and fought against the devils over his briefcase (see Pok area for more)

Kristen

Rolled up sleeves over Daybreak attacking Tracker

Walked up to Daybreak with anger in her veins (over him hurting Tracker), said "Hi Daybreak. It's so great to see you. I've been PRAYING FOR YOU!", and slammed her staff down, using distructive wave. Light radiated out of her as every enemy was hit but Penelope (due to Globe of Invulnerability) and Johnny Spells and took out 3 Scarecrows. She then spat on Daybreak which hisses on his cheek as he yelled "Ah! Love! Love wins!"

Was knocked out by Daybreak and was back in Silvar looking at a nice tree

Used a 4th level mass healing word before her and Tracker dimension doored away from Daybreak

Adaine

Arcane Hand works like a claw machine with a controler in her hands

While prone, shot a lightning bolt at Dayne, Penelope, and a Scarecrow (after counterspelling Penelope's counterspell). Took out the Scarecrow.

Hit Daybreak with a 4th level Cromatic Orb (cold damage).

Smacked Johnny's fire spell out of the air with a counterspell after calling him "a predator who didn't fuck" and then ignored Johnny completely to go after Daybreak by hitting him with a 4th level (cold) chromatic orb

Used Forceful Hand to grab Bill to keep him from falling (two of the devils stayed grapped to Bill)

Fig

Tried to shake Gilear awake

Fig The Unfaethable

Her insignia burned in her head when she used psionic blast (took out two Scarecrows)

Winked at Ayda

Used Healing Word on Kristen

Attacked Daybreak with Bombing Blade (adds bardic for extra and if he moves willinging before her next turn he takes thunder damage)

Took out Daybreak (details in his section)

Was tossed by Gorgug towards a plummeting Bill like a missile before backpacked onto Bill, snatching a scroll from Vraz's pocket (Vraz: No no no no no! / Bill: What's yours is ours.), and Dimension Dooring back to the ship with Bill.

Gorgug

Stood over Kristen's unconscious body to protect her

Used Reckless Attack twice on Daybreak, the first time dealing 50 damage and the second time ("I'm just so tired of you") another 48 damage.

Took out Dayne (details in his section) and two Scarecrows

Grabbed some holy oil to take with him to coat his weapon with.

***

Familiars and Companions

Boggy: Hit by Penelope's Cone of Cold which caused him to freeze, crack, and fall apart (can be brought back by Adaine)

Gaf: Made incorporial by Ayda to protect him/her/them during the battle

Baby: Was made invisible by Fig. Tried to pickpocket Vraz, but just got a scrap of some kind. Did a very indecent celebration dance while invisible (when Penelope was "killed").

Hangman: Freaked out over seeing Johnny before siding with Fabian. Leapt to attack Johnny Spells, but couldn't make it and settled for slamming into the greeser Sorching Ray. Frozen and knocked down by Penelope's Cone of Cold.

Hirelings and Partners

Tracker

Stayed behind on Goldenrod

Held up a hand with her holy symbol to summon Twilight Sanctuary (gives everyone a d8 of temp hit which they can choose to replace or keep each round).

Cast Beacon of Hope

Knocked out by Penelope's Cone of Cold (which also ended her two spells)

Hit Kristen with a max level cure wounds, yeling at everyone to look away as she jumped onto an unconscious Kristen who was lying between Gorgug's legs (Kristen started touching his leg thinking it's Tracker's). Everyone assumed they were 69ing, but Tracker actually just gave Kristen a very sweet kiss on the mouth and said "Double clerics baby. Nobody can keep us down for long."

Went into flying wolf form to catch Kristen when she fell off the ship.

Ragh

Took out two Scarecrows, goring one before tossed them the ship and spartan kicking the other off the deck.

Ran up to a prone Dayne chanting hoot growl and yelled "I've done a lot of shit in my life because of you asshole!" as he bodied into him (nat 20).

Walked up to Fabian and Gorgug crying after Dayne was killed.

Instigated a three way chest bump with Fabian and Gorgug, not noticing Adaine who was forced to duck ("Oh god! The jocks are being fiesty!")

Was yelled at by Daybreak which he used as an opportunity to confront Daybreak both verbally and physically.

Ayda

Cast a spell that poured out massive amounts of water over Avernus in an attempt to flood hell (in retaliation for them taking Fig) before checking on Fig

Touched both of Fig's arms as she checked if she was okay before casting Protection From Evil And Good on her.

Flew off Goldenrod to help Sandra Lynn protect the ship from incoming fire by throwing up abjurative wards, but came back and landed on the deck before the ship left Avernus.

Flew towards Daybreak and Penelope, teleporting multiple times per second to create a flickering group of 10 of her before slashing out with her talons to damage them both.

Cast clairvoyance to find Riz, pointing at the building he was in.

Used her portent to save Fabian when Goldenrod lost gravity (allowing him to hold on) before flying to catch Adaine.

Sandra Lynn

Left the Goldenrod to cover their tail, doing a swan dive off deck (which looked likes she flew up from the upside down deck) and landing on Baxter before knocking a teleportation missile out of sky with her arrow.

Smashed back down onto the deck with Baxter before healing a down Tracker (Kristen: Thank you Sandra Lynn!)

Hit Daybreak with arrows.

Jumped on Baxter when the ship lost gravity and went to help catch Kristen.

Gilear

Was immediately killed by Bill Seacaster who shot him in the chest.

Brought back by Kristen with 1 hp, a bleeding chest wound, and covered in cenders and fire

Was told by Gorgug (who stood in front of him) to lie on the ground

Hid in the golden sarcophagus (somehow lifting the massive lid to do so)

***

The Pirates

The Goldenrod

The still "living" transmogrified body of Kalvaxus turned into a flying ship against his will

Kalvaxus has to swallow down the cannon coming from his mouth to talk and turning always hurts him

Shot by Bill for calling himself a boat instead of a ship

Captained by Bill Seacaster, crewed by cender zombie pirates, and the flagship of Bill's rebel armada of dragon carcus ships

The ship has it's own gravity and can sail in any direction (including upside down), but the unsecured barrels on deck are a hazard during fast turns.

Able to breached through to Dis, Bill having some way to travel through the levels that the other devils couldn't find

Broadsided The Iron City, firing tons of gold, holy water, and saints finger bones wrapped in old parchment out of it's cannons.

Captain Bill Seacaster

An enormous devil with one cender eye, a devil bone hook, and a floating skull and crossbones insignia over his head

At the helm of Goldenrod after rescuing Riz, Fig, Gilear, Hangman, and Baby/Wretchrot (via being yanked up on rope ladders to the Goldenrod).

Part of his multi level marketing scheme was to have pirates steal holy relics for spell slots and then use the holy relics as ammo against other devils and their ships.

Shot Gilear throught the chest on sight

Got a chain wrapped around his neck by Kystrona

After Gilear was brought back to life by Kristen, he said nice things to Gilear and gave him a massive glowing sword (which was too big for Gilear to wield). The bad kids were all deeply confused by how quickly he went from one extreme to another.

Offered Kristen snuff powder

Ordered his crew to shoot Riz out of a cannon to "help" him look for Pok

As his hook hand was stabbing into one of the three devils he was fighting, he took a legendary action to shake his fist and yell "That's my darling boy!" over Fabian "killing" Penelope. He corrected himself to yell "He's his own his darling man boy!"

When the gravity on the Goldenrod was dispelled, he told Fabian to take the helm before letting go on purpose, taking the three other devils with him (rescued by Adaine and Fig).

Alistair Ash

An intern on the Goldenrod

Skull is cracked open like an egg with part of it fully missing. Inside the socket is roiling fire. His eyes are rotted out, the fire shining through his sockets.

Attacked Fabian exclusively due to being left behind by him

How he was finished off: Fabian stood up, his body very bloody and burned from the beating he's took. Fire enshrouded his sheet as he wrapped Alistair in it in order to spin him like a top. As Alistair twirled in the air, the Hangman hit him in a flash. As Alistair popped of the wheel of the Hangman, Fabian took out Fandrangor (which was rippling with his own inner light and magic) and pierced Alistair's ribcage up through his heart. Silver motes of light burst out of Alistair's mouth, "eyes", and the empty socket of his skull. Bill cried a single tear out of his non ember eye as he said "It be beau-ti-ful". Fabian told his father "I'm my own man now." to which Bill answered "The story keeps getting better!" Meanwhile, Alistair changed his opinion on Fabian, seeing him as chosen one and (since he had to die for Fabian to become who he was) himself as chosen in a way. Fabian asked if Chungle Down Bim was still alive, but Alistair only yelled "He's gonna shit in your mouth!" before being destroyed. One of the many bottles on Bill's belt filled with a red mist that was Alistair, now even more in debt to Bill with another 2000 gold added to his tab to bring him back in another form later.

Cinder Pirates

The crew of the Goldenrod, most (if not all) of which being victims of Bill's pyramid scheme

Assended from ropes to their respective ships after raiding The Bottomless Pit, yoinking up crates and boxes filled with treasure (like books and weaponry) as they went.

Loaded the cannons of The Goldenrod with holy relics, books, golden reliquaries, holy water, and even the body of a dead saint (who was unceremoniously dumped out of his golden sarcophagus). All the relics almost looked like they were from other worlds.

Bill doesn't do the best job putting his followers back together, so most are in worse shape than Alistair. One was missing his entire jaw!

Most were finished off by Penelope's Cone of Cold

***

Bill's Pursuers

Devil Crafts

Iron zeppelins piloted by devils in pursuit of Seacaster.

Shoot ground to air missiles that shot spinning pentagrams of fire teleportation that glowed when they hit, teleporting in reinforcements.

Vraz The Mean, Lorzug The Impaled, and Kystrona The Chained

All appeared through a dimension door at the helm of the ship before the three devils began fighting Bill.

Vraz (after Fig denied a direct order) released all warlocks under Gortholax by making all his contracts null and void.

All of them (including Bill) do tramendous amounts of fire and poison damage, but all of them (including Bill) are immune to fire and poison, so the fight devolved into a bunch of very dangerous people who can't hurt each other just slapping the hell out of each other.

***

Greesers

Johnny Spells

Appeared via teleportation missile with his crew

Roiling in flame with veins glowing in a red light, using a snap comb to brush his hair back and wearing a black leather jacket with a clean white tee.

Hit Fabian with Ray of Fire and then was IMMEDIATELY tossed off the starboard side of the ship by Adaine using her Arcane Hand.

Was saved by Kystrona (via animate chain) before he fell to his "death"

Spent an entire turn to get back on the ship only to have his fire spell dismissed by Adaine.

How he was finished off: Flew off the ship (again) when it lost gravity, saying "No! I had stuff. I had plans. I had-" as he fell to his "death".

Johnny's Crew

Six teiflings greasers who appeared via teleportation missile wearing black leather jackets with clean white tees.

Two trampled over a dead Gilear to get to the teens.

How they were finished off: One was gored by Ragh before being tossed off the ship, one was spartan kicked off the deck by Ragh, two were killed by Gorgug, and two were destroyed by Fig's psionic blast

***

Harvestmen & Friends

Penelope Everpetal

Got to Goldenrod via teleportation missile with Dayne, Daybreak, and four Scarecrow Harvestmen.

Had sunken deep pools of darkness for eyes. She wore a burnt prom queen dress. Jagged shards of metal were stabbed into her skull like a crown (which caused blood to trickle down).

Was protected from magic most of the fight due to casting Globe Of Invulnerability

Stepped forward with a corny line ("Oh I'm so sorry guys. It's time to chill out.") before casting Cone of Cold which took out Tracker, Boggy, Hangman, and most of Bill's crew.

Was knocked off the ship by Fabian and fell down into the sky over the Iron City of Dis, shreaking and wailing as she went. Saved herself by using Misty Step to get back to the ship.

How she was finished off...

Penelope: *appeared in a twirl of magic and hit Fabian with a Firebolt, knocking him down to 4HP* I'm so sorry that you had like... some sort of collapse and appear to be fighting with a blanket now, but I just wanna tell you something. We are gonna drag you and all your shitty stupid little- what? Bad kid friends to hell. Forever.

Fig: I actually already live here. I'm an arch devil.

Fabian: Yeah! Did you hear that? She already lives here!

Kalvaxus: Again if we [re con noise] it later. This fight seems mostly lost. Use reason!

Penelope: Now. It's time for you to go bye bye Fabian *starts casting another spell*

Fabian: (crit, mobile florish, plus 2nd level spell slot with Fandrangor) *throws up his sheet so it blocks her field of vision (like how people trick their pets) and then grabs her and tango swing dancing spins her off the ship as she yells and is destroyed as motes of silver light shoot out*

Dayne Blade

Burning ember flaming vains with a hellish gleam to his eyes

Doesn't know how long he's been there

How he was finished: Begged Gorgug to not "kill" him due to him being an Owlbear, but was ignored. He tried once more, saying "Dude dude dude we're both Owlbears!" but Gorgug simply answered "You're not an Owlbear anymore" before he chopped off Dayne head. Gorgug then pretended his head was a ball and that he was going for a pass.

Coach Daybreak

Burning ember flaming vains with a hellish gleam to his eyes, a whistle, a silvered halberd, and regenerating health

Aggressively targeted Tracker and Kristen (even as Gorgug literally stood over Kristen) and knocked Kristen out at one point

Yelled "No!" while flames shot out of his ears at the thought of ending toxic masculinity

Freaked out over Gorgug being an Owlbrear

Not a true devil, just a soul trapped in hell that was powerful enough in life to fight for the devils, punished to never understand why he was there (Brennan "He cannot find peace, but he can find you").

How he was finished: Daybreak shouted "I'm gonna kill you all. All of you deserve to be here, not me. I was a holy man! *points to Fig* YOU ARE A LITERAL ARCH DEVIL!" Fig answered "Yeah bitch it's fun!" before she used a 4th level psionic blast on him. He screamed as he was knocked off the ship and eviscerated by both Fig's psionic blast and the after effects of her booming blade* (Fig also steals his visage)

Scarecrow Men

The transfigured bodies of four former harvestmen who died

Burnt charred skin, flannel button up shirts, and heads of burlap sacks with scarcrow eyes, which were slightly aflame

How they were finished off: one was killed by Adaine's lightning bolt and the other three were gone in a flash of light by Kristen's destructive wave

***

Dis and Pok

Iron City of Dis

Choking smoke and freezing rain

Endless sprawling cast iron metropolis of dread, misery, and torture

Alarms (clacksaws I think Brennan said?) rang as the devils shouted "It's Seacaster!"

The city was lit up by Goldenrod (while the other ships in the armada caught up)

Building Holding Pok

At least one dark red and black stained glass window (which Riz crashed through). The room within was empty due to all the devils hearing the alarms and fleeing.

Dark hallway leading to a light coming out from under a closed doorway. A slightly ajar door was next to it and a possible third door with steal thrones was next to that. The slightly ajar door had a somewhat reflective marble wall (where a reflection of Pok could be seen from the hall) and a two way mirror that showed an interrogation room.

Pok

A goblin who was strapped to a chair and had a swolen eye. A pit fiend also splashed acid in his face

Was interrogated by a pit fiend flanked by two barbed devils

Kept a good poker face around the devils, at one point was snarling and growling as he had (what appeared to be) a goblinoid frenzy come over him

Was lacerated by barbed whips handled by the barbed devils until he collapsed, asking why he was there as he coughed up blood and appeared to go unconscious.

Shot both barbed devils in the head with his gun (which he picked off of Riz) as they were restraining Riz

Reached up and slapped his right ear to call for an extraction as a halo appeared behind his head. He reached out to grab Riz (Kid, I can't believe you made it here) before a beam of celestial light smashed through the ceiling. He confirmed that he was an undercover angel before raising his fist up in a superman pose as the beam made a loud sound and took the pair away.

***

Questions and Thoughts

How does Lorzug move, much less fight?

Fig shouldn't have told Vraz to eat her ass. She might have taken her up on it and tried to take a bite out of her ass. O_O

What IS a potentate?

How will Fig use her warlock abilities after being released? Was her insignia burning in her forehead how she's still able to do it?

Is Dayne's curse to never know how long he's been there?

How short is Adaine that our three Owlbears (all over 6 feet tall) didn't notice her when they went in for a three way chest bump?

Destructive Wave is the power of pissed off protective girlfriend energy.

When Kristen was knocked out, she was back in Silvar looking at a nice tree. Possible connection to the unknown goddess?

Adaine still has Johnny's warlock switchblade comb.

Will we get updated Pok art now?

Where is Riz now and how will he get back in time? Was this Kalina's plan all along (blow Pok's cover and delay the party longer to give them more of a lead)?

I am well aware that I spelled Alistair several different ways because I have no clue how to spell it and don't have it on my list of how I might spell it.

Please somebody teach Bill how to not suck at making bodies. I mean, I'm over here feeling sorry for those cinder zombies and between the crippling debt and unpaid internships, he could at LEAST give them working bodies with jaws and stuff.

Really paying attention made the 69 scene so much funnier and makes Ayda's confusion over it being a sex act so much more priceless. The couple was fully clothed, Kristen caressed Gorgug's leg while she was unconscious and being healed by Tracker, and (according to Brennan) Tracker just gave Kristen a sweet kiss. Part of me wonders if Tracker was messing with the group while Kristen came to thinking something dirty happened and just went with it, the other teens too inexperienced to know otherwise (save Ayda who must be so confused! XD).

The uselessness of Johnny Spells was one of my favorite parts of the stream.

Anybody else super happy Bill was so supportive of Fabian coming into his own, being supportive of his friends, and embracing dance?

Bill/Vraz. Nuff said.

31 notes · View notes

carewyncromwell · 4 years

Photo

Next installation of the POTC AU, at long last! Sorry for the delay...RL has been a bit of a hindrance, and I also had to kind of restructure some things in the storyline to help with flow and such, and that resulted in me having to draw another drawing, and yeah, blah blah, Tory lost her sense of rhythm and pretty much daily update schedule in the process. XD; Mea culpa!

In this part, we’ll have focus on both sides of the “divide,” with both Carewyn and her new ally Davy Jones/Finn McGarry @theguythatdraws and Charlie Weasley (pictured above in an even more pirate-y coat and hat than we saw last) and his sloop’s passenger Chiara Dalma. Will our pirate friends be able to reach Shipwreck Cove before they’re cut off by our non-pirate ones?

Interestingly enough, there was a pirate called Moody in the 1700s, though this one was Christopher Moody, not Alastor. Not much is known about him aside from his brutality (refusing to take prisoners), his unique Jolly Roger flag (which was red and gold rather than black), and his death by hanging in 1722. Pirate!Mad-Eye is going to be much more like his book/movie/game counterpart, but I just thought it was a fun coincidence. (Particularly his red/gold color scheme for his flag, which of course are Gryffindor colors!!)

Jules Farrier-Weasley belongs to @cursebreakerfarrier, last part is here, and whole tag is here! Hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

Carewyn knew there was no way she would be able to get Jones’s heart as long as her men were guarding the Chest -- yet, at the same time, she couldn’t just order them to abandon it without cause...and she’d need that time, if she wanted to unlock it without stealing the key from Rakepick. And so she’d need a proper diversion.

Davy Jones himself came up with a solution. If the Flying Dutchman was engaged in battle, then the soldiers might have to jump in to help defend it. All they’d have to make sure of was that the enemy they engaged in battle was one Cutler Beckett would approve of -- namely, one of the more wanted pirates in the Caribbean, and someone who could end up being one of the Pirate Lords.

“I do not know any of the pirates’ current list of so-called ‘Lords,’” said Jones, “but if I were to guess, I would say your brother’s a viable candidate.”

Carewyn shook her head. “Rakepick blew up the Tower Raven. Jacob managed to escape, but he only has one other person with him and he won’t have a ship.”

“Not his flagship, perhaps, but the rest of his fleet would have still survived,” pointed out Jones. “And the more ships there are, the most justification there would be for your Navy reinforcements. Once I have my heart returned, I can always call off the attack -- there’s no need for me to capture or kill them, aside from following Beckett’s direction.”

And so it was very reluctantly that Carewyn agreed to let Jones covertly seek out the remainder of the Tower Raven’s fleet while supposedly looking for Shipwreck Cove. Little did Carewyn know that the Tower Raven’s fleet was likewise headed for Shipwreck Cove, and that they were on a collision course with a tiny red sloop steered by Charlie Weasley.

When Charlie came upon the fleet of pirate ships, he initially wasn’t too worried. Yeah, naturally, they dwarfed his vessel easily, but he presumed that they were heading for Shipwreck Cove as well, and they didn’t have much reason to attack a small sloop like his. What Charlie hadn’t factored in was that the captain of one of those ships -- Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody -- had gone through his fair share of trauma when he used to be in the Navy and was something of a paranoid sort...and so within minutes, the little sloop Charlie and Chia Dalma were on was soon pursued by Moody’s much larger galleon, called the Phoenix.

Fortunately Charlie was more than talented enough of a sailor to keep his head. Using the advantage of his boat’s size, he weaved expertly through the remainder of the Tower Raven’s ships to evade the Phoenix’s cannon fire.

“Oi!” Charlie bellowed up at one of the ships he was hiding behind. “Tell your mate to bugger off! I’m not with the bloody Navy!”

Chia made no move to help Charlie: instead she stood on the other side of the sloop, watching the seas with a wary eye. There was something troubling on the wind -- something in the air...

A pirate from the Phoenix came up to the railing to look down at Charlie and Chia on their sloop as Charlie sailed it around his galleon. He was a broad-shouldered man about Charlie’s age with dark red hair under a black bandana and small emerald green eyes, and he was dressed in a burgundy-colored coat.

“Hey -- you!” the pirate bellowed down at him. “Down there! Shout up your name!”

Charlie hesitated at first. He knew it was unlikely that most pirates would recognize his name as being that of a pirate -- if anything, the name “Weasley” was associated more with the Navy, even if he, Jules, and Bill had recently been branded criminals.

‘Even so,’ he thought, ‘I’m never going to be able to build a reputation as anything other than a Navy veteran if I don’t use my name. And well, these guys answer to Carey’s brother -- it should be safe...’

“I’m Charlie Weasley!” he shouted back. “Quartermaster of the Revolution under Captain Jules Farrier-We -- ack!”

Before Charlie could even finish, both he and Chia had gotten a net thrown over them and they were hauled aboard the Phoenix.

As Charlie had feared, the name “Weasley” made everyone on the Phoenix tense up with suspicion. Charlie’s “twin,” it turned out, had been swept up by Cutler Beckett, who was now flaunting the fact that the famous, brilliant young Commodore Carey Weasley was answering to him and helping him with his new anti-piracy campaign. Charlie knew full well the only reason Carewyn could be associating with Beckett was to try to sabotage him, but the Phoenix’s Captain Moody seemed doubtful of that explanation. His First Mate, Barnaby Lee -- the young man who had first demanded Charlie’s name -- seemed noticeably less suspicious, but wasn’t half as assertive or articulate as Moody, so the Captain’s conclusion won out among the crew.

Charlie and Chia were soon hauled down to the brig with the thought that once the fleet arrived in Shipwreck Cove, Moody’s superior, Black Jack Roberts -- were he still alive -- would be able to discern how best to deal with them. Charlie hadn’t been too surprised that Jacob hadn’t told everyone in his fleet that “Carey Weasley” was really his sister, but he couldn’t help but curse the fact that Jacob had merely ordered that his men not “damage anyone with the name ‘Weasley’ and immediately bring them to him to deal with.” Even if he had to keep up a “tough guy” image, it would’ve been nice if Jacob had factored in the possibility that he wouldn’t be leading his fleet.

Unfortunately Moody’s suspicion had a real cost. Because of his focus on Charlie and Chia Dalma, he wasn’t focusing on the turbulence of the seas and skies that Chia picked up on -- and so had no warning whatsoever when the Flying Dutchman attacked. Soon the entire fleet of ships that once sailed under the Tower Raven was hotly engaged in battle with the infamous ship of the damned, pirates facing off against both cursed sailors and Navy officers.

While Davy Jones, his crew, and the Navy’s officers were fighting on the upper deck, Carewyn had stowed away below deck to where the Dead Man’s Chest had been left. After sending the remainder of the patrol above deck to help with the sea battle, Carewyn immediately got to work picking the lock on the Chest. Although it was a bit trickier to do it on her own than it had been with Percy, that hindrance was counteracted somewhat by her having unlocked the Chest once before. Within fifteen minutes, Carewyn had unlocked the two-sided lock and opened the Chest.

But when she opened it, she found it completely empty.

“It seems we truly are as alike as I thought.”

Carewyn whirled around.

Rakepick was leaning her shoulder against the door frame. She’d discarded her tricorn hat just as Carewyn had since they were no longer on deck, and her dark blue eyes were locked on the Commodore’s face as though it were a target.

Carewyn immediately pulled out her pistol, pointing it right at Rakepick.

“Where is the heart?” she said very coldly.

“I confiscated it,” said Rakepick simply, “back when I checked to make sure Jones’s key works.”

“On Beckett’s orders?” asked Carewyn.

Had she truly not fooled Beckett, after all? Had Rakepick been sent to watch her as well as Jones? Her face blanched at this thought.

“For my own benefit,” said Rakepick. “Just as I daresay your attempt to steal the heart also was.”

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not stealing anything.”

”I don’t know what else you’d call picking the lock on a Chest that’s in the custody of the British Navy,” said Rakepick with a rather cool smile.

Carewyn clicked her pistol and pointed it right at Rakepick’s head.

“Hand over the heart,” she murmured, “now.”

Rather than looking the least bit intimidated, however, Rakepick almost looked more pleased. She eased herself off the door frame and took a few steps closer to Carewyn.

“You intend to kill me, Commodore?” she said.

“I would prefer not to,” Carewyn answered icily. “But I suggest you don’t push me -- I can still shoot you in plenty of places that would be extremely painful or deadly, if left untreated. And no one would come to help you with your wounds -- there’s more than enough noise above deck to muffle any gun shots that might come from down here.”

Rakepick’s lips spread into an even fuller, satisfied smile as she came to a halt just a foot from Carewyn. “I see. If I’m dead, you won’t learn where the heart is. Very astute, Miss Weasley.”

Carewyn stiffened sharply.

“I knew it as soon as I saw you,” said Rakepick softly. “I daresay because your family is poor, you didn’t have enough prospects to just marry into money. Probably were too independent and self-sufficient to settle for that, as well....so you joined your brothers in the Navy by dressing as another son. I suppose ‘Carey’ is just a play on your real name -- is it Cara? Or Carina?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carewyn whispered.

She tried to obscure her fear with anger, but it was proving difficult -- her face was as white as a sheet.

Rakepick couldn’t fight back a scoff. “Now, really, Commodore -- do you truly think you’re the only woman who realized how few opportunities there are, for us to get ahead in this world run by men? I dressed as a man and joined the Navy myself during the War, fighting the French off the coast of Africa as a privateer for his Majesty’s Navy.”

She started striding in a leisurely circle around Carewyn, even as the Commodore kept a beady eye on her.

“‘Patrick Rakepick,’ I was called then. I probably would’ve continued that way too, had privateering not been outlawed with the end of the War. Suddenly all of the skills I had learned -- just as with all privateers -- became illegal and therefore useless. I was at the bottom once again, even worse off than before, thanks to the time lost and the injuries suffered. So I did what many other privateers did -- I became a pirate, so I could continue using those skills the Crown had taught me to support myself -- ”

“By pillaging merchant ships and attacking innocent people,” Carewyn spat. She wished she’d been able to keep her temper, but the mental image of this woman shooting Jacob in the back and pushing him overboard had rippled through her mind and it was a knife to her heart she couldn’t bear.

“We all have to do things we’re not proud of in order to survive, Miss Weasley,” said Rakepick very quietly. “That’s the reason you’ve stayed in line with Beckett yourself, is it not?”

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed. Rakepick took her silence as an excuse to press further.

“I saw the way you treated the prisoners from Tortuga. You did not treat them as Jones would, or even as any other officer would. You insisted they be fed and watered consistently, despite their large numbers and their shortened lifespans. You gave one a Bible, on request. You even moved a woman into a different cell so she could be with her husband for the rest of the voyage back to Port Royal, without even being asked.”

Rakepick’s dark blue eyes surveyed Carewyn with something interested, almost admiring, as she came to a halt just behind the shorter young woman.

“You have the heart of a guardian, Miss Weasley. Something not frequently seen in any line of work I’ve ever been part of -- privateering, piracy, or pirate hunting...and something never found among men like Cutler Beckett. It makes you want to protect others as well as yourself. It makes you a natural leader -- one that anyone would be foolish to deny their proper place.”

“I don’t need your flattery, Rakepick,” Carewyn said coldly, turning on her heel to face the older woman once again.

“This is not flattery,” Rakepick answered just as coldly. “It’s advice from someone who has been in your shoes. It’s not easy for anyone without money and status to get ahead in this world, but it’s even harder for a woman. Even when she’s able to acquire those things, there’ll always be a man attempting to clip her wings, so as to make him feel more powerful -- more in control. Even the tale of the goddess Calypso herself proves this. She ruled the seas, until the Pirate King and his Brethren Court ‘bound her’ into human form and stole control for themselves. They were powerless in the face of the Crowns of Europe...and so they exerted power over someone they could hurt.”

“Yet Cutler Beckett hired you, regardless of your sex,” said Carewyn, raising her eyebrows.

Rakepick crossed her arms over his chest. “Cutler Beckett will clip anyone’s wings, female or otherwise, if it benefits himself. Hence why I need this leverage over him.”

“Seems like the leverage is much more over Jones, considering you hold his life in your hands,” Carewyn cut her off harshly. “Now enough stalling -- give me Jones’s heart.”

Rakepick gave a half-frustrated, half-exhausted sigh. “Miss Weasley, do you truly think I wouldn’t have handed the heart over to you already, if I could? I’ve already made it more than clear I trust Beckett as little as you do. I’m not in this fight for him. I have no more love for either the Navy or the pirates than you do. I assure you -- we’re on the same side in this.”

‘Doubtful,’ Carewyn thought spitefully.

Nonetheless she could tell that she’d been outmaneuvered. Rakepick wasn’t going to hand over Jones’s heart, whether because it wasn’t on the ship or Rakepick was just too brave to give in to any threats she might make. She’d lost the element of surprise completely...and if force wasn’t going to work, then a new strategy was clearly needed. She needed to find out the heart’s new location. So, very reluctantly, she tucked her pistol back into its holster.

“If you’re so out for yourself,” said Carewyn coldly, “and you believe me to be just as out for myself...then we can’t be on the same side, Rakepick.”

Rakepick’s eyebrows rose over her narrowing dark blue eyes.

“I never said you were out for yourself, Miss Weasley -- merely that we are alike.”

She swept past Carewyn and headed for the door. When she reached the door frame, however, she paused. Turning her head back toward Carewyn, she spoke a bit more seriously.

“The battle between the Navy and the Pirate Brethren Court is going to be a fierce one. It would truly be in your best interest to get and stay off the Dutchman, before that fight begins.”

Carewyn shot a suspicious look over her shoulder without turning around.

“What battle?” she asked lowly.

“The place where all pirates will have to make their final stand.”

“You’re so assured of that? We haven’t even found Shipwreck Cove,” Carewyn pointed out. “Come to think of it...shouldn’t you know where Shipwreck Cove is, since you were a pirate yourself?”

Rakepick’s eyes flashed.

“I’m afraid not,” she said, her voice noticeably icier than it had been previously.

The question seemed to have gotten under Rakepick’s skin, and Carewyn suspected she knew exactly why. Only pirate captains were generally told the the location of Shipwreck Cove -- since she hadn’t assumed captainship through “Code-sanctioned” means, Rakepick couldn’t have been told by anyone else on the crew of Howell Davis’s ship where Shipwreck Cove was.

‘Serves you right, for what you did to Jacob,’ Carewyn thought, and she couldn’t completely fight back a small smirk.

“Regardless,” said Rakepick, “it won’t take long to find it. You saw the map Beckett designed, in your office -- it’s been finished, since you last saw it. The world’s edges have been drawn and charted, and so too have all of the places pirates could’ve once hidden. Now that they’ve been fenced in and the British Crown has allocated its Navy to the East India Trading Company’s war on piracy...it’s only a matter of time before all pirates face extinction. Those in power will not surrender it peacefully...least of all to those they’ve decided to treat as inferiors...so they’ll use every bit of that power they’ve accrued to try to quash any resistance. Those remaining pirates will have to either adapt to this terrifying new world their rebellion has molded...or perish.”

Rakepick turned away.

“And you, Miss Weasley...should not remain on the Dutchman. You don’t belong on a ship like this.”

Even as Rakepick left, Carewyn remained where she was, standing straight-backed in the center of the room with her fists clenched. Then, after a long moment, she brought a hand up to the lid of the empty Dead Man’s Chest and shut it with a harsh SNAP.

The sea battle up above raged. Captain Moody, it seemed, was truly a force to be reckoned with, despite his age and wooden limbs. When Navy officers and Dutchman pirates found their way onto the Phoenix, he fought four of them off single-handed, even going so far as to yank a blunderbuss out of his pants and shoot one of them right in the head before smacking two of the others with it as if it were a club. It was just fortunate that Charlie -- newly escaped from the brig thanks to a charm of Chia Dalma’s -- was able to block the sword belonging to the last of them with his own dragon-hilted blade.

Despite this, the Phoenix and the rest of the Tower Raven’s old fleet was severely outmatched, since Jones’s crew couldn’t die. Many ships had already started to flee, only for the Flying Dutchman to cut them down with cannon fire. Even though the Dutchman was no larger than the pirate galleons, it seemed to have the supernatural ability to heal any damage dealt to it within the span of a few minutes -- an ability not shared by Captain Moody, when he swung over to the Dutchman and pursued Jones with singular, irrational focus, only to finally be overpowered and killed by Jones himself.

“NO!” bellowed Barnaby.

Charlie straightened up sharply, his eyes widening in horror, at the sight of Moody falling to his knees, Jones’s blade stuck right through his chest.

Jones regarded the old man with a grim expression.

“Alastor Moody,” he murmured, “do you fear death?”

Moody glared up at Jones with his one good eye, but was clearly too badly injured to speak. So instead he spat at his feet.

Jones looked almost jaded by the reaction -- the way any embodiment of Death would likely be, whenever anyone got mad at them for doing their job.

“Clearly not.”

With this, he rather callously tossed Moody back over onto the deck of the Phoenix and whirled back to his crew.

“Ready the cannons!”

Barnaby immediately rushed to his captain’s side to help him up.

“Captain -- Captain, are you -- ?”

Alas, Moody was still too injured to speak clearly. When he opened his mouth, all he could do was cough up blood. Charlie rushed over too.

“He’s hurt bad,” he muttered. He turned to Chia. “Is there anything you -- ?”

Chia shook her head, her gray eyes very solemn. “I’m sorry, Charles Weasley. There’s no more time I can give him.”

Charlie was startled by the sensation of someone grabbing the collar of his shirt. Moody pulled him down closer to him, trying to whisper into his ear.

"You -- ” he choked through the blood in his mouth, “ -- have the Pacific Ocean’s Piece of Eight -- ?”

Charlie blinked in surprise. He glanced down at the anchor-trimmed “S” button Chia gave him, which he’d pinned to his vest for safe keeping until he could properly sew it somewhere more secure.

“...Yeah,” said Charlie. “Chia Dalma gave it to me.”

Moody squinted up at Charlie.

“...Shipwreck Cove -- is due west, of here. Fifty miles -- through the D-Devil’s -- Throat. Take -- the crew there.”

Charlie was completely blind-sided. “What?”

“Lead them. Take them to -- Shipwreck Cove. To the rest of the Court. To -- Black Jack.”

Charlie’s brown eyes rippled with sadness, seeing how much difficulty Moody was having talking. He was out of time, as Chia had said -- and yet, here he was, putting his crew first.

‘For all of his faults,’ thought Charlie, ‘Mad-Eye Moody is a good captain.’

The second-eldest Weasley took Moody’s wizened hand in both of his and gave it a squeeze.

“I will,” he said firmly. “I promise.”

Blood streamed from Moody’s lips as they curled up in a pained smile. “That’s a good lad...”

He coughed, trying hard to take another breath. This time, however, the blood blocked his throat enough that no oxygen could reach him. And so Moody, in the last shreds of his life, bravely raised his eyes to the sky with a smile.

Barnaby had brought his two large fists up to obscure his face as he started to cry. Charlie hung his head respectfully over the fallen captain of the Phoenix. After a moment, he brought up a hand to close Moody’s eyes and then rose to his feet, his eyes blazing with determination.

“ALL HANDS, PREPARE THE CANNONS!” he bellowed. “We need all the explosives and smoke bombs we have -- we’re getting the Hell out of here!”

Charlie’s strategy was to assault the Flying Dutchman with two waves of attack. The first would be to damage the ship enough that it would need a few minutes to repair itself -- the second would be a smokescreen, so as to hopefully put enough distance between the Phoenix and the Flying Dutchman that the second couldn’t actively take down the first with its cannon fire. When Charlie ran to the edge of the Phoenix beside Chia Dalma to make the order to fire, he was startled momentarily by who he saw coming up onto the deck of the Dutchman.

It was Carewyn.

Jones confronted her immediately, his eyes narrowed sharply as he barked something to her -- Carewyn looked rather frustrated herself, but Charlie couldn’t make out what they were saying. Within seconds, however, both Jones and Carewyn turned their focus to the battle -- and they both caught sight of the two people at the railing.

Jones’s eyes flickered with shock, disbelief, and something oddly more vulnerable. He’d never seen the human woman on that ship’s railing in his life...but he knew those gray eyes...

“Ca...lypso...?”

Chia Dalma’s hands clutched the railing as her eyes filled with tears and a weak smile prickled at her features.

“Finn,” she breathed.

Carewyn, meanwhile, had met Charlie’s gaze straight on. Her eyes were very wide at the sight of him, just as much as Charlie’s was at the sight of her.

“Carey!” cried Charlie.

His heart felt like it was fit to burst, seeing his surrogate twin again. Part of him just wanted to throw himself over his ship’s railing over to her and pull her into the biggest hug, and yet --

She was on the Dutchman -- the Flying Dutchman, the ship of the damned --

Carewyn’s eyes flooded with fear as she shot her head around, taking in her soldiers fighting off pirates from the rest of the Tower Raven’s fleet on the deck of her ship and the Phoenix’s cannons being turned into the proper position.

Her gaze then shot back to Charlie’s face with urgency.

“BECKETT IS COMING!” she mouthed to him desperately. “BECKETT IS COMING! GO!”

She then yanked her pistol out of her belt and purposefully shot right over Charlie’s head, to make her point. Clenching his jaw, Charlie nonetheless nodded firmly, blinking back some traces of tears as he whirled on his crew.

“FIRST WAVE, FIRE ALL!” he roared.

With the Dutchman effectively hampered by both waves of attack, the Phoenix was able to successfully put a respectable distance between it and the Flying Dutchman. Carewyn tried to keep their focus on the rest of the fleet and on capturing prisoners from those vessels, but Rakepick contradicted her, ordering the Dutchman to shadow the Phoenix in case it was heading to Shipwreck Cove. What Carewyn did not expect was Jones agreeing with Rakepick.

“I want everyone on board the Phoenix locked in my brig,” said the captain of the damned icily, his gaze flaring with raw emotion as he glared at Carewyn. “I will not let them escape me.”

Carewyn knew she’d been outmaneuvered again. There was nothing more she could do, to protect everyone now. It was all up to Charlie now, to warn Bill, Jules, and Jacob...to warn Orion...

The memory of the pirate captain’s calm, dark eyes made Carewyn’s heart clench with longing and pain. He’d always made her feel so much stronger, whenever she felt most useless and hopeless...but right now, more than anything, she longed to have him at her side -- to feel his shoulder resting against hers and see his soft smile once more...

Rakepick was right -- the final battle was coming, sooner than anyone could’ve ever predicted. It was all up to Charlie to warn the Brethren Court now.

#potc au #au #pirates of the caribbean #my art #my writing #charlie weasley #carewyn cromwell #chiara lobosca #Mad-Eye Moody #barnaby lee #finn mcgarry #jules farrier #bill weasley #patricia rakepick #damn it rakepick!#sadly we couldn't afford to set finn free just yet though #gotta get closer to shipwreck cove and reunite him with chia :3 #but yay captain charlie weasley of the phoenix!#he may or may not change the name to something more dragon-like later XD #but yeah technically you gotta be a captain to be a pirate lord #one reason moody gave charlie captainship #and also because as great as barnaby is I think he makes a better First Mate than a Captain #just like bill does XDD #I love putting rakepick and carey in a room together #wonder if you guys can guess who the brethren court members are...#hint: two of them are mc's who have done content for the au #(another mc is the keeper of the code >:3)#four are hphm canon characters #(one of those is charlie of course)#and the last is one of my kiddos >:3

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