#I’ll be on to the pirate show in six years time probably | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

izzy-b-hands · 2 years

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Stede’s kids, aka two little shits lol, come looking for him. On their own. In a dinghy.

They truly are his children.

I guessed on their ages, so put them about idk, like 8 or 9, maybe 10 at the oldest for Alma and maybe five or six for Louis, somewhere about there. I may be wrong or off but I’m winging it for now until I find anything definitive re: how old they are in show canon lol.

A note, I did combine some historical stuff for Stede here. Mainly his first son, named Allamby, who had died by 1715 per Wikipedia.

TW for descriptions of child death re: Allamby (made up, because I couldn’t find much to give an exact cause of death, so I just rolled with it.)

I stared at this all day and I think I caught any accidentally a words or major fuck ups, but if I missed something pls let me know and I’ll fix it ASAP dsklfjaskl. Also, if any additional trigger tags are wanted that I missed, let me know and I’ll add them them right away!

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“Another letter from the kids,” Ed said as he handed the envelope to Stede. “I’ll bet they still want to come out with us.”

“And I’ve told them their mother will not allow that at this time, understandably,” Stede chuckled. “But we’ll remind them.”

He opened the letter and started to read. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

Stede nodded and handed the letter back, moving to sit on a nearby barrel. He’d expected some whining that he hadn’t come back for a bit, or to allow them to sail with him for at least a week or two (Mary wasn’t entirely against it; she simply wanted them to be older before they did so, and that no raid would take place while they were aboard. Sensible requirements that Stede agreed with wholeheartedly.)

He hadn’t expected this.

“They’re looking for us?” Ed said, shocked. “They aren’t old enough for that. Are they?”

“How old were you when you left to be a pirate?”

“Sixteen, or about there,” Ed replied. “How old are yours again?”

“Not that,” Stede laughed nervously. “Oh god.”

“No, don’t panic,” Ed said. “After all, they’re your kids. Smart, good head on their shoulders.”

“And a proclivity to make rash, potentially dangerous and/or poor decisions?”

Ed paused. “Well. Yeah, that too.”

“Should we head their way and see if we can’t find them?” Stede asked. In his head, all he could see were two panicked children aboard a dinghy, in rough seas, potentially about to drown or starve if they somehow survived it-

“You’re picking at the thread on your jacket,” Ed interrupted the stream of potential catastrophes. “Take a breath.”

“I will, when we find them.”

“What else did the letter say?” Olu asked.

“They’ve bought their own provisions, weapons-” Ed read, then paused to laugh. “That’s wonderful! Not even my kids and I’m proud of them. Wonder what they picked up for that, because-”

“Ed,” Stede interrupted. “They likely stole money from their mother, oh god I hadn’t considered that yet. Forget being hung for piracy, Mary’s going to kill me first.”

“No one is getting hung for being a pirate, and I’m sure Mary will...” Ed hesitated. “You know, if we all go ashore, you’ll have a head start.”

“I think I need to lie down.”

“Children are much more resilient than you think,” Izzy offered. “They’re probably perfectly fine.”

“Or dead,” Stede chuckled. “I’ll make myself walk the plank if that’s the case!”

“I don’t think anyone actually does that,” Pete frowned.

“What, make someone walk the plank?” Lucius asked. “Or let their kids die at sea?”

Stede whimpered, and Ed wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Let’s not say dead unless we should find them that way,” Ed said. “And no, walking the plank really isn’t a thing. Sorry, love.”

“Right,” Stede nodded. “Then you can tie the anchor to me and drop me overboard! Maybe let Mary do it, that would only be right. And any loot could go towards funerals-”

He let himself drop out of Ed’s grip to sit on the deck, staring into space. He didn’t exactly want to take back all the years of playing pirate, but at the same time, maybe they wouldn’t have come looking for him if he hadn’t done so.

Ed peered down. “So, we’re going to take the lead on this, and I’m going to help Stede to bed. Sound good, Stede?”

He managed a nod, and didn’t fight when Ed and Izzy helped him up and more or less dragged him to their quarters.

“Try to rest, and think of something else,” Ed said as they dropped him into bed. “Read a book, distract yourself.”

He went to the shelves, and pulled out a book on the designing of children’s funerals, and dealing with grief.

Ed frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Come on,” Izzy whispered. “Sooner we find them, sooner he’ll either be alright, or we’ll lock him in here so he doesn’t jump overboard.”

“Do we know what they look like?” Roach asked.

“No,” Ed replied.

“Names?”

“Alma and Louis,” Ed said.

“Anything else?”

Ed looked back to the letter. “Alma has very nice handwriting?”

The crew groaned collectively.

“None of that,” Izzy scolded. “That isn’t helping.”

“More information would be helpful too,” Frenchie said. “What do we look for otherwise?”

“It’s two kids in a boat, probably just out there floating!” Jim shouted. “The fuck else do you think we need to look for?”

“Whoa, okay,” Olu took Jim’s hand. “Good point though, there can’t be that many younger kids out for a jaunt on the sea without any parents or someone to keep an eye on them.”

Frenchie raised his hand.

“Yup,” Ed nodded. “Go on.”

“Does their mum know they’re gone?”

Silence.

Izzy opened his mouth, then shut it and looked to Ed for direction.

“Possibly,” Ed finally said. “They didn’t say in the letter.”

“So in other words, their mum and her boyfriend might also be out there?”

Ed pondered it in a silent panic. “Yeah. Yeah, they might be.”

“Actually then, we’re looking for four people,” Frenchie said. “Good to know. Really hope we don’t accidentally find them by running over their dinghies.”

“I know we’re all probably a little scared for all of them,” Olu said. “But we need to keep our shit together. Stede’s lost his enough for all of us, frankly.”

“They are his kids,” Ed said sharply. “Though I wonder about the oldest one. Why didn’t he go with?”

“Isn’t the daughter the oldest?” Olu asked.

“Thought so, but before he came back I went snooping through his things,” Ed said. “And there’s a mention of a son, Allamby. He’s the first kid listed on anything that mentioned his family.”

“Could be he’s old enough that he didn’t want to go,” Roach offered.

“Then why not stop the other two?” Frenchie asked. “They’d tell an older sibling at least before they left. I would, were it me. Brother won’t necessarily yell at you about it, even if he doesn’t like it, and he could have been the one to give them money too.”

“We’re wasting time,” Wee John said. “Let’s get to actually looking for them, and then we can ask them about all of this.”

“Capital idea,” Ed declared. “All hands then, let’s get the show on the road.”

“At least we know they’ll be dressed fancy, if they’re that much like Stede,” Frenchie murmured to Wee John. “Could spot a bright silk from a mile away.”

The first three days were fruitless. Stede ate when food was brought to him, drank when water was presented. At night, he walked the deck while the others slept, no matter how much Ed protested. He argued that he slept enough during the days to distract himself from the worst possibilities, the least he could was take the night watch to see if they might be spotted then.

On day four, Ed joined him.

“Can I ask you something?”

Stede nodded, still looking out into the dark at the far end of the deck. The sea was calm, and the moon bright. Perfect conditions to find one’s missing children.

“Why didn’t their older brother go with?”

Stede turned. “Alma is our oldest.”

“Who is Allamby then? I may have peeked at some of your stuff before you came back, and-”

Stede shook his head. “I sort of wish you hadn’t.”

“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have,” Ed said, and took Stede’s hand, reassured when he grasped back tightly. “I won’t again, not without your permission.”

“No, it isn’t the biggest deal in the world,” Stede sighed. “Allamby was our actual first. But he passed a few years ago.”

“When?”

Stede sighed again. “1715.”

“That’s only two years ago,” Ed scoffed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He’s gone and buried,” Stede replied. “What would there be to tell?”

“I’d imagine a lot,” Ed said softly. “How old was he?”

“Five,” Stede said, with another squeeze of Ed’s hand. “Very sweet. Liked picking flowers with me, to bring home to Mary. Wanted to study flowers, actually. Told me how he’d like to discover new ones, and he could name them after all of us.”

“Ambitious,” Ed laughed. “All that at five?”

“He had a plan for almost all of it,” Stede chuckled. “Didn’t really have any idea of how he’d make money to live of course, but truthfully I would have happily paid his way until he was on his feet. And even then, if ever he needed anything, all he would have had to do was ask.”

“What about playing pirate?”

Stede grinned, and finally turned to face Ed. “He loved it. Insisted we go down to the beach to play, the house wasn’t where a pirate would live! We’d walk down and he’d talk about everything involved with it: what weapons he’d use, what he’d most like to have as loot, even how he’d decorate his ship.”

“Flowers?”

“Lots of them. Painted on the walls, on the hull. Didn’t mind that it would mean repainting often. It was a worthy effort to him.”

He leaned into Ed, and Ed slipped his hand from Stede’s to wrap it around his waist instead.

“What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Stede again looked to the sea. It was empty as it had been before.

“We don’t really know. He went to bed as usual, after two extra bedtime stories no less, and the next morning,” Stede’s voice caught in his throat. “He didn’t wake up. We thought he was having a lie in, since he did on occasion. Gave him an extra half hour to sleep or play in his room, whatever he was up to. Then Mary asked that I go up and bring him down for a late breakfast.”

Ed reached with his free hand to wipe a tear off Stede’s cheek as it fell. “Stede, if you want to stop-”

“No, he deserves to be known about,” Stede choked. “After we chose to not tell Alma or Louis about him, at least for now. That leaves only me and Mary and our parents, but they never did like him much. Too much like me, I suppose.”

He took a deep shaking breath. “I went up to get him. And it seemed awfully quiet, but he could sleep deeply. He’d played hard the day before too, all day at the beach, being the best pirate he could be!”

Stede smiled. “He would have loved it out here. I’m sure of it. Not that Mary would have wanted him out here either, but maybe when he was older, she would have...well. I suppose that doesn’t matter now.”

Ed nodded and tried to hold him tighter.

“I just thought he was sleeping deeply again,” Stede said. “He looked fine. Out cold, but fine. No blue in his lips, no gray on his skin. Not at that point, at least. But I couldn’t rouse him.”

Ed didn’t say a word, and waited for Stede.

“It was ridiculous, sitting on his bed, trying to shake him awake. Even went and got a glass of water and poured it over him, the poor thing!” Stede was openly crying now. His eyes hadn’t left the glassy water that surrounded them. “How he would have shouted any other morning if I’d done that! And it would have been deserved!”

Stede wiped away his tears, but they fell as fast as he could remove them. “Felt his forehead, expected a fever. He was cold.”

There was no wind, and the night was cool but not enough to chill. Stede shivered nonetheless.

“I picked him up and ran downstairs and called for Mary and to send for the doctor, or whoever could come by quickest that had any knowledge that might help,” Stede continued. “She knew before I did. Accepted it before I did, more like. She’d warned me before we tried for children, that there was always risk. They could die in childbirth and take her with them. Could have a horrid accident. Could be sick enough to die. Could simply die while in their cot, as a baby.”

He took a gasping breath. “But not at that age. Far too old to be a cot death. But it didn’t matter. Mary waited for the doctor at the door, and I stayed with him. Held him until the doctor made me let go.”

“And Mary?”

“Devastated as I was, but she didn’t fall apart like me until the burial. I think it really hit then. We spent days in the house, not eating, not sleeping. We talked once about what if we went to his grave and checked. Maybe he was really alright, and what if we’d buried him alive?! He’d be scared and want us and he’d think we had abandoned him.”

Ed gently prompted him to walk, to try and get him to their quarters or anywhere that he couldn’t watch the waves. At least for a few moments.

But Stede didn’t move an inch. “We nearly did it, too. Mary borrowed some of my old things, so she could move more easily. We were at the door, shovels in hand, and then we realized what we were doing.”

He sobbed. “And it would be pointless. He’d be as pale and lifeless as he’d been at his wake, in his coffin.”

It was by some grace that Izzy came out of his room, headed for the galley. At seeing them, he changed direction and strode over.

“Did we find them?” he asked Ed in a whisper.

“No,” Ed whispered back. “Could you help me get him to our quarters? I can take over the rest of the night watch.”

“You stay with him,” Izzy said. “I can do it. It’ll be nearly light before we know it anyway.”

With a bit more prompting and gentle pulling, they got Stede to walk away from the rail of the deck.

“Got something!” Frenchie called from the crow’s nest. “Small vessel, not close enough to see all who’s in it though!”

“Dinghy is ready,” Izzy said as he jogged past Ed towards it. “Roach?”

“On my way,” Roach hustled up behind him, kit of medicines and bandages and everything else in one hand. In the other was a small bag. “Got sandwiches and some jars of water in here. No offense to them, but I can’t imagine kids can estimate how much they’d need...”

“We fuck that up often enough ourselves,” Ed said. “And we’re old enough to know better.”

“And yet,” Izzy sighed, but it had no teeth behind it.

Ed tried to get a better look at the dinghy as they slowly made their approach. “I still can’t tell...looks empty.”

As they made their way beside it, he saw he was right. Still a jug of water and a basket of oranges, set by two daggers. But otherwise, empty.

“Fuck,” Izzy said softly. “Maybe they abandoned it and went ashore somewhere?”

“Why would they leave their supplies?” Roach asked.

Before any one of them could speculate, there was a ripple in the water.

Ed felt a hand grasp his at the edge of the dinghy.

Then, a face. “Oh shit! Louis, come back up!”

They watched as Alma dove back underwater and brought Louis up, a fish in his hands. “I caught one! Can we really stop somewhere to cook it and eat it? Can we go now?”

“No!” Alma looked over fearfully to them as she pushed Louis into their dinghy. “We don’t have anything you’d want! We’re looking for our dad, and he’s a pirate! Most fearsome to sail the sea, so if you’re planning to rob or kill us...”

She paused, clearly out of breath from swimming and panic. “Well, I would reconsider it!”

Izzy smiled, then broke into laughter. “Yeah, these are his. Fucking fuck, Bonnet.”

“You know him!” Alma pulled herself into their vessel, and moved her wet hair out of her eyes. “Where is he?”

“We sail with him,” Ed replied. “And he’s been a mess looking for you two, after he got your letter.”

“Told you he’d meet us halfway,” Louis said. “I told you!”

“Oh shut up,” Alma sighed. “Sorry about him, but he’s always like this, I should warn you-”

“I’m not like anything! I’m being polite and I was even going to offer to share my fish with them!”

“How about we tow you back with us, and then we’ll see about the fish,” Roach smiled. “I’m our chef and surgeon, so maybe you could help me cook it.”

Louis grinned, and set the dead fish on the bottom of the boat to hand over the rope tied to the dinghy.

“Curious,” Ed said as they started the trip back. “Did you two steal this?”

“Of course we did,” Alma scoffed. “We’re pirates.”

Izzy was still having giggle fits, even as he rowed. “Yes, yes you are.”

“Dad, ow. Dad! Help!” Louis cried out as Stede picked him up in a bear hug.

“Okay, let’s not suffocate him, metaphorically or literally,” Lucius said as he rushed over. “Hi! Your dad really missed you.”

“I can tell,” Louis said, voice muffled with his face jammed into Stede’s silk waistcoat.

“I was so worried about you,” Stede said as he finally set poor Louis down. “Did you tell your mother that you left?”

“I left her a note,” Alma said, then backed up as Stede moved for her. “Dad, I’m too big to pick up, Dad!”

He did all the same. “And look at you! Sailing in that dress! How on earth did you manage that?”

“You get used to it,” Alma said. “You’re squishing my lungs, I think.”

“Sorry,” Stede set her back on her feet. “I just. I thought you two were dead, and I had no idea how I’d tell your mother or what I’d do; it isn’t as if I’m likely to have any more children and...”

“Dad, you don’t have to cry,” Alma said, but she wrapped her arms around him and nestled her head into his neck.

“I’m hungry,” Louis said. “Mr. Roach, can we go cook my fish?”

“Yeah buddy, we can,” Roach replied. “Ed, if Stede’s looking for him-”

“I’ll let him know,” Ed interrupted gently, brushing away a tear of his own. “Let us know when dinner’s ready, hm?”

“Of course.”

The rest of the crew kept on with their various chores, but all of them stayed on the main deck, watching Stede lead Alma around to show her the ship. In return, she told him how they’d left, stolen their boat, how she’d been saving her allowance to buy everything from their food to their daggers.

No one interrupted directly, but there were smiles and soft giggles all around.

Ed was the only one following after them, listening in and silently cheering at Alma’s resourcefulness. Of all the Bonnets, she seemed the one who might not need any teaching about piracy. Maybe too young, but well prepared for it all the same.

“I am...” Stede sighed happily. “Your mother wouldn’t like to hear this, but I am so proud of you both. What you did was very dangerous-”

“You’ve said that like a hundred times already,” Alma interrupted.

“I know, I know, but I’m your dad. I have to say things like that, so you’re more careful in the future.”

Alma rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Fine, then we’ll board and steal a bigger ship next time.”

“Next time!”

“That or you come back and let us come with now and then,” she said with a little happy hop.

“While that would be a lovely achievement, I think it better I arrange with your mum something that would let you two come out and sail a bit,” Stede said. “If my co-captain is agreeable to it.”

He peered back to Ed with a hopeful smile.

“Absolutely! Say, how good are you two with those daggers?”

Alma blushed. “We aren’t. We didn’t get to practice before we left, and we’ve only used fake swords before.”

“Then I say we get you some lessons on knives with Jim before we take you two home,” Ed said.

“Which is Jim?”

He pointed out Jim, currently winning a knife-throwing contest against Frenchie and Wee John, with the Swede keeping score.

“Whoa,” Alma breathed out as Jim made their best throw yet. “Can I learn how to do that?”

“Jim can teach you that, and I’ll teach you how to take out an eyeball with a dagger, how about that?”

Her eyes shone. “Really?”

He looked to Stede, who chuckled. “I suppose. Better earlier than later, if you’re really going to be a pirate.”

She cheered and rushed away to Jim. They watched her tug on Jim’s coat, mouth moving a mile a minute as she pointed to Jim’s knife.

Jim looked back to them, seemingly waiting for permission.

Stede gave them a nod, and immediately Jim knelt down and handed Alma their knife, showing her how to hold it before tossing it.

“Think Mary’s still going to kill you?” Ed asked.

“Maybe not. Once we bring them back and work something out properly, and I’m sure they’ll need to promise not to run off on their own again. She might show mercy on me then.”

Stede leaned into him, arm at his waist, and they watched the rest of the knife throwing lesson in a contented silence.

“Roach said I did the best job he’s ever seen,” Louis told Stede proudly as they sat down to dinner. His fish was too small to share with everyone, but a portion were on his and Alma’s plates. “I bet I could learn how to be a ship’s chef from him.”

“He’s our surgeon too,” Stede said. “That means learning about bodies and blood and guts!”

Louis grinned. “Cool.”

“They get that from Mary,” Stede told Ed, sitting a spot away from him beside Alma. “She’s got an iron stomach.”

“You’re getting better with that,” Ed said. “Sometimes you just need to be around it more to get used to it.”

“Jim taught me how to throw a knife,” Alma leaned past Stede to Louis. “And Ed’s gonna teach me how to take out an eyeball!”

“Ew,” Louis giggled. “Can I learn too?”

Ed smiled warmly. “Stede, I love them. They’re awesome. I had never really thought about kids-”

“Is Ed like our stepdad like Doug?” Louis interrupted.

Stede looked to Ed with a chuckle. “Well, Doug said you two sort of decided if he was or not. What do you think about Ed?”

“Makes sense he would be,” Alma replied. “Cause Doug teaches us how to paint, and now Ed’s gonna be teaching us stuff too. Plus he’s dating you.”

They both blinked. They’d not so much as kissed in front of them yet.

“How do you know that?” Stede asked.

“I have eyes,” Alma said. “And you two act the way Mum and Doug do. You make eyes at each other.”

“I suppose we do,” Stede blushed.

“You’re literally doing it right now,” Alma said, and looked across the table to Jim. “Do they do this all the time?”

“Yes,” came a chorus of voices.

“We aren’t that bad,” Ed said.

“I bet they kiss like all the time,” Louis said.

“They do,” Izzy stage-whispered from his spot by Jim. “And hold hands, and-”

Alma and Louis broke into giggles, cutting him off.

“Alright, we have a decent feast tonight!” Roach announced as he finished setting down the last dish, covered by a high metal dome. “Hard tack, a stew that I think finally everyone will like, and-”

He lifted the dome off the dish. “Thanks to Alma and Louis, we had more than enough oranges for a cake!”

Louis turned to Stede, mouth open to speak.

“One piece for tonight,” Stede said before he could get out a word.

“Okay, but-”

“Stew first, then cake. It’ll taste better that way.”

Louis nodded. “And my fish before the stew!”

“Of course,” Stede said.

Dishes were passed from hand to hand, until plates were full. Everyone dug in, but Stede took the opportunity to take it all in.

Maybe, now and again, he could have both. His family at sea, and some of his family on land, together.

If he saved some cake for Mary, she’d be potentially more likely to say yes, and he made a mental note to set enough aside for her and Doug.

And maybe one extra piece, for Alma and Louis to share before bed.

#text post #ofmd fic #aka the fic of stede holy shit control ur mini pirates lmao #tho if I ever write a follow up to this mary is probably gonna be pissed but also like I should have expected this djslkafjsal #fkn kids man #on the plus side tho when they do sail with him they've got a sort of second stepdad in Ed (and stepdad Doug on land of course)#and a bunch of adopted aunts and uncles who are gonna spoil them rotten and also teach them shit like how to skin a man #ya know the stuff you need to know around that age lmaoo #tw child death

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afterartist · 3 years

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Have a headcannon dump of a LU!centaur Au that’s been cycling in my brain for a week, I’m quite possibly going to write a fic/do more art,

You’re free to leave ideas or suggestions for this Au as well

(Wild doodle to go with at the end)

•–•Au Basics:

-this is heavily based off the @linkeduniverse Au by @jojo56830

Basically it’s the same but every character (even side characters but they’re not important) are Centaurian, this is finicky and involves things like Cervitaurs, mermaids and whatnot,

This is hevily based on living conditions and most races are born with natural legs, ie; hylians are born with two hylian legs, and their secondary legs will grow in around the age of four depending on the food and lifestyle they’ve had until then, the secondary traits are usually set in by the age of six where they will no longer have their original legs.

—-

Now the headcannons (this is just the links cause idk much about the Zelda’s so I have to do more research)

—-

•–Time•

- The old man is a Stag, no I will not take criticism on this

Time started off his journey a young deer cervitaur, barely grown into his fawn limbs before coming into contact with Fi,

Deer are often seen as prey animals and weak, but we all know Time is seen as the leader for a reason,

My man got mad strong horns and has kicked, impaled and stomped on more Moblins then any sane person should, while deers are often seen as weak you would have to be blind, deaf, three years old and an idiot to think Time any less then the powerful stag that would lay his life down for his family

•–Sky•

-Loftwing… kind of a no brainer for this one

Oh yeah, our sleepy king has butt wings and you can’t stop me,

Sky was literally found in a Loftwing nest and the majority of Skyloft secretly think he’s a Hylian Centaur instead of the other way around,

Learning to fly was the literal worst, his wings took a few more years to fully develop so he got to flying later then most, the fact that his wings sit at an awkward place on the base between his hylian torso and his Skywing back doesn’t help that fact

Yes he’s still perfected the art of flying while asleep, not even other Loftwing hybrids know how he does it

•–Twilight •

-He’s… hes a Wolf… it’s… it’s twilight… literally what else would he be?

He was actually a wolf hybrid before his adventure started and is honestly not sure how it took so long for the chain to even start to theorise his connections with Wolfie,

Wind guessed they were long lost brothers,

Fun fact, Twi is allergic to fur, it took him embracingly long to realise, ‘Oh, I thought the air was just meant to hurt’

Legend likes to call him a husky and watch as Twi goes on a rant about how they are completely different, this went on for months before time brought a stop to it

•-Legend•

-Pegasus… is this because I love the Pegasus boots? You’ll never know

The only reason sky knows how to preen his wings is because legend literally sat on him one day and showed him

In the ‘Not quite horse centaurs’ club with Wild

His tail was unfortunately docked in his third adventure, Wind used his ‘ Customary Pirate Rope tying skills’ to fashion him a fake tail out of foe hair (yes it’s pink) and braided him a new tail,

Legend won’t admit but that was the day he started trusting the rest of the chain

Likes to cuff Wars over the head with his wings, he quickly found out Wars’ wings hurt a lot more to get hit by then his

•–Warriors•

-DragonDragonDRAGONDRA-

His scales are literally brighter then the chains future (admittedly not hard to be)

Learned the hard way that his claws are sharp and for completely non related reasons has a wooden backscratcher he won’t tell anyone about

Runs hotter then the others Links, thus why he always wears his scarf, Legend jokes he’s as cold blooded as his blood,

legend regrets.

Has an unhealthy obsession with shiny things, his time in the army has helped him restrain from stealing freshly polished swords and amour but four swears they had a freshly cleaned dagger right next to them and now it’s gone-

•–Four•

-Minish?? More like biggish (that was bad I’ll see myself out-)

Still Has four legs like a mouse instead of the two that minish usually have, but has the fluffiest tail in existence

Actually wasn’t sure what Minish were before meeting them so was super confused for the first few years after developing

When Wind was confused on how to use their pronouns (they/them) correctly they told him to just picture four mice in a Trenchcoat (it helped Wind a lot)

Paints their claws/nails, each foot is one of the four colours, the blue nails are for some reason always somehow chipped, Warriors ends up lending them some of his nail Polish which is sturdier

•–Hyrule•

-obsessing over the idea that Rules’ Hyrule is basically Australia so Rule is a kangaroo

Kangaroos are evil deer, Rule is the exception

Kangaroos are terrifying and could be hit by a truck and walk it off, lest to say Time had a mini breakdown after watching Hyrule get punched into a tree by a Hinox, stand up, then carry on with his life without so much as a scratch

They still suck at cooking

If you say ‘shrimp on a campfire’ he will ring your throat until you meet Nayru face to face,

‘I may not know how to cook but I know they’re called prawns.’

•–Wind•

-Salt water croc for my salty pirate

Changed from lobster because I personally hate lobsters

Has claws and knows how to use them, preferably on the back of legend’s legs but has learned hooves hurt to take to the face

Has 3rd eyelid to be able to see underwater, so he likes to sleep like that sometimes and creep out whoever is on watch

Wild has attempted to eat him at least twice, both times Twi had to stop the because Wind was also curious

Sky only has two legs? Boo loser, Wind has 4 and a big tail that could snap your spine (it took wind several years to learn how not to trip over and he still can’t walk for long periods of time)

•–Wild-

-Lynel… Time is not surprised

In the ‘Not quite horse centaurs’ club with Legend

Honestly thought he was a horse until Flora mentioned ‘no Link, horse’s don’t grow horns out of their head’

Isn’t sure if he’s a gold Lynel or just blond (they’re just blond)

Also has a hint of orange in his blue eyes, eyes that glow red on bloodmoons

Unlike their hair they actually like to style their tail a lot, went they went to Gerudo town he was taught how to braid and bun it but can’t do it on his own so let’s Wind do it when he’s bored

Has small horns that Time had to teach him how to take care of, cause who knew horns need maintenance

Literally no one knows how his glider is able to hold him up… or how he climbs literally anything with ease even with his equestrian limbs

Was also one of the first to use Four’s pronouns correctly as they themselves use all pronouns (likes he/they the most tho)

—- Quick sketch of Wild cause I love them with all my heart

Anyway, it’s just a poorly thought out Au and I’ll probably work on it more but have this info dump for a second as I try to figure out what I’m doing with my life,

If y’all have any suggestions have at it,

I just hope my ideas aren’t as jumbled as I think they are

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

Note

Can we get a fic where Jaster somehow gets sent to the future or something and him reacting to the clones? (Being pissed off that his ad would do something like this to these poor kids/ just reacting to them?)

(this one was so. fecking. hard. to write, i’ve been struggling with it for weeks, but i’m glad i did, because this is by far the best version i made of it. it’s interesting in how much my opinion of jango’s decision to be the template has changed since i first got this ask, and i was definitely coming at it with this post in mind for their characterisations here.

i love hondo. so you get hondo knowing jaster from pre-civil war days, and i don’t care if canon disagrees: hondo ohnaka has been terroising house mereel for three generations.

also i’ve already had a few people donate to my ko-fi and i’m completely floored by your kindness and generosity, and i sat down with this fill knowing i wanted to get it out as soon as possible. i sincerely love you all, i hope you’re all healthy and being as safe as possible.)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

“Oh, Jango? We keep him here.” —Lama Su, AotC

By some will of the Ka’ra, it’s Boba that finds him.

The possibility of dying in his ad’s arms hadn’t exactly crossed Jaster’s mind until it happened, like a nightmare he had never even had. For the first time since the Fett farm burned, Jaster cursed the Ka’ra, and he curses them again when he wakes up not marching* to the stars, but standing knee-deep in the snows of Galidraan

And the Ka’ra make sure he knows it’s Galidraan though he had never been there, just as he somehow knows Jango is long-since dead. That he is a dislocated bone in the universe, snapped out of time and place and thrown into a future where Jango’s face stares at him from a body that is not his.

“Oh,” the teen with Jango’s nose says, the snow coming all the way up to their thighs, and they don't look dressed nearly warm enough for this biome. “Did Hondo send you?”

Jaster blinks at them. “Did...? No, ad’ika, I have not spoken to Hondo in many years.” Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised Hondo is even still alive, Maker knows Jaster’s tried to kill him enough times himself, but if the number of years since his death on Korda Six is as many as he thinks it is, surely someone would have shot him by now.

The teen doesn’t wear beskar’gam —it’s unlikely they’re even old enough to— but the style of the armor they do wear cannot be inspired by anything else, just reminiscent enough of evaar’gam that Jaster can’t help comparing every little detail about them with the faded image of Jango in his mind.

“Then who the kriff are you?” They eye Jaster warily, left hand twitching towards the vibroblade at their hip.

Promising to strangle every one of the Ka’ra when he can finally march away, and throwing the last of his caution down to the snow between them, Jaster simply says, “Jaster Mereel.”

Impossibly, though maybe not entirely, not-Jango doesn’t laugh at him, or call him crazy, or even try to shoot him with the rifle slung over their shoulder. No, they straighten to their full height, and—

And swear so colorfully in Huttese that Jaster knows this hell-child has absolutely been raised by Hondo Ohnaka.

Boba takes him to the ruins of Kamino first, where the kriffing Sith Empire has destroyed another one of his people’s homes.

The growth labs were all blown into the ocean by imperial ilk soon after the formation of the empire, but the barracks and some of the training rooms still stand above the waves. In the ship he says belonged to Jango, Boba steers them to a dilapidated landing pad, controlling the Slave I (Maker, had Jaster really left Jango to that fate?) far too easily through the rubble for this to be his first time to return, and Jaster tries not to think about what that means.

Walking the dark, grimy white halls, seeing the narrow bunks and bare req rooms, he then tries not to think about a child being raised in such a place, about hundreds of thousands of children being raised in such a place. How had Jango... chosen this for them?

“I only have his stories,” Boba tells him quietly, when he shows Jaster the tiny apartment the Kaminoans had given them to “keep Jango close”. It’s bigger than most captain’s cabins, to be sure, but it is just as plain and white as the rest of the facility. “But he couldn’t even get one hundred Mandalorians to come and train the... clones.” He shuffles his feet uncomfortably as Jaster looks into the cupboard-sized kitchen and tries not to break down at the package of Mandalorian chiles rotted away on the counter. “Everyone else was New Mandalorian or Death Watch.”

“And the rest... they fell at the Battle of Galidraan?”

“Buir always called it a massacre,” he looks away. “Only a handful of the Cuy’val Dar even considered themselves True Mandalorians, buir was there when the Jedi killed the rest.”

Jaster inhales deeply, takes a few moments to steady himself, and is sickeningly, horrifyingly relieved. By the Maker, but knowing Jango had had no one left before his Kamino contract, that not even Skirata followed the codex anymore, that Jango had only taken the job after forcing Tyranus to give him an unaltered clone, makes Jaster guilty for having doubted his foundling. It doesn’t excuse anything, of course, but knowing Jango had done it all for aliit, well, it does make it easier to swallow.

Boba leads him back out of the apartment, he had already stripped it of anything important years ago, and they don’t stick around after reboarding the Slave I. Only after they’re out of atmosphere with hyperspace coordinates for Tatooine in the astronav system does Boba join Jaster in the tiny galley with a bottle of tihaar that Jaster should probably reprimand him for, but won’t.

“He tried to pretend he didn’t care, about the others,” Boba says and doesn’t even bother to find them glasses, “I think some days he even believed it.”

“He always was stubborn as a rancor.”

Boba takes a long pull from the bottle before passing it across the table. “Tyranus scared the shit out of me back then, he was too... put together, too fancy. Buir didn’t like him, I don’t know why he even did the tryout for him, the pay wasn’t even that great?”

Rubbing his left eye until he sees stars, Jaster stares down into the bottle until he can come up with a way to explain core Mandalorian beliefs to a child that had barely a decade of living as one before that, too, had been taken from him. “If Jang’ika took that job intending to come out on the other side, I’ll kiss whatever Vizsla is left.”

Boba’s mouth twists and he kicks his heels against the floor, not waiting for Jaster to hand it to him to grab the tihaar back. “Buir was an idiot,” he says, like the solve to a simple math problem, and Jaster can’t but agree.

He sighs. “Unfortunately, he probably got that from somewhere.”

“I mean, at least Montross didn’t live long enough to end up as the template? Kriffing fuck, can you imagine if the Jedi had had to work with that shabuir’s clones?”

“Maybe the war would have ended sooner,” he muses and accepts the bottle, “surely this Emperor would have tired of his face much sooner than Jango’s.”

“Or the Coruscant Guard would have shivved Palpatine in his sleep and tried to take over the Republic; what’s one betrayal of your leader to another?”

“Then I’d like to think Jango would put him, them, in their place for a third time.”

Snorting, Boba pushes to his feet to, presumably, check on the autopilot. “If buir would have even let it get that far, then I’ll kiss Vizsla.”

“Old friend!” Hondo shouts as soon as he sees them, and Jaster winces, nursing his first hangover since his twenties.

“Ohnaka,” he returns, and pretends he doesn’t notice the subtle way Boba brightens as Hondo comes to clap them both on the shoulders.

The old pirate just chuckles and starts to steer them both back across the hangar bay to his latest junk ship. “I heard you died, Mand’alor,” he says casually, like the title isn’t cursed to the ka’ra and back, like it hadn’t been three decades since anyone had dared call someone from his house such a thing so sincerely.

“I did.”

“I found him on Galidraan,” Boba offers. “Is that why you told me to go?”

Hondo scoffs, and Jaster would say he was flustered if he didn’t know him better. “No, I told you to go because Aurra had a job for you, that you seem to have forgotten about in your haste to bring my long lost best friend back to me.”

Boba scowls. “Aurra wasn’t at the meeting place, laandur, it was a kriffing mynock chase and you know it.”

Jaster side eyes his old “friend”, and wonders again about his preternatural... luck in all things pirate-related, despite being a boisterous mess of a man most of the time. If this Aurra had even been on the planet when Boba got there, Jaster will kiss Vizsla twice.

Mando’a: Ka'ra — an ancient Mandalorian story, ruling council of fallen kings, “stars” ad — “child”, gender neutral 'ika — diminutive suffix, similar to the suffix “ita/o” in Spanish. generally used only by close family and friends beskar'gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy evaar'gam — lit. “youth armour”, fan name for the interim armour/garb Mandalorians would have worn before building their kit of beskar’gam buir — “parent”, gender neutral Cuy'val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones aliit — “clan”, “family” tihaar — Mandalorian strong clear spirit made from fruit shabuir — an extreme insult, mostly accepted in fandom to be an insult of an individual’s ability to parent (from buir), which is an intrinsic part of Mandalorian psyche and identity laandur — used here as “weak”, “pathetic”, but is usually used as “delicate”, “fragile”

*in reference to the Mando’a word for the dead/deceased “taab'echaaj'la”, or “marched far away”, best explained in the Mando’a tribute to dead comrades, “not gone, merely marching far away”.

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missmungoe · 3 years

Note

What’s your idea about Makino’s little ring in the cover of chapter 806?

So I’m not sure if you’re asking me what I think the ring means (in which case, see: https://archiveofourown.org/series/581281), or if this is a prompt, but I don’t think the ring is an accidental detail, and as she had a child during the timeskip, it’s not unreasonable to assume it’s a wedding ring. I have >1.6 million words written about who I hope wears the matching one, but until “that man’s” identity is confirmed, it’s just a tantalising possibility, alas!

But even if the ring doesn’t mean what I hope it does, it doesn’t need to for my imagination to make it so, and just in case this was a writing prompt, here’s a little something I’ve been tinkering with, originally in answer to a completely different prompt, but since they went well together, I combined them:

The thing with feathers, that perches in the soul // Shanks x Makino; rated M (part 1/?)

“Take it off?”

Surprise lifted her voice, her laugh small and startled, but then she’d been caught off guard by the request, made out of the blue one morning.

The sun was taking its time, rising from its slumber with a lazy stretch across her floors, a slight chill still touching the salt air where she’d thrown the windows open. A thick cover of sea mist draped heavily over the water, soft as chiffon where it crept up the shoreline to the foundations of her bar; a protective shroud veiling her little corner of the world, half-forgotten by the rest.

Shanks had been reading the paper while she got ready to open, a routine they’d created, bit by bit over the months he’d stayed, communicated in touches and gestures―the chairs taken down from the tables while she had her back turned; a cup of coffee placed by his elbow before he could request it―no words needed between them in this first, tender hour, and so she’d been startled when he’d spoken.

She considered him across the counter, the glass she’d been polishing cupped idly between her hands. The look on his face was unusually serious, which told her what he had in mind wasn’t roleplay. Not the kind she would have expected him to suggest, anyway.

Unease crept with a shiver up her back, and she had an inkling already before Shanks said, evenly, “If anyone shows up, I want you to take your ring off. And I’m not talking about Garp, although this is probably the only time he’d agree with me.”

“But I don’t want to take it off,” Makino said, tucking her fingers around the hand that wore it, as though that could somehow keep it there.

She saw his eyes going to it, before they lifted to hers, the barest furrow between his brows betraying a rare tension. “It would be safer.”

“But who’s going to make the connection? It’s not like it has ‘property of Red-Haired Shanks’ inscribed on it.”

His lips didn’t even quirk, which was so jarring her own smile fell. She knew him so well, it was only rarely that he ever responded in a way she didn’t expect, but it was becoming clear to her now that whatever was on his mind, it couldn’t be smoothed over with jokes.

She took in his face, his handsome features arranged in a look she wasn’t used to seeing, a hardness about him that didn’t belong here, on her gentle shores―that belonged to a different sea, one that asked different things of him, things she couldn’t ask, and she hated it now for finding him here, and for infringing on her peace as she’d made it.

Her eyes darted to the paper, open on the counter, wondering if something in it had inspired this change, but seeing the way he looked at her, behind the counter that was the only protection she’d ever needed, Makino knew it wasn’t anything in the news, but something they’d both known had been coming for a while. Ever since he’d come back, it had waited in the wings, a silent patron she could ignore most days, too happy to pay it any mind, but there was no ignoring it now that he’d brought it up.

They’d been holding off discussing his departure, even as she’d known it was bound to catch up with them eventually. But while she’d made her peace with him leaving, knowing he’d come back, the thought of giving up the tangible reminder she had of that promise met resistance now.

She’d spent ten years hinging her hopes on nothing but her memories, trying to convince herself she hadn’t imagined the promise he’d made her. Now they were married, and there was more than words binding them, and even the sea had to respect these vows, spoken on the deck of his ship, no church or mortal court to give their blessing, only that bottomless cathedral, and the ancient authority that had witnessed their union.

She felt the metal of her wedding band, warmed by her fingers. Their rings had been wrought from the chain of the anchor that had first dropped in her port twelve years ago, but it wasn’t sentimental value that made her react so fiercely now, at the thought of parting with it.

She didn’t want to take it off―to pretend she hadn’t made that vow, or that the last two years hadn’t happened. The ring was a declaration of what she was, the only way she could declare it, when the world couldn’t know she existed. She refused to give that up, and to pretend she was anything less than she was, even just for show.

“It’s not like there’s any evidence tracing back to you,” Makino said, when he hadn’t spoken. “We don’t have a marriage certificate in the records that they can dig up.” Ben had been the one to marry them; an old sailor’s tradition, shamelessly borrowed with a pirate’s cheerful contempt of the law; the flowers in her hair new as snow, and the sea their something blue. Unconventional by most standards, but she couldn’t have imagined it any other way.

Shanks wasn’t budging. “It’s just safer if people believe you’re unmarried.”

“The whole village was at our wedding, Shanks. Half of them got blackout drunk, but I think they remember.” Her own memories were blurry at best, flowers crumbling under her bare feet, and laughing as he spun her, a wedding shanty that put their vows to shame, and laughter she could still feel in the bottom of her stomach.

The following hangover, though; that she remembered.

Still no smile, but then she heard how her attempted humour faltered, buckling under his seriousness. She didn’t like what it made of his face; the one she only knew as smiling.

“Not the village,” Shanks said, with a look and a pitch that said he knew she was being obstinate, and that left her breath feeling a little faint. He didn’t use that tone with her often, at least outside of more intimate settings, and she didn’t like it being invoked here, and in this way.

Shifting her weight, she squared her shoulders, all of her five feet brandished against his six and more, although even seated, it didn’t give her an advantage, but she saw the way his brow furrowed, as she said, gently firm, “I’m not taking it off.”

She didn’t know if the look on his face was affection or exasperation. “Can’t you just agree with me on this?”

“No.”

“Makino―”

“If anyone asks, I’ll just say my husband is out working the fields,” she said. “What are they going to do, go out and check? Because I can ask one of the farmers to put up a scarecrow by one of the ploughs.”

Her stubborn levity made no headway, his hardened features untouched, but she didn’t give in, her chin lifted as she stared him down across the countertop.

Then with a sigh, “You’d at least have to pick a believable lie,” Shanks relented, after enduring a full thirty seconds of her eyes. His look softened a bit. “And make it a good-looking scarecrow.”

“It could be asleep at the plough,” Makino suggested. “If we’re going for accuracy.” Her smile trembled, before it fell when he didn’t return it.

It was hard to swallow past the knot in her throat, and she heard it in her voice when she said, “I’ll tell them you’re out fishing.”

“And if they stick around and I never come in?”

“I’ll tell them I hope the sea king didn’t get you?”

This time she couldn’t even attempt a smile, and when his expression still didn’t change, she said, without teasing, “Then I’ll tell them you’re in Goa Port picking up a shipment of spirits. You’re a barkeep, but it’s hard getting orders delivered here. It’s a long way to Goa, too. You’ll be gone until tomorrow, at the earliest.”

“And if they come back and I’m still not around?”

She might have made another suggestion, but recognised from the stubborn set of his jaw that he wasn’t backing down.

His face changed then, something like regret chasing across it, there before it was gone, and she didn’t understand why before Shanks said, with a heaviness that held an almost portentous note, “Say that you’re a widow.”

She was surprised by the forcefulness of her own reaction.

“No.”

He sighed. “Makino―”

“No,” she repeated, fiercely. “I won’t.”

She saw that she wasn’t the only one surprised by her reaction. And she didn’t even know why it hit her so hard. She couldn’t claim to be particularly superstitious. Her mother had been too practical for superstition, but she’d also respected the sea; they all did here, who lived their lives beside it. It was a more pragmatic relationship than a sailor might devote himself to, which often had an air of fancy about it, but even if they didn’t read omens from the sky or pray to any gods, there was an implicit understanding among them that you didn’t challenge those forces lightly. They were thankful for fair weather and a good catch, but they didn’t invoke the Fates here, or seek to challenge them.

But the man seated across the counter from her had the authority to do that; the one who’d carved a place for himself on a sea most never lived to sail, one of few who could claim the kind of power it took to challenge that old authority.

She wasn’t like him. She knew what was owed; a debt she’d been paying for twelve years, for wanting him. She didn’t want to invoke that word, the fate that was all too common for those who gave their hearts to sailors, in case she invoked prophecy along with it.

Putting away the glass, Makino pressed her palms over the polished countertop. She saw how they shook, and the still-new gleam of her wedding ring where it circled her finger, but then she hadn’t been wearing it long enough for it to get scratches.

She didn’t want that to be their marriage, taken off when the going got tough, forever keeping its shiny new exterior. She wanted it to show signs of wear, of work, and love―of actually being a marriage, and not just when it was convenient, or safe.

“I’m your wife,” she said gently, although the fervour behind it refused to bend against her own fears. “I want to be your wife, even if I’m here and you’re not―”

The words faltered on her tongue, but then there was a reason she’d been avoiding thinking about him leaving.

Shanks’ look softened, some of the tension in his brow yielding as he said, understanding, “The ring isn’t what makes you my wife.”

“I know that,” Makino said softly. Turning her hand, she gripped his fingers. He wore his ring now, but she knew he wouldn’t take the risk when he left. But she understood that, even if part of her rebelled against doing the same. “It’s not like I don’t understand where you’re coming from. I know it’s a risk. What I’m saying is that I’m willing to take it.” To be what she was, she’d accept the danger that came with it. That was her marriage vows. Not empty platitudes about sickness and health, only the simple, unembellished truth.

Shanks said nothing, his gaze on their hands, but the look in his eyes like he wasn’t seeing a ring but a shackle, and a different kind of prophecy than the one she feared.

She decided to try a different tactic.

“If pretending is what you want me to do, I could always get someone from Dadan’s family to stand in as my husband,” Makino said, and saw him look up, the slightest tightening at the corners of his eyes betraying his otherwise unreadable expression.

Turning his hand over between her own, she traced the sword-callouses in his palm, the softer pads of her fingers catching against the rougher skin. “Magra, maybe,” she continued, and watched the barest flex of his fingers. “I’ve heard he’s quite handy. We could tell people we met when he helped me carry a keg from the storeroom.” Lifting her eyes found him watching her, but she only met his gaze calmly, as she asked him, “What do you think? Would he make me a good stand-in husband?”

His eyes held hers, her gentle challenge noted, the look in them somewhere between knowing and warning, and this time it sent an entirely different kind of shiver racing up her spine.

Undeterred, she lowered her eyes to their hands, smoothing her thumb over his knuckles, pale under his sun-darkened skin. “Maybe he could help me out around the bar. To keep up appearances.”

Flicking her eyes up to his, she went in for the kill. “He could even stay in the guest room. Just to be safe.”

His whole look darkened, and her stomach did a thrilling little flip.

“Don’t like that idea, hmm?” she asked, and tried to pretend her voice didn’t shiver, but it was hard when he was looking at her like that. “Me with someone else.” She trailed her fingertips across the back of his hand, her own so small she couldn’t even cover half of it with all her fingers splayed. “A different man in my house.” A fleeting caress to his wrist felt the tendons in his forearm, pulled taut with a strain that left her feeling suddenly short of breath, even as she said, demure, “And my pantry.”

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, wife.”

The pitch of his voice had goosebumps pebbling her flesh, his naturally deep timbre touched with a note of warning that stirred something deep within her, although she couldn’t tell which was the fiercer feeling, desire or relief, finding her cheek finally parried with something other than that hard expression that couldn’t be coaxed into yielding, no matter how gentle her touches.

“Well,” Makino said, and even teasing, the sincerity was real when she told him softly, her small hand gripping his, mapped with the evidence of his life, their marriage included, “I don’t mind a little danger.”

Then, this time without teasing, “I married you,” she said, and didn’t care that her voice trembled now. She wasn’t hiding her feelings. “And I’ll be careful, but I won’t hide what I am, or pretend that I’m something else. Or someone else’s.”

Bearing the weight of his eyes, she didn’t shy away from them, or from the truth as she spoke it.

“I’m yours,” she told him, fiercely, and felt the way his hand tightened under hers. “And if they come here and they already know about me, nothing I say or do will change their minds. The ring won’t matter. And there are things I can’t hide that easily.”

She glanced towards the crib behind the counter; the one they’d fashioned out of an old barrel of their captain’s favourite whiskey. She’d found the gesture both characteristically inappropriate and undeniably perfect, but then she’d spent her first years sleeping in a liquor crate while her mother worked. And their child wasn’t just the son of a pirate; he was the son of a barmaid, too.

She saw Shanks’ gaze going to it, and the baby sleeping within. And it was more than her lack of protection that weighed on him, she knew, but as long as he was who he was, there would be a risk in being associated with him. Even retiring wouldn’t change what he’d been. Not in the eyes of the current Fleet Admiral, anyway.

And since it wasn’t something either of them could change, she was determined to make the best of the situation, but then she was good at that.

She thought it was time to remind him just how good.

It was still a little while before they were due to open, and smiling, “You could always help me practice my ruse,” Makino suggested, and saw his brows lifting, bemusement at what she had planned easing some of the tension from his features.

Leaning across the counter, she trailed her fingers along his wrist, following the contours of his arm, and the distracting tautness of corded muscle under her fingertips, “My husband isn’t here, officer,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes. “It’s just me: a very lonely barmaid with a very spacious pantry.”

Her face fell when he pinched his lips, before his grin shattered his whole composure, and, “Wait,” she said, drawing back to stutter, “That sounded better in my head. What I meant was that―”

A broad hand reached around the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss that stole what she’d been about to say, and muffling her startled laugh, although his own was quick to follow, deep and rough where it rose from his chest, the kiss breaking when he couldn’t contain his grin.

Drawing back enough to look at her, he sighed, rough fingers slipping from her neck to tuck her hair behind her ear. “God, you’re terrible at this,” Shanks said, with such a fierce affection, her heart constricted. “Completely unconvincing.”

Balancing on her toes, the edge of the counter dug into her ribs, but the discomfort was fleeting and unimportant. Her smile trembled on her mouth, inches from his, his beard brushing her jaw as she murmured, “I know.”

Closing her eyes, she kissed him softly, her hands cupping his face, no pretence this time, only the honest truth, offered with all of herself, the only way she knew how.

He’d moved before she could react, the kiss breaking only for a second, and she’d barely had time to catch her breath when his mouth claimed hers again, his arm wrapping around her as he pushed her back towards the storeroom, and the door where it sat ajar.

They stumbled over the doorstep, fumbling between sloppy kisses, like they were in that moment younger people with less to lose, her little laughing shriek muffled against his lips when he hoisted her up onto the shelf where her ledger lay open, and she couldn’t contain her giggles even as he shushed her through grinning kisses, knowing from experience how little it took to rouse a three-month old baby but unable to help herself, something wild and reckless pushing like wings against her ribcage, refusing to stay hidden, wanting out, fearless in its desire, and its will to claim it.

They hadn’t brought a lantern, and the light hadn’t reached this far into her bar, the storeroom cool and dark and the heavy shelves keeping her spirits and secrets, the crates digging into her back as he pinned her to them.

“This is very rakish behaviour for a married woman,” Shanks rumbled, releasing her from the kiss, her breath hitching when his hand wrapped around her thigh, pushing her skirt out of the way. “Someone might mistake you for a pirate.”

Makino hummed, finding her balance on the shelf, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck as she swung her legs, her boots and stockings impishly bared, and saw how it drew his eyes, before she eased them apart, her smile small and demure, and utterly unconvincing. “Imagine that.”

His eyes held her, his features darkened by the shadows of her pantry, making his scars look more pronounced, but the look beneath was gentle as Shanks touched his brow to hers. His thumb traced the hem of her stocking, and the glimpse of bare skin beneath her skirt where he’d pushed it up.

The feeling from before seized her, that fearless thing, like wings waiting under her skin. And maybe it was easy to be brave here, within the walls of her pantry where it felt like nothing could touch them, but even knowing differently didn’t change what she felt, as Makino told him, soft, “Ask me again.”

His look changed, a sudden intensity in it that made her glad she was sitting, but she didn’t look away, accepting the full weight of the truth behind it, unfearing of what it meant to be loved like that, and by someone like him.

Bending his head, his mouth covered hers firmly, stuttering her breath with a gasp, a command behind it that left her hands shaking where she’d curled them around his neck, and if she’d had any more clever remarks prepared about stand-in husbands or navy officers, they fled her mind now as she melted.

The big hand around her thigh tightened its grip, his wedding ring digging into her skin, as though he could imprint something that couldn’t be taken off or hidden, that was written on her skin, on her soul, and if she could have formed the words, she might have told him he already had, but they were lost when his hand slid up her thigh to part her legs, finding her with a shuddering breath that she felt in the way it left him.

And this was another unspoken language they’d made, communicated in touches―her legs parting to him in welcome, and his hand pausing, his fingers already half inside her, asking; her breath hitching as she lifted herself up to kiss him deeper, her hands threading through his hair as she gave herself, a silent affirmation that told him to take―no words needed as he entered her, carefully even if it had been months since their son, but she appreciated the restraint he showed, even with all of him unravelling under her hands, that iron-clad control included.

Her legs wrapping around his waist pulled him deeper, her gasp stuttering with a faint little plea as he filled her to her limit. And if she hoped he’d leave something in her it was a private thought, begged with her breaths as she took him inside her, each thrust a little harder, the bottles stirring in their crates as the shelf creaked, a steady rhythm growing in tandem with her gasps.

Her hands left his jaw, fumbling with the front of her stays as she slipped loose the little hooks until it popped open, and he was already reaching for her, his fingers a shock of warmth where they slipped past the low cut of her blouse to cup one of her breasts, tiny in his hand, his sword-calluses rough where he caressed it, and her shivering moan was well received, from the deeper groan that left him, as Shanks slowed his pace, touching her as he took her, until the shelves were rattling.

Bending down, he kissed her chest, his lips seeking the wide valley between her breasts, her flushed skin pearling with sweat. His beard scuffed her breast as he pulled it free, and she gasped, arching against the shelf as he curled his tongue around a painfully sensitive nipple, her lips parting over his name where it left her in a whimper.

He came like that, her skirt shoved up her hips and her silk stockings slipping down her legs, spread to him where she sat, the pages of her ledger crumpled and damp beneath her; the stereotype of the lascivious tavern wench, but she embraced it now, shockingly indulgent in her own lewdness, watching him as he finished with deep, pulsing shudders, a groan leaving him that had her toes curling in her boots.

His eyes slitted open, the grey steel muted, but even then his full attention was arresting; a single look enough to dismiss everything else in the world, as though she was the only thing in it.

She watched as they swept across her, her breasts bared to the air and her thighs spread, his cock still inside her, but she didn’t squirm or try to hide, only allowed him to see.

Bending forward, Shanks kissed the parting of her hair, his breath winded as he leaned some of his weight on her. His knuckles brushed her cheek, catching the tears that had spilled over without her notice. His ring was cool against her skin; wrapping around the back of her neck, she felt how they shook.

Carding her fingers through his hair, she felt him exhale, but he didn’t let her go, just held her like that, the protective frame of his body between her and the door, hiding her from view, and nothing could have touched her there, in that moment.

His fingers trailed down the dip between her shoulder blades. Her blouse clung to her skin, the air within the storeroom damp and smelling of them, but she couldn’t even worry that someone would stumble across them, although had enough presence of mind to think that she should probably fix herself up before their first customers arrived, but was distracted by the deep chuckle that left him, and his voice where it rumbled into her skin,

“Where’s your husband now, barmaid?”

Her laugh trembled, and her arms tightened around his neck, pulling him closer and pressing her nose into the hollow of his throat. She loved him like this, freed of worry, if only for a little while. And that was her power; the only one she could claim, but it wasn’t a small thing in this age, to command peace.

And she knew how he expected her to react, because he knew her better than anyone, and never let an opportunity to make her flustered pass him by.

But she knew him, too, and like him, she knew exactly how to nudge him off balance. Which was why she said, demure as anything, “He’s ploughing his wife.”

She felt the hand on her neck pausing, the slight stiffening in him betraying his surprise, before his shoulders convulsed, as Shanks bent forward with a laugh.

The sound filled her, loud and lovely, but a softness about it that was hers, that tender, half-winded thing. She thought the whole village had to hear it, and that it would wake the baby, but she didn’t care, her own laughter helpless, hearing his, and feeling the way his arm tightened around her, which said more than any other gesture or word, even as Shanks murmured roughly, “I love you.”

Cupping his face with her hands, she pressed her forehead against his. “It will be okay,” Makino said, and didn’t care that she couldn’t make that promise; that there were other forces that wanted their say. But she wouldn’t hide from her choices, and him least of all. “You’ll see.”

Shanks said nothing, only held her, but he didn’t disagree this time, which she counted as a small victory, and it was what gave her the courage to quip, “And if anyone asks, I’ll tell them my husband can’t be held down. His heart belongs to the sea. It’s just the way things are, in this day and age.”

His eyes found hers. In the dim light, they looked darker, but she knew the look in them, and like the laugh, that was hers, too. “I thought we agreed that we were going for accuracy,” Shanks said. A tender smile curved his mouth, as he told her roughly, “And that you’re a terrible liar.”

Her grin couldn’t be contained, splitting her face, wide and without shame, and his.

The sound of the bat-wing doors swinging open reached them, followed by their first customers arriving, and her grin fell as horror widened her eyes, before she scrambled to pull her stays closed.

A voice from the bar drifted through the door―“Huh? Where’s Makino-chan?”

“That’s odd,” said another, as her mortification deepened, recognising one of her mother’s oldest patrons; a man who’d seen her toddle around in diapers. “Red-Hair’s not here, either. They’re usually open by now.”

Shanks’ grin grew, and she saw the punishment for her disobedience in the gleam in his eyes, and hissed, “Shanks, no―”

But she wasn’t quick enough, as he turned his head towards to call out, “She’s coming! Or she will be.” And before her horror could fully sink in, added brightly, “Just give me a few minutes to finish; I want to make sure she does.”

Her hands clapping over his mouth didn’t succeed in muffling his laughter, but then even her embarrassment couldn’t hold out against the grin that split his face now, which held no trace of his earlier seriousness, as he nipped and kissed her fingers until her mortification dissolved with her laughter.

When they emerged a few minutes later, after she’d blankly refused to let him get her off first (although had agreed to revisiting it after closing), it was to find their regulars waiting, knowing looks exchanged above poorly-stifled grins as she with every ounce of prim dignity she possessed asked them if they wanted their usual, all the while ignoring Shanks’ eyes following her as she made her way between the tables. Although having taken their orders, she caught the fond murmur as she made for the bar―

“Married life suits her, doesn’t it?”

“Aye, it does. Shame Em ain’t here to see it.”

Her smile ruined her prim composure, but she claimed it for herself, and kept her chin high as she walked to the bar where Shanks was waiting, leaning back against the kegs.

“What?” he asked, when she reached him, lifting up on her toes to steal a kiss; not something she usually did, shy about public displays, unlike him, and relished in his surprise at her brazenness, shaping his grin, a gentler thing than in the storeroom earlier.

Her own smile was small, as she lowered back on her heels, her head tipped back to look up at him, noting the dish-towel slung over his shoulder, a different kind of captain, with no sea underfoot, but a captain still.

“Nothing,” Makino said, before reciting, “One egg over easy, and―”

“―one sunny-side up, hash browns on the side of both, and a single serving of bacon, because old man Nakamura is watching his cholesterol.”

At her look of surprise, he only smiled, and bent his head to kiss her once, before he made for the kitchen, a grin thrown over his shoulder, leaving her staring after him, and wondering how he could have ever expected her to pretend to be the person she’d been before him.

The doors swinging open drew her gaze to his crew, and her smile blossomed as they greeted her, loudly and cheerfully. And there was no doubt in their minds what she was, catching their cheeky bows and tipped hats, but she didn’t shy from their reverence where it named her, and more clearly than any ring or vow.

“Hey, where’s that husband of yours?” Yasopp asked her, when she appeared at their table to take their orders. Someone had given him the baby, awake and peering up at all the faces around him. Yasopp made a face at him, and when he got a gummy little smile, asked him in a sing-song voice, “What’s his name again?”

“Keeps slipping my mind,” Ben agreed, grinning around his toothpick.

“Wait, who are we talking about?”

“Makino’s husband.”

“Oh, right! That guy.”

The others joined in, feigning forgetfulness, their laughter growing in volume, until there was nothing left of the quiet morning, dissolving like the sea mist as the sun claimed its seat in the sky.

Her playful look warned them, although her smile indulged their cheeky insubordination, knowing well just how far it was from the truth. Because she could imagine their reactions to the suggestion, however teasingly made, about a stand-in husband in their captain’s absence, endearingly protective, and not just of her. She would spare poor Magra that.

“He’s here,” Makino said, and heard in the words the fleeting truth, but didn’t care if she wouldn’t be able to say the same a month from now, or two. He’d be home again soon, with the tide. They all would.

Emerging from the kitchen, Shanks took one look at the room and stopped, a different kind of concern furrowing his brow now as every grin within turned towards him. “What did I miss?”

Coming over to where she was standing, he put the tray he was carrying on the table. The look he gave her said he had his suspicions, and that her innocent smile was fooling no one.

Then a gleam entered his eyes, and Makino knew she was in trouble even before he chirped, “Did you tell them about your plan to get a stand-in husband in my absence?”

Their grins fell, and Makino closed her eyes.

Poor Magra.

“A what?!”

She didn’t get a stand-in, but she didn’t take the ring off, either―a small act of rebellion, but it was the only thing she could do in opposition to the system that governed their world, and the laws that would punish her for her choices. And maybe there was a little pride there, too, but then loving him was her greatest crime, and she’d accept all charges against her, pleading guilty to whatever court would see her put on trial, mortal or otherwise. Those were her wedding vows, too; the ones she hadn’t spoken aloud to him.

Her bar saw the occasional new visitor, on their way to Goa or further still, who’d seen the lights from afar and decided to have a look, but there was only one who asked about the ring, and who didn’t bat an eye when she told him her husband was currently across the island signing off on a shipment. He’d only remarked positively on their bar, and said that no tavern in Goa Port he’d been to had been as hospitable.

(She hadn’t questioned his manners, unfailingly good, almost military-like; hadn’t looked closely enough at the set of his shoulders, that proud bearing she’d known since childhood, from the grizzled marine who’d ruffle her hair until her kerchief sat askew and who’d sneak her gifts behind her mother’s back.)

Garp would have seen through him, she would realise later, but she’d been so busy trying to keep up appearances, she’d forgotten to question if her visitor was doing the same.

She was getting ready to open―had just finished lifting the chairs off the tables and had gone into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee when she remembered it wasn’t necessary, and had instead gone to wring out the rag to wipe down the counter when she heard the bat-wing doors swinging inwards.

Ace was asleep in his crib, safe under the counter behind the curtain she’d pulled closed, and she didn’t pause at her early visitor, as emerging from the kitchen, she called out, forgetting for a moment that she was alone, the we invoked so easily, even weeks after he’d left, “I’m sorry, but we’re not open yet―”

The words cut off, as she came to a halt.

She could smell the cigar smoke from across the room, the butt smouldering like the embers in her hearth, an almost unnatural glow in its burning eye where it fastened on her like a brand.

The white coat was the first thing she noticed, but she would have recognised him even out of uniform, the straight shoulders and the flower tattoo peeking out from under his shirt, the garishly patterned kind that reminded her of Garp, but that was where their similarities ended.

He was flanked by two officers, their caps pulled low over their brows, but she recognised the one on the left, dark-haired and dimpled and refusing to meet her eyes, his hands white-knuckled around the rifle he was holding. He’d loved her cooking so much he’d asked for a fourth helping; had said it reminded him of his sister’s, who he hadn’t seen in years.

The Fleet Admiral took her in, a single sweep of his eyes across her announcing his feelings, something far more personal than simple contempt in the furrow of his brow. Judge, jury, and executioner; he’d already decided her charges, and what her punishment would be, for the choices she’d made. The only crime she’d committed, but for a man like him, it was enough.

And she’d been right. In the end, the ring hadn’t mattered.

“Arrest her.”

#Shanks x Makino #Shanks/Makino #Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks #Akagami no Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks x Makino #Makino #One Piece #One Piece fanfiction #opfanfic #fanfiction #mungoe writes #Shanties for the Weary Voyager #sharing snippets of my WIPs helps me feel like I'm being productive #this story isn't meant to be very long mind #(and I know - famous last words haha)#but I'm hoping this might pique someone's interest!

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jessiebanethedragon · 3 years

Text

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt8)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Eight: The Alach Moon Dragon

“Excuse me!” You call out to the captain, sliding past your new companions quickly, hearing Tech chuckle behind you. When the captain ignores you, you call again.

“Excuse me!” You emphasize, getting ignored again as Hunter beelines to the side of the ship, when his intention to dump the small creature curling around his grasp becomes clear, you let go of ladylikeness all together.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” You shriek at him, and even the tiny thing perks it head up at your nerve. Behind you, Crosshair laughs. You straighten your posture and clasp your hands together delectly. The captain looks like you’ve shocked the anger out of his system.

“I would very much appreciate it if you were to not throw her overboard.” You state trying to make up for your language.

“I think we’re past pleasantries sweetheart.” Hunter grits out.

“You can say that again, sarge!” Wrecker gleefully calls.

“Thank you Wrecker.” Hunter says dryly. Before looking back at the mini-dragon again, and with a huff, he comes back towards you.

“I’m sorry.” you apologize for a number of things, and if you’re analyzing the interaction the way Tech is, you’d see his gaze soften for the quickest of moments.

“Give me one reason not to dump this thing overboard.” He says holding up his hand where he holds the creature by its scruff. And you see the details of his burn mark more closely, and you can’t make out what are clearly Aurebesh letters, but they look extensive and painful.

“She’s an innocent creature.” You argue, fully aware of the comparisons between the small dragon and yourself. “I’ll take her, she’ll leave the ship with me.”

“Fine.” He says eyeing your wrists when you go to take her in your hands. “The bracelet.” Hunter says with a nod towards the gold on your wrist. In the background you hear someone comment ‘oh for fucks sake Hunter.’ But you ignore them. Sliding the ornate jewelry off of your wrist, juggling with your feathered friend, you drop it into his palm.

“Consider it the fare for two passengers.” You tell him.

“Fine.” He says again, turning his back on you. “I don’t want to see that thing near my quarters.” He calls back, and Tech comes to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Is he referring to the dragon or me?” you inquire.

“I haven't the faintest clue.” Your goggled shipmate admits.

You’ve had your share of awkward meals, forced dinners and luncheons with various upper class pricks. The kind that requires scrunched nose smiles and usually involve your silence or small nods of agreement.

This dinner is decidedly a different kind of awkward, and it’s refreshing to know that the company you’re in feels even more awkward than yourself. You almost enjoy this newfound weirdness as you sit and munch on dried meat with the clones.

“Gonk really likes you, Little Aaray” Wrecker comments through bites of food. You smile genuinely at the lizard on your shoulder.

“I think she’s marvellous.” You say, never having seen anything like her.

“Perhaps she’s drawn to your likeness.” Tech says regarding you both with the curious look that never leaves his face.

“Yes, compare the lady to a spliced organism that's got patchy fur” Crosshair rolls his eyes at his younger brother, and Tech rolls his eyes at his brother's comment.

“I meant that they’re both females. And it’s got patchy feathers. Not fur.” He points out. And you huff out a contained giggle.

“Thank you for recognizing that Tech, even in my ruined attire I am indeed a female.” You shoot playfully at him. Having since put your door-stop-boot back on, you’re a little more put together but all in all, still a mess. So you abandon the food and begin to work the pins out of your hair. Gonk perks her head up at your actions with another ‘bloooorg” sounding noise. You reward her with a chin scratch and notice all the eyes on you.

“Do I look that bad?” You tease the speechless clones in front of you. Hunter huffs to himself, Tech apologizes and starts a conversation with Wrecker.

“I’ve seen better.” Crosshair teases, making you laugh.

“So have I, but you don't see me complaining.” You counter without thinking. Slapping a hand over your mouth at the words, how have you lost years of politeness in the span of just a few hours?

“I’m so sorry-” you start an apology to Crosshair as he glares at you. But Wreckers laugh cuts you off.

“Lighten up Cross’air!” He says elbowing him in the side. “She got you good!” he exclaims, and you catch a smile from Tech. You clear your throat and wonder how coruscanti men would’ve reacted to your cheek.

“Can I ask-?”

“No.” Hunter cuts you off, and you take this chance to take in how he looks. Not exactly relaxed but as close to relaxed as he gets. Laying back on the crates wrecker dragged over for chairs, one foot propped on the tallest tower of provisions. His hat covers his face and he leans back on his arms, so you’re only assuming he’s glaring when he interrupts you.

“Sorry.” you mumble picking your ‘food’ up again.

“Ignore him.” Tech says, earning him a side eye from under the hat. “Ask us what you’d like to know.”

“I just, well, I was wondering about…” You trail off and crack your knuckles again, such a bad habit you chide to yourself. Hunter raises an eyebrow as he watches you crack them. - almost impressed at the action.

“About our mutations right?” Tech finishes your sentence, and continues on before you get the chance to nod. “Well you’ve probably deduced by now that Wrecker is the muscle of our operations, whereas I've been gifted with a brilliant mind.” Crosshair scoffs again. “Bless you.” Tech responds without missing a beat. “He-” Tech points to his ashy haired brother, “has exceptional aim, blaster or otherwise, hence him catching you earlier. And Hunter, Hunter’s got enhanced senses, he can feel things before anyone or anything else.” You let out a small ‘oh’ at that. They’re all so different it’s hard to picture them being clones of anybody, much less clones of the same person.

“That’s all very impressive.” You tell him, receiving proud smiles from Wrecker and Tech.

“But what about you?” Crosshair asks, raising a brow.

“Me?” You say with a breath of surprise. “Nothing makes me special.” You brush hair away from the shoulder Gonk is resting on.

“Then why does Nython want you so bad?” You bristle at the name and the twinge of maliciousness in Crosshair's voice. You fumble and look at your feet, moving your hair around in your hands as another nervous habit.

You don’t see Hunter tilt his head so he can see you from under his hat. Nor do you see the soft gaze he regards you with.

“I don’t know.” You respond, finally looking back at Crosshair, “I simply do not know.”

A silence falls over the group that isn’t nearly as comfortable as before, and on the horizon the sun begins to set. Hunter is still watching you from under his hat, he’s still not sure what to make of you. What kind of woman throws her life away as a stowaway? And where did you get this serge of bravery? No matter how hard he tries to hate you for ending up on his ship, he can’t deny the respect you deserve or holding your own against his crew.

And maybe he enjoys how you stare at the sunset, that wondrous look of longing and small smile, like you’re properly seeing it for the first time.

Shit. sunset. They’ve all been sitting around for too long.

You jump as the captain moves, tearing your eyes away from the brilliance of orange and red in the sky. You see his long legs uncross and swing off the crates so he can stand up with a groan.

“Sit rep?” He asks the group, and unsurprisingly tech answers.

“I’ll double check our heading and direction, however, knowing the Corillian Run I suspect we can tie down the sails for the night.”

“Shall we collect our finest blankets for the Aaray over here?” Crosshair asks, he sounds a little sarcastic, but not sarcastic enough to make his comment completely a joke and not hurtful. But his question does make everyone look at you. Where are you going to sleep?

On your shoulder, Gonk doesn't like the eyes on her, and she scrunches her nose, bearing teeth at the crew. Your heart swells, you know she’s being protective of herself but you can’t help but feel like you’ve finally got someone on your side. Even if it is a tiny awkward Moon Dragon.

“There's a bed in the brig.” Hunter says, almost like he’s testing you, or trying to provoke you, or perhaps, both?

“I’m not that dull,” You tell him, “I’m not going back down there.”

“Shame.” He says plainly. You look to Tech for help, thinking that perhaps he is the most reasonable of them all, surrounding, the wind chills you, and you’re envious of the men in thick jackets.

“What about Echo-” Wrecker begins, after no one offering you a space to sleep, you think he took the moment to speak up.

“She’s not taking Echo’s space.” The captain says harshly, and you look up at him from the crate you sit on. “You can sleep on the deck for all I care.” And with that he turns sharply before stalking away to what you assume is the captain's quarters.

“Ignore him.” Tech says, eyeing his sergeant suspiciously. And you take notice of the crinkle that forms right where the brim of his goggles end and his forehead peaks through.

“I do not think ignoring him is advisable.” You chime in, enjoying the huff of approval you get from Crosshair.

“He’s not…” Tech stars, before sighing and putting his food down. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

Gonk makes a small movement when you rush to follow Tech, and you guess that whatever kind of creature she is, it is not one of many words- or rather sounds. And as the sun sets, she becomes more lively, hence the name ‘moon dragon.’ you suppose. And as tech leads you below decks to an area that you assume is their dwelling.

Four hammocks are tied in each corner, allowing for maximum space. You can tell that wreckers is the biggest one, embedded into the sturdiest looking post that has notches in it, what they’re counting you don’t know. By sense of deduction, you guess that the folded blankets and organized trunks belong to Tech, and that the disarray of bolts, cleaning rags, and a singular pillow and blanket belongs to crosshair.

That leaves the hammock furthest from the door, to the left is wreckers hammock, and to the right, Techs. You assume this one, which is empty save for a notebook, ink and quill, belongs to ‘Echo’.

“How did he die?” You ask as softly as possible. And tech, who has busied himself in a thickly bound book from his hammock looks up briefly.

“Who?” he asks, going back to the pages.

“Echo…?” you ask again. Bristling when he laughs and flips the book closed.

“He’s not dead,” Tech says, shaking his head, “although I've got no idea how. What made you think he was gone?” You haven't decided how you feel about the way Tech looks at you, like he’s analysing your mind, and every way you answer a question, or move, tells him more than you intend.

“The way the Captain reacted, the fact he’s not here with you…” you trail off looking around the room, and the way the hanging lanterns brush against the dark wood.

“Echo’s waiting for us at Alderaan, he was taken by the Techno Union during the war, and is, well, he’s different now.” he tells you as honestly as possible, while opening the crate by Echo’s spot and grabbing a blanket - mumbling about how it wasn’t properly folded.

“You said that about the captain as well.” You say with a thank you when Tech hands you the blanket.

“Just call him Hunter.” Tech exasperates, “Hunter is a complex man, not easily trusting nor tolerant of many people. He feels betrayed, we all do.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, and watch as he shrugs.

“It’s not your fault.” He tells you, before heading back out to the deck of the ship, leaving you to think about what exactly happened in those wartime days.

Hopping off your shoulder, Gonk climbs the side of the ship, her mismatched eyes and tiny feathers catching the light strangely. It makes you wonder if you’re just as strange to the clones as the Alach Moon Dragon was to yourself.

#tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter #tbb sergeant hunter #sergreant hunter x you #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch series #sergeant hunter #hunter x reader #hunter clone #hunter x you #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #jessiebanethedragon #white sands warm the cold sea

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toraodwaterlaw · 3 years

Text

An End and a Beginning

Having survived Minion, Rosinante is reassigned to East Blue, where he and Law will start their new lives. 1700 words, CoraLives!Au, mild hurt/comfort, found family

“I’m ready.”

Law was seated on his bed, a full length mirror in front of him and a scalpel in his right hand. Neither was strictly necessary- neither the mirror nor the scalpel- but he insisted they helped. He really only needed to feel out the lead with his powers, not to see anything, but Rosinante could understand how weird it would feel to work blind, more or less. That he could still operate with everything flipped in the mirror only proved what a remarkable doctor he might have been had life been less cruel. Perhaps he still would be. Rosinante certainly hoped. Law would have his whole life ahead of him once this was finally over.

As for the scalpel, well, apparently it worked as a sort of focus for the Ope-Ope to work through. It made Rosinante wince, made the whole thing seem more like a normal operation, but it was infinitely preferable to the sword Law had first suggested using. Apparently the boy already had ideas on how he might use the Devil Fruit to fight. Rosinante had to draw the line at practicing that on himself. It was bad enough Law had to operate on himself.

“Ready,” Rosinante repeated. He nodded and looked down at Law a moment more. He wouldn’t stay. He never did, not after the first time. Law insisted that it didn’t hurt but Rosinante couldn’t bear to see him like that. It looked too close to dying even if it was more like the opposite. “Right. I’ll be guarding the front door like always. Just right out there,” he said, knowing all the while it was more a reassurance to himself than to Law who was seemingly unfazed by the whole process. “If you need me, all you have to do is call for me.”

Law rolled his eyes. “I know, Cora-san.” He waved the scalpel in his hand menacingly. “Now get out of here. You’re distracting.”

Rosinante nodded and promptly tripped over his own feet on the way to the door. He caught himself on the door handle and smiled sheepishly back at Law who only scowled in return. He found his usual seat outside the room with a heavy sigh. One more operation and this would all be behind them.

For as much as he himself had told Law that the fruit wasn’t magic, he’d somehow imagined this would be over with one miraculous wave of the hand. Law would awaken to his new powers, find the lead in his veins and pull it all out in one go. Instead, it had been staggered over the course of weeks. Law had needed to learn how to use his powers and then they’d both found just how much energy it all took. The real delay came, Rosinante would admit, had come at his own insistence. He hadn’t been around for the first attempts at operating, since he’d been held up on Minion while Law went ahead to Swallow. Law himself had been tight lipped about how that had gone but from what he’d gathered from the other boys that had been there, there had been blood loss. Just how much he’d never know. In his opinion, any was too much.

Rosinante shook his head to get that particular image out of his head. He patted down his pockets until he found his cigarettes. He flicked at his lighter with a trembling thumb and nearly caught his hair instead of the cigarette with the resulting flame. He sucked in deep and let out a long, smoke filled breath. His eyes slid closed. He needed to focus on the positive. This would all be over soon. Already, life was coming back with a flush in Law’s skin. It would be a while before the patches in his skin would be gone completely but sunny Windmill Village was doing a lot to help vitality along. Law was healing. They both were.

He’d have to find a way to thank Sengoku and Garp. Maybe he’d just send food and drink along under the guise of souvenirs. At least Garp was likely to accept. Sengoku was still pretending that sending a Marine Commander to such an out of the way posting was a punishment. Rosinante knew, though, just how many strings the Fleet Commander likely had pulled to get him here. As important as the rulers of the Goa Kingdom might consider themselves, they didn’t really merit a strong naval presence.

“I’m done.”

The voice was quiet and weak enough that he nearly didn’t hear it but he was on his feet in an instant. He gripped the wall to keep upright and then stumbled in through the door. Law was seated just as he’d been before. If Rosinante didn’t know any better, he’d think nothing had happened. He did know better, though.

“Done? All done?”

“That’s what I said, you stupid clown,” came the expected reply. There wasn’t nearly as much bite in the insult as there once had been. Law fell back onto his bed. Rosinante took a worried step forward before he saw the smile on Law’s face. “But yeah, it’s all done. Not a trace of lead left.”

Of the two of them, Rosinante had most definitely been the more optimistic one about this whole process. Yet, here he was, unable to quite believe it. The past weeks had been so hard and the six months before that had been harder still. It felt impossible that they’d both survived it all and now would get to simply get on with their lives.

Law opened one golden eye and fixed it on Rosinante. “You think I’m lying to make you feel better or something?”

Rosinante gaped. The forgotten cigarette dropped from his mouth. He stomped it out with a yelp before anything was burnt. “No!” he insisted. “It’s just—”

How could he explain? But Law was smart. He got it even without words.

The boy sat up. “See for yourself.” He extended a hand and was surrounded in a sphere of shimmering blue. “Scan.”

That blue light intensified and shone in a path that followed the careful sweep of Law’s hand. Rosinante knew from previous experience exactly what Law was showing him. There was nothing. No lead. No lingering illness.

Rosinante’s face split into a wide smile. He could see Law biting back on a smile of his own as he threw himself back down into the bed.

“Told you, idiot. I thought you crammed that fruit down my throat because you believed in my medical skills.”

“I did. I do! But after everything…”

“Yeah. I know.” Law chewed on his lip and a complicated expression crossed his face. Whatever it was about, when it passed, there was only a smile left in its place. “I might’ve scanned three or four times before I called you in. Just to be really sure.”

“But it’s over.”

“It’s over.”

How many times would they have to repeat that before either of them believed it?

Law had let his eyes drift shut again. Rosinante took the opportunity to really look at him. He wondered what changes the next months and years would bring. Law was still rather small for his age. Rosinante knew he was hardly the best judge given he was, as Law would point out, rather larger than average himself, but the boy hardly had the look of someone on the cusp of adolescence. Hopefully without the constant strain on his body, he would be able to catch up with where he should be. Perhaps he’d never be as tall or as bulky as he might have been but only time would tell. Rosinante chose to hope for the best.

And then there was his skin. Amber Lead Syndrome was blessedly unheard of all the way out in a rural corner of East Blue but Rosinante knew Law was still self conscious. Every curious look or question about the white patches made him pull into himself. Although the people of Windmill Village had overall been very kind and accepting, Law would undoubtedly be more comfortable when his skin was clear of any lingering paleness.

Rosinante’s heart swelled thinking of that future. Maybe Law would start to open up more, find friends even. He knew Garp’s grandkids were about somewhere. And that was only the start of it. Law was smart, he was strong, and now he was healthy. The future was practically limitless.

Rosinante threw himself into the bed next to Law, causing the boy to bounce up into the air with a yelp.

“Oi! Watch what you’re doing, you giant oaf.”

Rosinante could only smile. He ruffled a fond hand through Law’s unruly black hair. “We should start looking at what medical training is available. There might not be anything somewhere so out of the way but there’s plenty of time. We can find you the best training. Go anywhere you want.”

Law rolled his eyes. “Give me a few seconds to breathe, would you? I only just finished getting rid of the lead and you’re already planning out my entire future.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll try not to get carried away. But…” Rosinante hesitated. He knew this was a sensitive subject given all the time Law had spent convinced he was going to die. Still, the boy needed to start looking ahead at some point. “Have you thought at all what you might want to do now?”

Law was silent a moment and Rosinante thought he had perhaps pushed too far. Then Law smiled. “I was thinking…” Rosinante propped himself up onto his elbows and waited. Law’s smile only grew. “Maybe I’ll become a pirate.”

Rosinante’s eyes widened. “What?” He swatted at Law, only to be easily dodged as Law hopped over him and off the bed. “You brat! You aren’t going to be a pirate.”

Law threw back his head and laughed as he continued to dance out of Rosinante’s reach. It was a boisterous, youthful thing that the blond couldn’t help but love the sound of. Law was still a brat. He would probably always be a bit of a shit but there would really be time ahead for him to grow. Mature. There was finally a future that both of them could see and Rosinante couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment whether that included Law turning pirate or doing anything else he might imagine.

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgar d. water law #donquixote rosinante #donquixote rocinante #corazon #one piece corazon #fic #one piece au

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thatnerdwolfnell · 4 years

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Pocky challenge: MC x Main six

The Pocky game is a party game played withPocky, a Japanese chocolate- or candy-coated biscuit snack. Two participants place the Pockybetween them “Lady and the Tramp” style, and try to be the last to hold onto the biscuit, often resulting in a kiss.

^coppied from google.

Ohohoho. Yes. Thank you. I love you. This would have been done yesterday, but I was a dumb bastard and I ran out of my meds so I was busy feeling like general shit. Sidenote: me and my uni friends used to do this with gummy bears before Covid because we have no shame I guess? Idk.

Pocky game Mc and Main 6

Asra:

He loves it. Even when you kiss him regularly he still loves the thrill and challenge of the game.

He has a bit of a competitive streak so if he has to he will full on kiss you and suck the slimy ass pocky out of your mouth. (I'm sorry for that image)

When he pulls out some strawberry pocky hes already got that cheeky knifecat smirk on his face.

He rattles the box a bit specifically to draw your attention

He gets that dark heavy sparkle in his eyes as he puts the strawberry end between his lips and just looks at you, completely still.

You try to hide your smile, you love when he gets like this.

Asra has a thing for games.

You shift over on the couch enough that you can take the end of end of the pocky in your teeth.

He leans in to take another bite and steadies you with an unexpected hand sliding up from the small of your back.

you raise an eyebrow

The corner of his mouth twitches up into a grin.

he takes a deep breath and holds it as he inches closer. He somehow has nibbling the pocky within millimeters down to a practiced skill and he always holds his breath when he starts getting close. It's a focus thing and probably to keep from moving too much. You can tell he expects to win.

You lace a hand through his hair gently anchoring at the nape of his neck, and bite off most of your end

He blinks in surprise and finally lets out his breath slow enough that it catches in his throat and sends goosebumps down your spine.

His face is so warm next to yours. You can hear his heartbeat, quick and shallow in his chest.

"Gib ub yet?" You ask. There's not much left of the pocky but you know he won't stop.

He grins around the pocky.

The hand on your back slides to your waist. The other skims along your thigh and you gasp slightly.

He doesn't break eye contact. You let out a shaky breath as he nibbles just enough off to keep your lips from touching. If you moved you could easily kiss him.

He plays dirty. He likes teasing you. Waiting for your next move.

You kiss him hard and push him down onto the couch taking the whole last bit of the pocky in your mouth and crunching down.

He tilts his head back and laughs his hair falling back into his face.

"mm I think you cheated" he smirks and leans in to kiss along your jaw

"So did you." You say. You grab another pocky and smooth his hair away from his face before you push off.

Nadia:

Well Nadia isn't really one for party games but she IS one for food. (I think we have a couple different canon scenes I could use as evidence here)

She's never heard of it but she's intrigued.

It's after dinner and you're both still at the table. This isn't something she would ever do in public

"If you wanted me to kiss you, all you had to do was ask...but if you'd rather earn it that can be arranged"

She takes a pocky and gently feeds the end in your mouth.

"If you drop it you'll have to earn my kisses some other way. And I'll be sure to make it a very long night."

She smiles sweetly with just a hint of a smirk and your heart skips a beat.

The way she looks at you with so much reverence, like you're one of her intricate, beautiful machines and she'll take you apart piece by piece just to understand every part.

She starts eating her end and you do the same. She somehow looks elegant with her lips pressed around the pocky and the heat of her breath condensing against the chocolate.

She pauses at the very last bit and let's you close the gap. Her lipstick tastes sweet and floral.

You deepen the kiss and run a hand along her shoulder.

She grabs you by the waist and leans you back against the table in one smooth movement without breaking the kiss.

One hand pins your wrist against the wood above your head while the other is still wrapped around your waist under your back so that it arches slightly.

"I didn't say you could do that, MC." There's amusement in her voice that draws in a low whisper.

She gently caresses down your neck stopping in the middle of your chest. "But I don't want to wait."

She kisses you and you kiss back letting your hands wander through her hair while she presses down over you.

"that's good, love. We should do this more often."

Julian:

He suggests it at the rowdy raven one night. A game he picked up in his pirate days.

"Come on, who's down for a little fun? Make the party more interesting."

Nadia rolls her eyes.

Portia immediately looks at you and pointedly tilts her head at Julian, wiggling an eyebrow suggestively.

You blush a little. You're about to volunteer to play when Lucio steps in.

"I'm up for the challenge. Give you a chance to get near my lips, hey Jules?"

If Julian is disappointed, he doesn't show it. He just grins and pulls out a pocky. "Alright that's the spirit!"

They move down the pocky rather fast and it's clearly a competition. Neither hesitates before meeting in the middle. Julian pulls of with a dramatic peck before pulling away just as fast.

"Anybody else?"

"I'll go!" You take your chance a little too quickly and you see Portia smile in the corner of your eye.

Ah MC. Perfect!" He seems surprised. Maybe a little flustered.

You take a pocky in your mouth and offer him the other end.

He blushes and leans in to start chipping at the biscuit.

He smells like salt and leather. You can feel his heartbeat in his lips moving the stick.

You lean in further, resting a hand on his knee as if for balance. He stiffens but you can see his smirk grow wider.

You both hesitate at the last little piece, caught in the moment of closeness. You start to move to take it and kiss him but he pulls away before you do.

You look at him startled. He's bright red and flustered.

"Ah. um MC I- I didn't think you were going to-"

He's been doing this. Avoiding you when he knows you both want it. You've had enough of that.

"Did you want to?"

He blinks. "What?"

"Kiss me. Did you want to?"

You hold him under your gaze and his eyes soften into something like longing. Or guilt. Or hunger.

"...yes." he says it simply and quietly. Like the only true thing he can find in a single soft word.

And you kiss him. You feel him melt into the kiss and he's kissing you back.

You hold his face in your hands and he pulls you in closer.

You can feel how much he wants this. Like water in the desert. His brow is furrowed in desperation. You break away.

The hurt in his eyes is obvious and you brush his hair out of his face rubbing a thumb along his cheek.

"Hey," you look him in the eyes and try to convey everything in that look. "I'm not going anywhere, you get that?"He nods.

"We can have this all the time." You say.

His eyes wander down your body. "All the time..." He repeats softly.

You kiss him again, much gentler this time. He pulls you in and you feel like THIS is how things were always supposed to be. And this is the life you want to have. With Julian and your friends, and everything right in the world.

Muriel :

He is a blushy boy. But he's been approaching things like this with curiosity, and maybe even wonder, even if it can be hard to tell.

He never refuses a touch or a kiss, and for a while you weren't sure he knew he COULD refuse.

You don't want to make him uncomfortable and you were worried he just tolerated it for your sake.

While he's been getting better, he still lacks awareness of what he wants and likes. You've been helping him figure out his boundaries after years of having them constantly violated and convincing himself that it doesn't matter.

When you told him he seemed surprised. "No, I like it, MC. I always like it." He made it clear that he would say no if he was uncomfortable, "like with cantaloupe or bananas." He said.

(Not eating foods he didn't like had been game changer. A lot of textures bother him.)

Since then he's been making more of an effort to initiate and touch has become something of communication for him.

Hand squeezes for comfort, an arm barring you from accidentally stepping in a rabbit hole, a touch on the shoulder to say "be careful", a nudge to say "look at this", a nuzzle into your neck to say "I love you"

It's just easier than talking. It's how he's always talked to Asra amd Inanna despite the telepathy.

But this is something different.

"But...why?" He asks as you take a pocky from the box. He's already blushing like crazy.

"Because it's fun." You say and you put the end in your mouth.

He frowns but you can see the amusement in his eyes.

He takes a small bite off the end and leans back chewing it curiously.

You laugh. "No, you're supposed to keep going and we hold on until we get to the middle."

"Oh." He leans back in and starts eating away at his end. He looks at you for confirmation, a look of confusion on his face.

You smile and inch closer.

He's bright red and you can feel the heat from his face and his heartbeat, strong and fast.

You both pause at the last bit, daring the other to make a move.

His green eyes are bright and sharp as they lock with yours for just a glance.

Then he closes the gap kissing you gently. Eyes closed, taking the last bit before moving away.

A hand rests on your waist and the other on your shoulder.

"Sorry, did you want the last bit?" You think he's teasing you, but the alarm in his eyes say he's completely serious.

You laugh "no, of course not. I just wanted to kiss you."

He smiles and pulls you into his arms. "I know. But I thought you still... might have wanted it." He shrugs.

He looks down at you and you feel his heart skip. "You could still taste it. ...if you wanted to that is."

What? His mouth twitches up into a slight smirk.

OH.

You kiss him for real this time. And you both end up on the floor of the hut laughing.

You kiss him again.

And he kisses you.

Again and again and again.

Portia:

Yeah she's definitely played before.

Something about the kitchen staff at the last masquerade?

Anyway the rowdy raven has gotten, well, rowdy.

Julian brought the pocky and there's enough overly competitive people in the room that there's been a few kisses.

Portia grabs the box from brother and shakes it teasingly in your direction.

"MC!" She winks. "How about it?"

Her face is flushed from Mazelinka's sangria that she snuck in (which you're pretty sure is actually just pure liquor) but Portia can hold her drink despite going red rather quickly.

You grin. "If you think you're up for it."

You get up and sit down next to her and move a piece of hair off her shoulder, resting your hand there longer than you need to.

She's beautiful when she's smiling like this, having fun.

You can't help a bit of a smile when she leans into your hand slightly while she takes out a pocky.

While you're distracted, she suddenly pokes the end into your mouth making you jump back in surprise.

"Mm hey!"

She just laughs leaning back in the booth letting her giggles fade with a snort.

"Don't drop it!" She says between laughs.

"I'b not!" The pocky is still hanging from your mouth and you wiggle it around for emphasis.

She leans forward and takes the other end in her mouth.

Her eyes sparkle and suddenly she's reaching her arms around your waist pulling you in closer

Your eyes widen and she smirks. You feel the exhale of a silent laugh on your skin.

You're so close and she's so warm. Your heart is pounding.

There isn't much left of the stick and you're not sure if–

Oh.

You didn't mean to but now your lips are together and they're warm and solid and everything seems to explode at once.

The last bit of pocky falls to the ground as you gasp.

She frowns slightly when you pull away, but she still has that self-satisfied expression.

You lean in again and lift your hand towards her face. Hesitating. Waiting for permission.

But then she gives you a look through her lashes. She glances again at your lips.

You tilt your head as you lean in and close your eyes, cradling her face in your hand and letting the other press against her waist.

She moves closer and you can feel her chest pressing against yours.

You pull her tighter and she makes a small delighted noise between a laugh and a gasp.

"Oh. I love this." You say between kisses.

She grins. "This'll be an adventure, hey?"

Lucio:

He sets the box of pocky on the table in front of you.

"You've heard of the pocky game right?"

You nod, unsure of where this is going. Normally Lucio is pretty straightforward about kissing you.

"Well how about a little wager? If you win I'll get you whatever the hell you want, a whole shopping spree of the finest jewels, clothes, whatever."

You nod again. "Alright and if you win?"

He shifts uncomfortably wringing his hands. "Well, if I win.... youhavetotakeCamiotohisvetcheckup."

You sigh. Oh god. So that's what this was about. Camio HATED the vet. That rascal of a bird would be screeching insults the whole time.

You could see why Lucio was trying to get out of it.

You love that little shit, but damn he could be annoying. He's the kind of bird that will hold a grudge for about a week, and he does not take vet trips lightly.

"Please?" Says Lucio, "and if we meet in the middle we go together."

"You realize that I could just say no and make you do it yourself, right?"

"But you're not going to because I'm your boyfriend and you love me?"

You frown.

"Okay but then you wouldn't get to kiss me. Plus Camio likes you more, he'll be nicer with you there."

You pause considering. It WOULD be good to have a buffer instead of leaving the poor vet with Camio and Lucio by themselves.

"Fine, but ONLY if you win, remember?"

"YES!" he eagerly grabs a pocky and sticks one end in his mouth.

You take the other end and start chewing as fast as you can.

He takes a moment to get his bearings and catch up but once he does you're both at the very end right before the middle.

Neither of you want to move, both trying to avoid the task.

You try to get him to back down by inching a little closer, but he stays put.

He moves the tiniest bit.

And then you kiss.

fuck.

"YES!" He shouts, jumping back in triumph.

"You have to come too, still." You say.

Yeah but i won't mind if you're there."

You sigh and lean back.

"Oh come on don't look like that. We'll do a half shopping spree. That seems more fair anyway. I get half a win, you get half a win."

You laugh. "Alright, alright. Where is that stupid bird anyway?"

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queen-susans-revenge · 3 years

Text

Fic Writer Review (thanks to @gondalsqueen for tagging, this is a fun one!)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 wordcount?

176720

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Six, but the vast majority for Star Wars. I wrote one Batman story that was very dashed off, mostly a quick character sketch for a possible AU. One Sherlock Holmes story that still gets some love on AO3. Two Lord of the Rings stories. A couple of reworked fairy tales. And five for Dragon Age.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Well, the top two are my Star Wars Rebels smut epics, Fade to Black (514) and Fade to Black and Back (396), which are literally just about all the sex Kanan and Hera have in the offscreen moments in every episode. I have zero shame about this.

Then there's Talk About It (335), which is another smutty piece based on a bit of party banter in Dragon Age: Origins.

Wedding Dance (312 kudos, and back to Star Wars Rebels) is my most popular non-smutty fic, but Passion, Serenity (263) is big time smut about cartoon characters again. Listen, it's not all I write; it's just what I write best, apparently!

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do, although I'm behind in responding, because I get overwhelmed easily. I have all the comment notifications saved in my email though so I can stroke them over lovingly like a dragon admiring her gemstone hoard. Every now and then while I'm being dragonish over my comments I get a burst of virtuosity and think "I'll reply to some of these!" and then I do, so I am slowly working through my backlog, and I can only apologize to those of you who are getting your responses years and years later.

I always meant to answer. I always treasured your comment.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Scenes from Rivendell. By like, a lot. If you've never thought too much about Aragorn's mom Gilraen, please let me invite you to all the feels.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I don't think I ever have! I should do that, sometime, it sounds fun.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes, I had someone chide me for writing smut on a kid's show. But I try to be really careful about tagging so only the people who WANT to see the smut end up finding it.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

The dirty kind ;o

(Though there generally has to be at least one girl involved for me to be interested. I have written some m/m content, but not a whole lot.)

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, not that I know of.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes and it's the BEST thing!! I absolutely love it when anybody does translations, art, podfics or spin-offs of my stuff. It feels amazing to see my work out there in the world, living and traveling.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

None of my AO3 works are co-written. I had an original story that got picked up for a fiction podcast that was co-authored with a friend. Although the story behind that honestly was that I wrote the thing and insisted he accept the co-author credit because it was based on one of his characters in a roleplaying game.

Something similar will probably happen with a different friend and the space pirate novel that I'm working on now, if it ever gets published.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I don't know! Certainly Kanan and Hera is what I put the vast majority of my fic-writing energy into. But I was a huge X-Files shipper back in the day and Mulder and Scully still hold a special place in my heart.

14. What’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I'm super grateful to @gondalsqueen for doing Fade to Red so I can feel like that project actually got finished properly! I think I no longer have any outstanding wips?

15. What are your writing strengths?

Dialog, and sometimes cadence/rhythm, when I hit a good stride.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Self indulgence. In fanfic that's a tendency I don't even try to fight though, because it's what fic is for. In original fic though it's always a struggle to keep it tight and keep it flowing. And not try to show off Everything I Know About Mythology, or How Cool This One Idea I Had Is, or whatever.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Tricky! Relying on Google Translate is probably a bad idea.

I'll give an example from my current project. There's a scene set in a laboratory on Mars where Something Has Gone Terribly Wrong and I wanted automated warnings playing on a loop in various languages for maximum spook factor.

The English is "Warning! Please evacuate the building!" so I ran that through Google Translate for Russian... and then asked a Russian-born friend to verify that it was a good translation. He responded that it was not, because in fact that phrase needs some cultural translation before the literal one will make sense. As he put it: "The Russian would be a lot more direct. And they wouldn't say 'please.'" So instead, he gave me "Vnimaniye! Vyhodi zdaniye!" which is something more like "Attention! Exit building." And I absolutely love that.

So, I think before you can really write dialog well in another language you either need some direct knowledge/understanding, or a native speaker who doesn't mind looking it over for you.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I thiiiiiiink it was X-Files. All those fics were lost in time, like tears in rain (no it's fine they were terrible).

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

It's hard to pick, but it might be one of the Sabine stories. Heart's Blood, maybe.

I always stress about tagging people and being annoying or leaving someone out, so please consider yourself tagged if you want to be!

#fic writing meme

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gerec · 4 years

Text

Gerec’s Favorite Fics - 2020

A little early, but here’s a list of my favorite fics from this past year in no particular order. Hope you enjoy them as much I did! :D :D :D

Time the Preserver by MaxRobespierre

“Erik,” says the old man, looking directly at him, and, ah. Yes. That was why Erik stopped on his way back to the motel. His name, and the look in the old man’s eyes. He’s seen that look before, that depth of mourning. It’s not a look he likes to think about.

an empty hearth by Ireliss

The nighttime city, shrouded in fog.

(Logan works for Shaw, guarding his pretty young boyfriend. They grow closer than they should.)

Self-acceptance as an act of survival by winter_hiems

Charles and Erik get temporarily swapped into each other’s bodies.

Charles seems to be handling it.

He isn’t.

Four Funerals & A Wedding by midrashic

Four people who mourned Erik Lehnsherr, and one who didn't.

The Last Love Song & Testament of Charles F. Xavier by midrashic

When Erik is accused of domestic terrorism, Charles has no choice but to marry him to keep him out of jail.

The Marriage Bargain by kianspo

Erik Lehnsherr had made a fortune manufacturing steel in Europe. When he wished to expand to the New World, he discovered that no one would do business with him unless he was affiliated with one of the First Families, the creme de la creme of the NW aristocracy. When Lord Marko holds an auction to give away his 14-year-old stepson's hand in marriage, Erik sees his chance and takes it. He has no interest in Charles himself, but now that he has him, can they make it work?

Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) by kianspo

While working as a model for Raven and Emma's clothing line, Erik experiences a strong attraction to his shoot partner. These things happen, except Erik has a boyfriend, who does not take this at all well.

linger like a tattoo kiss by ikeracity

Six months apart gives Erik a lot of time to think about what he really wants.

(Erik's POV from Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) by kianspo)

Suddenly There'll Be a Blizzard (Let It Snow Remix) by kianspo

Charles was never at his best while jetlagged, but locking himself out in a snowstorm while barely dressed might be a new low. The last thing he expected was to be rescued by his high school nemesis, the man he hadn't seen in over ten years, who might have broken his heart for good once upon a time.

Once Upon a Time in the West by lachatblanche

Logan meets young, bright-eyed Francis in the run-down town of Charity while on the hunt for the notorious bank-robbers, the Xavier siblings, never for a moment dreaming that Charles Xavier is much nearer than he thinks ...

follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly by specficslut (homosociality)

Dr. Sebastian Shaw loves his job testing runaway omegas for fertility. Today, a boy named Erik is in the back of his medical van.

deeper than swords (the sun and stars remix) by specficslut (homosociality)

Erik has been traded to a foreign king for a chest of gold and a hundred bushels of grain. In Westchester, he must learn to start a new life... and navigate the roles that have been thrust upon him, whether concubine or courtesan, consort or slave.

The Shared Dream by TurtleTotem

Charles's cryo-pod malfunctions and wakes him up a century before everyone else. Will he spend the rest of his life alone on a ship full of sleepers? (A Passengers AU.)

Mr & Mr. Xavier-Lehnsherr by JackyJango

If you ask his late sister, she'd probably say that Charles had always had the hots for the bad boys.

Maybe it's true. Maybe that's how Charles had ended up willingly in their marriage bed. Maybe it's the ease with which Erik fights that had drawn Charles to him-- the confidence with which he uses his body to ensure maximum destruction, the fluidity with which he flares phasers as though they were an extension of his arm. Maybe Charles had been attracted to the grace with which Erik wielded his physical form in a way Charles would never be able to in his field of work. Maybe it's the aura that swirls around Erik for being the best mercenary on the planet. Or, maybe it’s just the roguishly handsome figure Erik cuts in a leather jacket and aviators with a cigarette caught loosely between his thin lips. The thing is, Charles doesn't know. And that's a tad antithetical coming from a man who had made knowing everything his job.

A Mr & Mrs Smith AU in Space!

We'll Show Them All by kaydeefalls

Pacific Rim AU. Ten years later, the monsters are back, and newly-instated Marshall Charles Xavier needs to pull a team together to prepare for the coming war. That means finding his talented sister a Drift-compatible copilot -- even if that turns out to be his old flame Erik.

Just One More Question by BelgianReader2, g33kyclassic

Erik meets Charles at Pub Quiz League and it is hate at first sight. But, his team does need a new member and Moira is insistent that Charles is just what they need.

Erik is not happy about Charles, despite his trivia skill. Can time change his opinion? What about an unexpected revelation or two?

To the tune of our souls by hllfire

Erik, the drummer and one of the lead singers of the band known as The Brotherhood, writes a song after being inspired by the words of a university professor called Charles Xavier — another big name in the mutant community, much like Erik himself — and he wants Charles' speech to be in his song.

The only problem is that Charles Xavier doesn't seem to agree with Erik's idea.

A Tale of Two Captains by ClarkeStetler, Goosenik

Charles Xavier had wanted to be on the ocean as far back as he could remember. He could remember toddling toward the shipyards as an infant, being snatched away by scolding parents just before he could touch the gleaming vessels. As he grew older, his attention never wavered from the prospect of living life on the seas. At twenty-one years of age, Charles and his ship had its first run-in with pirates, and he saw fit to protect his title and vessel as fiercely as he knew how.

Aka: a one-shot of Erik the pirate trying to ransom Charles the captain, but finding that Charles is a little hard not to get attached to.

I'm a bullet by Isolee (WIP) Since mother - since the house - since Cain - He's adapted. He can do anything. Now he wants something, and he suspects he might even deserve it. Or - Charles is sort-of a sex addict, and Erik is his married-with-family supervisor at Uni.

I'll Take You Down (The Only Road I've Ever Been Down) by kianspo

Tony and Emma are trying to help Charles get over a bad relationship. Many bad relationships, in fact, as Charles has the worst taste in men. They dare him to get 'cured' by sleeping with someone 'normal', having no idea that that normal guy just happens to be someone Charles has been crushing on for a while...

All We Are We Are by kianspo

Charles's boyfriend breaks up with him days before the holidays. Not willing to ruin anyone else's festive mood, Charles hides this fact from his sister and his friends, and retreats into the family mansion, letting the world move on without him. He's flirting with depression when a one-time ex and a long-term friend surprises him. Long-kept secrets are revealed, and it turns out, Charles hasn't been paying attention to the right things.

#gerec rambles #gerec's fic rec #2020 favorites #cherik #xavierine #starles #erik/shaw #charles/shaw #2020 #long post #year's not over so there may be more!#fic rec

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atinytokki · 3 years

Text

Paradise

vi. Bad Habit

“You be good now, son,” were Father’s parting words. “Listen to your grandparents. I’ll see you as soon as I can get away.”

He had already said his goodbyes to Haneul, who was locked away in her bedroom, sick.

With the end of Father’s visit came school, and while San had enjoyed meeting his peers and flying through his course work last year, he was afraid it would be too easy for him this time.

Days spent inside gazing forlornly out windows while someone else told him things he already knew sounded less adventurous than they always made it out to be. And it sounded a lot like Haneul’s current state of existence; a prisoner.

Over the remainder of summer she had worsened and worsened. There was no evidence of this other than her decreasing time spent out in the world and Dr. Hong’s increasing time spent at their cottage.

He had met with Father last night, on the eve of his departure, apologising about taxes and prices and other things San didn’t understand. What he did understand was that Haneul now needed a medicine more expensive than they could afford.

“You’ll do as you’re told, right?” Father nudged as he began to pull away from a tight hug. “They really need you now.”

San could only nod weakly and relinquish his grip on his father as he stepped up to the front seat of the cart and let Grandfather drive on in the direction of the western docks. He would work ceaselessly when he arrived at home, every extra coin sent to Namhae for Haneul’s sake.

Managing household affairs was supposed to be a distant future for San, but already as he stood in the ocean and watched the sunrise, he could feel it creeping up.

He couldn’t be sure whether anything Dr. Hong had done was working or not, and Haneul didn’t seem keen to tell him.

San had fed her, administered every type of medicine they had in the cabinets, sung to her, read to her, played half a game of cards with her, and still nothing was bringing her out of her darkened mood.

Playing cards against someone who would rather stare out the window wasn’t the most fulfilling.

“Is something out there?” A high-pitched voice interrupted his musings. Little Inho had approached, school bag slung over his shoulder, likely expecting San to walk him to school. It was his first year and he was very excited.

“No, no,” he answered in a rush. “Just my imagination. You’re early.”

San’s observation changed the topic swiftly, and Inho went on to explain why he had come at the crack of dawn. “The garrison is finished! Don’t you want to go see it?”

“Are you sure?” San snorted, adjusting his own school bag and beginning the walk into town. The last thing he wanted was for some construction accident to befall the clumsy boy and become his responsibility.

“Yes, the officers who will attend it have already moved in,” Inho told him confidently, leading the way past shops and vendors to the site which had earlier been the source of constant noise and disruption.

“Woah,” San breathed when he laid eyes on it. It was no mere naval building, but an entire complex built near the town hall, complete with a jailhouse, offices, armoury, and some strange sort of display at the front that San couldn’t put a name to.

“Oh, the stocks and the whipping post,” Inho supplied easily when he asked. “Haven’t you heard of it? That’s where the criminal goes.”

“I thought criminals went to jail… or to the noose,” San muttered uncomfortably. They hadn’t been showcased for the town to see in strange torture devices, but then again, San had lived in a small town.

“But sometimes they go to the stocks or the whipping post,” Inho told him matter-of-factly, even as he stumbled over the long words. “To be publicly shamed.”

“Do you think there will be many criminals there?” San asked, not sure who he was addressing his question to, or why he was even asking.

Inho could do no more than shrug and skip away in the direction of the schoolhouse, sending San hurrying after him.

Considering how smart Inho was, San had no worries about his performance in class, so he turned his thoughts to his own situation.

Other than the several new students— children of naval officers moving in, according to the morning announcements— nothing much had changed.

There were more arithmetic problems to solve, more scientific experiments to conduct, and more ancient tragedies that hit too close to home to read.

Due to Haneul’s absence, the schoolmaster sent books home on San’s back for her to read, and even when he tried reading them to her she didn’t become conscious enough to show signs of paying attention.

It seemed like she was getting worse and worse and their relationship was following suit.

The wind fluttered the curtains of his bedroom where San watched birds fly out to sea and wished he could follow.

For the evening it was just him and Haneul while their grandparents went on an evening walk along the beach.

It was the first of many evenings like that, where Haneul stayed in her room and San in his, alone save for his imagination, his books, and the small wooden pirate ship he had whittled in secret.

Regardless of the new boys he sometimes played with, San felt less and less connected as he entered his teenage years. As excited as he had been about Namhae when he arrived as a child, it no longer seemed that he belonged. That he had ever belonged in the first place.

Surrounded by the ocean, the very symbol of freedom, life was nonetheless monotonous and restricting. School was followed by work in the carpentry shop and then sitting in silence by Haneul’s bedside, watching his grandparents leave for their walk, and if he was lucky enough, sneaking out to play with his new friends along the beach at night.

Without really realising it, he was acting out the way he did as a small child when life was frustrating. San was a man of action, and if there was nothing to be done, he resorted to desperate but futile acts in a disturbed mood.

On one such winter evening the year he turned fourteen, his grandparents returned early from a shorter beach walk, hands held the whole time, to see San hurriedly putting the carpentry shop back together after some rowdiness with the officers’ children.

Neither of them spoke, and Grandmother simply padded upstairs to let her husband deal with the problem.

“Is anything broken?” He eventually asked a silent San, who quickly shook his head and continued putting chairs upright and tools back on the bench. “What exactly did you boys do in here?”

San exhaled through his nose before admitting, “We were studying at first but some of them brought die and cards so we ended up playing…”

“And drinking?” Grandfather finished for him, voice unchanged though there was disappointment in his eyes.

“No,” San lied smoothly. “Some of the older boys did, but—”

“But this is how you spend your evenings?” The older man cut to the heart of the matter, settling into his chair while a long pause unfolded in the wake of his question.

Maybe it was the effects of the rice wine but as soon as San opened his mouth, he couldn’t stop.

“I’ve been to probably every place on this whole island. I know everyone who lives here. If this is how I spend my evenings it’s because there’s nothing else to do. Haneul is upstairs dying and no one cares, not even Dr. Hong. Do you know it’s been six months since he recommended a new medicine? The one I feed her every day does nothing. The money Father sends from the mainland does nothing. All the books I read in school, and all the furniture we sell in the shop, and all the friends I make do nothing, Grandfather. Maybe if you would just fix up the sailboat like you promised when we first came, maybe then I’d feel like I wasn’t so trapped on this island where every day is the same and nothing I do changes anything.”

Finally out of breath, he couldn’t bear Grandfather’s heartbroken eyes on him any longer and ran to his room.

As he cried into his pillow he tried to pinpoint the moment it had all gone wrong. His life wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The more he thought about it in his hazy, turbulent mind, the more he realised it had always been this way. And it was never going to change.

Morning brought the same gentle quiet of crashing waves and calling birds and the walk to school. San managed to avoid seeing his grandparents until school was done for the day, too guilty to know what to say to them if he did.

He and Grandfather worked in silence on a set of new sliding windows for Mr. Shim, and San was content to keep it that way, letting his actions speak with apology instead of his words.

But soon enough Grandfather opened his mouth.

“Your father hasn’t been sending money.”

San sat up from his work and furrowed his brows in confusion.

“It’s too dangerous,” Grandfather explained with a sigh. “Pirates and all. We wouldn’t want it to be stolen.”

Pirates were a variable none of them had accounted for. Although San’s friends always assured him the Royal Navy had them on the run, they were enough of a threat for trade to be severely impacted.

“Would you like to come on some of our evening walks?” Grandfather offered as they cleaned up and closed the shop. “That’s how your Grandmother and I deal with being powerless, and it might keep you out of trouble.”

The truth was, San did want to go. He had always wanted to tag along, because anything was better than watching Haneul toss and turn with pained moans, her clouded eyes far away from him and the seaside paradise their home used to be.

But he turned up his nose and faced away to hide his wet eyes. “No.”

Not if the only reason was to keep him out of trouble.

Life went on that afternoon and every afternoon following, with the issue dropped. San didn’t invite his friends over again, and only arranged to meet them at one of their houses or the beach.

Just before winter break, he went out one evening and nearly stumbled over the sailboat. Muttering to himself, he bent down to push it out of the way before the reason for its appearance dawned on him.

“It’s fixed!” He realised, eyes filling up with happy tears as he danced around the thing and quickly ran to Mr. Shim’s to knock on the door.

“Excuse me, sir!” He panted when the old ferryman opened it for him. “The boat— our boat— my grandfather finally fixed it! Can you, I mean would you, if it’s not an inconvenience, possibly be able to teach me how to sail it?”

Mr. Shim blinked at him for a moment before straightening and taking a glance at the setting sun. “I’ll send Jiyong to meet you in the square tomorrow afternoon?”

A slow smile spread on San’s face as he nodded his agreement and bowed respectfully several times over in thanks.

Tomorrow afternoon couldn’t come soon enough.

San flew through his schoolwork and brushed off his friends, begged Grandfather to let him off work early just this once and arrived in town’s central square right on time.

It was busier than usual by the garrison, and as San approached the crowd that had gathered he learned why.

Someone was chained to the whipping post, and an officer was flogging him right there for the whole island to see.

Wincing as a blow struck the man’s skin and left angry red blood trails behind, San wondered aloud who was being punished.

“A pirate,” Jiyong’s voice answered him as he drew up alongside the teenager, joining the crowd with his arms crossed to peer above heads and view the spectacle. “Not sure whose crew he belongs to, but he’s definitely one of the pirates they caught over the weekend.”

It was no disturbing occurrence, San reminded himself in an effort to keep from plugging his ears against the pirate’s cries. He had seen pirates before, almost been attacked by one in that cave on Dalhae.

He should be happy a pirate was getting his comeuppance.

“What’s going to happen to him?” San couldn’t help but ask when the man was unchained and dragged back into the prison, listless and painted in his own blood.

Jiyong let out an acknowledging hum before launching into an explanation.

“Well, you see, according to our laws here in Jaecho, when someone is caught with reasonable suspicion of being a pirate or of aiding a pirate, the navy can within its rights have them imprisoned, whipped, and whatever other interrogation tactics they use in there. But it’s not always a good idea to beat a suspected pirate, especially in public, should the claim be proven wrong and the accused demand reparations and public apologies. That would be… embarrassing.”

“I take it that situation has happened before,” San snorted.

Jiyong joined the laughter for a moment before nodding reluctantly. “A few times that I can think of.”

The sound of the door closing ominously behind the unlucky prisoner brought San’s attention back to the man’s fate. “Will he be executed?”

“Not unless he’s a proven pirate,” Jiyong rattled off instantly. “And to be one of those you must be either found guilty and sentenced to death by court, or marked with a pirate brand from a previous encounter, in which case the trial can be skipped.”

San went pale when it dawned on him why. There must be so many executions to get to that skipping the court process for several of them was necessary.

Jiyong continued, oblivious, “The branding is Admiral Kim’s tactic of keeping track of pirates that may slip through his fingers the first time he arrests them without enough evidence. If he catches them again, in the act of piracy or not, as long as he finds a brand he can have them hung and whatever else he pleases as soon as the schedule allows. And all the other pirates will see the corpse hung from the gibbet and beware.”

San shivered but spoke up as he caught on, “So since this man has been at the whipping post, there’s a high chance he really is a pirate, just an unbranded one?”

“Exactly. Or else we might’ve been watching his execution.”

Knowing that was a sight he would rather not try to stomach, San turned towards the harbour and Jiyong followed him.

“How do you know all this about courts and convictions anyway?” He asked the older man, who laughed and rubbed his neck bashfully.

“I study law when I’m not working,” Jiyong admitted, frowning when San seemed confused by the fact. “Did you think I was only going to work for Mr. Shim for the rest of my life?”

“But you’re his apprentice, you’re supposed to take over his business,” San reminded him matter-of-factly, crossing his arms in a way that probably looked a tad childish. After all, that was what Grandfather expected of him with regards to the carpentry shop.

“There’s no reason I can’t do both,” Jiyong insisted as the ocean came into view. “You don’t have to just take what you’re given in this world, ferrying passengers is fine but if there’s a chance to move up in status, I’d be a fool not to take it. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t taken up some bad habits.”

Clearly knowing too much, he accompanied his final remark with a wink and San found it necessary to change the subject to sailing before his behaviour was further exposed.

San got his first taste that day as Jiyong taught him everything he could possibly learn in a single afternoon about the handling of a small sailboat. And the following weekend he taught him everything else he could learn.

Grandfather had fixed the vessel for him in order to satiate his rebellious desires but, even as grateful as San was for his gift, the boat was quickly put to use for more unruly evenings.

He played hooky on and off for the rest of the school year, just enough to avoid being caught, and went out when he wasn’t permitted to. From his perspective it wasn’t as if he sailed into dangerous waters or endangered other passengers, and what Grandfather didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

For the time being it seemed he had no inkling. Haneul, on the other hand, did.

“Were you sailing?” The muttered question, barely louder than a whisper, interrupted his reading aloud.

San could only blink at her, surprised, as she gazed at him with her clear and piercing eyes, reflecting the candlelight by her bedside.

“You’re awake…” he breathed, stumbling to his feet in excitement. “Yes I was sailing, how did you know?”

Haneul’s expression didn’t change, but she glanced out the window and her eyes landed on the autumn moon. School had begun again after a scorching summer and San continued his nightly adventures unbeknownst to anyone else.

“You smell of the sea.”

San sat down again but closed the book and placed it on the table. Haneul hadn’t directly spoken to him in a couple of weeks, and even when she was coherent enough to do so, they never had much to talk about.

“Is it true you’re going to visit Father?” She asked quietly after a moment. It sounded like she wished she could come along.

San wasn’t sure how she even knew about those plans, considering the fact that he had only just asked Grandfather for permission that afternoon, but he nodded in answer and watched her face fall.

“I would bring you along but you’re still feeling ill and you don’t like sailing anyway and—”

“You need more attention than you’ve been getting,” she translated softly.

And, as usual, Haneul was correct but it embarrassed San to admit it.

“It’s just that I haven’t spent much time with him in the past few years.”

Because when he visits, he spends it with you, went unsaid.

“I’ll go over to Dr. Hong’s and ask if Eunkyung and Eunae can come visit you after school so you aren’t alone,” San offered when she didn’t reply.

The prospect brightened her mood for the rest of the evening, and as promised, San knocked on the neighbours’ door with his request before bed.

Eunkyung and Eunae had been too busy to manage more than a few afternoons at the Choi cottage, especially since there weren’t many games Haneul could participate in from the confines of her bed.

“How long will you be gone?” Inho asked with a pout as San slipped his shoes back on and prepared to go home, arrangements made.

“I’m not sure yet, maybe a week or so? You can survive walking to school without me for that long, right?”

Inho huffed but eventually agreed. “My noonas can take me. They’re boring compared to you, though.”

San couldn’t help but blush at the praise and gave the young boy an affectionate head pat before walking home and crawling into bed.

Perhaps it had been an exaggeration when he thought no one cared about him anymore. Sure, he often was alone and felt more like an outsider than ever, but he had Haneul, he had his grandparents, he had Inho and Jiyong and his friends at school, and most of all, he had sailing.

He dreamed about wind in his hair and sea grass bending over as if greeting a prince, the sky on fire with colour before him as he proceeded to his boat.

It was practically sailing itself across smooth and shining waves and San could sit back and feel the setting sun on skin.

He was where he belonged.

...

A/N: I have become swamped my school :< Been meaning to write this for some time, hopefully I’ll get a schedule underway but thanks for your patience, don’t forget to comment and motivate me lol and stay tuned ❤️

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hongism · 4 years

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 3.5

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 1.7k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one ➻ part 3.5

Yunho hums as he works, hands coming through the head of hair before him as he rubs dye over each strand with great care. It’s almost therapeutic in a way, but it does nothing to take his mind off the patient who is still unconscious in the med bay. He has no shortage of confidence over his abilities; he fixed your arm up to near perfection, the best he could do given the circumstance, and in a short amount of time as well. That isn’t what bothers him though. You’ve been unconscious for days since the operation. Well, it’s only been two days to be exact, but your fever hasn’t broken yet and that concerns Yunho more than he’d like to admit.

It’s a damn fever. He should know how to cure one within hours, but all the medicines he tried did nothing to curb the fever so he settled for waiting for it to break instead. While he still can’t understand why exactly the medicines didn’t work, it feels too much like a failure. He doesn’t fail. Ever. It’s not even a possibility.

Yunho must be rubbing too vigorously at the head under his hands, because the owner leads forward and twists to look back at him.

“Sorry,” he says through a small smile. Mingi blinks back at him, eyes wide as ever in wonder and curiosity. Yunho expects the question before he asks it and braces himself for the next words to leave the young Berserker’s mouth.

“What are you feeling right now?”

“Confusion,” Yunho answers, maintaining his grin. Mingi glances away and stares down at the floor for a few moments.

“The aura feels weird.”

“Is it affecting you badly?”

“No… no. I just don’t understand it.” Mingi settles back into the chair comfortably again, and Yunho returns to his methodical motions on his hair. Each blonde strand gets a thick coating of pale brown dye. Yunho watches the dye coat the hair underneath with little interest, barely aware of his hand going over the same piece over and over again. A sigh escapes him. It prompts Mingi to shift again, but before he turns around, Yunho drops a hand to his shoulder.

“Stay put or you’ll make a mess.”

“Could you explain it?”

“What? Hair dye?”

“No, no. What has you so conflicted?”

“Ah,” Yunho exhales. He hesitates before speaking again, eyes trailing towards the ceiling as he mulls over his next words. “You remember what I told you about feeling concerned, right?”

“Yeah, somewhat. How when people spend time together, they begin to care for each other. Then if something bad happens to one of them, the other gets worried or anxious about their well-being. Like… uh, how I feel when Hongjoong leaves for a dangerous mission. Thinking that he might get hurt. That’s concern.”

“Exactly, yes.” Yunho smiles at the back of Mingi’s head. “Well, sometimes you can be concerned about people you’ve just met.”

“You mean the girl in the med bay?”

“Yes, yes, her. I–”

“How can you be concerned about someone you don’t know? Is that still concern or is it something else? Is there another word for it?”

“Hold on, Mingi. I’m going to explain just be patient.” Yunho smacks the side of Mingi’s head, a risky move maybe, but he knows Mingi won’t lash out like he used to. They’ve come a long way since then, nearly six years or maybe more than that. Yunho knows that he is good at many things, but keeping track of time is not one of those things. Despite all that time, it’s still a lengthy and arduous process to help Mingi understand even basic emotions and morals, but at least he shows interest in learning about them. “Since I’m a doctor, I feel a responsibility towards my patients. I know I have the ability to heal them, but there are some things I can’t fix. Sometimes I can’t fix them even using tried and true methods. Even if I don’t know them, I feel a sense of duty to heal them. It’s my job, right?”

“Why not just put them out of their misery then?”

Yunho purses his lips at the question. It’s one that Mingi asks time and time again, and he shouldn’t be surprised that the man is bringing it up again here and now. Still, he wishes he could get through to the Berserker. As much as he tries to exercise patience with Mingi, he does grow tired of answering the same question over and over again like this.

“That’s not right, Mingi. I can’t kill a patient in good conscience, meaning that if they even have a sliver of a chance of surviving then I will take that chance. It’s a risk but one taken with good intentions. My job as a doctor is to save people not kill them.”

“Then I’ll kill her. Save you the trouble.” Mingi moves to get out of his seat. Yunho lunges forward, grabbing hold of his shoulder and tugging him back down to the chair again. He releases a small bout of laughter that echoes how nervous Mingi’s hasty actions made him. “Why?”

“Because even if you deliver the blow, the blame is still on my shoulders.”

“That’s not what they taught me in the arenas.”

“The arenas… they were different. They bred you to kill without thought or feeling, did they not?”

“Yeah, but it was easy.”

“For you, Mingi. They raised you to not feel any emotions and not to think for yourself. But I – that’s not how I was raised, remember?”

Mingi glances back at the healer, eyes wide as ever, and Yunho sighs at the sight of the blankness in his eyes. Of course, he doesn’t remember. Yunho has to remind himself to be a bit more patient; years of patience may not be enough. He hasn’t spent every waking moment of the last six years with Mingi at his side. No, the first three years were spent in a strange limbo where the two neglected to speak to each other one on one. Rather their time was filled with curious glances and passing comments made to a group of people rather than to each other.

If someone asked Yunho to pinpoint the exact moment in which they began speaking to each other, he would not be able to. That time is mostly a blur of faces coming in and out of his life with haste; the only true constants were San and Wooyoung. He frankly didn’t speak much with the other members who still remain on the crew around that time either. He was just a shut-in, to put it simply. Spent all his time in the med bay, rarely even coming out to get food because Wooyoung would always bring it by for him. He and Wooyoung were a lot more similar back then, before Yunho started branching out and being more comfortable with other people. Wooyoung would just spend all his time at Yeosang’s side, hand in his wherever they went, and on the rare occasion that Wooyoung wouldn’t be there, he would be in the med bay with Yunho.

Mingi, on the other hand, was never around much. At least not that Yunho noticed. Hongjoong’s side. That’s the place he saw Mingi the most, and that’s always where he expected him to be. The fact of the matter is that Mingi and Yunho were – still are actually – complete opposites. Yunho would say that about him and San, but at least San has a semblance of emotions. Mingi has always been void of that to a scary degree, which is probably what deterred Yunho from talking to him for so long.

The Berserker was the one to approach him after those three long and awkward years of avoidance. He cornered Yunho in the med bay with those wide and curious eyes. Yunho thought he was going to get annihilated by the man back then, maybe die at his hands without even knowing why but Mingi presented a simple and straight-forward question that had Yunho fumbling for words. Ironically enough, the same question that falls from Mingi’s lips now as Yunho continues to comb through his hair with dye in silence.

“Why do you want to be a good person?”

Yunho hadn’t known what to say back when Mingi first asked him the question, but now that time has passed he thinks he can at least construct a decent answer.

“The arrogance in me would say it’s because I want people to think I’m a good person. Because being perceived as good is better than being perceived as bad. But honestly… I just feel happiness by doing good things and helping people.”

“Happiness…” Mingi echoes to himself. Yunho knows that the man doesn’t quite understand that emotion, and all his attempts to explain it to him have failed drastically.

“It makes me feel warm inside.”

“Why would you want to feel warm inside?”

“It’s like the feeling when Hongjoong says he’s proud of you. Or when you’re told that you did a good job. You know that sensation, right?” Mingi nods against Yunho’s touch. Yunho finishes up with the last few strands of pale hair before speaking again. “Well, that’s what I feel when I help someone or do a good thing. That’s why I want to be good.”

“Ah… okay, yeah, I see. Thank you, Healer.”

“You know to call me Yunho, Mingi.”

“Right. Yunho.”

“That’s good enough, I guess. Alright, up. You still wanna do mine?”

“Yes, I think I can manage it.”

“I trust you, Mingi. Think about the things we talked about. Or ask some more questions. It’ll help keep your thoughts from drifting back to those things.”

“Okay, yeah, I can handle that.” Mingi stands up, barely inching over Yunho, and glances down at the bowl of blue dye that Yunho passes his way. “Blue?”

“Your favorite,” Yunho answers with a small laugh, and he pats Mingi on the cheek as he steps around him to take his place in the wood chair. There is a pause after that. Yunho glances up at Mingi through the mirror before him, eyeing the Berserker carefully. He continues to stare down at the bowl of dye with that familiar blank expression.

“You said happiness felt… warm?”

✧✧✧ a/n: hello hello this is the first interim type chapter so far, and i got an overwhelming amount of answers giving me wonderful ideas and questions to be answered, as well as interest in the interim chapters so im excited to do these here and there to break up the tension. i know i said i wasn’t going to post this week but given all that’s been happening, i figured we could all use a break from the stress and negativity and have a more light-hearted thing to think about!

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @saturatedsan @haotheheckk

unable to tag: @2504-life @lil7bluedragon

note: if you would not like to be tagged in future interim chapters, please don’t hesitate to let me know!!!

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jessiebanethedragon · 3 years

Text

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt 6)

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Six: The Argument

You right yourself quickly, even if it is just to save yourself from your own embarrassment of smashing into the hull for what seems like the millionth time today. Surprisingly, the raised voices above you can still be heard. Whether that means your lock picking skills are levels higher than you guessed or the men can bicker for longer than you thought possible, you cannot be sure. But what it does mean is that with all of them occupied and all in one place, you can now move around the ship with autonomy. You take one step before stopping.

All the crew are in one place…. So could you not just lock them in? It is not the worst idea you’ve had today. And so when you step onto the deck you follow the sounds to the source of the yelling, to find all four crew members in what looks to be the captain's quarters. The heavy wooden door is held open by a piece of stone and so you hide behind the door itself and lean your way around to remain unspotted as you snatch up the stone and watch as the door slams shut.

You stand surprised that so far this has all worked before thinking of putting the stone down in front of the door itself as a meager counter weight before sliding the thick bolts into place to lock the door into the captain's quarters. You hear four versions of many different curse words as you step back to admire your work. Perhaps you weren't such a bad stowaway after all!

“Why does it lock from the outside?” You think aloud, and the triumphant smile you’d been wearing falls. Why does it lock from the outside?

“Open the door.” The captain says sternly but you make no intention to even think about moving toward the bolts.

“Perhaps- perhaps I shall open the door when we, when we…” you start off with confidence that's quickly lost.

“Not to worry, vod. Sounds like an airtight plan to me.” You’ve heard Crosshair ramble enough now to recognize his voice and if not that, you’re fairly certain now he would be the only member of crew to make such a comment.

“Here’s what's going to happen.” You tell them, you’re tired of asking, of being tame. “I’m not opening that door until I have full confidence that we are not going back to Coruscant.”

“We’re going to die in this room.”

“Crosshair, would it kill you to shut your mouth for five minutes?” That’s the voice you’ve heard the least so you assume it belongs to the captain.

“Just take me to the closest inhabited land, and you’ll never have to see me again.” You bargain.

“And get gutted by Nython, no thanks sweetheart.” He sounds like he's leaning against the door, and in your bravery you stand in front of it as well. Letting one of your hands trail over the bolts.

“He likes to lock doors from the outside as well.” You murmur to yourself, reliving the tour of his grounds given to you by one of the workers. You repeat the explanation you were given. There's a long pause and you’re thinking you’ve reached a stalemate when you hear his mysterious voice again:

“Alderaan is a few days away from us.” Chills run through you at the possibility of escape, real escape with a ship and a plan. You try to think of some way to match his offer, to convince him to take you there.

“Please…” your forehead presses against the cooler wood for comfort.

“Unlock the door.” He’s not asking this time, and with hands shaking with excitement and perhaps too much trust, you release the bolts.

The man standing in front of you is a very different one from the first time you saw him. The black tunic is loose but tucked into tactical pants that look decades too old for anybody to still be wearing them. His sleeves are rolled up and you get a glimpse of scars, and a large burn mark of a symbol you do not recognize in his inner arm. And when your eyes meet his, you properly see them for the first time. In here they look almost yellow, but you think perhaps they’re a rich light brown. The red bandana keeps longer hair out of his warm coloured face.

Suddenly you’re self conscious about your ruined dress and tousled hair. He clears his throat.

“Chart a course to Alderaan.” He orders stepping out of the small room, regarding you awkwardly.

“Nice to have ya aboard little miss!” You jump out of your skin when a hand meets your shoulder.

“Wrecker.” The captain chides, this clone is bigger than his twins and is sporting more scars than any of them evident by the large one on his face (complimented with a gnarly eye patch) and with his low cut tunic you can see the hundreds of them leading down.

“Nice to meet you Wrecker.” You say without thinking, having spent years learning poise and politeness.

“Nice to meet you as well, little miss. Over there is Tech who ya met already and that’s Crosshair who swooped ya from earlier,” you smile at Tech and Crosshair who look confused and annoyed perspectively.

“I should probably thank you for earlier.” You say to Crosshair, who huffs, and stomps out of the room with a:

“Don’t mention it.”

“Oh and of course we need to introduce you to our captain-” He starts again pointing to the man with the face tattoo.

“Wrecker get to your post.” He barks before you get his name. Wrecker gives a casual salute before taking off in the same direction Crosshair had, already yelling at his brother, something about having told him so.

“Told you we’d help.” Tech says with a smile, extending his hand. You carefully shake it, eased by his smile.

“Thank you, and I - uh, I'm sorry about the knife.” you add awkwardly watching as the captain crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t think you could have done damage with that if you tried.” Tech laughs

“She was trying.” The captain adds - not laughing. You apologize again before offering your first name only and with a final shake you let go of Tech’s hand.

“Come on Aaray.” He says “I'll show you around.” you start to correct him, wondering how someone who is clearly as smart as Tech is has managed to butcher your name so badly.

“No, no, I know.” He admits before smirking at the captain. “Hunter was just adamant that you’re an Aaray.” You catch Tech’s smile and the captain’s less serious glare, before he turns away to head out onto the bulk of the deck.

“What is an Aaray?” You ask the following Tech as he sets off.

“Mando’a. Maybe one day he’ll tell you what it means.” Tech says, seeming to enjoy being a shit disturber as much as his taller brother.

Hunter you think to yourself. It’s a nice name.

Tags: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses @loverofclones @beizm @gunsmoke-blu

@logina6 @wondergal2001 @lafy-taffy @lafy-taffy @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

comment to be added! oxox Jessie

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melon-wing · 4 years

Text

Animosity [Pirate AU]

[Pirate AU Masterlist]

This story is set a few years after the events of ‘Trauma’.

“Cadet! You missed a spot over there!”

Loud clanging of metal rang under deck as the metal bucket was kicked over, spilling muddy water all over the floor. Grian balled his fists holding the dirty piece of fabric he had been cleaning with. He had been almost done with his duties for the day. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. If he spoke up now, he’d be reprimanded again. And if there was one person that seemed to hate him more than the First Mate it was his Captain.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get right back to it”, he said in a flat voice.

There was a grunt of annoyance – probably at his tone – and the bucket was kicked once again, flying into his direction and hitting him in the chest, splattering some left over muddy water all over him.

“Try again, cadet.”

Grian gritted his teeth, starring up at the First Mate, trying to keep his hate from showing. “I’m sorry, sir.”

The older man nodded and walked past him, right through the muddy puddle and Grian knew he’d be busy cleaning everywhere once more.

“Why were we the ones who needed to take a rebellious orphan runt like you… I hope some pirate gets rid of the burden for us soon”, the First Mate muttered under his breath, but Grian could still hear him. The moment the man walked around the corner, Grian held up his middle finger, mouthing a few choice words in the direction.

He remembered being so happy when he had finished his last classes at the navy’s academy. He had graduated with top grades and had been promised a good position… So they had put him onto a ship with some really prestigious overly-decorated people. Prestigious assholes was more like it. The last time those guys had done any amazing feat, TFC had probably still roamed the six seas.

Grian took another deep breath, looking at the mess he’d have to clean up and sighed. He wiped off his hand on his shirt and then took out his locket to look at the small picture. It always helped him calm down before.

“And this was your dream? Scrubbing floors in the darkness? Or would they have let you out there with your charming smile?”, he whispered, pausing for a second before shaking his head at his own antics. Taurtis wouldn’t have been back-mouthing higher ups landing him below deck. Taurtis would have been smiling through it all. If only Taurtis was here and they could go through this together.

Grian sighed in annoyance at himself. If Taurtis would be here, Grian would either be still rotting on that damn island or living the life of a pirate, killing and torturing innocent people. He would have become a dirty criminal. He couldn’t complain about being forced to clean a little. One day he’d have his own fleet below him and then nobody could order him around anymore.

And so he kept scrubbing the deck, praying that none of the other higher-ups would walk up and force him to start all over again. A few minutes later he could hear footsteps, clenching his hand around the rag, not daring to look up. If he didn’t make eye-contact they sometimes pretended he wasn’t there and went on.

“Grian?”

Grian’s head snapped up, his whole face lighting up. There was only one person on this ship that would pronounce his name in such a weird and endearing way.

“Sam!”

The moment he stood up, Sam took in his dirty appearance and his mood darkened. “Who did that? And don’t tell me again that you stumbled. We both know it’s never true.”

The brunette smiled at him, but soon his eyes travelled over the mess on the floor. “Did they put you on cleaning duty again? Man, those old men don’t deserve someone as good as you. They are wasting all your talent.”

Grian smiled at the compliment and slowly stood up. “It’s alright. I haven’t been on this ship that long yet. It’s normal for the new guy to do stuff like that.”

Grian just shrugged, looking down at his muddied uniform. What was he supposed to say? They both knew what was going on around here, but there was nothing they could do about it and Grian didn’t want to risk Sam getting into a fight with the first mate – again.

“Don’t worry, Sam. I’m used to cleaning. It’s not different from the work mama used to give us back in the orphanage.”

Sam’s face seemed to lighten and he chuckled a little. “Well as I remember you and Taurtis loved to ditch exactly those chores to go play pirate and navy, leaving me to clean up the mess.”

“Oh, please” Grian laughed as well “As if you ever did any work. You had all the younger kids wrapped around your finger, doing all the work for you. No wonder mama called us the troublemaker trio. We were really bad… the three of us.”

Grian sighed and let his hang a little, his hand automatically searching for the locket beneath his clothes. “Good times...”, he whispered quietly, only to be suddenly engulfed by arms, pulled into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there anymore to save him.”

Grian just shook hist head. “That’s not your fault. I’m glad you weren’t there to get hurt, so I have at least one of you still with me.” Sam gently caressed Grian’s back, helping him calm down from the memory of Taurtis’ death.

“Still… I should have just waited two more years until you guys were old enough to join the navy with me. Maybe things could have been different then.” Grian shrugged at that. Things might have been different if Sam had been there. Sam had always been the best fighter amongst the three of them. But against pirates? If Sam had been there Grian might now be mourning two friends instead of one.

With a sigh Sam finally let go of him, smiling at him with so much pity in his eyes. “Now who did that to you Grian?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

Grian didn’t answer at first. He didn’t want to get Sam into trouble, but he felt the need to share what was happening, if only to have a place to vent. “It was the First Mate...”, he finally admitted quietly. In an instant Sam’s face was furious again and Grian was sure that he’d do something stupid if he didn’t stop it. “You can’t fight with him about that. You’ll only make things worse. Especially not now, so close to your promotion! They might take it back.”

Sam seemed to calm down at his words, if only by a little. "This sucks! They shouldn't be allowed to do shit like that! It's not fair. Once I'm Captain I won't do something like that."

Grian smiled at his friend warmly. He knew Sam would be an amazing captain. He was just naturally good with people, all charming and charismatic. "You won't have to wait much longer."

"Listen Grian..." Sam looked at him out of serious eyes. "When I become Captain next week, I'm gonna try to get the higher ups to transfer you to my ship. I won't let you stay behind. I could imagine no better First Mate than you."

Grian blushed a little at the compliment. Sam had that way of always making him so cheerful with just a few words. "That would be really nice. I'd like to serve on your ship." He had looked up to Sam his whole life after all. Commandeering a ship alongside him would be like a dream come true.

"And now let me help you out a little, alright?"

"You shouldn't! If someone sees..."

"Nonsense. I might be an Officer, but I'm not above helping out a fellow crewmember."

Sam got onto his knees, picking up one of the cleaning rags and smiling up at Grian. "Now come on. If we do it together, we'll be done soon."

It took them both almost half an hour, but they were finally done. Grian wiped the sweat from his brow, looking to Sam with a satisfied smile. He opened his mouth to say something when he heard the sound of steps approaching. Sam jumped up hurriedly, hiding the cleaning rag behind his back just in time before the Captain walked around the corner.

"Officer Sam, Cadet Grian." The Captain looked from Grian on the floor to Sam and raised his eyebrows. "Officer Sam, I do hope for your own good that you didn't help with the chores.”

"No, sir! Of course not!"

"Because if you did I might need to write you up and that might delay your promotion so we can keep you here a little longer."

Grian could see the way Sam's hands tensed behind his back, clinging to the rag, which was hard prove of what he had just done. The Captain walked up to Sam and Grian acted on instinct. He hurried to his feet, pretending to knock the bucket over by accident, water hitting the Captain's shoes, who jumped back in surprise. Grian took the moment their Captain wasn't paying attention to rip the rag out of Sam's hand.

"So sorry, Captain! I didn't mean to do that! I am really sorry!"

The Captain looked at him furiously and then his eyes snapped back to Sam. "You two trying to hide something?", he spat and Sam took his hands out behind his back, raising him defensively in front of him. "I was just talking to Cadet Grian, I swear."

The Captain grumbled. Grian was pretty sure he knew that was a lie, but didn't care enough to call them out on it. "Leave now, Officer, before I change my mind!"

Sam looked at Grian, hesitating, but Grian shook his head a little. If Sam stayed back he'd only make it worse for both of them. With a last worried look, Sam saluted and walked away, probably back to his post.

"Cadet Grian! You will clean this mess at once."

"Yes, sir. Of course."

The Captain then eyed him from top to bottom, sneering at his dirty uniform.

"Cadet Grian... How many times do I need to tell you, that you have to keep yourself presentable. You are no longer a dirty orphan boy. The navy paid for your education, the least you could do is look nice and presentable to thank them."

"I'm sorry, sir, but it was..."

"Oh by the gods, I don't want to hear your whiny excuses again, Cadet! When you are done here, freshen up and then go to the kitchen. You are on potato peeling duty for tonight."

"But..."

"Also on pan cleaning duty after we are done. Don't make me take your food away as well."

Grian hesitated, but nodded. "Yes... sir."

"That'd be 'Thanks for letting me have dinner, sir.'" The Captain looked at him smugly, clearly enjoying the way he made Grian bow under him.

"Thanks for letting me have dinner... sir."

Grian didn’t dare to raise his head until the steps had retreated far enough. On days like these he wished he was still back at the navy academy. His teachers had always been nice to him, telling him he’d do great things in the future. He missed the days when Sam had come to his room to help him study. Here everybody seemed to think he’d gotten his good grades because of his looks after some nasty rumour about him being involved with his teachers had spread. But he’d pull through. Once Sam had his own ship he’d follow him. Everything would be better then.

Grian yawned, rubbing his eyes a little and then returned to scrubbing the pans. Everybody else on deck was laughing and having fun. His Lieutenant had decided that no help was needed for cleaning up, which meant Grian would spend half of the night in here to clean up everything. If he was lucky he’d get three hours of sleep before he needed to get up again. That was if the Captain or First Mate didn’t decide that he’d need more punishment.

He had hoped that maybe Sam would sneak in to help him out a little, but he probably hadn’t managed to find an excuse to get away. Grian hummed a little to himself, a tune that had been stuck in his mind since forever, that always raised his mood.

He just put in another pan, when a loud bang echoed over the ocean and their ship shook. The wooden basin Grian was using for cleaning tipped over, spilling some of the water over Grian. Damn he was going to be in trouble with his Captain again. What was going on up there? Did some idiot drink too much and fire one of the cannons again? Grumbling a little Grian put the cleaning rack into his back pocket and tried to heave the basin back up again.

There was another thundering sound and Grian could hear shouting and screaming. No. This wasn’t a drunken mistake. They were under attack. Grian ripped off his apron and ran up to the deck. The moment he opened the door, smoke entered his lungs and he began coughing. Parts of the deck were on fire, some of his crewmates already hurrying to put them out.

Another deafening boom of a cannon shook the deck. Grian turned his head into the direction it had come from. There was another ship, sailing parallel to them, all canons smoking. Grian’s gaze travelled up to the flag and his heart sank. A red flag pirate ship. This was going to be bad. Another cannon fired and hit their ship in the side, making it shake. Fuck. Grian needed to get ready and quick. He ran back under deck, cursing himself for not carrying his sword with him at all times. He had done it in the beginning, just as the rules stated, but everybody had kept teasing him about it.

Grian stepped out of the door and was already met with a sword. The pirates must have boarded the ship while he had been running for his weapon. Grian held his own weapon up in defence and began to engage in the battle. His eyes kept darting around, trying to find Sam in all of this chaos. They always fought best together and Sam was the only one Grian trusted 100 percent to have his back.

He skidded through the hallways, diving into his room and grabbing his trusted sword. It had helped him through many fights, it would do its job now once more.

“Protect me, Taurtis”, he whispered a little out of breath, touching the locket softly as he was running for the deck once more.

Grian managed to push his opponent back enough for him to hit the railing, and one shove with his elbow made him fly overboard. He suppressed the urge to shout for Sam, knowing that it might draw unwanted attention to himself. His eyes darted back and forth. There were multiple pirates on board now, fighting with his crew. He didn't dare to look too closely at the bodies on the floor. If they followed the principles of their red flag all of those men would be dead or dying. In the crowd his eyes were suddenly drawn to his Captain who was having a hard time fighting. Grian rushed over, but a guy stepped in his way, smiling brightly.

"I'd rather you look at me now, boy", his opponent said with an amused undertone, completely unbefitting of a battlefield. Grian’s head snapped back and he moved just in time to block one of the sword strikes. Unlike his first opponent, this guy was actually quite good at fighting and they were pretty evenly matched, especially with Grian's attention constantly being drawn to his Captain's battle. Why was nobody helping him? Where was the first mate? Where was Sam?

"I don't think so, boy. Give our Captains some private time", the pirate said in an amused tone, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder before pointing his weapon at Grian.

Grian looked past him and his heart fell. He recognised the opponent his Captain was facing. They all knew about him: Captain Doc. Grian had already heard about him when he'd still been in the academy. Raised by the frightening TFC, Doc had taken over his ship, swearing revenge on every human being for the death of his father.

"You are really starting to annoy me. You in love with my Captain or why do you keep looking over there?"

Grian felt fury rising inside him. He practically glowered at his opponent and with one elegant turn batted his sword away and rammed his elbow into the guy's face, making him stumble back a little.

There was a loud scream and suddenly Grian felt like everything was happening in slow motion. He turned his head to the side and saw the body of his Captain falling, blood spraying from his throat. Doc stood in front of him, bloody blade still raised. Everything seemed to stop for a moment as Doc looked emotionless at the fallen body. He then raised his head, looking around and for a second their eyes met. And then everything went back to normal speed as Grian's opponent came charging at him again and Grian had to defend himself.

"YOU BASTARD!"

A guttural scream echoed over the deck, and Grian would recognise that voice anywhere: Sam. Grian was being pushed back by his opponent, but he still couldn't focus his attention onto the battle. He kept looking sideways. Sam was running up to the fallen body of their Captain, murderous eyes on Doc. And then Sam raised his blade and charged Doc.

Grian's heart sank. Nobody had ever won a battle against Captain Doc. Nobody ever survived to tell about a battle fought against him. He froze, as images of Sam's bloody body flashed in front of his eyes, reminding him suddenly of Taurtis' death. A sudden pain in his right side brought him back to the present. He had been too slow and the blade of his opponent had scraped by his hip, leaving a bloody scratch. Grian cursed and hurriedly stepped back, blocking the next attack coming in. He needed to finish this. He needed to help Sam. He couldn't lose another friend. Sam was all he had left from his old life. The only good thing still here.

Grian felt determination rise inside him and he began relentlessly raining attacks upon his opponent, who looked at him in surprise, but then simply smiled enthusiastically, fighting just as fierce. Grian could hear Sam shouting insults at Doc, but the pirate stayed silent or just wasn't loud enough for Grian to hear. He kept listening to the insults but otherwise focused on his own fight. As long as Sam was shouting, he was alright. As long as he was shouting he was alive.

"You should just give up, boy. It is futile. Give up and I might let you live."

Grian huffed, looking with hatred at the pirate. "Sure thing, red flag", he spat out, watching the pirate pull a grimace at his words. Well look at that, a pirate not being happy with being called a murderer. Where was that dumb pirate pride of his?

A loud scream stopped his train of thoughts. Sam!

Grian's eyes drifted over and he saw Sam's blade sliding over the deck as he fell onto his back. Doc was slowly walking closer. Adrenalin rushed through Grian's body. When his opponent charged again Grian ducked under the blade and forgoing his own weapon, he used his free fist to punch the pirate square into the face. His opponent fell backwards and Grian ran off without one glance back.

Doc raised his blade. Sam was still on the floor.

A loud clang and Grian's whole arm was shaking as he blocked the attack by the Pirate Captain.

"Don't interrupt my duel." Doc's voice was a low threatening growl and it sent shivers down Grian's spine, but he stood his ground, glaring at the Captain.

Doc's gaze travelled to the side, furrowing his brows as his eyes landed on Grian's former opponent who leaned against the railing, holding his bloody nose.

"Ren, did you seriously let a little boy beat you? Tell me again why I made you my First Mate." The pirate – Ren – shrugged and gave his Captain a lop sided grin. Doc sighed and turned back to Grian, eyes searching him. "Interesting."

Grian knew he had to do something. He couldn’t let Doc end Sam’s life.

"I challenge you to a duel. If I win, you let the rest of the crew live", Grian said, trying to sound confident in the face of certain death. He couldn't care less for half of his crew, but he'd do anything to save Sam.

Doc smirked, sharp shark-like teeth showing, not a hint of joy in his face. "Oh, boy. No need to challenge me. I'll fight every single one of you if I have to. But do tell me what I'd gain from accepting that deal. What's in it for me?"

Grian faltered. He hadn't thought this far. In the navy, challenges like that would be accepted based on honour alone, but that seemingly mattered little to a pirate. What would he even have to offer?

"Scared to lose, pirate?"

"Never. I'm just curious what you think you have to offer to come in between me and my prey."

"If I lose I'll join you", Grian blurted out. Doc looked at him taken aback and then burst out laughing.

"And what makes you think, I'd want you?"

Grian shrugged. "Maybe the fact that I beat your First Mate without really paying attention to the fight." Okay maybe that was stretching it a little, but if it helped him get Doc to accept it didn't matter.

Doc's eyes travelled to Ren again, who was now fighting another one of Grian's crewmates, face still bloody.

"You got yourself a deal. When I win I'll take you and you get to watch me kill all of your little friends and if I get bored with you, I'll kill you off as well." Grian noticed the way Doc had talked about 'when' he would win, not 'if'. He swallowed. What made him think he could win against Doc, when nobody had ever managed that?

The fight started without any more warning. Doc was relentless, raining hit after hit upon him. Grian swore he could see sparks flying when their swords met. Unlike in the fight against Ren, he couldn't risk losing even a little part of his concentration. If he let his attention waver for even one second he'd lose in the blink of an eye.

Grian ground his teeth together and then started becoming more aggressive. If he just stayed defensive there was no way he'd be able to win. He needed to win. If he didn't then Sam would die. He couldn't bare watching another one of his friends die before his eyes.

Doc raised an eyebrow at him as Grian began hitting back, trying to find an opening for an attack. But Doc was always fast enough to block him, fluidly moving into a counter attack. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed a few pirates watching them, no longer fighting. That meant nothing good for the rest of the crew. At least noone intervened, letting their Captain fight his battle on his own.

There was a whimper to the side, from one of the pirates and Grian noticed Doc's eyes filling with worry and darting to a white haired man for a second. Grian jumped at the opportunity immediately, blade flying forward. Doc's eyes snapped back to him at once and he hit the blade to the side, a grin on his face. And too late Grian realised that this had been a part of Doc’s strategy. Grian’s blade flew out of his hand, far off to the side. He hurriedly took a step back. Doc was grinning widely now, holding his blade up, pointing it straight at Grian's throat.

"Looks like I win. How naive of you to think a boy like you could win against me."

Grian's eyes were darting around hurriedly, looking for a way out, a way to win. He had no more weapons on him. The only thing he still had was...

Grian hurriedly moved, pulling the cleaning rag out of his back pocket. He wrapped the rag around his hand, movement hidden behind his back, heart beating like crazy. If this didn't work he was done for. And if it worked it might still hurt him beyond repair. All in all it was a stupid idea. Grian's eyes darted to Sam for a second. Sam who was being held to the floor by two pirates, probably so he couldn't intervene in their fight. With determination in his eyes, Grian turned back to Doc.

"Got a little knife hidden behind your back or something?", Doc taunted in amusement and then strode forward faster, raising his hand and bringing it down fast. Grian swallowed hard and sidestepped the attack. When the sword was right next to him, his arm shot out and he grabbed the blade with his wrapped hand, holding it in an iron grip. Doc had been so sure of his victory and just a second too slow to react. His grip wasn't as hard as Grian's and he couldn’t free his blade fast enough.

Instead of pulling as Doc most likely expected, Grian shoved hard, feeling the blade cutting into his skin, but he ignored the blinding pain. Doc seemed to stumble a little and Grian used the opportunity to kick at his legs, making the Captain fall backwards, pulling Grian with him. As they were falling he kept a tight grip on the blade and with one strong pull he managed to rip the blade out of Doc's grasp. In one fluid motion he turned the sword around, still holding onto the blade with his bleeding hand, the other hand grabbing onto the handle and when they landed he pressed the side of the blade under Doc's chin, sitting atop of the fallen Captain.

"One wrong move and I'll kill you, pirate."

Doc looked up at him out of breath, his eyes wide and full of surprise. For a moment they were just staring at each other as the deck fell into complete silence, the sounds of fighting and cheering coming to an abrupt end. A few seconds passed and then Grian heard hurried steps coming closer. His hands began shaking as he pressed the blade a bit harder against Doc's throat, drawing a bit of blood.

"Stop, Etho. Noone touch him."

The steps behind him stopped, but Grian was still on edge. Doc below him seemed to have recovered from his surprise and looked at him almost bored.

"What is your name, boy?"

"G... Grian."

Doc smirked at him, looking rather intrigued. "Grian, huh?" The way Doc rolled the name on his tongue, voice almost growling, made Grian falter, loosening the pressure of the blade a little. And suddenly a knee hit him in the stomach, as Doc threw him off, their positions switching, the blade back in Doc's hand. Doc was now the one leaning over him, looking down at him in deep thought. The sword was resting at Grian's throat, bound to kill him any moment.

"Should have killed me when you had the chance, Grian", Doc said with a smirk. Grian closed his eyes, expecting his life to end any second, but it didn't. When he was opening his eyes again, Doc was still looking at him as if he was thinking about something.

"Ren! Call our men back. We are leaving."

"You sure, Doc? You never…"

Doc still kept his eyes on Grian as he replied. "Grian and me had a deal after all. He won. We will leave." Doc leaned closer, his lips now right next to his ears as he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Mark my words, Grian. The next time we meet, I will kill you. Noone ever fights me and lives to tell the tale."

And as sudden as it came the pressure on Grian's neck was gone and Doc stood back up, leaving Grian lying on the floor. Grian stared after him as he went over to Ren and true to his words the pirates were leaving, one after the other jumping back onto their ship. Sam finally rushed over, helping him into a sitting position and firing a flurry of questions at him. But Grian couldn't hear anything, his whole attention still focused on the pirate Captain. Doc climbed the railing and turned around to look at him one more time, smirking devilishly and taking a bow, before taking a rope and swinging over to his own ship.

"Grian? Grian! Talk to me! Are you alright?"

With Doc gone Grian was slowly noticing everything else around him. The Deck was on fire, bodies lying everywhere. Sam was looking at him in worry and Grian nodded slightly. "You?"

Sam smiled and pulled him into a crushing hug.

"You are an idiot. You could have died!"

"Well, I'm glad I'm an idiot or I would have lost you."

The following days seemed to pass in a blur, so many things happening all at once, almost overwhelming Grian. It was a wonder they had managed to make their way back to the navy headquarters with the state their ship had been in after the battle, but they did. The casualties of the fight had been high. The ship's first mate had miraculously survived without even one drop of blood on him, taking over the Captain's position of their ship at once. Grian had been forced to go to the hospital as soon as they had returned. Luckily for him the doctor there had been able to fix his hand, but had told him that the wound would leave behind a scar he'd carry forever.

Grian's eyes searched the crowd of navy soldiers as he stepped into a huge room, slowly walking over the walkway left open in the middle. His eyes landed on Sam, smiling back at him, looking all dashing in his brand new Captain's uniform. Grian returned the smile and stepped up a few stairs towards an admiral, stopping in front of the old man and saluting.

The admiral pinned a medal to the lapel of Grian's brand new uniform and his stoic expression disappeared as he smiled at Grian proudly.

"Congratulations. You are the rising star of the navy... Lieutenant Grian."

#🍉 stories #hermitship #gridoc #pirate au #I am also working on dread i promise!#But this just hit me and needed to be written #A last treet before the end of my 3 month writing quarantine

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