#guess whose been watching Pirates again

[eveningepiphany]

pirates gold | H.S series, part three

[series masterlist]

summary: finally, a break from the ship is in sight. you and harry end up in a very pirate-y bar, but even a good night can’t last forever. and seemingly, neither can uncomplicated feelings.

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, teasing, sexual mentions, tension, pining, protective h, y/n being an absolute menace, mentions of death and disappearance, alcohol, violent themes.

a/n: this is really humbling to post after so long. I hope you all enjoy it, I’m so sorry for the wait.

———

You don’t realise how easy it is to forget sometimes.

How fast an old life can fall out of view, and shed off you like an old skin. How on occasion, it happens so quickly you don’t even register it’s occurred.

The shortest periods of time can alter how you view your life. You didn’t realise how different being on a ship was when compared to living on land— not until you bridged between the two while conscious, and felt the transition with your own body.

Your feet had came to the ground more unsteady than you’d thought. Maybe you forgot how to walk too. As dark had already consumed the town, you’re not sure if you were shaking out of anxiety or genuinely from how long it’s felt like it’s been since you’ve stood on solid unwavering ground.

Harry, whose hand occupied the flat of your back, felt the intake of breath your lungs pulled in as you finally made it all the way onto the dock.

He had come back into his room to find you asleep, curled into his side of the bed, knees tucked into your chest. To it, he’d smiled… legs carrying him over to glance over your peaceful frame closer.

Examining the rise and fall of your chest, as air passed through your nose softly. He noted that your hair looked damp, and he almost chuckled at the fact you’d seemingly helped yourself to a shower.

He gently said your name, “Y/N…”

When you didn’t stir, he muttered it again, hand coming to jostle your shoulder slightly. The touch woke you up, your legs uncoiling from their tucked up position, stretching out down the mattress.

A tiny sound whimpered from your throat as you started to fully wake up, eyes flitting open with a sleep-induced glaze over them.

“Evenin’.” He remarked, “fancied a shower and a nap, aye?” When you took in his frame standing next to the bed, he had an armful of brown paper bags.

You sighed out, sitting up, “Not much else to really do.”

However your brain was rerunning the fact you had plenty you could’ve done since you found that key in one of his pockets. Mentally, you had to shove it away so you didn’t end up with a guilty look plastered on your face.

“Well, waits over, dove. Got ya some clothes, you’re welcome to pick something out before we go. Want you t’blend in.” He placed the bags down onto the bed for you to shuffle over to.

You felt oddly curious, like a child on Christmas. All these bags filled with things for you. The abundance of clothes you pulled out shocked you, because there really was half a wardrobe in there. Including a pair of boots, ones you’re not sure how he figured out would fit your feet.

There was also white linen blouses similar to his own— others black lace with intricate detailing, and brown fitted long sleeves— and also an array of pants, all slightly differing in styles. You stumbled across a black under-bust corset, and your eyes shifted to him. He was leaning against the wall watching you, a smirk over his lips. That wasn’t even the only corset he had bought, there were 2 others.

However, the satisfied look on his face only grew as you reached the bottom of the last bag. Several undergarments lay folded, bras and underwear.

“Had to do some guessing with the sizing of those…” His voice comes from a few feet away from you. All too close given the fact you’re staring at intimates he bought for you.

Your face was flaming red, unable to contain the embarrassment that was coursing through you, purely at the fact he was shopping for your underwear and bras— probably imagining you in them. Someone acting so casual about this was throwing you into disarray.

His passing comments and dirty teases were one thing, this however, was another.

“Everyday you get a little more pervy.” You bite out, and he laughs at your defensive tone.

“Did you suggest I leave you without any? A thank you will suffice perfectly fine. No need t’insult me when im jus’ looking after you.” A smug smile fell over his features.

“Harry.” You groan, voice warning him, and he let it go after rolling his eyes.

He allowed you to pick out what you wanted, watching you flush as you discreetly pulled a set of undergarments out of the bag.

You had picked a white linen shirt, matching his own, and a black pair of pants. He let you change into them in his bathroom, but when you’d come out adorned in clothes that perfectly fit the pirate energy, he was holding what he’d deemed as the final touch.

The black under-bust corset.

“C’mere. You’ll be fine.” He says at your immediately displeased face.

“You might not be.” You sneer, frowning at him as the loosened corset hangs in his hands— leather shining with the golden reflection of the candle light around the room.

He walks over to you, since you clearly weren’t going to be the one to do it, and a tut comes from his pink lips, “Always so stubborn.”

You decide to just let him— since partial freedom is in sight— and you stepped into the corset, allowing him to slide it up your body, until it was in place underneath your breasts.

“This fine?” He checks in as he tugs the strings, waiting for your confirmation before the leather was too tight to your waist.

“I still think I should just elbow you.” You glare, hands clenched at the sides of your thighs with the looming pressure of the garment.

His attempt to be courteous was to no avail, clearly. And the white linen gets sinched inward, and he wrenches the strings roughly with purpose.

His deep laugh sounds, and with that firm pull you’re bought close enough to him you can feel his warm breath against your ear as he leans down.

“Let’s not be mouthy, dove. Not when I’m in control of how tight this thing is on you.” He tugs the laces a final time, hard enough the material feels like it’s completely restricting your diaphragm— making you hold your breath for a moment.

At your silence, he lets his hand relax, in turn the strings loosening enough for you to intake a breath. Your soft gasp makes his stomach heat up, warm with an unexplainable feeling.

He ties the corset at the back, and you don’t even get to step away before he’s linking arms with you.

“You look good." He states with a nod, and your eye's veered downward to see the corset against yourself.

That was what lead you to here, stepping off the pier, lit only by the latern Harry was carrying, and onto dirt.

Dirt that may have been separated from your feet with a pair of shoes, but was amazing to feel press against your boots again.

You were so eager to touch something other than wood, that this was like heaven.

The sea lapped up against the shore a few metres away, as the earth transitioned back into sand on the shore. You felt deep anticipation to get further away from the uniting of the two worlds. Because away from anything regarding the ocean and the vessel that floated upon was freedom in your mind.

Harry could see every micro-expression on your face, despite the weak candlelight. The way your eyes had lit up at the sensation of soft dirt below you, and it was endearing. He’d never seen one get so excited over merely dirt.

The air was warm, and felt like a summer night— but the breeze that blew through your hair was crisp. Whispering hints of a change in weather sooner rather than later.

He watched the wind twirl your hair, and he was almost envious of it. Watching its fingers comb through it, in such a way he could only imagine himself in its place with an intense longingly.

“The boys are at the bar. But if that’s not your scene, what we do is up to you.” He supplies, watching your eyes slant to him.

You hadn’t really thought this far ahead, what you’d do once you were off the boat. You looked at him, and then back to the cobble path that lead presumably into the heart of Sintir.

The buildings were lit up, warm light glowing, “Do they have a night market?”

“Mhm, infact they do.” He nods, beginning a slow walk to encourage you onwards.

Oddly enough, as his body was pressed to your side, you felt safe. He was something familiar in this new environment. “How exactly are you going to hide me?”

The pressing question to you was merely a slight concern to him.

“Chances of them knowing that you’re the missing princess is unlikely. And if they have seen the posters with your face on it, I somehow struggle to believe they’ll connect the dots.”

“That’s a lot of faith you have in that.” You comment, boots hitting the cobblestone with the same clacks they did back at home. There was a sense of invigoration that rushed through the blood beneath your skin at the sound.

It bought back your nightly adventures around Kelna, where nothing mattered. And all you had to worry about is what time you were sneaking back through your window without getting caught by your own guards.

It was nostalgic in a weird way. The kind that threw your mind spinning, since the memory was so fresh yet so distant. Too much had changed in the time from then to now.

“‘Cause y’don’t really look anythin’ like your picture.” He comments, dragging his gaze along your frame again, playing a mental spot the difference. He’d seen the flyers earlier that day, and was honestly unconvinced it was really you himself.

“God— tell me they didn’t use an ugly picture of me from 2 years ago…” It’s the kind of thing your parents would do, but Harry only shakes his head, letting out a prompt cackle at your distress.

“No, they didn’t use an ugly photo of ya at all. You’re just s’put together in it, hair slicked back in this fancy satin dress and pearls.” The two of you are walking between the first two buildings facing the sea, luminaries lighting up the path.

He continues, waving his hand as though it adds something to the conversation, “Now, y’hair is down now, all wild. And you’ve got this untamed look in y’eye. No one would look at ya an’ see y’fine dining in a gown.”

You’re not sure what to make of all of this, since he’s talking of you like he’s certain. Coming from his own perspective more than anyone else’s.

“They see a pirates girl. Probably look at you and think y’wrapped around my finger.” He nudges, and you finally scoff, “I would prefer they see it the other way around. That you’re following me like a lost puppy.”

“That’s never usually how it is, though.” He raises his brows, and your arm slips out of his, walking backward as you face him.

“But maybe it could be in their mind. They see you foaming out the mouth for me. And it’s like that ship docked over there,” your point in the direction you’d both originally came from, “is all mine.”

The concept feels like a power trip. You do wonder how many female captains there are in this world. Likely not enough.

“Sounds like quite the fantasy y’ve built up.” He muses.

“I want to go to the pub.” Your tone is certain and confident. To this he raises his eyes brows in challenge.

“Perhaps you’ll share a drink with me, dove?”

“Or it could be the other way around.”

“Well, it couldn’t, because you don’t have any gold to pay with. An’ things here aren’t complimentary like they are at home.” He huffs in amusement, poking fun at your previously lavish lifestyle.

“I don’t need gold,” you begin with a smirk that’s starting to spread across your mouth, “all I need to do is undo a few buttons on this blouse and I’ll probably be able to get a round for the whole crew on the house.”

You’re walking backwards, hands clasped together behind your back, a grin on your face that makes him feel insane.

His eyes immediately darkened, pupils blowing out at the thought of what you’re insinuating. Flirting your way for a free drink… something he can’t imagine you’ve ever done before. Yet would probably succeed at like you have a million times over.

“Right,” He clears his throat, trying to calm himself down, “didn’t take much for you to start whoring yourself out for some booze.”

“It’s not whoring… men are horrible creatures. They’ll do anything if they think it’ll get their dick wet.” He thinks you’re so… uneducated and naive. That just because you’re in a court, that you know nothing of the males on this earth.

However it’s quite the opposite. Sexual topics are strictly forbidden in the palace and court meetings… but elsewhere, when it’s private and no one is around to hear it, men help themselves to the topic.

They have no concern discreetly passing by you, head turned in whisper, just to tell you what a body you have. Or just how badly they want to…

And on the street, it’s even worse. So you know more than enough when it comes to that. That makes you anything but stupid to a man’s intentions.

He picks up the pace of his steps to breach the distance between you both, so that if you were to stop walking suddenly— he would probably crash into he was that close.

“You’re not doing that.” He says, tone serious.

“Why not, afraid you’ll get a little jealous?” You’re flirting with something dangerous now. Eager to prove a point.

“Don’t try to get a rise out of me. Because I said you’re not. Do y’want a drink or not dove? Because the way you’re headed, all your getting is a glass of water.”

“Whatever.” You scoff, still unsatisfied, but resigning your argument for now.

“I’m concerned your attitude will only worsen with alcohol in your system.” He deliberates.

The streets have now fully lit up, with other people starting to appear, and the nightlife is able to be heard from where you are.

The singing happening in the tavern can now be heard as you round a corner into what can only be deemed at Sintirs town centre.

A night market is clearly running, and you can see the pub a few doors down from it. Men and women out the front, drinks in hand and cigars hanging from their lips.

He catches up to you enough to slide his arm between your elbow again, silently obliging you you to stay right by his side.

As you get closer to the tavern, he verbalises this.

“You don’t move from here,” He pulls you tighter into his frame, “and you don’t make any trouble. Otherwise it won’t be pretty.”

His tone is firm, unwavering. You nod to it, accepting the rules begrudgingly, “Yes, Captain.”

You both come to the door, and he pulls it open. The building on the outside was rustic bricks, and inside it was the same— except the flooring was wooden. As the door opened, a bell chimed, but it was drowned out by the overwhelming amount of noise.

Men were shouting, and bellowing all about. Drunkenly chatting, playing darts, and stumbling around. There were women too, but they were not near as rambunctious. All of them were dressed like pirates… and it was clear this place was specialised for them. Maps on the wall, and news clippings of what appeared to be local Sintir pirates were framed around the place.

A few blokes stopped to greet Harry. And he engaged in short conversations. But in the back of his mind, he was regretting bringing you in here. Not because anyone recognised you, but because he could see every single slimy gaze that dragged over you.

One man stopped him by the darts—Harry had called him Evan— he said greetings to the captain, but his gaze never left you.

You had noticed immediately, and it was a bit disgusting. It made you regret calling Harry a perv. Because he was nothing like this.

It immediately pissed Harry off, the way the brutish and large man was eyeing you up and down like you were an object. And his blood spiked when he considered the array of things likely running through Evans head.

The grip he had tightened on you.

It’s protective, you feel. And at the least, you know you’re safe with him.

Harry almost regretted putting that corset on you now. It made you look too good. Too enticing.

He, unlike others clearly, has a moral compass. And enough human decency to see you as a human opposed to a sexual object. He was forgetful that most men lacked that ability.

When he spots his crew, he uses it as a quickly conjured excuse to get away from the other pirate. And as he leaves, he tugs your body in front of him, shadowing your retreating figure from prying eyes.

You’re a bit overwhelmed, in all honesty. But accept it as normal— you hadn’t been anywhere so busy for a while now. Especially when it’s in such a rowdy way.

The second his crew spots the two of you— your body sheltered by his own, and his hand on your hip urging you forward— Niall, the blonde one whose name you finally remember, lets out a bellowing cheer.

“She made it!” He’s excited like you’re an old friend of his, and he drunkenly rises up from the booth the boys had taken.

Harry feels a little more at peace knowing he’s now with his crew— the two of you are less likely to be bothered now, and he knows his mates will look out for you as well. Prisoner or not, you’re still a human.

Niall barrels towards you, and Harry renounces his hold on you. Chuckling as he pulls you into a drunk bear hug.

You’re unsure what to do with your hands as he rocks you around like a child, “Glad ya here, lovie.”

“Mmhm…?” You agree, looking helplessly his crew mates as they cackle hysterically— smacking their hands down on the table and sloshing their pints of beer in fits of laughter.

He eventually slides his arms off you, and hiccups, “are ya havin’ a drink?”

His already heavy accent is slurred as you make out what he’s asking, and you don’t even get an answer in before he reaches over the table and grabs you his.

Sliding the cold glass, around 3 quarters empty, into your hand.

“‘Ave mine! I’ll go get anotha’” He chortles, and then stumbles off just like that.

Harry watches in surprise as you bring the glass up to your lips and down the rest of it without hesitation. Hoping alcohol will take the edge off all the overstimulation you’re having in here. Calm you down a bit.

The rest of his crew whoop and cheer for you, which at the least gives you a bit more confidence.

Before they can all hand you over their half finished beers, Harry comes back to your side, head craning down to talk in your ear.

“Let’s go up t’the bar, get ya somethin’ fresh, instead of people leftovers.”

You nod, walking with him as he pulls you through the crowd.

At the bar, there’s several people sat at the stools. Including a touchy couple, that are practically feeling each other up, front and centre. She is sitting on the seat, but is taller than the man that’s between her legs. Clearly she’s in charge, and you smirk.

Go girl, you thought, and Harry clocks your pride for the woman. Something stirring in his chest.

He ignores it, going up the bar to place on order.

The lady at the bar, whose got muscles on her like an absolute god, nods at him to rattle off his order.

“Two beers and a shot of the best liquor y’ve got, thanks, Naomi.” He asks, but you interrupt before she can walk away.

“Make it two shots, please.” To your quick mouth, she smiles. She has dark skin, and a beautifully done head of braids, it’s clear you’ve piqued her curiosity.

“I’ll make it two,” she smirks, getting two shot glasses from beneath the counter.

“And who is the second one for?” She asks, implying she wants your name.

You slide your eyes to Harry, who is shocked that you’re trying to get his permission for giving your name. He blinks sharply in disapproval.

“Mary.” You nod, listing the fake name off like it was nothing. It was a common enough name, so she takes it.

You don’t realise how effortlessly you and Harry are communicating without words until he ghosts his thumb over your forearm, and you know he’s thanking you.

Naomi smirks at you, “Well, miss Mary, I have to say i quite admire you.”

You give her a thanks, and she slides the two shots on the counter, going on to prepare the beers.

“Been a while since your captain here has bought a girl around… nice to see.” The irony of the situation could almost make you laugh.

“Well, someone’s oughta keep him inline. Otherwise he’d end up prisoner somewhere.” You supply, putting up your best pirate imitation for her.

He shakes his head, your play on words half amusing, half unbelievable.

“Was good to see you, Naomi, thanks for the drinks.” He says, grabbing the beer while you grab the shots.

She gives her momentary goodbyes, and he walks over to a vacant barrel to place the beer down.

You follow suit, but with only one of the shots. You toss the other back before he can say otherwise. The brownish-gold liquid burning a trail down your throat.

He watches in disbelief. You are so shockingly rough around the edges, that the idea of you being a princess feels unfathomable to him.

“You broke a lot of those royal rules, didn’t you.” He raises his brows, voice unreadable.

Licking over your lips, the strong alcohol gives a zip up your spine, “on occasion.”

“Christ.” He mutters, picking up his own shot and downing it.

The two of you take your beers back to the booth his crew was at, and you drink that and whatever else got handed to you by his crew mates— that you’ve officially learned most names of— and are well and truly a bit drunk.

You were sat between Liam and Harry, and the night was actually quite fun.

It was nice to truly forget the situation you’d landed yourself in.

That was until, as the night drew on, and once the early hours of the morning were likely in play, the pub quietened.

It was now regular noise level, just drunk and tired chatter, and someone came over to your booth.

A lanky guy, sporting long dreaded hair with olive coloured skin. Despite his moderately tan complexion, there was an almost queasy undertone to it. It stained a faint yellow tinge under his eyes, and screamed future liver failure the longer you stared.

Yet a gold tooth that peaked through when he flashed a smile. He looked like the epitome of a pirate.

“Ah, Styles and his crew are back in town.” He announces rather loudly, like as if he has an audience he’s talking to.

“Leon… Hello.” Zayn drawls, far from enthralled to see the man.

“Great to see you all,” he claps his hands together, smiling, “now, I’ve jus’ come round to spread the word…”

It piques the men’s interest slightly, and they all start to pay attention to the skinny bloke.

“Garrets boat was found the otha’ day.” He states, looking between the boys, eyes stopping momentarily on you.

Harry pipes up from where he’s sat next to you, and if there was anything amiss, the only telling thing would be the way his hand snakes to your knee, tensing around it slightly.

It’s his bruised hand, and you try to draw your attention away from it.

“I’ve heard word of that… did he not turn up with it?” Harry asks, nonchalantly.

“No… it was in perfect nick, jus’ without its capan’.” He sighs out, stepping forward to trail his boney hand over the wood pattern on the table, “Reckon someone’s got him… so keep an eye out for raiders.”

“Mm, alright. Thanks for the heads up. Hope ya’s stumble upon him…” Harry nods, hand clutching your knee harder.

The man’s missing…

And suddenly, it clicks in your brain.

Despite his crews unreadable faces, you are almost certain that the man currently in the chambers of their ship is the same person Leon is on about.

It sends a wave of anxiety through you. In a room full of pirates, you are something they all would want. Yet for varying reasons.

You’re suddenly grateful again that Harry and his crew seem to only have the intention of money with you.

What a horrible thing to be thankful for in this world, you think.

That you’re happy the people who kidnapped you don’t want to use you in worse ways. Don’t want your body or to keep you as a souvenir.

You’re drawn from your spiralling thoughts as Leon speaks again,

“Ah, and you have a las with you too…” he remarks, although it adds no substance to the conversation.

“Mary.” Harry provides, and the boys all exchange a glance.

“You keep your eye out too then, sweetheart. You women have an attention to detail that us men don’t...” He flashes his golden tooth, and gives a final nod to the crew before turning away.

You purse your lips, glancing down at your lap, trying to hide your frown. Confused if the approach was a convoluted kind of threat, or just an odd exchange.

“That’s us done for the night,” Harry says, his previous relaxed tone was gone. It was riddled with seriousness now.

“Give it ten so it doesn’t look suspicious, and then we’re leaving.”

That was confirmation to you that Garret is the man below deck… and you were itching to ask questions, but knew now was likely not the time.

The tension aided sobering everyone up, and after around ten minutes they all collectively rose. And Harry scooted out of the booth, and gestured you to follow suit.

You slide out, leather gliding against your skin as you got to the edge and took his hand without protest. Despite being upset at this situation only minutes earlier, you craved to feel safe.

So as anxiety was welling in your chest, you easily allowed him to pull you against him. Tan hand clasped around yours as he held you firmly close.

This time, he held you with his good hand, free of dark purple bruises.

You transfixed on his complexion instead now. It was completely different to Leon’s. Tan from the sun, yes. But Harry was— as always— all beauty. Liquid gold was accidentally spilt into the colour of his skin. It shone under even the dingest of bar lightings, and never failed to completely encapsulate your attention. His skin had no sickly undertone.

Tiny freckles and beauty marks that trailed up his forearm. They were colour of chocolate… and he was perfection.

Christ.

You got pulled out of your trance by the tug of his hand, his bruised one busy fishing out a small bag of gold.

It’s unbelievable the state he can put you in. It’s otherworldly, and you feel sort of ashamed how easily your mentality can fold to him.

Taking you up to the counter that Naomi was scrubbing down with a rag, he placed the small coin bag atop the bar.

“Thanks for your hospitality as usually, there’s a little extra for all your help.” He was keeping the exchange short, bidding his farewells after her gracious appreciation.

She smiles a goodbye to him, yet eyes slide back over to you,

“And you too Mary, keep y’man in-line.” She teased, and Harry genuinely rolled his eyes.

“I will.” You stated, voice oversaturated with faux confidence.

With that, you all left the tavern. It felt odd stepping into the now cold air, a change coming in quicker than expected. The market having packed up for the night likely hours ago.

Goosebumps erupted over your skin as the boys moved in haste, a unity of clanking boots against the paving.

“Y’shivering.” Harry remarked.

“It’s colder than it was earlier.”

“Even the tropics must feel the cold.” Tanner states matter-of-factly.

Once out of the town centre, they start running— it was sudden and unexpected. Like once they were fully out of view, urgency could be expressed.

“This’ll warm you up.” Harry raises his voice against the wind, pulling you along to match his pace.

By the time you made it back, storming across the pier, you were near breathless.

Blood pumping, and you did feel a little warmer at the least.

“Alrigh’, Liam, are you right enough to get us going?” He asked, patting his back as the boys walk along the temporary bridging from the pier to the ship.

“Plenty fine, H.” He nods certainly.

“That’s the way…” his voice raises, “Ashton, Miggs, batten down the hatches!”

His pirate-y tone was prevalent as he threw orders left right and centre. Before you knew it, the ship was starting to move from port. You were shocked, considering half of them weren’t even fully sober. But you supposed this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, readying up the ship for something unexpected while half drunk.

Maybe things were done better that way, with beer in the blood, you supposed. More officiant.

Once he was finished confirming what everyone was doing, his voice lowered, and gaze softened as he turned to you.

His eyes fell where you rung the bottom of the corset cinched around you. You were evidently anxious, it was written all over your face.

“Cmon, dove…” he walked the minor distance between you, “I’ll take you back below deck.”

“To the chambers?“ your voice was abundant with sudden fear, and the thought of going down there knowing there’s likely a corpse in the room across from you made you feel sick.

“No.” He immediately clarified, “My room. You’re not going back down there, Y/N.”

He said it with such certainty, and you wondered what changed to make you a permanent fixture in his room.

You were lead down the increasingly familiar way to his bedroom, “Nothing you can task me with?”

He laughed at your question, “Nothing, love. I doubt you even know how to tie a knot on a rope.”

You couldn’t say you properly did. And then you wondered why exactly you offered to help, considering you have no business aiding people who kidnapped you.

“I don’t.” You sigh, as he lets you into his dark room. He felt oddly domestic, stepping through the doors quickly to light a wall lantern so you can see.

“Then you’re better off safe in here, the waters already a bit rocky.” The ship was rising and falling more dramatically than this morning, which added to your list of things to worry about.

“Harry,” you say his name before he can walk out.

“Y/N?”

“Can you be honest with me…?”

He huffs a laugh, “Tha’ depends.”

“Is the man in the cells dead?”

The seriousness in your tone has him dead quiet. And you can hear the ticking in his brain as he decides on whether he’s answering you or not.

The innocent look in your eye pushed him to be truthful. He wasn’t used to this. Seeing someone undeserving of being captive on the ship. It was always horrible people.

“I’ll go a step ahead of you, yes, Garret’s dead.” He answered like he knew your next question would be that. And he was right, because it was.

You draw in a breath, the only sound heard is the crashing of the ship against the waves.

“Does that scare you?” He asks, and then asks deeper, “Do I scare you?”

You pause to then think how to answer that.

“Yes and no…” You deliberate, because you truly don’t know. You felt safe with him today, but the concept of what he’s probably done to people is eye opening to say the least. And always the potential of what he could do to you.

The air was thick— the alcohol in both of your systems clouding your judgements— and something churned in your hearts. There was a shared breath in, and out.

You feel the cruciality of the moment, and are certain he can too.

Right now, this goes much further than the taking of a royal, the trapping of a person. It’s a question that the answer can only create more confusion.

Because why on this cruel, twisted earth would you be thinking of any response other than a plain, hard, yes.

A breath catches in the back of your throat, and the real answer slips out with a rasp.

“You scare me because I don’t know how to fully hate you. I hate you, but not like i should.”

A half blink, and the look in his eyes switches. It’s unreadable for a moment, blank in processing.

He steps closer, feeling an urge to touch you that he can’t explain where it come from. It’s so forceful he breaches the distance between you faster than he can rethink it. Fingers reaching out to brush a gentle stroke over your cheekbone.

Your lips part, the haze in your mind making you wonder if this was a dream of sorts.

All Harry is thinking about is the fact he wants more right now. The same whirlwind that pushed him to cradle your cheek with his hand is begging his lips to brush against yours.

He pushes it down into the pit of his stomach, replying with a tone so tender he wonders how it come from himself.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise on the damning of my own soul.” He reassures.

The lines have blurred. Blurred from keeping his prize safe, to keeping you safe.

His words feel like they carry too much weight to be coming from a pirate. Like the impact they have is meant for manipulation.

And if that’s they’re intention either way, it worked. Because a part of you resigns to believe it.

He waits for confirmation on your end that you understand, and you give that to him through a curt nod.

“Good. I’ll be back later, you go to sleep.”

Your heart wrenches for no apparent reason as he lingers close to you for a moment longer. Then he drags himself away from you, despite the intense urge to do otherwise.

You catch his eyes a final time as he leaves the room. Leaving the door unlocked…

It tempts you, but with the boat rocking like this, you think better for yourself.

Now you want to throw yourself off the ship again, but for an entirely different reason.

You’ve laid trust in him. Something you said you wouldn’t ever do. Oh how that promise to yourself broke quickly.

But you’re drunk and vulnerable, and his words were so soft and sweet. Two sides of yourself are at war.

Yet either way, you feel it can only lead to a plethora of bad things. It’s all too much for you right now.

Unlacing your own corset, you wiggle out of it, then slip out of everything else. You stand in only undergarments, realising how truly exhausted you are now that you’re back in his room.

The alcohol and emotional turmoil settles deep in your bones, you feel it rattle heavily with each step.

You grab soft clothes he bought for you today, and pull them over you, taking off your bra.

The storm is coming. You feel it within you. It’s a foreshadow of your mentality, the precursor of what’s to come with all of this— and the ever growing complexity of your feelings.

You crawl into Harry’s bed, ashamed at the way you inhale his scent. Hating the way it’s turned into a form of reassurance.

He has kept you safe this last week, which in your subconscious— whose clinging to any sort of saftety— means he is something to you that he shouldn’t be. And you wonder when he went from something you disdained to something you craved connection with.

The idea of stockholm syndrome was familiar to you, but didn’t resonate. Or maybe you were in denial… who fucking knows. All you are sure of is that he makes you feel somewhat stable. Your body craves that shred of stability more than anything.

Either way, it didn’t stop you from nestling into his sheets. Or falling asleep curled up in them.

Nor did it hinder you from when he finally returned to reach out for him, all while still hazed with the slumber you were just in.

A meek call of his name came from your mouth as he gets into his bed, it was at least an hour or so later. The sun would be closer to rising then not, but you choose to haul your body closer to him the second you could.

He sighs with relief of finally laying down, the weather sounds worse outside now. It’s gotten harsher sooner than he expected, something hurrying the system further south. Although it means it’ll hit earlier, at the least it’ll be over in a day or two.

He must’ve gotten undressed, because as you press yourself into his back, his bare skin is warm to the touch.

It was evident feeling him now that the sun coursed through his veins, it replaced the blood of a regular person. He spent so many hours in it, it seemed to be a part of him.

“You’re so warm.” You stated quietly, half conscious.

“Mm, and you’re so bloody cold.” He mutters, voice deep and ready for sleep. His comment causes him to roll into you, tugging you closer into his chest.

Somehow, regardless of if you had been asleep for an hour, you still felt exhausted. Maybe it was the drinks too, they were settling a slight hangover upon you. So, shamelessly you coiled further into his arms.

Your hands snaked up his bare back, and into the hair at the nape of his neck. The curls were damp as you played with them.

There’s definitely still something in your system, and he notices it as well.

“You’ve gotta be still a little tipsy… ya all over me dove.” He laughs tiredly.

Your front is pressed to his, his scent equally as distracting as the slabs of muscles you could feel up against you.

“Tipsy and exhausted.” You murmur, eyes fluttering shut as you carry on playing with his hair.

“Oh, are y’feelin’ needy?” He teases, voice slipping into a shockingly deep lilt, one you’d caught glimpses of yesterday morning.

It sparked a feeling in the pit of your stomach, “Shut up.”

The two of you did eventually go quiet, nothing but the sounds of mixing breath and the brush of hands against skin.

His own hands had taken refuge on your waist, rubbing gentle circles with calloused fingers. Somewhere in the back of your head you reevaluate for the seventh time just how intoxicated you still both were. Enough alcohol in your system to completely blur the lines.

You couldn’t even claim in the morning the cuddling was an accident on part of your sleeping selves. You’d have to try and pass it off as the drinks from earlier. Which although true, feels like a harder excuse to play off this significant.

You were wrapped up in his arms. Voluntarily. And… enjoying it.

It’s a horrible thing to be indulging in. It’s only going to spell you more trouble. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

He felt you slip back into a quiet sleep, evident in the way your fingers ceased their movement where they sat, tangled in his hair.

In the silence of the night, he thought about you.

Images trailed carelessly through his mind, dragging up ideas of what the two of you looked like right now. He wished he could see it from an outside perspective.

The way you had completely settled into his frame. Chest to chest.

He could feel the ridges and dips of your body too easily, only separated by a thin cotton sleep shirt you’d put on.

Something throbs inside of him at the touch, and to make matters worse, you stir, throwing your leg over his hip just like you had the night before.

He feels dirty as he conceptualises the idea of something more with you.

He wishes he didn’t drink now, because he can’t get the vision of himself inside of you out of his head. He’s weak after some beer and liquor, he lacks self-control, even when half of him is begging to sort himself out. Now, because he hasn’t stopped himself early enough, his prick has swollen in his boxers.

Thank the stars you’re asleep.

He stays deathly still, pursing his lips, waiting his boner out.

Staving away the idea of being pushed inside of you. Such a pretty girl, you were. It’s hard not to wonder how good your mouth would be against his own.

It takes atleast 15 painful minutes for his cock to soften. He’s thankful for being tired, because once the thumping of his heart calms down, he allows himself to pull you further into his hold.

He will let himself have this, at the least.

———

Waking up was almost a carbon copy of the morning before.

A tangle of limbs, but you’ve had a warmth that’s sprouted through you the entire night.

However, this time, Harry was already awake.

The hours of sleep you got were minimal. And the sun wasn’t even fully up. It was mostly cloud coverage outside the window. The room still dim.

He watched you wake up, thankful it’s now— because otherwise he would’ve had to get up and go. Too much to do to be laying in bed with you, unfortunately.

He got to watch your eyes slowly open, their glossy appearance. They lazily scoped the room, as if re-familiarising your brain with your surroundings.

Then they dragged to Harry’s face, catching the softness of the morning still on him.

“I have a headache.” Was the first thing that croaked from your lips.

Your throat hurt and the hangover was clearly in its full effect. You did not usually drink that much.

He hums a laugh at your lack of greeting, starting off the morning with a complaint. Oddly charming somehow?

He wanted to kiss you still.

“Big night for you last night?” He asks, jokingly, but he knows you didn’t drink enough to forget anything.

“Don’t tease.” You plead, head dropping back down to between his chest.

He strokes a hand along your back, “We oughta get some food into ya.”

His gentle encouragement falls on deaf ears. All you’re able to do is fall back into his hold.

“Dove.” The coo he lets out does nothing but makes your stomach flutter.

You shake your head against the warm skin of his chiseled chest. All the muscle there… fuck it makes you light headed.

But you can’t think about that.

You just wanted him with you right now.

“Harry.”

Hearing his name makes the heart in his chest clench.

“Stay here.” You say, simply.

At his momentary silence, your voice drops.

A whisper.

A plea.

“Please?”

Everytime you talk to him like that, a piece of him unravels.

Already too far in, he throws another handful of cation to the wind. Before he knows it, there will be nothing left.

His quiet demeanour is unusual. Where was his quip that usually followed?

You were slowly poisoning him.

“You’re like a drug.” He states.

You’re not sure how to feel. Is that good… or bad?

“Is that bad?”

He doesn’t say anything, just rolls his body weight to the side, moving you to be facing one another.

He stares into your eyes, searching for something. An answer maybe.

But it’s just not one he’s going to find yet.

Time is a virtue, they say.

And maybe if he waits long enough, unravels far enough, gives away enough of himself. He’ll know.

He’ll find out what it is about you that drags him in.

Maybe you’re like the current. Yet he’s not sure if it’s taking him out to a reef, where paradise lay. Or dragging him out into a rip.

His eyes wander the plains of your face.

And finally, he speaks.

“I guess we’ll have to find out.”

———

taglist:

@saturnheartz @slap-me-harry @ilovehsstuff @ameerakane20 @matildasatellite @harrysslut7 @sunflowersey @styleswiftie @anotheryoutubefanpage @straightontilmornin @oknothanks26 @closureesny @angel-upon @brother-lauren @maddie7writes @tenaciousperfectionunknown

(—comment or reach out to be added to the taglist for future parts🤍)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #pirates gold #piraterry #pirate harry styles #royal y/n #fantasy #writing #I have the worst upload schedule ever I am so sorry #fanfic

[blondthndrninja]

Just a small drabble of Law having 'baby fever' with implied LawNa :)

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

“Papa! I want that one!”

Law watched from a distance as the little girl pointed out the ice cream flavor that she wanted. Her father smiled at her before ordering what she wanted and paying the man behind the counter. The girl was around 5 or so…she reminded him of Lamie. The way her hair was styled in pigtails like his little sister had once worn but instead of light brown her hair was dark and her curious eyes were a light brown with a mischievous gleam that reminded him of his rival’s navigator.

‘She might grow up to be troublesome.’ He thought to himself as he watched the little girl holding her father’s hand when they left the shop. Such a cute child. She looked well-behaved and well-loved. Part of him wondered if he could ever be like that man…having such a cute daughter of his own.

He paused and stared down at the tattoos on his hands which seemed like the most interesting thing in the world.

Where the hell had that thought come from?! He was a pirate! A bloodthirsty heart-stealing pirate who had no business to consider the idea of fatherhood or wanting to have children! Besides, there was no one he’d consider having children with….though if he had to give it any thought then Nami-ya would be the ideal choice.

The way she treated children seemed so natural. If she wasn’t a pirate she’d probably work with children for a living…maybe even like the teachers he had when he was in school in Flevance. Yes, out of any pirate there was she would be a great mother.

Would they have a son or daughter? But then, why not try to have both? Even though it had been a small part of his life he loved having a sister and he knew that she’d also grown up with a sibling so of course having more than one child was a good idea. He wouldn’t even mind having three children…or four…but then they had plenty of time to consider more. What color hair would they have? Black like his? Or orange? Would the have his eyes? Would they like medicine or navigation? Or bread? Would they…

“TORA-O!”

Law jolted out of his thoughts as Luffy’s face moved in front of him, his neck stretching from the other side of the bench. Law glared at the rubber devil-fruit user who laughed at Law’s expression.

“What the hell do you want?”

“Zoro got lost again, have you seen him?”

“No I haven’t.” Law muttered and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Awww…guess I’ll have to keep looking. Come on Nami!” Luffy yelled out before running off.

“Luffy! Slow down!” Nami yelled out as she grabbed onto the bench to catch her breath. Law looked over at the orange haired woman whose hair was tied up into a ponytail exposing her freckled neck.

“Tora-o…what’s the matter? Your face looks red?” Nami asked, brown eyes looking over at him.

Law felt his face heat up and looked away, “Nothing! It’s just hot outside!” he then stood up and started walking, “I’ll go help find Zoro-ya.”

#drabble #oneshot #LawNa #trafalgar law #nami #opfanfic #luffy is in this one too #baby fever #it's just damn cute

[crewofthegoldrush]

PREVIEW of chapter one for my dragonborn x human series reboot

“See Aubrey, the sheriff took care of it,” the gnome captain adds with a broad smile, before turning and striding over to the pilot like that was that.

Monty’s eyes linger on the blonde woman - Aubrey, apparently - whose expression Monty cannot read, but she feels herself straightening to her full six and a half feet under Aubrey’s intense stare anyway.

"Ma'am," she says in greeting, with a weak hat tip.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity to her but was in reality only a few seconds, Aubrey gives a nod - no smile, but Monty hears her pulse pounding in her ears again at the acknowledgement regardless. Aubrey pivots to leave and Monty continues to watch her as she goes to stand behind the captain, and Monty realizes this imposing woman is the first mate.

The sound of her last shot echoes around Montgomery as the third attacker falls. What's left of his head hits the deck with a thunk that she can barely hear over the pulse thumping in her ears. She leans heavily on the small white pigeon kenku, Capella, whose song she had to thank for not hitting the deck unconscious, but her injuries weigh her down regardless. Monty hears the wing beats of the large flying dinosaur above her - its rider happened to be the one she just shot. Feeling inspired by the pigeon coos and the end of battle, she whistles for the beast, like she'd seen her Pa calling for his steed so many times.

The pteranodon actually responds, tucking its wings in and diving right towards her. Monty sticks an arm out as if she has any skills in commanding an animal and it lands in front of her, stares, and just waits. It lets her place her hand on its beak and she grins, surprised it even worked. Capella next to her eyes the creature wearily, taloned hands attempting to keep Monty upright despite her four foot stature.

For a few heartbeats, there is stillness on the main deck of the jet black airship as everyone stares at the fallen bodies - then a rush of movement around her. Monty's kobold deputy, Tequila, runs to stand next to her, more crew start appearing on deck, and the Warforged, Wayfinder, turns on his heels and stands dutifully by the pilot. The girl Monty had originally pegged as just a college student - only for her to reveal she was dangerous with a dagger - spins in place. The gnome captain, Angelica, had just left her quarters, which she had ducked into as soon as the fight had started.

"Okay, what the hell was that?" the girl, Breezy Weekes, asks, towering over Angelica, her curly brown hair like a lion’s mane around her. She clutches her hurt side much as Monty was now, but it doesn't seem to impede her annoyance.

Monty looks over her shoulder, demanding the same of her new captain. "What kinda leader leaves new recruits to fight their battles for 'em?"

Barely a few hours into the Celeste Noir's maiden voyage, the airship had been ambushed by a group of Kalashtar - The Dream Raiders. Angelica had immediately rushed away with nothing but a quick, "Take care of this - I'll explain later!" before dashing away and shutting the doors behind her. It had taken the combined efforts of the new crew members to pick the Kalashtar off.

Said group of new crew members - a human, a kenku, a Warforged, a kobold, and a dragonborn - crowds around her to hear her answer - although Monty chooses to stay about fifteen feet away, keeping close to the pteranodon. Angelica gives a rushed story - she was a pirate back in the day…killed a member of a crew of Kalashtar…had to do it to escape his capture…guess the past was just catching up with her.

Tequila, Wayfinder, and Capella all nod in acceptance, but Monty catches the eye of Breezy, sharing a look - something wasn’t quite right with her claim.

“Captain,” a voice calls from behind them, and Monty looks up to see more crew rounding the corner. A dwarf with a dangerous looking battle axe strapped to her shoulders skids to a halt, followed closely behind by a taller human woman. For all the excitement around her - the pain from the fight, the sounds of crew checking on each other, the giant bird waiting for a command next to her, Capella rushing to the bodies and plucking buttons off their coats as Breezy picks their pockets - this human gains Monty's full attention.

In the span of the few, elegant steps it takes her to reach Angelica, Monty takes in the way the winds turn the woman's blonde hair into a flutter around her; the way she grips her shortsword at the ready, like a fighter or a soldier; the way she stands to her full height, her expression no nonsense and steady, even in this chaos. Her armor is simple but studded leathers, just as brown as her eyes and stern as her features.

Monty guesses her to be around her own age, or at least the human equivalent - funny, since she guesses the little group that fought with her all seem to be about ten years younger than her, give or take. But, as typical for her, the true thing that stands out is how gorgeous she is.

The woman exchanges a few words with Angelica before giving a satisfied nod, looking around at the damage. She pauses, arms crossed, and stands over the body Monty had shot moments ago. Monty watches the way her eyes take in what’s left of him slumped by the Captain’s Quarters and she imagines the gal was mentally tracking his last movements before he died. It was clear he had been the closest to nabbing the captain, but now half of his head was smeared across the door. A flash of confusion colors her steady, narrowed gaze.

“...What happened to this one? Never seen a spell do something quite like this. Or a weapon in general."

Angelica shrugs, and Monty shakes out of it then, realizing most of the crew didn’t witness the fight. She lifts up the rifle she had been leaning her weight on like a crutch without Capella, something she was only comfortable doing as she knew The Last Roundup inside and out, being the one who built it. “That’d be me.”

Ninety nine percent of people she encounters have never seen this weapon before, nor the pistol Tequila wields, so the blank looks they send are expected. Firearms were outdated, ancient goblin technology that had been replaced by magictech centuries ago. The slight shift to understanding when they recognize her as an artificer is also predictable.

“Montgomery, right?” Angelica asks lightly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“See, Aubrey, the sheriff took care of it,” she adds with a broad smile, before turning and striding over to the pilot like that was that.

Monty's eyes linger on the woman - Aubrey, apparently - whose expression Monty cannot read, but she thinks the quirk to her brow that follows expresses clear confusion over her cowfolk attire - she got that a lot too. Still, she feels herself straightening to her full six and a half feet under Aubrey’s intense stare anyway.

"Ma'am," she says in greeting, with a weak hat tip. If she was closer she would offer her hand for a shake.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity to Monty but was really only a few seconds, Aubrey gives a nod - no smile, but Monty hears her pulse pounding in her ears again at the acknowledgement regardless. Aubrey pivots to leave, letting the crew collect the fallen bodies, but she doesn’t get far before a human crew member stops her. There’s a small conversation, after which her eyes travel over the banged up members of the crew - Monty, Capella, and Breezy.

“Get them to the Med Bay. I assume Dr. Goodman and Dr. Octavius are already there.”

Monty continues to watch Aubrey go to stand behind Angelica, and she realizes this imposing woman is the first mate.

“A firearm!”

Monty looks down and finds the dwarf woman standing in front of her, looking at her rifle, the gal’s red hair held in braided locks behind her head and down her beard, her green eyes and dark skin shining. “Geesh, they did a number on you, goldie. Sorry I missed the fun. Let’s get you to the Doc and you tell me all about this firearm, eh?”

In spite of herself, Monty grins at her as the dwarf woman takes her arm and helps her across the deck, her energy infectious. Tequila joins them and the woman talks just as animatedly at the sight of her pistol. She introduces herself as the ship’s gunner, Brunhilde, someone Monty had been hoping to meet.

She goes to lift the smaller Tequila to her shoulder, but Monty's arm protests even that.

Another human woman with dark hair and intelligent eyes places her cartographer supplies on the deck and reaches up to soothe the pteranodon as the newly formed trio leave. It’s about then, in a magical puff, that he shrinks down to shorter than her, and Monty remembers - oh right. Pteranodons are not steeds for dragonborns such as herself; likely he was under the effect of a potion or spell for the ambush. She makes a note to check on him later, thinking how odd it was that neither Angelica nor Aubrey seemed to care that she apparently claimed him.

Monty turns her head to get another look at the pretty first mate; she doesn’t look back.

--

If you read the second person version (which is still currently public) I'd love to know if this feels like an improvement!

#dnd fics #dnd #dungeons and dragons #dragonborn #eberron #terato #i hate to beg for feedback but I'd love to know if people would want to see the rest #i really need to get the passion back into passion project #I'm not ready to give this up but I'm getting some real bad whats the point syndrome #its already written and could be argued that its a finished project #so I'm not sure whats the point in keeping it up #i just feel like i owe it these characters to get their story out in a way that feels satisfying #montbrey #fool's gold

[cyborg-franky]

Thank you @spitfire-of-the-sea for all your love and support and I hope you enjoy! Your OC is always fun and I love her dynamics with Ace!

2 fics in this post

Ace x OC SFW [mildly suggestive] WC: 2,400

The Bet

Thatch lit his cigarette and took a drag, puffing the smoke into the air as he nodded his greeting to Marco who sat down, a tankard of beer in his hand. The party was in full swing, another night of parting, the crew loved to celebrate just about anything.

Including just another day of being free and being pirates. 

“So, Pineapple,” Thatch began as he watched Marco get comfy, both men watching everyone singing, dancing, drinking, and enjoying the merry atmosphere. He saw Marco raise an eyebrow, prompting him to finish his sentence. “Firecracker and your best nurse huh,” 

“What about them?” Marco sipped his drink, watching his friend carefully, curious about what he was getting at. “We’ve had this bet for months and I sure as shit was hopin’ for a payout by now.” He mumbled and knocked the ash from the tip of his cigarette, watching the wind pick it up and take it away, to join the ocean.

“I know yoi,” Marco said setting down his drink, leaning forward, chin resting on the back of his hand, a contemplative look on his face. “I was sure Ace would have caved by now and made a move.” 

“Well we both ain't gettin’ any younger are we?” Thatch glanced over and saw the two crew members they were secretly conspiring against, whose slow burn they’d been watching, even betting on the outcome of. “Speak for yourself yoi.” Marco chuckled, Thatch, giving him a rude hand gesture in response.

“Anyway, I think we need to move this along,” “How?”

Thatch chuckled and tapped the side of Marco’s tankard. “Unlike you and me, those two are lightweights and they spend most of their time together… Get what I’m sayin’?” Thatch waggled his eyebrows and watched as realization dawned on the phoenix.

“Right!”

The pair headed over to where the two lovebirds were sitting, their plan to help move things along in full swing.

“Ace!” Thatch said and slapped him on the back, sitting down uninvited at the table, watching as Marco joined them, a tray of booze which he sat down. Saki looked at her boss, curious about what he was playing at.

“Saki,” Marco smiled and nodded his head to his nurse, she seemed a little annoyed that Thatch and Marco had crashed her and Ace’s alone time but she guessed they had brought booze so she let it slide, though he was still skeptical of what he and Thatch were up too…

–

Saki set down the mug, harder than she had intended as she sighed, her cheeks flushed and feeling the heat of the booze run through her extremities, making her pleasantly tipsy. She was going to hold off on having a drink but Marco had granted her the day off tomorrow, again something that made her think he was up to something.

Ace set his mug down just as hard, letting out a matching sigh and grinning at her. He’d moved closer, sitting right next to her, casually acting like it wasn’t a big deal that his knee was rubbing against hers, he felt the warmth the booze had brought heat up his cheeks and started to give him courage to express his interest in her.

No amount of booze could make him a poet though, he licked his lips and tried to pluck something, anything that would let her know just how he felt about her. The liquid courage was coursing through him and he took his shot. “Hey, Saki,” She looked at him and he gripped the handle of his mug harder. “Did it hurt?”

“Did what hurt?” She shot him a confused look as she took another swig of her beer “The fall, when you fell from heaven.” Ace raised his eyebrows, patting himself on the back for such an amazing pick-up line, she snorted and laughed, trying to stop beer running down her chin.

“Ace, come on, that was bad.” She said with another giggle, he tutted and nudged her. “You do better..”

“Alright, I will..” She said and pursed her lips, staring at the string lights that looped around the mast, lighting up the area and giving it a warm glow. “Okay, feel my shirt.” She said and it was his turn to look confused as he reached out and touched her top.

“Feel that? That's girlfriend material,” her smile grew when he laughed loudly and slapped the table. “Wow, and you really think you are any cooler or smoother than me?” Ace smirked and rolled his eyes.

“Hey, at least I didn’t get my pickup lines from Thatch.” Saki rolled her eyes and felt him nudge her again.

As they drank more and kept the back-and-forth banter going between them the cheesy chat-up lines got more and more intense hotter and hotter as their cheeks flushed. Ace could feel the tips of his ears burning when she gave him a half-lidded look as he sipped his drink.

“That drink has too many calories, but I know a great way to burn them off.” Saki saw him almost drop his tankard at the forward joke, the smile on her perfect lips growing when she knew shed caused him to fluster.

He needed to get her back, he was getting worked up which he felt was ridiculous, these were just silly pickup lines right? Or maybe, maybe she liked him back and she was using the excuse of booze to loosen her lips and lower her guard.

With that thought, he needed to test it out. Sifting through his mind, trying to think of all the dirty jokes and pick-up lines he’d heard from other members of the crew that he'd overheard and seen work.

“Is there space in your mouth for another tongue?” He asked and she stared at him… cheeks were pinker than the uniform the nurses had to wear…  “Want to find out freckles?” She asked, voice sultry as she batted her eyelashes.

Both grabbed one another, lips crashing in an instant, all the booze finally winning over their better judgment, the two locked in a deep kiss, hands pawing over one another, tugging at clothes. Both finally giving in to their feelings for one another.

–

“So, who won?” Thatch asked staring at the couple a few tables down, squinting. “I think it’s a draw yoi,” Marco sighed, a little disappointed there hadn’t been a clear winner.

“I think you're forgetting about me,” 

Marco and Thatch looked up, unable to hide their disappointment as Izou held out his hand. “Pay up boys, I had 100 beli on a draw and you know it.” Both groaned and reached into their pockets respectively.

“Izou always wins…” Thatch mumbled to Marco.

“Least we got them jump-started,” Marco said and watched as Saki grabbed Ace by the hand, pulling him away.

Helping Hand

Saki watched as the wounded men sat around laughing about the fight, that it had been easy and the crew that had dared to tangle with them had been insane. She watched them all head off to get booze, a few that were injured started to slink away, trying to avoid the eyes of nurses and the phoenix. 

This included Ace but she was on him fast. “Hey! Your hurt,” She nodded to his leg and rolled her eyes, folding her arms over her chest when she saw him glance down, seeing the cut, blood dripping down his leg and he had the gall to act surprised like he had no idea. 

“Oh fuck, shit, yeah your right.” He gasped, convinced he was a good actor, even when she tapped her foot and narrowed her eyes at him. He shrugged his shoulders “Well, I better just go clean it up, I mean come on babe, I can burn off the gross stuff and be fine right?” She didn’t answer him, her nose scrunched up as she shook her head.

“Portgas D Ace,” She started and he flinched, oh he knew he was going to get in trouble. “You either let me fix it up or I am going to drag you kicking and screaming to birdbrain.” Saki warned and saw her boyfriend deflate. “Babe, come on, it’s just a scratch, come on,” Ace tried again, doing his best to give her his winning smile, but she didn’t budge.

Ace sighed, throwing his hands in the air before stuffing them in his pockets and following Saki. “You are just as bad as Deuce,” he mumbled under his breath, catching the look she shot over her shoulder.

–

Saki hadn't been a nurse long, she did her best to help the first division, to be a useful part of the team but no matter how much Marco and Deuce tried to help her, and guide her, she was still the worst nurse on the ship, to the point others avoided catching her eye.

Her bedside manner had much to be desired, she’d huff and tell grown men they were being babies as she grabbed and pulled at them. Marco often loved to see this unfold, he loved seeing this tiny sweet little thing put the fear of God into men three times her size and years of battle under their belt.

“Sit,” she commanded Ace and at first he didn’t move, just rocking back and forth on his heels “I’m fine, I can wash it myself.” Another protest before he heard a long sigh from Saki, the way her grey eyes focused on him, the pout on her lips.

They’d only been dating a little while and he was still getting used to someone worrying about him, someone who was always looking out for him. Sure the others cared but not in the same way she did. Saki liked to dote on him, in her own way.

“Ace,” She closed the door and saw him do as he was told, sitting on the chair in the small office.

She knew he didn’t like wasting the doctor's time, Deuce would nag and lecture him, and Marco, well Marco always liked to tease Ace, reminding him of all the times he was being patched up when Pop’s would kick his ass, all the failed assassination attempts.

Saki sighed and started to grab things around the office before she knelt down and looked at his leg. “I wish you’d be less reckless, I know that crew was a bunch of nobodies but you still got hurt.” She said as she got a cloth and dipped it into the warm water, starting to gently wash his wound, dunking the cloth back in the water, rinsing and repeating the process until the source of the blood was visible.

He was right, it really wasn't that bad and he was probably right in saying with his powers he could have burned away anything malicious, but that wasn’t the point and she just wanted to help him and she wished he wouldn’t be such a show-off and think he was untouchable. Then again, most of the men on this ship had that attitude, it was one of the reasons she had to be such a hardass and put them in their place because Marco wasn’t going to do it.

Pushing those thoughts aside she glanced up at Ace who was watching her with a look of adoration on his freckled face, the smirk she was used to seeing was a soft smile as he watched her work. “You won’t be smiling for long,” She warned and he quirked a brow, opening his mouth to reply before she dabbed a cotton ball covered in antiseptic on the wound.

“Fuuuuuckin’ Helllll…” He whined and she tutted again, a blush across her cheeks, the soft look on his face moments ago had flustered her and she wasn’t used to getting that sort of attention, still getting used to the intimacy from him. It was easier for Saki the Valkyrie to distract herself than to bask in gentle touches and fond smiles.

“Baby,” 

“Should have let me do it myself, would have hurt less my way!” He huffed and glared back at her, no real fire in his eyes as she grabbed the gauze to cover it up, wrapping bandages around his leg and making sure it was done securely.

Saki stood up when she was done, watching as Ace sulked, arms folded over his chest and a pout on his face, looking for all the world like a petulant child. She sighed and leaned forward, placing a kiss on his forehead. “Ace, I know you can handle yourself, that’s obvious and it’s always been obvious but I worry about you.” She rested her hands on his shoulders, feeling the tenseness leave his muscles at her words, how she looked at him.

“I don’t want you hurt, in any way so please, either let me or the other two idiots patch you up or be careful when you're out there, for me? Please?” She asked and he dropped his arms, a sigh of his own, she could see the hint of a blush across his cheeks.

Cute, the tinge of pink brought out his freckles.

Saki felt his hands rest on her hips, holding gently before he moved, one swift motion and a cry of surprise from her and she was on his lap, arms around her to hold her tight and Ace looking up at her, again with that fond expression she’d tried to avoid earlier.

“Alright, I promise I’ll be careful.” He said with a shrug like it had always been an option which prickled her temper, just a little. “And Saki?” “Hm?” she said as she brushed a strand of hair behind his ear.

“I love you too Saki,” Ace said and her eyes widened, it was her turn to blush, wriggling on his lap, trying to get loose as he just chuckled and held her against him. “Shut up,” She mumbled and shoved his shoulder, he reached out and held her hand, touch so tender and soft as he smiled.

“Fine, I love you Ace, but if you break your promise and get hurt again and try to sneak past me, I’ll make you regret it.” She said in a sickly sweet voice as she kissed his nose and Ace knew she would kick his ass.

“Alright, alright,” He chuckled, feeling her resting her forehead against his, enjoying the moment together.

#ace x oc #one piece own character #one piece x oc #female oc #mildly suggestive #portgas d ace x oc

[direwombat]

Paola + 🔮

tbh paola's whole timeline is all over the place because i worked out her story backwards. but the past is important to understanding the present (and future), so here's her first meeting with rafe :)

It’s rare that Professor Paola Orsini finds herself in the company of someone whose Latin is better than their Italian. He’s not…bad. By most standards he’s proficient. Just not fluent. He speaks with the clumsy cadence of someone who learned it years ago from a textbook and audio cassettes. His Latin, however, is bizarrely fluid for a language that’s allegedly dead. Even her own grasp of her mother tongue’s predecessor feels tenuously unwieldy. It’s as if he’s spent the past several years learning and immersing himself in it. A strange pursuit, but then again millionaires are strange. And if there’s one thing she’s learned in her time in academia, the only thing millionaires love more than money is appearing educated. This, she understands.

What she doesn’t understand is why her?

Why is she wearing a fancy dress that was sent to her alongside an invitation to one of the fanciest restaurants in Rome? Why is she sitting across the table from American business mogul, Rafael Adler, drinking from a bottle of wine that costs more than she makes in a year?

She narrows her eyes over the rim of her wine glass as she slowly takes a sip. He watches her with a careful calculation that makes the back of her neck prickle. She feels like she’s being judged on her performance in high-society. She supposes she should feel elegant, draped in what feels like silk and all dolled up like an actress. Only, instead she feels like one of the zanni from the Commedia dell’arte. Cartoonish and clown-like. 

“Why me?” she asks, rather bluntly, apropos of nothing. It’s the first thing she’s actually said to him after she’d sat down. 

He quirks a brow, and swirls his own glass of wine leisurely in his hand. Part of her wishes that it would splash all over that hideous white jacket of his. Something to mar his neatly tailored and manicured facade. “Why you, what, Miss Orsini?”

“Doctor,” she corrects. They’ve only just met. They’re not on good enough terms for him to call her Miss. “And why choose me? You could have gone to anyone at any university. You could have gone to an expert in Avery, or 17th-Century pirates in general. You are” -- she hesitates, resisting the urge to say not stupid -- “a shrewd man. Surely you know that a historian or archaeologist would be better suited for the tasks you have just described to me. I am neither.”

While not necessarily forced, the smile he gives her is inauthentic. It’s tight, and it doesn’t quite reach those flat, dead looking eyes -- Shark-like, she thinks -- but there’s a glimmer to them that can’t be attributed to the diffused yellow glow of the string lights illuminating their table. He sets his glass down with a sniff and carefully leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His fingertips press together, tenting neatly. “Doctor Orsini,” he says smoothly, “If I wanted a historian or archaeologist, I would have approached one.”

She rolls her eyes and scoffs. “And let me guess: what Mister Adler wants, Mister Adler gets?” She probably shouldn’t be mocking him like this. He’s offering her so much money for her to spend her sabbatical year in his employ. But she can’t help it. Prickly is the nicest thing anyone has ever said about her personality.

His chin tilts up and there’s a faint twitch at the corners of his eyes. His smile only gets tighter, and the breath he lets out is caught somewhere between a sigh and a growl. “Most of the cathedral has already been excavated, and given the current state of most of the artifacts and manuscripts we’ve uncovered, a historian wouldn’t be able to do much with them. What I need is a conservator.” 

“This still does not answer my question,” Paola says. “There are many others you could have gone to. I am not well known in my field.” That second bit comes out maybe a tad more bitter than she intends. 

“But you want to be,” Mr. Adler says, and his lips curl back to expose his too-white teeth. “I’ve read your work. Impressive, I’ll admit, but still piggybacking off the ideas of others. You feel trapped by the confines of academia, limited to whatever funding you’re able to scrape together from grants and whatever your administration is able to give you.” 

He leans in even further, beginning to crowd her side of the small table. Her heart hammers in her chest, and her breathing stutters as he reaches to place a hand over one of her own. “You have a hunger, Doctor Orsini. For recognition. To work, unbound by institutional bureaucracy. I can give that to you. I need people with that kind of ambition.” 

Her face flushes and she prays that it’s dark enough that he can’t see it. But her body must betray her in some way, because what could ostensibly be called a smile widens and the gaze he levels her with is nothing short of predatory.

He knows he has her. And then he’s pulling away, taking his hand and its warmth with him. 

She shifts in her seat and yanks her hands from the table and folds them in her lap. Clearing her throat, she says, “Manuscripts can be delicate. I would need a lab. And storage space. Someplace where I could control the temperature and relative humidity.” 

“Done,” he says with a nod. 

“I will need to do an assessment on what you’ve collected so far before I can tell you what else I will need, but if what you have is in as poor condition as you say, then I will need materials to perform restoration work.” 

He nods again. “I’ll arrange for a flight to Scotland at your soonest convenience.” 

Her eyes narrow again, searching him for any signs of deception or dishonesty. This is far too good to be true, and there’s something about him that just feels…weasel-y. But he regards her with a casual and open posture. 

She chews on the inside of her cheek and sighs. “Fine,” she says. “I accept your offer, Mr. Adler.”

He smiles. Not to her, but to himself, something self-satisfied and victorious. “I’m glad to hear that, Doctor Orsini.” He reaches for his wine glass and holds it in front of him. “May this be the start of a mutually fruitful partnership.”

Already her stomach knots with regret, but she lifts her glass as well, clinking against his. The musical chime that rings out is the first of many death knells for the sad cautionary tale of the end of her career.

#oc: paola orsini #the whole rafe + latin thing comes in a bit later but you cannot tell me he didn't lowkey obsess over learning it #ESPECIALLY after sam 'died' and nate left #my fic #wombat writes #also is rafe a Millionaire or a Billionaire? i can't remember if that's ever stated #he's filthy rich that's all that matters

[official-wayward-noctis]

Captain Swan Bingo - Hanakahi Disease

Waiting on True Loves Kiss

Killian loves Emma and the flowers coming from his lungs show that.

Ao3 Link Here

Killian saw her that day and he slowly fell for the woman. He hadn’t felt this way since he met his last love, Milah. Now he was stuck in love with another woman. So he learned to stay back at first not realizing the connection between his heart wanting her and the flowers in his lungs. It wasn’t deadly at first either. The flowers didn’t hurt at first. He never felt this with Milah. Was this the pain of true love? He just didn’t understand what was going on.

“Love doesn’t have to be simple,” Belle told him when they ran into each other. Old enemies that were still annoyed with each other but Belle was one of the few people that he knew from the other lands. While besides Rumplestilskin, they had a past that was ages long.

“It was with Milah. She loved me and I loved her,” Killian said.

“Did you both actually love each other or did you love the idea of each other?” Belle asked. Killian was unsure and the only people who may have his answer were Rumpleskilton, who hated him, and Baelfire, who was just a child when his mother left him. Killian didn’t feel like asking them and he really didn’t want to think that Milah may not have loved him but rather the freedom she got from leaving her husband. She had left not just her husband but a child whose father was a disgrace and then became the man who killed his mother. 

“I rather not think of that,” Killian said. Milah may have not loved him but he had found love with her even if he was a young man at the time and had just lost his brother. He had taken a name for himself. He had become known as a pirate and people feared him according to townspeople. He had fallen for Milah’s wits. He had fallen for her charm. She had stolen his young heart but now with years of experience in the world, he had grown from that. Killian figured out who he cared about the most.

~

Baelfire, or Neal as he was known in this world, was sitting at the diner counter. Neal looked at him as if he was someone who should not have sat there.

“Bael,” Killian said.

“Hook,” Neal said. 

“I guess I have some apologies to say,” Killian said. 

“I don’t need to hear them,” Neal said. 

“Your mother… I was the reason she left you and I do regret that,” Killian said. “In her leaving you, it led to her dying by the hands of someone pure evil.”

“I barely remember her,” Neal said.

“I guess I would be correct in, you not remembering her leaving or what happened around that time,” Killian said.

“As I said I have barely any memories but I know her and my father fought constantly when I was younger. Well more of her yelling at him,” Neal admitted. Henry, Neal’s son, appeared and seemed to be excited to talk to him about some things that he wanted to show his father. Neal smiled and told him some stories from his childhood that seemed to be lighthearted and not about his father or what his father became. 

“Your father learned to sail as a child as well. Maybe he could teach you as well,” Killian said. Neal looked at him annoyed but Henry was excited to learn of his father’s past. Killian coughed, hiding the flower petals in a napkin and slipping them into his pocket. 

~

Killian watched Emma from afar. He coughed up the flowers again wishing he would get up the nerve to ask her out. He was frightened of these feelings. He hadn’t felt anything since Milah died and he was scared to feel again. Maybe that is why he watched her leave. He was sure she was going to leave anyways even if she could love him, she would leave just like Milah. Love was short but Hook knew it was worth it even for a second. He would never forget his first love in Milah. He had grown since then and now he wondered if his love was because of his past. 

~

Neal might have been dead but Killian wasn’t going to steal his girl even in death. He may have flirted with Emma but he respected that Neal loved Emma still and that they had a kid together. So when Emma kissed him out of the blue. He didn’t push her away even though she didn’t love him like he loved her. He accepted the kiss which was the cure to his own disease. He felt his lungs clear up. The kiss freed him and Emma would never have to know about what the kiss meant to him or so he thought. Later, when news of Neal being alive arrived, they set out to find him. Only to get to Neal they had to tell their darkest secrets. Snow and David did so with little pressure but for him he admitted the kiss.

“I already told Snow about the kiss,” Emma told him.

“It’s not the kiss but what the kiss meant. I had a disease that made me cough up floors until the one I loved the most kissed me. The second your lips touched mine, my lungs cleared up and I felt like I could breathe like normal again. I haven’t felt that since the first time we met. Emma seemed surprised by that but she didn’t have time to act as she told her secret and got to Neal as soon as she could. Killian regretted every word because it made Emma aware that the kiss meant more to him than it had meant to her. She loved Neal even if she hated him now. He was her first love. She would never leave him for Killian. Killian could suffer knowing that. If it meant flowers in his lungs for the rest of his life.

~

He sat on the couch years later telling Hope about his fairytale with her mother but not giving her all the details. Just the important facts.

“Is that a curse?” Hope asked.

“It could be seen as a curse my dear, but actually it is a blessing as it led me to realize how much your mother meant to me and led me to fight for her more every single day,” Killian said.

“And I am glad that my pirate fought for me because I have a wonderful daughter now,” Emma said as she joined them with cups of hot chocolate with cinnamon on hers and Hope’s. Killian smiled as he was happy to have his family even if it took a long time to gain it. 

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan

[bllsbailey]

RedState Sports Report: Is There Anything More Boring Lately Than F1?

Greetings from the sports desk located somewhere below decks of the Good Pirate Ship RedState. I have no idea what Sammy the Shark and Karl the Kraken are up to at the moment, although in Sammy‘s case, I imagine it’s probably pouring over prospects' reports in anticipation of getting a high pick in the 2024 draft. Such is life as a Sharks fan. But I digress.

As noted on March 11 by my colleague Jeff Charles, Deadspin, the once provocative and edgy sports website now reduced to a woke shadow of its former self, has been sold yet again, in the process laying off its entire staff as apparently, the new owners want something a bit more aligned with their vision. Precisely what that vision may be remains undetermined, although it may have something to do with reporting on sports instead of trying to score woke points and getting sued in the process.

MORE: Deadspin Has Been Sold Again - New Owners Purge Current Staff

Guess Who's at the Super Bowl? That Kid Who Got Smeared As a Racist by Deadspin

Since the new owners are from Europe, one suspects they will try to convince anyone who might still bother reading the site — if, in fact, said people exist — that a) soccer is the most fantastic team sport there is (it’s not) and that b) F1 is the ultimate in motorsports entertainment. It’s not, for reasons that have become painfully obvious.

If individual dominance to the point of tedium is your definition of sports entertainment, F1 is your cup of tea. Last year, Max Verstappen of Team Red Bull won 19 of 22 races. His wingman … er, teammate Sergio Pérez, won two of the remaining three. The 2024 season is rapidly turning into the 2023 season redux, as Verstappen has won the first two races by over 22 and 13 seconds, respectively, over runner-up Pérez. Oh, what a thrill.

There’s no knocking Verstappen or his team. Clearly, they are the best in the business and deserve everything coming their way. However, when the only point of interest in your entire sport consists of whether or not a team employee sexually harassed another team employee — adding interest to the story for pop culture aficionados is that the accused harasser happens to be married to a former Spice Girl — you’ve got problems, Really, really big problems. Right now, F1 is the most boring spectacle in sports. You know Verstappen will win, and the only question is by how much. When the froth and furor over a car race focuses on who might finish eighth … you get the idea.

Compare this to NASCAR circa 2024. While the sport has declined in popularity recently, did you catch the action at the Atlanta race on February 25?

<span class="fr-mk" style="display: none;"> </span>

Three-wide photo finish. That, my friends, is auto racing at its finest.

F1 snobs—excuse me, fans—love to preen and preach about how excellent their sport is, how significant the technological advances in their cars are, etc., etc., ad nauseam. The latter is accurate, and the $140M or so each team is allowed to spend per year certainly shines in the competition by every team whose sponsor does not give them wings for third each time out.

F1 faces the unique dilemma of beginning to bore its potential audience to death at a time when its audience is at its height, particularly in the United States, courtesy of the “Formula One: Drive to Survive” Netflix series. How exactly are you supposed to entice people into continuing to watch a sport when you know who will win the next race, and all races after that, before it even starts? Hoping that perhaps people might think one of the drivers is cute or funny?

Short of making Verstappen start 30 seconds after everybody else does, it’s difficult to see precisely what F1 can do to create competitive balance in the current situation. It’s not healthy for the sport. You would think they know it, but in their usual vainglorious elitism, F1 doesn’t seem to want to admit that it has a massive issue on its hands for the foreseeable future. But that’s someone else’s problem. Like the new owner of Deadspin.

[martianbugsbunny]

OUAT Thoughts Pt.51--Episodes 15-16

I have watched through S5E16; spoilers DNI. Also, spoiler warning for anyone further behind than I am.

—Okay, now they get full marks for the use of Hades’ fire hair. Most dramatic way possible to introduce himself. 11/10.

—It’s nice that Liam and those other sailors get to spend the rest of eternity on a ship in clear blue waters.

—Liam’s bar was very well decorated. Those tree-type-thingies with the red lights on them are so pretty.

—I just love Hook. His story of having innate dark tendencies and having to struggle constantly to get beyond them is exquisite. And yes, I love that word, but I only use it when I mean it. He wants to change. He wants to be a version of himself he can live with. And he fights for it, and sometimes he fails, and I think that’s brilliant. I’ve liked him for quite a while at this point, but I’m not sure how it took me so long to realize what a stunning piece of writing he is. Maybe it’s this new part of his backstory. Because before now, we’ve seen a boy abandoned by his father, a dashing officer in the Royal Navy, and then a pirate. This is the first time we’ve really seen him struggle with himself before becoming a pirate, which just. Works.

—I’m so glad he’s forgiven himself. If he hadn’t wanted to come home with Emma I would’ve cried. But of course you know this means one of them *isn’t* going home.

—Good golly, I love how salty Authoring has made Henry. I think there are a good many people who can write, but I also know the system is designed in such a way that the famous and the trite have their writing published, while loads of legitimate, beautiful writers are overlooked because their work isn’t published in a physical format. There are fanfic writers who have created more amazing pieces and know their way around words better than many a writer whose book I’ve read. What’s my point? I don’t know. I guess, I vibe with Henry, because the quality of book writing has gone so far afield. Good, proper writers are a certain few, not limited to a specific medium, but to the intricacy and emotional impact of the works they create, and while I appreciate regular folk who do their best at writing because they want to tell a story, regardless of whether they’re the best writer or not, there are also a lot of published authors whose stories suck because they’re famous and just trying to sell, not because they care about what they’re ‘crafting’.

—Really, I have so many thoughts about writing, but I don’t think I actually have the skill to write them down (mm, irony) so I won’t. But one of these days I will join the regular folk who just want to tell a story—I’ve got a small fic in my back pocket that I hope I’ll find the boldness to post.

—I’m impressed that Rumple told Belle the whole truth. Not just that their baby technically belongs to Hades, but also that he’s the Dark One again. Did he wait a bit to mention the Dark One thing? Yeah. But in the past he’s waited much longer.

—Also, Rumple’s out here spitting plain truths. Belle fell in love with him when he was the Dark One. She literally cleaned the blood off his dungeons and heard the screams of his tortured prisoners and she fell in love with him anyway. I think she’s in denial about loving the dark part of him, but deep down she does love all of him.

—I love that Rumple made the distinction between being a better man and being a different man. Now that he’s explained his actions, this arc makes more sense. Although I’m not entirely sure craving power entirely jives with his previous characterization, as his biggest arc (Baelfire) was about getting the power for reasons other than just having power. Now, if they expand and add that he craves power for the sake of protecting the people he loves, or something slightly more eloquent, that would go all the way.

—Great that he finally said it: he can love both Belle and the dagger. It’s been weird how they’ve been pitted against each other for a lot of the show, because it’s illogical. He can love both, and loving the dagger doesn’t mean that he loves Belle less than he would otherwise. It doesn’t even mean that he loves the dagger more than he loves her. It only seems that way to her (not to sound mean, but here I go) because *she* constantly demands that he choose.

—Also, the new dagger is gorgeous. Love the black edges.

—*sighs* okay, I don’t feel like getting into the implications of the queer-coding of Disney villains, but you know what? I’ve embraced them. Most of them suck as people, but they just vibe so hard I can’t help loving them. And not to dismiss the impact they may have had on other people, but Disney villains haven’t affected my view of myself or of queerness in general. Heck, I only started seeing it once I had some similar revelations about myself. All of that is just a preface to say: I wanted a Hades that was exceptionally gay. He’s been written and portrayed in this show in such a way that he has hextreme chemistry with men he’s come across; specifically, Rumple and Liam. And frankly that chemistry isn’t quite there with Zelena. Perhaps my view of it is colored by what I wish he’d been, but that’s how I see it. It also would’ve A) eliminated the need for Zelena to return, which is like the world’s biggest plus, and B) forced the writers to bring in a new character, rather than leaning on a previously unattached woman.

—Did Zeus really curse Hades? Because babes, that would be interesting. If Hades is miserable in the Underworld, there should be a reason. Otherwise I love a Hades who adores being ruler of the Underworld and does it gladly, because it’s much easier to just have him be resentful for no reason, but really he’s got a dope-ass realm and literally all the wealth buried in the earth. Having him resentful because of something Zeus did is much harder to pull off, simply because it requires originality. I’m intrigued to see more of Hades’ backstory.

—Speaking of backstories, the coolest thing to come out of Zelena’s was Dorothy’s outfit. She got to wear gingham but with a leather bodice. Yes yes.

—The thing where Snow and Charming haunted Neal is both very sad and very cool. And I love Henry for Authoring domestic stuff like that.

—This post is kind of a tire fire. I found a lot of things to focus in on and overanalyze, and as a result I’ve kinda forgotten the smaller details. But those are my strongest opinions regarding what I’ve seen, so…good enough.

#once upon a time #ouat #hades #Liam jones #Captain Hook #killian jones #Henry mills-swan #Emma swan #rumplestiltskin #belle #the dark one #the dark one dagger #zeus #zelena #dorothy gale #Snow White #prince David charming #martianbugsbunny reviews

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

231 of 2022

Describe your most recent purchase:

I paid for the appointment to cut and colour my hair, I finally did it. It counts as a purchase :P

Did you enjoy the last movie you watched in theatres?

I don’t watch movies, omg. Why do almost all surveys ask about movies?

If you make surveys, where’s the last place you saw a survey made by you on another person’s site?

I don’t make surveys.

Do you take the subway train often (if your city has one)?

There’s no subway in my city :( and not even trams.

What shoes did you wear today?

Converse-type shoes, but they’re all black. The brand is either Bershka or Pull&Bear. Too lazy to check.

*2 minutes later* checked, it’s Pull&Bear :P

Who was the last person to leave you a comment on Facebook?

I don’t even have an account there.

Does your sibling have a significant other?

I don’t know anymore. I’m not up to date with things between her and her girlfriend.

When and why is the last time you cried (or at least, shed tears)?

It was 30 years ago, so. Can’t remember.

Have you ever cried at a real wedding?

I haven’t, but I’ve been to a few weddings and they were touching.

How would you feel if a girl asked your boyfriend out for a drink?

Ha, go for it. But, he is bi. Higher chance :x

Do you use Skype?

I don’t. Never did.

What do your flipflops look like?

What? I don’t even wear such things and I don’t intend to.

Any idea what you want for your next birthday?

Just want to go somewhere fun. Maybe to Amsterdam again.

Describe a poster on your wall.

I don’t have posters on my walls. I’m not 15.

Are there any gadgets of yours that need charging right now?

My phone, probably. Not sure about my tablet.

What do you use to remove makeup?

I don’t even wear make up, I’m a guy, so.

Do you have articles of clothing that are leopard print?

No. I might be gay, but I’m rather masculine.

Tilt your head up and look straight ahead. Describe what you see.

The whole wall of things my husband collects.

Which awards show would you wanna go to the most (e.g Oscars, Grammys etc.)?

None, I’m not interested in that.

Any idea what time you’ll be going to bed tonight?

Probably soon.

Do you think George Clooney is hot?

Nah, not my type.

Name some models you think are hot.

None.

Have you ever participated in local magazine cover girl searches?

I’m not even a girl in the first place, and even if I was, I don’t think I’d be interested in such things anyway.

Have you ever bought a lottery ticket (and even better: won?)

Yes and yes, 50€. So impressive :P

What colour is your keyboard?

Black, just like my whole laptop.

Do you keep the plastic/paper/whatever bags after you buy stuff?

No.

Do you own any high waisted pants?

I guess so, I don’t care about naming.

What’s the craziest thing you’ll ever do to your hair?

I just dyed it purple and I had it cut and I put hair wax on it.

Do you know anyone who has two different coloured eyes?

Yeah, but I haven’t heard from him in a while.

Does your significant other like the same colour as you do?

No, his eyes are more brownish. Mine are just grey.

Do you wanna be a pirate or an elf?

Pirates are badass, so let’s go with it.

Have you ever purchased anything online?

Haven’t I? These times about 99% of my purchases is online because I’m a lazy potato.

What’s your favourite classic Disney movie (no, Camp Rock doesn’t count)?

None. Ew, movies.

Gold or silver accessories?

Silver. Looks better to me.

Would you have minded living in the 18th century?

Yeah, I remember times without cellphones or internet, so.

Have you ever been called a skank/slut because of the way you dress?

Nope. My clothes rather cover than reveal my body, so that’s it.

Name all your friends whose name starts with the 4th letter of your first name.

Roy, that’s the one who comes to my mind instantly.

What websites do you absolutely have to visit daily (or at least, every time you get to go online)?

One internet forum.

Have you ever ridden an elephant?

No, never.

Where did you get that outfit you’re wearing now?

Bershka & Restyle.

Are you a fan of acrylic nails?

Nope, they’re abominable.

#survey #random survey #q&a survey

[too-right-red]

A rollicking band of Romulans we, Who, tired of search investigatory, Are trying their hand at a burglaree, With weapons grim and gory!

We are not coming for latinum or gold, A story Colonel Hakeev's told, We seek a penalty fifty-fold for Colonel Hakeev's story!

#romulan #sto #star trek online #romulans #tovan #guess whose been watching Pirates again #its me ive been watching Pirates again #Steen is of course the Pirate King and Tovan is young Frederic #star trek #myart #romulan steen

[peachy-rambles]

Pirate Techno and ocean god philza, where philza gets hopelessly endeared to this terrifying pirate because he doesn’t hunt magic creatures or disrespect the ocean like most pirates. While Techno is not understanding why the ocean is always smooth for him or why most dangerous sea creatures leave him alone

Anon, did you read my mind because only a few hours before you sent this, I was gearing up and forming thoughts about a pirate AU!

Techno is one of the most feared pirates roaming the seas. He's fucking massive, towering over everyone and is frankly very terrifying. He's scruffy (as pirates are), with a beard and a long mane of pink hair. He also wears an eyepatch due to one of his eyes not working/missing and has a massive scar on that side of his face going over his hidden eye. No ones ever seen him with his eyepatch off so they don't know if he's missing an eye or it just doesn't work, and they don't know how he received the scar (there's lots of rumors and stories, but Techno never comments or gives hints). He seems mostly human (besides his height, which no human could ever achieve that height), but he has tusks potruding from his mouth that hint at his non-human heritage.

(He's a bear, ok? He is not a twink in the slightest, he's a massive fucking bear pirate)

Techno is an incredibly impressive fighter, capable of dual weilding swords (as well as being able to dual weild a sword and a pistol, although he favors swords more), and is merciless, earning him the nickname "the Blade". It's said that you never want to meet the Blade in battle, not if you don't want to die a bloody death.

Many assume that because of his great reputation, Techno is the captain of the ship that he sails on, but he isn't. The Captain of the ship is in fact a pirate named Puffy and Techno is her First Mate.

They work well together, Techno having joined Puffy's crew years ago under mysterious circumstances. He has great knowledge of the sea, knows the best places to sail and what places to avoid, not to mention owns countless stories and old books/maps from explorers past (including info on buried treasure they once hid away). Again, no one knows how or why Techno joined and why he's so knowledgeable, he's just a giant mystery. Literally.

With all the mystery surrounding Techno and his terrifying appearance/reputation, people would be shocked to learn that Techno actually has quite the gentle soul. He is quiet and shy, usually standing in the back of the crowd and observing. He respects the ocean and all of it's creatures, including the magical ones. He'll go out of his way to help baby sea turtles make their way to the ocean after just hatching on a beach, or will ignore the familiar flash of a mermaid's tail in the water (despite knowing a live mermaid could sell at a very hefty price).

He doesn't let others see this side of himself, not even Puffy or their crew, and keeps up the facade of the mysterious terrifying Blade.

One night, Puffy and their crew come across another pirate ship and a battle breaks out. It's just their luck that a massive storm hits at the same time, and it quickly turns into a fight for survival.

Somewhere in the chaos of it all, Techno is knocked off the ship and falls into the dark ocean depths.

It isn't until after Puffy and her crew manage to make a hasty retreat from the other ship, attempting to find smoother waters, that they realize Techno is missing. They search long and hard, but they're never able to find him and assume he's dead.

But he's not.

Techno is, somehow, alive and wakes up on the beach of what he assumes is a deserted island. He immediately sets the work, making himself a little shelter by a group of trees and exploring the island for food and fresh water.

He is unsuccessful and he goes to bed hungry very paranoid The entire night he stays awake, unable to fall asleep because he can't help but feel like he's being watched the entire time.

The next day, he goes out searching for food and water again, but fails. He has no such luck the third day and he is getting desperate because he knows he needs to find fresh water soon.

The fourth day when he wakes up, he is startled to see a pile of fresh fruit and a glass bottle with what he assumes is water sitting innocently next to him in his shelter.

Techno comes to the natural conclusion that he is not alone on this island and someone has been watching him, and for some reason left him food. Techno considers the fact that maybe it's poisoned, but he hasn't eaten or drunk in days and he knows he needs it. He eats the food and drinks the water, and it's the best thing he's ever tasted (SO much better than the food they ate on the ship).

He doesn't die, or feel sick afterwards, so that's a plus.

With newfound energy, he goes explorint that day and is finally able to find a small river with fresh water on the island, along with some native fruits.

Several days pass, and Techno continues building on his shelter and makes some attempts at fishing, but he isn't exactly the best.

When he wakes up to a huge pile of fish the very next day, he's somehow not too surprised.

This continues for a while, Techno searching the island and exploring more and more each day. One time, after Techno attempted (and failed) to hunt down a wild hog, he walked back to his shelter only to find the very same hog in front of it, dead.

Techno examines the animal, and realizes very quickly that a human didn't take it down. No, a creature or a monster must have, judging from the bitemarks on the back of the hog's neck.

Techno is now very concerned as to who or what exactly was also on this island with him.

He knows building a raft would not be a good idea, that he's most likely drown or starve at sea if he made his out there on a little raft. It was better to stay on the island, where there was food and water, and hope someone found him. In the meantime, he started to create weapons - simple things like small knives and spears.

Whatever was on this island, if it decided to hunt Techno down, he wasn't going to go down without a fight.

After completing the spear he made and lamenting on how he missed his swords one night, old rusted sword appears in his shelter the very next day. Perhaps once it had been beautiful, but now it was dull and fairly useless to him.

Techno is just completely confused at this point and maybe loses his mind a little bit.

He begins talking to himself out loud, speaking about how he misses human contact and would like to just have someone to talk to about all of this.

He does not at all expect a voice to answer him back.

"You can talk to me, if you want."

Techno quickly grabs his spear and keeps it held tightly in his hands, "Whose there?"

He glances around, trying to find the source of the voice but all he sees is the beach and the trees from the forest.

"Where are you? Come out!" he demands.

".....I would prefer not to."

'Prefer not to?' Techno mouths to himself before letting out a growl, "Why not?"

There was only silence, until eventually the voice said in a much quieter tone, "...I'm shy."

Techno is dumbfounded and can only let out a, "Heh?"

He tries getting more answers from the voice, but it doesn't respond, whoever it was seemingly gone.

Techno doesn't sleep that night, wondering if any of that had been real or simply all in his head.

The next day, he doesn't leave his shelter and instead merely sits there, waiting.

Until, eventually towards the end of the day...

"....You didn't go out today."

Techno glances around, but again he sees nothing but beach and trees. Not a single person in sight.

"Nope, I didn't," he says with a sigh.

"Why not?" the voice asks.

"I was waiting for you," Techno responds back simply.

".........Oh."

Techno waits a few moments for the voice to speak more, but when it doesn't, Techno decides to ask a question.

"Are you the one who gave me the food and water?"

"Yes."

"And hunted the boar?"

"Yep! A big strong man like you needs lots of meat to survive, right?"

Techno pauses, unsure how to process that statment before clearing his throat and asking, "You gave me the sword as well?"

"I did! Did you like it? I tried to find the best one in my collection!"

"It was rusted and dull, but I appreciate it, I guess," Techno admits.

"My collection" so whoever this was had a collection....whatevet that meant.

"Oh. I could-I could...give you another sword if you like! I know how much you like your swords!"

"....What do you mean by that?" Techno asks and let's out a sigh when there's no reply.

When he wakes up the next morning, he indeeds find a sword. It's not the best, but it isn't dull and seems to be well taken care of, so there's that at least.

"Thank you," he says outloud and is surpised when he hears a quiet, "You're welcome," in response.

Days continue on (Techno figures he's been on this island for about a few months). Most days, Techno finds himself talking to the voice. It never stays for very long, but it's....friendly, at least.

"Are you real?" Techno asks one day, lying down next to his shelter and looking up into the clear light blue sky.

"What do you mean? Of course I'm real," the voice replies, letting out a quiet chuckle (it's light and sweet, the sound falling sootbingly onto Techno's ears)

"Well, I can't see you, for one," Techno says, "For all I know, you could just be a figment of my imagination."

"I'm real," the voice says, their voice clear and strangely assuring.

"Then, could I see you?" Techno asks.

".....I don't know."

The voice is silent the rest of that day. As well as the day afterwards, and the day after that. A whole week passes by before Techno hears the voice again.

"I don't want to scare you," it admits.

"Why, do you look scary?" Techno asks. He's working on another spear (his last one broke the night before) and casually listens as the voice speaks.

"To most, yes."

"You gonna elaborate on that or just keep being mysterious?"

Silence.

Techno sighs, "Mysterious it is then."

The voice continues to talk to Techno once a day, but it doesn't go back to the subject of it's appearance or showing itself to Techno. Techno doesn't push either. Instead, they just casually converse, the voice asking what Techno is doing that day and Techno replying.

Sometimes, Techno will talk about his and Puffy's crew, some adventures they went on and the treasure they found or silly mishaps that happened to them.

Sometimes, the voice brings Techno their own treasures from their "collection" - pieces of gold, old enchanted books, jewelry and sometimes just random things from the ocean like a pretty shell or rock.

Techno appreciates it all and grows a whole little pile or treasure in his shelter.

And sometimes, when they're talking, Techno will catch a glimpse of....something hiding behind a nearby tree or rock in the forest - a flash of gold here or the very tip of a swishing tail there.

Whatever it was, it wasn't human.

Techno tried not to worry too much about that and never mentioned anything to the voice, worried he might scare them off again by mentioning their appearance.

One night, when Techno is just beginning to drip off to sleep, the voice appears for the second time in the same day.

"I like you, Techno," the voice says, "A lot. Do you-do you like me?"

Techno thinks the question over before nodding, "I think so, yeah. I mean, I don't know you that well and you're kinda just a voice, and I don't know if you're real or not, but yeah you seem nice."

The voice laughs, seemingly endeared by Techno's words. "That's good, I'm glad. Good night, Techno."

"Good night."

The next morning, Techno wakes up and finds the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen laying there next to him, watching him warily with bright blue eyes.

They have long blond hair with a crown seemingly made out of coral atop their head. Massive golden wings potrude from their back, completely smooth and sparkling in the early morning light, looking as if seemingly made of silk.

Then there was the tail.

The creature has no legs and instead has a long thick fish tail of some kind, beginning at the bottom of their torso and unable to fit completely in Techno's shelter, extending out into the beach outside.

"....Hi, Techno," the creature says, in the voice that Techno had become so familiar with in the last few months.

"Hey," Techno says and reaches out, placing his hand on the side of the creature's face, cupping their face gently in the palm of his hand, "You're a whole lot prettier than I imagined."

The creature flushes a pretty pink color, almost matching the coral it wears atop of their head.

Techno suddenly realizes how close their faces are to each other and the creature seems to realize it too before they move closer, placing their lips on Techno's in a kiss.

Techno kisses back, pulling the creature closer to them and enjoying the little pleased chirps they make as he kisses them.

They eventually seperate, Techno lying back down and the creature placing their head on Techno's chest, seemingly content to lay there in Techno's arms.

"I'm Philza, by the way," the creature says.

"Philza. That's a nice name-" Techno starts to say before his eyes widen and he remembers where he's heard that name before and who exactly it belonged to.

Philza.

Philza, the ancient ocean deity that supposedly ruled the seas and was the protector of all the creatures who lived in it, who called it home. Philza, who was said to be a terrifying monster and could strike fear into the bravest men, who devoured the hearts of men and could sink even the sturdiest of boats in the blink of an eye.

Philza, whose name had been forgotten and lost for centuries, was nothing more than an old legend - a myth.

Except, apparently not because Philza was currently curled up on Techno's chest, pleased chirps escaping him as he reached out to place his hand in Techno's, intertwining their fingers.

Philza, an ancient and all-powerful deity...and Techno had just fucking made out with him.

#techza #technophil #asks #peachy said a thing #peachy fic prompts #peachy wrote a thing #bear techno #what's the point of a pirate au if you don't make him a massive scruffy bear #pirate au

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt 10)

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

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

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

Chapter Ten: The Echo

Greeting your companions the next morning was just as awkward as bidding them goodnight after the debacle last night. You’re stiff, bruised, and the dirtiest you’ve ever been in your whole life. Lightly retying the corset to support yourself, you collect Gonk from where she’s curled in the Hammock and brace yourself before heading out onto the deck of the ship. It’s already very bright out, and the crew is as rambunctious as ever. With the Captain throwing orders around here and there, Tech and Wrecker working the sails, and Crosshair shouting back down to Hunter. It’s marvellous how they work together when they're not disagreeing about something.

You feel Gonk leap off your shoulder with a curious noise before bounding away, her speckled wings bouncing behind her. She looks clumsy for a lizard, but then again, how many lizards did you know that have feathers?

“Good Morning!” Wrecker shouts to you when he notices your figure. You give him a smile and a small wave. Tech returns your smile and watches you as you glance around. Appreciating the sea and the vessel you’ve found yourself on.

The water of the Corillian run is a rich blue with just enough green to look magical. And the waves the churn underneath you look more powerful than any carriage or speeder you’ve seen before. Just as you’re wondering how deep it is, there's a commotion behind you. Hunter is glaring deadly at Gonk, who’s held by her neck feathers in front of his face. And from the way her wings are flapping and her front claws grab at him, it's no mystery where she was, or where she’s trying to go.

“I’m sorry!” You say, gathering your skirts and rushing over. The Captain glares at you as he shoves her into your arms, her grey feathers bunching up as he does so. His tunic is rolled up again, and in the morning light you can see the symbols on his forearm more clearly. Traitor.

When the wooden ruler collided with your desk you yelped in fear and surprise. Was it the first time this had happened? Absolutely not, and if these lessons continued this way, it certainly wouldn't be the last.

“Pay. Attention.” The Pantoran woman growled at you, she was very smart. You could just tell, and the fact she was instructed to dumb down your education infruiated the both of you. “As I was saying…” She eyed you - a dare to look out the window and start daydreaming again.

“Teach me about the war.” You blurted out the statue of the emperor they were erecting, catching your eye again.

“This is a language class.” She said with a sigh, before placing the ruler down. “I’m guessing you want to know about the Clones.”

“How did you kn-”

“It’s all anyone ever talks about.” She interrupted you, which was shocking in itself, but not unwelcome. Perching herself on the birch coloured desk, you found her staring out the window as well.“It’s well known that there was scarcely a better soldier than a Kaminoan Clone. And so when the war came to its end, and the Jedi went rouge, well they hardly stood a chance. Those who sided with them were caught and killed or branded traitors. Why they let any of them survive is beyond me, but those clones were so fiercely loyal. Some of them just couldn't shake that. No matter how hard the Kaminoans or the Emperor tried, there were millions of them, and some…” She paused for a moment, glancing back at the door as if someone was watching you through it.

“Well even if an inhibitor chip is 99.99% effective, out of one million, there will still be one hundred defects.”

You try to stop staring, you really do. But by then Hunter has caught your eye, and is glaring even harder than he was before. Cautiously you take a step back, finding yourself in the company of clones is one thing, those willing to defy Nython, another. But enemies of the Galactic Empire was a different kind of dangerous.

“Courtesy of your betrothed.” The Captain grits out, and whatever softness was there from the night before is gone. Scared, you clutch Gonk to your chest like a child would a blanket. “What did you do?” You ask, looking him up and down. Even with the scars on his knuckles of cuts and burns, He didn't look like the horror stories you’d been told as a kid, in fact, he didn't look dangerous at all. But the symbols were there, scared into his skin some time ago. Something flashes in his brown sugar eyes, like the ping of a blaster bounces off of his iries in the heat of battle. Like he relives combat right in front of you.

“What we did was rescue a prisoner of war.” He spits, walking towards you and backing you into the banister that overlooks the pain part of the deck. “That hammock you’re sleeping in belongs to someone.”

“I’m sorry.” You say trembling. Looking to the side to see Wrecker place a firm hand on his sergeant's shoulder and pull him firmly away from you.

“Echo’s was in the hands of the Techno Union for some time.” Wrecker explains defusing the situation. “He’s waiting for us on Alderaan, after some much needed rest.” Hunter, who’s now swatting Tech - and whatever device he’s trying to scan him with - away, seems to be ignoring you.

“I-I didn’- I didn’t mean…” You tell Wrecker shakily.

“I know, and it’s okay.” He says with a smile, but Hunter's words resonate with you. Haunting you of acts you have had nothing to do with.

In his cabin Hunter throws his hat as hard as he can against the wall. He hates you, he hates the Empire and most of all he hates Nython. And what���s even more infuriating is how innocent you are, how your morales are driving you away from your betrothed, and how you saved the shit disturbing reptile that seems to like himself and yourself too much. And no matter how much Hunter wants to despise the empire, if it’s still filled with people like you, it means there’s still something to fight for. But if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t know how much fight he's got left.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

“What did he mean, courtesy of my betrothed?” You have to walk quickly behind Crosshair in an effort to keep up, his long legs easily outpace you and even though you’re both still injured he moves quickly. You follow him into the storage area that you’re all too familiar with, nearly bumping into him when he stops to look for a specific crate.

“Why don’t you bother Tech with your questions?” Crosshair says pushing boxes around.

“Because you’ll tell me the truth, no sugar coating.” You tell him, nudging him aside with your boot as you lean over to grab what he couldn’t reach. Perhaps being smaller wasn’t a disadvantage after all. Proudly you hand him the strange looking fruit.

“I need the whole crate.” Crosshair tells you unimpressed, before giving you the singular Meiloorun fruit and leaning over the stack of crates again. “And to answer your question, he was talking about the scars on his hand.” You lean against the tower so you can try to read his face as he yanks the crate forward.

“The burns or the wounds?” You ask, mulling over the fruit in your hands.

“Same thing.” Crosshair explains. “From a mission on Kashyyyk, Nython had the whole forest alight, and Hunter got trapped behind a blast door.” He watches as you cover your mouth with one hand as you remember the boasts, the gloat, the pride Nython had when he recounted the battle.

“You should’ve seen it,” There’s awe in Crosshair's voice now. “The Regs wanted to label him MIA, but that's not Hunter, not the Sergeant of ‘Force 99. When the squad hoisted him into that medical bay, he was barely alive.”

“No wonder he hates me.” You breathe, looking at the clone in front of you who shrugs.

“Don’t take it personally, he hates mostly everyone. We all do, it’s…” Crosshair stops and composes himself, like being honest or genuine with you is a weakness. “Nython decimated everything in his path. There’s what? A handful of Wookies left, half of those are thanks to him and all he can think about is how many he didn’t save.” You gently place your fruit on the box Crosshair is standing before you with. “It’s all a bit narcissistic if you ask me.” You smile at Crosshairs sass.

“You’d know.” You counter, trying to ease the tension in the room. “Thank you, for being honest.” You tell him, catching a smirk as he starts up the stairs.

“It’s one of my many endearing qualities.” He says, before shouting to his brothers about something that you don't even bother trying to understand.

With a look back at the hiding spot that you had chosen when you boarded the ship, you start up the stars and get back into the daylight. The captain is still gone, but Tech, Crosshair and Wrecker are each peeling a Meilroon fruit. You smile at them, they look so picturesque right now. The sea in the background and the three of them scraping the tough skin off of the fruits with knives. You’re reminded of children's picture books of pirates mulling over gold.

“Hey! What’s so funny?” Wrecker calls when he sees your big smile. Walking over, You plant yourself on the floor leaning against the banister.

“I half expected you all to break out into a sea shanty.” You tease reaching up to pick up a fruit.

“Ha ha.” Crosshair said dryly, giving you the handle of the knife to take from him to peel your own fruit. “Try not to chuck it at Tech again will ya?” you nod and very carefully start running the blade along the fruit.

“So no sea shanties then?” You ask, popping a piece into your mouth.

“We don’t sing.” Tech states.

“Yeah we do!” Wrecker argues, jamming his knife into the lid of the crate, “we know that one from-”

“Ferrik if you start singing that again.” Crosshair grumbles.

“THERE ONCE WAS A SHIP THAT PUT TO SEA” You all cringe when Wrecker starts shouting rather than singing, both of his brothers shout back simultaneously for him to stop, while you giggle from your spot on the floor. You could almost get used to their company, that and the fresh salty sea air, you are already beginning to enjoy the life of sailing. On the second floor, emerging from the captain's quarters, Hunter generally steps. Even someone without enhanced senses would have heard Wreckers incessant shouting and he has every intent on giving the three of them a lecture when he hears something else entirely.

“There was once a soldier who carried a mighty sword, and he had saved the village, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” Your voice accompanies soft taps to the wooden boards to create some kind of beat. The sound stops as soon as it starts.

“Don’t stop on our account.” He hears Tech's voice, and a stealthy Hunter moves to try and get a better view, he wants to know what you’re up to, and if you’re still trying to manipulate his crew.

“I’ve been told I have an atrocious singing voice.”

“It’s better than Wreckers.” Both Crosshair and Tech comment simultaneously. And Hunter hears you let out a half laugh. Some kind of reserved dainty thing that has him rolling his eyes.

“There was once a sailor, he had travelled the globe, his love he was chasing. oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” You continue tapping again, “And there will come a captain who’s heart is completely pure, he will find those who are lost, oh lei,...” He hears you stop. As something catches your attention. And Hunter takes the opportunity to make an appearance.

You hear the captain’s footsteps before you turn your gaze away from the birds flying alongside the ship. “Who let the Aaray get a’ hold of a knife again?” He says looking down at you, the fruit and the blade. Hesitantly, and with only half of the Meilroon fruit peeled you give the knife back to Crosshair the same way he had originally given it to you. Pointing the handle towards him whilst gently holding the blade.

“I wasn’t going to…” You start.

“Going to what? Try and kill one of my crew again?” Hunter raises an eyebrow as if he’s daring you to disagree. You take a deep breath in, and hoist yourself onto shaky feet. Wrecker gives you a hand when your legs shake still in pain. Letting out your breath you lock eyes with the captain.

“I understand your hatred for that man,” You begin softly.

“No.” He snaps, “you don’t” You plead with his unforgiving eyes, and the way his half tattooed face scrunches in annoyance.

“You can’t be reasoned with.” You say hopelessly, knowing that whatever you say, it won't be enough.

“I should not have to reason with the likes of you.” Hunter bites. And at this point even Wrecker has given up trying to reason with him. Behind you, Tech’s Holopad beeps.

“I am not my Fiance!” You exclaim. “And yet you attribute all of his crimes to me, even the crime of trying to rid myself of Ny-”

Before you can react, Hunter moves fast as lightning, a hand on your throat, his own vibroblade dangerously close to you, bending you against the banister that stops you falling into the abyss alone. The three others brace themselves and when they move to help you, stop at the growl of anger from their sergeant.

“You do not. Say that name. On. My. Ship.” He tells the trembling woman beneath him.

“What happened to you Sergeant?” You breathe out, searching for the man that his brothers seem to think he is. Everything they tell you about him, every ‘he’s not like this.’ All of his actions point to the fact that he is like this. Something changes in his face, like he remembers where and who he is. And like Hunter is on fire, he steps away from you. The second there's room, Wrecker forces you behind him protectively.

“Sarge.” Tech says, his voice echoing like blaster fire in the mountains. “I think you should come with me.”

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

@starskenobiwan @lordellbell @kaetavlos @violetjedisylveon @​​vergol @Lackofhonor

#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

[clonecest-bin-account]

300 followers bingo - Alpha-17/Fordo | Pirates AU

(In which Alpha and Fordo duel)

Dodge. Slash. Kick. Dodge again. Parry. By now Alpha has memorized these steps by heart.

It’s like a dance, whenever he and Fordo duel, with the only exception that they’re fucking pirates, and not pansy noblemen who delight themselves in ballroom dances. No, this is completely different.

Alpha doubts ballroom dances are this fun, though of course he’d rather be caught dead than admitting it, especially in front of the person who causes all these annoying feelings inside him, his rival, Captain Fordo, whose legendary fame is second only to Alpha’s.

An annoying thorn at his side is what he is: every time Alpha gets news of a juicy booty that he could steal, he always finds Fordo there for the same prize, and of course the only way they can settle it is with a fight. Nevermind that this is the most fun Alpha’s had in ages, though you’d never be able to guess just by looking at him.

 Today, however, things are a bit different from the usual: today they’re battling for a ship. Well, it’s mostly because of what’s inside - the crown’s jewels - but since it’s a big ship, it would be useful to seize it and add it to the rest of the fleet.

Alpha’s crew isn’t in a great state, but he still feels they can make a comeback, especially if he manages to send Fordo down in the water, meaning that his crew would have to come save him and give them plenty of time to secure the ship and sail away.

He’s even got Fordo right where he wants him, dueling on the ship’s edge. Knowing Fordo’s love for theatrics, he knew he wasn’t going to refuse such an occasion, without think about the fact that Alpha’s way more stable on his feet than him, who tends to jump around more often.

It’ll be easy to push him over the edge, he just needs to get an opening.

 Fordo lunges forward, but Alpha parries, pushing him away.

In all this, Fordo is still keeping that smirk that makes Alpha’s blood boil. He can’t say that this isn’t fun, but at least he doesn’t go flaunting it around and exposing himself in such a manner. C’mon, have a little bit of control, though he supposes that’s too much to ask of Fordo.

“What is it old man? Feeling tired already?” Fordo has the guts to say.

Alpha greets his teeth. “Watch it. You’re not that younger than me.”

“It’s still enough,” Fordo retorts, lounging again, but this time Alpha’s prepared for it, so he dodges and, using the opening dear Fordo has just given him, slashes at his chest, sending the other stumbling a few steps away.

It’s not a deep cut, at least not as deep as Alpha would’ve liked. In fact, what he did is mostly clothing damage, but…

 This is so embarrassing. Alpha should be better than this, and yet…

What’s wrong? Oh, nothing really. It’s just that with that slash, he’s exposed Fordo’s chest even more than it already was, and it is… distracting, to say the least.

Alpha really doesn’t mean to stare at it, but at every movement his gaze always goes down, only for him to realize what he’s doing and raising it again. Damned Fordo and his toned body.

At this point, the duel’s fate seems to be decided, but Alpha still hasn’t realized. Even if he did, though, he would still fight tooth and nail to change things, because he refuses to go down so easily.

If only he could keep his eyes up…

 He doesn’t notice that he’s been backed up against nothing until Fordo pushes him, and Alpha loses his footing, falling backwards into the ocean.

When he reemerges, he sputters water, trying to gather his bearings. It’s only once he looks up and sees Fordo leaning over the rail, his damn stupid smirk on his face, that he realized that he fucked up royally.

Then his men begin to get tossed down, and he knows that there’s no coming back from this battle. They’ve lost.

“That’s for the boat! And the booty!” Fordo yells, laughing at Alpha as he waves him goodbye.

  As he watches Fordo and his band of dumbasses sail away, all Alpha can do is fume right where he is. If gazes could kill, a thunder would’ve already stricken the stolen ship, sinking it and the people on it.

Oh well, you win some you lose some, he supposes, though this knowledge does nothing to soothe the sting of defeat.

What really makes him mad is the way he’s lost. He let himself think with his dick rather than with his head, and he hates himself for it.

More than anything, though, he hates Fordo for stealing such a prominent spot in his mind all for himself, and not leaving when Alpha tries to get himself under control.

 There will be no mercy next time they meet.

Fordo needs to pay and Alpha will make sure he does, torn shirt or not!

#300 followers bingo #fordo17 #alpha-17 #captain fordo #clonecest #cloneshipping #my fics

[wannabemobwife]

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas - Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Blood is Thicker than Water

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield, Rosie Holland x Linus Perry

-Warnings: References to sex, language, typos, sad thoughts, attempted suicide, vomiting

-Words: 4.4K

A/n: Thank you so mucg guys with all the live support. Finally done, yay, with part 1

Chapter 17: Blood is Thicker than Water

Words: 4.4K

Four years had passed and Rosie was the only one to stick around. Everything had changed. You and Tom were currently on your trip around the world. Traveling everywhere from Cuba to Greece. Taking in sights of the world.

Embarking on journey covering 3 continents and 10 countries so far. You had already visited the Taj Mahal in India, the Amalfi Coast for some sun, and Iceland just for the blue lagoon hot springs. You and Tom were having the time of your lives, it being the perfect distraction from everything back home.

Rosie was running the mob along with her new right hand and consigliere, Linus. Rosie had been taking on the mantle as the new leader of the Holland mob. Picking up where Parker left off. Trying to do him justice. Tom had helped her learn the ropes but she always had that fiery personality desired for a mob persona.

After four years, Rosie learned to embrace her grief instead of shoving it away, she began to visit Parker’s grave more and more. Tried to every week, but life got in the way. She would bring a new set of flowers to freshen up the old ones.

She knew today would be especially hard, every year it was impossible. Rosie could barely get through the day. Today was her 20th birthday, marking 4 years of celebrating without Parker.

Rosie and Henry’s relationship had grown into one full of misery. Trapped in a loveless relationship, but he was still her best friend. With just one look he would know what she was thinking.

Over the past couple years, Henry has been so obsessed with keeping her safe that it was driving her mad. Rosie understood that Henry didn’t want to lose her like he lost Parker, but Rosie ran a mob and danger followed her everywhere. They started drifting apart when everything happened with the Holland family, creating unfixable cracks in their foundation.

Lately, Rosie had been feeling someone watching her every move. Following her whenever she would be downtown. Feeling a presence she hasn’t felt in a while. Constantly shivering in fear, feeling as though she was observed. From then on, every move she made was calculated and thought out.

When Rosie first took on the mantle, she cleaned house. Eliminating those whose loyalty would always lie with Tom. Trying to affirm the fact that she was so much more than just Tom’s daughter. She had let William go and few others because she brought in Linus.

Even after starting her new regime, things have been a bit off, lately. She hasn’t been sleeping through the night. She’d jolt out of sleep, drenched in a cold sweat. Henry would be startled awake as well by her movement as move to comfort her.

“Roo, you okay?” Henry asked groggily, yawning a bit. Rosie gasping to catch her breath. Her dreams were supposed to be an escape but now they were doing more harm than good. “I don’t know. I keep having these dreams about Parker. Like he was trying to tell me something,” Rosie said, gathering her bearings. It wasn’t everyday she was visited by her deceased twin brother. “From beyond the grave?…Rosie, he’s gone,” Henry pondered. “I know, I just can’t shake this feeling. That he is… he’s.”

“What? Still alive? Honey, we buried him. You cried over him. If he was still alive don’t you think we would’ve shown his face by now. Wilson and Carter are gone, they have been for awhile now,” Henry explained, hoping it would bring her some solace. Henry wasn’t blind to the change in her demeanor, she did open up to him about being followed everywhere she went. “I guess you’re right. But my dreams feel so real,” Rosie whispered, lying back down. Ready to drift off into a deep sleep. One not tainted by the memory of Parker. “Go, back to sleep baby.” Henry said, he knew they would be getting up in a few hours anyway. Tomorrow was a very big day. Henry knew he and Rosie had been drifting but he was all set to give her the best birthday ever.

Henry had bought tickets for you and Tom to fly in for her birthday and stay for awhile. This time of year was hard for all of you but it wasn’t fair to Rosie. The day that is supposed to be about her has always been shared but now no one dared acknowledge it. It was just a reminder of what had been lost.

“Good morning, beautiful. Happy birthday,” Henry whispered, peppering her face in kisses as the morning sun shone through the curtains.

“Thank you,” Rosie sighed. Every year was a challenge. It got a little better every year but she knew she would never fully accept his absence.

“What do you have planned today?” Henry inquired, he was always one for big gestures. He absolutely hated that she no longer enjoyed her birthday.

As a kid she loved the idea of turning a year older, getting to grow up and getting loads of presents of course. You always made the priority of throwing the most perfect themed parties for Rosie and Parker. One year they had a pirate themed pool party with a treasure hunt and another a circus/carnival theme with fair games and a petting zoo. You loved going all out for their birthday. Just spoiling them in general.

Rosie and Parker, also Tom, can’t forget about him, made life worth living. You and Tom did everything for your kids, never wanting them to feel an ounce of sadness.

But the times had changed, you were no longer the mother to a son. It was just Rosie and you thanked God everyday that she was still there but your heart will forever be scarred.

Scars take forever to heal, sometimes never. There will never be a day when you don’t miss Parker or he doesn’t cross your mind. Everything you did from the moment he died was for him, in one way or another. You knew the grief would never stop but you hoped Rosie would one day be able to move on with life.

“You know…” Rosie murmured. “Oh yeah, say hi for me,” Henry nodded along remembering Rosie was going to spend the day next to her better half, Parker.

Rosie proceeded to get dressed and ready for the day. She wore a tight grey dress showing off the perfect curves of her body. And a pair of black high heels to complete her power woman ensemble. “Henry, you aren’t throwing me a party right? I really don’t want one,” Rosie inquired. Rosie would prefer to have all birthdays pass and wash away but she knew Henry wouldn’t allow that. At the most she would have a nice dinner with him and watch a movie.

“You’ll just wait to find out,” Henry grinned cheekily. In reality he was throwing her surprise party to help her find the joy in her birthday again.

“Henry seriously, not this year,” Rosie announced. “It’s never any year. You haven’t celebrated in 3 years. You need to get over this.”

“Get over what? The death of my twin brother?” Rosie asked, astounded at Henry’s previous statement. The nerve he had, wow.

“Roo, I’m sorry,” Henry tried to apologize but Rosie left in a huff.

“Talk later, Linus is waiting for me,” Rosie yelled, already walking out of the room. “Linus, you ready to go?” Rosie said, as she found him drinking coffee in her kitchen. He sat at the bar, legs dangling off the chair as she came down. “Yes, Roo,” he said, a little out of breath from taking the awe of her beauty.

“Please don’t call me that around Henry… What’s on the agenda?” Rosie asked Linus as she poured herself her own cup of coffee.

“Well, Shaw owes you 3 million and the deadline you gave him expired,” Linus explained, he knew Rosie hated having things held over her head. She would prefer to get them out of the way as soon as possible.

“Well then, let’s go pay him a visit. I could use a drink. Afterwards, can you drop me off at the cemetery?” “Of course, Roo,” Linus said. Rosie huffed in response, rolling her eyes at the name. Linus loved to get a rise out of Rosie. Her remarks to his comments were just a sign of their playful banter.Rosie’s relationship with Linus was complicated. They were partners, most of the time.

Rosie had gone really dark over the past years. There were days where she refused to get out of bed. Sitting in bed wasting the entire day away. Henry would come home from work and try his best to comfort her but after Parker he was just as lost as her. They lived in the same house but not truly together. Not as lovers, maybe as roommates.

All Rosie could feel were thoughts of hopelessness, desolation, and misery. Never being able to find that light at the end of the tunnel. She didn’t deserve to find it, thinking she was the one who pushed you and Tom away. Blaming herself for Parker. All these feelings and Henry wasn’t there, too busy with his own life.

One day, Rosie had gotten real low. Couldn’t find a way out so she went to the gun room grabbed the closest pistol, a bottle of scotch, a glass and sat in Tom’s office. She rested on Tom’s chair trying to find the will to end it all. To point the pistol and pull the trigger.

It would be so easy, the flick of a finger. No more pain. She tried not to think about everything she was giving up. Never seeing you or Tom again, or Henry. Never loving him again, if they ever did manage to find their way back to each others arms. Never experiencing the things that made life worth living.

All her thoughts were halted as Linus barged in. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the broken girl hold a gun unto her temple, its safety clicked off. The room was cold as an icy chill ran down his spine.

“Rosie, what are you doing!?!” Linus thundered, trying to stop her before she pulled the trigger. “I don’t know. I think I’m trying to end it all,” Rosie whispered as tears streamed down her face. Deep down she didn’t want to pull the trigger, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

“End what all? Your life?” Linus asked, trying to talk her off the metaphorical ledge. Something had to happen that pushed her to this point. Rosie had to be drowning and calling out for help but no one came. “No, it was never about killing myself. It was just about ending the pain and suffering,” she cried.

“Rosie, listen to me. There is so much more you have to live for. This will pass. Think about everything you are giving up.” Linus tried to appeal to the people she loved, you, Tom, and Henry. Losing Rosie would no longer make you a mother. How could Rosie take that away from you?

“I already have and it hasn’t, for 2 years. How do you know it will get any better?” Rosie begged for a true answer. She had been slumping around, letting the days pass her by as she stood silent, screaming non-vocally for help. Trapped in an asylum of misery. “I don’t. But I’ll be there to help you,” Linus exclaimed, giving her the truthful response she wanted. Rosie just needed to hear that she wasn’t alone in this world anymore. “No, you won’t. You’ll just leave like everyone else. Henry doesn’t love me anymore. My parents left. I’m all alone.” “Roo, you aren’t alone. Just hand me the gun and we can work this out. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here,” Linus pleaded. That was the first time he had used that nickname. The name had been reserved for only Henry, Parker and you. In that moment Rosie saw someone she missed so dearly in Linus, Parker. Parker was the only person who was 100% there for her. He was there to talk her off the ledge. He was there at her weakest and in a split second he was standing in front of her.

Rosie gave in, removing the gun from her temple, clicking the safety one and handing it over. She slowly stood up, coming over to Linus and collapsed in his arms. Rosie whispered a small “I missed you” as he held the broken girl. He was the only one who could pull her out. Not Henry, god she wished it was Henry. Linus understood her pain and didn’t try to fix everything.

Henry was the opposite. Constantly worrying about Rosie and trying to find a solution for everything. Things from the slightest backache to feelings of hopelessness. Rosie didn’t need fixing she just needed to be heard and Linus made sure she was. At Harmon’s, the bar was quite empty. Just Shaw and a few of his men. Shaw has borrowed money from Rosie to clear of a few charges. The Holland name had some pull in the legal community. Dating back to Dom’s days but Tom mostly laid down roots.

Linus entered first, firing two shots to take out Shaw’s capos. “Jesus Christ,” yelled Shaw as his protection thudded against the floor.

Rosie followed Linus in, making her presence known, “Shaw, you know I’m not a fan of people not staying true to their word. Do you have my money?”

“Rosie, doll. I paid you in full already. If this just your sad attempt to stir something up we can work this out another time. Shoo, let me finish my drink,” Shaw snickered. “Shaw, I know your games. You have 3 minutes to transfer my money right now. One for each million. I have Linus checking for a deposit of 3 million, make this simple and do it,” Rosie stated with an unchanging expression. “I need more time, that’s not enough. It’s all in separate accounts,” Shaw asserted, his voice starting to waver as he stared down the barrel of her pistol. “Well then, I’d hurry if I were you. Here’s your phone. Just wire the money… Starting now,” Rosie exclaimed as Linus devoted his stare to watch. Glancing at the seconds tick away.

“Fine, I’m going,” Shaw screamed, about to crack under the pressure.

“2 minutes left,” Linus chimed in. “Okay, I’m just inputing the dollar amount, it’s a lot of zeros.” Shaw tried to explain. He was about to lose his life because he was slow.

“50 secs.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6—“

“I’m done,” Shaw said, letting out the breath he was holding.

“That was fast but not fast enough,” Rosie whispered raising her gun square to the back of his head. Her finger slipped to the trigger and fired a shot.

BANG

“Wow, I didn’t think you actually kill him,” Linus said, impressed by her ruthlessness.

“He was getting on my nerves, besides he will never borrow money from me again if he is dead,” Rosie chuckled. “You know I found that really hot,” Linus whispered in her ear. “You always do.” Rosie grinned at his advances, trying to pull her close to his chest. “Hey, this can’t keep happening.”

“Oh, come on. You say that every time. I can’t hide my feelings for you anymore.”

“Well, you are going to have to. I was clear about what this was. So I’m going to ask you this once more time, what do you want?” “I want you.” “Well you can have me in the bathroom in 2 minutes.” “Roo, you’re too good to me,” Linus smirked, following her as she glided to the restroom.

Everything lasted about 30 mins. They were in and out in a flash. The bar now smelled of sex and a dead bodies. Linus was the first to finish, coming out of the bathroom looking disheveled as hell. Sporting the same juts had a quickie look. Linus went to pull the car around after fixing his hair in the mirror.

Linus would never be Henry and that was a good thing, Linus was different. By no circumstances was Rosie in love with Linus or will ever be in love with him, he was merely a distraction. Rosie knew her relationship with him was wrong but he made her feel alive once more.

Rosie emerged from bathroom breathing heavy, almost gasping for air, with sweat glistening on her chest. She straightened out her dress as combed down her hair. Stepping out of the doorway, the smell of a fresh rotting body hit her.

Rosie immediately turned around and lunged for the toilet. She had been in the business for 3 years and never before had her body reacted this way. She hurled into the toilet for a good ten minutes. Eventually bringing her head out of the toilet bowl to wipe off her mouth. The air was now coupled with sex, dead bodies and vomit. She was clueless to what forced her to keep her head in a toilet bowl.

After her nausea spell passed her, she had Linus drop her off near the cemetery. “Oh, you can drop me off here. I need something from the pharmacy anyways,”Rosie informed Linus. She was planning on picking up something for her stomach, it was very unlikely for her to throw up suddenly.

“Ok, Roo. Do you need a ride home?” Linus questioned.

“No, Jared is supposed to pick me up. Thank you,” Rosie exclaimed, getting out of the car. “Alright. Happy birthday by the way. Can I have a kiss goodbye?” “Thank you and no. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah for the party,” Linus called out slowly driving away. “Wait! What did you say?” Rosie remarked but he was already long gone.

Rosie was mentally kicking herself, she didn’t have the willpower to deal with a party tonight. She specifically told Henry, not to throw one but since when did he listen to her.

Their road to ultimately heartbreak was a two way street. Both of them had done something to warrant the loveless relationship. Rosie admitted to herself, that she eventually did stop trying. She stopped constantly asking if Henry wanted to go out for dinner and what time he would be home. Rosie prefers to blame Henry but in reality, she was then one who let go first.

Rosie stopped showing him love, too distraught by his every move because it was a constant reminder her brother wasn’t there anymore. Henry would try to work him into every little conversation, remembering Parker in everything. It grew too much for Rosie. Rosie had never been one for confronting her feelings, preferring to shove them down but how could she, when Henry would never shut up about Parker.

Parker was the main reason a wedge had been driven between them, but she wouldn’t dream of blaming her dead brother. Who couldn’t even defend himself. Rosie needed a reset after Parker but Henry was stuck living in the past.

Rosie was ready to start her life with Henry after graduation but he couldn’t let go. After a while, Rosie became just like him. Stuck drifting into a void of pure sadness. Rosie couldn’t let go, along with Henry. Their lives went in different directions, Rosie was blossoming into a ruthless leader who would only act soft around Parker, vowing to visit his grave everyday. And Henry got left behind at some point, not seeing how he fit in her life anymore.

In the pharmacy she scanned the aisles for some sort of quick remedy. If Henry was throwing her a surprise party, one she specifically asked not for. Rosie didn’t have days to recuperate, maybe a few hours.

She found the largest bottle of Pepto-Bismol and stopped by the card aisle. Carefully grasping a birthday card for her favorite person. One that was funny yet endearing. Parker was addicted to all the corned jokes she would crack. She made her way to the register. In front of her stood a little old woman, she wore a purple floral dress and her white stained hair was pulled into a clip.

“Just this for you sweetie? Oh, who’s birthday is it?” Asked the little lady, referring to the birthday card Rosie grabbed for Parker.

“My brother’s and um, could I also get this,” Rosie responded as her eyes glanced below her. Skimming over the candy bars, gum packets and eventually landing on a pregnancy test. Come to think of it, Rosie was late about a week and a half.

“Of course, honey. Would you like to use the restroom?” Queried the lady. Rosie nodded in response. She finished paying and quickly made her way to the restroom. Following the directions on the box carefully, she needed to be a hundred percent sure, before she told anyone.

Right around the corner was the cemetery. She glided through iron gates, walking across the cobble stone path before she came upon the place she loved most in the world. The place where she would hold nothing back, spilling everything to him.

Life of a mob boss was dangerous but things started to seem eerie for Rosie. She would feel weird presences or someone watching her at eerie times. The same feeling plagued her at the cemetery, today. She knelt down to the headstone, engraved in it read “Here Lies Parker Jackson Holland, Taken from us too soon, a son, a brother, and a friend.”

“Hey, P. You probably get tired of me visiting you. Everyday I’m here and sometimes I think I do it for my benefit more than yours. I hope that wherever you are, you are happy and most likely you are with Charlotte. I’m happy for you, Parker. No matter how much I wish you were here with me, I know that you are happy that you escaped this life. Happy 20th birthday.” Rosie whispered, fixing the flowers that began to wilt from yesterday.

“I have some really amazing news to share with you, but it will have to wait till next time. You can’t be the first person I tell, I’m sorry. He deserves to know before you…. Oh my god, you’ll never believe what happened at work…”

This is the one thing that brought Rosie solace. She persistently blames herself for that fateful night 3 years ago. Rosie would spend hours kneeling next to his headstone. She would tell him about her life and read off the postcards you and Tom sent from your travels. Talking to him as if he was still there.

Rosie glanced at her watch, it was half past five and she hadn’t even called Jared yet to pick her up. “I’m sorry P, I gotta go. Henry, god love him but, that bastard is throwing me a birthday party. I guess I should at least make an appearance. I’ll see you tomorrow, I love you.” Rosie said, walking towards the parking lot.

She stood under the gate for ten minutes waiting for Jared to arrive and escort her home. The weather completely shifted as the sun set around her. The once blue sky changed to one painted with vibrant yellows and pinks. The sky was a sight not to be missed but she could do without the freezing winds that accompanied.

A chill ran down her spine as she waited in the darkness. Feeling a sensation that only warranted panic. Rosie felt someone watching her once again. Maybe from a far or up close, but she definitely wasn’t alone. It was silly that she let feelings like those get to her. She was a mob boss for god sakes, scaring even the most menacing of men into submission.

Rosie eyes started darting everywhere a noise left. In the corner of her eye she caught a figure drenched in shadows approaching. She tried to scramble for her gun, but soon realized she left it in Linus’s car.

The stranger kept making advances and managed to get to her. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a cloth to her mouth. Causing her to be consumed in darkness as her body grew limp.

Back at the manor, Henry was setting everything up perfectly. His mission was to make Rosie love her birthday once more. While Henry was working hard at hanging the birthday banner and decorating every corner with balloons, Linus was no help at all. Lounging on the couch and finishing a beer.

“So are you going to pick up Rosie and get off your ass?” Henry barked, pulling the coffee out from under Linus, causing him to spill his beer.

“Seriously, dude. What’s your problem?” Linus snapped.

“My problem is my girlfriend isn’t here. Aren’t you supposed to pick her up?” “No, Jared is.” “Linus, Jared is here. He has been for a few hours. Where is she?” Henry questioned, starting to worry. “I don’t know. Last, I left her at the cemetery.” “Henry! It’s so good to see you,” you cheered as Tom and you walked in. Hugging Henry after not seeing him for awhile. It still pained you to visit, traveling was the perfect distraction.

“Hope you have been taking care of yourself, son. Where’s Rosie?” Tom questioned. “Yeah, I’ve been good. At the moment, I don’t know where she is. She’s missing,” Henry concluded. You and Tom stood completely still as you processed the news. It wasn’t everyday that your daughter would disappear into thin air, but her job did keep her life in danger.Rosie missing was uncommon. It had happened once or twice in the past but that was 3 years ago. So much had changed, for the better. Yet, you were once again in the same place, in the house you left because everything was too familiar. Rosie missing was all too familiar.

Rosie came to. Opening her eyes to a place she chose to forget. For all she knew it was an exact replica. Warehouses riddled all of London’s ports, she could be anywhere.

“Text your driver and tell him Henry picked you up for a special birthday dinner,” Rosie’s kidnapper barked, thrusting a phone in front of her.

“Really? You kidnapped me? After 3 years of being leader of London’s most feared mob, it’s like been there done that. Do you want money or something? I have a party to get to.” Rosie quipped, annoyed with they man’s pursuits.

“Oh, I know. I believe happy birthday is granted. 20 years is a milestone.”

“Whatever, I don’t really like my birthday anyway.”

“Wanna talk about it?” The stranger pestered on. Rosie had learned lesson from the last time she was restrained to chair, rope around her wrists and ankles, ceasing blood flow. This time it was zip ties, a little basic for any mobster she has had a run with.

“No. I want you to let me go. Seriously, what do you want? I don’t think you know who I am. Or who my father is,” Rosie asserted.

“A moment alone together is all I ask and I know exactly who you are and who your dad is. Correction, who our dad is.”

“Parker.”

A/n: Finally the end. Alright, I'm going to bed. There is no set schedule for the sequel series, I'm just going to post a chapter when I finish writing it. Let me know if you like to be tagged in the sequel chapters.

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