#the cargo ship thing even looked like it was a still shot ripped straight from the anime | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vaguely-concerned · 3 years

Text

The Mandalorian Chapter 15 rewatch thoughts

- mayfeld does hear when the droid talks to him the first time, you can see him pretending not to like he hopes he’ll just go away haha. I also guess he’s had a lot of time to think, picking apart pieces of the large fascist machine he used to be a part of and going over everything he clearly regrets

- hahaha fennec and boba are in the back intensely keeping watch the entire time they’re on the prison planet. I suppose a good two thirds of this crew is uuuuh extremely wanted by the new republic lol

- the thing din’s voice does at the end when he says “but you still know your imperial clearances and protocols. don’t you.” is beyond fucking words, it sends a chill right through me

1) din fiddling with that panel; I think he’s phenomenally nervous behind the helmet here, that’s the sort of keeping his hands busy he does when he’s anxious and 2) why the hell does boba have this many chairs instead of like space for cargo haha does he throw bounty hunter parties in here or what

- ngl boba correctly guessing at a glance what sort of ore they’re mining and informing everyone in his sardonic deadpan voice is Big Sexy

I love how he and fennec are standing together when they’re both present in these opening scenes too, first at the very back when they’re keeping a lookout:

and then in the foreground while they discuss the scan

it’s a nice subtle way to get across that they already have a dynamic, they’re somewhat used to working together as a unit at this point. (she’s also looking over at him when she asks what they might be mining in there, like she’s mostly asking his opinion instead of opening it to the floor. they’re talking the mission out between them before din enters the conversation)

- the inside of slave 1 when the ship’s moving makes me a little bit motion sick, I really love seeing it but I hope we don’t stay in here too often haha

- aaaw the small weary sigh din gives upon realizing none of his bros can go with mayfeld. I’m sorry about basically your entire life buddy

the awkward way din adjusts the helmet like he’s trying to get used to the way it feels ;______;

- ah the distinct implication that mayfeld is needling din about this because he’s actually feeling super uncomfortable being back in empire gear and he needs to transfer that discomfort over onto someone else so he won’t have to feel through it... very psychologically understandable and such a fucking piece of shit asshole character trait to give in to haha

- din’s level of side eye is so epic you can see it straight through the helmet fhaskjfhd

- neat detail: din’s head turns slightly toward mayfeld when he calls mandalorians a ‘race’. (it’s sort of cool that we as the audience know why that bothers him, but mayfeld probably didn’t even pick up on it). also shows that mayfeld doesn’t actually quite understand what he’s talking about, even when he makes decent points he’s caught up in his own myopic nihilistic point of view. ‘we’re all the same’ ------> ‘everyone’s secretly as shitty as me deep down’. (which also betrays a lot of self loathing, since we see later he does have the capacity to NOT be that shitty when he chooses to. rick famuyiwa manages to get a LOT of really interesting nuanced stuff into this character in two short episodes, that’s super impressive)

the bright sunny look on mayfeld’s face when din finally gives in and takes the bait tho fsajdkfhasj he’s awful but that’s very funny

- rip all these excellent dudes who really only wanted to accomplish the noble goal of ruining the empire’s entire day and didn’t know they were also trying to blow up My Dad Who Does Not Deserve Any Of This, it’s honestly just really sad that there’s no moment to talk that out

well at least they blew up the entire refinery on their way out, I’m sure that’s the way they would have wanted their memories honored lol

- the comedy beat of din running out of ammo for the first time ever and the music briefly cutting out for it is so so good for me

hahahaha din seems to actually take a moment to be a little aghast at that dude who ends up crushed under the treads of the tank thing, he’s just sort of staring for a few seconds too long and that’s how pirate nr 2 takes him by surprise and shatters his shoulder armour

- I feel a bit bad -- two of the ‘pirates’ try to hold on to each other for balance and then din punches them apart and off the tank :( I mean it’s not like he could just let them murderate him either but like. ouch I’m guessing this one might haunt him for a while for several reasons huh

(the sequence is actually this guy, let’s call him pirate 3, swings the spear at din and misses, instead hitting his buddy who’s trying to get to his feet, then looks horrified and grabs for him to make sure he doesn’t fall off, and then... mando’s forehead happens to them haha)

- poor fennec and cara just running up that hill while everything’s on fire, they must be wondering what the FUCK is going on (at least cara knows that things blowing up is a sure sign din djarin is in the middle there somewhere)

- everything about carano in real life aside for one second -- I do like that we get this contrast in build between our main female characters of the episode and the way their costume designs enhance it

- awwww the little gesture din does with his hand after he removes it from mayfeld’s chest after stopping him from leaving, it’s just so... sweet. it’s a little bit appeal, a little bit reassurance, it just lightens/softens the tone of what he says a bit (he has quite a lot of like... not conciliatory mannerisms exactly, but small touches here and there that are there to communicate that he’s not angry/aggressive or trying to be a dick about it even when he’s emphatic. I keep wondering how much that is just him being him and how much is him being practiced at settling other people’s hot tempers)

- this shot is just... genius

it’s din seen entirely from the outside, with nothing of what we’ve learned to recognize as him for almost two seasons now in view -- not even his face, which we have at least a tenuous fledgling attachment to from before. it’s like we get introduced to him almost as if anew again and again in this episode, just like he’s getting introduced to new aspects of himself and what he’s willing to do and having to struggle to find ways to have that fit with who he is. his discomfort and stress is our discomfort and stress. it’s so interesting

- I can’t stop cackling at this moment even in all the tension -- you only get a sliver of din’s profile but you can feel the sheer MURDER radiating off him sdhfasjk

- aaaaaaaagh the way you get a whole different view of din’s habitual impassiveness when you can actually see his face... the way he keeps appealing to mayfeld ‘just don’t make more trouble, just shut up’, the way he goes completely silent and watchful and frozen..... those are all really obvious trauma responses, and it leads you to wonder how often he touches into that even when he’s in his element, when he’s got the full armour on. hmngh my heart

- ‘the believer’ is such a galaxy brain title for this episode, because it could be referring to either of the three men around this table or all of them at once. (and crucially the only person whose beliefs aren’t in a living, breathing state of adapting to the world around them is the empire officer, with his horrific inhuman ideology. mayfeld thinks he believes in nothing, and proves himself explosively wrong by the end of the episode, and it’s redeeming for him in some capacity. din is facing a more internal dilemma of different parts of his (and his culture’s) beliefs/values clashing and having to decide which one’s more important, to his identity and to how to exist in the world as a person (and love for the baby wins out supremely in the end. of course it does Y_____Y). the empire dude only sees the same sterile fascist world at the end of his shit rainbow that he’s clearly always done, even when faced with proof that it’s untenable. (I mean he wouldn’t give a fuck that it’s immoral because he’s y’know evil, but he’s not even fazed by the fact that the empire provably FAILED, and failed so quickly) his belief is a dead and deadening thing to contrast the others. man when this show goes off with the themes it goes OFF haha)

- love the triumphant heroic mando music kicking in as we’re finally getting to pick off imps, love that for us

- din’s protective instincts at work again, he helps mayfeld to his feet and makes sure he’s safely on board before going further in himself ;_______;

- fennec’s professional approval at mayfeld’s shot hahaha. well I guess he was supposed to be a sharpshooter back in the day huh

I do Not think she likes mayfeld even after all that, though, the withering look she sends him on her way past... should have killed him stone dead on the spot

- seeing din back in the armour is like a physical relief, I can breathe again haha

- tfw you catch yourself thinking ‘at least when all this is over we can go back to the razor crest and everything will be normal again’ and then you rEMEMBER 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

#star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian meta #honestly I could add a lot more of my boba thirst in this lol (idk din is always Dad not Daddy to me but boba's Doing something for me haha)

335 notes · View notes

imanonymousfanfic · 3 years

Text

Kid's Lipstick (1/2)

This one shot was inspired by this artwork, don't forget to give the talented artist some love!

https://twitter.com/naru_KITA/status/1363171402254192640?s=20

Names for the unnamed crew members is credited to @ceejindeed or @ask-bolthead-crew !

It’s only Heat and I left in the game, again. Everyone else folded, giving up early in the game for a third time in a row, it’s suspicious at this rate. Haikei is leaning into his chair, head rolled back as he takes a long drawn out drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke over our heads. Everyone else in the crew is singing, dancing, stumbling across the deck in a chaotic mess, making it hard to concentrate. Luckily the distractions make it easier to bluff my way to victory. Wire’s eyes gloss over Heat’s hand before leaning over to me, taking in my hand. He slinks back into his normal seated position, remaining completely emotionless as he does. When he thought I couldn’t see, he nudges Heat with a nodding smirk. I can’t help but grit my teeth, the damn bastards are messing with me again.

“So if I win, you have to down another mug of beer.”

“And if I win you will down an entire bottle of moonshine.”

“Where is this fair?” Haikei chips in, showing off a shit-eating grin.

I look to him, ready to murder. “Probably because I’ve drank-” I throw my hand over my mouth and loudly burp. “Sorry-But he hasn’t drank! It’s not fair!” I yell, smacking my fist down on the table a little too hard, hitting my wrist on the table's edge. I rub at the bruising joint, whimpering to myself as I do. Haikei laughs out and shakes his head, before taking another drag of his cigarette.

Heat snorts, catching my attention again. “Not my fault that you suck at the game and you’re a lightweight.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter back, I peak into the mug to see I have only drank half of the lager from my last loss. These men purposely take advantage of my small frame to be their laughing stock, mocking me because my tolerance is deplorable next to theirs. It sure has improved since I’ve joined them though.

“So this is what, the fourth game?” Heat questions me tauntingly. Oscar leans into the table, his eyes flicking between the blue haired pirate and I. He doesn’t often show interest in things, but this seemed to peak his.

“Fifth, actually.” He proceeds to correct, now smirking too. I lean back in my chair, staring him down. Any of my remaining amusement melts away. Now I know I’m not being paranoid, they are all in on this.

Heats lips tug into a soft smile. “So it’s a deal?”

“Just show your cards.”

Heat throws his cards down on the table with another winning hand, grinning devilishly as he does. Suddenly everyone around the table falls silent, turning their attention to me. Oscar and Wire exchange glances again. I roll my eyes and throw my defeated hand down, his straight flush beat my four of a kind.

I jump out of my seat, throwing my seat back as I do. “You’re a cheater!” I accuse him, growling louder than I planned.

“You’re accusing me of cheating?” Heat laughs out, rocking back on his chairs back legs. His sarcastic remark breaks me, turning my annoyance into uncontrollable rage. I climb onto the table and march my way across it, kicking all of their belongings out of my way. Heat lowers his chair and steadily stands tall, his gaze leveling perfectly with mine.

“Are you mocking me?”

He tilts his head at me, cocking an eyebrow as he does. He grins, amused by my question. “I would never mock you.”

“Oh, really? So then tell me why you cheated, because I know you did.”

Heat narrows his eyes at me. He lifts his hand up to my forehead, and flicks it hard. My temple thumps loudly, feeling the dull aching radiate through my skull. The others gasp silently amongst themselves, obviously not expecting him to respond the way he had. I freeze, my eyes deadpanned on him as the pain fades into the overboiling rage taking over my body.

“THAT’S IT!” I launch forward, tackling the blue haired pirate to the floor. I act quickly, throwing both of my legs around his neck as I try my best to pin his hands down. He quickly overpowers my hands, bending my wrists effortlessly at his will until I give out. He transfers both of my wrists into one hand, locking his long fingers tightly around them. With his now freed hand, he latches onto my ankle and pulls, trying to pry my limbs from his throat. Sucks for him, my legs are stronger than his arms.

The guys began to circle around us, chanting our names to encourage the fight. The audience for our struggle continues to grow larger the longer we go at it. Heat shoots up into a sitting position, almost throwing me off him, but my tight grip around his neck keeps me latched on. I swing forward, now coming face to face with him. I throw myself onto the floor again, bringing him with me. My angling on his neck gives me advantage and I squeeze harder on his throat. There’s no way I will lose this brawl. He wheezes, struggling against the pressure on his windpipe. He claws at my legs desperately, fingers digging deeply into my thighs, but he’s hopeless. His eyes are drooping and his tight clasp on my wrist is giving out.

“Enough of this!” Something tugs on my shirt, I peer over my shoulder to see an arm gripping tightly to the scruff of my shirt. I release my legs. Heat gasps for air, choking on it and rolls to his side, looking at me like I’m a maniac. I wave at him as I’m being dragged across the deck by Killer. The rest of the crew audibly express their disappointment.

“I ALMOST HAD HIM!” I yell at blond. He ignores me, continuing to the back of the deck and further out of sight.

“You’re exhausting, you pick a fight every time you drink.” We come to a stop, right outside the cargo room. He takes out the set of keys, unlocking it before kicking it open.

“It’s not my fault they pick on me,” I argue back. I tug on the fabric tight on my throat. “You don’t care when the others do it, so why me?”

Killer doesn’t reply and lets go of me, letting me fall to the floor with a loud thud. I curse him angrily under my breath as I steadily get to my feet, readjusting my shirt, and dust myself off. His hand is pointing into the room, telling me to go first. I comply, sneering at him as I do.

There is no reason for him to bring me here to help him carry stuff. If he did, it’s not like I’d be much help anyway, I’m a doctor not a pirate heavily built with muscles. I pride myself on my speed and longevity, not my power. I scan over the bottles of liquor neatly organized on the racks in front of me. There’s hundreds. Most of these bottles are near undrinkable. Kid’s high alcohol tolerance certainly makes sure of this.

I look over my shoulder to see Killer leaning against the door, arms crossed and watching me silently. I can feel his eyes. Just as I anticipated, we’re here to talk.

“Kid has been acting off, so I asked him what happened.”

“Has he?” I rhetorically questioned, not bothering to pretend to be surprised.

“I’m here because he told me he told you.”

“Ah…fuck,” I mumble plopping my back against the wall. This is not the conversation I want to be having right now.

It’s true, he did. He told me a couple weeks ago that he was attracted to me. Whether it was emotionally or just physically is still unbeknownst to me. I never got the chance to ask, I was too busy helping Senior. I broke his foot after dropping a large box of medical supplies on him. I blame Kid for being impatient, insisting that I talk with him and not later in the evening as I asked. He stormed out seeing how much distress he put me in, not expecting me to react as badly as I did. Up till now I was hoping he had let it go after seeing how I reacted, but who am I kidding? It’s Kid, he doesn’t forget anything and he sure as hell won’t let anything go. When the man wants something, he will get it.

I was homeless when Kid and I met. He was across the street, watching a group of Marines harass me for hanging outside a bar suspiciously. I managed to uphold myself, messing with them in return claiming the Kids pirates just left town right under their noses. The idiots didn’t see the red haired captain behind them and took off in the direction I pointed them in. I was covering my own ass, but he was still equally amused enough to offer me a drink. The very same evening he invited me to become the ship's second doctor, insisting I would learn even after telling him I knew nothing about medicine. He never admits it, but it's obvious he’s had a soft spot for me since day one.

I have a crush on him, I can’t deny that fact, but I never thought about doing anything about it. My dedication is to the crew now. For the first time in years I’ve found stability in my life and I can’t lose that now. As much as I respect him, he’s not mature enough to take on the emotional responsibility of our emotions colliding. He didn’t even know how to respond when I broke down crying while drunk a few weeks back about my past. I stormed off, knowing it was no point opening up to him.

“You said you needed time, it’s been two weeks.”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you care so much?”

“For you? I don’t,” Killer retorts in a cold tone, my eyes narrow at the masked man. “Kid is my best-friend and captain, when I know something is bothering him, I’m going to deal with it.” I roll my eyes. “You have a bad habit of procrastinating, and with the upcoming events. I’d prefer Kid to have his head on right.”

He leans against the door, crossing his arms as he does. “So we won't leave until you agree to talk to him.”

I drop my mouth in awe, unable to believe that this man is entitled enough to parent me. “You’re treating me like a child!” Killer shrugs his shoulders carelessly. I scoff, throwing my hands in the air before crossing my arms over my chest. What an asshole.

“If you answered him sooner we wouldn’t be in this position.”

I grab one of the bottles of whiskey off the bottle rack and bite at the cork, ripping it out before spitting it onto the floor. I smack my back against the wall and slide down to the floor and take a large swig from the bottle, filling my mouth with the repugnant liquor. Being already partially intoxicated has made it easier, suppressing the need to gag. I can’t control the creasing of my face, smacking my lips in disgust, waiting for the flavour to fade.

I wipe my lips of the alcohol. “I… like Kid-” I tell the pirate. I hold the bottle out to him, inviting him to take a drink as well. He shifts slightly, hesitating to join me. He nods and walks over, pulling out a straw from a small packet in his jeans. I watch the bottle progressively empty a little more, taking his time. Oh god that’s disgusting, who drinks straight whiskey through a straw? I don’t look at him, the embarrassment of the situation alone is enough, having him stare me down makes this even harder. My head is on fire, I can feel the blood rushing to my face. Even in this dimly lit room he will notice the colour in my flushed cheeks. I’m not exactly in a sober state, maybe that can be my excuse.

“Yes?”

As I’m taking another swig, I nod, realizing I haven’t finished my point. I swallow the poison. “Kid is well… Kid.” I shrug my shoulders, now feeling my mood shift as the conversation continues. Is he capable of being the man I need or am I just filling my mind with fantasies? I’ve been homeless and alone for so long, I don’t want to lose this now.

“I just don’t believe he can take me seriously,” I roll my head back and look up to the masked man, awaiting for his response.

He shifts in his spot. “I guess you will have to find that out.

“You call yourself his best friend and you don’t know?”

Killer angrily hums at me. “The last time he liked a girl was when we were kids.”

The response irks me, making me think about the way he’s been acting, cold and definitely grumpier than usual. He’s been watching at me from across the deck during the day. I’ve been avoiding him knowing he has his patches, even pinning it to be his lack of sex. Now that Killer says this, it’s clear he’s been taking his dejected emotions out on me. I take a deep breath and grit my teeth, the building frustration is tensing all the muscles in my body. I ball my hand tightly into a closed fist, holding it to me, with my body continuously begging to punch something.

“Help me up... I’m… kinda drunk.”

He sticks his hands out with an open palm. I take it, grasping tightly to his coarse, callused skin, and begin to pull myself up. He yanks me from the floor effortlessly, letting me stumble to my feet, the alcohol makes it harder to catch myself.

“God,” I mumble standing myself up straight. “I keep forgetting how strong you are.” My head rushes for a second, feeling the room sway more than it should.

“I’m gonna tell him.” I declare on my way to the door. I throw it open, seeing all of the guys in front of me. They’ve been eavesdropping. I give them angry glares and stomp past them, taking another swig of the bottle as I do.

I approach the table, turning around to see the guys following me with hesitant looks on their faces. “Where’s my mug?”

“Why?” Heat questions.

“Because I lost the game, I need to finish what I owe.” I tell him. He nervously shakes his head at me, holding the mug to his chest.

“A-Are you sure? You seem drunk.” Heat hesitates, a worried smile cracks his lips.

“Give it.” I snap at him. He looks to me then the mug then to me again and hands it back. I down the remaining lager from my previous game. I look at my mug once empty and then put it on the table.

I can feel the whiskey hitting me now. The sudden shift of my intoxication hits me like a brick to the face. I catch myself, burping loudly once again, followed with another apology.

“Cheers.” I slur. Oscar was standing next to Heat, cocking an eyebrow at me. Someone rests their hand on my shoulder, I look up to see it’s Wire, silently asking me if I’m okay. I wave him off and shrug his hand away. I scan the deck, looking for the red haired man, he still hasn’t come out. Of course he hasn’t. I thought I was the one avoiding him, but it’s more obvious he’s been doing it to me. I make my way towards his bedroom door, with the guys quickly catching on. Haikei jumps in my path giving me a sweetened smile.

“Hey bud, where are you going?” He asks in an innocent tone. I may be intoxicated, but not enough to bear listening to that tone to help reason with the mindless drunk.

“You know exactly where, get the fuck out of my way,” I growl at him, “I’m not in the mood.”His sweetened smile diminishes and he obliges, stepping aside, looking perturbed.

I stand a few meters away from his door. I can feel the others behind me, many of them following behind me silently, watching for what I’m about to do. I stumble slightly, taking a small chug of the whiskey. I shift my grip on the bottle. I step back and swing forward, launching the bottle at his door. It smashes, the liquor exploding with it. I catch myself, almost stumbling to the floor again from launching the item.

“Are you crazy?” Haikei burst out to me.

“No, let her. She’s got her own behavior to deal with.” Killer interjects. Almost everyone is watching me now as I stand tall, waiting.

The door swings up, Kid’s angry expression emerges from the door, his large frame stepping onto the deck. His gaze quickly falls on me, knowing immediately it was me who had thrown the bottle at his door.

“You and I need to have a talk.” Part 2

#eustasscaptainkid #eustass kid #one piece #one shot #fanfiction #ao3 writer #heat #wire #haikei #Oscar #Noe #anime #killer #Massacre Soldier

20 notes · View notes

kassies-take · 5 years

Text

1108 AD

A/N: Mostly historically accurate. Ava and Sara are best friends, never dated and Sara is still in her old habits.

Warning: Slight NSFW

Sara Lance x LeagueofAssassins!Reader

Word Count: 1615

“Captain I have found an anachronism in the year 1108 AD. Should I plot a course?”

“Yeah, while you’re on it notify the team that we are going to time jump,” Sara said as she marched to the Captain’s chair from her office.

The Legends entered the Bridge and pulled the safety harnesses over their heads.

“Where are we going now?” Mick grumbled.

“It’s not where but when,” Sara calibrated the control panel a bit more.

“I wonder when we’re going,” Ray grinned. “World War II, Gutenberg’s Printing Press, oh maybe Pax Romana,” Ray listed.

“Did you know that Pax Romana was the period of relative peace in the Roman Empire for about two hundred years, which is shocking because the Roman Empire loved fights and bloodshed. Road, postal systems, arch, plumbing, and other cultural advances developed during this time,” Nate rambled in his area of expertise.

Sara breathed a sigh, rolled her eyes and was ready to pilot the ship through the temporal zone.

“How big is this anachronism?” Amaya ask.

“At this point I don’t even care, I’m starting to get a massive headache.” Zari complained.

“Shut up!” Mick grunted with a beer in his hand.

“It’s a level 14, you’re still getting use to time jumping, and I agree with Mick everyone shut up so I can pilot!” Sara answered respectively.

Sara pushed the pilot lever forward and was met with a golden yellow light of the time jump. She parked the Waverider just outside the city —well buildings made out of bricks, sticks and mud, roads just dirt and a couple of stones. Sara cloaked the ship, pushed the harness up and headed towards the octagon control panel. The Legends right on her tail.

“What do we have Gideon?” Sara places both her hands on each side of a panel.

“King Louis VI was kidnapped the morning of his coronation,” Gideon explained.

“Ooh fun fact King Louis VI is the Great great great great great great great great great-” Nate counted on his fingers till twenty three. “Grandfather of King Louis XVI. Sorry Gideon continue.”

“In this version of history the royal power was never centralized for instruction, King Louis XVI was never born, France never helps the United States with the Revolution,the United States remains a monarchy and France falls into anarchy.”

“Alright Jax and Stein quarterback on the ship first sign of trouble you firestorm up, Nate, Amaya and I need you to pose as a merchant setting up shop in the square, Ray I need you to shrink down and run reconnaissance while guarding Louis VI with Mick,” the Legends nodded at the captain’s orders. “Zari you’re with me in the town to run reconnaissance. Alright let’s go save the world.”

Amaya and Nate set up a bakery, Amaya mainly bake or displayed the middle age pastries Gideon fabricated as Nate set up the fabricated sign that read ‘The Muffin Man’. As Nate finished with the sign he climbed down the ladder and opened the door for you.

Amaya smiled at you as you looked around the shop. To Amaya and Nate you were just looking around, however as League training you scanned the area for escape routes as well as Amaya and Nate’s actions.

The League was more advanced with its technology as you wore your custom made League of Assassins suit, fitted with leather tunics under the long, fairly-wide green over-garment with the cotte hardie pinned by a girdle to easily hide your weapons.

“Are you two new to the business?” You spoke in French. Amaya gave you a piece of bread to try.

“Yes, we traveled from England,” Nate replied cautiously.

“Well I must know your names and let the word spread that there are new bakers in town.”

“Nathanial and Marie Antoinette,” Nate introduced.

“How funny, the real Marie Antoinette loved cakes while the fake baked cakes.” Jax laughed on coms

“You have a beautiful name Marie Antoinette,” you smiled and ogled at Amaya’s body without the two noticing. “My name is Shamara Zurisada.”

You passed a few small silver pennies over to Amaya who gladly accepted them with a smile.

“What a nice lady,” Nate said once you were out of sight.

A short static buzzed in their coms before Sara spoke up.

“Anything with you guys, Nate?” Sara asked.

“Nope, but we had our first customer Shamara Zurisada,” Sara froze in realization. “Hello? Captain? Earth to Sara?”

“Nate, I need you to follow her. We just found our white whale and the reason Louis VI went missing before his coronation, he gets killed by the League of Assassins,” Sara filled in the whole team.

“You want me to follow an assassin?” Nate asked doubtfully.

You walked into the crowded square knowing full well who the Legends were. One important thing Sara didn’t tell the Legends was that Shamara Zurisada, you, were important to League history.

“According to the Shadow Records, Shamara Zurisada was an assassin that strengthened the League, in which the Demon Head even feared. Though a part of the League she was allowed to do whatever she wanted, due to her said power being able to see through out all of history. She supposedly disappeared without a trace and reappeared throughout the League history as an immortal warrior,” Stein explained as Nate turned the other way as he lost courage to continue walking.

“Wow the Shadow Records say all that.” Zari rolled her eyes at Ray’s bubbly comment.

“The Shadow Records are names of assassins and when they joined,” Sara retorted.

“My mistake I was reading off the League’s history. However the Shadow Record does not say when Shamara Zurisada joined the League, only that she joined.”

Sara caught a glimpse of your black robes, what she didn’t expect was to find you staring back at her with a smirk. A couple of French men and women blocked the path between you and Sara and that was when you climbed up the stone steps above the square’s walls.

You watched as the city was filled with laughter and music all ready for the new King. The crunch of gravel came from behind you, without turning you spoke.

“Ta-er Al-Sahfer,” No one dared to speak afterwards.

You threw a dagger towards Sara. While she was distracted by the weapon you executed a double roundhouse to her chest. Sara ran out of room to dodge as the walls came closer to her. She continued retreat; you continued to advance.

Sara didn’t know how it happened but a sharp gasp escaped her lips. The stones and sticks dug into her back in random places. You pulled Sara to her feet, almost tearing her collar off the middle age dress. She heard the slight rasps of material ripping before her back slammed against the wall.

You pinned Sara against the door by her wrist a smirk written on your face.

“Why do you want to kill the King?” Sara panted.

“It got boring and I went looking for trouble, well looking for you.” You whispered the latter half in her ear.

Sara’s infamous smirk appeared as you pushed against the door to open it. You and Sara immediately locked lips as Sara kicked the door closed. Sara bit your lower lip and allowed herself to slip her tongue in your mouth. With the slight advantage Sara pushed you onto the bed. Sara pinned you down by straddling your waist and held your wrists above your head. Her head flew towards the sweet spot on your neck and you threw your head back to let out a moan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“To a successful mission!” Ray cheered as the Legends entered the Bridge from the Cargo Bay.

“Do we really need a new member of the team?” Zari grumbled.

“You’re on the ship to help Amaya with her totem problem and Shamara Zurisada is on the ship to help with mine,” Sara explained.

“(Y/N),” you crossed your arms and leaned against the Bridge entrance.

“What problem?” Amaya asked with concern.

“N-nothing,” Sara stuttered.

“Her sexual frustration problem,” you pushed off the wall.

“Ha! A fuck buddy!” Mick took a sip of his beer.

The Legends froze and stared at Sara who had flushed cheeks.

“Well regardless, Welcome to the team,” Ray beamed and tried to hug you.

He landed on the floor with a thud and a groan. You maintained a straight face and crossed your arms.

“I like her,” Mick pointed to you and sipped his beer once again.

“Just keep your room soundproof Captain,” Nate shot it finger gun, clicked his tongue and headed towards the library.

“I am so moving to the room at the other end of the hall,” Jax shook his head.

“Remarkable, by taking (Y/N) onto the Waverider she lives the myth of the immortal warrior. Truly astonishing!” Stein followed Jax to clear his room.

The Legends slowly left the Bridge with you and Sara the last two standing.

“You’re welcome to show me around or we could just head straight to your room,” you whispered in Sara’s ear

“Actually I was thinking about round two,” Sara was met with your smirked grin. “I was thinking more of sparring!” Sara rolled her eyes. “Besides we should wait till Gideon, our artificial intelligence, robot....” Sara tried to explain.

“I know what an A.I is Lance. I can see around time remember.”

“Right. As I was saying we should wait for the room to be soundproof first, you’re really load.”

You raised your eyebrows, dropped your crossed arms and placed them on your hips. “Is that a challenge, Ta-er Al-Sahfer?”

Sara shrugged her shoulders, “We will have to see.”

#sara lance #sara lance x reader #sara lance imagine #sara x reader #legends #dclegendsoftomorrow #dc legends of tomorrow #league of assassins

220 notes · View notes

deepwoundsandfadedscars · 4 years

Text

Uuuhhhh minor spoilers for Fallen Order? In the sense that it’s not story destroying spoilers, I was just surprised when it happened in my playthrough. I took liberties with the dialogue and it’s set up the way it happened in my game, from my research (re: me looking up lets plays on youtube trying to figure out the proper dialogue beforehand) it happens in different locations and with different bounty hunters, it’s pretty unique for everyone. This is where it happened for me and while I don’t remember exactly which bounty hunter I got, this is the closest estimation. Everything after Cal passes out is entirely from my brain though, I just wanted an excuse to write whump and BD-1 wound up being way more of an anxious little droid than I expected him to be lmao whoops.

"What do you think, BD-1? Should we check in with the Mantis?"

BD-1 beeped in agreement. Best let them know we're alright.

"Yeah, you're right. Mantis, can you hear me? Cere?"

There was no reply, only static coming through the comm.

"This doesn't feel right. We should get back. BD, what's the quickest way back?"

BD perched on Cal's shoulder, shining a projection onto the rocky ground. The looming wreckage of the Venator stood behind them where they stood at the edge of the lake.

"Down to the ice caves and up the elevator looks fastest, let's get going."

BD whooped as Cal jogged down through the cave, perching high on the humans shoulder as he swam through the deeper section towards the back. The elevator that would take them down to the ice caves was still stubbornly refusing to be summoned from above so he made a running leap onto the ice slide down into the cavern, BD-1 excitedly trilling from where he clung to his back, the little robots feet tucked firmly into the belt that crisscrossed Cal’s torso.

The slide was a relatively short one in comparison to some of the others they had done, but exhilarating and twisting. As Cal slid around the last blind corner BD-1 could only beep in warning. There’s something up there!

There was no way to stop and nowhere else to jump except for straight across the chasm and onto the icy platform. The lightsaber hilt was already in Cal’s hand when his feet hit the ground and in the same moment a blue dome surrounded the whole area, blocking the way to the elevator that would take them back to the Mantis.

A figure stood in front of him, a long sniper rifle cradled in their arms. They wore a helmet that covered their entire face and a combination of leather and durasteel armor, banding wrapped around their arms and legs and a tattered cape clasped at the throat. They gave him a cursory glance before dropping to one knee and firing their sniper at him. Cal quickly evaded, rolling to the left and circling around, igniting his dual blades as he popped to his feet again. He swung down in an arc, aiming for the barrel of the blaster. The figure rolled away just as quick, snapping off a couple more shots that Cal easily parried, sending one to the side and the other back to the sniper, catching them across the shoulder. They stumbled back a couple steps, shaking their arm out before dropping to a knee again, taking aim at the Jedi again. Cal rushed his assailant, charging directly at them with the intention of dealing a deadly blow.

Before Cal could strike, the figure lobbed what looked to be a grenade but instead of throwing it as his feet, they threw it at his chest. The small device stuck firmly to his front and small wires exploded out of it, quickly encircling his torso and trapping his arms to his sides. Electricity crackled through the cords and his entire body went rigged, his muscles tensing. His jaw snapped shut and he threw his head back with a strangled groan as he dropped to the ground.

BD-1 beeped in distress as Cal collapsed, sending the little droid tumbling across the ice. BD popped to his feet and scurried back to Cal’s side, beeping in concern. The Jedi was tense and seizing as the cables snapped and hissed around him. BD turned to the figure that was rising to their feet again, angrily shrieking at them.

“Shut up,” the figure said, swooping down to snatch BD-1 up by a leg. Before BD could use any of his tools to defend himself, the figure snapped a restraining bolt to his chest plate, rendering his legs and compartments inoperable. BD shrieked at them, his voice the only way he could express his anger and frustration and concern for his human.

The figure dropped him to the ground again and he came to rest a few feet away from Cal, facing towards the human so he could see as the figure approached the Jedi.

Cal lay on his side where he fell, curled nearly into the fetal position with his head thrown back, his cheek scraping against the cold ice as his muscles spasmed. BD-1 could hear when the tazcable finally stopped crackling and Cal went limp, his arms still trapped against his body. The figure crouched in front of him and with a gloved hand tilted his face towards them as though checking that he was well and truly unconscious. There was no response.

The figure tapped something on their wrist and the blue dome surrounding the area dropped. A large droid that stalked on two legs approached and without a word exchanged between the droid or the caped figure, they each burdened themselves with a load, the large droid draping Cal across it’s arms and the caped figure plucking the much more manageable BD-1 off the ground and hooking a strap around his throat to dangle him from their belt. BD-1 gave an indignant trill at the way he was handled, fuming at his inability to do anything about it with the blasted restraining bolt stuck on him.

At least from here, bouncing against the figures hip, he could catch glimpses of Cal. He had no sort of life signs detecting abilities, but he could see the occasional puff of vapor from Cal’s mouth as he exhaled into the cold air.

BD-1 didn’t know the route they took out of the caves, it wasn’t one Cal had found on their explorations. It was tucked into a back corner and the tunnel they went through was dark, only lit by the flashlights mounted to the caped figures helmet and the top of the large droids body. Eventually they emerged into daylight again and BD-1 was able to see the Venator wreckage towering above them. They had emerged from the west side of the wreckage after having traveled through the mountain parallel with the Imperial Headquarters from what BD could piece together with his existing map.

In front of them stood a ship slightly bigger than the Mantis, a yellow and black emblem emblazoned across the side and if BD-1 had a heart, he would feel it sink as he connected the dots. Bounty Hunters. What would they do with Cal? Were they going to turn him over to the Inquisitors? Surely there was a significant cost on his head by now.

Their captors boarded the ship and dumped them in the large open area at the top of the entry ramp before stomping off towards the front of the ship.

BD-1 sat upon the ground a couple feet away from Cal, his useless legs sticking out in front of him. He beeped in frustration again, unable to do anything else but wait for whatever their fate would be and hope for Cal to wake up or even show any sign of life.

He didn’t have to wait long. He felt the ship jump into hyperspace just as Cal groaned and his eyelids fluttered as he fought his way back to consciousness. He opened his eyes, blinking in confusion at his surroundings. He tested his strength against the cables still encircled around him and was rewarded with another strong shock that caused him to writhe against the ground and scream so hard his throat ached.

The figure from the cave returned with another tall skinny humanoid figure, also wearing a face covering helmet so BD-1 couldn’t identify their species.

“What are ya trying to do, kill him?” A gruff voice barked out from under the helmet of the new arrival. “He’s human, his body can’t take too much of this kriffing thing!”

The new arrival stepped towards Cal in two long strides, clicking a button on a remote that appeared from their pocket and the tazcable went silent again. Cal sagged against the floor, gasping as he tried to gather his bearings again.

“I’m taking my tazcable back but we can’t have you using your weird mind powers to get away now, can we little Jedi?” The tall figure said with a laugh that sounded like he was gargling rocks. They produced a device with a nasty looking needle on one end and a vial of clear liquid on the other, sticking the needle into Cal’s exposed forearm before he even knew what was going on. They moved to put the needle away at the countertop along the front of the cargo hold and by the time they returned to the young Jedi’s side Cals eyes were glazed over and he was limp again, his breath even and slow.

“Have a nice nap,” the figure said, pushing the button to release the tazcable and return it to it’s storage setting again, “You’re going to need it.”

Cal’s eyes slid closed and his head tipped to the side as the drugs took him under. The tall figure stood and kicked Cals foot as he walked away, leaving the captives alone again.

For a few minutes the only sound was the hum of the ship traveling through hyperspace, which BD-1 eventually tried to cover by quietly beeping a tune to himself. He had been by himself for so long on Bogano and such a relatively short time traveling with the human Jedi. It was all he knew though, he couldn’t remember anything before his time on Bogano began. Was that where he was made? He didn’t know. But he knew he needed the human that was laid out before him. Without Cal, he didn’t have a purpose and if Cal was being taken to the Inquisitors, what would happen to BD-1? Would they just turn him off and dump him in a corner? Try to rip the encrypted files from Cordova out of his memory drives? Reprogram him so he forgot everything and make him loyal to them? He shuddered to think of any of it and beeped louder, his distress growing.

He paused when he heard the hum of the engines change. They had dropped out of hyperspace and slowing down as they came in for a landing almost right away.

The two bounty hunters from the cave appeared again, the large droid none too gently dragging Cal down the ramp by the strap across his vest that BD-1 usually clung to.

BD-1 was picked up by the caped figure again, who tossed him into the air and caught him like a ball before tucking him under their arm.

“Leave the Jedi’s blade with me and put him in a cell,” The gruff voice of the tall humanoid growled from behind them. “Put the droid with the rest.”

The caped figure gave a mocking salute and BD-1 saw the large droid walking down another hallway with Cal dragging behind him before his own captor turned the opposite direction, blocking his view.

A moment later he was deposited on the table top at the back of a cell full of dead droids. The caped figure gave him a pat on the head and left the cell without a word, the door slamming shut behind them.

Stood there in the dark, not knowing where Cal was or what his fate was, all BD-1 could do was beep quietly to himself.

#Here's a thing I wrote #fan fic #fallen order #cal kestis #bd-1 #this was just an excuse for whump #i hit the f it point and am posting it without fixing the parts that annoyed me but i couldn't think of how to fix #so here it is as is

21 notes · View notes

scarlett2112 · 4 years

Text

Mid 18th century - The Spanish Main

"Get into the closet, dear," Miranda commands. "You need to hide, I don't want them to see you. Perhaps help will arrive before..." her mother's exhortations are cut short when a loud bang reverberates and the ship lurches beneath her feet.

Despite her protestations to the contrary, Elena finds herself locked inside a dark space. Still she can hear the gruff voices of the men who are questioning her dad, her mom's determined assertions that there is nobody else on the ship, the laughter and footsteps of even more bandits.

Elena huddles even farther into the corner of the small hiding spot. She covers her ears when she hears shots, followed by heart-wrenching screams. As she dares to lower her hands, she realizes that it's just a matter of time before the pirates begin to explore the ship. The day had started so wonderfully, she had breakfast with her parents in the captain's quarters before going topside to watch the radiant colors of the sun bounce back off the brilliant blue waters of the Caribbean.

Terrified, she stuffs her knuckles in her mouth to keep her sobs as quiet as possible. A loud noise above causes Elena to jump. Looking around, she knows she has to escape somehow, if they scuttle the ship, she'll drown. Her planning is cut short when she hears a low roar coming from outside. Another ship? She feels the boat sway slightly in the wake caused by the second ship. Then, she catches her breath when she hears the echo of more footsteps above her.

"Salvatore."

It's the first time Elena hears any voices clearly. The thing she hones in on is how the one voice is obviously respectful of this "Salvatore" person and maybe even a little afraid.

"Niklaus." The second voice is much different than the first. She's surprised to realize that this speaker's voice sounds commanding, yet assertive and confident. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing? This isn't a treasure galleon."

There's raucous laughter and then the first guy speaks again. "Salvatore is jealous because he got here too late to claim any spoils for himself." Elena hears the sarcasm dripping from his voice. "I seriously doubt that they were carrying plunder of any value but we have yet to search the ship."

"I'm wasting my time here," the confident voice asserts.

Another evil chuckle. "Since I've got myself a larger boat now, I just may need to relieve you of some of that cargo," Niklaus threatens.

"You're an even bigger fool than I thought," Salvatore's voice is full of contempt. "You won't live long enough to enjoy the money you get from selling this stuff. The British navy will hunt you down..."

"You'll never live long enough to tell them about our little encounter today, Salvatore," the sinister voice growls. "The crown already has a price on your head."

Elena catches her breath again when she hears the click of guns being cocked. There are slow footsteps, and then Salvatore speaks again. "You have a mind to collect it?"

There were a few moments of awful silence then gunshots once again ring out over the serene waters of the Caribbean Sea. "That has to be some kind of nightmare..." Elena chants in a mantra to herself.

And then suddenly, it's quiet, the only sound is the sway of the ship as the waves crash against it, rocking the vessel gently. In fear for her life, Elena slowly and quietly unlocks the door and slips out into the hallway. She creeps towards the staircase, listening for any signs that someone's coming below deck. Reaching for the doorknob, she carefully raises one foot and then the other to ascend the stairs and grimaces when they creak beneath her feet.

Hearing nothing, she takes the steps two at a time and finally pokes her head outside. The hot midday sun feels good on Elena's skin, but she doesn't take the time to appreciate it as she flattens her body against the side of a bulkhead. When she finally has the courage to peek up over port side, her heart's catching in her throat when she sees bodies floating in the water below while the pirate vessel is shifting to its starboard side. Before the scream leaves her mouth, cannon fire erupts, ripping a hole in the ship just above the water line.

Knowing she's not alone, adrenaline surges through Elena's veins and she searches for some kind of a weapon. Picking up the knife, she grips the handle tightly and wields it like she's ready to strike. If she's going to die, she'll go down fighting. Suddenly she shrieks loudly when the knife goes flying from her hand and clatters to the deck. When she looks to see who kicked it away from her, Elena's blood freezes. It has to be him - Salvatore.

Backlit by the midday sun, he almost becomes part of it. A furious, powerful god of a man, with hair as dark as the hell from where he came. He stands with legs spread and arms akimbo, daring Elena to make a move. His black breeches are loose fitting and his boots reach his knees, he has a sash around his waist and a bandana on his head, a hoop earing hanging from his right ear. His shirt is gaped open and the sweat glistens on his muscled chest as it runs downwards to disappear beneath his pants. A large cutlass is hanging from his side making her flinch at the way the sun gleams off of it.

The man moves with grace and swiftness. He reaches down in a heartbeat and picks up the knife, re-sheathing it in a scabbard on his right hip. He moves closer to her, and she can see his features better without the sun glaring in her eyes.

Not one to cower, Elena stiffens her spine and raises her chin in defiance. If she was certain that her death isn't moments away, she might think him handsome. His well-defined and stubbled cheekbones give his face character. But it's his eyes that hypnotize her. They are impossibly blue, deep like the Caribbean Sea surrounding them.

He is standing so close to Elena that she can see his eyes as they move leisurely over her body, taking inventory of her assets barely covered by her dressing gown. It doesn't take long for the rest of his crew to do the same, and Elena snaps back to reality by the gruff catcalls and lewd whistles that came from behind the man.

"Ahh, Niklaus has gone and Salvatore finds the real treasure! Now we can all enjoy the spoils of the victor!" a dark haired man laughs, running the back of his knuckles over the soft skin of her shoulder.

Elena feels the blush creeping up from her toes and knows that her cheeks are probably turning the color of a red rose. When she shifts her weight towards the port side again, Salvatore's right hand snakes out and locks around her left forearm.

"The party for you will come when we reach Tortuga," he growls to his drooling crew. "Women for everyone, my treat." His eyes lock with Elena's, "This one is mine."

Something snaps inside of her at that. His insinuation raises her hackles just enough to put a spark of gutsy defiance in her eyes. "Yours?" she hisses through gritted teeth, trying to yank her arm free. Entirely forgetting she's a lady, she snaps, "Go to hell!"

The Salvatore grips her tighter and pulls her against his chest to the delight of his crew. "Can't oblige you this time, my lady," he murmurs in a low tone. "We're already in hell."

Before she can wipe that smirk off his face, he steps back and then pulls her behind him as he makes his way through the jeering crew to stairs. Elena tries to dig her bare toes into the deck to impede their progress, but it's futile.

There are more shouted salacious suggestions that make tears burn in her eyes, but she's not about to let these animals see her cry. She gasps when Salvatore pulls her into his arms, grabs a rope and crawls onto the side to swing across the sea and onto the other ship. Elena's eyes snap shut and then they're airborne, landing on The Flying Dragon's deck with a thump.

As soon as her feet touch the wooden planks, Damon grabs her wrist and pulls her below deck and into his cabin. Letting her go, he moves to his closet, after a quick search, he spins around and tosses a wine colored dress at her. "Put that on."

Defiantly, she folds her arms over her chest and refuses to comply. Damon comes to stand a hair's breath away from her, "I said," he mutters in a grim voice, "put it on."

She returns his glare with one of her own, finding the inner strength somehow to defy him. "Why? So you can rip it off me later?"

Damon's in-drawn breath is deep as he shakes with the effort to control his temper. But before he can reply, a loud splash echoes from outside. Elena shudders and can't help but look over her shoulder towards the window.

"Who were they?" He puts a hand to her chin gently forcing Elena's face back to his.

"What difference would it make now, they're dead? Elena regrets the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. His grip on her chin tightens and he comes so close that the tips of her breasts brush against his bare chest.

"Let's get something straight right now, lady," he hisses. "You're only still alive thanks to my... good graces. An inch to the side and that knife could have pinned your foot to the deck."

Elena tries to turn away but he catches her shoulders in his hands, forcing her to face him. "I could have let the crew have you, I still can, for that matter." He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. "I didn't kill those people," he whispers, his voice surprising Elena when it takes on a much softer tone. "Niklaus did."

Damon's at the wheel, trying to navigate through the treacherous waves. Jagged bolts of lightning light the skies in brilliant streaks. The clouds are thick, blotting out the moonlight and the stars. The wind rises to push the still waters to choppy, which morph into mountains of angry waves.

The veteran sailors struggle to get the sails down, and to tie them off. They slip on the rain soaked deck. The wind slams the rain into their faces like tiny stones. The ship presses, first up waves at forty-five degrees, and then crashes down, jarring their bones. At one point the waves spin the vessel sideways. They hold tightly onto the mast, onto ropes, onto anything. It's difficult to hang on.

Damon struggles with the wheel, the ship creaks dangerously as the unforgiving waves thrust forward in great amounts of power, allowing small glimpses of the cliffs just up ahead. He can almost hear the song of the mermaids as the ship is being pulled into depths of the watery hell known as "Davy Jones locker." As the muses play their sounds of death, salt burns his lungs as he fights to keep them afloat. The ocean teases the boat and throws it about like an infant would a rag doll. The wind mocks the pirates in their attempt to escape the ocean's hunger .

By the time the storm passes, Damon is exhausted, finally relinquishing control of the ship to Enzo so he can go below deck to rest. Having a white knuckle grip on the wheel has taxed his muscles, making them ache. As soon as he gets to his quarters, he grabs the bottle of rum and takes a hearty pull.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Elena standing near the wall staring at him. "The storm's past, you can relax now," he extends the bottle for her to take a swig.

Sucking in a breath, Elena approaches, takes it from his hand and takes a long pull. When she lowers it, she wipes her mouth against the back of her hand and gives it back to him.

Damon chuckles, takes one more himself then pops the cork back and sets it aside. "You have a taste for rum?"

"I'm not as naive as you seem to think," she arches an eyebrow then darts around him to look through the window. It's still raining but the sky is beginning to clear.

"Oh really?" he wraps his arm around her waist, pulls her flush against him then drops his mouth to the olive skin of her neck and begins to nibble.

Aghast, Elena pulls away and slaps him hard enough to make his head snap to the side.

Damon infuriates her even more when he starts to laugh and begins to disrobe. When he reaches his breeches, he winks at her. "You staying for the show?"

She huffs, picks up her dress and leaves his cabin, slamming the door behind her, the sound of his laughter follows her into her own room.

Seagulls screech, circling the blue sky overhead. There's usually something menacing in the sea vultures presence. Damon scans the horizon with his spyglass, smirking when he sees a vessel ahead.

The ship's sails billow behind him and the wind breezes across his face. He tucks a strand of hair under his scarf as he prepares to take on the other ship. Damon gives a direct glance to him across the deck, letting Enzo know that he's ready.

In this element, he's calm and collected, focusing on the gold and other spoils of battle. It pays for their food to keep their bellies full and keeps supplies in their galley. When they arrive in Tortuga, it'll pay for a night's stay with the wenches in Madame Bree's stable.

With a reassuring pat to his cutlass, secured in his belt, Damon reaches for the rope, hoisting himself onto the edge of the deck. The enemy ship is in his sights. As they near the vessel, he gives the signal and his crew goes into action. Anchors are thrown towards the merchant vessel to latch on. A second row of men spot the rival crew with their weapons drawn and ready.

"Make ready the guns! And run out the sweeps," he roars, winking at Elena when he notices her standing at the top of the stairs. "Hard a port! Rack the starboard oars! Hard a port! Keep her steady," he directs his men, "Fire! Fire all!" With their massive armament, it doesn't take long to disable the hapless ship.

As soon as they're securely anchored to the other ship, Damon along with half of the crew swing over on ropes to plunder it of its riches. Passengers and crew of the Nuestra Señora de las Angustias - are instantly alarmed by their presence. Damon slams his foot on the deck, commanding their attention.

Enzo approaches and takes his place beside his captain. With his trousers tucked into his large boots and open vest baring his hairy chest and wide shoulders, he is intimidation. His other men are baring their teeth menacingly on the main platform with their weapons poised.

"I am captain of The Flying Dragon and this is my crew. If you cooperate, no one will get hurt." He peruses the quieting crowd, the women are cowering, the men are scowling behind them in fear, but all are giving him their full attention.

"We will not be taking up more of your time than necessary, just some of your belongings. Do as you're told and you'll live to see another sunrise."

Damon hears Enzo begin to bark orders as they unload and load their plunder onto the Flying Dragon.

A raspy yell interrupts his line of focus as one of the opposing crewmen bellows and lunges toward him, swinging his heavy arms and raised fists. Damon draws his cutlass out of its sheath. Mason grabs the man by his wrist and shirt, forcing him back to the others with brute strength alone. The man is belligerent, his bluster is fueled by rum and quickly charges the pirate.

"Arrgh!" Mason roars as they brace and stumble against each other around the deck. He smiles wickedly at the fellow, relishing the fight. The man starts to flail his arms and shriek, his face red and spitting.

Damon's watching with an amused grin on his face.

"Watch out," Enzo spits just before they barrel into him then the three of them tumble over the edge and into the sea below. Damon waves his sword to dissuade any others before looking over the edge himself, laughing at the sight of his men, looking like bilge rats as they climb the ropes back onto the Dragon.

As soon as they rid the other ship of its spoils, his men urge the crew and passengers into the water, there's an island within swimming distance. Once he's certain everyone is off the ship, he grabs a rope himself, swings across the water and lands on his feet.

"Raise the colors," he directs then takes his place at the wheel and with a wave of his arm, his men fire the cannons until the vessel lists and begins its descent into Davy Jones locker.

"Now bring me that horizon," he shouts as he turns the wheel and they begin to sail away.

Glancing up at the sky, Damon shields his eyes from the sun's rays and watches the squawking seagulls overhead.

"Keep the current course," he commands Enzo then retreats below deck and runs into Elena straight away.

"What exactly are you planning to do with me?" she asks, her voice firm, belying the unease that's brewing inside.

He stops in front of her room then turns to face her. His blazing blue eyes sweep over her. "I don't yet know what I'm going to do with you."

"I'll not be your whore," she warns disdainfully.

He blinks back in surprise. Then his mouth forms a tight line and he leans closer to her. "I haven't ever needed to force a lady, or even a wench for that matter and secondly, I don't allow such things - not on my ship. Don't assume things you know nothing about, Miss..."

"It's Gilbert. And what do you know of morality? You're a pirate."

His jaw clenches. "You don't know anything about me." He replies in a low, steely voice. Dismissing her, he turns and pushes the door to her quarters open.

"And I do not wish to," she murmurs, stepping past him and accidentally brushing her shoulder against his hard chest in the small corridor. When she turns to look at him, his face is unreadable. Stepping inside, she slams the door in his face determined not to waste anymore time thinking about him...

Peeling off her dress, she unlaces her bodice reluctantly, draping them on the chair. Standing only in her undergarments, she crawls into the bed and slips under the covers. As she drifts off to sleep, her mind wanders to Captain Salvatore. From his heavy stomping black boots, brown breeches, white shirt with billowing sleeves, sash and a large belt buckle at his middle to his captain's hat; if not for her misfortune, she never would have met the renegade pirate.

Her memory drifts to the collar of his shirt exposing his throat, his square unshaven set jaw, and mostly his blue eyes locking onto hers. Squeezing her eyelids shut more tightly, her sinful thoughts flee as soon as images of her parents take their place. Her eyes fill with tears as she cries herself to sleep.

Elena's not spoken or left her quarters for several days. However, he made sure his men left food out for her so he knows she's been eating. Having a woman or women on board isn't unheard of, he's had wenches before but never one like her. Truthfully, he doesn't know what to do. She's undoubtedly upset, but he cannot change their course for her alone. His men were hungry and eager to trade in their plunder. Lost in thought, he stares at the water unseeing and doesn't notice Enzo until he speaks.

"What are you going to do with her?"

They lean with their elbows on the edge looking out at the sea and the fogged cloudbank. The breeze rustles through their hair.

"She'll have to stay at least till we dock. We can't very well dump her in Tortuga, that's no place for a woman like her. Are the men talking?"

Enzo's eyes twinkle. "The usual things a man will say about a fine woman."

Damon snorts. "She's quite headstrong."

"There is talk that you could drop her at Nassau…"

Damon waves off the idea. A disastrous hurricane, bringing with it torrential rains and gale force winds struck the island and many have died. The clearing of corpses has left the area rampant with disease and dysentery as the port continues to struggle.

"Under normal circumstances it would be ideal but not in the aftermath of the storm."

"We'll have to wait and see. The men are not to touch her in the meantime," Damon warns. The wind picks up and he takes notice of the cloudbank rolling in. "It'll be dark soon and a storm is heading in our direction."

Enzo nods. "I'll secure the rigs and make sure the lookout and the others change their shifts guarding tonight."

Damon retreats below to warn Miss Gilbert of the approaching storm. He isn't sure how long she had been traveling on the other vessel but his ship rocks heavily against the building waves. He heads into the deckhouse just as the first clash of thunder sounds. The clouds have moved in fast but the storm will be vicious.

Nearing her room, Damon pauses outside the door to listen. Hearing nothing, he knocks, "Miss Gilbert?" Silence answers him and he hesitates for a moment, "May I come in?"

He hears rustling for a moment before the door opens allowing him to enter. She has a blanket wrapped around her like a shawl and she clutches it more tightly as he steps inside.

"Miss Gilbert," A crash of thunder sounds, interrupting him. "We're sailing into a storm."

She glances at the small window, letting the blanket slip slightly.

"The ship may rock back and forth more than usual but that is just the wind and waves... I'll leave you to your thoughts," he starts to move when a bolt of lightning flickers through the window.

"Wait!"

He turns around to see what she wants.

"I don't mind storms when I'm on dry land but they're not pleasant on the sea."

"I got you safely through the first one, I will again." Instantly his eyes fly to her brown ones. They're observing him like they were the day he first saw her. "May I ask you something?"

She nods, curious.

"Why were you on that ship?"

Elena straightens her posture before replying. "I was journeying with my family to Cartegena."

"You and your husband?" he notices the pale band of white on that otherwise tan finger.

"Briefly, he died in the French and Indian War," her gaze drops to her hand.

"I'm sorry for your loss. I'm sure he was a brave man."

Her eyes snap up, fire brimming in her irises. "And what does a pirate know about bravery?"

His jaw clenches and he moves closer. "More than you know..."

"What do you mean?"

"That is none of your concern," he finds his gaze wandering to her rosy pink lips. Another flash of lightning flickers across her olive complexion. With a loud gust of wind bringing the tremble of thunder, the water crashes against the belly of the ship knocking them off balance. He tumbles against her, his hands brushing along her curves as he tries to brace himself.

He pulls back as she steps away. He wants to whisper in her ear as his hand slowly travels along her softness and heat, pleasing her in so many ways… All of a sudden it's difficult to catch his own breath and he knows it's time to depart her quarters.

"Get some sleep Miss Gilbert. We have a busy day tomorrow." he says, putting his hand on the doorknob.

"Where are we going?" she asks, her face flushed.

"Tortuga. Goodnight." he closes the door behind him. His mind swims with images of resting between her legs. He shakes his head to dismiss such a fantasy.

The firmness of the mattress, the creaking of the ship, and that man invading her dreams have all combined to make for a restless night.

She's having a difficult time understanding the desire she feels. In a rare moments of sleep, she dreams of laying with that scalawag and has more than once. Although she never really felt any attachment, much less love for Malachai, she married him at the insistence of her parents. She had performed her wifely duties and mourned the appropriate amount of time, all the while hating that ugly black clothing she had to wear.

She's not naive, she's heard pirate stories before. How many of them had been true? Her curiosity with Captain Salvatore vacillates between anger and intrigue. Thoughts of him make her blood both boil and burn.

Even though he's a scoundrel like all pirates, he isn't really the man she expected. He has respected her privacy, making sure to knock... nor has he touched her. His body is hard and lined and a part of her aches to touch him and run her fingers through his raven black hair…

A thud of heavy footing sounds above her startling her from such thoughts. From the cat calls, it sounds as if they're pulling into port at Tortuga. She gingerly steps up the stairs to the main deck and looks around while shielding her eyes from the sun.

"The lady lives!" Enzo towers over her with a smarmy grin.

"We're about to dock, leave the lady alone," another man approaches, "I'm Alaric," one of Damon's crew.

Elena looks around, not quite sure if she shouldn't make a hurried dash for her quarters.

He brushes a strand of his hair away from his face. "I know you have a loathsome opinion of pirates but know this, we are all free men."

Elena nods, that short description is profound and for the first time she feels a little respect for the crew of The Flying Dragon.

Damon scours the port and surrounding landscape from the lookout. Tortuga has always been friendly to pirates but he's a cautious sort of fellow. Once he's certain of that it's safe to disembark, he climbs down the cordage of the main sail as the men began to dock the Dragon.

His boots hit the deck loudly, startling Elena. Ric's mouth twitches with a smile that only he can see as he passes him by.

"We will be staying here for a few days. We need to trade in our loot and rest." he explains to Elena as he moves towards her. Surprisingly she nods agreeably.

"Urgh," Enzo huffs as he heaves the anchor overboard.

Once off the ship, his men clear a path through the crowd till they arrive at the town's square.

"Stay close," he whispers in her ear. He wants to keep an eye on her, not only to protect her but always to keep away the brazen whores who don't care whether it's man or woman that gives them coin.

A faint blush blossoms on her cheeks as she acquiesces to his request. They go through several shops and vendors at the market, taking the time to speak with some of the shopkeepers and peddlers.

Elena stays silent as she follows after him. Although she's had ample opportunity, she hasn't made an attempt to escape. He's certain that she would prefer better accommodations than the Flying Dragon but he suspects she doesn't want to be left alone on the ship.

Afterwards he leads her to Madame Bree's where he knew the crew is making good use of their free time. Long periods without a woman's touch are no good to a man's spirit. Stepping inside, he sees Enzo with a full figured blonde on his lap.

"Oh Miss Gilbert," he waves, and turns his attention back to the full figured blonde.

Damon rolls his eyes and leads Elena to an empty table in the back. Despite its location, he still has a good view of his men as they gulp down their ale and fill their bellies.

Bree appears and sets two bowls of stew and a loaf of bread in front of them, returning shortly with a large tankard of ale for him. While she's busy eating her meal, his heart is thundering at her closeness.

She seems content until the women show up offering themselves to the men. Though they have gotten along well this day, he senses her discomfort at being the only woman not in that line of work.

A buxom wench with bright red hair and freckles tries to catch his attention by trailing her finger down his arm while smiling a toothless grin at him. When he shakes his head no, she saunters off, her expression changing as soon as Mason pulls her onto his lap and starts kneading one of her breasts.

Elena glances around the room. "So these are the type of women you like?" she discreetly waves her hand at the group.

"These women belong to Madame Bree. They're here to serve brutish men. You're lucky you were born of privilege."

Elena shoots him a peculiar look, then turns back again to observe the hedonism. When a barmaid trips on an outstretched leg spilling tankards of beer on a man, he looks about ready to explode in rage at the barmaid or punch the man beside him in the face.

"Please don't hurt me," the woman raises her arms to protect her face.

The man stands up straight towering over her. Fisting a hunk of her garment, he pulls his arm back to punch her but before he can land it, another pirate barrels into him, knocking them both on the floor. Soon half the bar is engaged in a melee, bottles are being smashed on heads, chairs raised and slammed on opponents.

The pub's rag tag band begins to play their make shift instruments, the sound almost choreographing the brawl. Elena's watching it open-mouthed. "Aren't you going to do something?" she asks Damon when someone kicks over a table.

"No," Damon laughs, picks up the tankard and empties it with one swallow.

"Those are your men," she looks at him aghast.

"It's been a while, it's good for them," Damon replies, clearly amused. The fight continues for several minutes before Damon raises his pistol and fires a shot in the air.

The men freeze and look around, then rather than continue the brawl, one of them yells, "drinks all around." As soon as it started, it ends to the sound of metal tankards clanging together.

The dim lighting of the tavern dances in her eyes and gives a soft glow to her skin. A rosy blush fills her cheeks but she doesn't turn away from him. "These women, they will never be embarrassed about anything."

Her eyes grow wide as they join his. They seem endless but he has no idea what she's thinking or how she feels. Could she ever be interested in a man like him - a pirate? His reverie is interrupted when the barmaid appears and refills his tankard of ale. He drops her a couple of coins then picks it up and takes a huge gulp.

Rather than return to the ship, Damon excuses himself to have a word with Bree. When he returns, he takes her arm, urging her to stand. Leading her up the stairs, they walk down the hall till they reach one labeled 10.

"It's late, we'll return to the ship tomorrow," he unlocks the door and steps back, gesturing for her to enter.

"I'd rather not."

"Need I remind you that you're alive only because of me?"

Elena crosses her arms and stands with her chin raised in defiance yet again.

Damon puts his hands on his hips and towers over her menacingly. "It's this room or you can sleep outside in the mud with the hogs."

An angry expression forms on her face and her glare nearly pierces him.

"Do not test my patience," he warns.

"Hmph," she huffs then steps into the room to look around before turning to face him again, "And where will you sleep?"

Folding his arms across his chest, he leans lazily against the door frame. "In this hallway of course unless you'd rather risk having one of the men knocking down the door. They've had a long draught and most of them are very drunk."

"There are two blankets, you could lay on the floor."

Damon reluctantly shakes his head. "It would be improper for me to share a room with a lady such as yourself."

Choosing to ignore his words, she expels a frustrated breath. "You could guard the room from in here."

It's very tempting to agree with her plan. But with his imagination conjuring up visions of her bare and desperate for his touch, begging and sighing as he makes her his, he quickly shakes himself out of such thoughts, tells her goodnight then steps out, closing the door behind him. Sighing, he drops to the floor, stretches his legs in front of him and leans his head back.

"Goodnight, Miss Gilbert," he whispers before closing his eyes.

Waking up when someone trips over his outstretched legs, Damon yawns and shifts slightly. He tries to get comfortable so he can go back to sleep but his mind returns to Elena. His affection and desire for her is growing. He wants to be free to touch her in ways that she will never forget. Does she have an interest in him too? Sighing, he wipes such thoughts from his mind and lets sleep pull him under...

Sometime later, the door opens and Damon falls back, knocking his head on the floor. It takes a few seconds to get the cobwebs out of his brain and get his bearings when he looks up to see her.

"Good morning."

"That's a matter of perspective," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his head.

"Sorry," she tries to stifle her laughter but does a poor job of it.

Sighing heavily, Damon gets to his feet, adjusts his dagger and runs his hand over his pistol. "Let's go, I'm hungry," he takes off down the hall, turning at the staircase and trotting down them.

"Where?" She asks, hurrying to catch up to him.

"I don't want to eat the slop Bree fixes so we're going to the beach, maybe we can knock down some coconuts?"

"For breakfast?" Elena turns up her nose.

"You have a better idea?" he arches an eyebrow then steps outside into the morning sun.

"Is this the only place to eat? We can't get some eggs?" Elena asks, looking around a little closer now that it's daytime. Today the sunlight is conjuring up the most brilliant of mosaics, reflecting from each leaf and wisp of cloud.

"Nope," Damon says over his shoulder as he continues his trek. Suddenly someone reaches out and grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "Kol?" Damon looks over the man, his skin is warm and sun-kissed like his own from long days out on the deck. His loose cotton shirt is tucked into baggy brown pants, hiding his strong and muscular frame. At his side is a fine sword, and the hilt gleams in the sunlight.

"Can I have a word?" he gestures with his head for Damon to follow him.

"Stay here," he tells Elena and follows the other pirate for a short distance. "What's this about, Kol?"

"Niklaus is dead."

"What?" Damon's in shock.

"The Royal Navy - there was a firefight near Jamaica, off the coast of Port Royal. Lieutenant Maynard allowed his ship to be boarded. When Niklaus took the bait, Maynard's forces burst from the hold with swords and pistols, overpowering the crew. He fought hard until a navy seaman cut his throat from behind," he takes a breath. "Not only did they sever his head, they hung it from his ship's bow," Kol fists his hands in rage. "To send a clear warning, they brought it here and stuck it on a spike in the town square."

Damon shoots a meaningful look at Elena.

"Be careful, the British want us all dead," Kol cautions, nods at Damon then disappears into the crowd.

"What was that all about?" Elena asks, considering the serious look on his face.

"Niklaus, the pirate that killed your parents is dead."

Elena quickly turns away when her eyes start to moisten. Taking a few deep breaths, she gets her emotions under control and looks up, meeting Damon's eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"There's one way to find out." They walk a quick pace through Tortuga, the sights and smells aren't for the fainthearted, he's a little impressed that his companion is holding her own.

When the reach the square, Elena gasps at the sight of the severed head impaled on a stake- along with a stern warning for pirates to beware. "That's him?"

Damon moves a little closer, although it's a gruesome site, he does recognize his nemesis. "It is."

"Good," Elena retorts, "It's better than he deserved." With one more look, she turns on her heels and begins to walk away.

Damon quickly catches up, "the beach is this way," he points and the two pick up their pace. Along the way he manages to swipe a rope from an ox cart to help him climb a palm tree.

The coastline is brilliant in the morning sun with its chalky white ribbon of cliffs, jagged and folded, shrinking into the distance. Below the cliffs are beaches of rocks made rough by the barnacles upon them. In the distance a spit stretches out into the sea and upon the end is a lighthouse, lonely and abandoned. The foamy crests of the crashing waves are the only sound other than the cry of the gulls.

Damon pauses when they reach a beautiful stretch of white sand and sparkling ocean that borders the island. The trees and vegetation are lush green and provide shade from the blistering sun. He loves this beach and the driftwood that comes upon the buoyant waves as tiny boats. Then there is the seaweed, the flora of those salty waves, as deeply green as any high summer foliage. His favorite though is the soft rolling dunes and the tall grasses that whisper so sweetly into the gusting breeze.

"How are you going to get those down?" she points at the cluster of coconuts.

"That's what the rope's for," he shoots her a sly smile then starts to trudge a little further up the beach, finally stopping at a location where the sea is calm. He plops down on a rock and takes off his jacket and scabbard. "Feel free to take a dip," he nods at Elena, she sighs then drops onto the sand and removes her shoes.

As she bends over he catches a peek at the tops of her breasts. If she was bare and in his arms, he's certain that they'll fit perfectly in his hands. With nothing to slake his lust, it's becoming harder to shake off such thoughts. Turning away, Damon stares at the vast expanse of blue waters stretching in every direction. The ocean laps at the sand leaving its lacy foam to trail the waves as they retreat.

Standing up, Damon uses the rope, slipping it around both himself and the tree then starts to climb up. Although his perch is tenuous at best, he manages to knock a couple coconuts to the ground before climbing down.

Damon walks down to the water's edge. He places a quick toe in the water and takes it back even quicker, the chilly temperature shocking him a bit. Hearing her laugh, he shoots her a stare. Brushing it off, he walks back to the sand with a huge rock to break open the hard shell so he can eat a hunk.

"And that's how it's done," he holds up a chunk and stuffs it in his mouth.

"Well I must admit I'm a little impressed. Where did you...?"

"Hm, well, let's just say I've been around a long time. I've learned a few things."

"You are a rather strange pirate."

"My father taught me how to be self sufficient," he arches an eyebrow at her.

"And what does he think of piracy?" she challenges him.

"My father died a very long time ago, I did what I had to do to survive."

"Oh there's a fish," she squeaks, pointing at the one swimming by her feet.

"Either catch it or come have a bite," Damon stuffs another piece in his mouth.

"Catch it?" her eyes snap to his before she trudges back to the sand. When she sits down beside him, Damon offers her a hunk. Sticking it into her mouth, she moans at the taste. She looks up and gasps slightly at the fire burning in his blue eyes.

"Damon," she whispers suddenly. Feeling himself growing excited, he shifts enough to put a little distance between them.

Sighing internally, she stuffs another piece into her mouth before getting up and walking back into the surf to wash her hands. She stares at the endless expanse of blue water for some time before wading back to the sand.

Seeing the sun glimmer off the wet flesh of her legs inspires all kinds of thoughts, oh how he'd like to peel that dress off her.

"Is there a place to wash up, I haven't had a proper bath in?"

He points in the direction over her shoulder. After putting their shoes back on, Damon leads her down the beach until they reach worn pathway through some dense overgrowth. Elena screeches and jumps back when a sand crab saunters across the ground near her toes.

Damon chuckles, pulls his cutlass out of its sheath and cuts away some of the brush. Down the path there is a stream. By nature they are slow-flowing, languid in pace, and lax by nature. However this stream is mighty. Many torrents of water travel its path, rapids flick up against its surface like paint flakes off a distressed door. Boulders rise out of the water like the bows of a sunken fleet, and the hiss of far off waterfalls are the screams of their drowned crew.

The scent of moss and lichen be-fowls the air for leagues across. The stream is the reminder to all that witness its majesty the ignorance of presumption, and the existence of exemption.

They continue for a several hundred feet until they reach a tranquil spot near a falls. The water tumbles down the hillside in a series of mini-waterfalls. It tinkles in a laughing sort of way.

"Will this suit you?" he asks, stepping aside so she can see.

"It's beautiful, thank you."

"I'll wait up the path for you," he points in the direction over his shoulder. They part at the rocky edge and his heart almost beats out of his chest at the thought of her wet and naked beneath him. Brushing away such thoughts, he hurries down the path till he feels there's enough distance between them to give her privacy. Soon however, his desire gets the better of him. One little peek surely won't hurt...

He climbs up on an outcropping of rocks above her. As quiet as a church mouse, he lays on his belly and peers over the edge. Her back is to him and her olive skin glimmers under the summer sun. Finally she turns and he gets his first look at her ample breasts. Feeling himself becoming aroused, he has to reach into his pants to straighten himself.

As he moves ever closer to the precipice, he accidentally sends some rocks toppling over the edge, creating a splash when they hit the water. And then she looks up, her eyes locking on his...

When she doesn't shy away, Damon climbs down from his perch and walks to the edge of the pond. Slipping out of his clothing, he steps into the water. His eyes scan her body from head to toe. His manhood throbs with every step. Wading against the current, he considers her eyes, they're brimming with desire to match his own. He reaches out his hand but stops until he sees her nod.

His thumbs graze the sides of each breast then drop to her waist and his thumbs begin circling the crest of her hips. When he looks up, he finds her staring at him through heavily lidded eyes. Her breaths escape in short gasps. With mounting exhilaration, he bends over to take one of her nipples into his mouth and begins to suckle and nip. She responds by leaning forward, pushing her breast further into his mouth. Instinctually his other hand curls into her hair, tugging her head back to join her mouth with his. Her lips are soft and reaches up to cup his neck, and kiss him harder.

Emboldened, Damon takes her hand and moves her into the soft grass. He spreads her legs - lays between them then kisses her again. When she arches her back, her nipples grace his chest eliciting a heady moan that sends desire racing through his veins.

"Elena…" he grunts against the soft skin between her neck and shoulder.

"Please," she whimpers as her nails rake down his back. Damon leans down to kiss her again, stealing the breath from her lungs. When he breaks it, his voice is husky with passion.

"Bear with me," he whispers, then slides down her body, repositioning his face between her legs. When his tongue traces the seam where her thighs meet her body, Elena's back arches high off the grass. Damon wraps his arms around her hips and places his hands flat on her stomach, his thumbs once again opening her with gentle strokes. When his tongue flicks the delicate softness of her damp folds, Elena squirms wildly at his delicious onslaught.

"Elena…" Damon presses firmly on her lower stomach with his fingers as his thumbs once again favor her clitoris with soothing caresses.

She barely manages to open her eyes but when she looks down to see Damon's head buried at the juncture of her thighs, her heart feels like it's going to pound right out of her chest. He licks the petal-soft folds of her womanhood, pulling her closer to the edge of the precipice. And when he sucks the fiery flesh of her core into his mouth, she experiences the sweet death of total climax and shatters into a thousand pieces of light.

Damon crawls up next to her and holds her as aftershocks rack her body. She nestles her head on his chest and digs her nails into his shoulder as wave after wave of pleasure crests. Finally, he crooks his finger to tip her face up to him. "Are you okay?"

"Perfect," she replies in a breathy pant.

Damon leans over her, placing a soft kiss on her passion-bruised lips.

Elena's breath catches at the combination of fire and caring in his eyes. Wanting to treat him to the same exquisite torture as he gave her, Elena pushes him onto his back and straddles him. Sucking in a breath, she raises her pelvis up and slides onto him slowly.

Moaning softly, she uses his chest for leverage then begins the ride of lovers. Bracketing her hips with his hands, his pelvis rises up to meet her every crest, burying himself deep with each upward thrust. Damon's in awe as he watches her descend again and again. Her inner muscles quiver around him, saturating his flesh with intense warmth as her body contracts around him.

Their breathing soon becomes harsh and serrated, frantic and gasping as they approach the pinnacle together. Elena collapses onto Damon's chest and kisses him as pleasure ripples out from the spot where they are joined.

And then – they sleep - joined in the intimate way of lovers, until the blush of sunset colors the clouds in the west.

One Year Later:

Elena walks up the stairs and steps onto the deck. The ocean breeze coats her skin in a light mist of brine leaving it tangy to the taste. When they go below deck tonight, every kiss will remind her of the waves that pound the beach with a white foamy spray. She closes her eyes to the lullaby of the ocean, breathing in its poignant salty breath.

From his perch at the ship's wheel, Damon stares at his bride. She's a vision with her red bandana, white scoop neck - poofy- sleeved shirt, leather lace up corset, striped pants and knee length boots. Around her waist is a belt with a draping Jolly Roger image. Tucking her sword into its sheath, she approaches him.

"Look at that sea. And the world stretching around us... a barrel of gold ready to drop in our laps. It's the only life, Damon," she gives him a good morning kiss.

"Say the word and the Caribbean is yours," he bows dramatically and waves his ostrich plumed hat before her.

Smiling, she takes his place at the wheel, running her fingers over it as if it's been spun from the finest silk. Looking up, she notices Enzo dawdling. "On deck, you scabrous dog! Hands to braces! Let go and haul to run free!" She watches with a smile as the men skitter around and take their stations while Damon pulls out the spyglass and looks out over the shimmering sea.

"Now... bring me that horizon," she winks when Damon looks over his shoulder at her.

"And really bad eggs..." he sings with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Drink up me hearties yo ho," she follows in song then spins the wheel to the east.

The gentle wind billows the sails and the deck warms in the morning light. The Flying Dragon skips across the white crested waves like a merry child in a field of daisies.

*The Spanish Main: the former name for the north coast of South America between the Orinoco River and Panama and the adjoining parts of the Caribbean Sea when they were under Spanish control.

*The idea for Niklaus fate comes from Blackbeard, real name Edward Teach, died on 22 November 1718 when he was shot five times and stabbed 20 times in an ambush by the Royal Navy. The British forces, led by Lieutenant Robert Maynard of the HMS Pearl, took down the infamous pirate with a cunning ruse. After a firefight at Blackbeard's favorite hideout, an inlet on the island of Ocracoke, off the coast of Carolina, Maynard allowed his ship to be boarded. When Blackbeard came aboard, Maynard's forces burst from the hold with swords and pistols, overpowering the pirate's crew. In Blackbeard's final battle he managed to break Maynard's sword with his cutlass, before another navy seaman cut his throat from behind. Blackbeard was decapitated and his head was hung from Maynard's bow and placed on a spike at the mouth of River Hampton, Virginia, as a warning to others.

Hat tip to POTC: The Curse of the Black Pearl at the end. I can't count how many times I saw that movie in the theatre. :)

Thank you Eva for everything you do- you are truly priceless.

#delena

1 note · View note

storyunrelated · 4 years

Text

Candidate for Completion - Belly Of The Beast

Belly Of The Beast

The solar system had never stood a chance, and other, nearer systems were already starting to look nervous. For a given value of nervous, of course, being that they were just collections of rock, ice and various gases. It can only be imagined that they would be nervous, if they could be capable of it. Humanity was coming, after all. Anyone with any sense would be bricking it.

WHAT

“So. Humanity found an inexplicable monster floating in space and decided that the best thing they could do with it was move in and live there? At enormous personal expense given they need everything worthwhile to be shipped in to them?” She asked, gesturing angrily at the screen as though the distant, twinkling spacebeast was somehow to blame for all of this.

“Yes,” her father said, bluntly. Jenny shook her head and rubbed her face.

“How did we even get into space…”

Somewhere in the solar system - closer to the Sun than Earth, further than Mercury - there orbits a spacebeast. Naturally, humanity has chosen to live on it. It’s living on every other place available, why not?

The orbit is stable, and the spacebeast itself is safely comatose, having suffered some sort of catastrophic head injury at some point in the distant past. It’s quite safe, quite safe. And people live on it!

And that’s fine and dandy and everything is tip-top and perfectly normal. Until a strange convergence of circumstances leads to three plucky teens coming together in a quest for REVENGE!

In SPACE!

WHO

“Does he not talk?” Jenny asked, nodding to Max.

“Max sees the virtue in speaking rarely and with great weight. I fill up for quantity,” said Thaddeus.

“I noticed.”

There are three of the plucky teens.

There is Thaddeus. He is from a fine and fancy noble House, the rich people who live in the spacebeast and who just...hang around being rich and really odd. They hunt strange creatures, they have parties, they hobnob, everything’s fine. Then one day his whole family is slaughtered and he is the only one to escape.

His gimmick is twofold. First, being a fine and fancy noble, he is genetically mucked about with. This manifests as him being very tough, such as being able to survive being shot and not finding it particularly unpleasant. Second, his sense of morality is supposed to be way out of whack. He means well but he’s WEIRD.

There is Jenny. Jenny does not live on the spacebeast. She and her dad run (or ran) a little interplanetary cargo company and were employed by a guy to bring himself and some of his stuff to the spacebeast. Only it turns out what he was bringing was a whole load of illegal robots. Finding this, Jenny then finds out that he has - in panic - killed her father. He then crashes their ship into the spacebeast.

Jenny is straightforward. Her motivations are to find the man who killed her dad and twist his head off like a champagne cork. Luckily for her she’s wearing a big, heavy, industrial hardsuit that is vacuum resistant. This makes her a fucking walking tank. Downsides? She doesn’t know jackshit about the spacebeast or how any of it works or where anything is.

There is Max. Max lives in the guts of the spacebeast, making a quote-unquote ‘living’ by scraping the weird growths off the side like so many other destitute people. Max’s parents died a while ago in a freak gut-based accident. Max is a quiet boy, and mostly wants to avoid people because people pick on him.

Unluckily for Max, Thaddeus finds him and - because they’re both orphans - declares that he and Max are now friends and brothers, and drags him along on his quest.

And then there are bad guys: whoever murdered Thaddeus’s family, and that guy who killed Jenny’s dad. They both have plans, and they’re all going to have to die.

WHERE

Sitting down and raising an arm to try to suck out one of the bullets, Thaddeus thought back to what had just happened. Had there been any identifying features on the attackers? Anything that might help him work out who was responsible, where they lived and how best he could wreak exquisite vengeance on them?

With a slurp and a spurt the blunted remains of a slug popped into his mouth and he swished it around absentmindedly, his face a mask of concentration.

Weirdly, this is probably the most ‘conventional’ thing I have going. Here are the protagonists, they want this, this and this. Here are the antagonists, they want that, that and that. Boom. Go at it.

And I kind of know the through-line, too. There’s setup, there’s stuff where people are murdered, there’s meetings, there’s shared goals and there’s getting shit done. Moving up through the spacebeast, finding out answers, writing wrongs and getting revenge. REVENGE!

That’s kind of issue here. There’s a lot of action involved in this story - lots of punching and jumping and hyah! - and I hate, hate, hate that shit so trying to get it down is going to be a chore.

That said this story does have, in my head, a surprisingly unambiguously happy ending. Which for me is quite something.

WHY

“Later on we can all have a nice sit down and a nice chat about the cyclical nature of revenge and how violence only serves to engender move violence and we can have this chat after I have ripped off this guy’s head and kicked his body out of an airlock. Okay?”

The whole driving force of Belly Of The Beast is the gag of “Wouldn’t it be funny if the motivating factor for a bunch of plucky teens was just straight-up revenge and, what’s more, explicitly violent revenge at that? What a hoot that’d be!”

That is literally the extent of the plot. Two of the protagonists want to violently murder those who have done them wrong, while the third just goes along so as not to cause a fuss (and, later, because he just latches onto the other two for dear life because they’re nice to him).

All set against a background of lunacy, obviously.

They’re living inside a SPACEBEAST!

WELL

“And we’re going to be in the same room together again and I am going to twist your head off like a bottletop and then me and my buddies here are going to go and get ice cream,” said Jenny. Behind her, Thaddeus clapped with delight.

“She remembered the ice cream!”

It’s a case of mustering the enthusiasm to push through and get some other, later chunks of the story done. I’ve got big parts of the beginning already sorted - character introductions and the like. All I really need is to bang out a few of the later set pieces, cook up a few more, bang those out and then, later still, join them all up.

I’m actually vaguely fond of at least two of the protagonists. Thaddeus amuses me because his schtick is that he’s relentlessly cheerful and pleasant while also having a moral code that is basically inhuman. His whole belief system - and that of his family and peers - is meant to be utterly alien and weird.

Jenny is an angry girl in a suit of power armour. It’s very self-indulgent of me.

Max remains something of a non-entity. But that could change! And should. Especially as he’s meant to represent the balance between the two. Shy, non-violent and levelheaded.

But, we shall see...

#Candidate for completion #Amwriting #Writblr #Writeblr #Writing #Belly of the Beast

6 notes · View notes

jbuffyangel · 5 years

Text

Undeserved Forgiveness: Arrow 7x18 Review (Lost Canary)

After seven years and 150 episodes (yes, I math’d it) Arrow has finally paid off a L*urel L*ance storyline in a way that makes sense and feels earned.

Let’s dig in…

Olicity

Sometimes the Arrow writers are so obtuse about their audience it boggles my mind. Then there are other times when they are so self aware I can’t help but laugh. “Lost Canary” is one of those self aware moment. It’s almost as if the writers said to themselves, “Okay. This episode is gonna be a lot about birds so we better give the audience some Olicity goodies to keep them happy.”

Smart move.

Arrow has to ship the boys off somewhere in order to have their all girls episode. Rene is off with Zoe on a school field trip while Oliver and Diggle try to find the person who killed Emiko’s mother, so they can convince her not to be evil. Or something? I think? It boils down to a interrogation of a Longbow Hunter. Yeah, remember the Longbow Hunters? Who knew they were still a thing? Not me.

It’s kind of fantastic all the guys are stuck with monumentally crappy storylines while the ladies have their moment in the sun. Ah the gloriousness of reversing gender roles.

Anywho, Oliver is going to leave Felicity which means WE GET WORRIED DADDY!

Oliver begs Felicity to take it easy.

Pffft, it’s like he’s never watched Arrow before. Dude, know your genre.

Felicity promises she’s going Netflix and chill. Oh girl, you totes just jinxed it.

And then it happens. Oliver rubs his stomach and says...

Source: olicitygifs

April 15, 2019 will hence forth be known as Precious Cargo Day in the Olicity fandom. We shall drink and sing in merriment while binge watching Olicity moments in celebration of this blessed day. For this is the day fan fiction came to life.

We’re five minutes and twelve seconds into this episode and I already think it’s fantastic.

After Oliver returns from his Longbow Hunter thing (Seriously don’t ask me what happened)

and Felicity returns from saving a soul and giving Earth 2 a hero to fight for them, our wonderfully stable and unproblematic married couple cuddle on the couch. Honestly, I don’t understand why Olicity snuggling and watching Netflix isn’t a hit show? It’s Emmy award winning entertainment.

Source: olicitygifs

Felicity was away from Oliver for a day and she practically ran into her husband’s arms, so I really don’t know how homegirl is gonna do twenty years without him. It hurts to think about, so let’s focus on the happy.

Source: olicitygifs

Oliver wants to order whatever Felicity is craving because he’s determined to be fictional perfection so no one can have realistic expectations of non fictional men. Felicity informs him L*urel is going back to Earth 2. He doesn’t care. I cannot describe to you how much Oliver Queen doesn’t care about any version of L*urel L*ance.

Once again I reflect upon the road we have traveled my friends. I don’t know how we got here, but our destination is glorious.

Worried Daddy is far more concerned that Felicity didn’t take it easy as she promised, but no worries the Green Arrow is here!

Oliver promises to take care of Felicity and then promptly falls asleep on her shoulder because he’s so exhausted.

Yup, that pretty much sums up the first trimester right there. You’re pregnant but you’re husband is the exhausted one.

She finagles a foot rub out of half asleep Oliver and they both collapse. MAX DOMESTICITY ACHIEVED.

Source: olicitygifs

Honestly, the show could have ended right here. I’d be thrilled.

Felicity Smoak and Canary Corp.

Yes, that’s the official title of the episode. Don’t @ me. Arrow has tried this Birds of Prey thing before. Remember Helena, L*urel and Sara in Season 2? Yeah, neither do I and why? BECAUSE IT DIDN’T HAVE FELICITY IN IT. Too bitter?

The Felicity Smoak/Oracle similarities were not lost on the Arrow writers and it’s clear they tried to adopt the moniker for our girl’s codename, but were shot down by the DC brass. Overwatch it is then and, as usual when it comes to Felicity Smoak and Emily Bett Rickards, she has made it her own.

This is Emily’s last season and therefore Arrow’s last chance to do a Birds of Prey themed episode with Felicity Smoak at the helm. Boy, they did not waste the opportunity. Thank goodness too because that would have been a real bummer.

“Lost Canary” is full on girl power. Arrow has many female characters, but the storylines are dominated by the men. It’s not a shocker. The main character is male. The writing staff I believe has been male dominated until a shake up this season. That’s not to say the male writers haven’t crafted a fantastic show with some amazing female characters – Felicity Smoak being at the top of the list. However, this show is long over due for the spotlight to shine on the female characters, actresses and writers.

Representation means hearing the voices of the marginalized, but “Lost Canary” is not simply Arrow ticking a box. Nor did the writers pad the episode with trite and insulting dialogue like...

(I will forever side eye The Flush for that one.)

No, “Lost Canary” is steeped in big life questions as it addresses the season theme of redemption head on. Each character has her own perspective on Bl*ck S*ren and redemption as a whole. Each character is given ample screen time to voice her perspective as the women debate the best way to handle Bl*ck S*ren’s recent downward spiral… or perhaps it’s a stagnant upward spiral. The point is the women are written like the multi faceted characters they are. WOULD WONDERS EVER CEASE?

Let the redemption debate commence.

Source: dcmultiverse

Bl*ck S*ren is back in the evil business. See, you can tell because of the all leather, black lipstick, cloak, tacky techno music and the sashay walk KC ripped off from Nina Dobrev.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

This is what I like to call an “Everything but the kitchen sink” visual trope. Oh hell, the kitchen sink was there too.

Bl*ck S*ren chucks the three piece power suits, with the shoulder pads that can fly her to Hong Kong, in favor of a more diabolical ensemble to convey her inner turmoil. The subtext is pretty much text. Arrow hammering away at it should be a monumentally huge tip off for where Bl*ck S*ren’s character is going.

The surprise isn’t so much where Arrow is going with this character, but rather in how they get there.

Admittedly, I struggled with E1 L*urel L*ance. I couldn’t stand her romance with Oliver, couldn’t keep up with her flip flopping personality, grew tired of her blaming everyone but herself, couldn’t forgive her for Tommy, hated her disdainful treatment of Felicity, and found her to be a insufferable pain in the ass, which she compounded by becoming a drunken, insufferable pain in the ass.

Whew. Season 1 and Season 2 were rough.

I had one bright and shining hope for this character – her Bl*ck C*nary storyline. It was a colossal disappointment.

Not even my deep love for the Lance sisters could save my investment in L*urel and I was overjoyed when Arrow killed her. It remains one of the best creative decisions this show ever made.

Regardless of the reasons for KC’s return (and there are reasons my friends), the writers smartly chose not to resurrect L*urel.

No need to bring back that mess. Instead, they started over with some doppelganger hijinks and crafted Evil L*urel aka Bl*ck S*ren from Earth 2.

It turns out Evil L*urel is a hell of a lot more fun than Saint L*urel. The character plays to KC’s acting strengths and she didn’t impede on Dinah Drake’s storyline as Bl*ck C*nary. Well, not much.

But the dramatic linchpin in Bl*ck S*ren’s character is that she’s not L*urel. Yes, she looks and sounds like the L*urel L*ance Team Arrow loved and lost, but no amount of time would ever make this woman into a replica of the one who died. This is a good thing because the woman Oliver Queen dedicated that ridiculous statue to was a hindrance to the story.

L*urel’s Season 6 arc was infuriating primarily because they reduced a meta human to a helpless victim. The writers shredded Quentin Lance’s character as he pursued his deeply unhealthy obsession with resurrecting his dead daughter through an entirely different human being. Let us never speak of it again.

Season 7 is a vast improvement. The good/evil push/pull remains the dramatic well the writers drink from, but instead of cramming old L*urel down Bl*ck S*ren’s throat they allowed her character to breathe. The fact she was different from L*urel is what made her interesting. Arrow didn’t run from it. They embraced it. And they paired her with an unlikely partner.

Felicity Smoak.

Bl*ck S*ren’s willingness to cross lines, including murder, was a necessary evil because Felicity’s husband was trapped inside the system. She needed help from someone with access and who wouldn’t be afraid to go over the line to get the job done. Suddenly, being evil doppelganger playing pretend lawyer was massive pro.

Bl*ck S*ren’s a sardonic wit and glowering demeanor made the perfect straight woman to Felicity Smoak’s ball of sunshine.

Except, Felicity wasn’t a ball of sunshine and more often than not L*urel was stopping her from going too far.

The two women worked in tandem as they questioned their morality and what defines good and evil. The ebb and flow of light and dark allowed Felicity and L*urel to see each other differently.

This sparked understanding, respect and finally compassion. Their interactions felt more honest than anything that transpired between E1 L*urel and Felicity and as a result their friendship was more believable.

I’ve enjoyed the good/evil/push/pull dynamic that’s made up the majority of Bl*ck S*ren’s arc this season because it was fairly even handed. When L*urel tipped too far in one direction they would shift her the other way. Every time L*urel helped Felicity with Oliver’s case or pulled her back from the ledge, she would follow it up with almost murdering someone.

Bl*ck S*ren’s instinct in almost any given scenario was to kill first and ask questions later. It flew in the face of the straight laced, law abiding DA image she cultivated by stealing E1 L*urel L*ance’s identity. The writers did this deliberately because everything that made Bl*ck S*ren “evil” is still there even as she tried emulating Quentin Lance’s dearly departed L*urel.

But eventually the writers need to pick a lane. Arrow has two choices – keep Bl*ck S*ren evil or redeem her. It’s kind of a like a love triangle. You can play with the back and forth for awhile, but eventually the writers need to make a decision. Otherwise the story loses any emotional authenticity.

The real shock of “Lost Canary” is how the writers present both sides of the argument. It’s so fair and logical. A L*urel L*ance centric episode is making sense. Talk about feeling like a fish out of water.

Dinah and Felicity are diametrically opposed when it comes to who Bl*ck S*ren is and if she can be redeemed. The argument boils down to nature versus nurture, but how Felicity and Dinah arrive at their individual conclusion fits not only within the scope of their own storylines, but within L*urel’s as well.

Dinah is nature. She firmly believes L*urel is an irredeemable killer and all efforts to save her are for naught because a killer is who she is. Dinah issues a warrant for L*urel’s arrest and believes she killed Diaz. I’ve been loudly advocating for some jail time for L*urel, but I didn’t really expect Arrow to go there. I’m not that lucky. A warrant for her arrest and L*urel on the run is close enough.

It’s understandable why Dinah believes Bl*ck S*ren is a lost cause. She witnessed her boyfriend’s murder at L*urel’s hand and a tearful apology doesn’t erase what happened.

Dinah has also been there any time L*urel has decided to murder someone, typically out of frustration, anger or to protect her own self interests. She would pull L*urel back from the ledge, but it’s difficult for her to believe BS was ever on the wagon when she so frequently fell off it.

Dinah is not wrong. L*urel is a murderer. Murder is L*urel’s default position whenever the going is rough, which is exactly what is happening now. Yes, L*urel is wrongly accused of murder, but let us not forget all the murders she did commit and has yet to pay for. Dinah didn’t love Bl*ck S*ren’s approach when it came to interrogating criminals, but the answer to these problems is not a crime spree.

Felicity is nurture. In the beginning, Felicity did not see Bl*ck S*ren as anything but criminal pretending to be her dead friend. She emotionally manipulated people and was reaping all the benefits of E1 L*urel’s life.

But the hubby was in the slammer and Felicity needed a lawyer, fake or real it didn’t matter. Desperate times call for desperate measures. L*urel was one of the only people to have Felicity’s back and their partnership grew into real friendship. Felicity has been the beneficiary of L*urel’s kindness and love, so she knows without a doubt there is good but it needs to be encouraged.

Felicity is so ardent in her belief that she bizarrely blames herself for L*urel’s crime spree because she wasn’t a good enough friend.

Let’s just pretend that’s true for a second (even though it’s not). The max penalty Felicity could incur would be paying for drinks some night. But L*urel tries to blow up Felicity and HER BABY. I feel safe categorizing that as an insane overreaction.

The truth is Felicity has been an amazing friend to L*urel and she continues to be throughout the episode. She proves to Dinah that L*urel has been framed by Emiko for Diaz’s murder. Felicity offers L*urel her support even after she goes on a crime spree.

L*urel: Oliver’s sister did me a favor because I was really sick and tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. Plus, no one believed it any way.

Felicity: I did! Look, what happened to you wasn’t fair. You were accused of murder, you lost your job, Dinah didn’t have your back I get it. You got a bucket load of bad news, but you are not Bl*ck S*ren. Not anymore.

L*urel: That’s funny I used to believe that too.

Felicity: Think of the good you’ve done L*urel. Think of honoring Quentin!

L*urel: Quentin is dead. Nobody cares about Quentin. He only wanted his daughter back.

Felicity: That is not true.

Well… far be it from me to disagree with my Queen but it is kind of true. This is a wonderfully impassioned speech even if I don’t agree with all of Felicity’s arguments. Sadly L*urel pretty much spits in Felicity’s face and is generally undeserving of all this support and understanding.

Felicity and Dinah have it out after L*urel tries to blow them up. Felicity continues to blame herself for this Bl*ck S*ren spiral whereas Dinah is firmly entrenched in the “Bl*ck S*ren Is a Murderer” camp. Felicity calls Dinah out on her hypocrisy when she boasts in a fit of moral superiority that she could have gone down the same road as L*urel, but didn’t.

Felicity accurately points out that the reason Dinah didn’t go down the same road was because she had the team. Dinah had friends who loved and supported her even when she didn’t deserve it.

Felicity ain’t wrong! I forgot Dinah is a murderer too. Yes, there is a big difference between murdering bad people versus murdering good people, but it doesn’t change the fact that Dinah has also taken lives.

While we’re on the subject on Vinnie, she also lied to the team about her relationship with him

and went on a crazy revenge bender after Bl*ck S*ren murdered him.

Dinah was in the Newbie tantrum up to her elbows, which included assaulting OTA when they refused to hand over Bl*ck S*ren.

Dinah was forgiven for all of these transgressions and welcomed back to the team with open arms without even apologizing. Now she’s the captain of the police force and a deputized vigilante. All of which would have never happened without Oliver Queen and Team Arrow.

Dinah was forgiven when she didn’t deserve it.

It was the second chance she needed to become someone who is deserving of that forgiveness.

(We can argue the semantics of whether or not Dinah really has become someone worthy of Oliver and Felicity’s love and trust another day. For the sake of this episode let’s just roll with it.)

Dinah continues to argue that even if all of that is true (WHICH IT IS HONEYCAKES) it doesn’t apply to L*urel because she doesn’t want a second chance. She never did. Felicity pushes back once again and argues the opposite. She thinks L*urel wants a second chance more than anyone else and didn’t realize it until it was already gone.

WOW. What a scene. It’s so invigorating to see two female characters argue passionately about something that has nothing to do with a man. This debate is about friendship, faith and forgiveness. It’s about the true meaning of redemption, who deserves it, and who decides who deserves it. Felicity and Dinah are arguing about their fundamental beliefs and challenging one another’s morality.

Source: hollandrooden

Dinah gave L*urel a chance and she blew it, so enough is enough. Felicity feels L*urel was succeeding at that second chance until she was wrongly accused. Sometimes people need several chances to get it right. I completely understand both Dinah and Felicity’s positions, which is how you know it’s a great storyline. If you can see both sides of the coin then the writers are mining drama with serious depth.

Both women are right and both are wrong. We’ve been exploring Bl*ck S*ren’s redemption since Season 5, but “Lost Canary” feels like the first honest conversation being had about it. I understand Dinah’s frustration because they are my frustrations.

I do not believe throwing on a three piece suit, playing lawyer, living someone else’s life and enjoying all the benefits someone else earned qualifies as redemption. Pretending to be E1 L*urel L*ance has protected Bl*ck S*ren from facing justice for any of her crimes. While I appreciate she’s helped put criminals away, freed Oliver Queen, and is a good friend to Felicity Smoak, it does not even out the cosmic scales when compared to the evil she has committed.

Bl*ck S*ren is a murderer. She was coddled by Quentin Lance because she looks like his dead daughter. Felicity reaches out again and again and Bl*ck S*ren continually rejects her love, support and forgiveness. I’ve watched Bl*ck S*ren time and again head out to murder someone as a solution to whatever problem she’s trying to solve. I’ve watched both Dinah and Felicity stop L*urel from committing those murders.

L*urel stopped because she was caught – not because she thinks murder is wrong. She doesn’t express remorse for wanting to kill someone either. She typically has a snippy remark for Dinah and Felicity as she slinks away from the scene of her premeditated murder.

Unfortunately, the writers are treating Bl*ck S*ren’s penchant to murder the same as E1 L*urel’s alcoholism. Felicity and Dinah tell Bl*ck S*ren to put down the drink and convince her to stay on the wagon. But we aren’t talking about booze. Bl*ck S*ren’s addiction is killing people. NOT. THE. SAME. THING. I get it, Dinah. Trust me.

Then there’s Felicity Smoak. She sees the best in Bl*ck S*ren even when she’s at her worst. Primarily because Bl*ck S*ren saw Felicity at her worst and pulled her back from the brink.

Felicity is not a killer because Bl*ck S*ren offered her hope. So, it’s understandable why Felicity refuses to abandon her friend especially now.

But that’s not all of it. Sure, BS was a good friend to Felicity, but that’s not why she is standing by her. The truth is Felicity Smoak is a really good person. She is intensely compassionate, loyal and supportive. Felicity sees the best in people and her ability to pull that light from those she loves is unparalleled. Nearly every character in the Arrowverse has benefited from Felicity’s steadfast encouragement.

I know this aspect of the character often frustrates some people. Some believe Felicity is used to prop up other characters. Her character suffers because she’s constantly launching another superhero.

The fastest way to cultivate a positive fan response to a new character is to filter that character through Felicity Smoak. She represents the audience opinions more often than not. Her popularity has a way of spilling over to problematic characters and it casts them in a more positive light. I don’t deny Arrow employs this practice often.

But I never saw it as a negative. Felicity is the believer. It’s what I love most about her. Diggle is the mind (moral compass) and Oliver is the soul, but Felicity is the heart. She is the hero of heroes.

L*urel L*ance was a wildly problematic character. The writers never quite knew what to do with her and they could never really settle on a personality with a defined set of characteristics.

We never knew what version of L*urel we were going to get week to week.

The writers struggled with her even more after rerouting the central romance away from Laurel to Felicity. Her storylines never seemed to get the necessary focus they required even though it felt like we spent an inordinate amount of time on L*urel. Watching Arrow develop her character was a lot like running in place, as @callistawolf once said.

Her messy history with Oliver also seemed to be the elephant in the room when it came to any friendship with Felicity. There’s never any discussion around the events of the Season 2 finale. Felicity wondered if Oliver’s “I love you” was real and I’m sure L*urel had some questions too.

Did she think it was all a ruse to save her life or did she simply accept that Oliver was really in love with Felicity? It seems like the latter although it’s never actually addressed. If there was any confusion on L*urel’s part I guess 3x01 cleared it up because the only thing on Oliver’s mind was Felicity Megan Smoak.

Arrow likes to pretend L*uriver never happened and it is completely understandable. It’s a bad dream we’d all like to forget,

but L*urel’s central connection to the team remained an ex boyfriend she didn’t like very much. I appreciate the show wanting to define a relationship between Felicity and L*urel outside of Oliver, but ignoring L*urel’s romantic history with him didn’t feel very honest.

Perhaps their friendship would have been more believable if the writers set aside time for L*urel and Felicity to bond outside of Team Arrow, but they didn’t. L*urel just shows up in the foundry and starts barking orders.

Even Felicity questioned their relationship status. Girl, same. They had moments of kindness, but we never saw them work as partners or enjoy each other as friends like Felicity and Bl*ck S*ren.

In fact, one of the most common arguments against L*urel being in the grave was that Felicity would never be that upset because she wasn’t that close to L*urel. HA! A lot of L*urel’s character was built upon telling rather than showing and her friendship with Felicity is one of the many areas the writers made that very frequent mistake.

The writers did not make that same mistake with Bl*ck S*ren. They gave her friendship with Felicity time to develop. They started off as enemies, but as circumstances evolved so did their relationship.

Bizarrely, this is why Bl*ck S*ren’s and Felicity’s friendship feels more honest and earned than anything Felicity had with E1 L*urel L*ance. Bl*ck S*ren’s connection to Team Arrow is through Felicity. She has absolutely nothing to do with Oliver Queen and IT’S FANTASTIC.

The writers tried to connect L*urel through Oliver for four years, but he was never the solution. Felicity is.

Felicity is the solution because she has a big bandwidth when it comes to forgiveness. No one has benefited more from it than Oliver Queen. Murder isn’t a deal breaker for Felicity. She fell in love with Oliver when he was dropping bodies. She barely blinked at Sara’s assassin history. Diggle murdered his own brother and I don’t think Felicity even commented on it. Remember when Roy thought he killed Sara? Who did he tell first? Felicity. She was freaked but calm. Dinah was a murderer and Felicity welcomed her onto the team with open arms. Rene pulled a gun on her and it was totally cool. I mean, sweet mother of Moses she was friends with Curtis Holt and tolerated his mansplaining and misogynistic bullshit, which says it all.

So is it really a shock Felicity is ride or die when it comes to Bl*ck S*ren? No. I identify with Dinah’s frustrations, but recognize Felicity is on the higher road. Simply put, Felicity Smoak is a better person than me. The belief she is giving Bl*ck S*ren is no different than the belief she gave to Oliver or Sara.

So, she’s challenging me as well. I cannot cheer Felicity on when she offers unconditional love to Oliver or Sara or John, but admonish her when she offers the same to L*urel L*ance. Sara was an assassin and I didn’t demand a prison sentence for her.

That said, I see one massive difference between Bl*ck S*ren and Oliver Queen. Oliver was remorseful about his past and crippled with guilt. He didn’t need additional punishment because he was already punishing himself enough. Oliver also spent five years in hell, lost nearly everyone he’s ever loved and is constantly sacrificing his happiness for the greater good.

His redemptive journey is wildly different from Bl*ck S*ren’s. Oliver didn’t get to just toss on a nice suit and call it a day. And he killed bad people!!! So, I maybe I can’t hold Bl*ck S*ren to a higher standard than other characters I love, but I can damn well hold her to the same standard.

So, is L*urel remorseful?

We don’t have to pick between Felicity and Dinah because it is possible to hold L*urel accountable and be compassionate. This is where Sara comes in.

Source: canarygifs

I have been incredibly frustrated with how Arrow has used Sara in the past when she’s come back as a guest star. I’m still ticked she didn’t get a goodbye scene with Quentin. The Sara I know on Legends isn’t always the same on Arrow, but “Lost Canary” is different. The writers give Sara her due and she reflects on her journey in a way she’s been allowed to before.

Everyone knows I’m a huge Lance sisters fan. The one saving grace in L*urel’s Season 2 storyline was when it stopped being about her relationship with Oliver and she began to focus on repairing her relationship with Sara.

I bought into the Bl*ck C*nary storyline in Season 3 because I believed Sara’s death was a life altering catalytic event for L*urel. “The Calm” remains my favorite L*urel L*ance episode and I will always believe Sara is her great love and vice versus. We all need something or someone to live for and that love doesn’t always have to be romantic in nature.

So, Sara coming back to town to protect her sister’s good name and offer some wisdom to Bl*ck S*ren made a lot of sense to me. Sara is the one who pieces together that maybe failing to kill Felicity and Dinah wasn’t a mistake after all. She uses her sisterly intuition and finds Bl*ck S*ren at Quentin’s grave.

Source: canarygifs

Sara gives it to L*urel straight in an EPIC speech. She owns all her past mistakes. Sara cheated with her sister’s boyfriend, let her family believe she was dead and then became an assassin.

Yuuuup. Sara Lance history sure is colorful! Each one of these errors in judgment is an unforgivable offense. And yet, L*urel found a way to forgive Sara. Well, after she blamed her for absolutely everything that went wrong in her and boozed her way through the liquor cabinet, but let’s not get bogged down in the details.

This remains my favorite Lance sister scene of all time because L*urel does not go to Sara offering forgiveness. No, L*urel comes to Sara begging for forgiveness. Despite everything she’d done and everything she suffered, Sara survived whereas L*urel was crippled by her pain. These two women found their way out of the dark together. Sara’s forgiveness put L*urel on a path to sobriety. L*urel’s forgiveness put Sara on a path to heroism. Neither of them truly deserved forgiveness for what they had done, but that’s not the point of forgiveness is it?

It was L*urel’s love, not Oliver’s that gave Sara the second chance she needed. Maybe Sara didn’t deserve forgiveness when L*urel gave it, but it sparked the beginning of her journey towards someone who did. Sara is the Original Canary, the captain of a time traveling superhero squad and the one and ONLY White Canary. She offers the wisdom of her life experience to help Bl*ck S*ren.

Source: canarygifs

She also calls Bl*ck S*ren out on her bullshit. She tried to be a hero for six months. TRYING? SIX MONTHS? She thinks that evens the score for years and years of mayhem, theft and murder?

We’re supposed to feel sorry for BS after she’s spent six months living in a comfortable apartment and getting paid well to do a job she didn’t earn.

Great, she helped Oliver out of prison. She also tried to kill him multiple times, so they aren’t exactly equal yet. When Sara tried to quit the murder business a lethal team of assassins came after her and she had to commit suicide to get them to leave her alone. But L*urel knows the horror of the Balmain double breasted, wool blend jacket. Poor baby.

I forgot she was accused of working with Diaz and lost her job. Yeah, except she did work with Diaz and SHE IS NOT A LAWYER SO SHE SHOULD LOSE HER JOB.

Then there’s being falsely accused of Diaz’s murder. Hmmm… who killed Vinnie again? L*urel being falsely accused of ONE murder compared to the multiple homicides she has committed and has yet to pay for in any real or substantial way does not equate. Yet, here she is with a stick up her ass and expecting everyone to feel sorry for her. You know, I take it back. She really is like E1 L*urel sometimes.

Sara explains what real redemption is and it is my favorite line of the episode.

Source: canarygifs

She’s right. Redemption is not a light switch that can be flipped on. L*urel can’t do a couple nice things and say, “TA DA! I AM REDEEMED!” It’s not how it works. There’s no endgame here. This is something L*urel needs work at for the rest of her life. She needs to fight every day to be a person worthy of forgiveness. When L*urel falls down, or life doesn’t go her way, she can’t throw an evil temper tantrum.

A real hero isn’t looking for a reward. A real hero doesn’t look for someone else to blame. A real hero doesn’t keep score. A real hero sacrifices and fights the good fight because it is the right thing to do. Does Bl*ck S*ren qualify?

No. She is not a hero yet. She is undeserving of the love, compassion and forgiveness Sara and Felicity are offering her.

But we all are undeserving of forgiveness. We are all broken in some way. We all do or say hurtful things. Each of us will either do something unforgivable or feel like we’ve done something unforgivable. What makes the difference in our life is having someone who loves us despite our sins.

We can see the people who have been loved when they are unlovable and those who have not when we look at the landscape of humanity. Sometimes we need a push in the right direction when we are at a crossroads, but not all of us have someone in our life who loves us enough to give one. The ones who do are blessed.

Bl*ck S*ren’s sins are deeply evil. She has dug herself a very large, dark hole. L*urel stopped Felicity from falling down the same hole because she knows there’s nothing but pain, emptiness and loneliness at the bottom. She knows how to stop someone from falling in, but L*urel does not know how to climb out. Bl*ck S*ren is stuck in a self destructive cycle. Felicity fundamentally believes every human being is redeemable if they want redemption, but some need more of a push than others.

The truth is we all need help out of the darkness. We all need someone to love us unconditionally. We all need someone reach down into the hole and offer a hand. But our redemption remains in our hands. It’s not enough for someone to reach out. We have to reach back.

All the evil hijinks boil down to a faceoff with Bl*ck S*ren and Felicity. Felicity tells BS one last time she believes in her, but ultimately it’s not about what she believes. It’s not about L*urel L*ance’s legacy or who Quentin wanted BS to be. This is about who Bl*ck S*ren wants to be. Free will my friends. It is a bitch.

COME ON! Nobody is killing Felicity Smoak least of all Bl*ck S*ren. L*urel is picking out china patterns in her head, so she ain’t killin’ bae. She joins Felicity and the rest of the birds and together they defeat the villain of the week. Sorry I really didn’t pay much attention to the partner.

Source: smoaktechs

In their victory celebration, Dinah decides not to arrest Bl*ck S*ren and even comes up with a get out of jail free card excuse aka “working undercover.” A relieved Felicity tells L*urel that everything can go back to normal.

But L*urel disagrees. It is time to stop running. It is time to stop pretending to be someone she’s not. It’s time to go back to Earth 2. She has to made amends in the place where she created so much pain. I. AM. SCREAMING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No, it’s not a stint in the pokey, but I WILL TAKE IT. Going back to Earth 2 is the next best thing. It addresses my primary problem with L*urel’s redemptive arc and that is pretending to be someone she’s not. Being Earth 1 L*urel L*ance protected Bl*ck S*ren from all the damage she caused on Earth 2. If she really wants a shot at redemption then she has to go back to the place where everyone knows her as Bl*ck S*ren. Earth 2 is where L*urel will be forced to confront everything she’s done and accept responsibility for it. There’s no hiding, running or easy outs on Earth 2. That is the place where an honest redemptive arc can begin.

Felicity understands and gives her a parting gift – E1 L*urel’s Bl*ck C*nary suit.

Source: nyssaalghl

It’s a beautiful full circle moment. I don’t make the rules! Felicity anoints the superheroes, assigns the names and hands out the couture! If she says L*urel should be Bl*ck C*nary on Earth 2 then L*urel is going to be Bl*ck C*nary on Earth 2. Fine with me!

L*urel meets Sara once more at Quentin’s grave. Her story always comes back to Sara no matter what version of L*urel it is. Felicity was the push, but Sara’s words lit the spark. She launched L*urel L*ance’s hero’s journey once again. Cuz see the light?!!!!

Source: canarygifs

This scene also feels like a goodbye to the Lance family. Quentin is gone, L*urel is dead, Sara is off hero-ing through time, and Bl*ck S*ren is returning to Earth 2. This isn’t the end of L*urel’s redemptive journey. It’s the beginning. But it is the first time I believe she might deserve it someday.

Source: nyssaalghl

FLASH FORWARD TIME!

Dinah created the Canary Network to be a support system for women, so someone always had their back. It’s a reminder to Dinah of what she failed to give Bl*ck S*ren once. It’s a whole conglomerate of leather clad ladies supporting ladies! LOOOOOOVE IT!

There is no singular Bl*ck C*nary. No one woman holds the title. It fulfills L*urel L*ance’s dying wish in a way she couldn’t even imagine at the time, which is why it is so fitting.

Unfortunately, Galaxy One massacres the network in “Lost Canary” and Dinah loses fifteen of her girls. It’s a devastating loss for Dinah, but I couldn’t help but cackle a little. Arrow never misses an opportunity to throw a little petty at the LL fandom. Oh you’re made we killed once Bl*ck C*nary? Watch us kill fifteen! How do you like them apples?!

Dinah, Felicity and Zoe want to lay low and regroup after such a big hit, but Mia is fired up and ready for pay back.

Source: amunetblack

Dinah tries to convince her to wait for the surviving canaries to fight back when the time is right, but Mia defiantly says...

Source: amunetblack

It’s like they tailor made her for us fandom. Mia Smoak is perfection on every level.

Dinah calls in some back up to keep an eye on Mia.

L*urel.

She saves Mia from some Galaxy One goons. Unfortunately, the horror show of a wig is back, but let us pray there are less buckles on the suit. The lipstick has changed from black to red so serious upgrade in that department.

Source: dcmultiverse

It’s a beautifully symbolic moment because L*urel saves Mia in an alley where a body of a dead canary is lying. It’s the same kind of alley where Sara fell to her death and launched L*urel’s Bl*ck C*nary journey.

It’s the same kind of alley where L*urel’s journey was foreshadowed in the pilot,

but with a significant change. L*urel is no longer connected to the man in the story, but to the women. Sara, L*urel, Felicity, Dinah, Bl*ck S*ren, Zoe and Mia all weave together in one beautiful thread. Bl*ck C*nary no longer belongs to one woman. It belongs to all of them.

The beauty of this is I don’t have to sit through another half baked Bl*ck C*nary storyline for L*urel. I trust she’s earned the suit on E2. Even better she’s still Bl*ck S*ren. This isn’t 2.0 of E1 L*urel L*nce. Hopefully, all the snarky wit, aptitude for zingers and glowering that made me fall in love with BS remains. I just needed her to stop murdering people. That’s all. All of this means I might finally have a version of L*urel L*nce that I can enjoy.

L*urel gives Mia some wisdom that screams THERE IS GOING TO BE A SPIN OFF,

but what I loved most is L*urel is still trying every day to prove she is a hero.

Redemption is a journey and not a destination. And undeserved forgiveness is often the beginning of that journey. Nobody knows that better than L*urel L*ance.

Stray Thoughts

#Fact. Source: felicitysmoakgifs

Bl*ck S*ren pretending to be L*urel acts somewhat normal. She ratchets up the cheese factor when she's Bl*ck S*ren. I forgot about that.

Emily is having an A+ hair season. Really it's like a Vidal Sassoon commercial every week.

This made me emotional. Source: olicitygifs

"Let's just call her a genius and leave it at that." Hubby is so proud of bae.

Bl*ck S*ren versus White Canary is like a heavy weight boxer fighting a chipmunk.

Felicity and Sara flirting is everything I didn’t know I need. The love triangle was centered on the wrong person in Season 2. It should have been Felicity and not Oliver. Source: ebett

Yup. We all knew. Source: felicitysmoakgifs

“Felicity Smoak is killing people now." Sara is my spirit animal.

Sara has seniority Dinah. It should've been you sitting it out. Respect your elder. Source: canarygifs

The great evil of this episode is the grommet sweater. We must protect the actresses from this atrocity because it's spreading.

This was cute. Source: hollandrooden

Sara has a baby on Earth 2? I NEED THE NAME. WHERE ARE PICTURES?

Don’t tell me L*urel is not in love with Felicity. I know my truth. Source: hollandrooden

Spit my drink out when Sara said this because it’s ridiculous. That said, Arrow continually painting Laurel as a saint is a constant reminder they are never bringing her back. the more Arrow paints Laurel as saint. Source: danverskara

Was it snowing in the future? What was up with the weather?

Disclaimer: Any gifs on the blog are not mine. If you would like a gif removed from my reviews, please message me. 7x18 gifs credited.

The *** in names is so the review doesn’t show up in the tag.

If you’d like to support the blog, please buy me a cup of tea!

#arrow #arrow 7x18 #arrow reviews #olicity #felicity smoak #anti laurel lance #anti black siren #anti black canary #sara lance #anti dinah drake #arrow season 7 #arrow spoilers #arrow season 7 reviews #arrow season 7 review #season 7 episode review #season 7 episode reviews

70 notes · View notes

thethespacecoyote · 5 years

Text

Another Bad Things Happen Bingo! This time “hair matted with blood” and I wanted to give Kylo a little pain and Hux the chance to be a bit of a badass when they get stranded on a jungle moon. Enjoy!Hux regains consciousness to the sound of rain. Hux regains consciousness to the sound of rain.

Hux regains consciousness to the sound of rain.

He flutters his eyelids, groaning as he palms his forehead and tries to sit up. Somethings wrapped tight around his chest, holding him in place, and it takes a moment for him to figure out they’re security belts.

Memories come back to him slowly as his vision swims back to clarity, revealing the small cockpit around him. Right.

Hux had been traveling back from a brief overview of an outpost on Va’art. The ship is a small Chi-class shuttle, meant only for scouting and short-distance interplanetary travel. It held only two seats and a small cargo hold, with no room at all for additional troops. Hux hadn’t think they’d needed them, as the mission that’d been interrupted had been one of negligible danger that only required his and Ren’s presence. Considering his co-commander’s strength and Hux’s skill with his own personal arms, he’d figured they didn’t need anything more.

Hux isn’t about to admit that he’d underestimated the danger, however—as no one, not even a sorcerer like Ren, could have predicted the sudden failure of the shuttle’s engines and the ensuing emergency descent right into a swath of trees.

So much for Ren’s expert piloting skills.

Smugness rises in Hux’s face, before it’s abruptly replaced with fear.

Wait—Ren.

Hux jerks in his seat, eyes falling upon the man sitting besides him. Ren hangs forward, held to his seat only by the belts strapped over his shoulders and criss-crossed over his chest. His arms limply sit in his lap, and when Hux grabs him by the shoulder and tries to sit him up properly his head lolls back to reveal a thick trail of blood streaming down his temple from the edge of his matted hairline.

Hux swallows and brushes away the stiff locks stuck to Ren’s head, uncovering a nasty wound on his scalp. It looks deep and filled with welling blood, probably sustained during the chaos of the crash.

He feels for a pulse in Ren’s neck, his own hammering in his ears as he presses his fingers firmly into his skin. He finds a soft throb, but Ren doesn’t stir when Hux lightly pats his cheek or shakes his shoulder.

“Ren,” Hux cries, voice hoarse from disuse. “Wake up. Answer me.”

When he stays silent Hux claws at the belt strapping him to the seat, nails smarting as he forces himself to stop for the sake of his racing heartbeat. He shuts his eyes tight and tries to breathe, to focus, to think of a plan rather than working himself into a frenzy.

Thankfully the control panel hadn’t been too badly damaged in the crash. At the very least, Hux can still access the emergency distress signal, so hopefully that means help will arrive sooner rather than later. Hux busies himself with that, leaving Ren alone for the time being, before taking stock of the damage to the ship.

The transparisteel shield ensconcing the cockpit has been badly warped in the crash, now unable to complete close and seal the interior off. Hux supposed he should count his stars that the moon they’d landed upon had a hospitable atmosphere, or else it would have already leached inside and suffocated them both.

He’s not sure he could get the shuttle off the ground, even if he knew how to pilot the damn thing. If Ren was awake, perhaps he could help after jibing at Hux’s lack of skill, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. He’d sent out the relief signal but beyond that there isn’t much to do but sit and wait and pray Ren doesn’t die of his injuries in the meantime.

Hux drags a hand over his chin, trying to take the deep breaths needed to slow his racing heartbeat. It’s not so simple, as his chest and stomach smart from where the safety belts had dug into his skin, stressing him further. Surely they’ll be bruised when medical takes a look at them later on, when both he and Ren are safely back aboard the Finalizer. Hux isn’t exactly happy with the idea, but at least he hadn’t sustained worse injuries. At least they weren’t both unconscious, neither able to send out a proper distress signal.

The blood on Ren’s head is still flowing, so Hux grabs the end of his cape from where it drapes over the end of the seat and, with a bit of effort, manages to rip two long strips from it. He balls one up in his fist, pressing it to the side of Ren’s head. He flinches as Hux jostles the wound, but doesn’t wake even as the general clumsily ties the other strip around his head, securing the makeshift bandage in place.

It’s an utter hack-job, but it’s the best Hux can do until help arrives, so he checks Ren’s pulse one more time and settles back in his seat to inspect where they’ve crash-landed.

Outside he can’t see much, the only proper illumination that of Va’art teal-ish glow and the distant background of stars managing to perforate through the rainclouds. He can vaguely make out the uncultivated tops of vegetation, like they’ve landed in the midst of some large forest. One of the planet’s moons, perhaps? Hux vaguely remembers reading that the largest of them is mostly open wilderness.

Hux steals a look out of the corner of his eyes, but Ren’s position hasn’t changed. He still slumps back in his seat, blood on his face trailed all the way down to his chin. The makeshift bandage clapped to his skull already glistens red. Hux sighs tensely.

If Ren isn’t going to wake up any time soon then he hopes rescue arrives promptly. Hux feels he might be driven mad if he has to sit here any longer, listening to the patter of rain on the hull and the chatter of wildlife in the distance.

Just as Hux feels himself start to properly calm down, a screech echoes from the outside of the shuttle. He jolts in his seat, spine painfully straight as his heart surges once more, hammering in anxiety. Just as the first cry fades away another joins it, and another, and another, until the air outside roils with a cacophony of noise.

Hux brushes his fingers against the transparisteel, almost afraid of what he might find looking back at him from the outside in.

Through the veins of rain trickling against the shield he can see shapes prowling out of the thick of the forest, nothing distinct but ominous enough to make Hux shiver. Pinpricks of orange glow like distant torches, moving in pairs about the clearing as they slowly encroach upon the shuttle.

Hux swallows down his fear, brain grasping for a plan. He can’t tell what the creatures are at this distance nor how much a threat they pose to him, but he’s not going to be caught underestimating the situation and putting himself and Ren in further danger.

With the cockpit’s shield damaged there’s nothing much separating them from the creatures circling outside. Hux reasons if they’re ravenous enough they can easily pry open the mangled transparisteel and get at them, as if they were a meal already vacuum sealed in convenient packaging.

But perhaps if Hux can scare them off—

He grabs his blaster from his belt and warms it up, stealing one last look at Ren’s unconscious body before he grips the edge of the crumpled shield and pries it open, the sound of wrenching durasteel cutting across the clearing.

Hux leans partially out of the cockpit, blaster raised. Through the worsening rain he can see the creatures prowling closer, yellow eyes glowing like flares. He swallows down his fear, aims, and fires at the feet of the closest beast.

It yowls as the bright red blaster bolt sizzles into the ground, missing by a hair but Hux hopes it’s enough to scare them off.

“Stay back!” He shouts, summoning all his oratorial power as he prepares to fire another shot should his voice not intimidate them. The creature he missed skulks about the torched grass, already wet with the rain, its large furry tail flicking behind it. It seems the largest of the pack, leading by default of its size. Hux trains the blaster between its orange eyes, trying not to let the rain soaking through his coat distract him. He sees it tense, even at a distance, even through the dark mist creeping down around them.

Hux instantaneously tracks the creature as it leaps through the air towards him, sniping it in the chest with his blaster before it gets too close. It screeches as the bright red bolt buries into its chest and through the heart, killing it outright.

But any exhilaration Hux may feel at the perfect shot quickly bleeds out of him.

The creature’s corpse sails through the air and slams against the side of the shuttle, sending shudders through the entire thing. Hux yelps and falters, losing grip on his blaster as he grabs at the mangled transparisteel, struggling to keep upright. Unfortunately the ragged edges slice at the fingers of his glove, blood slicking his grasp and causing him to fall forward, out of the shuttle and onto the muddy ground below.

Hux gasps at the impact as it rattles through his chest, temporarily knocking the wind from his lungs. Dazed, he struggles to push himself up on his knees, bracing one hand back against the hull of the shuttle. Through his swimming vision he can see the yellow eyes of the creatures stalking closer, apparently undaunted by the death of their fellow, chattering reaching a clamorous volume.

This close, he can see what they are—panthacs, creatures Hux knows only from the Empire’s old holorecords. Prolific breeders and vicious hunters, traits that make them especially disastrous to the local fauna of any planets they’ve been introduced to. As well as any humanoids that might cross them.

Hux’s hand curls around the phantom grip of his blaster, cursing himself for losing hold of it. If only he knew how to work Ren’s blasted saber—but he’d rather not press the wrong button or swing it wrong and risk the whole thing blowing up in his face. He can’t decide which is a worse fate—ripped apart by rapacious beasts on an uncharted moon, or burnt to ash by Ren’s unstable weapon.

Hux squints against the rain and the residual blurriness in his sight, pushing himself up to his full height. He pants, watching the panthacs, their grinning fangs and claws kneading into the wet earth. Looking almost triumphant, if mindless beasts could even have such emotions, now that they’ve finally stripped their prey of his last defenses.

Hux smirks to himself, raising his hand out to the side.

Even without his blaster, he’s not that helpless.

He flicks the vibroblade out of his sleeve, flipping it once before gripping the handle tight. He levels the tip right at the closest of the panthacs, body tensing in anticipation. It tilts its head, orange eyes narrowing as its long tail whips behind it.

Hux’s combat skills concern mostly humanoid opponents, with focus on disarming and deflection. He doesn’t know how to apply that to defense against beasts like the ones stalking him now, but there’s only one way to learn—quickly.

Mud and moss flies as the closest panthac leaps at Hux, giving him only a split second to react. He lunges forward on one leg and strikes out, weapon held sideways in his hand. He nearly loses his grip on the handle as the blade sinks into the creature’s striped flank, slicing its flesh down the ribs. He lets his body follow the momentum of the strike, spinning around to face the panthac as it stumbles to the ground, bleeding heavily from the side besides the other member of its pack Hux had killed.

He spits a little rainwater out of his mouth, keeping an eye on the other panthacs in his periphery as he kicks the injured beast, crushing its damaged flank inwards and finishing it off.

Adrenaline aroused and tingling out from his core down to his fingertips, Hux turns towards the remnants of the pack. Hux anticipates more hesitancy now that they’re down two of their numbers but they only slink closer. He counts four, five of them through the slants of rain, hears their grating cries double in volume through the heavy patter of the rain. A slightly crazed smile flitters over his lips, even as he meets certain death head on.

He wonders if this is what Ren feels like.

Before Hux can blink two of the creatures are sprinting towards him, rain flying off their bristling fur. Hux thrusts the vibroblade through the palate of the first as it tries to bite a chunk out of his arm, though he doesn’t move quick enough to avoid the fang that scrapes his wrist as its jaw shudders in its death throes. He falls back against the hull of the shuttle as he shoves the corpse aside, only for the creature behind it to launch itself at him.

Hux snaps his arm up and out, spearing the beast’s throat on the vibroblade—but not before its claws slash in a sharp diagonal, slicing four long lines across Hux’s chest.

The general collapses along with the creature, back sliding against the hull as his legs give out beneath him. The vibroblade falls from his fingers to sink into the earth beneath him as he tips over on his side, one arm limply dropping over his torso.

Hux coughs, blood spattering over his lips. Even the heavy rain can’t wash it away, nor can it obscure the deep rends carving up his chest. The long claws of the beast have torn right through his uniform, leaving it in red, raggedy strips that reveal the mangled flesh beneath. He presses his hand to his chest in a fruitless attempt to stem the tide, wincing at the awful pain.

Hux is used to bruises and cuts, broken bones and sprains. Deep, ruinous wounds that cut the body to the quick and spill blood like the endless outpouring of rain are new.

Wounds like those he’d found Ren with when he’d dragged him from the collapsing Starkiller Base, the devastating fissure splitting his body from his cheek to his chest. Though it’s covered now in reddened flesh and metallic film, worn like a mark of adversity.

Of course, there won’t be time for Hux’s wounds to heal over into links of pink upon his chest, lines Ren could trace with a smirk as he makes some remark on Hux’s bravery, on how the steely general had put himself in such danger to save the life of a man he’d always claimed to hate.

Darkness bleeds in the edges of Hux’s vision, making the world around him somehow colder and more terrifying than before. He can still make out the cruel orange eyes of the remaining panthacs as they advance upon him, captivated by the spill of his blood.

Stars, he’s going to die here, isn’t he? Ripped apart and eaten by the whole pack of these things. And once they’ve finished desecrated him, they’ll move onto Ren and kill him too, if he hasn’t died already. Unless rescue arrives while they’re gnawing on Hux he’ll be dragged from the cockpit and down onto the muddied earth, or simply eaten where he lies, strapped unconscious into his seat. The two greatest commanders in the Order, now nothing more a bloody feast for mindless monsters.

Hux’s chest hitches as he tries to breath in, only for sharp pain to cut through the effort as he hacks violently, feeling something solid dislodge in his throat.

This has all been for naught.

Through the pound of the rain Hux hears the circling clomp of the creatures’ paws, their shrill calls as they no doubt size up how they’d prefer to eat him. His eyelids flutter, cold spreading through his extremities. He can only hope that he’ll die of his wounds or suffocate in blood before they rip him apart.

Something weighty thumps to the ground right in front of him, sinking deep into the mud. Hux pants heavily and raises his head, trying to meet his death with some last shred of dignity. He can’t see any glistening jaws or looming orange eyes but he still hears the yelps of the panthacs, though they’ve stopped growing louder and instead sound distressed.

The last thing Hux sees before he blacks out is a column of bright, deadly red kindling into life through the rain. Distantly he recognizes the sound of plasma igniting, the warlike growl that cuts above the screaming creatures—but then he knows no more.

——

“General.”

Hux feels fingers brush over his forehead as he starts to wake, though they quickly retreat as soon as he musters his eyes open. He tries to sit up, only for the same fingers to return, firmer, on his shoulder to keep him down.

“You’re healing. Remain still.”

Hux glances in the direction of the voice, heart leaping and—sure enough, Ren sits at his side, so close he almost looms over him. Alive. Just like Hux is.

They’ve both made it through.

“Are…” Hux breathes, trying not to cringe at the crack of his own voice, “are we aboard the Finalizer?”

Ren nods. There’s a large bacta patch plasters above his brow, skin around it slightly yellowed from bruising. His hair is tied up off his face which makes him look strange, more exposed than is usual. The concern in his expression is oddly naked, as if Ren hasn’t the strength or care to hold it back.

“Ah. That’s good. Very good.” Hux half closes his eyes, relieved to finally be back aboard his beloved vessel.

His chest twinges with each falling breath, like when the medics fixed him up they accidentally made his lungs too small. But it’s better, Hux has to admit, than bleeding out on the grass on some savage jungle moon.

“I assume you killed all the creatures?” Hux recalls Ren’s lightsaber from the dark of his memory. “Must’ve been…far easier for you.”

“Easier, because you depleted half their ranks.” Hux looks up at the compliment, a little surprised. Never before has Ren praised his methods, nor much else about him. But the man genuinely looks a bit pleased at Hux’s body count, as if the act of bloody, hands-on killing has brought a new kinship between them.

“I never knew. I always thought your combat experience was…purely theoretical.”

“It is,” Hux scoffs. “Well. Mostly.” He’d gotten into his fair share of deadly scraps at the Academy but—Ren doesn’t need to know about those right now.

“Not anymore, I suppose.” Ren rests his hand against Hux’s wrist, where a bacta patch wraps around the wound left by the panthac’s fang. “You could use further teaching.”

Hux snorts.

“I think I’ll leave the fighting to you next time.” To his surprise, he permits Ren to continue stroking his forearm, touch full of an odd reverence. “Not that it wasn’t affirming, to be the one rescuing you, but I’d rather not have my chest rent open again.”

“A one-time miracle, then.”

“Ah. And you would know about miracles, wouldn’t you Ren? You damn mystic.” Hux smiles, amused to have earned a fraction of his co-commander’s respect. He never thought Ren would regard him with anything but contempt and grudging cooperation. This is entirely new territory, yet Hux isn’t thinking to shun it. It feels good.

Ren stays by him well beyond the point where they stop speaking, absently stroking Hux’s forearm as if to lull him back to sleep. It works surprisingly well

Perhaps once Hux is fully healed, he and Ren will merely return to the way things were before. Nothing necessarily has to change between them thanks to a little life-threatening experience—but Hux might like to command a little more of Ren’s regard, if it makes their relationship somewhat less tiresome.

And if he’d like to continue touching Hux in that strangely tender, curious way of his—well, he might not complain about that either.

#spacetext #long post #fanfic #kylux #hurt/comfort #hux can be a badass sometimes lol #sw #bad things happen bingo

28 notes · View notes

pikkish-moved · 5 years

Text

Best of Both Worlds ~ 15

In which the tables are turned

Chapter 15

Brittany’s Voyage Log - Day 3

We’ve finally found a pikmin, but only one, and a horribly wounded one, at that. It seems the planet’s gotten much more dangerous since our previous visit. Olimar says he isn’t too surprised by this, though; he says each of his own successive trips here have been “fraught with new dangers, pushing my survival skills to new limits every time.” He’s a little dramatic, I think.

Regardless, finding the one pikmin’s only given us more questions. What happened to it? Where are the rest, provided they didn’t suffer- and fail to escape- the same onslaught this pikmin did? What was it that attacked it?

Olimar and Alph seemed awfully excited about something when they came into the kitchen. Alph mentioned something about Olimar being able to “speak pikmin?” Seems a little iffy to me; for as cute as they are, they don’t do much more than squeak. And the only one we have wasn’t doing even that, it was sound asleep in Olimar’s arms! At least it looked comfortable, poor thing.

Furthermore, on the topic of the sleeping pikmin, or, rather, on where the pikmin was going to be sleeping, it seems Olimar is going to have a roommate until we can find an onion. Charlie suggested letting it stay in the cargo bay, as even though there’s a crack in the hull, the pikmin can still breathe oxygen, but the numbskull didn’t realize there’s less air in our nightly low orbit, not to mention the extreme temperature drop would likely freeze anything- plant or animal- to death in a matter of minutes.

Olimar was pretty quick to volunteer to share his cabin at that. And the pikmin seems to be doing fine in the Drake’s artificial atmosphere, despite the difference in element levels. Perhaps it’s capable of surviving more gasses than just oxygen? Most of the plants on PNF-404 process carbon dioxide according to my research, so maybe the pikmin is capable of subsisting on that, due to its plantlike qualities. Olimar asked that, should I follow up on this line of inquiry, I share the results with him, because, despite apparently having had a rather large number of pikmin on board his ship at some time in the past (though, I’ve never heard of white or purple pikmin), he’s never had time to research it.

It’s been decided that tomorrow, we’re going to return one more time to the Wavecrash Shorline. Olimar seems insistent that he can get the pikmin to lead us to any others that may be in the area. I’m a little skeptical, but I guess it’s worth a shot. It’s not like we have much to lose that we haven’t risked already!

✿✿✿

Brittany stood in the sand beside the Drake, staring off into the vast expanse of water to the west. Behind her, Charlie and Alph were both watching as Olimar attempted to explain to the pikmin what he wanted it to do. Brittany had gotten bored of seeing the pikmin’s blank, confused state after the fifth or sixth attempt.

Brittany thought this planet’s oceans were incredible. There was nothing quite like them back on Koppai, no place where there was water as far as the eye could see. Nothing so deep, either. It made Brittany wonder what sort of life could possibly be lurking below, and what potential there was for undersea, fruit bearing flora. Was it possible that the unnatural biology of this planet could grow something that could withstand the incredible pressure the water would place on it at such a depth?

Brittany was snapped from her thoughts by a loud, sudden trill from the pikmin. Turning around, she saw it had straightened up, it’s ripped up leaf pointed straight skyward. It made for something of a comical sight, the little red creature swathed in white bandages, standing in the sand, eyes wide with excitement. Then, with a slight gesture, tapping its fingers to its chin, it let out another shrill squeak (accompanied by it rocking back on its heels in a movement that looked like a child blowing with all their might into a whistle), and turned and began to march away at a shockingly fast pace, considering the limp caused by its bandaged foot.

“I’m not an expert in pikkish,” Charlie said with a smile at Olimar, (Pikkish? Brittany wondered. Did he really make up a name for a fake language?) “But I think it wants us to follow it.”

Olimar nodded with a grin. “It certainly would seem so!”

And so, the trio of Koppaiates and the Hocotatian followed along behind their pikmin leader.

#pikfic #pikmin #pikmin fanfiction #captain olimar #alph (pikmin)#bobw fic #brittany (pikmin)#captain charlie (pikmin)#honestly the image of a single pikmin marching around leading the crew was one of the first things i came up with for this story #like i had it before i had any sort of idea for a plot #also if youre wondering #yes it totally was mimicking a captain blowing a whistle to gather the pikmin #linguistic learning goes both ways here!#also #apparently i can only write in two very specific situations #1) im very bored and have absolutely nothing else to do #or #2) i have to get up and go to work in 5 hrs so now is a perfect time to stay up another two hours writing #there is no in between

24 notes · View notes

asryakino · 5 years

Text

Bowden’s Cure Ch 2

-----------

The long range comms picked up the larger ship only a few moments before the communication request came in. Nev just happened to be at the controls, calibrating the engines with Tyran when it came through. He send the request right back to the ship. Everyone had gotten at least six cycles of rest, most had been working on various repair, cleaning, or research. And Bowden, refreshed after a full nine had a chat with a few potential targets among the crew. He'd also put more than a few credits in the pool, his chits were on Del having pissed off some Terran high house. Del, to his credit, wasn't positive it wasn't his fault. The situation was still bothering Bowden, however, as something still didn't add up. That was when Mariele approached him. "Captain?" The quiet voice interrupted his throughts, the return comms signal had already gone through, and he was brushing off the signature coat. It took him longer than he would have admitted to realize where the quiet, unassuming voice came from.

Mariele rarely spoke. In fact, he could barely recall a time he'd heard more than a hundred words from her in the entire pont she'd been on the ship. "Mari." He answered shortly, then looked at her. She was frightened. No, she was terrified. His plates knitted together and he bent down to be just a bit closer to eye level. "What happened?" "I think it's my fault." Came the quiet, afraid response. Well, that got all of his neurons. He raised a hand, signaling to Nev with a snap. A wordless signal to get his second in command on deck -now-. "Mariele… what makes you think they're targeting you?" The old captain's brain was firing left, right and centre trying to place where they'd picked the blue-skinned Terranform. Some off spiral supply station? She'd been some stowaway on a cargo ship… "Captain." The short response came from his right side. "Aqua, Mariele seems to think our new friends may be her old friends. Thoughts?" By this point the blue-skinned and crystal eyed former stowaway looked as though she was going to shake herself to pieces on the main deck. Aquatani looked her over, smiled gently and seemed to regard her for several drops. "It may be possible, Captain. But the pool is still in Del's favour." The weak attempt at humour made Bowden stand just a tick stiffer.

"Get everyone on board. Nev, finish those calibrations while we're idle, disengage from the base and send them on their way." Things were lining up in Bowden's mind. He turned, a little sharper than he intended to, toward the terrified form of the ship's assistant medic. "I'll say again, whatever happened, I don't care about specifics. That's a past life. However." He bent his overly large frame, seemingly larger now that he'd put the ugly brown coat back on. "You're shaking worse than a leaf in a devil wind, Mariele. I won't ask but one question. Did you tell Aqua?" His second looked to him, Mariele looked shocked and, somehow, more frightened. Which told him everything he needed. He nodded shortly. "That's all I need. Aqua, I expect a full report -later-." He emphasized, then stood back to his full height. A hand went down on the innership comms console. "All crew, get your asses back on the Bowden. Now."

The false asteroid was floating away not even a cycle later, lost to the orbital cloud field and cloaked among the debris by the time the larger ship came into the ship's visual range. She was scuffed, tired, and old. But she was patiently waiting. So when the short range comms pinged with an open request, Bowden was ready to answer. On the screen a half dozen Terrans were poised at various positions. All slicked hair, multi-coloured private industry uniforms, and uninterested expressions. A sharp contrast to the distinctly inTerran crew consisting of: a purple, four-armed Gaarth captain; a skinny brown six-armed Klaxon navigation; a Terran-shaped android with blue covering and short white hair; and a pair of avian-like crewmembers in black/red and white. Neither crew looked particularly happy, though both captains wore vaguely acceptable neutral expressions.

"Greetings to you Polaris. Have we finished our game of tag?" Captain Hasser smirked. "Bit of engine trouble caused a slowdown, I suspect?" He allowed a smug twitch of his lip. "I have business with you Bowden, concerning a rather dangerous cargo you're carrying." "We're not a cargo ship, and you're being a bit rude, Captain. Seeing as you know me and mine, but didn't introduce yourself and your blind ship." The Terran seemed briefly insulted, or surprised. "Right. I did get a bit ahead of myself. My most sincere apologies, you must understand. Tales of your ship and crew do spread to the far systems from one arm to the next." He gave a short bow at the waist, the bare minimum of Captain-to-Captain respect. "I'm Cassian Hasser, Captain of the Startear. We'll speak more in person, Captain Bowden. I really am quite honoured to meet you face-to-face." He didn't allow a response, cutting the communication even as the smaller ship shook from the impact of tow cables. Bowden made a rude grunt in his throat before hitting the innership comms. "Crew, lock down in bunks. Essential crew to the top deck. We're being boarded."

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

"Welcome aboard. Captain Cassian." Bowden didn't hide his displeasure at the Terran man's actions. But neither was he hostile. It was simply the proud demeanor of a leader who didn't appreciate the invasion of another. Cassian, on the other hand showed and gave off no air of ill will. Only the apparent unearned superiourity of most Terran high races "I've no fight with you, Captain Bowden. Just the opposite. I've grown up hearing the tales of you, your ship, and your crew. It's inspired countless others to take up a helm into the stars." "So you ran us into the dirt for nearly four docyce because of… admiration? Most just send a card. Some send explosives." Bowden gave his mimic of a Terran smile. His mandibles never -quite- getting the shape right, so it came across as nearly threatening. "Not at all." Cassian looked upward at the (In)famous captain. "But you're carrying an Atlemarian." He stated simply with finality.

Bowden stopped briefly. That statement threw him. "Do I look like the kind of man who would put myself, my crew, and every port I've ever been to in that kind of danger? There's no Atlemarians on this ship." If Bowden ever dealt in positives. This was the one thing even he knew. Atlemaria was a plagued world. Quarantined for generations now with the only surviving populations being deformed by plague scars. An interstellar prion disease that had ravaged three star systems before being contained via extreme measures. He'd seen the pain and suffering the Atlemarian disease had caused, the lives it had ripped down. "Terrifying. Isn't it?" Cassian's voice broke through Bowden's moment of thought. The Gaarth's eyes landed on, and narrowed at, the Terran Captain. "Not really. Since there's no such passenger on this ship. I keep extremely precise manifests, you're welcome to look them over." He shot back shortly. His secondary arms, folded under the ugly brown coat began to open. Aqua moved a half step closer to him, discreetly pressing her elbow into his hip. "I'll have a look. But while I inspect the manifest, my crew will search her out." A gloved hand lifted, sending two lines of Terran crew strode across the barrier and began making their way to the crew decks with an uncomfortable familiarity. "It won't take long, I assure you." That smug tone infuriated Bowden more than anything. More than the everlasting case, the stress, and the capture. Just that Terran smugness that he hated -so- much. Bowden's mandibles clicked slightly. He lifted a hand toward Fakeer, who delivered the manifest log in a tense handoff to the man.

"Who, precisely are you with? If you don't mind my asking. If the situation was this important, why go through all…" He motioned glibly with one large purple hand, eyeing the bold man. "I'm a privately interested party. We're researching the disease itself in search of a cure." "There is no cure. They've sought one for six generations and-" "Not yet. There isn't." Cassian interrupted. "But there is hope for one. Specifically in the 'Marian you've been unwittingly trafficking." "And I'm telling you I've never picked anyone up from that arm of th-." Bowden was growing annoyed, his hand balled tightly and resting on the back of his console. A high-pitched, terrified yelp broke through his defense and he turned sharply.

Bowden wasn't the only one to respond in defense of the terrified noise his medical assistant had made. He heard the distinct sound of four barrack doors open, and had to bark out a sharp "Quarters!" before Mariele's 'siblings' came out. The last thing he needed was a pissed off Deloth male trying to rip the arms off a dozen Terrans. He straightened up, as if he'd suddenly had a quasar steel rod implanted in his back. The doors slid shut. One. Two. Three. He turned to Aqua sharply. Who stalked, stiffly and straight, down the barracks. Four. Slowly he turned toward Cassian. Who, even if only briefly, seemed to realize -something- had been averted. Though he maintained the façade of being correct in his actions. Bowden carefully cleared his throat, Mariele was escorted to the ship-to-ship barrier by three Terrans who stood around her. He could see her. Unhurt, but shaking. He turned pointedly toward Hesser. "You seem to have mistaken my Glaxian medical assistant for your missing 'Marian plague victim, Captain. Considering her state of. A-hem, dress when we found her discarded with the rotten cargo, I can assure you, personally, she has no Atlemarian disease scars, or signs of ever having been to any affected planet in the Aquallous Arm." He squared his shoulders, rolling the tightened muscle down and discreetly shifting the tension down his smaller support arms, still folded tightly under the oversized coat. He tried to relax his expression, attempting to play off the mistake as some kind of joke. "Though I can see how, to a high Terran eyes, Glaxian and Atlemarians could look alike. I would suggest you release our medical assistant back into our care, since you're clearly mistaken." There was an edge to his tone. An edge that in the past had turned such smug men of multiple races into jelly-kneed apologists. A tone that promised the dislocation of several important body parts. A tone that did not fuck around.

And it fell flat on the Terran man. Who eyed Bowden, then casually passed the manifest log forward, holding it out as simply as if he had merely borrowed a tissue. "This is why we didn't simply attack you. To give her time to come to her senses. To realize who we were. To inform -you- of the truth, and do the right thing. A shame that the selfish creature has allowed you to live so ignorantly on your own ship, Captain Bowden. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you. But this woman…" Cassian reached blindly toward Mariele, snatching her wrist and pulled her forward, holding her up until her limbs were stretched out and she was balanced on her toes alone. He thrust her forward. "Has lied to you since day. One. Had we attacked, you would have defended her to your own last life. And no one should die for the lies of another. We tracked her after she escaped the quarantine zone on a supply crate. It took nearly a full urt to find out she had hidden away on -your- ship." He frowns sourly. "A ship that is so well known, so well protected, and so infamous that attacking without retaliation would be impossible. Sneaking aboard would be suicide. And simply requesting you turn her over would be fruitless." Bowden's body tensed. Had Aqua not returned and firmly lay a hand on his arm to physically remind him of what was at risk, he would have lunged forward and begun relieving the Terran m an of his digits. "Tell him." Cassian hissed. "Are you an Atlemarian?"

Mariele flinched, tears welled in her crystal clear eyes, her head nodded silently, tension leaving her body as a quiet sob caught in her chest. "My… name… is J'mari L'emuin… n-not Mariele J'nai." The small voice managed to hiccup out the name. Aquatani's hand gripped to Bowden's forearm in silent affirmation. Bowden's shoulders remained tense, even as he inhaled slowly. Cassian lowered the tiny woman until she was flat on her feet, shifting his grip to her shoulder. "Why?" It was all Bowden could manage. A single word that held a dozen questions. Both for the Terran, and his formerly trusted crewmate.

"Why… doesn't she have scars? Why hasn't anyone ever gotten sick, if she's been exposed to infection? Why did she flee the quarantine zone?" Cassian eyed the massive Gaarth with the self-assurance born of having answers. Why did she come to your ship of all the ships she could have escaped to?" Bowden nodded mutely, his face plates knitted so tightly across his expression they very nearly formed a mask. "She's immune." Cassian said shortly, simply. Just as if it were the answer to every question Bowden could ever have. "Fucking impossible." Bowden snapped. "It's true. One of -four- born on the entire planet. Different areas, different families, the exact same immunity. Total protein destruction. Not built immunity. Not an adapted immunity. Neither learned nor medical. Born immune, it can't even incubate in their blood. The rarest blood in the known universe." An emotion passed over Bowden. The expression on Cassian's face was changed. His tone only barely masked the excitement he felt, and just barely, a motion that would never have been noticed by another, he squeezed Mariele's wrist. "And she ran to the Star Farer himself. The one man in the entire universe who would never question her lie, who would allow her to join without an ounce of hesitation. The one ship in all the arms that she felt could protect her secret. Polaris-class, the most well known ship for nine galaxies, feared by another fifteen. Thomas Bowden and her Captain of the same name." Conceit oozed from the man as he explained. The self-same superiourity that made Bowden want to rip his smug little arms from their snug little sockets. Self-assured that he had all the answers and could lourde it over everyone on the main deck. "Over an urt I looked for her. I chose the least violent and safest way to retrieve her. This precious 'Marian child that holds within her the possible cure for the worst disease in the entire universe. Everyone's heard the stories of what you went through facing the disease when your crewmates fell to it. Had you been infected you'd've been locked on the planet with them." Bowden remained still. If he was breathing, even Aqua couldn't be sure. To break him free of the apparent spell, she squeezed his tightly coiled arm.

The squeeze made him inhale sharply. Deep blue eyes focusing suddenly, intently, intensely, on the other captain standing before him, delicate fingers laced around the even more delicate wrist of his medical assistant. He'd heard enough. Tension rolled out of his shoulders and down his back, making his shoulders droop in defeat. His head fell forward and his hands unclenched. Inch by inch, tension and anger rolled away from his posture. When he spoke the Gaarth's voice was as calm as it ever was and nearly emotionless. His eyes focused on his crewmate. He neither raised it in anger, nor lowered it in intimidation. His words were soft, unjudgemental, and seeking only the reassurance of truth. "Is what he said true?" Mariele/J'mari held back the sobs that wanted to wrack her body. She bite back on the tip of her tongue to return his calm that was as deep as any sea. She quivered in the firm hold Hasser had on her shoulder and wrist. The truth was the only thing she had left. It had been laid out succinctly before everyone. There was more, but the fingers digging subtly into her flesh wouldn't allow more to be said.

"Yes."

Aqua squeezed Bowden's arm once again. He still didn't look up. He didn't speak another word for a long time; nor did it seem he expected anyone to break the silence between those on the tired old ship's deck. His shoulders remained limp, and a hand that seemed to move with the weight of a star on it pulled through the fog of his decision and lay atop the comforting and reassuring hand on his arm. "I can't risk the Atlemarian Prion being released on my ship. Immune or not, Atlemarian children cannot be welcomed on this craft. Thank you Captain Cassian for telling me honestly and without malice or desire about the danger to my crew. I wish you luck in your search for a cure." Mariele's expression fell. She'd betrayed the trust of her captain. Of course he wouldn't defend her. Her voice failed. Words she desperately wanted to shout toward Bowden died in her chest as she saw his defeated shoulders. She betrayed her captain… Her body lost its will, legs losing the strength to hold her up. Cassian swept her into his arms. Had he been a bit more noble, and a bit less haughty, it would have been a sweet motion. As he spoke, Cassian gestured with his chin for his crew to leave the ancient Captain's ship. The air had grown so thick Cassian had briefly considered if it could actually storm in such a confined space.

"Thank you, Captain. The sacrifice you make today shall fuel the world of tomorrow." Captain Hasser swept the smaller woman's form through the connection and back toward his own ship. Within just a couple of moments, the connection was pulled away and the languishing ship was free to float in space as it was. While the larger ship slowly began to turn around. Within a few ionfel it had charted a new course and flung itself into space; leaving behind the Thomas Bowden and her somber crew.

They waited. The ship sat silent and still. Subtly, quietly, the computer system chirped away in calculations. When the ship was well out of sensor range, a flurry of activity stirred in her belly. "They're clear. All scans confirm Star Tear is out of range, left nothing behind." Kitani's voice was the first to cut through the thick silence. Below, the amorphous Engineer called up. "Engines calibrated."

"Ten… nine… eight…" Bowden's rumbling voice counted down from where his head remained bowed in somber contemplation. "Seven… six…" His head raised up, the expression determined, newly refreshed, and… excited. "Six… five… four…" Now as he counted down, he began moving around the flight deck. At the helm, Nev's six limbs dances over consoles, controlling four panels' worth of information effortlessly. While Fakeer and Kitani moved to the barracks deck with a renewed vigor, as if their tail feathers had been lit aflame. "Three… two…" Aqua was counting as well, moving with the speed and efficiency of a madwoman on a mission. The barracks were filled with heavily armed crewmates. Ready to go to war for their beloved crew member. Bowden's eyes told of the rage he had broiled down, concentrated into his gut so tightly he could feel his insides roiling against each other as if they would burst any moment. As the engines whirred into a new life, the ship rumbled with a renewed purpose. Gunner seats sat empty, but enticing. With the new information Bowden had his decision. He would be going to the ends of the universe. But before they could pick up the wayward crewmate, there were a few stops they needed to make. Engines hot, the ship took off through the Orbital field.

"One."

#Tales of The Thomas Bowden #Bowden #sci-fi original

3 notes · View notes

detachhunter · 5 years

Text

Strange, random, dreams with plot are the best, especially when they remind me that I’d not only be a Knight, but also a sniper if I really could be lmao. HELP! Dreams like this also just…Give a lot of writing inspiration too for things I work on, hmm.

We’re special forces soldiers a part of a larger team, six of us in total, and we’re currently deployed on a mission. Four members of the team is engaged elsewhere from me and my partner’s location, but they’re keeping tabs: their objective is to secure one of the smaller ships from the enemy’s port that we’re infiltrated and head out through the frozen sea to secure a weapons depot platform close to the halfway point in the intersection (basically in the middle of nowhere). My team on the other hand is to stay at the main port and take out the incoming truck cargo: wasting supplies, munitions, and weapons, etc. loaded onto heavy armour trucks in a convoy. Getting into position and setting up, my partner becomes my spotter and makes sure no one finds us, while I simply lay down on a half-secured ‘mountain’ of hard snow getting ready and comfortable. (I remember my vision was pretty blurred every time I looked through my scope, but I never fixed that…)

Waiting for the perfect shot, I got a time from my partner on when the full convoy arrives and that they parked almost bumper to bumper as they were being processed. I take my shot with a compact armour penetrating explosive round that rips through the front truck’s windshield and straight through to the back with the cargo, creating an explosion that chain reacts with all the other trucks (by chance of the dream or because this world has stupid explosive rounds, idk). Also there were seven trucks (if I remember right). Though once the explosion happens, we slide off our cover and book it into one of the port’s main processing and shipping areas that connects to the shipyard; my partner reminds me this is a civilian workplace that has strict timetables which explains why it’s so empty.

As we’re running through the building’s loading district, we can hear enemy forces outside looking for us, though it’s mostly a helicopter zooming by overhead probably trying to get a better spotter from the air in case we’re outside still. As we’re going through the facility, my partner is kicking open doors for us, securing and holding the door open for me as we pass through, I seem to be a lot slower than him and even remember commenting, “Sorry, I’d run faster but my rifle’s heavy” (I remember the weight of that thing being quite a lot along with the rest of my equipment load). My partner simply says he understands, and we get deeper into the work place.

Once we get towards the center of the building again (there seems to be a lot of roof windows here) the helicopter flies overhead again; my partner makes a comment of, “Lucky the place is mostly out for lunch right now, ey?”. Deciding to go a bit further into the building to avoid any more roof windows, I suggest if I could go to the roof, I could easily take the chopper out, however we never confirm that plan as we run into two other operatives from the reserve team that had also infiltrated with us. I seemed to have specifically noted that the shorter, less carry load trooper seemed almost too young to be a soldier (especially for SpecOps), but I knew the other quite well, so I trusted his judgement in potentially bringing a rookie.

The reserve team explains that they’ve commandeered a ship-sub for us to take back to our nearby aircraft base and that the kid is also an expert pilot, which is why he’s here; now that our primary objective has been completed, we’re to reconvene and assist the other team with theirs. We agree, and I’m handed off a special right-hand glove with no explanation, but I replace my current glove with it anyways. It’s then that we’re found by a single enemy soldier scouting ahead of their team and I basically shoot them point blank with my rifle (in which they basically evaporate from my current rounds being used). Moving out to the main shipyard line, my partner and the reserve team get aboard the sub-ship (it’s hard to explain, but what I remember was something mixed between a small flat surface shore ship and a submarine), but I resign to stay and finish picking off any additional enemy supplies and possible aircraft that might prove to be a problem in the long run. My partner seemed hesitant, but eventually agreed with my decision. Getting a confirmation from the other team that they’re close to approaching the depot, my partner and the reserve submerge and head off to the RV point that is our secret aircraft base.

Several minutes after the sub-ship has departed, I begin securing the area when a stealther suddenly appeared and tackles me down, causing us to roll a bit. I seemed quite determined to keep my rifle protected in that instance, holding it close and tight, even shielding it. I try to kick the stealther off, but we just continue to roll, punch, and hit one another until I finally decide to drag us both down into the freezing sea waters since we’re at the edge. Locking my arm tight around my sniper rifle, seemingly resigned to drown us both and drag us down with my carry load, I keep a grip on the stealther but they somehow managed to slip free and secure themselves. Basically freeze-drowning to death, my ‘hibernation’ unit activates and puts my body in shock, but also into a suspended state of death where I’m technically both dead and alive simultaneously until recovered and it’s deactivated (idk the full explanation, I just seemed to know how this shit worked in my dream LOL).

Recovering my (technical) corpse not long after the unit had activated, the stealther goes through my equipment, finding that the freezing waters had rendered most of it and the tech on my person non-functional, but do they manage to fish my locator out and track the reserve squad’s progress and route. Using their own ship-sub, they take me and eventually catch up with the reserve team and my partner before the tunnel transition, likely trying to use me as leverage too as both sub-ships surface and they face each other from the flat surfaces. However, before any ‘negotiating’ can begin the tunnel transition begins, suddenly shifting it from horizontal to vertical which throws the stealther off as they activate their boots maglocks, but they lose grip and my body tumbles, and I literally slam into my partner.

Catching me, he deactivates my hibernation unit (which is also located in the throat for…Some reason) which wakes me in a throw of shock, and I cough up water. However there’s panicked yelling telling me to shoot: I’m mostly frozen stiff, I don’t have any focus whatsoever and my body’s trembling from nervous system overload and freezing. I somehow manage to pry myself subconsciously with my rifle and take an improper mounted shoulder-based shot that gets a prefect kill and a hard recoil to the shoulder before blacking out again.

And then I woke up.

#Some Knight Speaks #The Knight Dreams

2 notes · View notes

comeondowntosouthparkrpg-blog · 5 years

Text

Bradley Christian

out of character info

Name/Alias: Tots

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 19

Join Our Discord: yea why not lol mine is cursed bitch #0955

Timezone: EST

Activity: it honestly really depends- between 6-8 on a good day tho

Triggers: n/a

Password: Jimmy can fastpass my ass

Character that you’re applying for: Bradley(not THAT one. the one from season 11 episode 2 Cartman Sucks)

Favourite ships for your character: Bradley x Butters, Bradley x chemistry

in character info

Full name: Bradley David Christian

Birthday: December 25th

Sexuality, gender, pronouns: closeted homosexual, male, he/him

Age and grade: 18, senior

Appearance: Temporary face claim is Valter Torsleff. Bradley is a very nervous person and it shows in his nubby fingernails, in the way that his shirts are wrinkled from clutching at them, the dark circles under his eyes and the way they dart around. He’s tall but it’s difficult to tell from the way he hunches over in some attempt to try and hide himself. At his full height Bradley is six foot even. His body is pathetically scrawny making him look like you could easily snap him in two. Seriously, get this kid a fucking sandwich or something.

Bradley has pasty skin, blue-grey eyes and short curly golden blond hair that’s shaved at the sides. He’s always clean shaven and has a gaunt, oval shaped face with a pointy chin. He speaks quickly and mumbles frequently.

His clothing is well put together- mostly because his parents still choose his wardrobe for him. Button down shirts. Nice slacks and shoes. Business casual is the best way to describe his wardrobe. He has a few casual looking articles of clothing(t-shirts that are either plain or have some stupid cheesy christian slogan or a scripture on it, maybe cargo shorts or sweatpants) but he’s very seldom seen wearing these. Usually they’re reserved for when he’s lounging at home or if it’s a required part of a uniform.

Personality: Christianity is Bradley’s whole world. It’s what he sleeps, eats, drinks and breaths. He wants nothing more than for the holy spirit to get inside him( ;) ). He spends hours and hours pouring over the bible, devotionals and other forms of christian media to keep himself in check. Deep down however he’s disgusted by all this and loathes it all but his irrational fear of god and his parents keeps him going.

He’s an extraordinarily anxious and timid person with twitchy hands and is consistently easy to startle. He’s a closeted homosexual, having gone through conversion therapy and been considered cured. Bradley knows he’s gay and he hates this part of himself. He’s full of internalized homophobia. He’ll do whatever he has to in order to try and ‘fix’ this part of himself. So far nothing has worked.

Because of his heavy involvement with the church Bradley is repressed in the sense that he doesn’t know who he is or what he likes that isn’t involved with the church. Any hobbies he has, any personality traits, has to be somehow linked to christianity. It makes him a boring person since he has nothing else to talk about but God. He doesn’t know what else to talk about because he’s never been allowed to think about anything else. Because of this, most people brush him off and he’s used to that. However he has a hard time being as adamant to people about converting them then other people in his church, he’s more timid and is worried about upsetting other people.

History: Having grown up in a heavily conservative, christian home, Bradley David Christian has known nothing but religion his whole life. Within a week of his birth, he had gone to church for the first time and continued to go for the entirety of his life. His parents were completely and totally enthralled with christianity and wanted nothing more than for Bradley to be every bit as religious as them.

His relationship with his parents is… less than ideal to be putting it lightly. They’re controlling and invasive. They put everything under a microscope and leave him with little to no privacy. They choose his wardrobe, choose if he’s allowed to continue being friends with someone or not, go through his phone and social media accounts and so on and so forth. Bradley knows this isn’t normal but there isn’t really anything he can do about it seeing as he still lives with him and is too young to be on his own. So he just tries to appease them and keep them as happy as possible, working to be their wet dream of a child.

The church he went to was very conservative and pushed the ‘Fear the Lord’ mentality leading him to being constantly anxious about having any sort of sin weighing on his soul. The idea of hell is terrifying, and he would do anything to avoid being sent there. Convinced that the rapture could occur at any given moment he worked to have his soul constantly free of sin. His parents had successfully indoctrinated their son into their religion.

As Bradley grew older, he started to notice that he was developing an attraction to the same sex and that terrified him. He prayed to God to fix him and when that didn’t work, tried to hide it. But eventually his parents found out and sent him to Camp New Grace.

The camp didn’t change Bradley(There was a brief period of time where a certain boy with a cute smile and bubbly laugh that made him think maybe it was okay to be gay but that hope was quickly squashed). In fact it probably left him in a worse state than when he first entered. But he could certainly convince himself that it did. Thinking he was cured, he was sent home only to discover, much to his chagrin, that he was still plagued by these demons. But the very last thing that Bradley wanted was to be sent back to that place so from that day forwards he did everything in his power to hide and repress that part of himself. After all, Camp New Grace did always say that being straight, being NORMAL, was a choice. So he could just…. choose to be hetero. He would be his own accountabillibuddy and keep himself in check.

Bradley became an extremely active member of the church, had brief relationships with girls that always ended with frustration and tears, ran the christianity clubs at his school, maintained perfect grades and above all tried to keep his life as free from sin as possible. But deep down he still felt that gnawing guilt in his heart knowing that he really was. The reminder clung at the back of his mind like a tumor. Whispering to him that no matter what he did, he would never be rid of it. It kept him up at night, made his heart pound in his chest when the church talked about the sin that was homosexuality, made him sweat when he tried to deny just how much a boy’s laugh could make his stomach flip or a smile could make his face heat up. But if he could keep himself pure, maybe- just maybe God could overlook that and he wouldn’t be sent to burn in the fiery pits of hell.

A kid could hope.

Sample paragraph: A success story. That’s what they called him. A shining example of how homosexuality was a choice, that Bradley had been able to overcome his sinful urges and become a pure, gleaming light for the Lord Almighty.

The thought burned like acid in his throat, ate at his stomach, twisted his guts into painful knots. He was a liar and he knew it. He knew he was sinning every time his heart flipped when a handsome boy would call his name. Sinning when only thoughts of masculine voices could stir a fire in the pit of his stomach. Sinning every night when all he had was his own thoughts and fantasies.

It was ripping him apart, all the lies, the lust, the desires- he was an abomination wearing the skin of a holy man. Did that make him worse than the average sinner? He prayed, day and night, for forgiveness from a God he both feared and worshiped.

“Bradley, why don’t you share with the congregation how you were you able to overcome these desires?” the pastor asked, a smug gleam in his eye. Wasn’t pride a sin?

“W-well-” His hand twitched as Bradley had to remind himself to not lift his hand and chew at it. Instead he settled for rubbing the back of his neck, fingers catching on locks on the back of his head and anxiously tugging. Scriptures- scriptures- “As Matthew 26:41 says, ‘Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.’. So uh, I prayed. A lot. And the power of prayer… helped me overcome my temptations?"

The priest smiled like Bradley had gotten a correct answer on a test. His anxiety lessened for only a brief moment. The fear, the anxiety was always at the back of his mind. His hand pulled away from his hair to clutch tightly at his chair. This was humiliating. He didn’t want a soul to know about how he had struggled. How he was still struggling. But here Bradley was, in front of a group of kids lying to them about how they too could overcome temptations and sin to become pure in the eyes of God. He licked at his dry lips. “I’ve even uh, been able to have a few girlfriends.” His eyes darted at the kids and saw himself in their faces. “Anything is possible through the power of God.”

The way the priest smiled, his lips curling, made Bradley feel sick. Did he know what was going on in his head? Was he aware of the lies pouring from his lips or was he just proud of his ability to ‘fix’ people? Bradley wanted to vanish from here. Being near one of these conversion therapy places was the last thing he ever wanted but his parents insisted it would be ‘good’ for him to share his story. They’d arranged everything, written the emails for him and sent him here.

“Now, do you still experience those old…. Urges?”

Did the way his head shot up make him look guilty? “What? Uh- no- I mean uh-” Lying. He hated it. “Y-yeah. But I just pray to God in those moments. And he helps me.”

The priest’s face tightened, lips pressed into a thin line and a quick nod followed. Bradley felt like someone had stuck a knife into his stomach and twisted it. Should he have said something different? But the holy man laughed- “Well maybe you should come back and do our little program! Just kidding.” Bradley could taste metal in his mouth at the thought but forced out a laugh of his own.

“M-maybe!"

His limbs felt like tightly wound coils, ready to spring out of the chair and run from here. His muscles were tense and he couldn’t keep himself still. Hands gripping, twitching, leg bouncing, eyes darting. Did he look like a liar or just like someone with stage fright?

“Well, thank you for coming and speaking with us Bradley. God truly has blessed you.” Was it over? Relief washed over him. He smiled and lied once more.

“It was good to be here.”

Headcanons: nervous tick extraordinaire. He constantly tries(and fails) to break his finger biting habit through using fidget toys and fidgeting in other ways but always goes back to it. He has a tendency to pull at his hair as well as recite scriptures from the bible to keep himself in line. Part of why he’s so skinny is because he makes himself so nervous he gets sick and can’t eat or throws up whatever's in his stomach.

Anything else: I hope this meets the length requirements! Hope to hear from you dudes soon, constructive criticism is always welcomed and encouraged even if I’m not accepted!

#Bradley Christian #Alexis martin #Lexus Martin #application #Admin samantha #submission

5 notes · View notes

chaostheoryy · 6 years

Text

No Man Left Behind [Han X Reader]

Summary: When Han is shot down in a fight, Beckett orders you to leave him behind and head for safety with the rest of the crew. You, however, have other plans in mind.

Word Count: 1,865

Rating: General

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

A/N: Special thanks to the anon who sent in the request for this one! Ironically, it’s almost the opposite of “Out of Luck” which made this an absolute blast to write. Hope you all enjoy!

Things had gone south far quicker than any of you had imagined. You and the rest of Beckett’s crew were all in range of the rendezvous point with your respective loots when Enfys Nest and the Cloud Riders swooped in and blew your getaway ship to hell. The massive explosion vibrated through the trees, alerting the nearby trooper camp to your position.

“I hope you’ve got a backup plan,” Rio said as he stared at the inferno of his decimated craft.

“Yeah,” Beckett replied in irritation, “You find us a new ship and we get the hell out of here.”

“Great plan. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Rio bounded off into the underbrush of the forest and headed for the eastern landing pad just a few clicks out. Moments later blaster fire began pouring out from the trees as waves of stormtroopers arrived on speeder bikes. Beckett’s crew scattered, taking cover behind trees and boulders. Each member took out about half a dozen soldiers before the opposition began flooding forward so quickly there was no way to hold them off.

“Fall back to the mountain,” Beckett called out to you and the rest of his crew, “We ain’t gonna last very long against a whole damn army on even terrain!”

Following his orders, you turned and bolted for the high ground. It was a straight shot to the lowest ridge with very little cover which, unfortunately, meant the only strategy you had was speed and luck. Several laser blasts whizzed by you on both sides as you sprinted. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Han just a few meters away making the break for it as well.

Suddenly a blast struck him in the calf and knocked him off of his feet. Your heart froze in your chest, your lungs refusing to oxygenate your blood for the longest second as you stared in horror.

A laser blast singed the cuff of your jacket and snapped you right out of your daze. You ducked behind a tree stump.

“Beckett,” you shouted into your comm device, “Han is down!”

You could hear blasters firing off on the other end of the line. “Nothing we can do about it right now,” Beckett replied, “Get up to that ridge before they roll out the walkers!”

You frowned. Beckett was condemning one of his own to death. And that was something you simply could not stand.

“I’m going to get him.”

“What?” You could almost see Beckett’s dumbfounded expression. “Like hell you are!”

You spotted Beckett a few meters west, taking cover in the trees. He waved his hands in the air, ordering you to hold your position. But you didn’t listen. Instead, you bolted out from your cover and headed straight for Han.

“Oh for the love of-“ Beckett’s groan was cut short when you ripped the headpiece off and tossed it behind you.

You ran like hell, managing to avoid the seemingly endless wave of blaster fire. You tucked your knee beneath your other leg and slid into position beside Han. You immediately grabbed onto his jacket and heaved with all your strength, dragging him to temporary safety behind a jagged boulder.

“(Y/N),” He muttered between raspy breaths, completely baffled to find you in front of him, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You pulled off your jacket and tore one of the sleeves from your shirt to use as a tourniquet. “I’m saving your skin,” you said as you began wrapping his leg.

Han hissed at the initial contact and grabbed your arm. “Stop.”

You shrugged him off. “Sit still would ya? I need to stop the bleeding or you’re not gonna get very far.”

“No. Stop.” He grabbed your wrist firmly and pulled you away from the injury.

You frowned at his stubbornness and turned to lecture him only to find the words catch in your throat. The normally bright and innocent look in Han’s eyes was gone, replaced by anguish and fear.

“Get out of here,” he begged quietly, squeezing your wrist in desperation, “Please.”

You gazed at him in disbelief. He wanted you to run, to leave him behind and let him die. He was valuing your life over his and completely disregarding any possibility of his own survival. Though he didn’t say it, he made it pretty damn clear what he meant — he cared about you more than he’d ever let on.

You shook your head. “No,” you replied, grasping tightly onto his hand, “I’m not gonna leave you behind, you hear me?”

A thermal detonator went off a few meters away. Han wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down to shield you from the rocky debris of the blast. It took a moment for the dust to clear then Han released you. You propped yourself back up.

“Look,” Han retorted, “I don’t wanna die. I really don’t. But the last thing I want is for you to-“

You firmly covered his mouth with your hand. “Y’know, you’re really starting to make me regret being the hero.”

A laser blast struck the boulder and sent chunks of rock flying in every direction. You tore Han’s blaster from its holster and propped yourself up on the stone barrier. With a blaster in each hand, you unleashed a storm of fire. One, two, three, seven troopers fell from your barrage only to have just as many emerge from the trees and retaliate.

You were overwhelmingly outgunned but, as much as you were of that fact, you kept on fighting. You had to.

A single shot struck your shoulder, causing you to cry out and fall back. Han immediately caught you, pulling you back to safety behind the boulder. You groaned in pain as you pressed your hand to your wound.

“Dammit,” Han muttered as he helped put pressure on the injury, “I told you to get outta here.”

“And I told you it’s not happening.”

You reached out to grab your blaster again, but Han held you back. “That’s enough, (Y/N).”

You frowned. “Han, just let me-“

“Stop!” His shout caught you off guard and, judging by the look on his face, it surprised him too. “Just…stop, alright?”

He went silent for a moment, the immediate anger and urgency gradually fading away as he looked at you. You stared back and were surprised when his hands found their way to your face. With the gentlest of touch, he cupped them over your cheeks, fingertips ghosting over your skin as his eyes scanned yours.

“If you keep fighting like this,” he said in an almost whisper, “They will kill you. And I can’t…” He trailed off. You could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and caressed your cheek. “Having to let Qi’ra go was one of the hardest things in my life. But I won’t — I can’t — lose you.”

Your heart stilled in your chest at his words. He loved you. The words never came out of his mouth but you knew. You knew exactly why he couldn’t let you die on his behalf. He loved you just as he had Qi’ra.

You opened your mouth to respond and tell him how much he meant to you, but you were cut off by the muffled shout of a stormtrooper.

“You there,” he shouted, blaster pointed at you and Han, “Hands where we can see them!”

You and Han turned toward the trooper. Unable to lift your arm, you held your hands out in front of you. Another trooper emerged and circled around behind you, kicking your blasters out of reach.

“On your feet,” the first soldier ordered. With his injured leg still causing him a lot of pain, Hans struggled to rise. The second trooper jabbed him in the back with his blaster. “Move it!”

Han stumbled, crying out in agony when he was forced to put weight on the wound. You hurried to grab him despite your own injury, placing a hand on his chest to hold him up. “You alright?”

He hooked his arm around your torso and used use a crutch. “Never better,” he said through his teeth.

Leaning against one another, you and Han prepared for your capture. No longer would you be able to find joy amongst the ragtag crew you had called family or marvel at the stars through the window of your own ship. Within the hour, the two of you would be split apart and interrogated by Imperial forces before being tossed in a windowless cell for the rest of your life.

The pair of troopers led you back toward the underbrush, their boots clamoring heavily upon the rock. Every few steps, Han would stumble and hiss in pain only to have the barrel of an Imperial blaster jab him in the back once again.

A flash of light caught your attention and, when the troopers both looked skyward, you realized your mind hadn’t just made it up. Suddenly, massive laser blasts rained down from the sky, striking the troopers with the fury of hellfire. You and Han stumbled backward and gazed up to find an Imperial cargo ship descending from the clouds, its emergency ladder dropping down just over head.

“You idiots need a lift?”

Through the hatch above you could see Beckett smirking as Chewie made his way down to assist you and Han.

You grinned. Time to go home.

Safely on board and en route to a nearby system where the crew could gather supplies, Val carefully tended to your shoulder.

“You got lucky,” she said as she worked to clean out the wound, “A few inches over and we’d be peeling your corpse off the rocks.”

“Boy, do you know how to light up a room,” you teased.

She pressed a little harder on the raw flesh in response to your comment. You hissed. She smirked. “Oops. Sorry.”

When you were all patched up and ready to move again, you made your way over to the bench where Han had fallen asleep. Unlike Val, Beckett hadn’t been so tender with his stitch-work. With all the “quit whining”s and slamming fists, it was no surprise Han knocked out immediately after getting his wound sealed.

You sat down by his head and watched as his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. His breathing was soft, his body completely motionless as he dreamt in peace. You smiled. If anybody deserved some sleep, it was him.

You began combing your fingers through his hair. It was an impulse you couldn’t keep from acting on. You wanted to be there for him, comfort him in any way you could even if he wasn’t awake to realize it. You cared about him deeply and, after what had happened on the battlefield earlier, you knew very well that he cared about you too.

It didn’t take long for you to drift off as well. With your hand tangled in his hair and your head resting comfortably against the wall behind you, your eyes slowly drooped shut as sleep overcame your exhausted body.

The whole journey over, you dreamt of Han.

#Apparently I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort war stories #I have to admit this one was so much fun to write #I hope you guys like it!#Han X Reader #Han Solo X Reader #Solo #Reader Insert #Solo Imagines #Alden Ehrenreich X Reader #Young Han Solo #Star Wars #My writing

286 notes · View notes