Request from Anon: Oh? Did you say Peter B. Parker- can you please do one where the reader accidentally call him Dad? It just sounds like a really funny scenario
A/N: One silly request coming right up! Also, I hope you don’t mind the route I took with this– The idea kinda just came to me when I read this prompt. Basically, the reader is also a spider-person, and will essentially take Peter B places in their universe. So Peter has taken it upon himself to be your “wise” mentor. Either way, I took a wholesome approach to this- Don’t kill me—–
“I think you’re ready,” Peter sighed as he sat on the ledge of the building.
New York, as usual, was nothing but hustle and bustle. Peter watched the rush hour traffic come to a halt, the evening streetlights flickering on, and he found himself wondering if the city would ever replace the bulbs. What an odd, mundane string of thoughts to have. Guess that happens when you get old.
“I’m not ready.” you sat next to him, “I’m definitely going to mess this up."
"You think I didn’t?” Peter looks at you from the corner of your eye.
You were still a kid. He felt terrible, knowing that you were forced onto this pedestal with him. You had told him that you had aspirations of being anything else, but unfortunately fate had other plans. Peter wanted nothing more than to tell you to just go home and to forget about it all, but he also knew that deep down you had already made up your mind.
You were very stubborn in that sense. When your mind was made up, there was no changing it. This city, this world even, needed you to become the next hero. You knew Peter was getting old too to keep going. You wanted him to go home and be with MJ. He deserved it. He earned the right to have a decent life now.
“I messed up a lot of things.” Peter said, “Hell, I probably did more damage than I did good, but…”
You looked at the mask you had in your hands. All of this somehow felt meaningless and meaningful at the same time. It was overwhelming, to say the least.
“Guess that’s just how life is.” he continued, “You gotta roll with the punches."
"That’s terrible advice.” you laughed quietly, still looking down.
“What can I say?” he smiled, “I wasn’t exactly prepared to this. Which just proves my point."
You looked forward, to the horizon. The setting sun was still bright, and the city was drenched in a golden light. Maybe Peter was right. You shouldn’t be so worried, because this is just how life is. He did screw up a lot, like a lot, a lot– But look at him now. Him and MJ are together, they even managed to get a nice place together, MJ has a good job– Things just work out.
"The universe always has a way of righting itself.”
“You really think I’m goin-”
“I know you’re going to be fine, kid.” He sighed with content, “I know you.”
Peter looked at the same horizon, yet it felt different to him. He was sad that it was time to let go of his alter ego, but at the same time it was peaceful. He had faith that you’d protect this city no matter what. You had told him every story you had about this place. He was absolutely certain that the universe had made the right choice.
Without thinking much of it, Peter patted you on the shoulder, “You’ll do great things for this city."
"You really think so?”
“I know so."
You figured that the conversation had come to a halt, so you were about to get up when Peter pushed you back down. You looked over at him with obvious confusion on your face. He moved away and it felt like he was hesitating a little.
"You good?”
He grabbed your wrists and took off your web shooters.
“Hey!” you protested, “I just made those, old man-”
“They’re no good.”
“No good? They’re brand new.”
“Close your eyes."
You did nothing but stare at him, which caused him to pause. You rolled your eyes and closed them tightly, "There. Happy? Can I have my web shooters back?”
You heard the familiar click and immediately withdrew your hands. You opened your eyes and looked down at your wrists. Instead of seeing your bright, shiny, brand spanking new web shooters, you saw old ones. They had scratches, the latches were a bit loose, the metal was dull and was obviously worn from use.
These were Peter’s. He always bragged about how much cooler they were than yours. They were like his pride and joy when it came to his beat up suit. He wanted you to have them? He trusted you that much?
You couldn’t form words. It’s almost like your brain had frozen solid. Every train of thought had come to a screeching halt.
“I can’t take these.” you said.
“I want you to have them.” Peter sounded proud, “It’s only right."
You, for the first time in a while, surprised him by throwing your arms around him in a huge bear hug. It took him a minute, but he returned the hug. Is this what it felt like? Having kids? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad-
"Thanks, dad.”
“You’re welcome, kidd-” Peter pulled back, “Did you just call me dad?"
"What.” you did. You quickly stood up and stumbled back, “No way. I think you’re hearing things, old man."
Peter stood up, doofy smile still on his face, "I heard you say ‘Thanks, dad.’"
"I clearly said, 'Thanks…Dude.’"
"Uh huh."
"I did.” You tripped a little as you got up onto the ledge of the building, “I totally did. Not my fault that you can’t hear- I gotta go…Like, right now.”
“Of course."
"My mom’s…Totally called me, y'know. I have …Homework.” You walked along the ledge, “And I did not, totally did not, call you dad.”
“And I’m the king of France.”
Much like a moody teen, you stopped and crossed your arms, letting out a huff, “Why would I call you dad anyways?”
“Because,” Peter mimicked you, right down to the way you speak, “You totes see me as one. Just admit it. I’m actually kinda flattered."
"Pfft. Alright, okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night, old man."
You wanted to change the subject. You were far too hard headed to admit that you had called him dad.
"You didn’t give me my web shooters.” You leaned forward and held out your hand, “Gimme.”
Peter rolled his eyes and chuckled as he walked over and put the gadgets in your hand, “You totally did call me-”
You were just embarrassed now, “I did not, man. C'mon."
"Heard it. Clear as day. Can’t fool me."
You huffed again and adverted your eyes to the gadgets in your hands. You hadn’t meant to slip up, but you really did see Peter as a dad. You, again, were way too stubborn to ever say that to his face.
You copied his eye roll, which didn’t go unnoticed, "Alright, so what if I did.”
“So what if you did.” Peter repeatedly slowly.
“I still have to leave.” You shot a web off into the distance, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time?”
“Actually,” Peter cut in, “MJ was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out for lunch with us?”
“Me? Lunch with the both of you? Wouldn’t that be..Weird..?"
"Not unless you make it weird,” he replied, “So don’t make it weird.”
You looked off into the distance at where you web had landed, “Uh, sure. Okay. Just, text me the place."
Before Peter could respond, you swung away, shouting, "See ya later, old man!”
"See you later, kiddo."
Peter turned around and started his journey home, but something completely blind sighted him. Something had crashed into his back and had wrapped its arms around him. He looked down and saw the sleeves of your suit and laughed to himself.
Into his back you muttered, "Okay, bye, dad. Love you."
Just like before, you quickly disappeared. Peter shouted in your direction, "You did it again!”
A few buildings away he heard your voice shout back to him, “What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to appreciate it!” He shouted back, laughing, “Thank you!"
"You’re welcome!"
Your voice was even farther away.
Peter smiled the whole way home.
He was right. The universe does have a peculiar way of righting itself.
Hiii Crab so happy to see you write outside of our rants/idea chats and my fellow delulu cod enjoyer!
Would love to request Platonic!141 + Reader (sorry if this is long and somewhat confusing lol). You can do headcanons, drabble or whatever you comfy for.
An idea that popped in my head kinda semi personal: Civ or 141! Reader though has parents and family is the reader is quite something else. Reader despite having somewhat normal upbringing still feel empty; they shouldn't be feeling this numb and empty deep inside of them. The reader craves the love that they give but couldn't or lack of receiving it back, though they don’t expect it or selfishly want it. Just someone who understands them even in their deepest darkest secret or flaw then boom cue the task force 141 unexpected yet welcoming to their life and maybe the one that the Reader can lean and let them be vulnerable on (finally).
Take your time on doing this
Looking for to your other writing genuinely
-Cee, your fellow Soap delulu
GN!Reader & 141 (Mostly Price)
Warnings: Slight angst
Ships: None.
A/N: This absolutely ran away from me and I do not at all regret it, hope you enjoy, Cee!!!
Words: 3549
Almost your entire life had been a cycle of self doubt that also started to churn and twist into self-hatred. You blamed yourself for the feelings. Afterall, you had a relatively normal upbringing. Two parents who were both present in your life, both of whom worked so that you all had food on the table and a roof over your head. A luxury that very few had.
The least you could do for them is follow the path that they wanted to put you on, no matter how much you didn’t want to do it. Because you loved them.
So you excelled in your education, studying hard to try and impress your parents– to make them love you just as much as you loved them for everything that they did for you for your entire life. They wanted you to do all three sciences despite the additional workload it would add to your already stretched thin time? Then you would do them, take any extra classes after school in order to keep up with the work and not lag behind any of your peers.
There was no such thing as a social life, either, not when you had homework and projects due. Friends were few and far between. Generally, most people left when they realised how hyper focused you were on your grades instead of social interaction.
Did a classmate get a higher grade than you on a test? Well obviously you didn’t study hard enough, you just needed to dedicate more time to school even though school was all you had.
Did you get the highest marks in the class? Good, that was what was expected of you. Why didn’t you get full marks? You were better than that. You would do better because you loved your family. They showed it in their own way, of course, by encouraging you to study harder and get better grades. That was their love language, and yours was doing as they asked without a second thought. Because, at the end of the day, you were lucky to have an upbringing like you had. You would ignore the hollow void clawing at your chest because you had no right to feel that way– not when you had a roof over your head and parents that loved you(?).
It was when you came top of the class with full marks in a recent test, you came home with a beaming smile on your face and proudly showed the test to your parents. They took the papers from your hands, flipping through your work with critical eyes, before handing the papers back to you.
‘Well done, we’re so proud of you.’ That was all you wanted them to say to you. That was all you needed to hear. To know that they loved you.
‘Your penmanship is terrible.’ Was what you got instead. When you tried to point at the big 100% in green pen, you were waved away. ‘How are you expected to get a job when you write like a child? I’m surprised the teacher could even read your answers’.
After several years of balancing a work and educational life and paving a way for a line of work that you didn’t want for parents you should have been grateful to have, you decided that enough was enough.
No matter how hard you worked, no matter how high your marks were, they would never be proud of you. They would never return the love that you had for them until you nearly killed yourself trying.
Spending your entire childhood, teenagehood and all of your current adulthood trying to please your parents predictably would damage one’s psyche. You had no friends, family who had never been devoted to you as you were to them, and high grades serving as the foundations to a prison-like future.
You dropped out of University. The only option forward that you saw was joining the army in the vain hope that the empty feeling inside of you would dissipate when you actually did something that you believed was more worthwhile than any University course.
So you threw yourself into the military, working harder than all of the other recruits and training at every chance you could.
Your skills and determination became widely recognised amongst your peers. It took several years, but you eventually caught the eye of none other than Captain John Price.
Impressed by your willpower that not many soldiers possessed, he offered you a place on the 141.
Naturally, you agreed. You believed that being part of such a well renowned and respected team would finally beat back the lingering self doubt and emptiness that had curled itself around your heart.
It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse.
You were invited to join the 141, sure, but they had already established their own relationships between each other, had already bonded into a close knit group, and you were simply an outsider. Yes, you had been hand picked by Price himself, but that didn’t mean you were part of the team. They had their own inside jokes that they told to one another, leaving you feeling left out on most days.
And you felt… lacking around them. Ghost was stronger, Gaz was faster, Soap was smarter (he was a demolitions expert for crying out loud!), and Price was almost all of those rolled into one. They all complimented each other as a team. Meanwhile you felt like a spare tyre, a master of nothing and barely a jack of any trade.
Despite how you felt about it all, they all called you ‘kid’. Regardless of age gaps between yourself and the rest of them, the nickname stuck mostly because you were the newbie. It came as a surprise that it wasn’t spat with vitriol as your peers before had, but it was in fact said with… an affection you couldn’t quite place.
You couldn’t ignore the hole in your chest that had been chipped at over the years, forming a gaping maw that no reassurances could really mend.
Doubt lingered in the back of your mind, chipping away at your sanity as you prepared for the worst. How long would it take before they realised you weren’t good enough?
You were so deep in your doubts that you didn’t realise that you had been distancing yourself even more than before until you overheard a conversation in Price’s office a few months down the line.
“-- they don’t belong on the team.” Gaz said as you passed Price’s office and your heart dropped. It was only the tailend of what he had been saying but you had gotten the gist. You wanted to stay, to listen to the conversation more and listen to what your team had to say about you, but you didn’t. What you were going to hear were likely things you had already told yourself right from the start. You keep walking on, ignoring the sting of tears burning in the corners of your eyes. The blood rushing in your ears prevented you from heating the rest of the conversation.
“-- not only are they acting like they don’t belong on the team, but they’re acting like they’re not good enough.” Gaz continued, sighing in frustration.
“Maybe they need more time.” Ghost rumbled in reply, “Let them come out of their shell a little bit. Best not rush these things.” He was talking from experience, after all.
“Aye… maybe I can invite them out for drinks or sommat? I wouldn’t want them getting transferred before we got to know them a little more.” Soap had been the one that had tried the hardest to get close to you but had also tried to give you space so as to not suffocate you with his personality.
“They won’t be getting transferred.” Price said with conviction, tapping his desk, “I chose them to be part of this team and this is where they’re going to stay. Let me have a word with them first.”
“Aye, sir.”
— — — — — —
You found yourself in the smoker’s shelter outside the main building. It was late enough that most of the soldiers had gone to bed or off to do their own things elsewhere so you doubted that you would be bothered for a little while. Just enough time for you to get your thoughts together. Your tears had dried in your eyes a few minutes ago, making them sting in the cold air. You didn’t need to look in your reflection to know that you probably looked like a wreck– entirely unbecoming of a soldier of your apparent status.
You didn’t want to get transferred. Despite your distance with the 141, you didn’t hate them. Far from, actually, you held a great deal of respect for each and every one of them. It was just that you felt like you didn’t have your place amongst them. Not good enough to be associated with them.
“Bit late to be out here in the cold, chuck.” A voice startled you out of your thoughts– one that you would recognise anywhere from the low rasp of a smoker's lungs.
“Captain.” You croaked, wincing at the patheticness in your voice. There was a scuff of boots as Price came closer, leaning into your line of vision with a furrowed brow which only furrowed more as he took in your dishevelled appearance.
“Something on your mind?” He asked kindly, perching on the arm of the bench to give you some personal space. He left his question open, allowing you any chance to steer the conversation how you wanted to. There was no judgement for catching you at your lowest, no disgust at your red rimmed eyes— just polite understanding and a non verbal offer of pleasant company.
“Why did you pick me, Captain?”
The question made him tilt his head, a frown beginning to tug on his features. You were worried you had insulted him.
“What brought this on, huh? Someone say something to you? Need me to have a word with them?” He straightened his back, scowling. Whilst you felt like you didn’t have a place in the 141, you could never deny the shield of protectiveness that Price held over his team. You remember in the back of your mind the day that some General who thought he was hot shit had the audacity to undermine Soap as nothing more than a ‘yappy dog’ when offered the Scot’s demolitions expertise. Price had appeared almost out of thin air and almost ripped the General a new one and things would have escalated into a fist fight had Laswell not intervened. It wasn’t as though Price didn’t think his own soldiers were capable of defending themselves, but he couldn’t care less about punishments aimed his own way over that of his Sergeants and Lieutenant. It was just a surprise that the protective streak extended over you, too, despite your distance to your teammates.
“I’ll sound stupid.” You mumbled, looking down at the ground as if expecting him to chastise you like a child. He didn’t.
“I’ve had my fair share of stupid over the years. Try me.”
“... and ungrateful.”
“I once had a guy punch me in the face two seconds after I took a bullet that would have killed him.” Price countered with a cut off chuckle once he remembered what was probably a mission long finished and cleared his throat. “C’mon, tell Captain what’s on your mind.”
And he sounded so sincere when he said it. Sounded like he genuinely wanted to hear what was going on in your head– that he was willing to waste what was already his important and limited time on someone like you.
“Sir—”
“John.” Price corrected gently, crows feet more noticeable at the corners of his eyes scrunched up when he smiled, “We’re off duty, you don’t need to be so formal.”
“... John.” You echoed, finding that you really didn’t like saying that. It felt like calling your teacher by their first name in primary school or a classmate’s parent other than their last name.
“Now, c’mon, tell me what’s on your mind. Might not be a therapist, but I’m better than bottling it up.” You wondered in the back of your mind how often Price did this. Sat with his soldiers and talked with them, offered them a listening ear to hear their vents and fears. You couldn’t help but feel honoured to be one of the few he willingly offered said time to. Your silence stretched on as you thought of the words to say, how to phrase what you wanted to say without sounding unappreciative of the opportunity that Price had offered you when he requested you join his team.
“I don’t feel like I belong here.” You blurted once the silence had stretched on for long enough to border on uncomfortable. John’s face fell and you quickly realised how bad that sounded and rushed to correct yourself.
“No, no, wait, let me explain–” the Captain closed his mouth to allow you to continue speaking, but you could tell that it was hard for him. “I just… you could have anyone better than me, you know? I’m not a demolition expert. I’m… I’m not the best Sniper. I’m the slowest on the team, pretty sure I’m the weakest–”
“Nope.” Price interrupted, finally breaking the bubble of your personal space as he took a proper seat next to you on the bench but still respecting the distance enough to keep a few inches between you. “Nope, not lettin’ you say another word.”
“But–”
“Nope.”
“Cap–”
“No.”
“But you could have anyone better—“
“But they wouldn’t be you.” He deflected easily. Far too easily. He leant back on the bench, crossing one leg over the other as he folded his arms over his chest. His fingers twitched and you could tell he was itching for a cigar but didn’t light one out of respect.
“Alright, sure, I can ask Laswell to give me one of the best soldiers in the SAS and have them brought here tomorrow. They could be the best of the best, top of their class, better than you and maybe even better than me. But that’s a bit of a stretch.” He winked and earned a weak chuckle from you. “But they won’t be you. I don’t pick just on skill alone, kid, I pick based on how I feel people would fit into the team. I chose you because I knew that you’d be perfect.”
“As for not being a demolitions expert, let me let you in on a little secret. I’ve no fucking clue about demolitions, either. And you don’t have to be on the team to be the ‘best Sniper’. You’re better than most, and that’s what’s important. As for being the weakest– did you or did you not bodily lift Gaz in a fireman’s carry during training the other week while he was trying to act as an injured civilian? Quite dramatically, might I add. Swooned and everything.”
You remembered that practice mission. Quite fondly, actually. Gaz was a civilian and , after being struck by a foam bullet from Soap, had dramatically screamed in agony and crumpled to the floor. When you had lifted him up and over your shoulders, the bastard continued to wail something along the lines of telling his non-existent spouse that he loved them and that his money be given to his equally non-existent children. Soap got in another shot to the man’s head, knocking off his cap in the process. Distracted as you were trying to haul your teammate out of the danger zone, you couldn’t help but laugh thinking about it now.
“Last time I checked, Gaz is somewhat heavier than a sack of flour. Don’t tell him I said that, I’ll hurt his feelings.” Price was right, you supposed. You were more than capable of carrying Gaz over your shoulders, maybe even Soap or Price himself if the time called for it. Ghost you weren’t so sure about, though. The man was a walking mountain.
“What I’m trying to say is that you have to give yourself more credit. You’re more than good enough to be on my team. I chose you for a reason.”
You… did not expect that sort of reassurance from Price. You had hoped for something along those lines, yes, but perhaps with a thrown in criticism or three. You waited for a ‘but’ that never came. The man snorted beside you and when you gave him a quizzical look, he waved off your concern.
“Shit, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think the next thing out of your mouth would be that your parents never hugged you as a kid.”
Your silence made him slowly turn his head towards you. It would have almost been comical if the situation wasn’t. His face crumbled and a wounded sound emerged from his throat.
“Sometimes they did!” You rushed to defend the people that raised you. “And they gave me food and shelter, clothes when I needed them–”
“Fucking hell. No, that’s what they’re supposed to do because they’re your parents. What about telling you that they were proud of you? That they loved you? I saw your records. Top of your class in not just your training but in your education, too. Triple sciences, mathematics, all of it. They had to be proud of you for that? My parents would have killed for me to get even a passing grade in my GCSEs.” You looked down at the ground and it was Price’s turn to have his eyes fixed on you.
“They were proud of you, weren’t they?” He asked again, leaning forwards so he could catch your eye, his own filled with concern. “Kid?”
“I don’t talk to them much anymore.”
Price inhaled sharply and he leaned back again, looking around and clenching his jaw as if fighting back his anger. His fingers twitched again. You admired his self control as he was still yet to grab a cigar that you knew he kept on his person. Usually in his breast pocket while his lighter was in his right pocket.
“Listen to me.” The Captain said, a more stern edge to his voice now that he had gathered his thoughts together. “Whatever your family said to you— how they treated you? Forget it. They showed you obligation. Not love. They didn’t want what was ‘best’ for you, they wanted bragging rights. What you’ve achieved– here, in bootcamp, in university and in school, is something to take pride in– no, no, look at me.”
Your gaze had trailed to the side so you avoided looking at your Captain in the eyes. He noticed and clicked his fingers to gain your attention back on him.
“Don’t look away from me because I want you to listen to what I’m gonna say and I want you to look at my face as I say it.” Your eyes met his blue ones, “You should be proud of everything that you’ve achieved in your life. I’m sorry that your family never told you that and I’m sorry that I haven’t said that enough to you since you joined 141.”
You opened your mouth to say something– to argue or disagree but he shook his head.
“No. It’s my turn to speak now. I’m proud of you. I am so proud of you. Everything you’ve done and everything that you’re yet to do, I will always be proud of you. You’re an exemplary soldier and I knew the moment I saw you that you would be a perfect addition to the 141 and you have proved me right time and time again. You belong on this team just as much as the rest of the boys. Do you understand?”
So many words– proud, proud, proud. That’s all you had wanted to hear for so many years from someone whose opinion mattered to you. You wanted to be seen and Price, this godsend of a man, had seen you and more.
“Kid, do you understand me?”
You nodded once and then realised that Price wouldn’t have been able to tell through your shaking. Tears blurred in the corners of your eyes and you nodded again, not trusting your voice in case it shattered.
“What do you need from me?” Price’s voice was oh so soft, like he was talking to a frightened fawn. He could see how much his words had affected you and it clearly broke his own heart.
“A hug.” Your bottom lip wobbled and his face softened as he opened his arms, twitching his fingers to urge you closer.
“I can do that.”
You leaned into him and he quickly wrapped his arms around you, drawing you in close. You could smell the lingering scent of his last cigar. The smell of his office and cleaning oil. You felt his chin on the top of your head and felt how his chest rumbled as he spoke.
“You’re part of the 141 whether you like it or not, alright? Me and the boys want you here for as long as you want to be.”
At that moment, for the first time in your life. You felt wanted. You felt appreciated and you felt seen.
Cowboy || Boothill x G/N Child! Reader (PLATONIC) - Honkai Star Rail
warnings; just small spoiler warnings for his story, some of you probably already saw leaks of it though 😭
After he had lost his precious daughter during the IPC attack on his planet, it was no surprise Boothill would be oddly overprotective over his dear ones. Especially over you.
You were a child much like Boothill’s daughter, but you being only a tad bit older since she was only a few months old at the time. Once you had came in, Boothill made a silent vow to himself that he would protect you like you were his child, not even letting you out of his sight for a second. He just didn’t want to lose you like he lost his little girl is all!
Which was quite ironic as he had first met you through aiming his revolver at your head, thinking you were someone here to collect his bounty, only to see it was literally just a kid. He still remembers the way you almost passed out. Poor you.
So no wonder Boothill almost lost it when he noticed your tiny footsteps weren’t heard behind him anymore, what’s left of his heart instantly dropping.
Panic struck as he looked around frantically, cursing (or at least trying to) himself out for not keeping a closer eye on you while a million thoughts of what could possibly happen without his supervision on you raced through his head.
What if you had gotten seriously hurt?
What if something—or someone—took you?
What if you were stuck somewhere, stranded with a bunch of people you didn’t even know?
It was odd to see the infamous Galaxy Ranger; Boothill getting all worked up and worried over some missing kid. Why’d he care so much anyway? Was it something about you? Did he just oddly grow attached?
Or did he simply view you as someone he once cradled before it was snatched away from him abruptly?
“Mr. Boothill!”
Instantly, Boothill stopped in his tracks, pausing his search for you and spinning his head towards the familiar small voice. There you were; all safe and sound, but with tears falling down your chubby cheeks as you raced over to him.
Boothill dropped to his metallic-like knees and caught you in his arms tightly, feeling your tight grip around his shoulders as you hugged him, burying your face into his shoulder.
“I told ya not to wander off, didn’t I? To stay close to me? You could’ve gotten hurt all alone like that, you lil’ brat…” Boothill would lightly scold you, standing up while lifting you in his arms, holding you close and pinching your cheek in a scolding matter.
His grip around you was tight as if he were worried that if he let go—you’d vanish without a trace.
A hiccup left you in response, struggling to put your words together to which Boothill began to rub the small of your back as a way to calm you down, “I-I didn’t mean to…! I-I just really wanted that plushie—hiccup—over there…!” Boothill watched as your shaky finger tried pointing in the direction of the toy stand, pointing in the wrong direction in the process. But he still knew what you were referring to.
You were clearly referring to that cowboy plushie you spotted while you were walking with Boothill earlier, the one that you couldn’t avert your gaze from which Boothill also called “just a mini, knock-off” version of him. It’s quite obvious that you only wanted it because it reminded you of Boothill.
“But-but when I looked back to you, you weren’t there anymore…!”
You broke out in another fit of sobs, hugging his neck tighter, your cheeks all stained with your tears, and your nose stuffy. Your head was even beginning to throb from how much you were crying.
“You mean that little cowboy you kept lookin’ at? You got your own real-life cowboy though, don’t you?”
“Nuh-uh! I want the plushie, so I can have two of you!”
At your silly words, Boothill had to bite his lip from letting out a snicker, knowing you’d probably get even more upset, and instead decided to indulge you, “Fine, if you want it so bad that you nearly made me pop a screw, I’ll buy you it.” Boothill reassures, wiping that small tear threatening to slip down your cheek away with his cold hand. You can only sniffle and quietly nod in a meek way, rubbing your eyes.
Before Boothill can move however, you suddenly cupped his cheeks with your small hands which was pretty much the only part of his body he can feel you touch, causing him to pause and look down at you. You knocked your head against his and mumbled, “You’re my real papa, Boothill…My only papa…” You ask with a small sniffle, patting his cheeks.
Boothill stood there, stunned for a brief second before he quickly regained his composure, and sent you a toothy smile that showed off his razor sharp teeth, “What a sweet lil’ thing you are…You certainly got a way with words, don’t you?” He ruffled your hair and placed his hat directly on your head to which it fell right over your eyes, causing you to quickly try and adjust it with a small yelp as Boothill made his way over to the stand you were whining about.
This time, he was sure he wasn’t going to let you out of his sight—no matter how much you whine for him to let you run around. He already lost one kid of his, he can’t lose another one.
warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], reader is intended to be around 16/17-20/21 but can be interpreted as older as long as they're below 24 (just so that the headcanons make more sense), maybe ooc?
note i'm so sorry but there's no gaz in this one BUT i can explain why!! i was doing my research (going through three different tumblr posts) to figure out the actual age of each character and gaz is apparently 24?? in new updates or whatever?? anyway, even before i found that out, i could only ever imagine writing him as an older brother, simply because he doesn't feel fatherly to me but still has those protecive-familial vibes so if yall want me to write something on him being ur older brother then feel free to request/reply/comment or whatever and i will! :3 this is all comfort no hurt and pure fluff so enjoy!!
JOHN “BRAVO SIX” PRICE
➥ OH GOD.
➥ man i don’t even have daddy issues and i’m crying.
➥ gives you that one dad smile he has—y’all know the one. don’t pretend you don’t—and thanks you for it.
➥ gives you a lil hug too because why not?
➥ tears up just the tiniest bit but it’s pretty unnoticeable but i need you to know that it’s there.
➥ either keeps it propped up on his desk, in one of the drawers of his desk, or puts it in a small frame and puts that on or in his desk.
➥ definitely reads it at least once a week.
➥ he’s so genuinely flattered by it i think that after you leave his office he’d tear up a bit.
➥ you thought he was acting as a father figure to you before?
➥ be prepared for him to take it to a whole nother level.
➥ starts getting you cheesy birthday cards after you start giving him father’s day cards.
➥ is he a father biologically? no. is he one mentally, emotionally, and spiritually? absolutely.
—
You were reasonably pretty nervous.
It wasn’t ever really a secret that you and Price had some sort of father-child-like relationship, what with the amount of hair ruffles, head pats, shoulder pats, etc. that you’d received from him and the swatting at his hand with your own that you had given back. But none of that took away the nervousness you had when you gave Price a father’s day card for the first time.
It’s not that you thought that he would be weirded out by it, you just had a small habit of overthinking things, and this happened to be one of those things. The card didn’t say too much inside of it, a simple ‘happy father’s day!’ and a sentence you wrote that mentioned that you were grateful to know him. That’s it. That’s all it was. And yet, your hand shook as you held it, the other hand knocking on the door of Price’s office.
He nodded in greeting and opened it, and stepped out of the way to let you walk in and sit in front of his desk. He sat at his usual seat after shutting the door, and you set the card in your lap, not wanting him to see it just yet.
“Is there any particular reason why you wanted to come into my office?” Price asked, breaking the silence. You took a deep breath and nodded before you quickly handed over the card, slipping it onto his side of the desk. He took a good look at it for a moment, reading the ‘happy father’s day!’ on the front and looking over the cheesy illustration on the cover. You anxiously waited for him to say something as he simply stared at it, before he picked it up and opened it, reading the short few words that were written on the inside.
You watched as his expression melted into a softer one, and he stared at the card for another moment before wordlessly getting up. Before you could say anything, or question anything, he knelt down to the level of the chair you were sitting in and hugged you. You were frozen with surprise before you hugged him back, loosely wrapping your arms over his shoulders, a little confused by the hug but appreciating the embrace nonetheless. He rubbed your back for a quick moment before standing back up straight and patting your shoulder.
”Thank you,” He said, smiling down at you. “I really appreciated that, kiddo.”
Oh, wow. I don’t know why, but I think I might start crying. “Yeah—yeah, of course,” You’d replied, quickly getting up and giving Price a quick hug before swiftly walking to the door, “I’ll just, uh, I’ll be in my room. Or, actually, no, I’m gonna go—I’m gonna go bother Soap in his office, so if you need me I’ll be in there okaybyeCaptainI’llseeyoulater!” You rushed out, not looking back as you closed the door behind you.
Price had blinked at the door for a moment before huffing out a small laugh and sitting back down in his chair, looking at the card you’d given him one last time before sighing and letting himself tear up a bit. Eventually, after just sitting there and staring at the card, he unlocked one of the few locked drawers at the bottom of his desk and put the card there, for safekeeping.
—
JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH
➥ he’s so excited when he reads that card.
➥ he’s so flattered?? and is so happy?? and oh my god he might pass out?? from all the positive emotions he feels??
➥ be careful with what you say because you might break him beyond repair.
➥ it’s like you’ve given a puppy it’s first treat, honestly.
➥ won’t cry but is very close to!!
➥ will definitely show off the card to everyone.
➥ when i say everyone i mean EVERYONE.
➥ he will talk everyone’s ear off about it, no matter who they are or what they’re doing, hell, the man could be pissing with his dick out at the urinals and everything and he’ll still be ranting to the poor soul in the bathroom about what a sweetheart you are and how you gave him a father’s day card.
➥ he starts calling you ‘lamb’ and ‘duckie’ after the whole ordeal.
➥ no i didn’t ask chatgpt for terms of endearment scottish parents use for their children haha!!
➥ he buys a corkboard just to pin the card to in his office.
➥ like it’s literally just in the middle, nothing else on the corkboard, just that singular father’s day card.
➥ the whole thing is just reserved for father’s day cards tbh. he hopes to fill it up with as many cards as you’ll give him, and if you only give him the one, then damn it, the corkboard’s only gonna have one thing on it and whoever questions it can mind their damn business.
—
You didn’t really know what to expect with Soap when you gave him the card.
You felt pretty confident giving it to him, knowing the guy could probably receive a rock with googly eyes on it from you and still cry tears of joy knowing you gave it to him of all people, so giving this card to him was no big deal, right?
You found him in the recreational center, lounging on the couch, reading a book—shocking, I know—and quietly reading the words out loud to himself. The moment you had entered the center, though, he looked up from his book and nodded in greeting at you with a smile on his face and watched as you walked over to him.
Before he could say anything, you quickly put the card in his lap and watched as he looked up at you, a surprised and amused expression on his face.
“What’s this?” He asked, not looking down at the card just yet.
“Read it,” You’d insisted, gesturing towards the card in his lap. He blinked at you for a moment before muttering, “Alright, then,” under his breath and looking down at the card. He picked it up and read the three short words on the front and looked over the illustration on the cover, and the moment the words registered in his brain, his face broke out into a grin and he looked up at you.
“Aww, this is sae sweet,” Soap gushed, “Thank ye!”
He got up before you could talk and hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground a bit, cooing, “Ye're jist the sweetest, ma God, when did ye get the card?”
“I got it a while ago,” You had admitted, “Decided to give it to you now.”
Soap set you down and put both of his hands on your shoulders, gently rubbing circles into them with his thumb, looking down at you with an elated grin, "I'm gonnae hang this up in ma office—I'll get a corkboard an' everything, jist for this."
You looked up at him with a confused, but amused look on your face, asking, “And you’re just gonna hang that card on there?”
He nodded in confirmation and responded, “Aye, it'll be deid center, naething else on there."
—
SIMON “GHOST” RILEY
➥ oh my goodness.
➥ the moment you hand him the card, it’s like he already knows what it is without reading it.
➥ probably thinks it’s a joke at first.
➥ when he realizes that you’re serious he straight up tears up.
➥ like in front of you and everything he’ll tear up.
➥ “... Are you crying?” ghost, tearing up and literally about to start sobbing, "No.”
➥ he treasures that thing and would literally cease to exist if he ever lost it or if it got destroyed.
➥ won’t flaunt it at all, instead he keeps it in the pocket of a jacket he never wears anymore.
➥ if you ever give him more cards, he’ll consider getting a box to keep them in.
➥ he’s always called you ‘kid’ but after this he starts calling you ‘kiddo’.
➥ THERE’S A DIFFERENCE. I CANNOT TELL YOU WHAT IT IS BUT THERE IS A DIFFERENCE.
➥ listen kiddo is more affectionate and its softer and its not as playful as kid its more personal and and and [explodes]
➥ the others notice the small change in behavior he has towards you (being more lighthearted with his teasing, generally being less cold with you, etc.) and will tease him endlessly about it.
➥ by others i mean soap and gaz. those two team up and tease him to death.
➥ he could care less though!! he tells himself that they’re idiots anyway and that his behavior hasn’t changed that much.
➥ he’s in denial and i think that him and me are the same fr.
—
You had practically searched every corner, crevice, nook, and cranny of the base searching for Ghost. When you finally found him, he was in the armory and weapons room cleaning the barrel of his rifle, hyperfocused on wiping away the gunk on the gun. You stopped by the door, hesitating in giving him the card. It really shouldn’t be that hard, You thought, What’s the worst that could happen?
You were aware that there were many things that could happen, most of which were bad, but you ignored them for the sake of building up your confidence to give him the card. You stood there for a while, just sort of staring at him, before he—not even looking up from his gun—called out to you with a simple yet firm, “Do you need something?”
You probably could’ve died right there, his firm voice almost completely shattering your confidence for reasons you couldn’t specify, but you instead cleared your throat and walked out of the doorway and completely into the room. You walked over to him and before he could ask any further questions you held the card out to him, your hand having a small tremble to it, an uncomfortably visible display of your nervousness.
He stared at the card for a moment before setting down the cloth he was using to clean his gun and grabbing it, reading the front for a moment before huffing out a small laugh and looking up at you to tease you for it. He was going to tell you what a ‘funny’ joke it was, to tell you to just go do whatever work you’re probably skipping out on when he sees the look on your face that tells him that you’re pretty serious about the card.
He looked back down at the card and read it again, the words ‘happy father’s day’ echoing through his mind as he opened it. He read the few short words on the inside of the card and the shitty drawing of a ghost right next to one that was scribbled out—because of course you had to use pen and weren’t satisfied with the first ghost you drew even though Ghost could make out through the scribbles that they practically looked the same.
You were pretty nervous the longer the silence stretched out, and you were about to take back the card and go jump off a cliff to avoid ever looking at Ghost again when suddenly you hear a sniffle.
“Are you… are you crying?” You’d asked, more confused than nervous now, watching as Ghost shook his head negatively and continued to stare at the inside of the card.
“No,” He answered, sniffling again.
“... You sure?” You’d asked again, far less nervous now, your tone becoming more teasing.
“Positive.” Ghost said firmly, though his voice had wavered a bit. He looked up at you and reached his hand up to give you a pat on the shoulder, muttering, “Thank you for that, kiddo.”
"Yeah, no problem," You had said back, smiling down at Ghost before taking a step back, "I'll leave you to keep cleaning your gun, or whatever."
Ghost had simply nodded and looked back at the table where your card and his gun laid, and you didn't stay long enough to watch him tear up all over again at the sight of the letter.
The original post only has US helplines. I’ve added UK helplines underneath. It would be great if people could add numbers from everywhere in the world.
Could you do a Davy Jones x reader where Jones finds out that the reader hasn't been working on deck and he finds that she slept in. He's confused when he doesn't see her, so he goes looking for her. You can add as much as you'd like to it and I didn't know if I should ask on this account or your other one so I just decided this one. :)
***
Reputation truly meant something to you, it was always a priority to you to act older than you really are, but you will soon find out that keeping it up was a killer.
You wanted nothing more than to be recognized, not just by anyone, not just by your 127 crew onboard the Dutchman, but you wanted recognition from Davy Jones. Nothing else in the world mattered to you than remembering your place, where you stand and more importantly, who stand by.
In this case, you’ve worked so hard for it, so much so that you weren’t allowing yourself to get the rest that your work required. Getting almost no sleep at all didn’t seem to matter the least bit to you, on account of you suffering from insomnia anyways. The crew watched as you were slowly changing due to the affects it had, and it only took for Bootstrap Bill to comment on it for you to sleep in the following day. While sleeping in, you come to know that this was the best sleep you’ve gotten in a long while and you took advantage of it. But when word got around that you were absent from your work on deck, you were about to get a ride awakening but an unexpected visitor. You were in deep sleep when your eyelids slowly start to lift open with tiredness, and you couldn’t help but feel you weren’t alone.
As you feel that there was someone in the room with you, you turn over while trying to pretend to be asleep, you spotted Davy Jones standing in the light of the open doorway. Davy Jones watched as you sleep away, seemingly confused as his mind was baffled with reasons to explain this. Having this in mind, you would soon have your own questions; you suddenly feel an unexpected hit of a wave of exhaustion take over, one that begged your mind to go back to sleep. You weren’t sure why, but all you know was that you didn’t want to be falling asleep knowing that you’re being watched. Davy must have picked up on the hint you weren’t asleep, as he begins to start asking his questions.
“What’s going on? What’s happened?”
It took you a few minutes to respond, but when you did, it only seemed to agitate Davy more than anything, and that was a little confusing to you as it would anyone.
“Sorry, Captain. I just slept in, it won’t happen again.”
“Why did you sleep in?”
“Just tired I guess… exhausted.”
You watched as Davy’s tentacles twitched in confusion, but relaxed as a thought had come across his mind right than.
What you didn’t realize that all along, you have been recognized by Davy Jones, he watched you working endlessly while sacrificing your sleep, sleep in which was something you needed to stay fresh for your work. Davy had been meaning to pull you aside and talk to you about this, but the opportunity never seemed to have come as he was always barking orders and/or was punishing the crew mates who failed to do their jobs. Davy also remembers as he overhears Bootstrap Bill bring it up to you once after you screwed up while working, and listened as you try to tell him you were fine when in fact, you were the opposite. When you said “exhaustion” his mind turned to understanding as he remembers watching as your skills were slowly taking affect to the little to no sleep you were getting.
At the same time, he made the decision that t would be better for you to continue sleeping before making the all clear that you can go back to work, almost as if you were a really patient in the care of a doctor. This was confusing because Davy doesn’t often show this much mercy at all to anyone else, it was to you and you weren’t exactly sure why. You’d love to know, but you also know it’s best not to question your captain. However, that doesn’t stop you from protesting against this idea and yet, you give in.
“I think you should go back to sleep.” He says almost softly.
You look over at him in surprise, but that’s when you begin to protest.
“I’m fine, really-“
“No you are not fine. Go back to sleep, that’s an order.”
Before you could say another word, you watch as Davy Jones walks away.
A/N: A collaboration done by @royisrandom @theblogofdavyjones
***
Davy Jones couldn’t help but think to himself how he lets this happen, you were the only crew mate he cared for.
Davy Jones does everything he possibly can to keep as safe and protected. But when a certain turn of events take place and happen, you were on duty working with Bootstrap Bill in the terrible weather that was pouring hard in the ocean’s waters and flooding the top deck of the Dutchman. What you and Bootstrap Bill were doing was trying to keep the water levels maintained, but it was becoming an nearly impossible obstacle to pull through, even with each other’s help.
With buckets, you begin to scoop water while taking it to the side of the ship before throwing it back overboard. You start to panic as the water level only rises, now finding it as high as your ankles, soon fo be knee high. Davy Jones watched as you two were hard at work, he hadn’t expected for the storm to get this bad; lightening was accompanied by crackles of thunder, the water flooding the deck so much that it began to pool your feet. This made it harder to move with efficiency and ultimately slowing down your work. The slightly concerned Jones watching you struggle to pick up your feet completely.
It was have an uneasy feeling, worry, and doubt.
As you and Bootstrap Bill continue to try your best clearing the ever so rising water, it was now leveling right at your shins. You realize how that two people aren’t going to be enough for this job. Just as you were about to go over to dump more water off the side of the ship, you slip over the side of the ship. Hanging on with as much will power as you can, you try to get back over as water is constantly beating at your face. You try to get attention of your crew mate, Bootstrap Bill. He eventually notices you were no longer on deck and rushes over to help you before the oceans has you.
“Hang on, (Y/n)!”
This doesn’t go unnoticed by Jones, however. As soon as he saw you fall over the side of the ship, hanging on for dear life, he rushed down the steps of the helm towards you.
Your hands were starting to slip as the waves crashed against the ship and you. Bootstrap tried his best to lift you up, but had no luck. Davy Jones gets to you in a flash, wondering why Boostrap was taking so long to get you to safety. He realizes now that he is above you, that you fell too far to reach. Jones doing the only thing he can think of, drops down to where you are, grabbing onto your hand just as you lose your grip.
“I’ve got ya..” Davy Jones says, as he lifts you up with ease, back onto the deck.
You were quite shaken by this, taking in the depths of relief as you take in breaths of strong relief.
You were happy that Davy Jones cared enough to save you, if not, you would have been claimed by the sea.
Davy Jones notices how you have started to ignore him for the past couple of days. Curious as to why, he attempts to question you and figure out what's made you so grim.
These past couple of days, Davy Jones had been watching you with high amounts of confusion. He noticed the only person he spent a lot of time with on the Flying Dutchman had grown increasingly distant. He didn't consider you a friend, but you were definitely getting there. It wasn't common for Davy Jones to know anyone that he considered anything more than an enemy.
You havn't said a word to him in days and you had been avoiding him like the plague; even avoiding his gaze and refusing to give him a passing glance. Something was off and he knew it, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
He watched as your posture became more slouched, and your work became more sluggish. You always seemed to be 'out of it'; almost like no emotion has touched your features in decades.
After debating on whether or not to try to talk to you, Jones finally decided that he needed some answers.
As you were heading to the sleeping quarters, you were immediately called out by your captain, Davy Jones. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him standing at the stairway leading up to the helm. You didn't even have to look him in the eyes to know that his eyes were focused on your every move.
"What's going on here? Why are you avoiding me?" He slowly walks up to your shaking form. There's a hint of confusion in his eyes, right behind the infamous look of determination.
You continued to look away, trying not to make eye contact with him. Your shoulders were slumped slightly and you spoke in a soft voice.
"I thought you were mad at me..." Your voice trembled, revealing just how much this situation had been weighing on you.
Davy Jones let out a small chuckle and took a step closer to you. You were taken aback by his laugh, thinking that you have just made the worst decision of your life by saying you thought he was mad. You wanted to move, but your body was frozen, like time stopped around you. A shiver went down your spine as you awaited for what he was about to do...
"No," he said firmly, shaking his head slightly for emphasis, "I'm not mad at you y/n."
You were slightly shocked by this response. Was he actually telling the truth? You hadn't expected such an open and honest answer from someone as cruel as Davy Jones.
"But... I dropped the main sheet cable. I messed everyone else up... they..." You felt tears prick the sides of your eyes, remembering that horrid day. You felt horrible for what you did. Everyone's job was interrupted because you couldn't hold onto a rope...
Seeing you like this didn't resonate well with Davy Jones. He's used to seeing your charismatic and joyful attitude, which ultimately surprised him given you were on the Dutchman. This ship wasn't a place for the kind-hearted, but you found the little good that it had left.
"Aye, you did cause an inconvenience for the rest of the crew... But you did not mean it, did you?"
You look up at Davy Jones, shaking your head 'no'. You really didn't mean to be a burden. Almost like he knew what you were thinking, sensing your guilt, he continued to speak to try to ease the tension in the air.
"You are fine, y/n. It was an accident, is all. Just make sure you don't let your mind wander next time. "
You could sense a form of demand as he said those last words. Not enough to frighten you, but enough to keep you in line.
You looked up at Davy with an expression that was both relieved and confused. You were relieved that Davy wasn't mad, but it was unlike him to act this way. Even with the confusion, you didn't complain. You we're getting the better side of Davy, one that most people never see.
Davy Jones gave you an understanding look and stepped closer. He noticed how you started to slowly inch backwards with every step he took.
"It's all right," Davy said as nicely as he could. "You don't have to be scared of me y/n."
'He really is good at reading people, isn't he?' You thought.
You nodded slowly in acknowledgement. Feeling more relaxed than you had before, you take in a breath that you didn't know you were holding.
You looked up into Davy's eyes then smiled sheepishly; realizing how silly your worries were.
Davy gave a small smile back, then placed one arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a side embrace; not one of those awkward ones, but one filled with comfort and understanding.
You two stayed in the embrace for a few moments longer until finally letting each other go again. It felt nice to know that everything was alright between you two.
All you can think about now is how your life would have been if he never brought up this situation, but you're glad you had this talk. Turns out big ol' Davy Jones he has a soft spot for you after all, even if he may deny it.
Here is a fanfic that I wrote for your birthday, @theblogofdavyjones / @savvythepirate :)
I usually don't write a lot, mainly because I don't have time or haven't got the right mindset, but I mustered up the strength to write something. I hope it is okay enough. I went off of one of your requests that you brought up. I tried my best. :)
Davy Jones x Reader
Night of Protection
The sky had grown dark, and the rain fell heavily. Davy Jones stood at the helm, watching his crew walk around the deck of his ship, hard at work. He knew that these men were tough, and that they could handle any situation they encountered while they were at sea.
As Davy Jones watched, he noticed one particular crew mate, Hadras, acting aggressively towards you. Hadras was taller and was using his size to intimidate you. Davy could hear the fear in your voice as you tried to do your job without provoking him further.
"W-what do you want?" You says in a rather weary voice.
"Ye have no place aboard this ship lassie." He steps closed to you, towering over top of your form. He was starting to get aggressive now, by nudging you around.
"At least do yer job right!"
You continued to fumble with the ropes as you tried to do your best job, starting to get upset at how your crew mate was speaking. You watched as everyone else payed no mind to this interaction and continued to do their job.
Davy felt a surge of anger as he watched Hadras tower over you and threaten you with his size and position on the ship. It was not something he would stand for in any way, shape, or form. Immediately, he stepped down from the helm and walked over to the starboard side of the ship, where you guys were standing.
"Well... what do we have here?..." Davy saunters up to you two with his tense and steady demeanor.
Hadras, attempting to answer his captain, is cut off mid-sentence.
"That's enough! ," said Davy firmly to Hadras in a deep voice that demanded attention and respect from him immediately. "Do you know where ye are?"
He stepped closer to Hadras
"Do ye realize what ye just started for yerself...?" With that said, Davy stepped in between you two and motioned for Hadras to leave before he made matters worse for himself by continuing his aggression against you any longer.
Keeping his guard up in order to keep you safe, he ordered Hadras to the top deck of the ship, where the Bosun was waiting. You saw a glimpse of Davy Jones's arm slightly behind him, trying to keep you at a safe distance behind him and away from the aggressive crew mate. It was subtle, but it made you feel at least a little bit safer.
As much as Hadras wanted to argue against his captain, he decided not to, knowing he would have been in more trouble to do so.
You seemed relieved by this intervention but still visibly shaken by what had just happened between you and Hadras.
Sensing that you may need a moment or two to collect yourself after such an experience, Davy gently placed an arm around your shoulder and kneeled to your level before speaking up again.
"Are ye alright? I'm sorry about what happened there..." His tone was kind but firm; a tone that ensured you knew that he wasn't going to let anyone else on board hurt or abuse you like this ever again if it was within his power to stop it from happening, which it technically was.
You didn't say anything but simply nodded slowly at him in response; a gesture of gratitude that spoke louder than words ever could have done in this situation. After staying there in the presence of each other, Davy then moved away slowly but still kept a watchful eye over you until you eventually returned back to doing your job properly once more.
From now onwards, Davy would make sure that everyone aboard his ship knew exactly how to treat each other with respect; no matter the circumstances, especially for the sweetest soul aboard the Flying Dutchman...
