mc renegade

Renegades [4/10]

I’m quite sickly so this is maybe not as well edited as it could be, but I promised so here it is. Tagging @seastarved @trueromantic1 @spartanguard @kliomuse @losttalongthewayy @natascha-remi-ronin and @thegladelf in the hope they may enjoy (and please guys tell me if tagging is irritating - I am useless at the etiquette of these things.)

Screenshot from Parts of this chapter inspired by (read: stolen wholesale from) a 90s film starring Kevin Costner and Sean Connery. Guess which one?

This chapter 5.1k, On ao3 HERE. Tumblr [1] [2] [3]

Yeah, I’ve committed to 10 chapters. Could be one more, could be one less depending on how things play out.

Chapter 4: Outlaws

Hook dives forward, his hand and hook both clawing for the other man’s throat, before he’s brought crashing to the ground by a large, grey-haired man who kneels heavily on Hook’s lower back and presses his face into the sand.

Emma jolts as a spark flickers across her fingertips. She can feel the buzzing in her head again, can feel the way it travels down her spine, her arms, something like being set alight only without the pain and with twice the fear.

“Let him go!”

Hook struggles under the larger man’s weight, and lets out a string of muffled grunts that she assumes are either agreement or aspersions about the man’s mother.

“He can’t breathe,” Emma hisses at the curly haired man, who is watching Hook’s struggles with a sort of insouciant smile.

“Loud, though, isn’t he. For a man who’s suffocating.”

There’s a burn in her palm so intense she curls her fingers in until she’s sure she’s drawn blood, every word bitten out as she glares at their captor.

“Let. Him. Go.”

The man looks at her, his eyes slightly narrowed as if he’s seen her somewhere before but can’t quite place her.

“Alright, Little John,” he says levelly. “Let him up.”

Little John - the aging giant, presumably - gets to his feet with an exaggerated huff, and drags Hook with him by the collar of his shirt. Hook struggles free of his grasp just far enough to spit a mouthful of sand at the other man’s feet, before being dragged bodily back, both arms held behind his back by Little John’s enormous hands.

“Now, Captain. I didn’t expect this sort of behaviour from you. I thought you were a man of ideals.”

“Depends on the ideals,” Hook spits.

“Loyalty?” The man asks. “Love? Vengeance? Your reputation precedes you.”

“Really?” Hook draws himself up to his full height, but it’s not exactly imposing next to not-so Little John. “And what does my reputation say I’m likely to do to insolent lads who think they can rob me, hmmmm? You want a deal? I’ll give you a deal. I’ll take my hook to that smile until even your mother couldn’t love you, and you’ll thank me for being merciful.”

The man laughs, light and genuine, and pulls the dagger free of his belt. He tosses it in the air - once, twice - and smiles at the way Hook’s eyes follow its flight.

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