#(( if this is correct; I feel like part of my world just turned topside ))

[thesilverlock]

Wait a minute,

canonically,

has Number 96 technically not ever told a lie?

[whoovesnassistant]

A Hello, A Thank You, And A Brain Dump.

Dear PwPP team,

     I am a recent fan, and I am quite an odd one. I am a lover of everything Doctor Who, so much so I have memorized everything about the Doctor and his interactions during the 2005 revival. Yet since I have watched basically all the doctor who media I had access to (Excluding the most recent season because it does not interest me in the slightest, no offence to 13’s actor) I was without any Doctor Who content that actually interested me.

      Well until I made a discovery. You see, when I was moving to a new house, I found a figure I did not remember owning. It looked like a My Little Pony version of Doctor number 10. It fascinated me because It was officially licensed! So, I went down a rabbit hole, and found a whole new Doctor Who community, lost to YouTube, or even, Internet time entirely.

       That’s a little bit of a dramatization, but the point still stands that I discovered something that a lot of people forgot. The thing is, I know nothing about the My Little Pony area of fandoms, but I found this new world of Doctor Who so fascinating. Not only that, but it was a whole community!

       It was intoxicating! Doctors that I’d never dream of! And actually seeing the doctor see something he truly did not know! But most of all… people who understood what made Doctor Who, Doctor Who.

       I’m not a My Little Pony fan, not in the slightest, but as a Doctor who fan, your series is beyond stellar! I know when people understand Doctor Who or not, and you all did know on a level I don’t even thing some real Doctor Who show writers do! Also, your adaptation of the doctor feels so real, it is just stellar! 

       So, now I have to thank you, all of you. You gave me hope about the future of Doctor who will be bright and full of life! You let me see a new world of story telling. I never saw audio plays used like a legitimate series to such effectiveness and its truly brilliant and has inspired me to try to work on something similar, in due time.

        Yet, lastly, thank you so much for the pure, utter joy your work emanates. Yet again, I’m only a Doctor Who fan, but this  series has genuinely gave me more enjoyment that some Doctor Who episodes. It is just, raw, stupid, enjoyable, and oh so timey-wimy fun! Even with some real Doctor Who-esc  dark/sad moments that makes it feel like I’m listening to a real BBC and Hasbro collaboration!

       In fact, the work of your team gave me a Idea for a episode I just couldn’t keep in my head. I know you most likely have plans for all the future audio plays, but I  am a story teller through and through, so consider the last part of this letter like a pitch. Yet again, I’m not trying to be entitled and be like “Here’s my idea, Now make it!”, no I literally have no other living soul to share this idea with and its killing me.

        Now if I had to title it, it would be a two part play called “Turn Timer” and “Pestering Past”. “Turn Timer” would start with the Tardis crew just bumbling around in time and space. Maybe heading from or to an adventure. Yet when the Tardis enters modern times, it gets thrown off course due to a temporal blackhole (Or something?) making the Tardis materialize in front of a mansion that should not exist, that stands right dead center in the Evergreen Forest (if I got it wrong don’t kill me). The master of the house would be a unicorn named Turn Timer, and would be letting any travelers stay.

       Yet when the Doctor reluctantly stays in a room, they discover that some of the travelers have been seeing a hairless ape-like creature attacking residence, even Turn Timer who would have been attacked, saying that they just popped up a few months ago and he’s been trying to cover it up for business.

      Soon, after the Doctor and Tick Tock (Sorry but I have to say this here, that name did NOT age well) go off without Derpy who does not quite trust Turn Timer because…. well I made the name reverse Time Turner for a reason. Yet both the Doctor and Tick Tock does not notice the clearly weird name, so that means duel plot! Yay!

       Eventually the smart duo would figure out that these creatures are just human like Autons. Yet, since humans, or even humanoids, don’t exist in this universe, this is extremely odd (at least I think,  I still know jack about My Little Pony). Also Imagine this would lead into some funny jokes about how the Doctor needs to explain what the hell a human is, and I just imagine Tick Tock confused Autons being exactly like humans and not just modeled by them.

       Meanwhile, Derpy would be grilling Turn Timer (Also again, only a Doctor Who fan but I can just imagine the Donna theme here and it makes me smile) and I Imagine that 70% of this second plot would be jokes. Until before the Auton realization, where Turn Timer makes the mistake of saying Doctor instead of Time Turner (Which I assume he would sign in as) and would be forced to knock out Derpy. Now, after they figure out the Autons are Autons, and the jokes are done, I’m guessing that Turn Timer would project some sort of communication hologram or magic thingy to the Doctor so they can have an exchange that goes along like this.

   TuTi   “Hello Doctor! Sorry but i did not expect for your assistant to be able to see past my perception field.”

 Doc    “ What did you do to Derpy Turn Timer?”

     TiTo “and what perception field?”

   TuTi “ Oh don’t be daft, Doctor! I swear ever since you regenerated you have become so thick! you can’t even see what is so clearly obvious!  You only know one person who would know the correct configuration for a humanoid Auton, and be smart enough to do it! ”

    Doc, in his serious voice, “ Who are you?”

     TuTi, Outraged “Don’t act like you don’t know! We are best friends! The bestest of friends that have ever existed. Long before you started taking your pets onto your Tardis.  You know deep down, and you are running away from it! Like you ran away from your universe! Our Universe! I am tired of seeing your adventures in this world like you did not live in another.”

    TiTo “Who are you then?”

    Doc, still serious “Don’t humor him”

      TuTi “ Oh Doctor….Can’t even ask your own questions anymore can you? How far you have fallen from what you once were. You once could snap your fingers and make army’s turn and run away. Now you can’t even keep your pets (Companions) on a tight enough leash anymore.”

      Doc “ Wait, fingers? how did you-”

     TuTi “Oh now you are getting it. Finally, we are getting back the Doctor that counts. My Doctor, The Oncoming Storm! The Great Exterminator! The Destroyer of Skaro! And lastly, The Timelord Victorious!”

     Doc panicked and angered yelling (Probably) “Who are you?”

     TuTi “ Finally…. Well… I am the master of the house.. the Master! Of the house.”

   That is where “Turn Timer” would end and go into “Pestering Past”, which would pick up with the Master finishing his evil monolog and him and Derpy being in some sort of cave with the Masters Tardis being rigged as a paradox machine. Derpy would probably be in some sort of status field but still being able to interact with the Master.

     I am sure they would discuss why the Master was so obsessed with getting the Doctor to recognize him. The fact that in the Doctor Who universe,  The Master was so utterly empty without his “Best Friend” he could not stand to exist in a world without him, So he tracked the Doctor down, even through different universes just so he could have fun with his “Best Friend”.

     Also probably  telling Derpy more about the Doctor than he has. And most likely telling stories about when the Doctor was very angry, and why he is the last of the timelords.  I thought this would be a very interesting thing to pop up later on, a Derpy is wondering if the Doctor is worth being around if they could do such a thing then turn around and say its horrid.

    On the topside, I’m imagining the Doctor more scared and upset than seen in your audio plays. The fact that he came to a whole new universe, a place to make a new start and have less weight to carry, has been shattered by probably the only person that could have followed him. And to make it worse, it was someone who knows almost as much as the Doctor without his self control, and knowledge of his past life.

     When the Doctor and the New Master meet face to face, I imagine it would be a battle of chaotic personalities on each side. Also, In my characterization of the Master, I think he would be sarcastically energetic to counteract the Doctors normal energetic craziness. Also, for the hell of it, let’s make the Master obsessed with pegasi instead of unicorns because narrative symbolism.

      Lastly, we would learn that creatures that don’t belong in the world of My Little Pony (Cybermen and Terror are my best examples) where caused by the Masters Paradox machine. This gives a reason why they appeared and connects things in a neat little bow. Also gives a reason for Tick Tock to be mad too, due to the fact that the Master indirectly fueled the war he lost his family and time period for.

      And that’s all I have. I don’t know how it would end except I think the Master would snatch Derpys Tardis key to use it to make something to keep tabs on the Tardis crew.

     I’m sorry that half of this thank you and appreciation letter was more about my ideas than how I adore yours. Everyone on the PwPP crew to me is absolutely stellar! You all have made something truly amazing from a Doctor Who story telling standpoint. Lastly, please have fun making your audio plays or whatever you go on to do. It breaks my heart watching people create and have no fun in it.

With love and appreciation,

Raven.

We’re happy this show has brought you plenty of Doctor Who entertainment, even if you’re not an MLP fan. It’s always fun to learn about people who are generally a fan of one but not the other, who are still big fans of our series.

We aren’t really taking any ideas since we have a solid outline of what the rest of the episodes will be, and we can’t really reveal what characters might be appearing later. Your idea was a fun take on the Master though, perhaps consider writing a fanfic, as I’m sure people would enjoy it and we’ll be willing to post fanfics here.

[anarchy-lives-eternal]

Charlastor Week Day 2: Human AU!

(This will be the start of a series of continuous one shots following Charlastor Week, all part of the same universe!)

Losing Your Soul (By Accident)

Contains mentions of Blood and Gore

Alastor LaCroix was having a strange night. The scene in front of him was something he never could have expected, and never thought possible. On the ground was the dead body of a corrupt official, bloody and broken. But for Alastor, that wasn’t the odd part.

No, the oddness of the night began with the appearance of a demon. Now, most people would maybe say this should have been expected, What with all the bloody symbols Alastor had carved into the corpse and drawn in blood on the ground, but Alastor didn’t believe in such nonsense. Well, he supposed he might have to now.

You see, Alastor is a killer. A good one at that. He had even gotten into the habit of carving religious symbols into his kills and drawing them around the area in order to throw the police off his trail, not that they were looking too hard. What with the fact that usually his victims were some particularly nasty individuals. He never expected anything to come of it; after all, he hadn’t believed in God or any religion really. His highest power was his craving for the hunt.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on who you talked to, on this night he was proven utterly, completely, wrong.

“Oh! This is so exciting! My very first one! Oh, I can’t wait to tell daddy. He’ll be so proud!”

In front of Alastor stood a woman. But not just any ol’ dame. No, in front of him stood a demoness, her ivory skin off set by onyx lips. She had long, wavy blonde hair parted with large sharp horns protruding from her head, and her eyes were the most unique of all: her sclera were blood red, her irises a poisonous shade of yellow, and her pupils were slit like a fox or snakes.

That’s when she jumped forward, leaning down and getting into Alastor’s face (which was strange in and of itself because Alastor’s impressive height of 6’4” was nothing to sneeze at, and it was a rare occurrence that a man could get in his face, much less a woman).

“You’re absolutely adorable! And positively human! I’ve never seen one before, so I’m very excited!”

Alastor took a large step back, he was not used to people actively getting in his personal space. Is this how others felt when he did it? It didn’t help any that the demon was a good few inches taller than him, “I’m sorry, my dear, there must be a misunderstanding!”

The demoness stayed where she was, but shook her head excitedly, “Oh no! No misunderstanding! You see these symbols here? This is you pledging your undying soul to me! Isn’t that so exciting? I mean, from the looks of it,” she looked down distastefully at Alastors kill, “You’d’ve come to Hell anyways, so really it’s no huge issue! I promise I’ll be a kind master!”

Alastor froze. The word “master” was replaying over and over in his head. What had he done? Was this God laughing in his face for murdering people? What cruel irony had befallen him!

“Anyways! What’s your name? Where am I? You know, I didn’t expect you humans to be this tall! Dad always talks about you like you’re absolutely tiny. Then again, this isn’t as big as I actually get... hmmm.”

Alastor latched onto the only concept he could process at that moment, “Dad?”

“Oh yes! It was rude of me to ask your name without giving mine, wasn’t it?” The demon laughed, embarrassed, “My name is Charlotte Magne, Princess of Hell, Heir to the Fallen’s Throne, but I go by Charlie for short. My dad is Lucifer, King of Hell, ruler of the Fallen’s Kingdom, or as we nicknamed it, Hell. Now, what’s your name?”

Alastor immediately regretted his question. Until a thought occurred to him, “Why, my name is Alastor LaCroix! Say, since I’m supposedly pledged to you, does that mean it’s in your best interest to keep me safe and intact?”

The princess, Charlie, narrowed her eyes, her wide energetic smile shrinking to one of cool calculation, and Alastor almost felt tempted to fidget. Maybe it was just the knowledge of who, and what, she was, but something about Charlie seemed to connect with him on a predatory level: like a lion and a tiger meeting.

“Well, there is no ‘supposedly’ about it, Alastor. But I suppose I can humor you. After all, now that your soul belongs to me, there is no where in the three realms you could run that I could not find you.”

Alastor still maintained his grin, despite his annoyance at the correction, “Well, darling, I don’t know the official rules, but I was hoping to make a deal with you!”

Alastor was praying this worked. He figured that as the daughter of the Devil, she would have a predisposition towards deals. He hoped.

“A deal? With me? You’ve already made one and lost your soul! Daddy really wasn’t kidding when he said humans were stupid little things, was he?”

Alastor felt his eye twitch wildly, “I take personal offense to that.”

Charlie once more stepped forward, leaning into Alastors space with her hands behind her back and a bright smile on her face again, “Fine then, Alastor. What deal do you have for me? If it’s something silly to try and wiggle out of your commitment, I would recommend not bothering. Also, know that if I don’t accept your deal, and counter it, and you decline my counter, I’ll be taking you straight to Hell with me tonight.”

Alastor withheld the urge to swallow, “Well, dear, on that note, I did have a single question to ask before I proposed my deal!”

“Then what is your question?”

He took a steadying breath, “Why, I wanted to know if you were going to kill me, or if I wouldn’t see you you again until I died naturally, of course.”

Charlie hummed thoughtfully, her hand holding her chin, “Well, it would depend entirely on what I feel like doing. I don’t have many friends in Hell, as you could imagine, and having some company would be nice. Then again, forty or fifty years really isn’t that long of a wait.”

Alastor nearly choked at that, ‘not that long of a wait! How old is she?’

“Of course, of course, my dear! However, I do recall you saying that you had never seen a human before. How would you like to meet more?”

Now this piqued Charlie’s interest, and Alastor noticed. His grin widened just a tad.

“What do you mean? Meet more?”

“Yes indeedy! How about this: if you allow me to live, and cut my time that I am pledged to you in half, I will let you stay with me here! On Earth! And you can see the sights, meet the people, really just have a jolly good time!”

Charlie tilted her head, and looked at him oddly for a moment, “You can’t cut eternity in half, Alastor.”

For what felt like the millionth time that night, Alastor froze again, “Eternity?”

“Well yes, Alastor. What did you think these symbols meant? And not only that, but that deal weighs heavily in your favor. Did you really think it’d be that easy to fool me? The daughter of the King of One-sided deals?”

Alastor scratched the back of his head with a sheepish smile, not really willing to say ‘yes, I did’.

The princess laughed, brilliant peels of laughter seeming to cascade from her black lips, “You did! Oh, you humans are so cute! Now I believe it’s my turn to counter your deal, yes?”

Charlie grins widely, showing off razor sharp teeth, eyes glowing viciously in the moonless bayou, “I allow you to live out the rest of your fated time here on Earth, and in turn, I am allowed to come topside anytime I so please to... check on you, as my investment. How does that sound?”

Alastor’s grin dimmed a bit, “That deal does not involve any mention of my time being reduced.”

Charlie smiled slyly, “I never said it would.”

Now Alastor has a choice to make: take her deal, and live out his natural life with the guarantee of her being able to do as she pleases, so long as she isn’t the one that kills him; or die and go to Hell with her right now. Regardless of his decision, his soul was owned, and he was going to Hell for all eternity at her side.

“Well, I guess I don’t really have a choice then. I’ll take your offer.”

“Good! I was actually hoping you would!” And then she leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. His eyes were open the entire time, so he noticed the burning red light that emitted from them when she did, as well as felt heat surround him. It felt like fire had bloomed all around them.

He reared back quickly, sputtering, “What the devil was that?”

Charlie giggled lightly, finding his flustered state rather endearing, “The deal is struck! Now, did you need any help... cleaning up? I don’t mind helping out, if need be!”

Alastor stared at her with eyes wide as dinner plates, “You would just... help me get away with murder?”

Charlie shrugged her shoulders, her smile dropping for the first time that evening, “Well, I don’t like it, and I find it rather horrid, if I’m entirely honest. But, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Alastor was silent for a few moments, staring in wonder at this demoness, “You’re the princess of Hell, but... you don’t like murder? I was only asking because I thought you’d think it below you. Disliking it though? What wacky nonsense!”

Charlie stiffened, narrowing her eyes at Alastor, and he felt the air around them heat to near unbearable temperatures, “Did you have a problem with it?”

Waving his hands in front of him he quickly corrected himself, “None at all! Just a tad bit surprised, dear.”

Immediately the air cooled down, leaving Alastor to tug a bit at his bow tie.

“So are we done here or do you need to clean up?”

“Ah, I was done anyways, darling.”

“Sweet! Then let’s go! I want to see your world. Ooh, are we in a swamp or something? This is water? It’s so cold!”

Alastor couldn’t help the chuckle as the demoness in front of him ran wildly from one place to another, marveling at all the things she had apparently never seen.

“It’s called a Bayou, around these parts. Yes, that’s water, and it’s not cold, it’s actually quite warm for water. If I may, if you want to come with me to where all the other humans are you’ll have to blend in a little more. Suffice to say, most people aren’t used to seeing demons on the streets, sweetheart!”

“Oh yes! You are right. Well I suppose I could just change quickly!” And then she snapped her fingers and now in front of him stood a woman of average height with Blond hair, pale skin, but not the ivory white it had been, and black eyes, the sclera now a normal human shade of white. She wore a black and pink flapper dress, that Alastor could admit looked rather charming on her, and a pair of low black heels.

Alastor blinked for a moment, “Well that’ll work.”

“Let’s go!” And she grabbed him by the hand, almost literally dragging him towards Lord knows where.

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Well, no, but I want to see everything.”

Alastor smiled. He was still peeved that this had happened at all, but at least the gal was rather charming, and had allowed him to live.

Oh, who was he kidding? He was going to do everything he could to get out of this, no matter how adorable the princess of Hell was!

‘Wait... adorable?’

Aaaaaaand Cut scene! Hope you all enjoyed!

[tarlosprompts]

Self-Destruct

Person A: “Why me?”

Person B: “What?”

Person A: “You could have had anyone, so why me?”

Person B: “.....Because you’re the only one I want, you always have been.... Is that really so hard to believe?”

Warnings: past drug addiction, past overdose, drug house, high teens, mild violence

Also, some of my information my not be correct in the drug world, so sorry.

Shout out to @write-it-motherfuckers​ for the prompt, I saw it when scrolling through my feed.

-Red💋

Part 2

TK Strand loved his job. He loved his job and the people he got to work with. Hell, he’d met the love of his life through his job. Officer Carlos Reyes. The Latino man was perfect in every way and TK was quite sure he didn’t deserve him most days...okay, so all of the time, but he wouldn’t be admitting that any time soon.

That’s why TK was in this funk and had been for the past few days. Thankfully Carlos and he had opposing shifts meaning that he hadn’t had to confront the man in this sour mood. Bad news, his crew had to deal with him. His father was giving him space, but he was pretty sure that if he kept up with his attitude, his dad would pull him aside to have a chat and TK definitely didn’t want that. Judd had tried to talk to him a couple of hours into the shift on his third day of being in the funk.

To say he’d bitten Judd’s head off would be an understatement. TK felt horrible about it. Judd cared about him, and he’d thrown it back in his face. This was further proof that he was undeserving of not only Carlos, but everyone around him. He fucked everything up constantly. 

Mateo and Marjan had both tried to talk to him subtly about his funk, but TK was having none of that. At the last minute, TK had been able to bite his tongue and walk away so as to not tear his teammates apart. The look on his face must have portrayed his annoyance and funk because none of the other firefighters approached him. He’d even caught a few going out of their way to stay as far away from him as possible.

The only person he could stand to be around at this point was Buttercup, the damn dog he said he wouldn’t let in because he wouldn’t be able to handle losing the dog to the same sickness his father had. He told Buttercup everything, muttered it into the brown fur, shed a couple of tears and locked it up again.

TK shook his hands out as the alarm blared. He was utterly professional on calls. He wouldn’t let his troubles fuck up someone else’s life. The ride to the call was quiet other than the rattling of the truck.

Upon arriving at the scene, TK felt his stomach drop as he got a good look at the people surrounding the house. He felt his lips form a thin line as his dad talked to the police Sergeant in charge of the scene. As Owen made it back over, TK could see the pinch at his eyes. “Drug bust gone wrong. This was half a stash house, half hideout for people to get high. Multiple injuries inside and outside. We were called to extract a couple of teens who fell through the floor near the back of the house.”

TK didn’t wait for a command, going over to the truck to grab harnesses that would be used to lower him and someone else down to get the two teens. As he began to harness up, a hand touched his shoulder. He looked up to see his dad giving him a look he knew too well. It was the look that said that he didn’t want to bring up his addiction but he was worried. “TK-”

“I can do my job. Just because this was a house full of junkies and I used to be one doesn’t mean I’m going to go home and relapse. You can’t keep me from doing my job every time it hits a little too close for home,” TK growled, shoving the second harness to Marjan. “This is the one part of the job I’m good at, rescuing people who got in over their head. So can you not act like a concerned father and act like a Captain who knows who on his team is best suited for what?”

“As your Captain, I should even have let you out of the firehouse with the way you’ve been acting today,” Owen’s eyes narrowed.

“Well you did, so at least let me do something I’m good at.”

____________

Before long, TK and Marjan were being lowered into the hole made by the teenagers falling through the floor. They hadn’t been able to talk with the teens, so each were paired with a dose of Narcan in case the teens had overdosed after the floor collapsed. 

TK and Marjan scanned their flashlights around the room slowly. “Fire Department! Call out so we know where you are,” TK called. Hearing something to his right, he turned just in time to have something collide with his head. “Fuck...Marj?”

“I don’t see them. They just disappeared in the dark. Are you alright?”

“I’m good,” he grumbled as he stood, eyes darting through the shadows. That answered a few questions on what the kids could have taken. Whatever it was, was probably causing hallucinations. The lashing out is because they were scared of whatever they were seeing due to the drug. “They’re not trying to hurt us. They’re scared,” he called. 

“But we’re trying to help them,” Marjan stated.

“Yes, but the drug isn’t letting them understand that. All they know is that they fell through the floor and are probably in pain. Whatever they took probably has hallucinogenic properties which is why they’re lashing out...because they want to protect themselves. One of them is probably too hurt to move which is fueling the hallucination and their need to protect.”

“What’s going on down there,” their radios crackled.

TK heard Marjan respond, but he was too focused on the pipe coming straight towards his face. He barely got his hands up before the pipe hit him. He grunted, grabbing hold of the pipe and yanking it towards him. A shaggy brunette just a couple of inches taller than him staggered forward. “You won’t hurt him,” he growled.

“I don’t want to hurt your friend. I want to help,” he had to get a read on how strung out the kid was. As the kid continued to fight against him, TK’s answer was clear. Too strung out to reason with. “Marj, be careful, but look for the other teen. I’ve got this one.”

“You sure?”

“Marjan,” he shouted, getting her into motion.

Taking a punch to the face, TK muttered to himself as he stumbled back. He caught the next punch, returning the favor with one of his own while simultaneously taking the teen to his knees. He used the momentum to push the kid to the ground and put his body weight to use trying to keep the guy down. He got an elbow to the jaw for his troubles, immediately feeling blood start to enter his mouth from the split lip the elbow caused.

As much as TK wanted to ram the kid’s head into the cement below them, he refrained. This was just a strung out kid, he didn’t know what he was doing. He kept the mantra ‘this is just a kid’ even as the kid brought his head back to headbutt him. 

A couple of minutes later had Marjan returning with the injured teen and TK sitting beside an unconscious teen. She rose an eyebrow at him and he glared. “There was no reasoning with him. I thought he’d stop after the first couple of times I hit him, but he kept going.”

He stood, holding on tightly to the unconscious teen as Marjan radioed the team that they were ready to come topside. The looks he got from the three remaining team members further soured his mood. He rolled his eyes as Michelle took the teen from him. “You got all of that,” Judd pointed to his face, “from that green bean?”

TK felt his eye twitch, but he bit his tongue, turning around and stalking out of the house. He ignored the look on his dad’s face as he passed him. The ride back to the station was even quieter than the ride to the house. He couldn’t wait to get a shower to wash off the aches, blood, and memories. 

Before TK could run off to the showers, he was stopped by his dad. “TK, a word?”

“Can I shower first?”

Owen’s face said that it wasn’t an option. TK felt the nervous energy that coated his body. He needed a shower or he was going to explode and really fuck everything up. “I need a shower then we can talk,” TK’s voice shook with the strain of keeping the memories from overtaking him. The memories of the times he was in a hideout with his friends getting higher than the sun. Memories of being too doped out of his mind to stop his friend from overdosing. Memories of the highs.

“Your behavior for the past few days has been unacceptable, TK. We need to talk now.”

Something snapped, and it all came tumbling out. Everything he wanted to keep hidden from his dad and team...from Carlos. “From the way I’ve been acting I should have been fired days ago,” he shouted, turning away from his team. “Every time I think I have something-every time I think I’m going to be good or my life is good I go and I fuck it up! First it was with drugs, I started using and hasn’t that fucked me up enough,” he laughed, beginning to pace.

“And-And every time I think I have myself together, you all just walk on eggshells around me. Ever since I told you about my addiction, you walk on eggshells and Dad, you’ve done that since you found out about my addiction! It drives me mad because I’m not some breakable teen who will relapse at the wrong word out of your mouths! And to hell if I don’t think about using every once in a while, but I never do anything about it because I’m doing so good. And then I’m not doing good and I’m wondering how any of you can see me-how any of you can like this,” he motioned to himself, “to me.”

“Every time something good comes into my life, it gets taken away and I’m just waiting for this to slip from my grip too. I loved a man, was willing to give my all to him, was willing to marry him and the night I wanted to propose to him, he told me he was in love with someone else and had been cheating on me for months. He slipped through my fingers and I fucking relapsed like a child and I died on you,” he looked at Owen, but he turned back to his pacing just as quickly as he’d stopped.

“I didn’t like the firehouse in New York. We weren’t a family, not like this. I wasn’t scared of losing them. I’m scared of losing all of you. I’m afraid of fucking up so badly that I lose all of you and I can’t stop fucking thinking about it. And that makes me wonder how anyone can be happy with me around. How can anyone love me the way I love them? How can someone love a fuck up like me? A former junkie? An addict? Someone who has to struggle every day with his addiction because he was stupid enough to get addicted to drugs. I don’t deserve any of you and you all deserve so much better,” his voice was quiet as he finished his rant. He ran a hand down his face, scrubbing the tears that had fallen. “I really need that shower.”

____________

TK had skipped the shower. He’d snuck out through the back and started to walk home. He’d spilled all of his thoughts just because a call had brought up a few bad memories. He wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have a job to come back to come tomorrow. 

TK didn’t know where he was going. He only had one thought, and that was to get out of his head. He couldn’t take it anymore. The more he thought about how he’d screwed up, the more he thinks of his fuck ups, the more he gets that itch to use. He fucking refused to relapse. 

That’s how TK found himself staring at the door in front of him. The Camero in front suggested that Carlos was home. Before he knew it, he was knocking. He bit his lip, starting to back away from the door as it began to open. Before he could turn tail and run, Carlos was calling his name. “Tyler? Aren’t you supposed to be on shift?”

TK slowly turned around, noticing how Carlos’s eyes trailed over his face and how his frown deepened. Carlos gently pulled TK into the house, sitting him on the couch before going to retrieve the first aid kit. He returned in a matter of seconds, crouching in front of TK and starting to clean up his wounds. The look in TK’s eyes scared him, if he was being honest. 

They didn’t talk as Carlos cleaned up the blood from the split lip. But as Carlos began to stand up and go to put the kit back up, TK spoke. “Why me,” his voice was so quiet, Carlos almost thought he imagined his voice.

The way TK pointedly didn’t look at him was all the proof Carlos needed to know that TK had spoken. “What do you mean?”

“You could have had anyone, why me?”

Carlos was back to crouching in front of TK, trying to get him to meet his eyes. Finally, he placed his hands on either side of TK’s face, making him look at him. “Because you’re the one I want, Tyler, you always have been.” He bit his lip as he saw the look of doubt in TK’s eyes. “Is that really so hard to believe, Tyler Kennedy? I love you so much it hurts. I want to have everything with you because I love you. If it takes me the rest of my life trying to prove it to you, I will. You mean everything to me. Mi Mundo, mi sol, I love you and I always will.”

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 37 of 83 : World of Sea

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 37 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Mord did not know what to make of what he was seeing and hearing.  He was aboard the deadliest craft that he had ever heard of, and her commander, was crying — — — For enemy dead.  He felt guilty about the thoughts of a few minutes before.  Putting his arms about her, he held her until she calmed.  She parted from him gently and sat him on one of the big cushions next to her.

Getting a grip on herself, Sula said with a cold rage, “When we find who did that to Kurin, I hope that we can take them without loss.  If we do have to sink them, I will put them on the bottom without a tear. I have my sailors making inquiries to see if we can find the ones responsible.”  Mord was glad that ferocity was not directed at his ship.

Mord seated himself and said, “We also have inquiries under way, as does the Council and a number of ships that are friendly to us.”

The problem of finding evidence solved itself.  A young deck-hand of the Grython was brought in late that night, with the symptoms of Ord poisoning.  His case was not as advanced as Kurin’s and he responded well to treatment, at first.

“Off with your shirt,” Dr Worran ordered him, intending to see if he still had the strength and coordination to do it.  Wordlessly, the young man struggled with what should have been a simple task.  The Doctor helped him, observing his eyes and respiration at the same time.

“Where did you get that inflamed patch on your right chest?” she asked him urgently.

He shook his head as if having trouble speaking, then mumbled, “Dunno … It itched a little, but it stopped.”

Doctor Worran picked up his shirt and felt something long in the right pocket.  She removed it from his pocket with long tweezers.  She applied a thin paste to the point and washed it off carefully.

She burst in on Sula and Mord, holding her find carefully in the tweezers.  “Look what I found on that young man who just came in! I’ve a mind to let him die.”

Mord looked with horror at the Ord spine, revealed for what it was by the ugly greenish brown left by the testing paste.  It was neatly mounted in a handle.  It looked like an ordinary sail maker’s awl.  “What ship is he from?” was all that he said, as he carefully looked over the lethal tool.

“The Grython,” answered Doctor Worran.

Mord said thoughtfully, “I would not have expected that.  The Grython has been fast friends to the Longin for many Gatherings.  We need to talk to this man, if he can still speak.”

They went quickly to the sick bay.  Doctor Worran pointed out the inflamed area of right chest.  “He was carrying the spine uncovered in his right shirt pocket.  The poison worked through the fabric and his skin.”

“I see,” said Sula.  “He probably did not know what he was carrying, then.  I wonder how he got it?”

The sailor struggled against unwilling muscles to turn his head towards them.  His voice was almost inaudible, and he was clearly fighting for the breath to speak at all, “I won it on a dare.  A pair of sailors bet me a whole Selked-made sail stitching kit that I couldn’t poke the awl into Kurin’s lunch unseen, for a prank.  I didn’t know it would hurt her.  When I heard what happened, I took the awl from the kit and started to come here.  I didn’t make it.  I’m sorry.”

“You did well.  Who were they?” asked Mord.  “What was their ship?”

“I don’t know for sure,” he husked.  “I saw one them in the Grandalor’s booth earlier.  I did recognize the other, but didn’t realize who he was until too late.  He was Silor Elon.  I don’t know where he is now.”  It was a grim and angry pair of Captains who headed topside.  By now the sun was beginning to rise on the eastern horizon.

Mord told his Craft Masters what had happened and added, “This perfidy must be reported to the Council.  Who will go with me?”  Every hand went up.  Master Juris asked to look at the awl.

“There is Selked’s mark.  That means that he made this aboard the Grandalor,” he pronounced like it was a doom.

Chapter 12a: Flight of the Grandalor

“Dark Iren devour those fools!” Barad raged.  “Nobody will believe that we tried to stop them.  We will all swim for their idiocy!  By the time that the Council finds their mistake, they will have to send their apologies by way of Iren’s Orcas!”

Mister Timms paused in his duties long enough to agree, saying, “As many of us was involved in one way and another, Sir, I’m sure that you’re right.  Many inquired about the Ord and many more worked in the experiments.  Best we give the Council time to cool down before we try to explain.”

All about him the crew was quietly and efficiently preparing the Grandalor to get under way.  Tanlin was at the small floating dock, greeting each boat and speaking quietly to the new arrivals as the crew inconspicuously came aboard, a few at a time.  Occasionally, a boat left the ship with a few folk on it.

Moonlight glittered across the water, pursuing little Dorac over the horizon. All about them, only the stars and the running lamps and masthead lights of the sleeping Naral fleet provided any light.  It would be six hours before swift little Dorac rose again, followed shortly by mighty Wohan.  Six hours of darkness.  Six hours to flee for their lives.

Without tocsins or shouted orders, cables were slipped from the anchorage float and sails were set as silently as the wind allowed.  As she began to move, her masthead lights and running lamps were extinguished, one by one.  Following the constellation known as the Sea Hawk, the Grandalor raced SSE through the darkness under all of the canvas that she could fly, with no lights showing, straight away from the sleeping Gathering.  

As soon as the last of the masthead lanterns of the Naral fleet fell below the horizon, Barad wrote an extensive Log entry and took out his Three Dragons set.

Tanlin, who had just come off duty as First Officer of the Second Night Watch, relaxed into the cushions of one of the cabin’s chairs and looked on with interest.

“W’at’re ye doin’, Luve?”

“Trying to save our lives and our ship, in that order.  I have entered the whole true account of Kurin’s poisoning into the Log.  It cannot save me.  Unless we escape the fleet, I will die for Kurin’s murder.  It may well save you and others innocent of the killing.”

“T’at’s a good t’ing t’at ye’re doin’, m’ ‘Eart — — ‘ow’ll T’ree Dragons save us?”

“I have broken the course rose into seven possible tacks.  The dice will tell us which way to go.  If white lands on a number less than fifty, we hold course for an hour and roll again.  Whichever of these two dice eats the other gives us the  course to follow, from this table. He held up a tallow-slate with a neatly made table on it.  If neither one eats the other, we split the difference for our course.  We exclude only courses that we know to be dangerous.

“Roll the first one, Tanlin, and pray to the Dragons that it’s a good cast.”

As the dice rattled in the cup Tanlin thought, ‘E knows t’at ‘e’s doomed.  Even i’ we go t’ t’e Arrakans, t’ey won’t shield ‘im from murder, so w’at does ‘e do?  ‘E still t’inks o’ gain an’ loss but now ‘is t’ought’s for t’ose close t’ ‘im an’ ‘is crew.  ‘Ow many in ‘is place wad do as much?  Few.  Nane t’at Oi can t’ink o’.  An’ Oi married ‘im!  Pride swelled in her heart as the dice bounded clattering about the board and came to rest.

They leaned over the board together and she put an arm about his waist. He absently stroked her hair and put an arm around her as he read the fall of the dice.

“Dragon eats skelt, seventy three.”  He consulted his chart and figured the correction for the present course in his head.  “East-North-East. That will take us across the fleet, just out of their sight.”  As he straightened, she wrapped her other arm about him and gave him a spontaneous kiss.

“So close?  Shall Oi t’row again?”

“No. A better course could not have been chosen.  If there is pursuit and I am sure there will be, it will make us hard to see because of the glare of the early sun.  It also cuts back and across our track.  Any trying to find us by following our course will be thrown off as well.”

“Oi’ll take care o’ t’e corse change, Luve.  Ye’ve ‘ad a ‘orrible day.  ‘Ow long do we ‘old ‘t?”

“Seven and a half hours.”  He looked down at her for a rare unguarded moment.  Why did it take so long to find you?  I know that Teralat would have liked you.  The memory of his long dead wife hadn’t hurt since he’d realized that he actually respected Kurt— no, Tanlin.  He now knew for certain that his feelings had become more than respect.

“Aye, seven an’ a ‘alf ‘ours.  So, seventy t’ree?  T’e forst digit’s t’e ‘ours an’ t’e second’s t’e minutes by tens?” she questioned as she set the water clock to time the tack.

“Yes. You know, I married you for more than your stunning good looks.”

“Oi know.  Ye got t’ose t’.”  She flipped her fall of hair saucily as she left.  Arriving on deck, she became a First Officer.

TO BE CONTINUED

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[shirtlesssammy]

15x03: The Rupture

Then:

Long Live the Queen

Now:

We start right where we left off. Hunters are guarding the failing perimeter, while our team heads back to the crypt to perform Rowena’s spell. They set to salting the place while Rowena casts her spell. It starts to reinforce the barrier, but then things start to flicker and Rowena is knocked back in a blast. The spell didn’t work.

There are too many ghosts and they’re too strong. Dean suggests killing as many ghosts as possible before the wall falls, but Rowena scoffs at the idea. Belphegor walks off and Cas follows him. Dean gets all soldier mode and starts yelling about not giving up. 

*Samwitch Alert* Sam, ever the mediator, hunkers down next to Rowena to ask if she needs anything. He rests his hand gently on her shoulder and they share meaningful looks. 

Meanwhile, Bel and Cas wander the graveyard. Bel tells Cas, “You can’t even look at me.” Put a pin in that comment. They wander to the hell mouth. 

Sam and Dean discuss strategy. Dean’s pissed at God. (*AHEM*). He’s not going down without a fight. Sam is distracted, staring at a lovely framed Rowena looking at the Book of the Damned. 

Bel has an idea. He suggests finding Lilith’s Crook, a horn Lilith used to keep order with all the demons in Hell that she sent to Earth.

If they get it and use it, they can draw all the ghosts and demons that are now topside, back to Hell. Rowena has a spell of her own devising to close the hole in the ground. (Crack thought: This is a healing spell. Maybe she’ll use it on herself to heal her own wound.) The spell only takes a couple ingredients, and she’ll need an assistant. She says this while looking at Cas, but then says, “Dibs on Samuel.” Lololololol. That’s right, girl, he’s all yours. 

Someone will also have to lob the spell bomb over the edge of the tear. Belphegor then pipes up asking for help in Hell. “I want protection. Muscle.” Without a beat, Dean responds, “Yeah, Cas’ll go.” And Cas’s look of WTF sums things up quite nicely. Cas has been to Hell before. I mean, yes, uurgh, saving your sorry ass from it, Dean (ok, I’m on no Dean hate-train but it’s easy to lash back at him when he’s being this way.) “Well, it sounds like I don’t have a choice.” I feel like all three members of Team Free Will uttered something along those lines tonight and I’m not well. Dean says, “Go team.” There’s no free will in this house. 

Ketch is still in the hospital and is visited by the demon, Ardat. Things don’t go well. (Remember in Temple of Doom when they ripped a still beating heart out of someone and an entire film industry created a whole new rating because of it? Now they’re just showing this shit on network TV at 7pm. What a time to be alive.) (Also, good riddance Ketch. You killed Eileen and I’ll never forgive you.)

Belphegor continues to needle Cas with the idea that he’s not wanted by the Winchesters. Cas tries to ignore him. Cas asks how they get down there. Belphegor isn’t sure and walks closer to the edge to look over. Cas pushes him over the edge and a good time was had by all. Cas jumping in after him, not so much fun. 

Bleached hair hunter (what’s her name, she seems cool and I hope she sticks around) shows up with all the spell ingredients for Rowena. Dean reveals that he DOES know about Harry Potter. 

Dean hears from Ketch, but it’s not Ketch, and Dean spills their entire plan to Ardat. Question: If Castiel is spelled with one ‘s’ but his nickname is spelled ‘Cass’, why wouldn’t Belphegor’s nickname be ‘Bell’? (Why yes, I do like to rehash centuries old fandom sticking points.) 

Cas and Belphegor wander around a very quiet Hell. Everyone is topside apparently. 

Belphegor tells Cas that he thinks he’s growing on Sam and Dean, “like a cancer.” Cas tells him that they’re using him and that he shouldn’t mistake that for care (AAGHH, stop). They find Lilith’s vault. 

Inside the vault, they discover a demon happily looting the place. He greets Belphegor cheerfully. Looting is fun! When the other demon doesn’t have the horn, however, Cas kills him immediately. Cas is SO DONE. Belphegor leads Cas to the box containing Lilith’s crook and we learn that it’s warded by an Enochian hymn praising Lucifer. How very on brand for Lilith! She was also the only one who could read Enochian so, Belphegor points out, it’s a damn convenient thing that Cas came along on this trip to Hell. 

Cas tries to recite the incantation on the box but it fails. Belphegor points out that perhaps it ought to be sung. We as a fandom are then ROBBED of Misha singing the entire incantation. (CC: Shaving people punting things? After a suitable mourning period, of course.)

Dean sets up next to the Hell pit while inside, Sam’s torn between fighting alongside his brother and performing the quieter (but essential) magics inside. THIS SCENE -- this tiny line represents so much of what I hope for Sam’s journey this season. That he’s described as a witch by Rowena, that he’s GOOD at this and leadership… There’s so much potential just waiting below the surface for Sam to give voice and form. “And magic isn’t fighting?” Rowena asks him as he frets. “[Dean’s] doing his part; it’s time for you to do yours.” GUH

In Hell, Cas pulls out the crook. It is indeed a sheep’s horn. He’s about to hand it over when he’s tossed across the room. It’s Ardat! She’s been onto Belphegor since the gates flew open, suspecting that he’d try to take over Hell. Cas and Ardat fight, Ardat arguing that Belphegor’s aspirations are much higher than he lets on. Belphegor kills Ardat and Cas confronts him about her claims. Belphegor laughs and then casts Cas from the vault. 

He crows over his victory to Cas. The crook is a siphon that can pull all the souls into him, giving him godlike power. Cas realizes that every move by Belphegor has been carefully planned to somehow get Cas down to Hell with him to open the chest and get him the horn. WHERPS.  As Belphegor blows the horn, the Earth and Hell resonate with it. Cas struggles against a forceful wind to try to get back into the vault and stop Belphegor. 

For That Shirt Barely Survived Science

In the crypt, Sam and Rowena join hands and start the spell.

They chant together. Sam turns away for a moment to look towards the door, no doubt wondering what’s going on outside. Rowena calls him to task with a gentle smile and “Sam.” GUH that’s what finally broke me. (Boris has always been the more ardent Samwitch shipper but this gentle remonstrance really did me in.) The spell ignites. Dean’s hex bag glows and he hurls it into the pit. Belphegor fills with souls. It’s happening! All the things!

And then Cas tackles Belphegor and the horn ceases abruptly. He punches Belphegor again and again. (It has been a VERY trying couple of days.)

Upstairs, something’s wrong. The rift continues to crumble but Rowena looks…afraid. 

Cas is interrupted from punching Belphegor by the demon pleading for mercy in Jack’s voice. “It’s me. Jack.” UGH fucking demons. Cas is visibly tormented by this. He spreads his hand, hesitates, then summons his grace. It...FLICKERS. (Ruh roh) Still, it ignites enough for him to press his palm to Belphegor’s forehead - to Jack’s forehead - and smite him. (Ever since that Shaving people promo, I’ve been expecting Jacks’ body to burn but I never imagined that Cas would have had to be the one to do it. What a horrible, traumatic thing. Excuse me while I wrap Cas in a blanket, then myself, then Boris, then all of you readers.) (Boris: *crying noise, crying noise*)

Sam and Dean compare notes over the phone. The crack is closing but “something doesn’t feel right.” That old hunter instinct is correct, because things are about to get even worse. Rowena wanders across the room while Sam is on the phone. He looks over in time to see her STAB HERSELF in the shoulder. She pulls out her resurrection sachet. “Won’t need that where I’m going.” 

Rowena bitterly explains that they’ve bungled their last option. Or, penultimate option. There’s one more spell she can use to contain the souls. “Death is an infinite vessel,” she explains. “It draws its power from its caster.” Tears linger on her cheeks as she reveals that there are only two ingredients: her “still-coursing blood and the last is my final breath.” She’ll absorb all the spirits and after a time, her body will break down and release them all to Hell where they belong. (She will also, of course, be trapped there AND dead which SUCKS BIG TIME.) 

Sam tries to talk her out of it but she doubles down. She needs to die and Sam’s the one who must do it. “My real, permanent demise is in your hands. It’s in Death’s books.” Sam tries the “screw fate” argument on her but it doesn’t fly.

Outside, Cas reemerges from the pit and Dean confronts him about the shaky spell. Cas explains that he had to kill Belphegor and the crook was destroyed, and Dean handles it with his customary grace. JK Dean flips the fuck out. 

Rowena says something incredibly intriguing to me, then. Rowena tells Sam that she wouldn’t kill herself for the sake of anybody, but she would do it for prophecy. For magic, to which she’s devoted her life. (I’m looking directly at Billie here, who chose to reveal the agent of Rowena’s demise to her. Who MEDDLED and helped bring this about. Billie! What’s your game? Call me!) Sam tries to pull away from Rowena, who has gripped his hand and pressed the knife to her gut. “We’ve gotten quite fond of each other, haven’t we?” she asks and places a friendly hand on his shoulder. I’d love to write that suddenly PUPPIES ran into the crypt and they played with them for the rest of the episode but…

Rowena tearfully commands Sam to kill her, weighing her life against the fate of the world and the survival of Dean. She pushes AAAALLL of Sam’s buttons. Sam embraces her and stabs her right in the gut at the same time. She forces him to look her in the eyes afterward. “That’s my boy,” she tells him and I take a crying break from this recap because this performance is too goddamn much. 

And just like that, the first ingredient is in play. Rowena walks from the crypt in her flowing pink gown like a stained rose and souls fly into her. She strides to the edge of the pit and looks at Team Free Will one last time before saying, “Goodbye, boys.” She throws herself down into the depths of Hell. The ground seals behind her. It’s done. 

For Buffy Summers “Death is your gift” Science

In the bunker Dean’s footsteps echo down an empty hallway. He checks in on Sam, who’s sitting sorrowfully in his room. Sam brushes away tears before turning to face Dean and I’m basically dead right now. 

Dean drops a quick recap: the town is safe, Hell is closed, Ketch is dead. Dean tries to rally Sam. They beat Chuck’s final apocalypse. Hooray?

Afterwards, Dean throws a giant taco party for all their hunter friends. JUST KIDDING! Dean drinks hard liquor alone in the library when Cas comes in.

Cas asks how Sam’s doing and Dean is just…so angry. Dean asks Cas why he didn’t stick to the plan. Cas defends his decisions. “Something always goes wrong.” 

Dean rejoins with: “Why does that something always seem to be you,” and I’m feeling sudden empathy for Ketch, for I have also just had my heart ripped out of my chest and held, still beating, up to my face. 

“You used to trust me. Give me the benefit of the doubt.” But that’s no longer the case. Cas winds through the issue quickly, with spare words. He’s tried to talk to Dean about what he’s going through, about his failing powers, but Dean freezes him out. Dean still blames him for Mary’s death. Cas realizes it now fully, perhaps. He is DEAD to Dean. This is all delivered so softly. So TERRIBLY softly.

Dean meets this all with utter silence. He is so emotionally shut down, he can’t even shout anymore. There are no broken lamps. It’s just one non-functioning Dean with no words and bare flickers of eye contact.

“I don’t think there’s anything left to say,” Cas concludes and turns to go. 

Finally, Dean speaks. “Where you going?”

“Jack’s dead. Chuck is gone. You and Sam have each other. I think it’s time for me to move on.” Dean speaks not a word, doesn’t move a muscle, and Castiel turns and walks out the door. And just like that, Team Free Will fractures.

We’re back to Sam and Dean against the world, and doesn’t everybody just…feel great?

______________________________

Oh, My Still-Beating Quotes:

Get me close to the epicenter, find me a nice protected ghost free space. I’ll patch those crumbling walls right up and we’ll all be home for high tea.

I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let some glorified fanboy get the last word

To put it in American action movie terms, you’ll be carrying the bomb, I light the fuse, you toss it in

Oh Cas, your voice, it’s like an angel

I’ll be a god. Or, you know, close enough

I know this in my bones. It has to be this way.

I know we’ve gotten quite fond of each other, haven’t we?

______________________________

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[fallout-snippets]

Oh my gosh your writing is so good - I'm loving that ask about companions realising they're in love! If it's ok, could I ask for you to expand it with X6 and the robots? If it's not too much trouble 💕

(I assumed the robots in question, if I missed one please let me know. also thank you!!!)

Ada has the capacity to love; so’s she been told. And she can certainly detect a certain favoritism in her programming towards her companions. When they die, she feels empty.

She appriciates the stranger who helps her get revenge and although dissapointed the villain wasn’t as villainous, she remains satisfied that it’s now over. Her future is now unclear and she expects that she might be left behind as Sole seems more than capable to handle things on their own; this quest they were on were for Adas benefit, not theirs.

But they offer her a new home, a new family. They ask her to come with them, because they like her. Like? Her programming IS pretty special and she is designed to be approachable but when Sole says it it feels different. It feels… warm. It’s an unusual feeling and she has to check her cooling system to see if it’s failing. It’s not.

They travel together some more and Ada is more than happy to help carry the scrap Sole spots with eagle eyes. They express gratitude that she doesn’t complain and she doesn’t understand why anyone would complain if they got to travel with Sole.

The warmth she experiences, that apparently has nothing to do with her hardware, grows day by day until one day they’re in a settlement. The settlers don’t mistreat her but she’s nothing but a robot to them. The difference in how Sole approaches her and how everyone else does is vast and she begins to remember her original companions talk to themselves about their feelings.

Sole treats her like a person, like an individual. Not just scraps put together to pull a heavy load, but like a friend. More than friends. Family. Or…?

Ada does have the capacity for love, it was programmed into her, but it was never specified which kind of love.

Codsworth immediately cares for the family he’s been designated to help. And how easy it is to care for them! They’re a picture perfect family and even though he is only a helper, they invite him in to become a part of it. It is such a shame when the bombs fall but luckily the vault is nearby and the family appears to make it. He checks the area afterwards, once the dust settles, so to speak, and doesn’t find them.

Some charred remains are difficult to identify but he takes his time and determines that his precious family must be safe. If he had lungs he’d sigh with relief. Instead he takes it upon himself to clean up the house to the best of his ability until their return.

Years go by but he doesn’t falter. It’s only reasonable to assume that the family would live out their lives in the vault, safe from the radiation outside (though he does begin to loathe his solitude) and perhaps their descendants will instead emerge, ready to resume living.

Instead two centuries pass and he’s hanging on by a thread. The house never gets clean enough, he hasn’t spoken to anyone for too long and he misses them. His family. When a figure finally returns to the house he’s shocked but finally things will return to normal.

Well, as normal as it can get. Their better half is dead and their precious child has been taken but he sees something new in them, a fire in their eyes. He expects them to clean up the world! And in the meantime he’ll make them a new home to come back to but instead they ask him to come along.

“Codsworth, I need you.”

He feels electricity spark inside his chassis and how could he deny? His beloved Sole finally returned to him, he’ll do anything they ask. And they’ll need protection out there! He sees an entirely new person grow from the ruins and yet they remain true to who they’ve been all along. The new radiation-filled world seems to turn people into demons, but not Sole.

They still carry themselves with dignity, still treat him with respect. They grow a reputation in the world as a hero and he agrees but they still come home. To him. It makes him… feel different. Not that he’s supposed to. But it’s hard not to grow excited when he hears them approaching home, when he sees them in one piece. When he sees them smiling at him, as if they were coming back home to their better half.

Nick has been around for a long time. Too long, probably. He’s seen things that makes your skin crawl and heard things that’d make you nauseous. So when this vault-dweller rolls around with an unbelievable story, he believes them. When they ask for his help, he helps them. That’s what he does.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for this unhardened pre-war stranger to turn out to be braver and kinder than anyone else who grew up in this disadvantageous world. You’d think someone who lived comfortably up until now would have a harder time adjusting, of fitting in. You’d think they’d try to find another place to be comfortable in.

But Sole fits in this world like a glove and it’s beautiful to watch them perform. It’s even a pleasure to travel with them, despite all the horrors he has to see them experience for the first time, although they don’t always get discouraged by what you’d think. The first time they saw him they were surprised, to say the least, but immediately accepting. Maybe it was the trauma of having their world turned upside down but not once did Sole ever question his loyalty or integrity.

They even go to him for comfort, leaning on his shoulder and crying into his coat. It’s been a long time since anyone’s bothered to get close to him and he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it but he knows what he is. He’s a robot with a human personality, a human past, and he doesn’t dare imagine a future with them.

Until that’s all he does.

It’s an early morning in Diamond City when he hears papers shuffling in his office. It’s too early for Ellie to be there but he isn’t too surprised to find Sole looking through some files.

“I already solved those.” he tells them, leaning on the doorframe.

“Oh yeah? Bet the butler did it.” they say with a smirk and he feels the fans kick on, hoping they don’t make too much noise.

He knows then and there that resistance is futile but he also knows that he’s too complicated and he wouldn’t wish that mess on anyone. But Nick has been around for a long time. Maybe it’s time to get some closure on some things.

“Actually, I could use your help on a case. Been working on it for a while. It’s kind of personal, though.”

X6-88 is not supposed to feel anything. It’s not a part of his programming, his training or job description. When he first meets Sole he’s unfazed, although curious, and he can see straight away that they don’t trust him. That’s okay. He doesn’t need their trust.

He escorts them through a mission that’s standard for him but ends up on a different note than what he’d done. That’s also okay, he was not leading the mission. He expects to return to his duties as Sole is a capable survivor topside but they ask him to come with them. He doesn’t question it, because why would he, but his curiousity grows. He smothers it with logic.

They ask him all sorts of things, about the Institute, its people and history, but also about him. There’s nothing to tell about him. He’s a courser designed to retrieve runaway synths. That’s who he is, what he is.

He can tell they’re dissapointed by his answer but there’s really nothing else to say. They ask if he’s really okay with it, to be told what to do and treated like a tool. He tells them it’s not up to him to decide what he’s used for but he is built to be used.

“You’re born.” they correct him, touching his hand.

“I am not human.” he replies and attempts to withdraw but is surprised at how warm they feel. He finds himself unwilling to withdraw despite their current breach of conduct.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“I am… sentient.” he says, unable to smother the whirlpool of confusion. “A Mister Handy is sentient but not human. It does what it’s told.” he says trying to convince himself more than Sole.

He likes the way they look at him, even if their eyes are currently sad. He’s used to people looking at him with fear or anger but Sole looks at him with… affection. Why?

Sole withdraws their hand, assuming the conversation ended nowhere. They sit in silence for a while, taking a break from the burning sun above.

“You don’t owe them anything. They may have created you but they created an individual. They don’t get to control you like this.”

X6-88 feels mostly confusion and turmoil for a long time after that. They treat him like an equal and it’s hard not to revel in it compared to the coldness he faces in the Institute. They ask for his opinion, about his expertise, and they care for him when he’s wounded.

His training tells him to ignore any and all “feelings” but Sole makes him feel appriciated, happy, and he likes how it feels. Why is something that makes him feel good bad? When Sole talks to him he makes more of an effort to reply, when they tells him a story he tries to react appropriately. They smile at his attempts and it causes his gut to drop but not in a terrifying I-have-made-a-huge-mistake kind of way but a pleasant one.

One night back at the Institute where he waits outside Fathers room he hears them arguing. They are clearly disagreeing about something and it’s none of his business but Sole is upset when they leave and he finds himself mad on their behalf. Mad at Father.

It shakes him to his core to realize that he can feel that way but it doesn’t take more than a second for him to decide that Sole is more important than the Institute and Father and if needed he will take their side.

[anubislover]

Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya Chapter 4: Citrus in the Sun

“So, tell me about your old captain.”

Nami looked up from the shirt she was altering to pay attention to her roommate. In just a month, she and Ikkaku had bonded splendidly, the engineer offering up her limited wardrobe to the navigator, even if the curly-haired beauty was much taller and not as well-endowed. Luckily, she gave Nami full permission to tailor a few of her old shirts to fit on the promise that they go shopping together after the next job. Law said he had something big planned, and everyone was eager to gain a little extra spending money.

“Old captain?”

Chin resting on her fist, the brunette grinned at her. “Yeah. I didn’t exactly get to talk to him, what with the life-threatening injuries and him grieving for his brother, but we’re all curious about Straw Hat. I mean, I can’t even imagine a guy crazy enough to punch a Celestial Dragon over a Fishman.”

It annoyed her slightly that, despite her repeated insistence that her position as their shipmate was temporary, the Heart Pirates treated her like she was fully part of their crew. They meant well, but it raised her hackles when they acted as if she was no longer a Straw Hat. “Luffy’s an odd one, that’s for sure. I guess the best way to describe him is pure and straightforward.”

Ikkaku wrinkled her nose. “‘Pure?’ Weird description for a pirate.”

“Yeah, it is, but I don’t mean in the sense that he’s all goodness and rainbows. He’s just…his wants and needs are uncomplicated. He loves his nakama, his dream is to be King of the Pirates, and he doesn’t care about your past—just how you act in the present. It’s the reason I choose to sail with him; normally, I hate pirates.”

“Why?”

Pursing her lips, Nami considered just how much to tell her new friend. The tattoo artist was fun and friendly and kind, but she wasn’t nakama. So, she settled on the essential details that hopefully wouldn’t invite more questions. “My mother was murdered by pirates, and they held my town hostage for years.”

Sympathy lined her face, mouth turning down at the corners. “I’m guessing the Marines didn’t do shit to help you.”

“A few tried but got killed for their efforts. Mostly, they were bribed to look the other way.”

“That sucks. I’m really sorry.” The words were simple but sincere, and it brought a small, appreciative smile to the navigator’s face.

“It’s in the past. Thanks to Luffy, everyone on the island is free and happy, and I’m out on the sea fulfilling my dream. He’s reckless and stupid and I’m pretty sure I’m going to get wrinkles before my time because of him, but I couldn’t ask for a better captain. I just have to make the most of these next two years so I’ll be strong enough to guide him through the New World.”

Ikkaku’s mouth twisted like she wanted to argue but held herself back. “Well, I’m glad he helped you out—otherwise, you’d still be stuck in that village, and we never would have met!” she said with a grin.

You have no idea, Nami thought to herself, standing up to slip on the now cropped button-down T-shirt. It was a bit tight at the top, necessitating the top three buttons remain open, but the pink and white plaid was super cute, and with her modifications it nicely accentuated her trim waist and ample bust. “How’d you end up on this ship, anyway?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.

Grabbing her bandana, Ikkaku playfully bumped her hip as they left the room. “Captain found me in a shit port town when the Polar Tang needed repairs. My boss at the time insisted the whole engine was about to fall apart and would need to be completely replaced. It was actually only a few parts, and I told him so. Boss was furious and sacked my ass, but Captain Law told me if I could fix it as easily as I said, he’d hire me on the spot. By the next day, I was officially a pirate.”

“What, so he didn’t just decide ‘she’s my engineer. I found her, so she’s mine’?” Nami asked, head tilted to the side in confusion.

“No, why would he?”

“Eh, Luffy just always seems to recruit people that way. No matter how you try to argue, once he decides you’re part of his crew, you’re done.”

“Not gonna lie, that actually sounds like a pretty pirate-like recruitment system.”

“Right? I think Brooke’s the only one who actually asked to join up—the rest of us were basically shanghaied.”

The two shared a hearty laugh as they parted ways, Ikkaku making her way to the engine room to oversee some maintenance, while Nami headed topside, determined to enjoy some fresh air. Shachi and Penguin had initially been reluctant to surface—they’d switched out the sub’s air earlier in the week and had no real need to do it again so soon—but she’d gone over their heads and appealed to Law, arguing that the last few times they’d done so, the weather had either been miserable, or they had to submerge again prematurely due to sighting a Navy ship. It was driving her bonkers, and Bepo was especially suffering. Luckily, the doctor had easily agreed, apparently considering the navigators’ comfort important enough to excuse the minor inconvenience.

Pushing open the steel door, she breathed in deeply, relishing the familiar scent of the sea and wind. It was a beautiful, sunny day and the crew was taking it as the perfect opportunity to decompress, both literally and figuratively. Bepo was particularly appreciative of the reprieve from the stuffy hull, having taken all the charts and maps onto the deck to work on. Sprawled on his belly, he carefully sketched out an island’s details like Nami had instructed, though it was clear from the way his eyelids kept drifting shut he was close to falling asleep. Meanwhile, Law lounged against him, head tilted back to absorb as much vitamin D as he could, fuzzy hat nowhere to be found. There was just enough of a breeze to keep Bepo’s fur from becoming uncomfortably hot, allowing the captain to fully enjoy this rare moment of relaxation.

The click of her heels against the metal deck woke him from a light doze, and he spared the Cat Thief a grin, nodding to the spot next to him against the bear. “Care to join us, Nami-ya?”

It never failed to surprise her whenever she caught Law using his navigator as a pillow. Though she’d finally accepted that, around his crew at least, there was more to the man than the sadistic monster the World Government made him out to be, it was still weird to see him do something so (dare she say it?) cute.

White teeth sank into her plump bottom lip as she considered his offer. On one hand, she enjoyed Bepo’s company; he was friendly, always grateful for her help, and so incredibly comfy she found herself wishing she could lay on him instead of her bed some nights. On the other hand, she’d have to sit next to Law. When there was work to be done, like plotting courses or planning supply runs, he maintained a respectful distance, treating her in a similar manner to his professionalism in the infirmary. But during downtown like this, she’d feel his sharp eyes lingering on her, his expression calculating before morphing into a lazy smirk once he realized she’d caught him. It put her on edge, not just because he was a dangerous man, but because his gaze never failed to ignite a small fire in her lower belly. She did her best to brush it off, reminding herself that, attractive though he may be, he was Luffy’s rival, his intentions towards her were still unknown, she didn’t mix business with pleasure, and no man was worth risking the safety of her nakama for.

Too bad none of that stopped the warm tingles of lust that sparked at his come-hither smirk or ostensibly innocent touches.

Sensing her reluctance, the surgeon pulled out his trump card; a small basket of ripe mikans. “Care for one? The cook got these on the last island, but said if they’re not eaten soon, they’ll go bad. I’d hate to see them go to waste.”

A sudden burst of homesickness washed over her; not just for Cocoyashi, but for her mikan grove aboard the Sunny. Unconsciously, her feet moved forward, and she soon found herself snuggled up against Bepo, the rough denim of Law’s jeans brushing against her bare leg; he’d moved little more than an inch to grant her room, not even bothering to hide the way his eyes trailed along the pale skin of her thighs exposed by her white shorts. Her own eyes narrowed in annoyance, but it quickly dissipated as he handed her the bright orange fruit.

“Eat up, Nami-ya; an apple a day keeps the doctor away,” Law chuckled before going back to sunning himself, a victorious smirk lifting the corner of his lip.

As much as she wanted to be aggravated at his teasing, the citrus scent tickled her nose enticingly as she instinctively began peeling the mikan. Mouth watering at the deliciously familiar smell, she licked her lips in anticipation before biting into a succulent slice.

She was in heaven the second the juices hit her tongue; the mikan was perfectly ripe, with a fresh tang that balanced out the sweetness beautifully. The cook was absolutely correct when he said they needed to be eaten now. Even a day later and they’d begin going over-ripe and soft, becoming saccharine and not as pleasant to eat. A little moan escaped her as the bits of flesh burst between her teeth, crewing carefully to savor every last moment.

A low laugh in her ear broke her from her mikan nirvana. “Sounds like you’re enjoying that, Nami-ya,” Law whispered suggestively, reaching over to boldly steal a slice.

Hot red spread across her cheeks as she tried to smack his hand away, but he was too quick. Not that it would have really stopped him; another thing she’d learned was that he wasn’t above using his powers for petty, inconsequential reasons, especially when he was in a playful mood. She’d seen him move his crew’s tools around, switch sugar for salt, and a few other things that were surprisingly juvenile. Part of her wanted to roll her eyes, but another part was mildly comforted by it; it was similar to how Luffy would use his Gomu Gomu abilities to steal food from the other side of the table or swing around the ship. Such frivolity painted a slightly lighter picture of the infamous Surgeon of Death.

“Hey Nami!” Shachi called as he practically skipped over, Penguin in tow. Despite the initial reluctance to surface, both seemed more chipper now that they were above water, the beautiful day doing its job. “Enjoying yourself?”

She shrugged, managing to force down her blush and replacing it with a carefree grin. “I’ve got sunshine, mikans, and Bepo as a pillow, so the day’s off to a good start.”

“Hey, I was wondering if you could clear up a rumor for me,” Penguin began, eyeing the fruit. “Do you really have mikan trees on your ship?”

Popping another slice in her mouth, she chirped, “Yup! They’re from my family’s mikan grove. I know it sounds odd, but it’s extremely beneficial; I get to carry a little piece of home with me wherever I go, and the crew has a ready supply of fruit so we’re safe from scurvy, vitamin deficiencies, and colds. It’s a struggle keeping Luffy from eating them all, but Sanji-kun’s developed at least sixteen different mikan dishes for me.” A frown tugged at her lips, both at the memory and a sudden thought. “I wonder if anyone’s caring for them now. They might all be dead by the time I get back.”

Though the sun shone brightly, the men could tell her mood had darkened. Clearing his throat, Shachi said, “I’m sure someone’s looking after them! What about that mermaid and octopus guy? Considering Straw Hat saved them from slavery, it’s the least they can do, right?”

Bepo was quick to chime in behind her, “Sabaody’s weather is consistently tropical, so I’m sure they’ll at least get watered. You’ll probably just have some pruning and stuff to do when you get back.”

The possibility that her trees might survive lifted her spirits a bit, and Penguin added, “Honestly, I’m kind of jealous. Wish we could have an orchard on the sub!”

Even though it was obviously just a ploy to distract her from melancholy thoughts, Nami was grateful. Rubbing her chin, she said, “Well, I doubt you could fit any trees, but maybe you could set up a greenhouse and garden? With how hot and steamy it gets in some of the rooms, you could potentially make a biodome and grow tropical plants.”

“That’s a good idea.” Scratching his muzzle, Bepo continued, “The engineering team has been developing some lights that simulate sunlight. Captain ordered it because when we’re underwater too long, the lack of sun causes some of the crew to get depressed, kind of like Seasonal Affective Disorder.”

Nami hummed thoughtfully. No wonder convincing him to surface had been so easy. “I can imagine. My body’s still adjusting to the lack of discernable day and night down there.”

Penguin nodded in agreement. “It’s easier when you’re from more wintery islands; we’re already used to days with less sunlight. Still, I’m liking the garden idea. Plants would supply more oxygen. We wouldn’t have to come up to switch out the air as often.”

“What?” the Mink said, panicking. “I take it back; it’s a bad idea! I don’t want to be stuck in the stuffy sub for longer!”

“Quit being such a baby!” Shachi scolded as Penguin rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, a dark cloud of gloom surrounding him.

“I’m with Bepo,” Nami defended, reaching behind her to scratch behind his ear comfortingly. “Even with the plants recycling the CO2, your ship gets hot and claustrophobic. You may be used to it, but I sure as hell get stir-crazy after only a few days. You’re lucky I didn’t hijack the helm and bring us topside earlier.”

The two men shuffled their feet, contrite. “Sorry, Nami.”

Pleased to see the duo had been brought to heel, the beautiful navigator bit down on another piece of fruit, sucking at the juices gently. Movement out of the corner of her eye captured her attention; she’d nearly forgotten Law was there, as he’d stayed quiet throughout the conversation, but gold eyes now bore into her. The heat of his stare trailed down to where the sliver of mikan dangled past her lips, and Nami swallowed harshly. He looked…hungry, and not for the tangy fruit.

“I think a garden could be extremely beneficial,” he finally drawled. “I certainly wouldn’t complain about having fresh medicinal herbs at my disposal. We can clear out one of the storage rooms, maybe install some extra windows and sprinklers. It’s a clever idea.” Taking another mikan slice from her unresisting hand, he bit into it, tongue running along his lips to catch the juices. Hearing her breath catch slightly at the action, he smirked, honey eyes hooded and pleased. “I knew I was right to recruit you.”

Scoffing to hide her discomfort, she looked away. “Well, you’ve only got eleven months left to take advantage of my brilliance. After that, you’ll have to figure things out for yourself again.”

“Oh, don’t worry; I’ve got plenty of ideas on how to make the most of our time together.” He turned back to his oldest friends. “Why don’t you two run down and tell the engineering team about Nami-ya’s suggestion? I’m want them to start planning as soon as possible.”

“Yes sir!”

As the pair scurried off, Bepo let out a mighty yawn, and a few minutes later began softly snoring. It was no surprise; the sun had grown much warmer as they’d talked, and napping was the bear’s default method of dealing with the heat. Law chuckled before pulling off his hoodie, revealing a tight, black tank top.

Much as Nami wanted to ignore the sudden excess of skin, her eyes lingered on the scrolling tattoos across his arms and chest. She knew he had more than the ones normally exposed on his hands and forearms, but she hadn’t expected them to take up most of his chest and biceps. Nor had she expected the design; when Ikkaku had said she’d tattooed hearts on him, she’d expected something more anatomically correct, possibly with the individual parts labeled like in a medical textbook. Instead, they were bold, intricate, had an almost primal beauty, and were vaguely familiar.

“See something you like, Nami-ya?” he asked, preening at her rapt attention.

“Your tattoos just…my sister has a similar design.” Remembering the day Nojiko had come home with the swirling, indigo pattern made her smile. She’d been horrified at the time, but it was a touching act of solidarity on her older sister’s part, making her feel slightly better about the horrid Jolly Roger branded on her shoulder.

Law blinked, surprised at the answer. “Is she a pirate, too?”

“No, she’s back home taking care of Bellmere’s mikan grove.”

“And that’s in Cocoyashi, right? In the East Blue?”

“Yeah, so?”

One shoulder lifted in a nonchalant shrug, though his grin had an edge of cruelty. “You should be more careful what you reveal about yourself; you never know what could be used against you. For example, since I know you have a sister and where she is, I could potentially threaten her to ensure your compliance.”

A month ago, she would have completely flipped at the thinly veiled threat, but she’d gotten better at calling his bluffs. “You could, but you won’t—it wouldn’t be beneficial to our working relationship. After all, I’m as protective of my loved ones as you are of your crew. If I really thought you were a threat to my sister, I wouldn’t hesitate to end you.”

“That’s assuming you have the guts to kill me. I doubt you’ve ever taken a life.”

Thoughts of her numerous failed attempts to murder Arlong danced across her mind. “Not for lack of trying. And I don’t have get my hands dirty to take you out; Devil Fruit users risk death just by being at sea. I could potentially shove you overboard or lead the ship into a storm, and you’d be at the bottom of the ocean before anyone even realized.”

His smirk relaxed as he propped his arms on his knees. “That you could. It’s amazing the lengths we’ll go to for the ones we love. Mugiwara-ya was willing to storm Impel Down and take on the Marines for his brother, even if they weren’t blood.”

Secure in the knowledge that Nojiko would not be targeted by the Surgeon of Death, Nami tucked her legs underneath her, leaning against Bepo to get more comfortable. “Someone doesn’t have to be blood to be family,” she stated, idly playing with her bracelet.

“No, they don’t,” he agreed. “Whitebeard was a perfect example. When I heard he called his crew his sons, I spent years believing it was just a tactic to manipulate them into blind loyalty. But the deeper I dug, the more I realized it was legitimate. The man truly gave that much of a shit for the men that followed him.” His expression darkened. “On the other hand, I’ve known plenty of sick bastards that would shoot their own brother without a moment’s hesitation.”

Sensing his train of thought would likely lead them down an unpleasant path, Nami diverted, “I wish I could have met Whitebeard. And spent more time with Ace. Luffy clearly adored his big brother, and he was so incredibly polite. Should have been my first hint they weren’t related.” A sad smile touched her lips. Their brief time with the Fire Fist in Alabasta had been illuminating, and she doubted her captain’s goofy grin could have been any bigger with him around. “You, know, he actually asked Luffy to join the Whitebeard Pirates,” she laughed. “As if Luffy’d ever let someone else be captain!”

The smirk returned to the Dark Doctor’s face, chin resting in his palm. “It’s for the best he didn’t. For all the man’s virtues, Whitebeard had a problem with taking on female crewmembers. You probably wouldn’t be invited to join him.”

“Then Luffy definitely would have refused. After all the trouble he went through to make me his navigator, he wouldn’t just toss me aside.”

A midnight blue eyebrow raised, intrigued. “Now that sounds like a story.”

“Yeah, but it’s one you haven’t earned the right to hear yet,” she huffed, reaching across him to snag another mikan. “At least, not from me. If Luffy was as loose-lipped as you claim, he probably babbled the whole thing.”

“Hmmm, mostly he just talked about how great his crew was, nothing about how he roped you into service. Even if he did, I’d much rather hear it from you—fewer interruptions by agonized screams.”

Delicate fingers paused halfway through peeling the fruit, chest tightening as she remembered that Luffy hadn’t been casually trading stories with Law over a drink—he’d been on death’s door, suffering physically and mentally, and Nami hadn’t been there for him. None of them had. She’d been off with the weather wizards, and yeah, going there hadn’t been her choice, but she should have tried harder to leave Weatheria the second she heard about Ace’s impending execution. She knew how far Luffy’d go for his loved ones, knew where the inevitable battle would be, and instead she’d stayed on the floating island, fooling herself into thinking he would be fine without her.

She’d never been ashamed of her instinct to run away from a fight, but she doubted there’d be a single day in the next two years that she didn’t curse her cowardice.

The mood once more threatened to darken, so Law summoned his Room and switched the discarded mikan peel for a bottle of sunscreen. Breaking her from her guilty thoughts, he nudged her with the tube. “Someone as pale as you is susceptible to sunburn, Nami-ya. Put this on.”

Logical as it was, she bristled at the order. “I doubt I’ll be out here long enough to even tan.”

He shifted away from the still-sleeping Bepo to sit across from her, the heat of the day finally making his favorite spot uncomfortable. “Surfacing was your idea, and we’ll be submerging before dinner, so you’d best enjoy the sunshine while you can.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Scoffing, Law proceeded to squeeze some of the white liquid into his palm before rubbing it onto the back of his neck. His smirk turned mischievous, however, and he reached over to flick a few sticky globs onto her face.

“Yeek! What are you—!”

He laughed at her outrage. “You were being stubborn. I’m sure the last thing you want is to be horribly disfigured by skin cancer, so do as I say and put on the sunblock.” His piercing eyes grew hooded as he studied the white droplets splattered across her chin and cheeks. Leaning closer, he whispered, “At the very least, you should rub that in before someone sees you and gets the wrong idea.”

Heat blossomed across her face that had nothing to do with sunburn. She didn’t need a mirror to know what he was implying. Frantically, she rubbed at her face, fuming at his dirty trick. The orders were bad enough, but the innuendos, combined with that golden gaze, made her uncomfortably aware of how easily he managed to get the best of her. She was a lot more used to blatant perversion, like Brooke’s requests to see her panties, than Law’s more subtle double-entendres. In fact, she was surprised to find them harder to ignore, as they made her pick apart his every word and action, trying to figure out if he was hitting on her or not.

Enough is enough! she thought, a devilish gleam twinkling in her eye. It’s time to teach him that nobody teases like Cat Thief Nami! When her service began, she’d been too scared of the potential consequences to give as good as she got, but after a month of his flirting and touches and teasing, she was at her breaking point. She might not mix business with pleasure, but revenge with pleasure was fair game.

Studying her target, her clever mind began forming a devious plan. Scooting forward so she was directly across from him, she traced the tips of her fingers over the heart on his right arm. “Did Ikkaku do these?” she asked, eyes widened slightly to give the illusion of innocent wonder.

The way his eyebrow raised indicated he didn’t believe her act for a second, but the curve of his lips made it clear he wasn’t worried about a trap and was going to milk the sudden attention for all it was worth. “Yeah. Hiring her was one of my best decisions—I got an engineer and a tattoo artist all in one.”

Light as a butterfly’s wing, she trailed over his shoulder to the swirls across his collarbone. The tip of her index finger slipped beneath the neck of his tank top, tugging gently. “I’d love to see them all. Would you mind taking off your shirt?”

He closed his eyes briefly, amusement painted plainly on his face. “If you want to see them so much, how about you do it for me?” he suggested lowly, sitting up straight and smirking down at her in challenge.

Poking the pink tip of her tongue out playfully, she shifted onto her knees before running her hands down his chest, tugging the bottom of the shirt out of his jeans before slowly pulling upward. Inch by inch smooth skin and hard planes of muscle were revealed, the elaborate heart tattoo trailing elegantly across his pecs and abs. The whistle she let out was genuine—the shirtless man before her really was quite striking.

She sat back on her heels, taking a moment to admire him. He wasn’t quite as ripped as Zoro, but he definitely had a swordsman’s physique. She could easily imagine him doing one-armed pushups, sweat dripping down his sides, muscles rippling like an unsettled pond. Picking up a slice of fruit, she bit into it a little too hard, the citrus juices spilling all over her fingers.

Sharp gold irises honed in on the way the pale orange drops trailed down her palm to her wrist, and his Adam’s apple visibly bobbed. “Are you usually this messy an eater, Nami-ya?”

She gave him an embarrassed smile. “Not usually. I guess the heat’s getting to me.” Looking away, she stroked the tip of her tongue up her forearm, cleaning up the sticky streak. She could feel the intense way his eyes followed the movement, and when she met his gaze, the hunger had returned full force.

“Mind if I have another mikan slice?” he rasped.

Despite knowing he could easily get it himself, she nodded coyly, holding out a particularly fat and ripe piece mere inches from his mouth. When he leaned in to take it between his teeth, she pulled back, instead teasingly biting into it, more juices flowing over her lips and onto her fingertips.

She didn’t expect his arms to shoot out like vipers, hands grasping her hips to pull her onto his lap. She was forced to straddle his thigh to keep her balance, and she still nearly fell over in shock as he leaned down, lips less than a centimeter from touching her own as he stole half the dangling fruit straight from her mouth.

Never before had she imagined someone could chew smugly, but as he pulled away, that was exactly what he was doing. “Don’t play games you’re not prepared to do anything to win, Nami-ya,” he purred.

Idly, she draped her arms over his shoulders, tracing the tips of her wet fingers along his upper back in light, delicate patterns. “Are we playing a game, Law-kun?” she asked breathily.

The gleam in his eyes was answer enough, as was the way his palms trailed across the soft skin of her exposed waist.

Leaning back, she studied his naked torso through half lidded brown eyes, sucking the remaining mikan juices off her fingers. “I really do like your tattoos. Do you want me to put some sunscreen on them? I’d hate for you to get burned and risk the ink getting distorted.”

“That’d be much appreciated, Nami-ya.”

The pink tip of her tongue peeked out to wet her lips as she grabbed the nearby bottle, squeezing the coconut-scented cream onto her hands. Just as her palms made contact with his pectorals, his scorching hands encircled her wrists, pinning them there.

She looked up at him in surprise, to which he easily chuckled. “Just making sure your hands don’t stray anywhere inappropriate. I know how hard it is for you to resist the temptation of getting your hands on a man’s wallet.”

“Don’t you trust me, Law-kun?”

“I trust you to be a scheming little minx,” he replied, tone deceptively affectionate.

Her lower lip stuck out in a pout, though she quickly smoothed out her expression when his molten stare fixated on it, looking for all the world like he wanted to lean down and capture it between his teeth. Pushing away the thought that she wouldn’t exactly mind it, she focused on her task.

Up, down, and across her hands traveled, massaging the sunscreen into Law’s skin as his hands shamelessly guided her. His flesh was tantalizingly hot and deliciously smooth, a few faint scars visible now that she was so close. His muscles rippled as he flexed casually, and Nami was pleased when she felt his heart speed up when her fingers “accidentally” flicked a dusky nipple. Curious, she lightly scraped her nails over the ridges of his abdominal muscles, smirking when they jumped under her ministrations, a low rumble, almost like a purr, echoing through his chest.

“You’re looking a little flushed, Nami-ya,” he whispered in her sensitive ear, steamy breath smelling faintly of mikans. “Is the sun what’s getting you hot and bothered, or me?”

Looking up at him through long, dark lashes, she replied, “Definitely the sun. It takes a lot more than rubbing a guy’s chest to make me weak in the knees.”

“Ah, there’s the Cat Thief I know. You were acting so demure, I was beginning to wonder if your brain got fried.” His devilish grin turned smug. “Or were you hoping to get a little payback with the sunscreen?”

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to feel you up,” she quipped, giving a cat-like smile.

“If you wanted that, you should have just asked. I’m happy to oblige.”

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Good point.” At last, not a speck of white remained on her palms, so Law reluctantly released his hold on her. “Want me to return the favor?” he murmured, letting the tips of his fingers suggestively caress her bare midriff.

Though red still stained her cheeks, Nami managed to maintain her composure as she carefully stood up. One of her legs had started to fall asleep, and she didn’t need the Heart captain thinking he really had made her weak in the knees. “Nah, I think I’m going to go back inside for a bit. I’m feeling a little thirsty.”

With the woman out of his arms, Law rolled his shoulders, working out the stiffness that had started to form. “Fair enough. If you change your mind, the offer still stands.”

Before she could respond, one of the men called out from the lower deck, “Hey Captain! We need your opinion on something!”

Getting up with all the grace of a tiger, he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Duty calls. Don’t stay inside all day, though; I can’t promise we’ll be surfacing again soon, and I don’t need you suffering from a vitamin D deficiency.” With that, he activated his Room, teleporting himself down onto the lower deck.

As she turned to go inside, motion caught her eye, and she found Bepo watching her, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Giving a catty wink, she pressed her finger to her lips in a shushing motion before gathering up Law’s hoodie, tank top, and the rest of the mikans, leaving one behind for the sleepy Mink to enjoy.

“I’ll just toss these in the laundry for him. I’d hate for them to blow overboard.”

“I guess it’s too hot for him to put them back on,” Bepo agreed hesitantly.

Her smile was sunny and painfully obvious. “Exactly! And fewer clothes means he’ll get exposed to more vitamin D, so I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

Shrugging as he watched Nami skip away, the polar bear settled back down to resume his nap. Law was his best friend and his captain but considering how shamelessly he’d been teasing the Cat Thief, he was pretty sure the Dark Doctor deserved whatever Nami had in store. Besides, she was the reason the crew even agreed to surface in the first place—Bepo owed her his silence, just this once.

XXX

As the crew sat down to breakfast the next morning, Nami was startled by a large, firm hand gripping her shoulder as a voice whispered harshly in her ear, “That was very clever, Nami-ya.”

Forcing her heart to slow, she glanced up at Law with a smirk. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Somehow, the scowl on his face deepened. “Then the sunburn on my back, despite me clearly remembering putting sunscreen there, wasn’t your fault?”

“Oh dear,” she gasped, “maybe the fruit juices on my fingers washed it away.”

“And maybe someone who grew up in a mikan grove would know that the juice from citrus fruits, when exposed to sunlight and bare skin, can cause sunburn?”

“You know, you’re right!” she said, planting a fist in her palm. Batting her eyelashes innocently, she smiled. “But surely you don’t think I’d do such a thing on purpose?”

“You’re the one who so generously brought my hoodie inside to be laundered. Without asking for payment, I might add. Quite suspicious.”

“I considered the mikans you gave me payment enough. And it’s not like I stole them away—Bepo told you what I did with them, and you easily could have gone inside for another shirt. Instead, you spent the rest of the day outside with insufficient protection. Rather silly of a doctor, wouldn’t you say?”

Law’s glare told her he knew he’d been played and was already planning his revenge. “Just remember payback is a bitch.”

The whole crew had a hard time containing their sniggers as Law stormed out of the galley. Now everyone could see why he was so mad—across his shoulders, just above the neckline of his tank top was the word BREAD in shiny, red, sunburned letters.

[piixelatedpastries]

Xander

Her words hit me like a brick, the dream flooding back in and paralyzing me temporarily. I knew her pain, I knew her fear intimately yet I still couldn't just let her go back to that hell hole.

 Pulling into the lot I turn to her, capturing her attention, trying to sound as sincere as possible while butt ass naked illuminated by the parking lot lamp I had parked under.

 "I fully understand your fears little one, we will find them and I will help them too if they're still alive, but right now we need to get you in and safe. Those men know you're gone by now and they will come looking for you. I promise you they won't kill them because they need something to hold over your head. that's what men like that do"

 Getting out of the truck I walk around to her side and open the door.  With a wry smile I look down at her as her pointy ears are illuminated in the light and her silky red hair shines like jewels atop her head. Memories of another flashing before my eyes, forcing me to be gentle and patient.

 "I'm going to pick you up now, because: 1 I don't feel like chasing you should you decide to run, and two, somehow you're actually wearing more clothing than I am and I need the covering"

Shaylee

It was like a train wreck, I tried to look away, to keep my eyes averted but they kept popping back up and seeing the very thing that they didn't want to see.

 "You don't know that..you don't know they won't kill them, they killed my brother like it was sport! Let them find me, I'll help them as long as mama and dad are safe!"

 Tears were threatening to spill over, hot and full of fear and anger and the helpless feeling I had drowned in for so long.  They spilled down silently as he hosted me in the air.  I didn't fight, too afraid of what I might brush against if I even breathed too heavy.

Xander

Lifting her I pulled her in, wishing I could offer some sort of comfort as her small body shook with her emotions, no doubt completely overwhelming her at this point.  I held her in my arms as gently as possible, afraid to hurt her or scare her more.  Brushing back her hair from her face I ran a thumb across her cheek and lifted her face to look at me.  "No one is going to hurt them little Fae, you are safe now, and I will make sure they are too" I assure her gently as i reach the door.

 "Hey how's it going?” I hear, followed by a gasp and a giggle behind me.

Holding up a dismissive hand I will the bitch to leave, annoyed and the intrusion.  Snapping a glower in her direction I quickly open the door and carry her inside.

Shaylee

I scowl as I see another woman, who seemed very familiar with him, waving as we enter the apartment. Not sure why I scowled even, or why it felt like an intrusion. It made sense he would have a partner; he wasn't exactly young.

 My eyes flitted around the interior trying to figure out what kind of person had taken me. The place was simple, the decorations warm and almost, comforting, in an oddly familiar way.

 I wished I could believe him, but it was a nearly impossible task to protect my parents.

 "How can you protect them, I don't even know where they are..and..is..is that your..girlfriend or something? She seems to know you."

 Why I felt the need to ask the ridiculous question I would never know, it made no difference to me, and was the least of my concerns.

Xander

My face contorts itself into questioning amusement as I watch her scowl, wondering what I had done to deserve such a thing. Shutting the door behind me with a foot I walk to the bedroom turning on the light and set her down on my California king size bed with its four posters and mirrored ceiling.  Walking to my closet to get clothes my eyebrow arches at her question. Stepping out of my closet as I finish buttoning my jeans with a grin on my face, I finally answer her.

 "No, my wife died about 60 years ago, I'm about as single as a man gets." I say dryly, amusement gone for a moment.

 "And I have my ways, if anyone can find them I will. I swear to you that. You just have to trust me little fae."I say as I throw her a black tee shirt.

 "I really need you to put that on." Walking to the bathroom I grab my black silk robe and throw it in her direction, suddenly averting my eyes as my erection began to rise as I noticed every silken curve her outfit did little to hide. "And that! Put that on too." I say as a low growl slips between my lips.

Shaylee

"I'm sorry about your wife.."

 I was too, I saw the deep sorrow that clouded his gaze as he spoke of her, I knew the pain of loss now, the ache that never went away."

 I was relieved to see him finally clothed, looking at him no longer staining my pale skin unsightly shades of pink and red.  Snatching the shirt from him, I scrambled back towards the bedroom sized bed, the thing was large enough to sleep my entire family in with room to spare I was certain.

 Sliding the gossamer skirt down my legs, I slip the t-shirt on, taking off the itchy bra and panties after the soft cotton covers my body, feeling somehow..cleaner and more covered without them.

 The shirt hung past my knees, but the robe was just as ridiculous, the tie wrapping multiple times around me, as well as the silk material, hanging down almost to my ankles, my red hair in stark contrast against the black material as I curled into the middle of the gigantic bed.

 "I can't even tell you where to start..I don't know where we lived even..I was unconscious when they..when they carried me away from home."

Xander

The demon in me was somewhat disappointed seeing her dressed in clothing that completely covered her from neck to damn near toe and wondered if he would ever see her delicate pale skin in his bed for his own purposes.

 The thought stiffened me as I stared dumbly at her as she crawled to the center of my bed, doing little to dissuade the demon from thinking his demon thoughts.

Sitting on the edge of the bed I look down at her, placing my hand on top of hers, needing that contact as I tell her about the dreams, if not for her, then for me.

"This is going to sound crazy, and I can't explain how or why, but I’ve been dreaming about you for the last 2 months, since I came topside. I didn't understand them until I met you tonight, but I know I can find the place you were taken from, just like I found the playground tonight."

 Laying back on the silk covered pillows I close my eyes for a moment, the Wolf waking from his slumbers longed for her body to be next to his. No, correction, under his in a completely protected position so that nothing could hurt her. Thankfully the rational side of me knew better than to lay on top of this poor girl before I even knew her name.

 With a sigh I turn on my side, facing her and open my eyes to find her staring.

"What's your name anyways little Fae, I'm Xander."

Shaylee

My brow furrowed as I listened and scooted just a little further away shaking my head in slight disbelief. Not because I didn't think these things existed, I was a faery, I knew that the world was full of the unexplainable, but why would I be part of any of it?

 There was something about him, something that made me want to trust him, and something that frightened me, it wasn't his wolf, although it should frighten me most of all, mama use to tell scary stories of wolves that ran off with misbehaving faeries, having them for dinner. This wasn't that though, no matter how I tried I couldn't place my finger on what it could be.

 "Shaylee, my name is Shaylee..and you’re not sleeping here are you? In..the bed? I mean..you should sleep somewhere else don't you think?"

Xander

My eyebrow raised with a smirk as she attempted to kick me out of my own bed. She had some nerve, I had to give her that.  Something told me when this was nothing but past memories and pain that she was going to be a little spitfire, a beautiful redheaded spitfire, with pointed ears I had learned long ago I had a weakness for.

 "Shaylee fits you, I like it. However, Shaylee I don't trust you're not going to try to run on me, and I'm too tired to want to take the chance of having to get out of this bed to chase you so we are both sleeping here tonight."

 I stand and turn on a soft lamp, assuming pure dark would probably terrify her and she would welcome the soft glow of the warm bedside lamp meant for romantic lighting as I head to the switch on the wall and turn off the overhead light.  Heading to the kitchen I yell over my shoulder for her to stay put as I open the fridge and pull out ingredients for a quick BLT. As I lay out the ingredients I hear her featherlight movements dancing across the carpet heading into the cold tiled kitchen.  I walk over to her before she sets foot on the floor sweeping her up and setting her on a bar stool in front of me, before going back around and start making the sandwiches.

 "Are you a vegetarian? I know some Fae are.."

Shaylee

My lip puckered out in a pout as he announced his intention to sleep in the bed, and I shook my head in disagreement to the sleeping arrangement.

 "Well you should sleep on the floor then, in front of the door if you must."

 It was less than ideal, and would make my plans to run much more difficult, but not as difficult as if he was in the same bed as I was.

 I didn't hesitate to follow him, my feet slung over the bed's edge and sinking into the bedroom carpet, before the orders were even completely out of his mouth.  I mapped out the apartment as I made my way towards the kitchen, my idea of exploring a bit further thwarted as he became aware of my movements, plopping onto a bar stool in the brightly lit kitchen.

 "We ate meat..mostly fish, but..I ate whatever I was given..at..there."

 I couldn't spit the name of the vile place from between my lips, and just the mention of it, sent shivers of dread and disgust spidering through me, causing me to wrap my arms tighter around myself.

Xander

I make her sandwich with bacon on the side so she could choose how she wanted it and got out two bottles of the Naked juice I had in the fridge, setting one in front of her and downing one of my own.  As I made myself 3 sandwiches with extra bacon, I periodically glanced up at her as we talked about nothing really, the diet of a Fae and her food preferences, keeping the conversation light and meaningless hoping to lull her into a sleepy state. The sun would be rising in a few hours and I needed sleep and I could tell by her red rimmed eyes and frequent yawns she was tired as well.

 Finishing up the meal I picked her up and carried her back to the bedroom, Setting her back down on the bed. I was fully aware she was capable of walking but I needed an excuse to feel her body in my arms and I knew she probably just assumed I thought she was going to try to run.  Of course, I was fairly certain she wasn't going to try that until after I was asleep.

Smiling to myself I walk to the bathroom and warm a soft washcloth under the faucet and bring it into her, gently removing her makeup so that she could sleep without the gunk on her face, and also... probably because I wanted to see what she looked like underneath all that paint.

Shaylee

I nibbled at the bacon tentatively at first, not sure what the fatty crispy meat was, the salty smoky flavor quickly had me hooked and piling the rest onto the sandwich he had prepared. The chatter was mostly light, as I spoke of how we found our food, living off what the land could provide.

 Yawns peppered my words more and more as my stomach was filled and my eyes grew heavier than I wanted, forcing me to fight keeping them open as he carried me once more to the bedroom. The warm cloth stroked softly against my skin, removing the heavy oily gunk that covered it leaving me feeling as fresh as I had felt in ages.

 I snuggled under the covers, telling myself I would nap lightly for a bit, just a moment to rest and recharge and let him fall into a deep sleep, then I could run.

 "Do you want some of the pillows for your bed on the floor?"

 I managed to mutter out sleepily as I buried deeper beneath the soft bedding, my lips parting in another yawn, my eyes barely opened.

Xander

Tucking her in, pulling the covers up over her shoulders I resisted stroking her soft hair once more. Instead I grabbed a pair of more comfortable pants and did the bathroom thing, brushing my teeth before walking back out.

 I look at her pointedly with a crooked grin, still refusing to reply to her ridiculous statement as i shove the blankets to her side, creating a barrier before climbing into the silk sheets myself.  A deep sigh escaping as I finally closed my eyes for a moment.

 "Will you be okay if I turn out the light, or should I keep it on tonight" I ask sleepily, reaching out and draping an arm over her from on top of the covers

Shaylee

"Leave it..leave it on please.."

 I scowl again as his arm drapes over me and he clearly ignores my suggestion of him sleeping on the floor. Giving a slight huff as I dig feet under the bedding that separates us and into his side, trying to give him a shove out of the bed, hoping for the element of surprise to be on my side. It was useless though; he didn't budge even an inch.

 With a full-on pout on my lips, I huffed, blowing strands of hair out from my face as I flipped over onto my side facing away from him. I would figure out how to get back tonight..just as soon as I took a nap. My eyes really were heavy, so heavy I couldn't keep them open any longer.  The bed the softest surface I had felt in a very long time, sucked me down into a quick and deep sleep where even my nightmares couldn't bother me at least for the moment.

[myhusbandsasemni]

The Balance Keeper-Part XVI

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I sighed as I saw Ril put bricks into the foundation the wrong way again. At this point, I wondered if it was even worth it to correct her on it again. Zack noticed and tilted his head at me. I shook my own and went back to work. 

“So,” Ril said suddenly, “Do you think there are any new Castaways since I last saw you, Zack?”

Zack squished a brick into place thoughtfully. “Seeing as I saw you just a couple weeks ago, probably not.”

“Okay, wait,” I said, sitting back on my heels. “I still don’t understand this whole Topsider whatever business and being cast out and everything. Can I get an explanation please?” 

“Right!” Ril said with a grin. “I keep forgetting you don’t know anything. The simple explanation is that there are Topsiders, we were Topsiders, then they cast us out and took away our memories. Now, we’re Castaways.”

I still didn’t quite understand it, but I got the feeling that the concept was a lot more complicated than Ril was explaining. Gilbert jumped on my back as I leaned forward to grab another brick. When in doubt, build until whatever you’re dealing with goes away. Or something like that.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t know why they cast me out,” Zack muttered to himself. 

I stopped building again, grabbing Gilbert from off my back and putting him on the ground. “You know about your time before you were a, uh, Castaway?”

Zack nodded. “In most cases the King would see us after we discovered other Castaways and tell us.”

“But you can’t know because-” Ril chimed in cheerfully.

I cut her off sharply. “I know. Cause I could end the Balance. I get it.”

Gilbert seemed to sense that I was upset and stuck his nose under my hand. I rubbed him gently as Ril muttered an apology. I looked up at the Ether demons flying around above and sighed. Just when I had forgotten my unhappiness, Ril found that she had to remind me.

I was startled out of my thoughts as a bit of brick putty hit me in the back of the neck. I stood up and turned around violently. Zack had the most innocent look on his face and Ril was laughing her guts out. 

I grinned. There was a warm feeling rising in my chest as I scooped up some putty. Zack’s eye widened just as I let fly a fist full of the stuff. Ril was next. Gilbert chirped and shrieked, delighted by the chaos. I got him with a face full of putty, too.

Zack was dangerous with a good amount of the sticky stuff and managed to get me at least three more times. Ril couldn’t stop laughing enough to aim properly and Gilbert used that advantage to pour a whole bucket on her head. By the time the mess was done, I had slipped in the putty and had it everywhere. I could feel it pressing on my skin as I laid on the ground, laughing. I was sure the taste of putty would never leave my mouth, but it had been worth it. It had made me forget about my problems. It made me feel wanted.

 I sat up and tried to wipe some of the building material off my skin, suddenly realizing just how much of a mess this was going to be to clean up. I was sure that my clothes would never be the same.

“Do you guys have spare clothes?” I asked, studying my goopy shirt. 

Zack sat up, mouth quirked upward. “I have some, though it might just be easier to see if Edge is busy.”

“Okay?” I said, standing carefully so as not to slip. Ril fell over in a puddle, still giggling. “We better hurry before this dries. Then we’ll be sorry.”

I watched as Zack and Ril navigated the putty and ignored Gilbert as he kneaded putty into my hair. The four of us stepped away from the foundation of the house and started across the fields, leaving a goopy tan trail behind us. My stomach growled at me, and I quickly made a mental note to find some food after I got cleaned up. I wondered what kind of food they could possibly have in this seemingly barren world. 

I glanced at the others with a smile, enjoying the look of Zack’s slicked back hair and the fact that Ril looked very strange without her bones shining through to the surface. Gilbert, though just as dirty, seemed very pleased with himself and the mess he had helped create.

It was a moment I hoped would last a lifetime. 

[christophe-delorne]

Gregstophe Week: Day 4

ANGER // SHOVEL & SWORD // APOCALYPSE AU

TITLE: Synthetic Love

WARNINGS: Swearing, smooching.

AGE: Young Adults. ( Early 20s )

NOTES: This is based in the Fallout Universe. You really don't need to know much about the games to enjoy this story since I try not to go into too much detail. Look. I can go into a lot of detail with Fallout, but I'm trying to keep it easy for everyone to enjoy. This is before Gregory turns into huge douchebag mode. So he's a bit of a softie in this story. Thought I'd change it up from my usual.

It was Gregory's first time to breath contaminated air, his first time seeing the actual sun through the haze of dust and the thin layer of contamination that still lingered on the horizon from a war long past. He spent his entire life safe underground, in the clean environment known as the Institute. He'd come from a line of scientists, dated back before the war, lucky enough to survive the nuclear fallout in the safety of their underground labs. Most weren't so lucky, though he wasn't sure who was luckier, the ones who died instantly, or the ones who managed to live and spend generations out here in the wasteland. He pulled his bandanna up from his neck and over the lower portion of his face, in an attempt to filter out at least the dust and grim.

Typically, the institute would send synths up to the surface to do research or gather data, the androids could withstand the dangerous environments of this desolate land. However, he'd volunteered this time to come topside and to do so was no small matter. It wasn't unheard of for a synth to go rouge, there was all sorts of unpredictable factors up here that could damage or corrupt their programming. Mutant creatures attacking, or even the lingering surviving humans who'd grouped up. In order to quell topsiders' rebellious nature, the Institute would use synths to infiltrate their societies, they looked human, could take the place of anyone seamlessly. And that led to paranoia among the wastelanders.

Gregory wasn't interested in that, not any more, he was interested in finding out why this one synth had stopped responding to his- no its' orders. He had to remind himself constantly that this synth was a human, he wouldn't dare let himself be deceived by his own creation. e'd been the chief of processing synths, designing them to blend in with wastelanders until the Institute noticed that his growing interest in synths had become compromised. He'd made one last synth, his masterpiece, one last big 'fuck you' before he was relocated to the research lab. When the synth went rouge a few months later, he'd been sent out to prove his worth and loyalty to the institute.

His synth had travel far to the edges of the commonwealth, formerly known as the New England states of America. What left of it  anyways. Blue eyes stared at the rundown shack before him, surrounded by trees that were ragged looking, nothing like the lush trees within the Institute. Everything looked dreary and rundown. He'd known about it, but to see it with his own eyes was something else. What really drew his gaze was the man churning dirt in what he supposed was some sort of make shift garden, wielding a shovel with ease. One would pass him off as just another farmer trying to make it out here. However, Gregory knew better.

As he made his way closer, the man in the makeshift garden stopped digging, becoming aware of an intruder. Stabbing his shovel into the ground, he turned to look at his new guest. There was a brief expression of surprised recognition before it soured into a scowl, they both knew why he was here. He had to bring C9-25 back to the institute for either to be reprogrammed or destroyed, depending on how cruel the director wanted to be. Gregory could hazard a guess in which choice the man would chose, making this decision harder for Gregory, as it had been intended. Gregory stopped just outside the mangled wire fencing that was more of just a general outline of the garden than really intending to keep anything out.

"The fuck you doin' here?" The voice was harsh, just as Gregory remembered. Callous and rough, a small slight of rebelling against his own superiors.

"You already know the answer to that, Christophe." It was a solemn note, one that hurt to even broach the subject.

"Oh, so its Christophe now." The olive skin toned male wiped the sweat from his forehead, smearing dirt across it. Gregory had to appreciate how human like the synth was. The white tank top sticking to his form from the sweat, artificial sweat but so life like no one would suspect a thing. Gregory had taken care to put his heart and soul in creating him- it. Down to the smallest of scars and the crow's feet in the corner of its eyes. It was no wonder why his co-workers had grown suspicious with his obsession over this one synth.

"You've always been Christophe to me." Gregory countered, pleading almost for some sort of understanding.

"Fuck you and your fuckin' lil' group of prissy bitches who hide away safe and sound underground like cowards." He spat onto the ground as if talking about the Institute left a bad taste in his mouth. Gregory tensed as Christophe approached, heavy boots thudding on the freshly churned, contaminated soil. He was close now, too close. He smelled of sweat and earth, of hard labor, something Gregory had never done. Something he appreciated more than he would let on. All his secret desires and cravings had been placed within this synth. So, did that make him a bad person? Christophe had been designed by him, for him. Morally, it was wrong as Christophe had no personality of his own.

"Christophe, please be reaso-" Gregory was about to try to plead his case when he was suddenly seized by the front of his shirt and dragged forward up onto his toes. Chapped, rough lips crashed against his own before he could even realize what Christophe's intentions were. Panic swelled within him and his heart raced so quickly within his chest, it made his mind far too dizzy to calculate a proper response. However Christophe was all too ready to take advantage of finally finding a way to shut Gregory up, pressing his advantage by tilting his head. Damp warmth traced over the seam of Gregory's smooth lips, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, his body no longer seemed to belong to him as Christophe's tongue suddenly invaded the once safe haven of his mouth. He was being swept up in this sudden fiery passion that he'd never experienced before. Certainly he'd kissed other girls, but nothing so wild and reckless as this, it was burning, branding him in his mind so that he'd never forget. It drove away every arguement, every mindless denial until he was left with nothing but his raw emotions. His tongue finally tried to make a press back, to fight back against Christophe conquering tongue, but this only seemed to drive Christophe further into a frenzy.

The synth, much stronger than the average human tried to drag Gregory impossibly closer, needing to feel their bodies pressed closer, to fulfill that secret desire they both had. A noise left Gregory, muffled by their kiss. The fence was digging into his stomach, broken wires digging past clothing and into soft flesh. Finally, Christophe seemed to grow aware of Gregory's pain and let go, leaving Gregory suddenly feeling vacated, Christophe taking all that passionate heat with him within an instant. Swollen lips remained parted, panting in a futile attempt to catch his breath, to remember something sane and reasonable. He was here for a reason, what was that reason again?

"I'm not goin' back, Gregory." That rough voice sounded deeper, drawing Gregory back away from his own internal musings to focus his attention back on Christophe. The synth he was supposed to be bringing back to the institute. If they knew what just happened, he would certainly be punished, perhaps even cast out into the wasteland. Gregory before had never been tempted by his emotions, raised from birth to join the ranks of the greatest minds alive. He was still human though, susceptible to desires and yearnings for things that he knew he shouldn't give in to. He'd failed in that aspect, but out of his failure he'd created Christophe.

There wasn't any other choice, if Gregory didn't bring Christophe back, the institute would just send correctional synths to forcibly destroy Christophe. If Gregory had found Christophe, so could others. There was no alternative to this situation. The Institute couldn't let their secrets, inside Intel just be out in the open, a unknown problem. Any rouge synth usually was either destroyed, had their minds wiped, or were reprogrammed again. Neither were options Gregory exactly liked. He didn't want to think about his creation being destroyed or Christophe forgetting about him. It was odd to feel so strongly about something that was considered a machine, but it hurt to think about the idea that Christophe would roam the wasteland, not knowing what he yearned for.

"You'll certainly be killed if you do not." Gregory tried his best to steady his voice, it was difficult to control his emotions when Christophe had successfully destroyed any sort of defenses he had built around himself. The Institute was a harsh place who prided itself on rational thinking, where emotions were frowned upon and seen as meant for humans with lesser intelligence. To be ruled by them so easily was viewed as shameful and yet here he was, a complete wreck in the time that he needed to have his guard strong.

"I've been thinkin' about that. Let's head west. As far as we can go, until the Institute can't find us, where no one can find us. " Christophe had a stubborn set to his jaw, his green eyes staring down Gregory as if in challenge, waiting for Gregory's protest, expecting it.

The idea of heading out into a world unknown to Gregory was daunting. He was used to a life of clean water and filtered air. Everything was clean and spotless and the only threat was maybe slipping on a freshly mopped floor. He'd seen and heard about the surface, of the mutant creatures that roamed the lands, about human raiders and giant green super mutated humans wrecking just as much havoc. This world was dangerous and Gregory wasn't certain if he would ever be ready to face it. He knew the further west from here grew into more and more desolate wastelands, of deserts and seas of radiation. No one that the Institute knew about had properly mapped out the States.

"Christophe..." He sighed out, already feeling weary by the sheer notion of leaving the safety of the Institute. "You know as well as I that the probability of my survival out here is low to begin with. Boardroom meetings and scientific debates I can face down with ease, but here?" Gregory gestured at their surroundings, it looked like it was free of what Gregory feared, for now.

"Damn it. Have a little more fuckin' faith in yourself, Gregory. I know you, I know you better than any of those damn assholes underground." Christophe ran his fingers through his hair, his gaze lowering to Gregory's lips, as if kissing him again would solve everything. He was right though. Christophe was apart of him, all the intimate details that Gregory put his heart and soul into. He'd never thought he'd be the type to rebel until Christophe came into being, it was the first mark of Gregory's resistance. The spark of his rebellious nature that had laid dormant this whole time, now that Christophe had returns, that spark was being fanned into a flame.

Far too long had it been suppressed, the Director had known the dangers Christophe possessed to the stable underground society. There was no room for independence and rebellion and he'd tried his best to douse the flames Gregory had created. It had been a mistake to send Gregory out, one the Director was not likely to acknowledge. Failure had never been an option, order was absolute. Just thinking about that ideologist churned within him, Gregory did like cleanliness, but he'd created a synth who liked to be dirty. He desired a contrast to excite him, to draw him in away from the boring white walls to the sweat slicked, sun-kissed skin of the man before him.

"I will go with you to the ends of the earth, Christophe, whatever it takes to stay with you."

[hannahindie]

We’re No Heroes : Chapter 11

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader, Clint, Tony, Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Sam, Bruce, Thor Word Count: 1,919 Warnings: Some language, angst, Sam and Nat cuteness, and I think that’s it. A/N: It’s chapter 11! Sorry for the delay, but it’s been busy around here. My dear sweet @amanda-teaches beta’d this for me, and I am so thankful! Thank you, darlin’!

The group is silent, the tension palpable as they all consider the conversation that is still hanging heavily over them.

“So you’re suggesting we march into Hell?” Tony breaks the silence, his voice loud in the deafening quiet.

“Not quite Hell. A, uh...a devil’s gate.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, a gate. That sounds so much better. And Hell would be what is behind this gate, am I correct?”

“....Yes.”

“Fantastic. Fan-fucking-tastic.” Steve frowns at Tony and he rolls his eyes. “Right, language. Like you don’t say fuck.” He sighs, then looks at the map of Central Park, the red darkening as time passes. “Why aren’t they leaving the gate? I thought you said this place was swarming?”

“It is,” Sam says as he walks over to the map, “with demons that were already topside. The gate isn’t open yet. Once the gate is open, thousands of them will pour out. This gate is easily five times bigger than the one we dealt with. If this gate opens…” He trails off at the thought, his gaze shifting to Dean.

“If this gate opens, Thanos and Crowley both get what they want. Problem is, we know Thanos will double cross Crowley. He’ll wait until he has the army he wants, an army that won’t die, he’ll get the stones, and, then, he’ll destroy everything Crowley thinks he has. There is no happy ending if that gate opens. We can’t let him do it.”

“How do we play a part in this? You’ve already said nothing can kill demons except for the knife.” Steve’s eyes are locked on the map, his brows furrowed as he contemplates what the Winchesters are telling them.

“It’s not the only thing. We have a gun, made by Samuel Colt. It fires specially made bullets, and we just happen to have the spell that creates more. I think we can get a little creative.”

“You think...you think? Have you ever used this spell on something other than bullets?” Tony shakes his head, “There is too much left to chance. You’re telling me that you’re just going to wing this?”

Dean shrugs, “That’s kind of how our lives work. We wing things using the knowledge that we already have. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. What we’ve always had on our side is smarts, and combine that with you guys...I think we’ve got a hell of a team.”

“Dean’s right. Our job is never black and white, and, though there are some set rules, generally speaking, we have to work with what we’ve got. We might not have time on our side, but what we do have is our knowledge and your technology. We already spooked Crowley with the Devil’s trap, he has no idea what we’re capable of. I’ve got a couple of ideas that I think will work, and we’ve got just enough time to test the theory. But we need all of you.”

Steve stands up, his arms crossed as he looks at the rest of the Avengers, “You really think your plan is going to work?”

Sam shrugs, “I honestly don’t know. I’m pretty confident, yea.”

Steve looks at Bucky, who nods silently. Steve acknowledges the movement and allows his arms to drop as he looks back at Sam, “We’ve done worse with less knowledge. Whatever you need, let us know.”

“Same here. Clint and I have done some questionable shit. Count me in.”

“Hell, if she’s in, I’m in. I gotta say, this sounds pretty freaking stupid, but then again, most of what we do kind of is, so...count me in.”

“Where Cap goes, I go. I figure you’ll need some wings in this operation, anyway.”

“Asgard is in safe hands for the time being, so I believe I can lend a hand. I am curious to see how this turns out. I am pretty fond of Midgard, after all. You have my hammer.”

“That leaves me and the green guy, I guess.” Tony sighs, shaking his head, “Fine. I’m in. This is incredibly insane, and I can’t see how it’s going to end well, but sure. Into Hell we go. Bruce?”

“I don’t see that I really have a choice in the matter. Let’s do it.”

Dean claps his hands, “Alright, there's some good news. Sammy, it's your turn. We've got work to do.”

“I'm going to need everyone's weapons and ammunition. Tony, I also need access to your computer system.”

“Sure thing, Sasquatch.”

“Great, you two nerd out with that. Now, the rest of you...how do you feel about tattoos?”

“Do you really think this is going to work?”

Sam looks up to see Clint watching him coat the tips of his silver arrows with the holy oil, sage, and myrrh that Dean had retrieved from the Impala. “Honestly, I don’t know. It works with silver bullets, so in theory, it should work on these arrows. Then again, the bullets work in tandem with the Colt so…”

“So it’s possible that the arrows won’t work because the bow isn’t made the same way as the Colt.”

“Exactly.” Sam lays down the last arrow and wipes his hands off on his jeans. “I guess we’re about to find out.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, "Signum est imitandum. Signum est imitandum." The arrow tips glow briefly, and when Sam opens his eyes, he sees the same etchings along their edges. “Well, that part at least worked.” He glances over and his gaze lands on Clint’s bow. “You’re probably not going to like this.”

“Like what?”

“I need to carve something into your bow.”

“Oh, hell no! No one touches my bow.”

“I don’t want to, but it’s going to double our chances that these arrows even work.”

“It’s not just that. You can’t just carve into it, it’s tough as hell. You aren’t going to cut into it like you’re whittling a piece of wood.”

“He won't have to.” They both turn to see Tony, grimacing as he flexes his arm while he walks towards him.

“What's wrong with your arm?”

“Same thing that's going to be wrong with yours. Head to the upstairs conference room, you've got some ink to get.”

“You've got a tattoo parlor in here?” Sam looks at Tony, mildly impressed.

“I called some people. It's under the table, but I'm not really supposed to have an unlicensed tattoo parlor in an office building, so let's keep it on the DL, huh?”

“Why are we getting ink?”

“Anti-possession tattoos. If we’re going to be fighting demons, we need to make sure we’re all clean. Trust me, being possessed is no fun.” Sam looks up from Clint’s bow and at Tony, “Why won't I have to carve it?”

“I can use a laser to etch whatever you want into their weapons, it's easier and faster. The only thing you'll have issue with is Cap’s shield. Vibranium is the strongest metal on the planet, and I don't have the power to even scratch it.”

“We could ask T’Challa,” Nat suggests as she crosses the room and sits next to Sam.

Tony shakes his head, “He's got enough to worry about right now. I don't want to involve Wakanda until we absolutely have to.”

“Tony, I think this might be that moment,” Natasha raises an eyebrow, “I can't really think of a better...or worse...one.”

“I'll think about it. In the meantime, we’ll come up with something for Cap.” Tony stares at Nat for a moment, and then smirks, “Where’s your ink?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

“That was the answer I was expecting. Hand me that bow, would ya? And, show me what you want carved into it.”

Sam finishes up the sketch he was working on and hands it to Tony, “It needs to say that exactly, and that symbol has to be accurate, too, or it won't work.”

“What does non timebo mala mean?”

“I will fear no evil.”

Tony scoffs, “Maybe you won't. Alright, let me see what I can do.” He walks off, leaving Sam and Nat alone.

“So, you've been doing this since you were a kid?”

Sam nods, “Yea, pretty much. I went to college for awhile, but some things happened, and I came back. This life doesn't really let you go that easily.”

“I understand that.” She falls silent, her eyes on her hands. “Children should never have to be soldiers, regardless of what war you're fighting.”

“No, they shouldn't.” Sam looks at Nat, her head down, and realizes they're more alike than he would have thought. “Luckily, some of us turn out okay, despite what we've seen, or done.”

She looks up at him and smiles, “Not everyone gets to save the world, huh?”

He shakes his head, “Nope.” He can't help but notice how green her eyes are in this light, a shifting shade of emerald that contrasts brilliantly against her red hair. He clears his throat, “I can work on your gun, now. This probably sounds like a dumb question, but do you happen to use silver bullets?”

She laughs, “No, not quite that fancy.”

He smiles in return, “I figured. I can take care of that, we've got some stuff in the trunk. If you could get everyone else as they come back so we can have everything lined up, I would appreciate it. I'll be right back.”

“Sure thing, Sammy.”

Sam opens his mouth to correct her, then shakes his head instead. He turns to walk away and then looks back over his shoulder, “Where is that tattoo, anyway?”

Nat grins, “Maybe you’ll find out when this is all said and done.” She winks, and watches as Sam chuckles and walks out of the room.

Dean walks into lounge to find Nat sitting alone. “Where’s Sam?”

“He said he was going to the car to get some stuff to make bullets.”

“How long ago was that?”

“I don't know...twenty minutes or so. Why?”

“I have the keys, he couldn't have gotten it. He's not been back?”

She shakes her head, “No, everyone's been in the upstairs conference room. I've been on my own.”

“Shit.” He fumbles his phone from his pocket and hits speed dial, frowning as the phone rings and rings. He hangs up and jams the phone back in his jeans. “He's not answering.”

“What's wrong?” Tony appears, Clint’s bow in hand.

“Sam’s gone.”

“What do you mean, ‘He's gone’? I just left him here.” He lays the bow down. “How can he be gone?”

“He went to get stuff to make bullets and now he's not answering his phone.”

“I'm going to go look for him. You guys stay here in case he comes back. I'll check the Impala, maybe I did leave it unlocked.” Dean leaves before anyone can respond, skipping the elevator and taking the stairs down to the parking garage. “Sammy!” he calls out, his voice echoing through the mostly empty space. “Where the hell did you go?” He slows to a stop at the Impala and sighs; there is no sign that Sam has been here. He pulls his phone out and calls him again, jumping slightly when he hears it ringing nearby. He follows the sound, walking around the Impala and kneeling down by the front bumper. Sam’s phone is vibrating loudly against the concrete, Dean’s face and number flashing dully behind the shattered screen. Dean hangs up his phone and picks up Sam’s, looking around.

“Sam, what the hell happened?”

Like what you see? Would you like to see more? Take a look at my master list HERE. And if you’d like to support this writer, also take a look at my ko-fi page! 

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[gusenitsaa]

Too Much Sail

What exactly does it mean to outrun a curse?

"The most dangerous part of sailing alone is when you've not slept in sixty some hours and your dead brother comes topside for his watch and offers to take the helm. And you almost let him. Because you're too bloody exhausted to realize he's still gone."

For @killian-whump‘s (belated) birthday which inspired me to dust off this fic in honor of the occasion!  Happy birthday, dear, have a little padding for your sleep deprivation tag :P You are a constant delight on my dash!

With my gratitude to @pirate-owl, @justmilah and @queen-mabs-revenge for their constant Jones Brothers feelings in my chat windows!  

On FF

A sailor's tales always seem to start on a dark and stormy night. Something about the ambiance of the night when the only hint of light to guide the way comes from the pale reflection of a half-hidden moon off white-capped waves.

Except it wasn't night. It was broad daylight, and the only storm in sight was the one from which he ran, adjusting sails and charting degrees in an exhausted haze. He was so tired it damn-well could have been night for all he cared, his vision had long ago narrowed to the few bits of information he needed to keep going, filtering out the rest as useless as he worked.

This curse was different, a creeping thing, crawling it's way across the landscape... too slow to spare its victims the knowledge of what was coming, too fast to run. Unless you have a ship like the Jolly Roger of course. He'd been sailing for three days straight (was it three?) and with no time to gather the crew when he'd spotted it on the horizon, that was as many days since he'd last been allowed a moment of rest. He didn't dare rest in the cabin he'd once shared with his brother. If he rested he might not wake up again before the curse took him, or the rocks.

He spared only a few moments to drink when he noticed his mind going fuzzy and his balance growing precarious. The coffee had run out not twelve hours ago. Instead, he was taking to randomly pinching at his forearm from time to time hoping to keep himself alert enough to stay the course, to keep running. The cloud of smoke kept chasing, always moving closer no matter how fast he coaxed the Jolly to go.

"Let me take the helm, little brother?" Liam asked quietly. "You're exhausted."

"Younger-" Killian corrected absentmindedly. His voice came out scratchy from disuse.

He made it halfway to his cabin before the ship suddenly dipped and a wave crashed over the side of the deck sweeping his feet out from under him and dumping him over the edge of the ship. Pain lanced through his ribs as his safety line pulled taut, leaving him dangling over the edge of the suddenly listing ship. He'd tied the line not three hours earlier when he'd found himself staring off into the distance with no concept of time until the sea mist in his face brought him back to himself. That line was the only thing now keeping him from joining his brother in the deep. The sudden drenching with cold seawater cleared his mind momentarily, just enough to remember. Pan's death hadn't brought Liam back, no matter what tricks his eyes now played on him.

He slammed his hook into the hull of the ship to stabilize himself and dragged himself back over the side, tumbling to the deck and gasping for the breath that the tight line around his torso now prohibited. Half-running half-falling to the helm he grabbed the wheel and spun it back to steady the ship. His mind sharper for the first time in hours he managed to right the vessel again, glancing around the empty deck where he'd have sworn he'd seen Liam only moments ago.

He was alone, of course. Completely and totally on his own. And he'd remain alone if he couldn't continue on his present course at the speed he knew he should never have attempted by himself. It was a harrowing trip for any crew, let alone a single man, even with all his centuries of experience. There were so many jobs to do, too many for one person, and he spent all his time climbing up and down the riggings to tend to unruly sails, adjusting and maintaining the helm direction, and charting the navigation to the best of his weary ability.

"Have you considered, Killian, that that curse may take you precisely where you're trying to go?" Liam was now reaching for a loose sheet to tie it back down. It took Killian another few minutes of confusion to remember that a phantom could not actually tie a knot.

"Curses aren't generally quite that helpful, brother," he retorted, resecuring the line rapidly before returning to the helm.

"You're carrying too much sail, Killian," Liam commented, "Wind's picking up, if you don't turn her now you'll-"

"You're not my brother," Killian hissed, pointedly avoiding the phantom's gaze.

"I'm sure that will be a great comfort to you when you're broaching," he replied.

"I'm not broaching," Killian spat. "The wind is unchanging I can...Bloody hell, I don't have time for this."

He couldn't afford to let up for even a moment. Not when there was a chance to save them. To save Emma.

"And what makes you think she wants saving, little brother?" Liam responded to words unspoken and it unnerved him, though perhaps it shouldn't have.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and finish the calculations?" Killian asked.

"Two notches to starboard, brother. You're off-course."

"Aye," Killian grumbled, readjusting as the wind shifted slightly.

"I wasn't talking about the helm."

Killian glowered down at the carvings he'd once used to teach Baelfire port from starboard. Finally he looked up, meeting Liam's eyes for the first time. If he allowed himself to pretend, for just a moment... He shook his head. Every moment he spent lost in this delusion was a moment he was not focusing on the storm. The storm and the lines and the waves and the course he needed to set to survive.

Still he felt more alert arguing with a hallucination than he had for hours before. His eyes drifted to the horizon again. He'd lost precious time. The storm was growing closer.

"You're carrying too much sail, Killian," Liam's solemn voice repeated.

"It's too late to reef," Killian murmured to Liam, to himself. His voice did not carry over the howling of the wind but Liam's reply was clear regardless.

"Drop the mainsail, Killian. That's an order."

"The curse will catch up in a matter of hours with only storm sails," Killian argued, his eyes not leaving the storm front.

"You'll be dead long before then if you don't," Liam insisted. "You'll die out here, Killian; she'll never even know you're gone."

He dropped the mainsail and the ship slowed her course, still pushing forward with the approaching storm but no longer in a mad dash that was determined to toss him from the ship. He pulled out his spyglass and trained it on the approaching storm. He only hoped he had gone far enough.

For another hour the storm gained and knowing he could do little more to improve his chances now he finally found a scrap of linen and inked the words Find Emma Swan onto it, followed by Baelfire's address in New York. All he had to go on for now. He stitched it carefully into the inner lining of his jacket, hoping it would be enough should the curse reach him.

He no longer needed the spyglass to see the storm front approaching in a rolling cloud of smoke over the water. But as he watched he thought perhaps the smoke grew less dense, and then, with an unnatural speed that he'd never seen in all his years, the storm vanished and the smoke cleared. As quickly as it had come it was gone, leaving the horizon a perfect blue that could delight and enchant any sailor. Any sailor, at least, with enough energy to do more than simply collapse where he stood.

He had no such energy. He sank to his knees, barely managing to stay off the deck entirely. His head lolled forward and his eyes closed before he heard a voice.

"Get up, brother."

"I can't," he whispered.

Liam knelt in front of him, his voice insistent, "You cannot drift in unknown waters, Killian!"

Killian raised his head slightly. The sea was calming now, he could afford to- "I miss you," he murmured, "I miss you so much Liam-"

"Get up, Lieutenant!" Liam's voice was no longer the gentle tone of his brother but the commanding insistence of his Captain. "Get up, now."

He opened his eyes, (when had he closed them?) and felt a strange pressure on his cheek. Wood, below his cheek. He could taste something tangy and metallic and he raised his hand to his face wiping away the blood from a gash that he must have sustained when he hit the deck. He pushed himself to his knees, shaking his head to clear it and regretting it when the world spun.

"Unknown waters?" Killian murmured, "How long was I-" He wiped at the cut on his cheek and found that it was still bleeding and felt a moment of relief. Not long enough for it to stop bleeding on its own at least.

Diving below deck for his charts he tried to estimate his approximate position with the added variable of not knowing how long he'd lay on the deck. He had to find a port. Not even a port. An island would do. Somewhere to drop the anchor where he wouldn't be dashed into the rocks while he slept. It took him twice as long as it should have to approximate his position and he only noticed his head was dipping forward again when red spots of blood began to appear on his map. He shook his head again, using the sleeve of his shirt to stop the bleeding.

"Three notches to starboard," Liam said and Killian glanced down, finally noticing what Liam had seen on the edge of the map. It wasn't so much an island as a sandbar but it would do.

Just keep moving, don't stop. Get her to a protected berth, read the wind, release the anchor, hope like hell the wind doesn't change direction. By the time the Jolly is safely anchored it's all Killian can do not collapse to the deck again. But he gives his girl an appreciative pat on the helm before he half-tumbles into his cabin.

"You'll be gone when I wake, won't you?" he asked.

Liam was leaning against the table in the middle of the room looking out towards the porthole. "Afraid so."

"I could stay awake, a little longer," Killian said, trying to keep his eyes open. His efforts were apparently futile because between one blink and the next Liam had appeared next to the bed.

"Sleep, little brother, you did well."

A/N: I'm a mess of Jones brothers feelings lately! Leave a review/tag with your favorite Brothers Jones head canon, bring it on. I need more Jones brothers in my life!

[coleruth]

So it did not take us 16 hours to get to the Berry Islands. It took almost twice that; 32 hours exactly from the time we pulled up anchor in Nixon’s Harbor but 30 if you figure that we really left from the Bimini Sands Marina where we stopped to get water and ice.

When I uploaded my last post, minutes before my cell coverage died and land disappeared from sight, it was sunny and the winds were light. We ate soba noodle salad that Chris and Gabe had prepped that morning and chilled in the cockpit playing Scrabble.

Then we discussed how the night would proceed, and divided up into watches. I’d never done it this way, but we staggered the watches so that no one would be alone for longer than an hour. The first half hour and the last half hour of each two-hour watch would overlap with the previous and next watch. We did this because, as newbies, Chris and Gabe wanted less time alone. In retrospect I wish we’d paired up in three-hour watches of two people each because the wind piped up around sunset, along with the seas. We were heeled over for the next twelve hours – leaving really only two berths on the low side of the boat on which to sleep.

With the boat on a decent heel, Chris made rice and beans for dinner. I watched on, impressed. She even managed to cut onions amidst the turbulence. Around sunset I took a bunch of pictures and this 3D video.

Then we ate in the dark, then I went below to try and get some sleep. The boat lurched forward and back and swayed side to side, as it does when forging ahead into the wind and seas, and every time a wave smacked against the bow I felt like someone was beating me with a cudgel. I tried to imagine how this would feel once Greg was in the berth with me – because the heel of the boat would certainly force him down on me, unless I tried to sleep on the high side, in which case I would be on top of him. It would be like sleeping in a washing machine with a bowling balI, complete with water, as a stream of seawater came in from the anchor locker whenever a wave came over the bow. What’s more, I could hear every word of conversation from the cockpit. All I could think was: this is not going to work.

About an hour before my watch started I went up into the cockpit in a tizzy.

“We have to anchor at Mackie Shoal,” I declared. Mackie Shoal is a shallow-er area in the middle of the bank where many people stop and wait out the night. The French-Canadians in the anchorage in Bimini told us that was their plan. We decided instead to try and make it to the Berry Islands as quickly as possible, and during daylight hours instead of spending two whole days sailing and risk arriving at night. I no longer liked this plan.

“We can’t anchor at Mackie Shoal,” said Greg. “It’s way off our course. By the time we get there it would be 2 am and then we’d be so tired we would sleep in and then we wouldn’t make it to Great Harbor by nightfall.”

As a rule, we don’t enter strange ports at night.

I knew he was right, but I wanted to sleep and knowing that I couldn’t sleep in our berth, I knew I had a long, sleepless night ahead.

I pulled on my foul weather gear and climbed into the cockpit. I might as well be topside.

Chris and Gabe both went below leaving Greg and I alone in the cockpit for a few hours. Several ships came near us in the night, and Greg shown his light on the sails.

We were bashing into wind and seas, and making only 2 knots when the autopilot quit. Greg figured we must have run out of battery power so we decided to start the engine in order to charge the batteries, and we rolled up the genoa.

We motored for a while, until Greg spotted a red light on the engine control panel that had never been it before. It was the alternator. This was not good. We shut down the engine. We would have to sail. What’s more, the alternator was key to battery supply – which was key to running the autopilot… which we had assured Chris and Gabe that they could rely on to steer the boat, since they still hadn’t really learned to sail.

Later we learned that Chris was a bit nervous about being alone on watch, and Gabe had reassured her, “All you have to do is make sure the autopilot is on course.”

When we turned off the engine, we had only the mainsail out.

“Guess what our speed is?” Greg asked and then answered his own question: “Zero.”

Because of the oncoming seas, we were completely stalled.

So we unrolled the genoa, but only part-way, to a #1 jib, so we wouldn’t find ourselves over-canvassed in the night.

Shortly after this, a bright pink oblong shape appeared on the horizon to port. It looked vaguely like a cruise ship. We watched it, waiting to see if it was getting closer or crossing ahead of us. Greg once again shined his dive light upward to illuminate the sails.

“We should alter course,” he said.

We tacked, and kept watching the strangely shaped vessel until it morphed again and then lifted up off the horizon. It was the moon.

We had a pretty good laugh about this. I wonder how many sailors before us have been fooled by a moonrise.

Greg went down to “sleep” around 11 pm and I stood watch until Gabe came up at midnight.

I told him that the autopilot was down. He seemed a bit nervous but sat down beside me in the cockpit and watched. I told him how I was trying to steer as close to the wind as possible, how to watch the sails to make sure they were full, how to listen for when they flogged, and how to feel the acceleration when he found the sweet spot. Then I handed him the wheel. He erred a few times to one side or the other and I simply pointed, indicating that he should head up or fall off. Within minutes he seemed to get it. I curled up in the cockpit and dozed off to sleep. Several times I awoke to the sound of the sails, or perhaps to something I felt, and I would look up, look at Gabe, and see he was already correcting.

On the long slog down to Key Biscayne, the day Greg and I beat into the wind all day, I remember saying something to him about how I thought that for all its exhaustion, sailing to windward was one of the easiest tacks to learn on. Gabe was living proof. An hour and a half later Chris came up and I overhead Gabe giving her the same advice I’d given him. I didn’t intervene, but sat back and watched Chris take to the helm as naturally and instinctively as Gabe had. It’s hard to explain how rewarding this is to the non-sailor, but there is magic in it. It’s a beautiful thing when you feel for the first time that you’ve harnessed the wind, and when you see someone else get it for the first time, it’s like sharing a secret understanding of how the world works.

Greg came on watch late at 3:30 am, and I immediately headed below to get warm. I was so tired by this point that I slept right through the bucking bronco ride, until my alarm went off at 4:30 am for my next watch.

Gabe and I watched the day break over the ocean and once everyone was up we made coffee, ate leftover rice and beans for breakfast and spent the day sailing along in pleasant winds under a hot sun. I slept some more in the cockpit and Chris and I played Scrabble.

Not long before we arrived at Great Harbor, the winds completely died. I went below and made hot dog buns, and just after we anchored we put them on the grill. We ate what Chris and Gabe allege to be the best hot dogs of their lives, then we all fell asleep with the dishes still in the sink.

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Greg steering with his feet around lunch.

Watch schedule

The seas were the choppiest right around sunrise, as we briefly sailed over deep water.

Morning has broken.

Greg taking a swim to unwrap the dinghy painter from around the prop. (Note: he is touching bottom.)

That’s bottom you’re seeing.

Greg reading the charts before anchoring at Great Harbor.

I see a bad bun rising.

Chris eating the best hot dog of her life.

Sunset at Great Harbor, calm and at anchor.

Sunset at sea on our night sail.

Wishful Thinking So it did not take us 16 hours to get to the Berry Islands. It took almost twice that; 32 hours exactly from the time we pulled up anchor in Nixon’s Harbor but 30 if you figure that we really left from the Bimini Sands Marina where we stopped to get water and ice.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : World of Sea : Part 37

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2018

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Mord did not know what to make of what he was seeing and hearing.  He was aboard the deadliest craft that he had ever heard of, and her commander, was crying — — — For enemy dead.  He felt guilty about the thoughts of a few minutes before.  Putting his arms about her, he held her until she calmed.  She parted from him gently and sat him on one of the big cushions next to her.

Getting a grip on herself, Sula said with a cold rage, “When we find who did that to Kurin, I hope that we can take them without loss.  If we do have to sink them, I will put them on the bottom without a tear. I have my sailors making inquiries to see if we can find the ones responsible.”  Mord was glad that ferocity was not directed at his ship.

Mord seated himself and said, “We also have inquiries under way, as does the Council and a number of ships that are friendly to us.”

The problem of finding evidence solved itself.  A young deck-hand of the Grython was brought in late that night, with the symptoms of Ord poisoning.  His case was not as advanced as Kurin’s and he responded well to treatment, at first.

“Off with your shirt,” Dr Worran ordered him, intending to see if he still had the strength and coordination to do it.  Wordlessly, the young man struggled with what should have been a simple task.  The Doctor helped him, observing his eyes and respiration at the same time.

“Where did you get that inflamed patch on your right chest?” she asked him urgently.

He shook his head as if having trouble speaking, then mumbled, “Dunno . . . It itched a little, but it stopped.”

Doctor Worran picked up his shirt and felt something long in the right pocket.  She removed it from his pocket with long tweezers.  She applied a thin paste to the point and washed it off carefully.

She burst in on Sula and Mord, holding her find carefully in the tweezers.  “Look what I found on that young man who just came in! I’ve a mind to let him die.”

Mord looked with horror at the Ord spine, revealed for what it was by the ugly greenish brown left by the testing paste.  It was neatly mounted in a handle.  It looked like an ordinary sail maker’s awl.  “What ship is he from?” was all that he said, as he carefully looked over the lethal tool.

“The Grython,” answered Doctor Worran.

Mord said thoughtfully, “I would not have expected that.  The Grython has been fast friends to the Longin for many Gatherings.  We need to talk to this man, if he can still speak.”

They went quickly to the sick bay.  Doctor Worran pointed out the inflamed area of right chest.  “He was carrying the spine uncovered in his right shirt pocket.  The poison worked through the fabric and his skin.”

“I see,” said Sula.  “He probably did not know what he was carrying, then.  I wonder how he got it?”

The sailor struggled against unwilling muscles to turn his head towards them.  His voice was almost inaudible, and he was clearly fighting for the breath to speak at all, “I won it on a dare.  A pair of sailors bet me a whole Selked-made sail stitching kit that I couldn’t poke the awl into Kurin’s lunch unseen, for a prank.  I didn’t know it would hurt her.  When I heard what happened, I took the awl from the kit and started to come here.  I didn’t make it.  I’m sorry.”

“You did well.  Who were they?” asked Mord.  “What was their ship?”

“I don’t know for sure,” he husked.  “I saw one them in the Grandalor’s booth earlier.  I did recognize the other, but didn’t realize who he was until too late.  He was Silor Elon.  I don’t know where he is now.”  It was a grim and angry pair of Captains who headed topside.  By now the sun was beginning to rise on the eastern horizon.

Mord told his Craft Masters what had happened and added, “This perfidy must be reported to the Council.  Who will go with me?”  Every hand went up.  Master Juris asked to look at the awl.

“There is Selked’s mark.  That means that he made this aboard the Grandalor,” he pronounced like it was a doom.

Chapter 12a: Flight of the Grandalor

“Dark Iren devour those fools!” Barad raged.  “Nobody will believe that we tried to stop them.  We will all swim for their idiocy!  By the time that the Council finds their mistake, they will have to send their apologies by way of Iren’s Orcas!”

Mister Timms paused in his duties long enough to agree, saying, “As many of us was involved in one way and another, Sir, I’m sure that you’re right.  Many inquired about the Ord and many more worked in the experiments.  Best we give the Council time to cool down before we try to explain.”

All about him the crew was quietly and efficiently preparing the Grandalor to get under way.  Tanlin was at the small floating dock, greeting each boat and speaking quietly to the new arrivals as the crew inconspicuously came aboard, a few at a time.  Occasionally, a boat left the ship with a few folk on it.

Moonlight glittered across the water, pursuing little Dorac over the horizon. All about them, only the stars and the running lamps and masthead lights of the sleeping Naral fleet provided any light.  It would be six hours before swift little Dorac rose again, followed shortly by mighty Wohan.  Six hours of darkness.  Six hours to flee for their lives.

Without tocsins or shouted orders, cables were slipped from the anchorage float and sails were set as silently as the wind allowed.  As she began to move, her masthead lights and running lamps were extinguished, one by one.  Following the constellation known as the Sea Hawk, the Grandalor raced SSE through the darkness under all of the canvas that she could fly, with no lights showing, straight away from the sleeping Gathering.  

As soon as the last of the masthead lanterns of the Naral fleet fell below the horizon, Barad wrote an extensive Log entry and took out his Three Dragons set.

Tanlin, who had just come off duty as First Officer of the Second Night Watch, relaxed into the cushions of one of the cabin’s chairs and looked on with interest.

“W’at’re ye doin’, Luve?”

“Trying to save our lives and our ship, in that order.  I have entered the whole true account of Kurin’s poisoning into the Log.  It cannot save me.  Unless we escape the fleet, I will die for Kurin’s murder.  It may well save you and others innocent of the killing.”

“T’at’s a good t’ing t’at ye’re doin’, m’ ‘Eart — — ‘ow’ll T’ree Dragons save us?”

“I have broken the course rose into seven possible tacks.  The dice will tell us which way to go.  If white lands on a number less than fifty, we hold course for an hour and roll again.  Whichever of these two dice eats the other gives us the  course to follow, from this table. He held up a tallow-slate with a neatly made table on it.  If neither one eats the other, we split the difference for our course.  We exclude only courses that we know to be dangerous.

“Roll the first one, Tanlin, and pray to the Dragons that it’s a good cast.”

As the dice rattled in the cup Tanlin thought, ‘E knows t’at ‘e’s doomed.  Even i’ we go t’ t’e Arrakans, t’ey won’t shield ‘im from murder, so w’at does ‘e do?  ‘E still t’inks o’ gain an’ loss but now ‘is t’ought’s for t’ose close t’ ‘im an’ ‘is crew.  ‘Ow many in ‘is place wad do as much?  Few.  Nane t’at Oi can t’ink o’.  An’ Oi married ‘im!  Pride swelled in her heart as the dice bounded clattering about the board and came to rest.

They leaned over the board together and she put an arm about his waist. He absently stroked her hair and put an arm around her as he read the fall of the dice.

“Dragon eats skelt, seventy three.”  He consulted his chart and figured the correction for the present course in his head.  “East-North-East. That will take us across the fleet, just out of their sight.”  As he straightened, she wrapped her other arm about him and gave him a spontaneous kiss.

“So close?  Shall Oi t’row again?”

“No. A better course could not have been chosen.  If there is pursuit and I am sure there will be, it will make us hard to see because of the glare of the early sun.  It also cuts back and across our track.  Any trying to find us by following our course will be thrown off as well.”

“Oi’ll take care o’ t’e corse change, Luve.  Ye’ve ‘ad a ‘orrible day.  ‘Ow long do we ‘old ‘t?”

“Seven and a half hours.”  He looked down at her for a rare unguarded moment.  Why did it take so long to find you?  I know that Teralat would have liked you.  The memory of his long dead wife hadn’t hurt since he’d realized that he actually respected Kurt— no, Tanlin.  He now knew for certain that his feelings had become more than respect.

“Aye, seven an’ a ‘alf ‘ours.  So, seventy t’ree?  T’e forst digit’s t’e ‘ours an’ t’e second’s t’e minutes by tens?” she questioned as she set the water clock to time the tack.

“Yes. You know, I married you for more than your stunning good looks.”

“Oi know.  Ye got t’ose t’.”  She flipped her fall of hair saucily as she left.  Arriving on deck, she became a First Officer.

TO BE CONTINUED

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