#neil karaboudjan

[shads-shipposts]

Shadow: *having a minor emotional breakdown over their lack of survival skills given they let the Karaboudjan crew hit them with a truck and put them on the ship via crate because they thought they were dreaming and damage was therefore turned off*

Neil, trying to enjoy his breakfast but also wanting to help Shadow feel better:

[acestintinsideblog]

Allan: Did you stab Jaggerman?

Neil: You weren’t there. You did hear what he said to me

Allan: What did he say to you?

Neil: “What are you going to do, stab me?”

Tom: That’s fair

[shadowthestoryteller]

Neil: Tony’s kinda hot

Shadow: Who the fuck is Tony? *realizing* THE TIGER???

[shads-shipposts]

Anachronism Ch 1

We did it chat

We surpassed the "Fandom is six people and a shoelace" meme. We are now seven people and a shoelace!

This calls for celebration.

In the form of another full chapter of my fic Anachronism! Unproofread of course, because this page is still the furthest thing from polished and I am to keep it chaotic.

The prologue is here!

CW: Language

Wordcount: 3086

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

It’s all fun and games until it happens to you.

Oh, sure, we’ve all laughed at someone else’s misfortune. I’ve done it, even at the most inopportune of moments. Like a kid tripping and eating asphalt.

Or when a character gets sucked into fanfiction and must survive the HorrorsTM.

I’d read my fair share of those fics in my fair share of fandoms. Star Wars, Assassin’s Creed Three and Four, and Tintin seemed to be the main ones.

Speaking of Tintin…

Maybe it was an odd sort of gift, granted by the universe with her oh so funny sense of humor. College had my stories stuck in a rut, so this could be the big breakthrough to jumpstart my creativity once more. Or this could be karma for never finishing my own universe-yeet Tintin fanfiction.

The Day Karma Bit Back.

I figured my habit of never finishing fics all the way through would eventually bite me in the ass.

I just didn’t imagine it’d be in the form of me waking up in a 1950s style apartment in the Tintin movie, something immediately apparent by the realistic yet stylized environment.

Slowly sitting up in confusion, I peered around at the room.

That only left me more confused when I saw my phone charging on the nightstand, and my laptop charging on a dresser.

Not the weirdest dream I’d ever had, because hellfire I’d had some off the wall ones that no amount of backtracking through my day could explain.

Useful for wilder story concepts, though.

Maybe college had finally pushed me to the breaking point. When I say I contemplated dropping out last Fall… damn those fruit flies and their entire lab-grown lineage to hell.

“Mornin’!”

I yelped and flipped out of the bed as a voice sounded right by my ear. Jumping into a right fighting stance, guard up, I found myself staring at a familiar face.

Not a sailor, or a reporter, or even a Tintin character at all.

Instead, I was looking at one of my characters.

Tan skin, shoulder length black hair that fluffed in every direction, mischievous green eyes, and a body built like a brick shithouse.

“T-… Trevor!?” I sputtered, blinking rapidly as if he were merely an illusion and a few resets would make him disappear.

How was he here? Yeah, sure, he originally started showing up in a Tintin fic snippet I had from like 2017 or 2018, so him in Tintin wasn’t too outlandish… but why was he in my room?

He flopped on my bed, rolling onto his back and grinning up at me.

Hell, those teeth are sharp.

“The creator recognizes me!” He flipped back onto his stomach, pointing a finger gun at me. “Ya know, still waitin’ on you to draw me.”

“Wait-”

“I mean, come on!” Trevor sat up and gestured to himself. “You only just recently settled on a design! I’ve just be a vague consciousness that plagues your story with no set corporeal form, do you know how hard it is to flirt with people like that?”

I shook my head, waving my hands in a weak attempt to get him to stop talking so I could get a word in. “Hold it! What kind of whack-ass dream am I havin’ that you’re in?” I exclaimed. “You’ve never shown up in my dreams!”

Yeah, college really has driven me past the brink of insanity. I’m really out here arguing with a figment of my imagination asking why he showed up.

Ain’t the weirdest dream we’ve had.

True that, but still!

Trevor’s grin, somehow, got wider. “Dream? My dearest creator, this isn’t a dream!” He frowned, scratching behind his ear like a dog. “Though, suppose it is in a way. Dream come true for your hyperfixated self, gettin’ to roam the Tintin movie from 2011! Ya know, the reason you’re writin’?”

I grimaced. “Ugh, please don’t remind me of that old role-play nightmare.”

“Hey, it was a start!”

“A cringey start at that,” I muttered, then shook my head violently to erase it from my brain like an Etch-A-Sketch. “Hey, stop changin’ the subject!”

“What subject?” Trevor asked, an innocent smile on his face.

“The subject of what the hell you’re doing here, in my dream. I know you’re self aware, you little shit.”

“That I am! Well, since you’re so persistent.” Somehow managing a backflip off the bed, he then raised his arms above his head like a successful gymnast.

“Try hard,” I snorted.

“Ah, but who designed me so?”

“Yourself,” I shot back. “I never even created your dramatic ass, you just started showin’ up. Like the personification of the plot or somethin’.”

“Ah, but you can’t say I ain’t useful!”

“Broken clock is right twice a day.”

“I could boot you back to the ‘waking’.” He used air quotes around the word. “World if you’d prefer!” His teeth flashed in a devious grin. “I’m sure the Spring semester would love to welcome you in.”

Nausea rose up my throat and I felt the beginnings of a tension migraine behind my eyes.

“Ugh hard pass.”

“So stay awhile!” Trevor suggested, spreading his arms wide. “Besides, what do you have to lose?” He winked at me. “Like you said, it’s just a dream.”

Boy, I do not like the way you said that.

But, he had a point. Or, I guess my subconscious did. This wouldn’t be the first time I lucid dreamed, or was self aware in a dream. And what else could it be other than a dream?

People didn’t jump between universes. That just wasn’t a thing.

A dream.

That was it.

Just… just a dream.

Given that it was just a dream, wouldn’t hurt to go rambling. It was odd the scene hadn’t shifted yet, since my dreams were usually pretty chaotic, but maybe this was the time for a scene shift.

May as well make the best of it before I wake up on Winter Break again. Happy New Year to me.

“Alright, fine,” I groaned. “I’ll bite.”

“You sure do!” Trevor looked at his watch-less wrist. “Welp, gotta get goin’! Things to do, places to be.”

Really?!

What cosmic entity did I piss off to earn this nightmare?

“Hold it!” I barked, following him as he started for the door. “Can’t I get at least a little explanation?”

“Nope!” Trevor turned to face me, grinning ear to ear. “This is not a well-thought-out and carefully crafted type of fanfic, no no! This is a wild ride of a fic where we just take the cards we’re dealt, and we run with them!” He shrugged. “All there is to it!”

“But-“

“Besides! Explaining things only slows the chaos down, after all no one has time nor patience for exposition dumps. That’s not why they’re here! They’re here for nonsense to fuel their escapism and yearning for found-family that would kill for them!”

“Who the fuck is they?” I exclaimed, gesturing at the empty apartment. “We’re alone.”

“Are we?”

“Hey, don’t pull a Polar Express train hobo,” I said, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Can’t I get a little info?”

“It’s a dream, right? They don’t do info dumped they go straight into the crack!” He held his hand up. “But if you insist.”

The moment he snapped his fingers a wave of images and information slammed into my brain and knocked me off my feet.

Dark alleyways, crowded marketplaces, peaceful courtyards, musty attics, cluttered apartments.

Quick glimpses really, like the faded, hazy memories of dreams. Enough of a visage to distinguish where I was, to feel a sense of familiarity, but not really anything more.

Blurry snapshot rather than a true picture.

Sounds muted and unclear, like hearing things from underwater. Just past the point of deciphering. Voices, lots of those. Gunshots? Yes, those too.

One particular scene came into focus.

The library, its aisles dark and shelves overturned. Books everywhere, some intact some not. Adrenaline pulsing through my veins, something heavy scalding my hand.

A pistol, recently and frequently fired.

Echoes of gunfire, accompanied by yelling. Angry, threatening yelling, the roughness and pitch unmistakably masculine.

Yet there was another above the din, a lighter tone that had yet to really mature into the lower base of a grown adult.

A glance to the side revealed a familiar freckled face and ginger quiff, its owner hunkered down behind an overturned table with me. A flash of white fur near his leg, adding his barks to the cacophony.

Was Tintin shorter than me? No, yes… maybe?

It was always so hard to tell when crouched, as I was all leg and hardly any torso at all.

Height didn’t matter here, but numbers did.

And we were losing.

Tintin grabbed my hand, yanking me towards a fallen shelf as he fired over his shoulder and forced the attackers to take cover.

Were they the sailors? Another faction? Simple thugs?

I didn’t know, and would apparently never know as the scene vanished like a mirage on an old dirt road during a summer heatwave.

In its place came the headache of the century.

“Hellfire,” I groaned, gripping my head. “I know they say to avoid infodumps in stories, but this is a-whole-nother bitch. What the fuck, Trevor?”

I received no answer.

I slowly sat up, cursing as the room spun. “Trevor?”

No one, just me in the room.

One of the windows to the fire escape was open, however, and with great difficulty I got to my feet to see if he’d escaped that way.

You better be gone gone, ‘cause boy if I get my hands on you you’re donezo.

I staggered to the back window, leaning heavily on the windowsill as the low drone of a ship’s horn echoed off the alley walls. A quick scan of the lower street revealed no Trevor, and as I blinked away the spots from my vision I also saw no sign of him along the rooftops.

“Trickster bastard,” I grumbled, rubbing my temple.

Another low drone from a ship caught my attention, and I looked towards the source. Just over the tops of some of the building, I could see the crane arms moving back and forth.

Go.

You know you want to.

It’s a dream, right?

My eyes moved to the sketchpad on my nightstand.

What do you have to lose?

My phone chirped, which was quite odd given I’d had that sucker on silent since 2015. The screen brightened, and as I picked it up, I found myself looking at the lockscreen.

My persona Scarlett Bloodsmoke embracing two dear friends, Thatcher Morgan and Skipper Anders, on the enchanted shores of the dreamrealm.

My eyes drifted to the text alert banner, and my nose wrinkled in a scowl as I read Trevor’s name at the top.

The contents of his text only deepened my frown.

“May as well get reference sketches for the Caroline even though you sink her!”

Of all the character deaths I concocted, the wreck of the Caroline and all the men who went down with her was probably the one that hit me the hardest. It’d been two years since I drafted the scene, and two years since I’d last read it because it was so painful.

It was also the reason I had my phone thrown at me by two of my friends.

Thatcher and Skipper had perished in the wreck, something that would haunt both Scarlett and me.

And got me yelled at by my therapist, but it was honestly very deserved.

I looked again out towards the distant cranes as yet again a ship’s horn echoed off the brick walls like a siren’s call.

This was a dream. It had to be. So any pictures or sketches would remain in my consciousness only as I couldn’t pull them into the real world . But even so…

Dreams had given me very handy inspiration before.

At the very least, I could update the Caroline’s design.

She had her roots in the Karaboudjan anyways, just like Thatcher had his roots in Allan and Skipper had his in Tom.

“Alright,” I muttered, heading to the closet to find something comfy to wear. “Let’s get some inspiration.”

-Allan pov-

The hair caught Allan’s eye first. 

Dark bluish-purple in the shade, a more vibrant reddish-purple in the sun. 

The owner of the hair only piqued his interest more.

He, or she, looked so out of place it was almost hilarious. At least among the dockworkers. She had enough sense to stay out of the way, sticking close to a large wall where she was cloaked mostly in the long, mid-morning shadows cast by the warehouse. But she wasn’t even trying to blend in with the rest of the men, sitting cross legged atop a crate scribbling furiously in a sketchbook.

The odd sight wasn’t exactly concerning, but the fact she frequently looked at the Karaboudjan was. 

Surely she couldn’t be a reporter or journalist. 

Then again, that ginger nuisance Allan and his men ran across near Egypt also didn’t look like a journalist but had caused a world of hurt for Allan’s operations. Looks could be incredibly deceiving. 

But there was something else.

He couldn’t be sure from this distance, but the kid almost looked… familiar? 

Maybe…

No. 

Surely not.

His dream that morning was making him paranoid, that was all. It was embarrassing really, that a simple nightmare had him so rattled he saw Scarlett’s face everywhere now. 

Yet his eyes remained trained on her. 

He had to know. Had to know why the hell she was sketching the ship. 

It was because of her clear fascination and focus on the ship, nothing more. He just needed... needed to keep an eye out. The FBI and Interpol could have spies everywhere. 

It was purely business.

It wasn’t personal.

It wasn’t dire.

It wasn’t Scarlett. 

“Hey, Al, what are ya lookin’ at?” Tom asked, coming up beside him. 

Allan dipped his head towards the kid. “We got a watcher.” 

Another one of Allan’s men, an Australian named Neil, joined them. “Yeah, she’s been there since I started unloadin’.”

Allan glanced at him. “Talk to ‘er?”

Neil shook his head. “Didn’t see a need to. She’s outta the way, and is mindin’ ‘er business. Ain’t botherin’ anyone.” 

Allan turned his attention back to the kid. “Right.” 

“Should I have?” Neil asked. 

“Not sure yet,” Allan replied slowly. 

And he hated that he wasn’t. Uncertainty could put you at risk to be blindsided, and blindsides were a death sentence in Allan’s line of work. 

“Nice hair, though,” Neil commented with a small laugh. “Reminds me of my sister, she always liked dyein’ ‘er hair fancy colors.”

Tom tilted his head as he watched her scribble. “Purple, though? Bit anachronistic, don’t ya think?” 

Neil glanced at Tom and elbowed him with a sly grin. “Didn’t think you could manage big words like that, Tommy.” 

Tom glared at him, clearly fighting down a smile of his own. “Piss off,” he growled, shoving Neil.

“Stow it,” Allan snapped as the pair started going for headlocks and rib shots.

This was just too weird to ignore, too odd to brush off as mere coincidence. 

He had to figure out why exactly she was here, and who exactly she was. 

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked, smacking Neil’s hat off in one last blow.

Tom, you well-meaning but unobservant idiot.

“Look at ‘er face.”

Tom gave him an odd look, but peered across the docks. “Is there… somethin’ I’m lookin’ for?”

“She doesn’t remind you of Scarlett?”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Oh… shit, yeah. I see it now.”

Neil frowned. “Who?”

“Someone we ran across a few months ago. She was…” Allan struggled to find the words to describe her that wouldn’t make him look like a madman spouting about aliens. “Unique.”

“She kinda just vanished without a trace,” Tom added. “We’re still not exactly sure what all happened those few days she was ‘round ‘ere.”

“And you think the sketcher is her?”

Allan shook his head. “Not a chance. Scarlett had some… unmistakable traits.”

“Like what?”

“Not important right now.”

As far as you’re concerned, Neil.

Neil glanced at Tom, clearly hoping the man would shed some light on the First Mate’s statement. When Tom offered nothing, eyes focused on the young woman, Neil looked back at Allan.

“Am I… missin’ somethin’, boss?”

Should he offer a little more information? Neil had proven himself a reliable secretkeeper, and fairly unshakable no matter what Allan threw his way. Harry Hobbs also spoke highly of him, assuring Allan that Neil could be trusted with their… more secretive operation.

“There’s a good chance,” Allan began carefully. “Scarlett wasn’t… earthly.”

Neil blinked. “An alien.”

“She had a bloody tail.”

“A fluffy one,” Tom added. “Black and white striped. Furry feet and ears too.”

“Ah.” Neil looked at the sketcher. “That explains the fascination. Really think this kid has a connection?”

“Think I’ll go find out myself.”

Tom looked at him, somewhat alarmed. “What if she bolts?” He gestured to the both of them. “We’re not exactly the most friendly lookin’.”

“Good point,” Allan muttered, then turned to Neil. “Go try and talk to ‘er.”

Neil wasn’t exactly any less physically imposing than Allan or Tom, but him alone may not be as threatening.

“Keep ‘er distracted, but don’t engage. No threats, got it?”

No need to make a scene, not yet. Usually he wouldn’t care, after all if you acted like you had something to hide people got suspicious, but after his nightmare coincided with Tom’s, he was on edge for anything unusual.

Her face, even from this distance…

It was just so damn close to Scarlett. Blood relation close. 

Could Alphians shift into humans? He thought he recalled Scarlett mentioning that once, but he couldn’t be sure. 

Either way, he could not let this kid escape without seeing if she knew the Alphian. 

“Not… gonna do anythin’ to ‘er, right boss?” Neil asked, a new hardness to his tone. 

“No, she’s not in any danger.” Not yet. “I just have questions for ‘er.”

Neil still didn’t seem convinced. 

“Just go,” Allan ordered. 

As Neil left, Allan turned to Tom. “Alert the boys. Get ‘em to block the exits, but discreetly. Wait for my word, this could be nothin’.” 

Tom nodded and left to carry out the order. 

Allan turned back to watch the kid, eyes narrowed. 

Nothing personal. 

I need answers. 

And you’re not goin’ anywhere until I get them.

[shads-shipposts]

Sackharine: Shadow is dangerous and plotting against us all. She is planning to use her knowledge of this race to cheat us out of the treasure. Do not let your guard down around her for a moment.

Allan: Boss, I just watched her and Neil argue, for thirty minutes straight, about how much milk goes into cereal. I really don’t think she’s plotting against us, she’s just insane and likes causing problems on purpose.

[shads-shipposts]

Hobbs: You two timin’, back stabbin’, low lyin’, no good cheatin’ rat bastard!

Everyone else at the mini-golf course: 👁️👁️

[shads-shipposts]

Neil fears for Hobbs's safety

Hobbs has no idea the level of Cain Instinct in Shadow right now

Shadow just wanted to eat their damn food

Allan refuses to acknowledge the nonsense going on behind his back

[shads-shipposts]

So, my sailor fic Anachronism won't be released in full until at least 2029 due to other projects in my neverending queue, but! There's a profound lack of Karaboudjan crew content on this site and I feel like rectifying that. Plus I haven't cursed this hellsite with my nonsense in ages, and that's gotta be fixed.

So, here's a touch-up/completion of something I'm fairly certain I posted a while back. Ch 2 of Anachronism, called Run and Gun! It takes place the morning of the Tintin movie's beginning, but don't worry about not having chapter 1 to read yet. Honestly, things will probably make less sense if you read chapter one. Plus I haven't written it yet.

All you need to know is Anachronism involves a literal self-insert (I get sucked into the movie) but with the twist of its actually the same universe as one of my old Tintin fanfics that was never finished. Hence why Allan is after me, he's got bits of memory missing and ain't happy about it. Also, being a black belt ain't made up. I trained for 4 1/2 years and got it in 2019. This story takes place in 2020, specifically Jan 1.

Enough ramble, on with the show! Depending on the reception, I may post more book snippets as I go along. So be sure to leave a comment if you enjoyed! Or if you have thoughts on characterization, it's been a while since I've written with these guys.

CW: Langauge, minor peril, utter chaos

Word Count: 3700

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

“Catch that kid! I want her alive!”

Well ain’t this dandy? All I wanted to do was sketch the ship, now I’m in a run and gun chase scene! This is what I get for being curious!

At least this was just a dream, so I couldn’t really get hurt.

Right?

Usually my dream would have shifted into something unhinged by now. Things were too stable, too realistic. Too… what was the word? Linear.

Footsteps came quick behind me, and close. Blackbelt or not, running was not my forte. My fighting style was quick and brutal, so I never had to worry about stamina. Fights were only supposed to last a few seconds, otherwise they were brawls.

I was not trained for that.

I just really hoped it wasn’t Allan right behind me. He had questions, and to be fair I had a hell of a lot of my own, but I didn’t think he’d be keen on sitting down and having a calm chat about them.

I risked a glance behind me.

Not Allan, or any other sailor I recognized, but a young guy. No older than me, or taller, but probably faster.

“No hard feelin’, doll!” he called. “Boss wants you back, so I’m takin’ ya back!”

“Ain’t you precious!” I retorted, anger sparking through me at the nickname. “Call me that again and I’ll drop your ass!”

“That fire won’t do you any favors with the boss!”

“And your smooth talk won’t do you any favors with me!”

I had to lose this guy, he was getting close.

Spotting a brick wall maybe eight feet high, I changed course and headed straight for it. Hopefully this young fella couldn’t vault walls like I could.

Let’s see if all that self taught parkour pays off!

Jumping at the wall, right foot first, the treads of my boot caught the rough brick and I propelled myself over the obstacle. I landed in a puddle, but at least I was gone from the bad side of the wall.

“Oh what the hell?!”

Ha! Lost him!

“Nick! Where’d she go?”

“She vaulted the wall!”

Well, that was no good. That sounded like Neil, and he could probably toss Nick over the wall.

Time to make like my name and vanish!

Spying an open door, I darted inside a warehouse and climbed up behind some crates. I was careful to not put myself into a corner, however, because I knew my harsh breathing would give myself away. I could control it decently well, but even still.

My reprieve was horrifically short lived.

Voices, inside the warehouse.

“Those footprints led in here.”

Damn puddle.

“Be careful, fellas. She’s feisty!” came Nick’s laugh.

“Anyone would be annoyed to deal with you,” another sailor snorted. “Remember, boss wants her alive. Preferably unharmed, but use force to get her down if needed.”

Oh, it’s gonna be needed.

Noise came from my right, and I turned in anticipation as I waited for the sailor to show himself. He sure was making a lot of noise, and I thought I even heard a crate tumble down to the floor.

The reason for all the excess noise soon revealed itself.

“Gotcha!” Nick laughed, arms wrapping around my middle. He hauled me up and towards himself, but that gave me an idea.

Throwing all my weight back into him, he yelped and we both tumbled backwards, heels over head, down the tall stack of crates. Something that should have hurt like the dickens, but didn’t.

This was a dream after all.

Down we went, Nick having a much worse time than me. It was a long way to the cobblestone floor, the sailor who made all the noise rushing to beat us to the bottom where another sailor waited. I didn’t recognize them, so I didn’t feel too bad when I kicked off the pile of crates and launched us both into the legs into one sailor as he darted below us to grab me.

He went down, he and Nick ending up in tangled a pile of sore limbs, leaving me free to spring free and ready myself to square up with the remaining sailor.

Though I honestly wished he would have been the one Nick currently struggled to detangle himself from. I’d faced off some big guys in karate, but this fella was on another level.

Leverage. I’d have to use leverage.

In a way that did not anger this big guy.

“Little girl has skill,” he remarked in a thick Russian accent, giving me a smile that was surprisingly more good-natured than sinister. “But sadly will not make safe.”

“Get ‘er, Ollie!”

Diving into a shoulder roll, I sprang up and immediately changed direction and dove into another one just as his arms closed over the spot I just was. I darted out the door, immediately slamming into another sailor and taking us into the street.

I could not catch a break!

A car horn sounded, but before I could react, the sailor I ran into snatched the back of my jeans’ waistband and rolled us out of the way to the other side of the street. I kicked off with my legs, aiding him the best I could.

Neither of us were gonna be able to fight if we both got flattened by multiple tons of steel.

Angry yelling followed from the driver, but I didn’t really have the time to say sorry as I found myself locked in a grappling match with the sailor who saved both our skins.

Why couldn’t the other black belts have just ignored the awkwardness and taught me grappling?! I didn’t know dick about this!

But I did know one thing.

As an arm came down and tried to loop around my neck, I bared my teeth and sank them into his bare arm.

It tasted like sweat, dirt, sea-water, and engine grease.

Not that I knew what the last tasted like.

“Youch!” a semi-familiar voice yelled, quickly releasing his hold on me.

Diving away, I sprang up but stopped in horror as I found myself staring down a dead-end alley. Spinning around into a right fighting-stance, guard up and front leg ready to strike, I finally saw the sailor I’d nearly gotten run over.

Neil knelt on the ground, blocking my way out as he nursed his wounded arm. I hadn’t bitten too hard, more concerned with just getting free via surprise, so all he had to worry about was spit and a bruise. Inspecting the bite mark, he then looked up at me with an expression halfway between amusement and shock.

“You just bite me, Shortie?”

“Well pardon me for wantin’ to escape!”

He snorted in amusement, a partial smile on his face. “Apology accepted, but afraid I can’t grant that escape.”

As if on cue, more sailors joined him at the entrance to the alley. Hobbs, Tom, Ollie, Nick, the unnamed sailor Nick fell on, and…

“Shit,” I hissed, locking eyes with Allan.

“What’s the rush?” he asked. “It’s rude to not say goodbye, kid.”

That easy-going and nonthreatening smile don’t fool me, Al.  Tom’s the Golden Retriever, not you. You’re a German Shepherd with anger management issues or some shit.

Nick and the unnamed sailor stood on either side of the entrance, looking the opposite directions as they presumably kept a look out for any passersby. The others moved into the alley, pushing me further back.

Hobbs laughed, looking me up and down. “What’re we all standin’ around for? She’s not so tough, watch!”

He came forward, reaching for my arm. I waited until he got just close enough, subtly shifting my weight to my left leg, before letting it fly.

It caught him in the chest, knocking him off his feet and back towards the group.

“Nice strike,” Ollie said, arms crossed and stance relaxed as Neil erupted into laughter.

“Don’t encourage her!” Hobbs spat, slowly staggering to his feet.

“Looks like we got a martial artist on our hands, boys,” Allan remarked, looking me up and down. “No wonder they felt so safe takin’ a stroll down the docks.”

Not my brightest idea, but even in a dream I can gather ideas.

“Now I get why you said it was reflex after you smacked me in the face,” Neil said, still laughing at a wounded Hobbs.  

“Sad to say, kid, all that fancy dojo-learnin’ won’t do you much good here on the street. But we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Allan said, tone now conversational and even charismatic in a way. “Up to you.”

Of course he’d switch to charming and agreeable now, he had me cornered. Ol’ good cop bad cop, except Allan Thompson played both roles. Good trick, scare someone out of their wits then act all friendly so they would be more likely to cooperate and “make it easier for everyone”.

Unfortunately, I never in my life “made it easy” for anyone and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna start now.  

“All we need from you is some answers,” Allan continued, stance relaxed and arms loose by his sides.

“You and me both,” I muttered.

The way you shift from threatening to trustworthy is amazing, sir. Were you not out for blood, I’d study you like a prison psychologist.

“Quit fightin’,” Hobbs growled, coming up on the right. “You’re just gonna get yourself hurt.” He emphasized his words by pulling a blade out.

I ain’t the one that got Sparta-kicked just a minute ago.

“No need for violence,” Allan called over to him, but he said nothing about sheathing the blade. He looked back over at me. “I’d suggest playin’ nice, kid. No more of that warehouse nonsense, these fellas won’t be as easy to deal with as the new guy.”

“Drop the act, Allan,” I growled. “You and I both know that sweet talkin’ is empty and I ain’t so stupid as to be charmed by honeyed words like that.”

His expression changed, the easy-going smile shifting to something not quite sinister but definitely not friendly. “We’re gettin’ those answers, kid. One way or another.” His tone darkened. “You want to play rough, we can play rough.”

Hobbs flanked his right with a blade, Neil his left with nothing but his bare hands. Tom stood back, waiting and watching the scene unfold with sharp eyes and a hand on his hip close to what I knew to be a firearm.

“Four corners, huh?” I asked, shifting into a ready stance with my weight on my toes. “A gun, a knife, and fists. All I need is a kicker. You good at round-house kicks, Allan?”

He didn’t say anything, still bearing that dangerous smile that sent shivers down my spine yet also brought a similar smile to my own face.

“Think this is a game?” Hobbs demanded.

I flashed a toothy grin his way. “Play ball, bitch.”

Allan shrugged. “If you insist.”

Hobbs came first, blade aimed for my leg. A simple horse stance to horse stance paired with a wrist throw took care of him.

Neil was next, swinging wide with a haymaker that didn’t make much sense but he’d already proved enigmatic in his methods so I didn’t spend time questioning him. I just stepped in, blocked the punch on the inside of his arm, and wrapped my hand around the back of his neck. By a stroke of luck, I threw him into Hobbs and they both went down.

But now I found myself facing Tom, or rather, not facing him.

He locked me in a bear hug from behind, but unlucky for him this was one of the easiest attacks to break.

Drive my heel onto the top of his foot, punch out and step into a horse stance to break the hold, elbow to the gut to wind him, grab the arm, kneel, bend, and flip.

Tom fell hard onto the cobblestones in front of me, arm trapped in an armbar, but as I drew back a fist to strike his ribs, I found myself unable to commit.

Instead, I threw his arm away and dove into a shoulder roll to escape before he could spring up and grab me.

But what was waiting for me was worse, and I sprang to my feet to find Allan’s pistol pointed straight at my chest.

He was in arms reach, and I knew how to disarm him, but I risked the trigger getting pulled and the bullet hitting one of the others. If I could just get him to shift slightly, then I only risked the wall getting hit.

Unless it ricocheted…

“Hey, what gives?” Hobbs groaned, cradling his wrist. “Why does Tom get let off easy?”

“Maybe because he didn’t try stabbin’ the kid!” Neil smacked him over the head. “What were you thinkin’, dickhead?!”

“I was just aimin’ for ‘er leg! I wouldn’t hit anythin’ vital!”

My attention slipped, focused on the bickering pair.

Allan immediately took advantage of the mistake.

“Tom.”

Act!

I stepped in, both hands grabbing the top of Allan’s and forcing the gun down. For some reason, it didn’t go off. Snatching it from his grasp, I slammed my foot into his gut and drove him back. The force sent him off his feet, just like Hobbs, but before he recovered I had the gun ready and aimed at him.

I’d never be able to pull the trigger, even with it just aimed at his foot, but I just hoped they wouldn’t know that.

Allan did notice, however, where I was aiming and where my finger was; resting along the barrel, far from the trigger. Still kneeling, his eyes traveled from the gun to me, slightly narrowed. Tom came up from the side, cautiously, but Allan stopped him with a hand.

“Why would you risk gettin’ shot to get the gun,” he asked, one hand over his stomach where I nailed him. He stood, eyes trained on mine. “Only to aim it somewhere that wouldn’t even stop your attacker?”

“Mind your business.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Considerin’ I have my gun aimed at my foot, think it is my business.”

“I ain’t lookin’ for a murder charge.”

Dream or no dream. Not that that is the whole reason.

“Did not stop you from trying to break neck in warehouse,” Ollie commented, still standing calm as could be near the front of the alley.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.”

He tilted his head. “You are not desperate. Dedicated to escape, but not desperately seeking.”

“Didn’t realize I was bein’ chased by a buncha shrinks.”

“He’s right, though,” Allan said. “You’ve not once been lethal. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Sure was painful,” Hobbs grumbled, shaking his wrist.

Allan stepped closer, and I raised my gun to his arm.

He shook his head. “Again, not lethal.”

“Good trigger discipline,” Ollie commented.

“Won’t help.” Allan stepped closer again, hands still at his sides.

I still couldn’t bring myself to aim at his face. You never aimed a gun at something you didn’t intend to shoot. Aiming it anywhere near him was already breaking that rule.

Instead, I warned, “Back! Don’t test me, mate, I’ll pull this trigger.”

Lies. All of it lies.

I knew that… and so did Allan. We were in the 2011 movie, but I was not dealing with movie!Allan. I was dealing with some variant of the one I originally wrote with all those years ago, which was closer to the comics; smarter, more cunning, and a lot sharper than anything the movie even hinted at. The charismatic side was new, but very unwelcome. I didn’t know how to even begin thwarting it, and he fucking knew that.

“Come on, then.” He opened his arms. “Pull the trigger, kid. Shoot me down.”

I looked into his eyes, reading the challenge there clear as day. The moment I pulled the trigger and hit any part of him, the others would pounce. They’d already tried attacking separately once before; they would not make the same mistake twice.

We were both within striking range, both able to absolutely ruin the other’s day. But still we remained, unmoving, staring the other down. Locked in a battle of wits, a battle which neither party was going to give up easily. There was too much at stake to walk away.

We both wanted answers. The only question was… who wanted them more?

Tom stepped into my field of view, slowly. “Shadow, just drop the gun, yeah?” he tried, a hand reaching out. “Ya can’t hurt us.”

“Don’t mistake my inaction for inability,” I growled, not taking my eyes off Allan. “I know my way around a gun.”

“It’s not that. You don’t want to pull that trigger, trust me.”

Neil and Hobbs were cautiously approaching now too, staying back at a gesture from Allan. The first mate didn’t take his eyes from me, however.

They were way too calm considering I had a loaded gun. Or…

My eyes widened.

Did I?

Grabbing the slide, I aimed away from Allan and looked inside to find an empty chamber. Ejecting the clip, I found it to also be empty.

They weren’t scared of the gun because there was no reason to be scared of it. It was useless, unless I threw it at one of them. That wouldn’t do any good.

“You gotta be shittin’ me!” I whined, dropping the gun.

Allan reached out with his foot and slid the gun behind him, where Ollie picked it up. “Tough luck, kid.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled.

“It’d be best if ya just came with us,” Tom said, stepping forward only to stop when I shifted into a fighting stance and brought my guard up.

“Er, not a good idea,” Neil said, shaking his head. “Can’t win a boxin’ match wit’ Tom, Shortie. You got lucky he grabbed you. He usually just punches.”

“A, I’m taller than him,” I grumbled, gesturing at Hobbs and earning a venomous glare. “B, I know I can’t beat him.” I looked between the men, heart pounding against my ribs. “But I sure as hell can make you wish you left me alone.”

Dismay crossed Tom’s face. “Doesn’t ‘ave to be like this.”

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I prepared to go down fighting. “We both know it does. Unless you let me walk outta here.” I smiled humorlessly. “And that clearly ain’t happenin’.”

Dream or not, this was gonna hurt. Emotionally, and physically. Getting beat up by Tom was not something I ever wanted to go through. Something told me he would take it relatively easy on me, but even a light yet solid hit to the diaphragm from him would take me down. If I was bad at grappling, boxing was even worse.

And we already established I wouldn’t be able to hurt him.

“We won’t ask again, kid,” Allan warned as the men all took a step toward me. “This has gone on long enough.” There was no smile on his face and no amused tolerance in his voice with his next command. “Stand down.”

I shook my head. “No. Y’all square up.”

“Yoooo, Shadow!”

We all looked up, fight briefly paused, and rage filled me as I saw Trevor looking down at us from the roof.

“You miserable and worthless list of terms and conditions!” I hissed. “Get your ass down here so I can at least fuck up your face ‘fore I’m torn to bits!”

He laughed. “What, after I was gonna offer you an escape?”

“Oh yeah?” I gestured angrily at the sailors. “Little late!”

“Not really! Got a little magic trick!”

“Now ain’t the time for games!”

“Not a game! Watch!” He threw a small sphere at us. “Abracadabra!”

It bounced off a crate and landed at my feet, making the men jump back.

“Grenade!”

A hiss and explosion of smoke later thankfully disproved Neil’s initial theory, but left us all with sore throats and watery eyes.

Not that it stopped one sailor.

A shoulder slammed into my stomach, driving me back into the wall. I brought my elbow down, hitting the tender spot between the shoulder blade and neck, but the man grabbed me as he fell and we both went down. Arms tightened around my middle, whoever it was trying to pin me to the ground.

Allan, judging by the feel of rolled up sleeves.

He brought his full weight down, nearly knocking the breath from me and almost causing my arms to buckle. The man was heavy! A hand grabbed one elbow, yanking it back, and down I went. I rolled as I fell, teeth aimed for his shoulder. I missed the bulk of it, but managed to at least catch the cloth.

Tasted and smelled heavily like tobacco and what I assumed was some time of smokey yet slightly sweet alcohol. Bourbon, maybe?

Writer brain off, Fighter brain on!

“Damn it all, kid, quit bitin’!” came the raspy yell, but I couldn’t tell if it was anger or smoke that caused his tone.

“Nien!” I growled through a mouthful of shirt.

He rolled us both out of the alley onto the sidewalk, out of the smoke. I ended up on top as we came to a stop right by the curb, but before I could strike, a hand snatched my arm and dragged me away from Allan.

“Time to go, Shadow!”

“Trevor?! Get off-!”

“Let’s go, let’s go, no time for slow!” Trevor sang, yanking me to my feet before turning to Allan. The hair all along my body stood on end before Trevor hit him smack in the chest with a small blast of lightning.

It sent Allan back to the sidewalk, and damn near sent me into shock.

“Trevor, are you tryin’ to fuckin’ kill him?!” I screamed, frozen as Allan laid groaning on the ground.

“Relax, he’s fine!” Trevor yanked me down the road, away from the alley and the docks. “C’mon!”

Giving one last look at Allan, who was indeed slowly recovering and coming back up on one knee, I turned and followed Trevor away from the scene.

[shads-shipposts]

Neil and Shadow: *playing RE7*

Neil: Hear me out.

Shadow: Absolutely not.

[shads-shipposts]

Neil gif appreciation post

[shads-shipposts]

My lovely followers (all 5 of you), y'all are gettin' fed this week.

Have another snapshot of the dynamic between Shadow and Allan ✨

This takes place right before the Karaboudjan casts off from the docks, so the harbor pilot is there

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

Allan narrowed his eyes at Shadow. Why was she up here? Didn’t she know to stay out of sight? Though, he supposed she technically was, given Neil had called him into the stairwell to talk. 

“What is it?”

“Shortie wants to watch the launch. Reckon I can take her up to the fo’c’sle to watch from there? We’ll stay inside.”

Right, Shadow was obsessed with ships. 

He turned his attention back to Shadow, a bit surprised at her oddly subdued and almost shy demeanor. 

Now that she wanted something from him, it seemed she lost a lot of that fire and snark. 

Something to know for later. It was nothing personal, as he did the same for everyone he met. Too many close calls and backstabs demanded he always have some contingency in place, a hard lesson learned. Even Tom, his closest friend by a long shot, wasn’t safe from Allan’s record of weaknesses. Knowing how to get under someone’s skin, or knowing how to make them compliant, was just smart. 

But despite knowing Shadow for a short time, if he didn’t think he’d have to coerce her for any reason. As long as his requests were fairly reasonable, she seemed happy to follow his command. He certainly had her loyalty more than Sakharine did. 

Having the allegiance of someone who knew the future of a high stakes race to riches was invaluable, and Allan sought to keep it. 

But that wasn’t what softened his heart. 

“That true, kid?” he asked, arms crossed. “Want to see the cast off?”

She nodded, meeting his gaze. Her cheeks were slightly red, and she was scratching her arm like she did when she was nervous. But to her credit, she did keep eye contact. 

“Well, stay out of the way.” He reached out and ruffled her air, allowing a small grin when she hissed and swatted his hand away. 

“Ruffle my hair one more time and I swear…” 

“Swear what?" He shoved her shoulder. "What’s little ol’ you gonna do?” 

Shadow smacked his hand and jabbed a finger at him. “Kick you in your little ol’-“

“Okay, Shortie! To the fo’c’sle you go!” Neil laughed, steering Shadow towards the stairs. 

Allan watched them go, biting back a snort of amusement at Shadow’s indignant hissing.

Strange as it sounded, Shadow was maybe the one exception where he actually preferred when the other person snapped back at him. Maybe because he knew that if Shadow was firing back, it meant she felt comfortable around him and viewed him as an ally or even friend. 

Friends were rare for him, and honestly a liability, but Shadow had been hit by a truck and had a building collapse on them without suffering damage so he didn’t exactly see them being used against him. Plus, where most would despise him after a brawl like that alley one, Shadow seemed to enjoy the rough housing. 

Even if she threatened to end his bloodline. 

Leaving Neil and Shadow, Allan returned to the wheelhouse.

“Everything alright, sir?” the harbor pilot asked. 

“Absolutely. Just a question from the crew, no cause for concern.” 

“Thought I heard a woman’s voice.” 

The lie came easy. “Niece. She likes ships.” Allan shrugged. “You’re welcome to tell her to get off. But I’ll warn you, she bites.”

The pilot still didn’t seem convinced. 

Shadow needed to stay out of sight, but maybe letting her talk to the pilot would be a better option. 

Allan marched back to the stairwell and opened the door. “Actually, change of plans, kid! Get up ‘ere!”

Shadow reappeared at the top of the stairs, confusion on her face. “What is it?”

Allan gestured for her to join him and the harbor pilot. “Pilot wants to talk to you.”

Shadow’s nose wrinkled. “Why?”

“Worried about you.”

Shadow looked even more perturbed. “I swear, if this is sexism related...” she growled, pushing past Allan. Stopping in front of the pilot, she crossed her arms. “What is it?”

“Are you safe, ma’am?”

Shadow cocked her head to the side. “Course I am, why?”

The pilot shot a suspicious glance at Allan. “You can tell me if you’re in trouble, Miss.” 

Shadow side-eyed the pilot. “Trouble? Why would I be in trouble?” 

The harbor pilot gestured to Allan. “This man says you’re his niece?”

Shadow glanced Allan’s way, and not two seconds later a sly grin crossed her face. 

A smile that Allan had already labeled her “I’m going to cause problems on purpose” smile.

I’m about to regret this.

“Aw, Al! I didn’t know you cared so much!” She walked over and punched his arm. “Look at you, gettin’ all soft and shit.” 

Great, she’s decided to be a menace. 

But if she wanted a snark battle, he’d oblige. 

Roughly ruffling her hair again, he pushed her head down. “You hang around here like a stray enough you may as well be.” 

She parried his hand away and ducked out. “Like your bloodline could produce this.” She pointed at her face. 

“Watch your mouth, kid.” He smacked the hat off her head. “Before I ground you.”

Shadow laughed, catching the hat and smacking him in the chest with it. “You ain’t gonna do jack shit!” She turned to the pilot. “I get the concern, mate, but really. I’m good. Here of my own accord and everything.” 

The pilot looked between them, still unconvinced. 

“Look man,” Shadow huffed. “I ain’t leavin’ this ship unless I’m dragged. If you want to try wrangling a black belt who bites down the pilot ladder, be my guest! You’d have better luck with a feral raccoon.” 

“She does bite,” Neil laughed, showing his arm which still bore a tooth-imprint bruise from the previous morning.

The harbor pilot looked appalled. “Women do not rough house like that.” 

A rare trace of genuine anger blazed in Shadow’s eyes. “Alright, chicken-shit, square up!” she spat, cracking her knuckles. 

Ah, so that’s what would legitimately pissed Shadow off. Sexism.

Noted.

Allan stepped behind and caught her around the middle, lifting her off the ground and carrying her to the stairwell door. “Alright, that’s enough," he said over the long string of rather creative profanity. "Neil, get ‘er outta here before she actually does bite someone.”

[shads-shipposts]

Neil: Good energy this and good energy that. What about a rock with bad energy?

Shadow: That would be Uranium. It’s aura is ‘Eat shit and die’.

Neil: Ah. Didn’t know Allan was made of Uranium.

Allan, sitting five feet away:

[shads-shipposts]

Cards and Comfort: Anachronism Snapshot

Admittedly, my fic Anachronism is a big ol' mess. Truly, it is in shambles (just like my mental state). However, some scenes are relatively put together. Such as this one that I wrote back in late 2020 during a depressive episode. Other than some very minor tweaking, this hasn't really been touched. But I want to post something with the KaraCrew, and thus y'all get this lovely little thing. It isn't much, only 1.3k words, but there is a truly abysmal lack of KaraCrew content that isn't tied to Tintin, so this is my remedy. A self indulgent comfort fic staring my oc Shadow and sailors Neil, Hobbs, Geitch, and Eckhart (pilot in brown clothes). As Anachronism takes place before my Clone Wars series, Shadow is 19 here. For obvious reasons, they don't sleep near the rest of the crew and usually crash in Tom or Allan's cabin since those two have their own rooms.

Enjoy~

CW: Language, depressive episode, worries of being a burden.

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

Halting just shy of the open doorway, I swallowed hard. What if they got mad? What if they sent me away? What if they let me in but were passive aggressive about it? Hell, that last one would be even worse. 

But it would be even worse to sit in Tom’s cabin alone, thoughts spiraling out of control. 

I’d just have to take the risk.

Stepping into the doorway to the rec room, I blinked against the light and scanned the room to see who was there. Eckhart, Geitch, Neil, and Hobbs. At least it was two of my favorite sailors aside from Tom. 

It took them a while to notice me, but Eckhart’s eyes finally raised and the man did a small double take. “Kid? Thought you were asleep?” 

At his comment, Neil and Hobbs twisted in their chairs to face me.

“Hey, Shortie. Whatcha doin’ wanderin’ ‘round this late?” Neil asked. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” I said with a shrug, arms wrapped around myself as I braced against the rolling of the ship. 

“Kevin botherin’ ya? I’ll send ‘im off if ya need me to,” Neil offered. 

I shook my head. “Ain’t that. Just restless. Y’all mind if I sit in and watch?” I asked tiredly. 

They glanced at each other and I worried they would refuse. Well… guess if they did the top of the wheelhouse was an option. 

“Nah, c’mon ov’r ‘ere,” Hobbs said, jerking his head at the seat between him and Neil. 

My shoulders sagged in relief. “Thanks, you won’t even know I’m here,” I assured them, walking over and sliding into the seat between the two men. Taking care not to brush any of them, I slowly exhaled. Best not to draw any more attention to myself than I already had. 

The card game continued on, but I could tell they were occasionally glancing at me. Well, good thing I couldn’t really feel worse than I currently did. 

Neil bumped my elbow and I moved it to give him more space. Surely I wasn’t taking up that much room. Compared to the AB I was pretty damn small. He called me “Shortie” for a reason. 

He did it again, but moved slower and didn’t so much bump my elbow as nudge it. Beneath the numbness and crushing exhaustion, curiosity sparked. What was this man up to? 

When his elbow brushed mine again, I left it there. He pressed his against mine but continued on with the game. His skin was quite warm, and despite the small area of contact, the touch sent a feeling of ease through me and slowly forced the tension out of my shoulders. A strong leg pressed against mine, further driving away the agonizing emptiness. Releasing a long breath once more, I shifted closer to the man. I waited, tense, for him to move away but he stayed where he was. Giving a mental ‘fuck it’, I leaned against him. 

The men must have been subtly watching, because they immediately commented on my unusual behavior. 

“Hey kid, what’s eatin’ ya?” Geitch asked from across the table. 

It took some effort, but I managed to raise my eyes to his. “Eh, I’ll be fine in a few.”

“Wasn’t the question,” Eckhart remarked, raising an eyebrow.  

“Aye, somethin’s buggin’ ya,” Hobbs added, twisting in his chair to look at me while still hiding his cards from Eckhart. 

I dropped my eyes. “Nothin’s wrong.” 

“Bullshit.” Neil nudged me with his leg. “You don’t mope like this.”

I shook my head. “Y’all don’t get it. Literally nothing is wrong. My brain just… malfunctions at times.”

“Malfunctions?” 

“We got a happy chemical our brain is supposed to produce. Sometimes my brain says ‘Fuck you, chemical machine broke’ and quits on me for an hour or two. It’s jacked enough already, but it can get really bad,” I managed.

“Sounds like hell,” Geitch commented. 

I huffed. “No shit, man. Fuckin’ sucks ass and swallows.”

The men chuckled. “Least you keep your foul mouth,” Hobbs teased, punching my arm. 

“Oh, that gets worse durin’ this.”

“Good outlet,” Eckhart laughed. 

“Guess it can be,” I shrugged, before sighing and dropping my eyes to the table again. 

The weak reply seemed to sober the men a little. 

“Should we get Tom?” Geitch asked, shifting to get out of his seat. 

“No!” I yelped, panic spreading across my face. “Last thing I need is to burden more people with this.”

My fearful response only got them more worried.

“You clearly aren’t doin’ good, kid,” Neil pointed out. “Wouldn’t Tom help?”

“He’s on duty right now. I’m not botherin’ him,” I stressed, shaking my head. “Just… can you get back to the card game? I’d have stayed away if I knew I’d bother y’all this much.”

They exchanged glances with each other. 

Shit, I knew I was bothering them! I shifted and went to slide out of the seat to leave them alone, but Neil’s heavy arm across my back and shoulders pushed me back down into the seat. 

“Ya aren’t botherin’ no one,” he growled. “Said ya can stay, so sit.”

I held his gaze for a moment before settling back into the chair. “If you’re sure.”

“Wouldn’t say it if we weren’t,” Hobbs remarked, shifting back to face the others at the table. 

“Y’all ain’t the type to hold your tongues on anythin’ that’s for sure,” I huffed, salt forming a crack in the prison wall. 

Neil squeezed my shoulder. “Right.” 

I expected him to remove his arm to continue the game, but the heavy limb stayed where it was, fingers tapping absentmindedly to the faint music playing over the radio.  

Slowly exhaling once more, I hesitated before shifting so my side rested against his. The faint rhythm of the radio coupled with the creaking and rolling of the ship coaxed me further and further towards sleep again.

But would I be safe sleeping around them? They were sailors after all. Even if I was fairly close now with Neil and Hobbs, and none of these men in particular had done anything sketchy, I just couldn’t be 100% sure. Could pretend to be asleep and see how they react.

Closing my eyes, I waited a few moments before letting my head roll to the side against Neil. 

“They fall asleep?” Neil asked. 

“Not so loud, idiot, you’ll wake ‘em up,” Hobbs hissed. 

“What do we do?” Geitch asked. “Carry ‘em back to Tom’s cabin?”

“That would also wake them up,” Eckhart pointed out. 

“I’m comfortable, just leave ‘em and let ‘em sleep,” Neil said, pulling me closer to him. 

“Softie,” Hobbs teased. 

“Am not.” 

“Look atcha, lettin’ the kid sleep on ya.”

Neil snorted. “You’d do the same.”

“They’re kinda cute when they’re asleep and not threatenin’ us with violence,” Geitch commented with a short laugh. 

“Hey, they’re nineteen,” Neil growled. “You’re thirty two. Back off.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, cockhead,” Geitch shot back. “You know I see ‘em as a sibling, same as you! Didn’t mean anything weird by it!”

“Hope not,” Eckhart said. “They’re not asleep. Saw them twitch at your comment.”

The men were quiet before Hobbs ventured, “Kid? You sleepin’ or not?” 

“I’m tryin’ if that’s any consolation,” I muttered. 

“Figured ya passed out since you’re pressed against me like this and ya aren’t cuddly awake,” Neil said, adjusting his arm.

“Just go back to the game and let me doze. Warmth and pressure helps keep the sad at bay,” I mumbled. “And I do like hugs, thank you very little. I just don’t know the vibe for them within this hotbed of masculinity.” 

As Eckhart snorted in amusement, Hobbs asked, “Can ya even sleep with us talkin’?”

“Right now no. So start gamin’,” I huffed.

“Sir yes sir,” he chuckled. 

I rolled my eyes. “Smartass,” I muttered, situating myself again. Exhaling slowly, I closed my eyes and let the low music, swaying of the ship, muted voices, and warmth and weight of Neil’s arm lull me back to sleep. 

I just hoped Tom wouldn’t freak when he got back to the cabin and I wasn’t there. 

[shads-shipposts]

Neil???

That you my guy?

What are you doing in Indiana Jones?

[shads-shipposts]

Neil: "Hey, Shortie."

Shadow: