#the man is a sailor with at least one swallow tattoo that’s so much fucking experience at sea but also he’s chronically seasick??????????

[laniidae-passerine]

Also a really big reason I can’t take “Izzy is the vicious villain of ofmd” seriously is because he’s pathetic. And not in the typical “this guy is dangerous but a little pathetic” way villains are, he’s just through and through pathetic. He gets a tummy ache when it’s stormy. He pushes Black Pete for no fucking reason but his need to prove he’s a Tough Guy. He’s desperate for any actual affection of any kind but would rather die than say that. A total cunt with innumerable flaws, but a pathetic one.

[waywardrose13]

Night and Day

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4263

Warnings: Language, witch!reader, mentions and implicaitons of sex, angst, some fluff, not enough editing to satisfy me

Summary: You hid the fact that you were a witch from the Winchester brothers for years. After a run in with an old mentor of yours causes your secret to be revealed, the brothers find out that not only are you a witch, but one of the most powerful in the world. When Dean is given the task to kill you in exchange for his brother’s life, you must face the fact you lied to the man you loved- the same man who hates witches with a burning passion.

A/N: My tags haven’t been working lately. I’m going to put my tags in a reblog. Comment or shoot me an ask letting me know if you got a notification or not. Oh, and also- surprise!

“Dean, I’m serious. We gotta get up.”

You gently nudged at your boyfriend. A smile played on your lips as you felt his arms tighten around you. He whined and let out a long sigh.

“Five more minutes.”

“You said that twenty mintues ago,” you scoffed, smirking down at him. He groaned and lifted his head to look at you.

“You’re a joy killer,” he said. 

“A joy killer?” You asked. You raised a brow as your smirk grew. “Really?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dean said.

“Right. Okay big boy, up and attem, let’s go. We’ve got that case in Ozark.”

Dean groaned again. “We just got back from a case two days ago.”

“Comes with the job description, honey,” you said. You swung your legs out of bed, placing your feet onto the floor. As you stood up, Dean suddenly wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you back down onto the bed. You squealed as he squeezed your sides, his lips latching onto your throat.

“Wanna stay here with you,” Dean said. He raised his head to kiss your lips. You ran your hand through his hair, his fingers running up your side, raising to cup your breast beneath your shirt.

“Dean, we don’t have time for this,” you said. He peppered kisses along your throat and collarbone, settling on the pulse point below your ear. “As much as I love doing this, we really need to get up.”

Dean halted his movements and lifted his head to scowl at you. He pushed himself up and off you, walking over to the dresser.

“Alright, fine,” he huffed. “Joy killer.”

***

“Of course, it has to be fucking witches.”

You winced at his words. You had been in Ozark for nearly a day now. After interviewing two of the victims who survived the attacks, you had also spoken to the detectives on the case before investigating the victims’ homes. The victims claimed to have been attacked by a shadow figure. The other three victims had been slaughtered in their homes, while the two survivors suffered severe lacerations and what seemed to be burns. You and the brothers were stumped for a while, until you found a hex bag hidden in a vase in one of the homes, and another hex bag stuffed in a couch cushion in the other.

You always hated witch cases. Not only were they dangerous, but they were also conflicting. You were a natural born witch, coming from a long line of witches on your mother’s side of the family. You had the gift of sight, also known as psychic abilities, and you had practiced witchcraft since you were thirteen.

When you had met Dean Winchester, it had been on a ghoul hunt. In those three days, you instantly felt an attraction to him that you couldn’t describe. You never thought he would be interested in you. You saw the women he’d frequent, and you weren’t like them. You were in shape, hunting keeping you fit, however you had some stretch marks, love handles, and thicker thighs than you would’ve liked. You also weren’t the prettiest woman in your opinion. You weren’t ugly, but you were always self conscious of the way you looked. You were sarcastic, cursed like a sailor, and reserved. You had always kept a wall around yourself ever since you were younger, sprouting at early ages due to things you had experienced and seen. You were twenty-four, a virgin, and a bit awkward at times.

Not at all Dean Winchester’s type.

But after meeting up with the Winchesters a few more times, you and Dean slowly became closer, until one night after a hunt, Dean had confessed his feelings for you. He was hesitant at first due to the ten year age difference, but your relationship had quickly blossomed. He was your first real relationship, the first person to ever be with you entirely, the first person to ever hold your heart.

Which is why you never told him about yourself.

Dean hated witches. It was a fact everyone knew. If you were to tell him that you were, in fact, a witch, he’d not only break up with you, but you were afraid he’d hunt you. Although you had never used your abilities for anything other than good, you weren’t entirely sure Dean would be able to trust you after you kept it from him for so long.

You were one of the most powerful witches in the world. Numerous covens have tried to recruit you, but you turned them all down. You were nomadic by nature, a free spirit, and you didn’t want to use your abilities to do someone else’s bidding. So you stuck to yourself. You kept off the radar and hoped your protective hex bags shield sigil tattoos worked. When Dean asked about the tattoos, you had simply told him they were more sigils for protection- like the anti possession tattoo. He believed you without a second thought.

“Okay, so now that we know what we’re dealing with,” Sam began. “We need to find out who. After doing some digging, I found that all of the victims attended the same addiction recovery group.”

“So you think the group is somehow linked to the murders?” Dean asked.

“It makes sense,” you said. “They all had this one thing in common. That’s what we always look for, right?”

“Right. There are only three people left in the group who have not been attacked. Since it’s a support group, anonymity is a requirement. But luckily for us, we have fake badges,” Sam said. “Marcus Wainwright, Brienne Tarly, and Astrid Waters are the only people who haven’t been attacked.”

You froze at Astrid’s name. You knew that name. She was the leader of a coven who tried to recruit you years ago. You turned them down because of the craft which they practiced.

“Who’s the leader of the group?” You asked.

“Uh…” Sam looked at the files. “Astrid.”

“I think it’s her,” you said. The brothers looked at you in question. You mentallykicked yourself. You said it before you could think. “She’s the leader, right?” You tried to cover yourself. “What if she used this group as a way to make sacrifices to whatever that shadow is?”

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Sam said. “Carla, one of the victims I talked to today, said that Astrid would always try to get the group attendants to recruit more people. Apparently Astrid was always trying to bring more people into the group. Almost like she was obsessed with it.”

“She was trying to get more people to sacrifice,” Dean said.

“Exactly,” you said.

“Okay, let’s find this bitch.”

***

Astrid still lived in the same cottage as she did all those years ago when she tried to recruit you. Cobblestone walls covered in climbing ivy. Black shutters hung off the gothic windows. Various leafy plants grew around the sides of the house. The broken path led to a great wood door. The negative energy rolling off the house made you nauseous, and it took everything in you not to pass out.

You were only sixteen when you met Astrid, only just beginning to truly tap into your true potential when other witches began to feel your energy.

“You’re strong,” she had told you. “Stronger than me. You would be a valuable asset to any coven. A threat to witches below your strength. Others will want to harvest that power for themselves. We can keep you safe. I can keep you safe.”

You could feel her energy was dark. Her aura was an ominous black, a stark contrast from your pure white. You knew she was lying immediately. You threatened her. You were stronger than Astrid, and that pissed her off.

“I can fend for myself, thanks,” you had said.

Astrid had simply smirked at you, patting your hand gently. “We’ll see about that, my dear.”

You never thought you’d run across her again. You had hoped that you wouldn’t run into her again. Not only was she incredibly dangerous to you, but there was a high chance she would spill your secret, and you would not only lose Dean forever, but you would lose your life.

Swallowing back your fear, you trudged through the woods alongside the brothers. You knew you needed to do this. Innocent people were dying. If this was your last night on Earth, you wanted to be able to save them at least.

The three of you ducked below one of the windows. Dean peeked inside, trying his best to stay as hidden as possible.

“She’s in there,” he whispered. “She’s… at an altar. She’s chanting something.”

“Guess we found our witch,” Sam muttered. “Nice, Y/N.”

You gave him a weak smile.

Dean got up in front of the door, gun in hand. You and Sam waited for his call.

“Okay, on three,” he said.

“One… two…”

“Three!”

A new voice echoed around you, the door of the cottage violently swinging open, a gust of wind knocking Dean off his feet. Astrid’s cackle filled the air, and suddenly you began to feel woozy. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, Sam falling down next to you. You knew it was Astrid, and you tried to fight it off, but soon succumbed to her power as well, your world going dark.

***

“How exciting!”

Head pounding, you awoke to the sound of a female’s voice. Trying to move, you soon found yourself unable to. Your eyelids felt heavy, and your limbs felt numb.

Opening your eyes, you found yourself staring up at the ceiling of the cottage. Astrid’s silver head was bent over you, bright emerald eyes staring into yours, a crooked, elated smile on her face.

“My oh my, I never thought the day would come,” she muttered to herself. A long nailed finger stroked your cheek, and you flinched away.

“Don’t touch her, you bitch!” You turned your head at the sound of Dean’s voice. You smiled weakly immediately at the sight of him, finding yourself incredibly tired.

You felt drained.

You tried to move your hands, finding them strapped to the table you were currently laid out on. Your flannel had been removed, as were your jeans, leaving you in only a tank top and panties. You shivered in the cool air. You hated being exposed like this in front of anyone that wasn’t Dean.

“What are you doing?” You asked weakly. “Let me go.”

Astrid laughed. “Please. You fall right into my hands and you think I’m going to let you go?” She asked. “You’re smarter than that, little fox.”

 “Why are you doing this?” Sam asked. “Why did you kill all those people? Why did you sacrifice them?”

Astrid looked surprised. “Oh my, you’re a smart one, aren’t you?” She smiled at Sam, holding a mortar and pestle up over you. She crushed something inside, muttering a few incantations.

“The shadow makes me stronger. The more it's fed, the stronger I become,” Astrid said smoothly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m a strong witch. Stronger than your average natural born, much stronger. However, there are only two people in the world who are stronger than me.”

Astrid gave you a pointed look. 

“The shadow makes me stronger, as I said, but without the power of the other two witches, I will never be the strongest. If I were to siphon their energies from their souls, I would be the strongest witch there ever was and will ever be.”

“Pretty egotistical, eh there, granny?” Dean said. Astrid sneered at him.

“You’ll be the first one to die once I’m done with her, honey,” Astrid said.

“That is if I don’t kill you first, sweetheart.”

“If you only knew what I would be capable of,” Astrid snapped. “One witch has kept herself hidden. The Scottish bitch never can be found.”

“Rowena,” Sam said. 

“Oh, you know her?” Astrid said. “Yes, Rowena. Now, the other witch. Well, I met her years ago. She was just a wee lass of sixteen at the time, but she was already so strong. I knew she was going to be a problem for me. I tried to recruit her to my coven, but she was smart. Too smart. I’ve been trying to track her down for years, and I’ve never been able to find her.”

Astrid let out a dreamy sigh. “And then, by the grace of God, she fell right into my hands.”

“If you’ve already killed her, why take the souls of innocents?” Dean asked.

Astrid scoffed. “Oh no, dear. I haven’t killed her yet.”

“Well what’s the hold up? One less witch to worry about. You’ll stop killing innocent people.”

Astrid laughed. She looked down at you. “No idea how you’ve been with the man as long as you did. If I heard that, I’d run for the hills. Or stab him in his sleep.”

“Don’t touch him,” you hissed. Astrid grinned.

“There’s that fire,” she said. She smeared the green paste she made over your chest. You let out a small cry as it burned your skin. She painted a pentacle on you, muttering more incantations.

“Unfortunately, to siphon all of a witch's power, the siphoner cannot kill the siphonee,” Astrid said. “Someone else has to do it after I prepare her, then I could siphon it.”

“Well let’s make you a deal,” Dean said. Your lip wobbled. “If I kill the bitch, letting you siphon her power, you will never kill another person.”

Astrid smiled wickedly. “Really?”

“Sure. One less witch and we save some people.”

Astrid laughed. “Oh that’s too good. I’ll make a blood vow. If I break it, I die.”

“Fine.” Dean nodded at her.

“Give me your word, hunter,” Astrid said.

“I give you my word.”

“That no matter what, you follow through,” Astrid continued.

Dean sighed. “Yeah, fine.”

“Dean,” you said softly. A tear leaked from your eye. “Please.”

He looked at you curiously. Astrid cut his bindings, letting him free.

“He’s not the brightest bulb, is he?” She asked you, laughing.

“Where do I find her?” Dean asked.

Astrid handed Dean a knife. It had a curled handle, various sigils carved into it. She stepped back, folding her arms over her chest. 

“Go ahead.”

“You deaf?” Dean asked. “Where do I find the bitch?”

Astrid smirked, running her tongue over her lips.

“Right in front of you.”

The blood drained from Dean’s face. Tears streamed from your eyes now, leaking down your temples onto the wood beneath you. Astrid killing you was one thing. Dean killing you? There was nothing worse you could think of.

“Y/N?” He said. “No fucking way. She’s not a witch.”

“Isn’t she?” Astrid asked. “Go on, Y/N. Show us a little trick.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing this was all a dream. Wishing that you would wake up and you’d be back at the bunker in Dean’s arms.

But when you opened your eyes, Dean still stood there, that curved knife in his hand, Astrid’s evil grin plastered on her face, a shocked Sam watching from his confinement on the wall.

“Fuck you,” you hissed.

“If you don’t show him-” she walked over to Sam, hand on his head- “I blow his brain apart.”

You took in a shaky breath, eyes focusing on the windows. Suddenly, your eyes glowed purple, and the windows shattered. The glass floated up into the air, spinning around and around, wind whipping everyone’s hair. It only lasted a few moments, and when the glass stopped spinning, a heart floated six feet off the ground. It slowly moved towards Dean, and once it reached him, you blinked, eyes going back to their normal E/C, the heart falling to the ground, glass shattering once more, mimicking your own heart.

Dean looked up at you in shock.

“You did that?”

“It’s her best party trick,” Astrid said. “Y/N here is an artist. Unless, of course, she’s blowing a werewolf to pieces with a simple flick of her wrist, or growing a thirty foot tree with the blink of an eye.”

“No,” Dean said lowly. “You lied to me.”

“I was afraid,” you said. “You hate witches. I thought you were going to kill me.”

“You fucking kept this giant ass secret from me!” He yelled. “You lied to me for years! All that time we’ve been together, you’ve been fucking

“Dean, please-”

“How do I know anything you said was true?”

“It all is! You know everything about me, Dean! I just never told you this!” You urged. “Please, Dean. You know me. You know I’m a good person.”

“I don’t know shit,” he hissed. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

“What?” You asked.

“Have you ever killed someone?” He snapped.

“No! I’ve never-”

“Eh, eh, eh,” Astrid said. “Don’t lie to the poor man anymore, Y/N.”

You let out a sob. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?” Astrid exclaimed. “Bursting a man into flames was an accident? Killing a father of four was an accident?”

“Yes!” You said. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know how to control myself, I-”

A sharp pain suddenly seared inside your head. You gasped, eyes squeezing shut.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked. Astrid grinned.

“Punishing her,” she answered calmly. You screamed as the pain became so intense, white flashed behind your eyes and your whole body went rigid.

“Stop!” Dean yelled.

The pain was gone instantly. You panted, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, sweat mixing with your tears.

“Slit her wrists, Dean,” Astrid whispered. “You swore.”

Dean took the few steps he needed to be right next to you. He looked at the knife, then at your wrist, then at your face.

“Won’t she just heal herself?” He asked.

“Those cuffs around her wrists contain sigils that will prevent any self healing or harm to another person,” Astrid said. “It limits her power. It’s why she hasn’t broken out yet.”

Dean swallowed thickly. He looked at you, eyes searing deeply into your own. An anger burned behind the green you loved so much. It scared you. That anger had never been directed towards you before. 

But there was something else as well. Despair. Dean was torn. You were a witch, a powerful one, and you had lied about it for years. On the other hand, Dean was in love with you. He loved you so much, it scared him.

“Do it,” Astrid said. “Do it, or I kill him.”

She was bent down beside Sam now, lips near his ear, eyes burning purple. Dean looked between you and his brother. You knew he’d never choose you over Sam.

“Do it,” you whispered. You nodded at him, giving him a soft smile. “It’s alright.”

“How can you say that?” Dean asked. 

“I’ll find my way back to you someday,” you told him. “If not, I’ll simply wait for you.”

Dean bit his lip. “I wish you had told me.”

“I thought you were going to kill me,” you admitted. He shook his head, leaning against the table. He cupped your cheek, thumb wiping away a stray tear.

“Baby, you’re a good person,” he said. “Sure, I hate witches.”

You winced.

“But I could never hate you.”

You blinked a few times. “Even though I’m-”

He pressed his lips softly to yours. His eyes were misty, brows pulled together. 

“I could never hate you,” he whispered against your lips.

“Do it, Dean!” Astrid urged. “You’ve got ten seconds.”

“Dean, don’t do it,” Sam said. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I’ll wait for you, my love.”

Dean shook his head.

“Five seconds,” Astrid warned.

“I love you, Dean. It’s okay,” you whispered. 

Dean looked down at the knife in his hands. He caressed your wrist, bringing the knife down against your skin.

“Three seconds!”

He gave you one last look, moving the knife back-

“Two-”

He jerked the knife-

“One!”

You expected the sting of the blade, but only felt the release of the cuff. 

“Man, you should have had some sort of spell on that shit,” Dean said. He smiled darkly at you, giving you a wink. Using your other hand, you flashed your eyes purple, burning the other cuff off.

“No!” Astrid yelled. “What have you done?”

With a simple flick of your wrist, Astrid was flung away from Sam. She crashed into the opposite wall. You slipped off the table, bare feet hitting the cold floor. A wind blew through the cottage, blowing your hair back from your face. You stalked towards her, all the while a smirk grew on your lips, your fingers tingling.

“I haven’t let myself go in so long,” you said. You lifted your hands, seeing the purple glow in your palms and beneath your fingertips. You cocked your head. “All this pent up energy…”

“Y/N-”

“It’s almost like snapping a rubber band,” you muttered.

“Y/N,” Dean said slowly. 

Using a blast of power, you forced Astrid’s arms against the wall. Keeping them there, you raised her up until her feet dangled off the floor. You did the same to her ankles, the strain causing her skin to bruise immediately.

“Y/N, wait-”

You forced her head back, a sickening crunch resonating inside the cottage.

“So much power… can be dangerous,” Astrid gasped. Blood dribbled from her mouth and nose, pouring out of her eyes like tears. You forced more pressure upon her, crushing her further. “I was your mentor once… don’t let it consume you… keep your soul pure…”

You crushed her further, your brow raising slightly. You smiled wickedly at Astrid, a dark chuckle leaving your lips. “Rich coming from you,” you said.

“I let it consume me,” Astrid told you. “Don’t… follow in my footsteps.”

You hadn’t used your power like this in years, not since Astrid was your mentor. It sizzled in your veins and made you feel more rushed than ever. It was almost euphoric, the way your body burned with power, power that came from the Earth beneath your feet. 

You missed that feeling.

What you didn’t miss, however, was the creeping feeling of darkness. It would intrude your thoughts and darken your mind. The risk of using that much power was the potential that it could consume you, and you would flip darkside.

Like Astrid did.

“See you in hell.”

Using once last surge of power, Astrid let out a guttural scream as her whole body turned an odd shade of red, eyes nearly popping from their sockets, blood streaming from any open source, before she stopped moving.

Letting your power retract, she slumped to the floor.

Dead.

You blinked, letting your eyes return to their natural colour, turning to face Dean.

“You gonna kill me now?” You asked.

Dean swallowed thickly, giving you a small smile.

“No.”

“Why not?” You said. “I’m a monster, right? You hate witches. I am witch. Pretty self explanatory.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Dean said.

“You can’t pick and choose the monsters you kill and don’t kill,” you said. “You came here to kill a witch. I killed her, now it’s your turn.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Dean repeated.

You gritted your teeth, sighing deeply. “Fine.”

You walked over to Sam, looking over your shoulder at Dean. With a simple flick of your wrist, Sam was released from his bindings.

“Do it, Sam.”

“Why?” He asked.

“I haven’t let myself go like that in a long time,” you said. “I forgot how tempting it is to give in. I want to do it, Dean. You need to kill me before I do.”

“No,” he said.

“Do it!” You yelled. “Do you really want me to flip? You want me to become like her?” You pointed to the woman you had just killed.

“You won’t,” Dean said. “You’re not like her.”

“Yes,” you whispered. A single tear slipped down your cheek. “I am. I killed that man when I was sixteen because I almost let it win. Who knows what else I could have done if I did.”

“Then we lock you up in the dungeon,” Dean said. “And we bring you back. But you’re good, Y/N. I know you better than anyone.”

Your lip wobbled. 

“You still love me?” You murmured. “Even after finding out?”

Dean smiled warmly at you. He took your hands in his, massaging the backs of yours. “Sure, I was pissed you didn’t tell me. Still am, quite frankly. But you’re my girl,” he said. “I know you. I know the kind of person you are.”

“You hate witches,” you pointed out.

“Eh, maybe they’re not so bad,” Dean said, giving you a lopsided shrug. “I mean, I know this one witch. She’s pretty hot, really good in bed-”

“Dean!” You exclaimed, slapping his chest playfully. He laughed, kissing your forehead, bringing you into his chest.

“What can I say? What you did was pretty badass. Not my fault I’m into that.”

You shook your head. “Okay, big boy. If you’re not gonna kill me, let’s go home.”

Dean took a deep breath, leaning down to pick you up bridal style. You gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

“Come on, Sabrina,” he said. You gave him a bitch face, making Sam laugh.

“Really?” You asked.

“Oh, I’ve got more,” he said. “Do you have a pointy hat? Or a broomstick? Were you always this color, or were you born green?”

“Yeah, this is gonna be a long ride home,” Sam muttered.

Did you like it? What was your favorite part? Send me an ask with your thoughts! Feedback is loved and greatly appreciated:)

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[tackyink]

Still holding onto the hope of running out of steam soon so I can work on other fics. In any case, this has a title now. It’s Degrees of Separation.

I hate this chapter solely because in my mind it was supposed to be one, then it got long and turned into two awkward chapters, and by splitting them I was left with this thing in which nothing happens. Why would you want to read this? I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to read it, even though I did. Repeatedly. To edit out all the typos I’m sure I’ve left in. I’m going to put a Golden Sun stream on the background, play Animal Crossing and drown my frustration in Coca Cola. It’s been a long week.

One last detour before Sabaody. Alex is bored, the Heart Pirates reenter the scene, and Law has an “if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions” moment.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

— — — — — — — —

Chapter 3

There was a storm.

Alex didn’t know if it was related to the Aqua Laguna that the ship had set out to avoid or it was simply one of the Grand Line’s meteorological whims, but two days after departure, the noon sky went so dark it was like a moonless night had come down early, the winds picked up, and the waves started to beat against the ship’s hull in an uneven rhythm.

The crew was all over the place, trying to steer the ship and reef the sails as they ushered the passengers inside to keep them from falling overboard. Alex had been caught in bad weather travelling before, but never to this extent. She had a hard time thinking of anything scarier than being at the mercy of a windy sea. Nowhere to run, nothing to do except wait and pray that the waters would take pity on you and let you live another day. Alex wasn’t the praying sort, so while she waited below deck with a group of people as scared as she was, if not more, she couldn’t even do that.

The nervous chatter of the passengers and the parents’ attempts to console their children were muffled by the deafening sounds of the wind, the waves, the creaking wood, and the crew’s rushed footsteps on the deck.

Alex stood the entire time in front of a porthole in the dining hall where they had gathered. It helped with the seasickness from the violent rocking of ship, it was better than to look at the other people, and, ironically, storms were her favorite kind of weather. She wondered what would be worse if they sunk, getting caught on deck and risking being swallowed by the ocean, or waiting for the insides of the ship to become a water tomb. For a long time, or at least it seemed like it, that was the main thought that repeated in her mind, until the possibility of dying felt so remote that she wasn’t even registering. Like when you picked a word and turned it around in your mouth and mind so many times that it lost all meaning. Of course she couldn’t die there. She had never done so before, so why start now?

It was absurd, but it helped. And it turned out to be right, too.

After a while, the storm subsided, and an hour later, the crew let them out on deck again. The ship wasn’t intact, but they hadn’t lost anybody, and that was as much as one could ask for when dealing with an angry sea.

In the end, there was only one major inconvenience: due to the damage, the ship had to change its course in order to dock somewhere safe to undergo repairs.

❦

Her hair had gotten longer to the point of annoyance. The tips brushed her shoulders already; long enough to get in her face whenever it wanted, but too short to tie it in a decent ponytail. Sure, she could have done it anyway, but she was vain and would have rather dealt with the hassle than solve the problem in an aesthetically suboptimal way.

The sunspots on the left side of her face were getting more noticeable, as were the dark circles under her eyes and the shy wrinkles that were attempting to come out. For someone who could spend so much time picking her appearance apart in front of a mirror, she didn’t look particularly healthy or well put together. She supposed that was part of the appeal, in a masochistic way: to find as many faults as she could, and invent some if needed.

Applying concealer under her eyes and red lipstick just for the sake of having some color on her face, she thought she needed to find herself a headband and a healthier pastime posthaste. Porta Bella was a quaint town, but there wasn’t much in the way of entertainment, and she’d had only her thoughts for company for too long.

She had been stuck there for two weeks. After narrowly avoiding disaster, the ship had been moored in the harbor for several days, and by the time it was fit enough to sail, the captain decided to go back to Water 7 to have proper repairs done. The passengers had been given the choice to remain in Porta Bella and find another ship, or to return to Water 7 with the crew. Going back wasn’t an option for Alex when Sabaody was so close that it felt like she could have seen it if she climbed on a tall tree, she didn’t trust a half-baked repair job to keep her safe, and, most importantly, someone had tried to kill Iceburg and Enies Lobby had kind of blown up in the following days of her departure from Water 7.

She didn’t want to think that the tracksuit shipwright had something to do with it, but the conspiracy theorist in her told her that it was totally his fault. That nose? Could totally be used as a murder weapon and nobody would be none the wiser.

The few passengers aside from Alex who had decided to stay in Porta Bella were already gone, leaving the inn she was staying at delightfully empty, but also making her wonder if she had messed up by not taking the first random ship that would let her sail away from there.

The island was small, so much so that Porta Bella was the only town in it, and much of it was empty. For many years there had been a migratory tendency pushing young people from nearby islands to the Sabaody Archipelago, and this one seemed to have fallen victim to it, too. The moderately long recording time of the Log Pose didn’t play in its favor, either. Five days and a half was a long time to wait when the Red Line was only a couple of days away, so not many ships stopped there. An abandoned watchtower in the outskirts of town was the only other notable location.

She left her inn room that morning, picking up a tea to go, and hoping that a good slap of early morning breeze in the face would wake her up.

Every day since she arrived, she went to the port to look for any newly arrived ships and talk to the sailors. Every time, if there was a new one at all, she was told that there were reports of increased slaver activity in those waters, and that they were headed anywhere but the Sabaody Archipelago until Marine HQ got its shit together and stopped the kidnapping crews sailing rampant. Given that the Marines must have been scrambling to recover from the loss of Enies Lobby, nobody thought they were going to get on the case anytime soon.

These series of unfortunate coincidences didn’t surprise her. Her life was often comprised of really small strokes of bad luck that were nothing more than inconvenience on their own, but that added up to really grate on her nerves. This was business as usual, so she just had to keep trying. The temporary finish line was only a stone’s throw away.

Not that human trafficking stopped at any point of the year, but she hadn’t taken into account the seasonal opening of the archipelago’s biggest auction. Thinking that not even the schedule of the Human Auctioning House had changed during her time away gave her a twisted sense of familiarity. That son of a bitch kept finding novel ways to fuck her over without even being aware of her existence. It had to be a gift, for sure.

As she walked to the half empty docks, she hoped that that was the day she lucked out. She had already decided that, if she couldn’t find a direct ship to Sabaody in the following three days, she’d take the roundabout way and sail to a bigger island with, hopefully, a wider variety of ships. She would go completely broke in the process (and there she found the thing that was as terrifying as being caught in a storm at open sea), but one had to crack eggs to make an omelette.

Ten minutes and an empty cup of tea into her stroll, she stopped in front the single newly arrived ship and thought that maybe she hadn’t lucked out, but that sure as hell life was full of weird coincidences. Because there were few submarines sailing the Grand Line, even fewer painted yellow, and she guessed that only one with that particular Jolly Roger plastered on it. Her wish of seeing it up close had been granted when she least expected it, and it didn’t disappoint. It had a curious design, half ship and half submarine. A shipmarine.

Feeling revitalized by the pun, she craned her neck and got on her tiptoes to accomplish nothing at all. She couldn’t see any of the pirates on the deck, at least from where she was standing, and what else was she supposed to do, walk closer to find a friendly face and say hi like a functioning human being would? Yeah, no. She simply stood there and stared like a creep.

The paint job of the thing was hypnotic, and she didn’t mean it as a compliment. It looked like the idea of a man who thought the peak of design was making his vehicle look like a wasp with a decal of the word ‘DEATH’ instead of stripes to look extra edgy. And okay, they were pirates, pirates killed people, it was something that came with the job – but plastering it over the ship like that was a little heavy handed, and she didn’t have any doubts as to which guy with matching tattoos had come up with those brilliant design choices. Come to think of it, wasn’t there a song about a yellow submarine? The one from those singers her mom liked when she was young… Maybe the captain was a fan, too. Maybe they sung it on board. She laughed at the thought.

It didn’t leave her indifferent, that was for sure, and that could count as a compliment, since she had seen a ton of ships throughout her life. Props to Trafalgar Law for standing out among the crowd.

If the pirates weren’t around at the moment, it had to mean they were inside of the ship or already out in town. It was early still, but she was sure it was a matter of time until she ran into them – the town was pretty small, around a hundred, counting sailors, on a good day, news travelled fast, and these guys didn’t dress unassumingly.

With that in mind, she kept an eye out for familiar faces and resumed her unfruitful rounds around the port. Another day, another set of rejections. She tossed her paper cup in a trash can and made her way to the coffee shop where she always had the second tea of the day, sometimes even the third, if she was feeling particularly down about her current predicament.

She placed her order at the counter and waited for it. The owner, a balding middle aged man whose name she didn’t know but who had started to get chatty after she showed up a few days in a row, tried to strike up a conversation while he heated the water. “Did you hear? A pirate crew arrived in town last night.”

Alex wasn’t much for conversation in the mornings, and usually her replies to his attempts were rather apathetic, but the owner had struck gold with this particular topic. “I just saw the ship,” she repeated. “Have they done anything?”

“Not yet,” he replied with the clear implication that they soon would. “But it’s a Supernova’s crew, from what I’ve heard. Their captain’s a scary guy – how do they call him…?”

She had mixed feelings about that. She’d seen scary first hand, and in her experience it came in the shape of kidnapping crews, bubble helmets, or suits and fedoras. And ultimately, it was the fedoras’ fault she was in that coffee shop in the first place.

“Surgeon of Death,” she replied. There was no doubt that with that price on his head he was a walking danger, but after their first encounter, she had a feeling he was more the selective type than the let’s wreck everything in our path kind of guy. Not that his list of attributed crimes would lead anybody to think that. “Do you have trouble with pirates often? Being close to Sabaody and all.”

“Sometimes, but they usually go to more interesting places. It used to be as easy as calling the garrison to get rid of ‘em, but with Marineford so close it’s no wonder no one wants to be here any longer.”

“There used to be Marines here?”

“Yes, at the watchtower in the outskirts, but they left after some of the rooftop caved in. Building’s condemned now. A pity, ‘cause the watchtower’s been there forever, and they’ve let it fall apart.”

“That’s a shame,” she said. “How old’s the tower?”

The water started boiling then, and he turned around to remove it from the fire and make her drink. “Tale goes that it’s old as the stone entrance, but who knows,” he said with his back turned to her. “It’s not like we have any experts to come check.” He slid her the drink over the counter. “In case, try to avoid those guys. A woman traveling alone is an easy target for criminals.”

“Yes, I know,” she replied, putting a few belis in the counter and taking the cup by the handle. “Thanks.”

She chose to sit on the terrace, next to the railing that separated it from the sidewalk, to have a good view of the street. She was in a sort of commercial district, if a main street with a dozen of shops could be called that. Most people who stopped at the island had to pass by sooner or later, so it was the busiest place in town. Not so early, though. It wasn’t opening hours yet.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched like a hawk the man who was monopolizing the only issue of the World Economic Journal and snatched it as soon as he got up to leave, so fast that it turned the heads of the other two people on the terrace.

News of the assault of Enies Lobby had been filling pages for a week already, and that day wasn’t an exception. The Straw Hat Pirates had done the unthinkable, and while in other circumstances Alex might have been watching the situation with amusement from afar, she was also pretty annoyed at them, because their stunt no doubt played into the poor supervision in the waters near Sabaody. On the other hand, she hoped that this also meant that neither Marines nor Cipher Pol would be very invested in finding her in the near future if she ended up a suspect.

She was also a little worried about Iceburg’s condition, but the newspapers hadn’t reported his death, so she had to assume he had recovered from the attempt on his life.

She skimmed over the usual columns prattling about the lack of security at sea and how worrying it was that a whole new generation of rookies with astronomical bounties were about to set foot in the Sabaody Archipelago at the same time. She didn’t think having a handful extra menaces sailing around mattered anymore, considering the state of the world at large, but the pearl-clutching sold newspapers, and she wondered about her sense of self-preservation when she realized with disappointment that, at the rate she was moving, she was going to miss the Supernova meetup in Sabaody. Her curiosity was going to bite her in the ass one day, she thought, before remembering that it already had, and that was the exact reason she was in her current position.

She skim read a few pages looking for interesting headlines, getting to the less important news that didn’t warrant spreads, editorials and pictures that took up half the page, and paled when she read the contents of an unassuming text box.

An unfortunate accident in the island of Harlun had blown up the local library while it was undergoing renovations. Nobody had been hurt, said the write-up, but the building had been destroyed in the ensuing fire and an investigation was still ongoing to determine what had happened. At least she guessed that the last part of the article said so, because she choked on her tea as she read it and spit some of it on the paper, making the ink run.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Well, it technically could be, but no way she was buying that. The real question was if they’d be able to link the Poneglyph to her, and considering she that she was the person who spent the most time in the archive and she had conveniently left right before construction work took place, she had a pretty good chance to win that lottery. Oh, God, what if her coworkers mentioned that she used to go to the archive on Sundays, alone?

Her first impulse was to bang her head on the table and hide it between her arms, but the surface was sticky, so she ended up regretting it immediately. Instead, she put her elbows on the table, and covered her face with her hands. Her heart was beating loudly and her mind was running wild thinking of possible courses of action. She was on a timer. Getting to Sabaody as soon as possible was a necessity now. If there was a place she could hide, ironically, it was there.

“I see life’s treating you well.”

Alex’s heart tried to leap out of her mouth when she heard someone talk to her from so up close, but one of the perks of being born with a stick up her ass was that she only tensed up when she was startled, so she saved herself the embarrassment of yelping or jumping on her chair. She removed the hands from her face to look at the person, and the sight of a spotted furry hat and a yellow and black hoodie punched her in the eyes.

“Oh, hello,” she said, feeling more relaxed when she realized it was the Surgeon of Death leaning against the balustrade, not law enforcement. Her life had taken a turn for the surreal in a very short time, had it not?

His smirk faltered. “You aren’t surprised?”

“Saw your ship,” she said with some difficulty, and she drank some tea to swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat. Of all the times for him to appear... “Town’s small, we had to run into each other.”

“Hm.”

If she exerted a bit of imagination, she’d say he looked a bit disappointed. Why would he? No idea, but it was funny to think he was, and she was in dire need of funny.

He asked, “What are you doing here? This is far from your island.”

Farther than he knew, she almost said, but that was a can of worms and not relevant in the situation at hand. Feeling too overwhelmed to give long explanations, she handed him the newspaper open by the page she’d been reading. Talking could happen once she arranged her own thoughts, and only then.

“That’s…” He took it from her hands and read for a few seconds. An inscrutable expression gradually morphed into a look of pure indignation. “What’s the meaning of this?”

She was taken aback by the unexpected display of emotion. It was odd to see him react so strongly to something that didn’t concern him. “It isn’t that surprising, considering—”

“How is it not?” He retorted, annoyed. “Sora can’t lose against these weaklings!”

She stared at him in confusion. “What?” she blurted out, realizing afterwards that he was talking about the comic strip at the bottom of the page. And to be fair, she was going to tell him to look further up when the meaning of his words sunk in, but then she was the one leaning over the railing to look at the paper he was holding. “Wait, really? That’s impossible!”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

Upon reading the message under the strip, she complained, “On break until next month?” She sat back on the chair, mumbling, “I don’t even know if I’ll be alive next month,” before taking a sip of tea.

“Summer vacation cliffhanger,” he replied. “And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“Read the news above.”

He looked at the paper again, and his eyes widened the smallest fraction as recognition dawned. That reaction was more appropriate. “Do you think it was…?”

“I’m sure of it. It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Are you wanted now?”

“I don’t know. They have reason to suspect I knew it was there.” And she added with a bit of humor that she wasn’t really feeling, “If I get a bounty, I’ll say it was your fault.”

“I don’t think that’s going to do you any service.” A smirk returned to grace his features as he passed her the newspaper back. He was clearly amused by her misfortune, and that was the only good thing that had come out of it. “What do you plan to do?”

Alex let out a long exhale through her nose. She wanted to say that there was no plan, but there always was. Planning was something she did obsessively. “I need to get to Sabaody as soon as possible.” It was the only option. She could have elaborated, but again, she didn’t feel like it. Too early, too stunned to talk about serious stuff. Reality hadn’t fully sunk in. “You’re on Sora’s side? Really?”

He frowned at her. He did a lot of frowning, she thought. He was going to get wrinkles young. “Of course I am.”

“But he’s a Marine,” she said, a smile growing on her face despite herself. “Aren’t you one of the bad guys?”

“The Germa are vile,” he retorted, and perhaps realizing he was getting too much into the conversation, he went back to the other, much less fun topic. “Sabaody’s going to be full of Marines in no time, though.”

She was internally screaming, but it came out as a drawn out sigh. “Thanks to you, no doubt.”

“The merit isn’t all mine.”

“I know. You lot have been all over the news for weeks.” He looked awfully self-satisfied when she said that. “I guess you’ll be heading straight there after this place?”

“That’s the plan if there aren’t any stops in between. By the way, do you know how long until the Log Pose sets?”

“Five days, ten hours and twenty-six minutes,” she said blandly, repeating the number she had been told by several people when she first arrived to Porta Bella. It made her miserable, so of course she wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon.

“And the seconds?”

It took her way longer than necessary to realize he was messing with her. “Oh, fuck off.” She returned her attention to the newspaper so she didn’t have to look at his stupid face while he thought he was so funny. “Fishman Island’s right around the corner. Try not to drown.”

“We have a submarine.” He sounded amused still. Alex couldn’t tell if annoying her gave him that much joy or if he was having an exceptionally good day. He was pretty cranky for a while back in Duster Town, but now that she recalled, his mood seemed to improve every time he got one over her. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

“Regular submarines can’t reach Fishman Island.”

He frowned again. “Why not?”

“It’s too deep. They can’t endure the water pressure.”

She could sense the levity from moments ago was gone by the way his jaw set. “But we heard ships can traverse the Red Line through an underwater route.”

“That’s why you go to Sabaody first.” She was exerting a considerable effort to give these really boring explanations that no one was going to thank her for. “You find yourself a good coating engineer to put a resin bubble around your ship and that’ll protect it.”

He seemed to study this new information from several angles before he spoke. “That’s good to know.”

“You’re welcome.”

He gave her a pointed look, but didn’t say anything about the jab. “Is it easy to find one?”

“There’s an entire section of the archipelago dedicated to it. It’s going to cost you, though. And depending on who you choose, there’ll be a waiting list.”

“Really?”

“Good coating engineers are few and far in between, and nobody wants to find out someone did a half-assed job on their sheep five kilometers underwater.”

“That’s…” He made a meditative pause. “…Reasonable.”

“I thought you were going to say something completely different.”

“It sucks too.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. Her life would be so much easier if one didn’t have to jump through thirty hoops to cross that chunk of rock. “In a hurry to get to the New World?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to, either, because she was busy contemplating a new idea that had sprung in her mind. One that she’d rather avoid if she had other options left, and she wouldn’t know until a few days passed, but... this coincidence could prove to be useful yet.

“What?” He looked at her with suspicion.

“Nothing.” And just to get on his nerves a little, she added. “Yet.”

He fixed his gaze on her face, most likely gauging her intentions. Alex was incapable of looking at people in the eye, but she was good at faking it and not flinching under pressure, so she stared back.

“Do I want to ask?”

“I don’t know. Follow your instincts.”

To her surprise, he dropped it and took a step back from the railing. “I need to go back to the sub and see if the others are up already.”

Good. “For someone with a target so big on you, you wander a lot without them.”

“I like taking walks alone,” he said, like he didn’t think much of it. Like he could not fathom how he of all people could possibly be in danger from anybody else. “See you around?”

Was that a wish, a threat, or a pleasantry? “Without a doubt,” she replied, not bothering to hide the tedium in her voice. Damn empty town and damn slavers. “This town isn’t big enough for the two of us.”

She could have sworn he smiled a little at that, but Law shoved his hands in his pockets and made his leave too fast to see.

He was far enough that he wouldn’t hear her if she spoke in a normal volume when she remembered something important, so she resorted to raising her voice before the Heart crew did something they could regret. “Go to the Old Brewery if you don’t want to die! The Silver Fountain serves piss for drinks!”

He turned to look at her with the same curiosity back when she’d told him weapons weren’t allowed in the library, but this time he nodded in acknowledgement before making his exit.

The other customers on the terrace stared at her warily, but honestly, she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad for them even when the owner immediately came out to ask if she was okay and if the scary surgeon had said anything bad to her. At least something interesting was happening.

❦

Alex had a love-hate relationship with heights.

She inevitably got queasy when she was somewhere high up that didn’t have barriers or anything she could hold onto, but that didn’t stop her from going up there, anyway. It was like a very stupid magnetic pull that one day would end with her skull split open.

(It was the wind and the view. She knew that. It was also one of the few options she had to feel taller than most people.

But mostly the wind.)

The stone arch at the entrance of the town that gave Porta Bella its name was surrounded by the remains of a stone wall. First century, she guessed by the roughness of the stone blocks and the bit of mortar she scraped from between when she inspected it for the first time. It was easily over two meters, and only because the topmost part had fallen off. The blocks that hadn’t been taken away for use in newer constructions were still next to the wall, inviting anyone who’d dare to step on them to use them to climb.

She knew she wasn’t the only idiot who had felt the temptation, because the stone was worn from use. She’d also seen kids running at the top of the wall and no one had tried to stop them, and there were worse ways to channel all the nervous energy she had from reading that newspaper article.

She wasn’t a very proficient climber, but the blocks were positioned in such a way that getting to the top was easy as pie. No doubts someone had moved them for that exact purpose. When she was high enough, she threw a leg over the wall, then the other one, and sat facing the harbor.

The wind was nice up there.

She wouldn’t stand on the wall for all the money in the world and getting down was going to be an ordeal, but that was a problem for the Alex of the future.

That day had woken up to four ships in the harbor, counting the pirates’ submarine. Two would go away at the end of the week. The third was leaving that night. No vessels on the horizon.

She sighed. If the pirates were on an adventure, they sure had the shittiest of lucks docking only in the most boring islands the sea could offer.

With nothing better to do at the moment, and trying to delay as much as possible the moment she’d regret climbing that high, she moved towards the shadow of the arch without lifting her butt from the stone and rested her back against it.

She was at a loss. Sailing further away from the Sabaody Archipelago was counterproductive, but so was staying in the same island for too long, since she had no means of protecting herself if something happened. Then again, if she ended up broke before she got to Sabaody, she’d have to stay in whatever island she was to earn money to keep travelling.

All the options sucked. Maybe she needed to sleep on it to see what the lesser evil was. She had, after all, a few days to make a decision.

She looked at the sea, tinted dark green by her sunglasses, in what she assumed was Sabaody’s direction. So close, yet so far away. The skies were clear and the water calm, and though there weren’t any sailors to be found in the harbor, she could see the shadow of a couple of fishing boats in the distance. Wasn’t there a song that went like that? I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay, wastin' time…

She hummed, looking at nowhere in particular and letting her thoughts drift with the waves.

❦

She knew better than to cut through the lawless areas alone when it was getting late, so she had no one else to fault when she split from her group of classmates after spending their free day in Sabaody Park. It was only her and her stupid pride that didn’t allow her to admit that she didn’t think this was a great idea and that she didn’t want to go back to her room alone.

She broke into a sprint as soon as she heard the smallest rustle behind her, and that advantage proved to be essential, because someone started chasing after her. It sounded like more than one person, but she didn’t have time to look or tell how many sets of footsteps were behind her – she just ran like her life depended on it in the direction of the bridge that connected to the next grove, hoping that there would be other people there, and then—

—then she saw an open bar, a lone building in an even lonelier grove.

She rushed inside it, gasping for air so hard that she couldn’t speak, no matter how much she tried to explain to the bartender why she had barged in like that.

It wasn’t necessary.

“Don’t worry, dear, they’ve been hanging around these parts for a while,” she said, leading her to a chair with a gentle hair. “You’re safe here.” Her warm black eyes turned to someone else, and though Alex had trouble focusing on what was going on, she saw an old man with long white hair. “Why don’t you go take out the trash, Ray? They’ve driven off my clientele enough.”

“Sure,” the man replied, getting up from his stool and going outside.

Alex thought it was a horrible idea to send an old man to fight off a kidnapping crew, but that was because she didn’t know these people yet.

“Don’t worry about him. Here,” the woman gave her a glass of water. “Name’s Shakky. Rest all you need.”

❦

Footsteps approached. She shut up immediately.

“I like that song.”

Singing helped when she had too much anxious energy. It was probably related to breathing control. She had stopped anxiety attacks in the making like that sometimes.

It didn’t help at all when someone had been listening in and she hadn’t noticed.

“Oh. Thanks. Um, hi.”

“Hi,” Bepo said smiling. “I heard from Captain you were here.”

Even though she was sitting on top of the wall, Bepo’s head went past it. If he stood on his tiptoes, he could have rested his head on her legs. On one hand, it was a little aggravating that she had to climb so high up only to be marginally taller than him. On the other, Alex was filled with the urge to scratch his ears.

“Yeah, I’m stuck waiting for a ship,” she told him. “Ideally, you wouldn’t have found me here.”

“Oh? Where are you going?”

“Sabaody.”

“Isn’t that very close? How come you haven’t found a ship?”

“There’s kidnapping crews infesting the waters. You know what those are?”

“Uh… isn’t it in the name?”

Alex blinked. “Right. Don’t mind me.”

He fell into thought for a few seconds. “Why are they kidnapping people?”

“To sell. They get auctioned in the archipelago.”

Bepo frowned. “I see.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” she said, smiling for his sake. “Nothing’s going to happen to your crew. You’re strong.”

He beamed with pride. “Yeah, we are! We’ve been training for years to come here!”

Alex mirrored his expression without thinking. “Your Captain said you’ve been friends since you were kids. Did you—”

“Bepo!” Someone called out. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, sorry!” Bepo said, turning around to see the newcomer. “I was catching up…”

A woman with curly hair and a severe expression walked up to them, hands on her hips, and she looked a little confused when she laid eyes on Alex. She was struggling to place her. “Have we seen each other…?”

“On passing. I’m the Duster Town dumbass that opened the library for your Captain.”

“Oh, yeah, now that you mention it—” The confusion was back. “Isn’t this place a little too far from there?”

“I’m running away from justice.” She didn’t offer further explanation.

Bepo didn’t need it. “So are we!”

A barely contained laugh made it past the woman’s lips. “Oh well, if you’re a fellow criminal…” She extended a hand towards Alex. “Name’s Ikkaku. What did you do, keep too many books past the return date?”

“I wish.” She shook her hand. “Alex.”

“So that’s your name?” Bepo asked.

She turned her attention towards the bear. “I never told you?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Wow, I am rude,” she said to herself. “Anyway, hope you’re ready to take it easy, because you have five long days ahead of you.”

Ikkaku groaned. “I don’t mind, but some of the guys get so jittery after a couple days on land. I don’t suppose there’s a very active nightlife in this place?”

“Actually, there are two taverns in the entire town.”

“Oh, that sounds like something to keep ‘em busy.”

“I don’t think you want to go to one of them, though.” She wondered if the captain was going to pass the message or they would come to regret their choices. “There’s also an abandoned Marine outpost right outside of town, if they don’t want to be drunk 24/7.”

“Might be worth checking out, but I’m pretty sure they’ll take the ale.”

“Can’t blame them.” She was tempted to drown her sorrows in alcohol, and she barely ever drank.

She took a look around the desolate harbor, the small houses and the half-fallen wall with a disappointed look. “Well…” she began, “Bepo, we need you for the crates. He’s been waiting and he’s cranky enough already after—”

“Ah! Sorry!” He said, bowing at her and looking more upset than the comment would suggest. Maybe they didn’t treat him as well in the sub as she had assumed. When he turned to Alex, he also bowed repeatedly. “I’m really sorry, but I need to go!”

“Sure, no problem!” she said, making an effort to sound lively. She felt so fake when she did that. So customer servicey. “See you!”

As the pirates left, she tried to look at them in a different light. While it wasn’t too difficult to believe they would be mistreating the mink of the crew, even if they hadn’t been unkind while she was watching. He seemed shy. Maybe that was all there was to it? But the reaction seemed a little extreme. She would pay closer attention from then on.

❦

Her privileged observation point let Alex see a lot of things that day. She saw more of the crew coming and going, though they didn’t seem to recognize her, she watched one of the docked ships depart, and she met a cat that tried to get food from her, but after a good back scratch realized she didn’t have anything else to offer and walked away, leaving a lonesome Alex staring at the hand she’d used to pet it, wondering how many parasites it had come in contact with.

She immediately went back to the inn to wash her hands and get dinner.

The rest of the evening was spent looking at her Poneglyph folder and her mostly blank notebook. She had carried with her the transcript of the stone and copied some documentation from the library that could prove useful in deciphering it, but she wasn’t making any headway yet. Very little was known about the ancient language, even less was published, and she wasn’t a cryptographer. So far, she had identified what she thought were punctuation signs separating sentences and one of the names in the text.

In her years working in Harlun, she had seen centuries old coins from a currency before belis, and some of them had the legend around the rim written in different languages. Meaning, she knew how to write the name of the island in that ancient language. That was about it. She had a feeling the script wasn’t pure phonetic, either, and that wasn’t something she could attempt to tackle without cross-referencing.

Porta Bella was a nice place to spend a short vacation, sure, but it was impossible to find any books that might help. She had tried. The local bookstore only carried best sellers, and she would have bought that vampire novel that was getting so popular if money wasn’t so tight and she had space in her bag, but as things were, she had to fight frustration and boredom alone.

She had to face the fact that she wasn’t going to do anything useful that night, either. She took off her reading glasses, thinking that trying to sleep sounded like the best idea. Maybe next morning she’d finally have some good luck and find a ship that wouldn’t carry her too far from the Red Line.

❦

Too early for words, and wearing a flannel shirt as a jacket because it had gotten windy, she strode out of the inn with her paper cup and a new challenge. She had thought herself immune to monotony before this, but she had clearly overestimated her brain’s capability to get distracted by anything.

Instead of walking to the docks following the main road, like every morning, she made for the wall again. Stepping on the fallen rock, she reached up with her left hand to the top of the wall and placed the paper cup as far as she could from her, and then she climbed up like the previous day. Well, she tried to, because for some reason early in the morning she didn’t have a lot of hand strength, and she felt a stabbing pain in one of her knees when she stretched her leg to reach the wall.

It took two tries and the fear of having lost her first morning tea, but she got where she wanted.

Cross-legged, she sat on the wall and took sips of her drink while inspecting the docks. No new ships in sight. That time there was someone walking on one of the submarine’s decks, but she couldn’t make out their face, and she didn’t know most of the crew anyway.

The wind had driven all the clouds away, and the dark shadow on the horizon reminded her of how close she had been to getting to the New World before she had to reconsider the entire strategy.

She was about to sigh, but she sensed someone near her vicinity even before she heard the crunch of gravel, so she kept it to herself and looked over her shoulder.

That silly hat was becoming a familiar sight. Trafalgar Law looked up at her from a reasonable distance, having just noticed her. Please don’t get any closer, please—

He changed course and went towards Alex, who didn’t bother to hide how little she appreciated the company less than an hour after waking up.

“Morning walk?” she asked, or grunted, depending on who you asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, annoyingly awake. “What are you doing there?”

“Wasting time.”

Someone with a little more tact, or at least who cared about having it, would have taken a hint and left, but this was not the case. “I want to hear more about Sabaody.”

Oh, she wasn’t nearly awake enough for this, but she made an effort to not be outright rude. “Okay,” she relented. “But you ask me questions, I don’t want to think.”

That was good enough for him, it seemed. With irritating ease, and without having to step on the fallen stone, he boosted himself up against the wall and climbed it in a matter of seconds.

Something caught his attention when he looked up, and he stood up on the stone like the concepts of acrophobia and losing one’s balance were but a faraway ping in his radar. Alex’s mood was souring by the second, granted, a likely thing to happen at that hour. It wasn’t personal.

“Is that…?”

She turned to look in the same direction he was.

“Yeah. Red Line.”

“I didn’t think it was so close.”

“It’s a few days away still. It’s just that big.” She thought of the times she’d been at the base. It was impossible to see the top from its bottom. And, considering what lay up there, perhaps it was for the better. “You saw it from the other side, I guess?” North Blue was adjacent to the New World. In a sense, both of them were from the same side of the Line. How weird to think that they had anything in common.

“Yeah. We entered the Grand Line through Reverse Mountain.”

Expected, but incomprehensible to her unless he had a death wish. “Ships sink there every day. What do you want so bad that you’d risk that?”

“Wasn’t I the one asking the questions?” he shot back.

She gave him a deadpan look, then looked at the cup between her hands. It wasn’t doing much to drive away the numbness of her fingers. How many people had gone out to sea since the Great Age of Piracy began and failed because they bit more than they could chew? And they weren’t the only ones dying. For every decent man that got a ship and called himself a captain, there were ten whose only interest was pillaging villages and getting rich. Was that massive chain reaction what Gold Roger had intended with its final speech? Had it been a final fuck you to world order, or was there something else behind it?

She had contradicting thoughts about it. Roger’s last words had unarguably made the world worse, but…

Well.

The guy had been a badass. Even she wasn’t immune to seeing that. With every new pirate crew that sailed to Reverse Mountain to test its fortune, he kept proving how much bigger than life he had been. Twenty years down the line, he had become as much of a legend as the tales of gods from islands in the sky. The kind of legacy a regular person only dreams of having.

He said, I will never die.

He had been more right than he knew.

She looked at Trafalgar with renewed curiosity. “Are you trying to become Pirate King too?”

He didn’t give a clear answer, despite how easy of a question it was. “What if I am?”

It wasn’t a no. A straight yes would get many pirates laughed out of town even in a place like the Grand Line. There wasn’t a lot of room for romantic ideas of piracy when civilians lived in fear of black flags showing up one day at the port and taking away everything they had.

“Just curious.” She wasn’t feeling articulate enough to explain where she was going to herself, much less him. “Nothing wrong with dreaming big.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt like she had called herself out. Where was she going? After Sabaody, after crossing the Red Line, after getting to her hometown? Those were only checkpoints. But where was her purpose? Inside the bag she had in her room at the inn, or somewhere else?

An awkward silence stretched along with the horizon. For some reason, he decided not to press her for answers and sat down. A small mercy for Alex’s neck.

“After the Log Pose sets, it will point to Fishman Island. How do we get to Sabaody first?”

It was a relief to be able to give an answer she didn’t have to think about. “It should be visible when you’re close enough to the Red Line. It looks like a random cluster of trees popped up in the middle of the ocean.”

“That’s it? Is it safe to dock anywhere?”

“Mostly. The archipelago is made up of 80 groves. 60 to 69 house a Marine garrison, and that’s where the ferries to Marineford and Mary Geoise leave from, so you don’t want to be there. Other than that…” She had to strain to remember the range of numbers. “20 to 29 is the only lawless area open to sea, so you know Marines won’t go there, but since no one’s keeping watch, the competition might try to sabotage you. I don’t know, I never had to worry about that sort of thing.”

“I’m not afraid of other crews,” he said with that devil may care attitude that got pirates killed left and right. “We haven’t come this far without knowing how to defend our ship.”

She wasn’t going to argue his point. “I’m just saying what I know. You do you.” But she took note to keep her opinions to herself, lest he had the urge to express how full of himself he was again.

He looked at her like he was trying to figure out what sort of hidden meaning her noncommittal response held, but little did he know that behind the sleepy façade her prevailing thought was it’s too early for this shit.

“You said you spent some time in the archipelago.” It wasn’t worded like a question, but it was a way to probe for info. She supposed that she would have wanted to know the credentials of her sources, had she been in his position.

She hummed. “I lived there a few years.”

Taking a sip from the cup, she returned her attention towards the outline in the horizon. It had been a constant part of the scenery back then, always peeking out from behind the trees and buildings of the groves closest to the shore. A grim reminder, on one hand, of those who lived above the peasants, but at the same time, Sabaody had been… fun. There was always something happening. Moderately dangerous, but always entertaining. She had forgotten how that felt after the years of routine in Duster Town.

A question brought her out of her thoughts. “Are you from this area?”

“Oh, no,” she said, surprised that he had even entertained the idea. “No, I got a scholarship to study in one of the World Government’s academies. I’m from the other side of the Red Line.”

“From the New World?” He said with surprise, and mulled over this new piece of information until it fit satisfactorily in whatever picture of her he had constructed in his mind. “So that’s where the accent’s from.”

It was unexpected comment after unexpected comment. “Excuse me?” she replied in an incredulous tone. “You are the one with a heavy accent.”

Now it was him who got caught off guard. “That’s not true,” he retorted. He looked like he was trying to determine if she was pulling his leg.

“Yes it is,” she insisted. “Everybody has an accent. You and your crew have that typical northern one that sounds like you’re about to shank the person you’re saying hello to.”

For a moment, she thought he had offended him to the point of silence. Just for a moment, because he didn’t take long to counter with, “You sound like you’re trying to whisper through a megaphone.”

She snorted with laughter as soon as the words sunk in. It was true that she spoke in a low voice most of the time. “If that isn’t the best description of Dressrosan I’ve heard—”

She felt an immediate change in atmosphere, like an electric current shooting through the air, and shut up as a precaution.

Trafalgar has tensed up all of a sudden and was staring at her like she had grown a second head, like she was trying to set her on fire with a glare, or both. “What did you say?”

She found herself tensing up in return, even though she didn’t know what she had done. But when a dangerous guy scowled at you like that, survival instincts kicked in. Goodbye sleepiness, and welcome life danger. “Um… Dressrosan?” She eyed him warily. “My mother tongue?”

His eyes grew wider, but other than that, his expression didn’t change much. “You’re from Dressrosa?”

She suddenly understood. It wasn’t the first time she got odd reactions when she said where she was from, but it had been a while. “Oh, right.” She sighed. “You’ve heard of the whole Doflamingo thing.”

Or… maybe she was wrong. He seemed a little out of it, like he was looking past her at… who knew what was in his head.

After a few seconds without a reply, she deemed it safe to speak. “Did I say anything wrong?”

“…No. I was just surprised.” After that, he seemed to go back to normal, though his voice sounded a little strained. He was still tense. “It’s a long way there.”

Suspicious. Did he know someone from there? “It’s not so much the distance as having the Red Line in the way. Getting permission to cross it takes time.” And she figured that she had run out of it.

“How’s the country?” He asked in a way that tried to sound casual, and maybe, maybe would have worked if he hadn’t made clear already that he had a particular interest in it. “Being ruled by pirates and all.”

She made a disgruntled sound. She had signed up to answer questions about the Sabaody Archipelago, not Dressrosa. There was a reason why she hadn’t been home in ages. “It’s doing fine. Better than fine, in fact. Economy is booming. People are happy.” She delivered each sentence in a quick, clipped tone. “It pisses me off.”

“Why?”

Because she always had to be the odd one out, she thought. And this guy wasn’t getting the message that she didn’t want to talk about it. “Doflamingo doesn’t deserve that kind of credit. He and his crew should go back to the hole they crawled out of.”

He huffed. “North Blue’s had enough of him already.”

Animosity was dripping from his words, and that made her feel a little less displeased and a lot more interested in what he had to say. He could’ve seen firsthand the repercussions of Doflamingo’s actions there.

“That’s true.” She didn’t know much about the specifics, but there was a reason the North Blue was considered the most dangerous out of the four cardinal seas. “I guess he did a number there before he moved onto the Grand Line.”

“You don’t sound very fond of him either.”

Look at that, a flat out admission of having feelings about someone.

“He’s scum,” she said with more venom than she had meant to. “He dethroned the king only to take over himself, reinstated gladiator fights to death, and he has a trafficking empire. The Human Auctioning House in Sabaody displays his Jolly Roger openly. But he’s a Warlord. As long as money keeps flowing and the Celestial Dragons can buy new pets, nobody seems to care.”

“And you do? You say your country’s doing well.”

She didn’t know whether to reply honestly or not. He was trying to dig deeper than she was comfortable with answering, but she was on a roll already. “Dressrosa used to be a very poor country. I’m not blaming the people who have a better life now, but I don’t think you can build anything stable from corruption. Someone will topple Doflamingo one day, and the country will go down with him.” Her tone was increasingly becoming more determined. “And when the time comes, I hope they get rid of kings once and for all.”

“You lost me at that last part.”

“Monarchy is an obsolete form of government. How’s the world going to get rid of the Celestial Dragons if we can’t even get rid of the pests at home?”

He stared at her blankly, and that was when she realized she had talked too much and looked away from him. Ah, to be a life form capable of fusing with granite and dying in the spot…

She heard a short, muffled laugh, and glanced at him. Great, a pirate making fun of her was exactly what she needed to start her day.

“Can’t say I took you for an anarchist.” He was smirking.

“What part of ‘fuck the government’ was unclear?” she replied, still avoiding to look at him. “The more time you spend near Mary Geoise, the more you realize everything has to burn down. Then there are the Marines.” A lost cause. “It’s even their combined fault that I’m stuck here.”

“What do you mean?” He sounded relaxed again. It was like he hadn’t been acting like a weirdo through the entire conversation about Dressrosa. “Aren’t you just waiting for a ship?”

She took a long breath in preparation to give the same explanation she’d been getting every time she spoke to a newly arrived sailor. “Kidnapping crews are infesting the waters ahead. Normal ships don’t want to go near Sabaody because there’s going to be a human auction next week. Marines aren’t helping because the government benefits from the slave trade, and I assume the Enies Lobby debacle has hit them hard. I already told Bepo you don’t have to worry about it, though. They only attack pirates if they think they’re weaklings.” And trying to change the subject to something that didn’t force her to wallow in her misery, she asked, “How much was it already, Mr. Supernova?”

He looked awfully satisfied with his title. “It’s not Trafalgar anymore?”

“I’ve always liked stars.” And speaking of Bepo, she remembered something from their conversation the day before. “By the way, I don’t think I introduced myself. I’m—”

“Bepo told me. I like Librarian-ya better.”

She had an urge to fling what was left of her tea at him, but she held back at the expense of looking away and letting a strained smile show. Not worth the loss of beverage. It wasn’t going to stop him from being an early morning smartass.

The silence that ensued this time didn’t feel as uncomfortable as before, but that bar was so low, it might as well have been underground.

[itwasalwaysjustred]

prompt #001- crux

no pairing, ft. young WoL and a fortuitous meeting, 1.5k words

content warnings: allusions to canon-compliant levels of violence towards a street urchin character

It’s the most beautiful sandwich that Nhagi’li has ever seen – possibly ever, but at the very least since his arrival in Limsa Lominsa. Beautiful, gently toasted bread with pale crusts cradling what looks like a perfectly fried egg on a bed of fresh, green lettuce, all perched on the kind of fine plate one only sees at expensive dining establishments. Just the smell of it, even overshadowed as it is by the salty ocean breeze, is enough to make Nhagi’li’s mouth water expectantly.

 While the Keeper would have guarded such a meal with everything short of his life, the sandwich in question has been left to sunbathe on its plate beside its owner. Said owner is currently in the middle of an animated argument with one of the smaller folk, the pair dressed in matching garb, lunch forgotten in the heat of the moment. He hasn’t the foggiest what they’re talking about though, the two speaking so quickly and in a dialect he doesn’t understand, but judging by the escalation, they sound like they’ll be at it for a while.

 As far as theft marks go, it really is the perfect opportunity for an on-and-out grab. There’s only one problem with the whole picture: the sandwich belongs to a female Miqo’te.

Seeker though she may be, there is something deep inside Nhagi’li that recoils in fear at the thought of challenging a female Miqo’te for her food, much less actually taking it from her. Back home, such actions would be met with the kind of punishments that were worse than death, and though he is far, far away from the place of his birth, the thought still makes him squirm. He shouldn’t even be considering this. It isn’t right, and surely it isn’t worth the repercussions if she catches him. His stomach clenches at the though, serving as a painful reminder of its emptiness.

 You should never have left, moans the pathetic voice that makes itself heard every time Nhagi’li’s troubles seem insurmountable. It’s grown louder and louder with every day that he’s slept somewhere uncomfortable, cold and wet and sore and so godsdamned hungry he’s even contemplated trying to catch fish with his bare hands, if only to keep his strength up. He’d been stupid to run, even stupider to run as far away from the familiar as possible, and now he’s going to die or starvation in this awful, wet city because he can’t bring himself to take food from an easy mark because she’s like him.

 Nhagi’li’s stomach gurgles pathetically again, and he grinds his teeth, tail lashing to and fro. “I really am the biggest idiot in all of Eorzea, huh?” he mutters under his breath, even as his eyes dart around the scene of his yet-to-be-committed crime, already plotting. He sizes up his prey one final time before dropping down from the rooftop, falling into step with the hustle and bustle of sailors on the dock. Though he’s far more used to the get-in-get-out quick approach, Nhagi’li has very quickly discovered that a quick escape attracts far too much attention in the city. That’s the thing about living among predators: when something moves quickly, they can’t help but give chase. No, it’s better to move slowly, to act normally, to blend with the crowds as it were until you were safely out of the sight.

 So Nhagi’li pulls a piece of parchment from his pocket and saunters along, keeping watch on his prize out of the corner of his eye. Just the thought of taking something from a female Miqo’te is enough to make him sweat, palms clammy, but the ache in his stomach helps to strengthen his resolve. If he’s going to stay alive in this city, he’s going to have to break some taboos. After all, it’s not like he can go back home.

 Closer and closer he inches, stopping and starting in painful bouts, until finally he’s near enough that he can make his run. The end of his tail flicks as he pretends to be engrossed in a recently acquired bounty, marching past the arguing pair as he deftly reaches a hand out towards the forgotten sandwich. Only, instead of feeling that delicious freshly-baked bread beneath his fingertips, Nhagi’li feels the smooth warmth of someone else’s fingers.

 He jerks back at the same time as the owner of the hand, meeting the gaze of a young Hyur man who looks as surprised by their touch as he is. They only have a moment to stare at each other, frozen by indecision, before it’s shattered by a nearby, “Oi!”

 Nhagi’li’s ears flatten immediately at the sound of a woman’s voice, and – judging by the way the man before him flinches – he feels the same way. Fuck. He knew this was a bad idea.

 “Run!” The Hyur hisses, jumping into action as soon as the word leaves his lips and darting off down the docks. Instinctively, Nhagi’li takes off after him, following him through backstreets and alleyways the Hyur clearly knows like the back of his hand. The pace he sets leaves the Keeper a little breathless, but adrenaline does wonders for a body in need, and so they run, and run, and run, until the sounds of the angry Miqo’te fade into the distance.

 It’s been a long time since Nhagi’li’s had to keep pace with someone like this – not since the days of hunting in the woods with his brother, Nhagi’to’s pace steady and swift. This Hyur runs a lot like he did, familiarity lending him a kind of surefootedness that Nhagi’li cannot help but admire as they leave the streets behind and make for the rooftops. It is only there that the man slows down to a job, and then stops entirely, still poised as though he could take off again if they’re still being pursued.

 Nhagi’li does not have his companions poise, and he manages to catch himself just before he crumples completely, resting on the balls of his feet in a familiar crouch as he tries to catch his breath. He really is getting weaker, he thinks dully, as he runs his fingers through sweat-soaked hair and tries to quell the little fizzles of delight that prickle in his veins after such a run. Even for someone as lazy as him, he can’t help it; the thrill of the hunt is tattooed into the very marrow of his bones. He couldn’t escape such a high even if he tried.  

 It’s only when he looks up at his fellow thief that he realizes how close they are, how close he’s allowed an armed and unfamiliar Hyur who probably thinks of him as competition that needs to be eliminated. That thought is enough to kill any lingering good feelings dead, and he swallows audibly as he peers up through the tangled mess of his hair at the Hyur.

 Fuck.

 Carefully, oh so carefully, Nhagi’li rests his fists on the ground before him, claws inward in a gesture of peace. When he meets the scrutinizing eyes of the Hyur before him he blinks slowly, drawing out the motion even though he doubts the man before him will understand. I am no threat to you, he wants to say. Just let me leave in one piece. He can stand another beating – it wouldn’t be his first – but he’s a little worried about the impressive set of knives this Hyur carries. Somehow, he doesn’t think his skinning knife is going to be much of a defense against those.

 To his great surprise, the Hyur blinks back, not quite as slowly as he should but the exaggeration of the gesture leaves little to interpretation. Nhagi’li can only stare at him, caution warring with curiousity, realizing belatedly that the man is studying him as well, eyes sweeping over his tatty ears, the smudges of dirt on his cheeks, the leftover bruises of his last scuffle, the poor state of his clothes. He knows he looks awful, and he tries not to flatten his ears under the weight of the Hyur’s scrutiny.  Truthfully, he doesn’t know why he bothers; it’s not like he’s ever really been proud of himself or his appearance, least of all now.

 The Hyur is silent for a long, tense moment, before he seems to reach some sort of decision, nodding to himself. With a crooked smile he reaches out a hand towards Nhagi’li, eyes alight with interest.

 “Ye ain’t much to look at, but I’d wager ye’d make a pretty dimber colt once ye got a few straight meals. Fancy learnin’ a new trade?”    

 There are a million and one things he should ask, about wages and where he’ll stay and what this man wants him to do and if it’s going to earn him the hangman’s noose, but this is the first job offer he’s ever received since he left home and he is dangerously short on self-preservation. It isn’t even really a choice.

 Without hesitation, Nhagi’li reaches out and takes his hand.

[montymcallister]

x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x

Tattoos have been tradition in the Navy for a very long time, and are fairly commonplace throughout the military if you know where to look. When he first enlisted, Monty didn’t really seem like a tattoos kind of guy; he was quiet, kept mostly to himself on his own time, and still hid in the hoodies and dull t-shirts of his high school wardrobe. As he began to find himself and grow into the man he’s become today, the idea of getting tattoos---of doing something entirely for himself, that he could keep with him, as a part of him, always---became more and more appealing. Thirteen years and ten tattoos later, Monty’s settled in his skin in a way he’d never been growing up. A lot of it is personal growth, but the tattoos have certainly eased the way.

His very first tattoo sparked the beginning of a habit (at least to some extent) of adhering to age-old Navy tattoo traditions. A sea turtle tattoo (often referred to as a shellback or a shellback turtle tattoo, in this instance) is gotten by some following a line-crossing ceremony initiating sailors into King Neptune’s Court. In short: the turtle is often gotten to commemorate their first crossing of the Equator (and some light hazing).

A small collection of brightly patterned shirts and a surefire best friend into his time in service later, Monty and Monica had decided to get tattoos together; not matching, per se, but from an artist with a unique style that could easily be seen across his body of work. Monica suggested “a guy in a Hawaiian shirt,” Monty told the artist “take that and run with it” and by the time they left, Monty had a brand new dancing skeleton in a Hawaiian shirt.

Traditionally, a golden dragon tattoo signifies having crossed the International Date Line. Monty hadn’t had any serious plans to get this one, even as time off saw him joining friends on a trip to a local tattoo parlor. It wasn’t until he saw the design---initially in red ink---that the urge really struck and wouldn’t let go. He didn’t get it that day, but he did go back.

While posted in San Diego, Monty and Monica took a trip up to Los Angeles County to Antelope Valley California Poppy Reserve to see the poppy blooms. Not long after, they made the decision to go together to get matching poppy tattoos.

The FUCK LUCK rabbit and the NAILED IT shark are, most notably, tattoos Monty will attribute in storytelling to far too much alcohol and very convincing friends. He flipped through the books and picked them out (or at least lingered on the pages long enough that too-perceptive friends knew to egg him on), but they aren’t necessarily things he’d have gotten without the extra push. Still, he’s quite fond of both, the rabbit especially.

In the same vein, but with significantly less input from Monty, is the HERE FOR A LONG TIME, NOT A GOOD TIME t-rex skull. With laughter and grins, he’ll recount the story of how while on their trip to Australian, he, Monica and Gabriel spent their last night in the country going out for drinks and then picking out tattoos for each other. They got back to their hotel late, stumbled out of bed with just enough time to haphazardly pack and get out in time to make check-out, and then nearly missed their flight. The tattoo is good memories, more than anything else; the design isn’t really what’s important.

The fouled anchor is the emblem of the rate of Chief Petty Officer, and it’s not uncommon to see CPOs get a tattoo of the fouled anchor following their promotion. The floral touch was part of the artist’s style, and it was ultimately their design that sold the idea for him.

In naval tradition, the swallow can signify either a distance traveled (one swallow for every 5,000 nautical miles) or act as a sort of good luck charm in finding your way home. Monty will give a different answer depending on who’s asking about it. In casual conversation, Monty tends to go for “it was for my first five thousand; I just never kept up with it after that” as his answer. In truth, he got it after his most recent Thanksgiving with the Rodriguezes. He wasn’t sure when it had really started feeling like home, but after several years spending holidays with them, he knew it did. After the realization, the swallow finally felt right, and then it was just a matter of finding the right design for him.

Somewhere along the line over the course of their friendship, Monty and Monica got around to having the supernatural talk. He’d suspected her werecreature nature long before it came up, given some of her habits, but it wasn’t like the confirmation would change the fact that she was his best friend, so he let it lie. It’s become a regular topic of casual conversation for them over the years, and at some point (partially because he wanted something to keep his best friend close, and partially because it was going to be a truly hilarious inside joke) he decided to get a coyote tattoo. It’s been worth all of the “is this a wolf?” comments over the years to see Monica’s delight and exasperation every time she sees it.

[not-close-to-straight]

Pirates Heart (Chapter Two)

Welcome Back! I cant wait to hear what you guys think about our story so far!

I tried to tag everyone who requested, and everyone who reblogged Chapter One, but if I missed you, or if you would LIKE TO BE TAGGED, drop a note in my ask box! I dont check personal messages, so definitely use the ask box!

If you read it, drop a like and a reblog on it! Show some love and spread the word about our favorite trio and their pirate shenanigans! If I take the time to tag you, please take the time to hit that like button!

PIRATE MASTERLIST

Enjoy :)

**************************

“You did what?” Bucky's voice was low, and hesitant, an edge to it that Steve couldn't quite place. “You’re getting…married?”

“It just happened.” Steve spread his hands helplessly. “One minute Tony and I were kissing and the next--” he shut up when Bucky flinched at the word kissing. 

“-- one minute we were alone, and the next Stane was there yelling at us, and the Viscount Stone was drawing his sword and screaming about me touching his fiancee and then Stane--” Steve hung his head. “Stane was saying that Tony and I would marry, that it would secure my loyalty to the company, and that if I refused, he’d have me hanged for assault and molestation.”

“He was going to accuse you of trying to rape his nephew?” Bucky kept his face carefully neutral, but couldn't quite manage to keep his tone under control, and Steve looked away from the anger coloring the words.

“Yeah. With the Viscounts word as witness, I wouldn't stand a chance against the accusation.”

“How much time did he give ya?” The accent Bucky had never quite managed to shake was starting to come through thick as his irritation grew. “When d’ya gotta marry him?”

“By the end of the week.”

Silence, stretching long between them, Steve staring at Bucky, Bucky staring at the floor.

“Bucky. Please say something. Say anything.” Steve pleaded. “Yell at me, or curse at me or god-- god hit me. Hit me or something, come on.”

“Not gonna hit ya, Stevie.” Bucky touched over the tattoos that covered his left hand as he spoke. “Not right now at least. We gotta figure out what to do, though.”

“He said if I try to leave, he’ll track me down and have me arrested.” Steve groaned. “I can't get out of this.”

“So maybe--” Bucky cleared his throat, sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest decisively. “You need to marry him sooner. Demand to marry him tomorrow. Then you can tell Stane you’ve decided against sailing for the company, we can get the hell out of here, and he can't bring the law against you for anything.”

“What?” Steve jumped to his feet. “What did you say? You want me to marry him? Bucky what the fu--”

“Sit down.” Bucky's pale eyes flashed dangerously, and Steve made an effort to rein himself back in, pacing for a few minutes before throwing himself back down on the bed.

“I'm not marrying him tomorrow, Buck.”

“What difference does it make?” Bucky shrugged, his accent fading into nothing as he calmed down. “Whether you marry him tomorrow, marry him by Saturday, what does it matter? The sooner you marry him, the sooner we can leave and put this all behind us.”

“Yeah.” Steve chewed at his lip. “But I hate that idea so much.”

“Not as much as I do.” the hurt finally bled into Bucky's words. “Specially cause I'll have to be the one to stand up with you, you know? First Mate’s gotta stand up at his Captains wedding. I'm going to have to stand there and watch you marry someone other than me.”

“I wouldn't make you do that, Bucky.” Tears pricked at Steve’s eyes. “I wouldn't ever make you--”

“My duty as First Mate.” Bucky maintained, even though he couldn't meet Steve’s gaze. “It just hurts to think…” a ragged breath. “... hurts to think that now someone’s gonna take you away from me, just because we are trying to put Stane down. Didn't think that I'd have to give you up to--”

“Stop.” Steve was off the bed and kneeling in front of Bucky in the blink of an eye. “Stop. No honey, no ones ever going to take me away from you. This marriage is just a piece of paper so I don't end up in jail. I'll sign the damn thing, get right back on our ship with you, and we will sail away together just like we always have and always will.”

“Promise me.” Bucky still wasn't looking at him, and Steve cupped his jaw, nosed over his cheek.

“No one’s ever going to take me away from you. I promise. Tony won't change--”

“You keep calling him Tony.” Bucky interrupted, pushing his forehead into Steve’s shoulder. “Not Anthony. Not Stark. Tony. Why?”

Steve was silent, trying to come up with an explanation that wouldn't hurt Bucky anymore than he already had, but Bucky pulled away before he could answer.

“You like him. Christ. When you said you spent a few hours with him I didn't think-- Stevie you like him.”

“I-- I did.” Steve admitted. “Before all this happened I--”

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky muttered and stood up, crossing the room to stare out the window, wishing he had through to bring rum from the ship, feeling trapped in the small inn, desperately needing to get outside and breathe and clear his mind, but not willing to be away from Steve at all, not now that he might lose him.

“It's not his fault.” he said after a long time and Steve watched him warily. “It's not… Tony’s fault--” the name felt like gravel on his tongue. “-- that this is happening. He is just as much a victim as you are in this.”

“Bucky, we don't even know if he’s innocent in all this. I might be getting married to someone involved in the slave trade!” Steve’s fist clenched in frustration. “Until we know for sure I have to treat him like--”

“What does your instinct say about him.” Bucky pinned him with a look. “Tell me. First impressions. Right now.”

“My instinct says a kid who sits under trees and reads about mechanics and wants to see the ocean and has never--” Steve coughed awkwardly. “--had never been kissed couldn't be involved in it. Stane talks about him like… like he’s nothing. Like he’s worthless. I think Stane has kept Tony in the dark so he could run Stark Companies how he wants.”

“Hmm.” Bucky turned back to the window, shuffling his feet anxiously. “How-- how was he to kiss?”

“Don't do that.” Steve warned. “Don't ask me that.”

“I'm serious.”

“It was like--” the muscle in Steve’s jaw jumped as he ground his teeth. “It was like-- he’s just so innocent, Bucky. So trusting. And when I kissed him he just… blushed a little and leaned in closer and stared at me like I had changed his life and--”

“Please don't let him take you away from me.” Bucky finally broke, his shoulders dropping. “Stevie-- you like him. I know you do, I can hear it but please---”

“Hey.” Steve grabbed Bucky tight, budged him up against the wall to press their foreheads together, sliding his fingers through Bucky's shoulder length dark hair. “No. I like him, Bucky, I do. But I love you. I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, gonna be in love with you when we’re too damn old to sail anymore, you hear? Always you. Always us. Always.”

Bucky waited until his tears had dried, until he could talk without his voice wobbling to say-- “Stevie, you’re the only dumbass in the world that could end up in a situation like this. Only you could say hi to someone, and three hours later be forcefully engaged on penalty of death. This doesn't happen to anyone else ever.”

“I know.” Steve laughed, relieved beyond belief to hear Bucky teasing him. “I'm the worst.”

“You’re the worst.” Bucky brushed an open kiss over his jawline, down his neck. “Take me to bed so I can forget how badly I want to break your nose, hm?”

“Come on.” Steve lifted Bucky's chin so they could kiss, so he could nuzzle close and nip at Bucky's lips until they parted for him, and he could taste and lick through his love’s mouth. Suddenly he was starving, he was desperate to have Bucky over him, under him, impatient to be inside him, to be one with the man he had loved for so--

“I love you.” Clothes started coming off, sloppy kisses and greedy hands as they stumbled toward the bed. “Bucky I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Stevie.” Bucky was a trembling mess by the time they fell onto the pillows, heated skin made slick with sweat, not so much kissing as they were just sharing air now, and when Steve reached low, Bucky parted for him instantly, muffling his cry into his palm as searching fingers opened him up carefully.

“No ones ever going to take me away from you.” Steve promised again, when they were joined tight, when Bucky was clenching around him and it was taking all of his concentration to keep himself still so they could talk. “No one.” he repeated. “Not ever.”

“I know, Stevie.” Bucky brought him in for a long kiss, closing his eyes to hide the doubt he couldn't quite shake. “I know.”

************************

************************

“Rogers.” Stane narrowed his eyes. “You cannot just walk in here and demand--”

“It's Captain.” Steve smirked when Stane’s face reddened. “Captain Rogers.”

“Captain Rogers. You will not walk in and demand to be married tonight, there is no way--”

“You were going to have me hanged by tonight.” Steve pointed out. “Surely we can acquire a judge to give us a short ceremony.”

“Captain Rogers!--” Stane snapped his mouth when Bucky cleared his throat, watching uneasily as the big sailor shifted, folding his arms and leveling Stane with a glare that made him want to reach for a sword, or better yet, a pistol for protection.

“Call your nephew now.” Steve ordered. “Lets get this marriage legalized and put into the books so we may carry on.”

“I--I--” Stane swallowed hard, the motioned for the servant hovering by the door. “Send for the judge. And send a note to the Viscount Stone. There is to be a wedding ceremony tonight.”  

Steve smiled grimly, but once Stane stomped from the room, yelling for Anthony, his face fell and he slumped into the chair wearily.

“Bucky--”

“Don't.” Bucky shook his head. “You need to be Captain Rogers until this fucking day is over, and then we can get back to the ship and get the hell out of here. I'll be First Mate, you be Captain, and maybe neither one of us will go mad, hm?”

“Yeah alright.” Years of military training came to the forefront, an implacable mask falling over Steve's face, his shoulders straightening, even his voice deepened into his Captain tone and Bucky tried to hide his shiver.

It might be Stevie he was in love with, but the Captain never failed to make his heart pound.

Delicious.

*************************

*************************

Steve hated that he hadn't been able to take his eyes off Tony, but dammit-- dammit he was beautiful. More so today then he had been yesterday, even with the anxiety in his eyes, the way he was nearly shaking standing in front of the judge. The pale green shirt made his eyes look like honey, highlighted the paleness of his skin and the black pants made his legs look impossibly long and surprisingly muscled.

When Tony had come down the stairs earlier, a tremulous smile on his face, Steve had physically taken a step away, tried to put some more distance between he and Tony and the urge to reach out and touch him.

“He’s beautiful.” Bucky murmured and Steve had stiffened even more. “You didn't tell me he was so beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful Buck.” he retorted. “I don't want to think anyone else--”

“It's not a terrible thing to think your new husband is attractive.” Bucky had kept his voice perfectly soft. “Stevie look at him. He’s gorgeous.”

“What are you saying?” Steve hissed and Bucky had only shrugged, his blue eyes tracing over Tony's body as the smaller brunette moved their way.

“I'm saying you should compliment him. It's his wedding too, remember?”

“Ugh.” Steve snorted, stood taller and offered his arm to Tony when he finally crossed over to them. “Good evening.”

“Hello, Captain Rogers.” Tony had taken his arm hesitantly, shot an uncertain look at Bucky. “I um-- Uncle says you insisted on a wedding tonight.”

“Yes.”

That had been the last thing Steve had said all evening. Other than repeating the correct parts of the ceremony, Steve stayed perfectly silent until the end, staring straight ahead, not trusting himself to look at Bucky, too angry to look at Stane, unwilling to look down and see Tony staring up at him with a hopeful expression.

“You may embrace.” The judge said, signing his name on the certificate and indicating the Steve should kiss Tony. “If you wish.”

“Not necessary.” Steve forced himself back to the moment, forced himself to reach for the marriage certificate to sign as well. “A signature will suffice.”

Steve was busy signing, Stane and the Viscount glowering over the proceedings, the judge gathering his things, so Bucky was the only one who saw the flash of hurt in Tony's whiskey warm eyes, the way he touched his lips and then dropped his hand in embarrassment.

He’s just as much a victim in this as Steve is. Bucky thought, but that didn't make him feel any better about watching the man he loved sign a marriage certificate with someone else.

“We’re leaving.” Steve announced as soon as Tony had signed the paper, and both Stane and the Viscount opened their mouths to protest.

“No.” Steve held up his hand firmly. “I will not spend my wedding night in this home, I have a room at the inn. Come along.” he strode out the door without pausing to see if Tony was coming, knowing if he stayed there for one minute more he would crack and lose his temper, or shred the offending document and race madly out of town, the threat of imprisonment and a false accusation of harassment only barely enough to keep him leashed.

“I'll need to get my things---” Tony said helplessly to Steve’s retreating back, and Bucky stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder.

“You won't need any things.” he said quietly. “It's your wedding night. Your husband will be all you need.”

The words came from him like ash, dry and making him want to choke, but Bucky pulled every bit of his self control to keep his face perfectly blank anyway.

“I--” Tony blushed, a soft color filling his cheeks. “Of course, I didn't-- didn't realize.”

All thoughts of self control went right out the window as Bucky stared at the pretty sight. “Beautiful.” he murmured before he could help himself. “No wonder Steve was so smitten.”

Tony blushed harder then, looking down at his shoes and Bucky was thankful for the reprieve.

He was seconds from kissing the man himself, marriage certificate be damned.

**************************

**************************

“In the morning you can go back to your Uncle’s.” Steve told him as he packed his bag haphazardly, gathering the few personal items he had in the room. “The room is paid through the night and--”

“Wait.” Tony interrupted. “What do you mean I can go back to Uncles? I thought we would--” he looked at the bed awkwardly, then up at Steve, sucking in a quick breath at the brief flare of heat in those dark blue eyes. “It's our wedding night and--” he held his hand out coaxingly. “Shouldn't we--”

“No.” Steve forced a laugh and backed up towards the door, away from the nearly overwhelming temptation. “No, Tony. You know as well as I do that this marriage isn't real. I don't want it, you don't want it, there is no reason for our lives to have to...entangle...in this way. And I told you--” Steve closed his eyes then, shutting out the pained look on Tony's face. “--I told you my heart belongs to someone else.”

“I see.” Tony sat then, pleating the comforter on the bed between his fingers. “Very well.”

“I'm sorry you know.” Steve motioned to the bed half heartedly. “I'm sorry you had different hopes for tonight, and I'm sorry that tonight became an issue at all. I never thought when I approached you in the garden that we would end up married against our will.”

“Right. Against our will.” Tony barely whispered the words and Steve sent him a sharp glance, guilt twisting through his gut. He hadn't wanted this but Tony-- innocent, never have been kissed Tony--

“You wanted this.” Steve rubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

Tony flinched at his language, but lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I suppose I thought you were a better option than the Viscount. And you-- you kissed me so I thought perhaps--”

“I told you why I kissed you.” Steve forced the harshness into his words. “Nothing more than a man wanting to kiss a pretty---”

“I remember what you said.” Tony waved him off. “It seems as if years have passed between our kiss yesterday and tonight, but it's only been a handful of hours, so the memory is quite fresh, thank you.” 

“I guess there isn’t a whole lot left to talk about then.” Steve hefted the bag over his shoulder, pausing awkwardly. “I'll be staying in a different room tonight. We can meet for breakfast in the morning. Sleep well.”

“Um-- you as well.”

Steve had the door open, his bag handed to a wide eyed, anxious Bucky, more than ready to get the hell out of there and back to his ship, when he stopped, sighed and hung his head.

“Stevie?” Bucky whispered, unable to even look in the room, at where Tony sat in the bed. “You comin’?”

“It's not his fault. None of this is his fault.” Steve said with a long suffering sigh. “Just a second alright? I need to---” He motioned Bucky away, closing the door again and crossing back to the bed to kneel in front of Tony.

“I didn't kiss you just because you were pretty.” he said softly, firmly and Tony's brows lowered in confusion. “I kissed you because you were innocent, because you were beautiful, because your eyes light up when you talk about things you love, and when you talked about the ocean, about the sea and ships I just--” Steve took a deep breath and plunged on. “-- I should have had more self control, but you smiled, and I was lost. My heart does belong to someone else, but for a moment there-- I could have sworn it belonged to you as well.”

He lifted one of Tony's hands to his mouth and lay the gentlest kiss on it.

“I'm sorry about all of this. But you deserve to know the truth about why I kissed you, at least.”

“Thank you.” Tony tried not to smile, biting at his lip to hide it. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Good night.”

************************

Steve didn't plan on being there to have breakfast with his new husband, and once he was sure Tony was asleep for the night, he and Bucky grabbed their bags and took off towards the small harbor on the other end of town, to where his ship sat anchored.

They needed to sail with the morning tide, and there was alot to be done before then.

Neither of them noticed Tony slipping out of his window, crawling across the roof of the inn before jumping to the ground, and following them into the night.

**************************

@miss-kitty-fantastico @thelittleinsanity @redqueenblue@deepestballoonsweets @thelittlestloki @profoundprincessface @the-ice-goddess @draconia52 @panervoua @justjessica131 @popthechompchomp @subject-a5-byrn @deppfan16 @zerokrox-blog @i-am-irxnmxn @jazmaniac @kahowl-knight @yazoopower @nerdymarvellove @harryrockz777 @kloudbby @ayufebrirdj @loverofloki1974 @quietlyaz @ships-galore @itsallyd @acastleintheair @bun-fun @liminy-lemony @sarusa15 @adevilcalled @tstilcr @lilwitchybee @obessedfangirl @lavenderandpink @kaede2111 @serenitymoonlight @hodginsismylife @crystallized-iron @lovelyirony @the-crazy-house @blackhearted @readingsofanavidhuman @kanupps06 @neourbvn @darkenedwind @goddess-of-silvers @silvertraveler @farbiger @thorsinfinitystone @pigeons-official @cuelynn @pootie-and-the-snoots @randomfandomweirdo @ferrousmanibus @blackstar1502

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[musicalravencreates]

You just reblogged that AU thingie and I got hit by inspiration. What if Dan is a tattoo artist and Arin gets tats sometimes and hes visibly in pain but he always talks about the tats hes getting and they are so important to him and Dan can only listen to him and maybe falls in love a little bit when Arin starts talking about random things like what he does for a living or something funny that happened to him that day.

Flowers For Mega Man (part one)

So here’s the beginning of this beast. Thank you for the amazing prompt, and I do hope I’m able to finish this au as I have lots of plans for future chapters/parts.

AO3

It was one of those days. Everything was out to annoy Dan. Not enough to make him angry, but just enough to throw him off. His toaster broke in the middle of making breakfast, forcing him to have cereal instead. His lip ring had gotten stick in his shirt collar, forcing him to wrestle with it as he tried to get his shoes on at the same time. And the uber he’d ordered had been ten minutes late, which made him ten minutes late. To top it all off, all his fucking hair ties had just up and gone missing, leaving him to deal with a stray curl falling into his face every few seconds.

At least his client this morning had been a bit of a reprieve. Simple, small design and absorbed in her own thoughts to boot. Probably for the best, considering Dan didn’t feel much for chit chat at the moment.

After his hair blinded him for the third fucking time since starting the outline, however, Dan was done ignoring the issue. He excused himself temporarily, making up some bullshit about needing a drink of water before he stalked his way to the front of the shop.

Dan practically threw open the curtain separating the shop, catching the attention of both Ross and the customer he had been speaking with. He didn’t bother to give the customer a second glance, his focus zeroing in on Ross.

“Okay, cough them up, O'Donivan,” Dan growled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve got a client to take care of, and I need my damn hair ties.”

A grin slowly took over Ross’ face and he leaned against the counter. “What makes you think I had anything to do with their disappearance?”

“I’m not in the mood, man,” Dan said, giving him an exasperated look. “Just fuckin tell me. I gotta finish up with Janet so we can both get paid.”

Ross sighed, loud and dramatically as if it were killing him to be nice. Dan rolled his eyes and waited, blowing another stray curl out of his face. “Fine. Baby.” Ross reached under the desk and started rummaging around. He probably knew exactly where they were, but he just had to draw things out to tick Dan off even more. Dan leaned back against the door frame, ready to settle in. He wasn’t backing down no matter how long that asshole-

“Dude, your hair is awesome,” He heard a voice say, and his eyes slid past Ross to the customer he’d ignored. The guy was staring at his hair with a sort of amazement, and Dan wanted to roll his eyes again. People were always weird about his hair, asking him if he was mixed race, asking how he washed it, or whatever else they felt like. But the guy actually surprised him when he added, “The pink looks really good on you.”

Dan blinked, a bit taken aback. The pink was faded, but obviously, still there. If he had done it right, it would have been purple and it would have actually looked okay. As of now, it was most certainly a mess of weirdly faded streaks mixed in with bits of bleached hair that absolutely did notlook good. And yet the guy was still staring, and Dan had no clue what to even say.

“There it is!” Ross exclaimed and Dan jumped, eyes flickering back to a very proud looking Ross holding up a palm-sized magnetic container. Dan shook his head, trying to ignore the weird staring dude as he walked over. He snatched the container from him, giving him another annoyed look. Ross just grinned at him, not even bothering with an apology. Typical.

He slid the container open to check that it held what Ross said it did. Every single one of his hair ties was crammed into the tight space, so much so that he could barely open it. He pulled one out and snapped it around his wrist. He then slid it back shut, tucked it in his pocket and immediately turned back for the door.

“Wait, dude, that’s mine!” Ross called back. Dan just flipped him off over his shoulder as he walked back behind the curtain. Sure, he’d give it back later, but no way was he just dumping his hair ties somewhere.

He pulled his hair back into a quick ponytail and secured the tie as he made his way back to his client. She was thankfully very polite about the whole thing, not even mentioning the argument she probably overheard every word of as he sat down and got back to work. However, as they resettled into the previous silence, Dan found his head buzzing with the new clients’ weird words.

It wasn’t like he knew the guy, so figuring out if he had been sincere or if he’d been fucking with him was a pointless endeavor. And yet Dan wanted to know. If he came back, Dan wanted to have some sort of upper hand on the guy. But as the minutes ticked on, he found himself stumped. Clearly, he needed to let this go.

So he switched to planning out how to next get back at Ross. Something to do with his inkwells would piss him off. Or his tablet. He got really ticked off when people messed with his tablet.

And so the next forty minutes went, Dan ruthlessly planning his assault on Ross’ things as he finished the client’s tattoo. The strange man from before was quickly forgotten.

—

“Ross, what the fuck is this?”

Ross barely even glanced at the sheet as he walked past. “The new client’s design,” He said simply, scooping up some honey roasted almonds from the snack table.

“Isn’t the new client a guy?” Dan asked, giving Ross a pointed look. Ross just shrugged.

“And your point is?”

“It says, ‘Fight Like a Girl.’” Dan pointed to the lettering and shook the sheet. “The fuck, Ross?”

“It’s what he asked for,” Ross said, stuffing more almonds in his mouth. “Don’t get on me for following orders.”

“Bullshit,” Dan tossed the sheet back on Ross’ desk and crossed his arms. “Can’t you save your pranks for me or Barry? Leave the clients of it.”

Ross frowned, swallowing. “Dude, I never pull that shit with the clients. You should know that by now.” He pointed at the computer at the front desk. “Go on. Check. It’s all on records.”

Dan narrowed his eyes but Ross only jabbed more firmly at the computer. Rolling his eyes, Dan marched over to the computer and waved the screen saver away. He pulled up the client database, not having to search far to find the new guy. In a smaller parlor such as theirs, they usually fed off regulars and the occasional one-off drunk. A new client ordering a big piece stood out pretty fucking clearly.

The only new name in the system was one 'Arin Hanson.’ Dan scrolled down, scanning the information until his eyes caught on the order’s description. 'Full upper arm. Sailor Moon wand with the words 'Fight Like A Girl’ in swirly lettering. Maybe some flowers or sparkles surrounding it.’

He glanced back at Ross, who was busy licking his fingers off. Dan’s frown deepened. “You tinkered with the database too? Really?”

Ross stared at him a second, fingers frozen, before dropping his hand. “You- dude, that’s what he ordered! Fucking call him or something! I don’t know!” He snatched up the bowl off almonds and ducked into the back room, and Dan sighed. Great, now Ross was gonna be annoyed with him the rest of the day.

He turned back to the computer, eyes skimming the words again. Ross could have easily tampered with the system to make himself appear innocent. He’d done it before when he’d tried to convince him and Barry that Mike Hock was a real client. Not that they’d been fooled, but he’d proven himself willing to fuck with their system for shits and giggles.

On the other hand, Ross was being truthful. He’d never directly or deliberately fucked with a client before. The most he’d done was scare people entering during Halloween by wearing a werewolf mask. And even Dan had participated. But going so far as to design a tattoo as a prank? That was a bit far.

Dan’s fingers drummed on the metal as he tried to decide what to do. He could call the guy. Say he was confirming his appointment. It was still a few weeks away so he’d probably buy it. And doing so would give Dan more piece of mind than just speculating.

He scrolled back up, eyes locking on Arin’s phone number. He could just do it. Call him, ask, and be done with it. No harm done, right?

With a heavy sigh, Dan grabbed the landline from the corner of the desk and input the number on the screen. As it rang, Dan continued tapping his fingers, eyes scanning over the rest of his information. His attention caught on his address, which was less than a block away. He snorted. Talk about convenience over quality.

Dan heard the ringing end abruptly and a few seconds went by before he heard a quiet, “Hello?”

“Mr.Hanson?” Dan asked, leaning against the desk as he switched his voice to 'business mode.’

“Yeah, that’s me,” The voice said.

“This is Dan Avidan from Accept My Tat. I’m calling to confirm your appointment.” Dan snatched up a pen from the side of the keyboard and began twirling it between his fingers. Might as well act more like a fuckin secretary while he’s at it. “You scheduled an 8:30 am appointment for the 27th, correct?”

“Yup,” He paused for several seconds. “That it?”

“Just one more thing, Mr.Hanson.” Dan grabbed the mouse and scrolled back down. He described the tattoo listed in the description as he tapped the pen against the desk. “Is that correct, as well.”

“Yeah, that’s uh, what I told the guy anyway. Except for the swirly lettering, but that sounds pretty cool. He’s gonna add that in, right?”

Dan blinked, pulling the phone away from his ear to stare at the receiver. His eyes flickered to the computer, then back to the curtain Ross had disappeared behind. Well, fuck, he had been telling the truth. He couldn’t believe it.

After a few seconds of just staring at the phone, Dan slowly put the receiver back to his ear.

“Uh yeah, he’s actually finished the piece already. It’s very swirly.” Dan shook his head. Who the fuck even was this guy?

“Oh, awesome! I can’t wait to see it.” Arin’s voice suddenly picked up, excited. “I’ve been wanting to get this done for a while, and I’m so glad I can finally afford it.”

“If… If you don’t mind me asking,” Dan said, unable to stop himself. “Why exactly did you want to get this tattoo?”

When Arin went silent, however, Dan felt like smacking himself with the pen. Idiot. It was probably super personal, like a sister that died or something, and he just couldn’t keep his curiosity in check. Fuck, he was usually better about this sort of thing. Why was he so damn curious now?

“I just…” Arin started, pausing again, and Dan opened his mouth to apologize for prying and tell him he really didn’t have to answer, but Arin spoke again before he could. “I always preferred feminine superheroes and kick-ass characters as a kid. Still do really. And I hold my feminine side pretty close to my heart. So, I dunno, I just wanted something to reflect that, you know?” Arin paused again. “Uh, you still there?”

Dan shook his head, focusing his thoughts back from trying to figure out how the hell this guy even existed. “Oh, yeah, I’m here. That’s…” He took a breath. “That’s really something.” Not at all what he had expected, but damn if he wasn’t intrigued. “We’ll see you on the 27th, alright?”

“Yep,” Arin said. “See you guys then. Tell Ross thanks for doing this. I’m super fuckin pumped.”

Dan quirked a smile and glanced at the curtain again. “I’ll let him know.”

As he hung up, the thought of meeting this strange man went through his mind and Dan quickly found himself wondering what this guy looked like. He was willing to bet he was ridiculously burly and had a shaved head. Or a beanpole with a bad undercut. He glanced down at the phone, then back at the curtain.

“Hey, Barry! Wanna make a bet with me?”

[souridealist]

Slightly belated Yuletide roundup!

WHAT I WROTE:

I had five works in the collection this year, which is a personal best by far: Imperial Radch, the video game Black Closet, "Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)", and two for Ursula Vernon's Digger.

Imperial Radch: A Good Friend to Have: Uran and Athoek Station, G, 800 words, no archive warnings apply. A post-canon flashfic about evolving terms of address.

“Why do you still call us Radchaii?” Uran asked, leaning back against the wall. He ran his gloves against the welded seam of the wall next to him, like he was stroking a companion animal or a very close friend. Station couldn’t feel the gesture, either through the wall or through Uran’s hands, but it could see. “It’s been months.”

Brandy: All the Great Wide Sea: Brandy-centric, featuring Brandy/her unnamed lover. G, 600 words, no archive warnings. A short fic about Brandy considering new options.

It wasn’t only men who piled into the bar with a purse full of silver and a head full of tales, either. You got the occasional woman coming along, as tattoo-mottled and shaggy-haired as the men, in ragged trousers and oft-patched shirts. One quiet night Brandy wound up pouring sweet red wine for a woman with three brass rings punched through one ear and the five-thousand-mile swallow tattooed on the back of her hand.

Black Closet: Raise Bid to 31 Pieces of Silver: Rowan/Elsa, T, 1.5K, no archive warnings. A traitorous Rowan turns in an intentionally failed assignment and begins to suspect that Elsa knows her secret.

“You know,” Elsa said. “Mallory’s a good girl, and she can blend in with a crowd all right, but I’ve never had trouble noticing when she comes into a room. She draws the eye.” Mallory was pretty enough, Rowan thought. Bright hair. “But you…” Elsa said, pushing back her chair. “You’re so quiet, when you want to be. It’s a gift.”

Digger: Comparative Theology: Murai, Jhalm, Digger, and Shadowchild. G, 3k, no archive warnings. Four scenes exploring each character's relationship with the divine.

. Later in life, Jhalm revisited the temple and learned of the great wars of attrition that Teshia’s priests fought over the herb beds: the Invasive Plant Debates, the Three Or Possibly Four Basil Varietals, and the Mint Idiot, who planted mint in the ground to run riot over the temple. But as a child he’d always found the gardens peaceful, and he’d loved taking home the sacred packages each worshiper was given, leaves from Teshia’s garden dried over the sacred Hearthflame. He used to press the twists of burlap to his nose and inhale something both delicious and sacred. Once one of the priests caught him at it: Cassandra of the straight gray braids and straight-pressed robes. Jhalm jumped, squeaking, and shoved the herbs into his bag.

Digger: Anything That Talks: Murai and Jhalm, G, 2k, no archive warnings.Jhalm's patrol of the Veiled meets another, more ordinary demon, and Murai and Jhalm have a conversation about authority, the past, and how to be good.

“I eat what I will,” it said, slithering forward. Murai could just see the roots of the trees in its coils. She doubted the little stand of elms would last for very long after this. “I eat the shadows of great and small, of weak and of mighty. Yours, impertinent creature – ah, yours is fascinating, strange and dark and deep. So hard-edged, in such a bright light. You will be…” It moved forward, again – between the flanking arms of the Veiled. “Delicious.”

“I see,” Murai said, stepping easily back. “Captain Jhalm, I believe we should kill this creature, if you will give the order.”

WHAT I RECEIVED:

The Touching of Lips by Prinzenhasserin. Queen's Thief, "Five times Costis wanted to kiss Kamet and one time he did." This is a delightful story about five people making Costis think about how much he wants to kiss Kamet; each scene is a beautifully drawn, distinct sketch, and the payoff is delightful. I wanted Costis/Kamet so badly after Thick as Thieves, and this was lovely to receive.

Antelope Dreams by ambyr. Summer in Orcus, "When she was eleven, Summer thought she was very nearly an adult. At seventeen, she's starting to understand how much she has to learn." This is a glorious postcanon fic about growing up, and living with the legacy of Orcus, and being a well-behaved Good Kid (tm) with a crush on a Bad Kid (tm), and Summer remembering the antelope woman and realizing she's a queer furry. It's perfectly in-tone and beautiful.

AUTHORIAL CHATTERING ON WHAT I WROTE:

Yes, I shall continue to do this. Yes, with all five of them. But under a cut!

A Good Friend to Have: This one was a really interesting experience, because I originally wrote it using she/her pronouns for Uran, since canon does. It wasn't unti coming back to it later that I remembered that Uran is briefly identified as male in Delsig, and that if I was leaving the 'Citizen' honorific as Radchaai, I was 'translating' out of Delsig. And thus shoud use he/him pronouns. I really love the series's use of 'she' as a neutral pronoun, and everything that choice creates, and I was pretty hesitant to step away from it -- but it's also a very central conceit of the story that Uran isn't hearing Radchaai the way a native speaker would hear it. Which means Uran needs to use he/him. Going through and changing that was the most annoyingly fiddly editing task I have ever fucking undertaken, but also... really damn interesting to do! The pronouns were all I changed, and it still shifted my mental image of Uran's body language and physical presence a lot.

This was also published with what was originally its working title, which I don't think I've ever done before; occasionally the right title has come to me by the time I have to save the word document (almost always when the fic is written in one sitting), but this wasn't meant to be final and then I realized I liked it better than anything I could come up with. It's a direct quote from canon: Breq's comment when Uran mentions talking to Station in the second book.

All the Great Wide Sea: The prose is so purple here. I had so much fun writing it. It's a short, open-ended fic written all in a hurry because I thought the collection closed a day sooner than it did, and I basically just threw women sailors, running off to sea to join your man, and Age of Sail tavern imagery together with gleeful abandon. The 'being metamours with the ocean' theme isn't explored as thoroughly as I'd like, but... I couldn't resist adding the tag because I amuse myself too much. I'd never written fic for a song fandom before, even though the existence of it is one of my favorite things about Yuletide before; I'm glad I finally did.

Raise Bid to 31 Pieces of Silver: This title is... a thing. I refused to let mysef name it 'Silver and Hemp,' because this is not a religious fic and for fuck's sake come up with a better reference for a fic about treachery, but, well. I could not, in fact, come up with a better reference. But I did manage to at least include the idea of being tempted out of treachery, and I like the implicit cynicism of the bid thing. Because, you know: Machiavellian secret-police teenagers.

This was a great prompt, and I made a beeline straight for a traitor!Rowan/Elsa worldstate, because that is my favorite route hands down. This is also the first time in I don't know how long that I've used jealousy as a shippy plot device! I don't usually like it, and I don't find it cute in any way; but this isn't meant to be a cute fic, and part of what I love about this fandom is that it's an all-female cast where everyone gets to have a lot of rough edges.

Oh, and I also got to play around with incorporating game mechanics into the story! I fucking love trying to de-abstract game mechanics in a way that doesn't contradict what you actually see. As if you couldn't tell from me regularly sneaking that shit into Dragon Age fic.

Comparative Theology: This was actually my second attempt at my main assignment! I wanted to do a post-canon adventure that involved everyone meeting up while Digger tried to get home, and then everyone having to share anecdotes from their past (since my recipient mentioned liking fic about 'how people get to where they are'), but I just. Could not make it work. I'd had the idea of writing a set of thematically-linked vignettes in the back of my head as a backup, and the idea of linking them specifically by theology clicked just as the deadline started to really intensely loom. And thus! It's a pretty baggage-heavy theme to use, and I did worry about that -- especially in a gift fic -- but, well. The tagline is "A wombat. A dead god. A very peculiar epic." I figured I was probably safe. And one of my favorite things about the comic is what it does with the relationship between the human (or... worshiper of various species) and the divine.

I drew on a bunch of Ursula Vernon's print work as well as the actual comic (though I still got a lot of my own particular High Drama all over the prose, trying to capture the tone of things like the Saltlace sequence in words. The line about the Mint Idiot is in there entirely because I was like 'this voice is drifting way too far back towards just me. QUICK, ADD SOME PLANTS.' The Baba Yaga line is a direct reference to Summer in Orcus too.

I may eventually try and salvage what I had of my original attempt. I hewed closer to canon tones, I think, and I had some good fucking Jabberworck dialogue.

Anything That Talks: This one is secretly my baby. I was surprised to find myself really interested in Jhalm on later read-throughs, because I wasn't the first time; but it turned out I wanted to poke at him. And I really wanted to poke at Murai's decision to be his leash, and at what that might look like, and how she would choose to do it. Twisty power dymanics! The power actually lying with the person with less outward authority! Using one's own weakness as a source of strength! Very rigid people needing to bend or die, and what that costs! MY SHIT. (And I didn't actually realize that last was, in fact, something I keep revisiting until this moment, but hm. This sure is the third fic on that theme I've posted since November.)

Something I absolutely did not do intentionally during this fic and then noticed in the editing: I don't reference color anywhere in this fic other than 'cold white-glowing eyes.' Perils of writing for a black-and-white comic! (I didn't do that in either 'Comparative Theology' or my false start; fic isn't canon, text isn't a comic, and you've got to use the medium you're working with. But I left it alone for this one; I liked it.)