#PERHAPS FOR REAL THIS TIME. I WILL MAKE A COOL PIRATE SHIRT TO WEAR.

[blujayonthewing]

good evening I am once again looking up 18th century men's shirt tutorials online

[mizgnomer]

Excerpts from the SyFy Wire & Film School Rejects interviews with Claire Anderson, the Emmy-nominated costume designer for Good Omens:

[ Film School Rejects - by Ciara Wardlow]  “I worked through it with gut reaction images. So, two guys. Two guys, kind of close, nearly in love, if you like,” she said. “I just went in and we had a really big, very open conversation about how you related to these people in the script and how we would make them real and plausible, but give them a fantasy element. Give them something otherworldly.”

While Anderson says that she ultimately took this approach with more or less all of the characters, mixing period and modern elements to give characters somewhat timeless, yet also somewhat fantastical “out of time” looks, in the early discussion stages it was all about Aziraphale and Crowley. For one thing, Sheen and Tennant were already cast, which was a major help in determining their looks. It took some time to settle on the duo’s main, contemporary looks, but once these were locked in they played a significant role in determining everything else they wore.

[...] Aziraphale maintains a look with significant nods to the late Victorian era. Crowley too, although he manages to put an edgier twist on things than his angelic contemporary. “We re-appropriate bits of period stuff so that it echoes. [Aziraphale and Crowley] echo one another in their visual identity with pieces from their past—where they’ve touched each other in the past perhaps, or bumped into each other.” Regarding how Crowley manages to keep more of a modern, cool vibe, Anderson gives David Tennant’s performance the lion’s share of the credit. “He’s a very nice man, but he’s very sexy. He brought all of that swagger, that rock star, snake-hipped sexiness, and we built on that.”

[ SyFy Wire - by Jennifer Vineyard] GARDEN OF EDEN, 4004 B.C. -  Anderson looked at everything from Pre-Raphaelite paintings to Al Pacino’s hippie clothes in Serpico to determine just the right flow for Aziraphale’s rough-hewn robe, which has gold embroidery on the shoulders and side. Aziraphale is also wearing a golden ring, which later becomes a signet ring stamped with wings in the Victorian era.

NOAH'S ARK, MESOPOTAMIA, 3004 B.C. - “As aged as I am, I wasn’t there,” Anderson says, laughing. “And there wasn’t any painting or documentation from this era. But what we do know is that tunics remained pretty simple, and the earlier shape would have served them well for many years.” Aziraphale’s robe becomes more streamlined, and he wears gold beads at the neck.

THE CRUCIFIXION, GOLGOTHA, 33 - By this time, both Aziraphale and Crawley — now Crowley — are wearing turbans and head wraps, which Anderson attributes to “a bit of vanity.” Plus the wrap helps Crowley conceal his snake-like eyes (it’s too soon for glasses). Aziraphale dons a soft leather coat over his tunic, while Crowley wears female attire of the region — an abaya.

ROME, 41 -  Switching from tunics to togas was difficult, since togas contain 6 to 12 meters of fabric, which is a lot to carry around on camera. Anderson reduced the size by cutting the togas to fit for the character’s movements, and she gave each actor a thematic decorative pin to hold their togas together — Crowley a serpent and staff, Aziraphale a pair of wings (both courtesy of George Easton at Danegeld Historic Jewellery). Although history might argue that it’s too soon for sunglasses, Crowley starts to shield his eyes with a very small, eye-shaped lens. “It’s suggestive, rather than historically accurate,” Anderson says. And as a sign that Crowley is adapting to the humans around him, he also wears a silver laurel wreath.

ARTHURIAN ENGLAND, THE KINGDOM OF WESSEX, 537 - Anderson sent character descriptions and visuals for Aziraphale and Crowley to armor specialist FBFX, which sent a van to London full of pieces that could work for angelic and demonic armor. Instead of focusing on historical accuracy, Anderson looked for shapes and fit that suggested an ethereal — or snakelike — quality, once the pieces had been painted black or silver. For Crowley, she found a helmet that had a smaller face that could suggest a snakehead, and for Aziraphale, shoulder pieces that were slightly wing-like. To add to the wing effect, Anderson added a white fur caplet to Aziraphale’s armor. “It was terribly grand, but not very practical,” she says. “And the poor guys, it was murderously uncomfortable to stand around in that armor.”

GLOBE THEATRE, LONDON, 1601 - Crowley and Aziraphale catch an early version of Hamlet, looking more period-appropriate than ever thanks to the Globe’s vast archive of costumes. Aziraphale’s wardrobe, which includes a neck ruff edged with gold thread, has a metallic look with a hint of iridescent blue, which opens up his color palette. Crowley, meanwhile, wears a cleaner neckline and leather on his doublet, as well as fabrics that provide sheen and luster to suggest his snaky origins.

REVOLUTIONARY FRANCE, PARIS, 1793 - This is not a period to be dressed like an aristocrat, but Aziraphale couldn’t resist a lace collar, gold brocade and fitted jacket — which explains why he’s stuck in a prison cell (at least until Crowley intervenes). Crowley, more mindful of what revolutionaries would wear, dons a dark red jacket that’s almost as dark as his usual black. When Aziraphale miracle-changes his clothes, he wears the red cap of liberty. “It’s a soft beret that falls somewhere between a modern French beret and a pirate headdress,” Anderson notes.

ST. JAMES' PARK, LONDON, 1862 - This is the time period with which Aziraphale gets most comfortable, fashion-wise, and settles into a Victorian look with tartan flair. Anderson also bestowed some heavenly nods to his angelic nature — a feathery velvet top hat, a stopwatch with angel’s wings on the chain, and the signet ring. Crowley, meanwhile, wears a pair of long, elegantly cut trousers that we will see again in the 1960s. “The trousers repeat, which is basically what fashion does anyway,” Anderson says. “And it’s what the story does. There are notes backward and forwards.”

THE BLITZ, LONDON, 1941 - Aziraphale’s tartan necktie becomes a bow tie, and his penchant for wide lapels, a nod to his wings, continues, this time with a spear-point collar. Crowley, who comes to save Aziraphale once again, is dressed more formally, in a full double-breasted wool suit that must have been hard for David Tennant to wear in the South African heat. “The rest of the crew were in flip-flops and T-shirts, and David was in the suit, hat, and those big boots,” Anderson says, recalling the shoot.  “He had to be very physically active in that scene, and yet David didn’t complain about the heat or anything. He’s amazing.”

SOHO, LONDON, 1967 - Crowley, as noted, continues to wear his Victorian trousers, which are right up to date, and which he pairs with a black paisley velvet jacket with contrasting lapels. His sunglasses now have more of a John Lennon vibe. Aziraphale, perhaps inadvertently, is also looking stylish with his Victorian topcoat, spear-point collar, and cravat (modified from his scarf in Victorian England). “You can’t avoid being affected by changing trends,” Anderson says. “However bookish you are, you still notice other people. And you would have had Rolling Stones and Beatles fans wearing that kind of thing. That was our argument for Aziraphale wearing his Victorian topcoat all the way through, and Michael Sheen loved it. He said it inspired him. And the cravat rang in the changes and helped us with the passage of time, rather than always having him wear a bow tie.

[yeahinoticed]

Trimberly Pirate AU

There are Very Many ideas in my head. If you’re interested in them, take a look at my feeble attempt at fic writing below.

Perhaps they were fated to meet, or maybe it was simply chance. Either way, there was no turning back. Their story was an inevitability - its movements as sure as the tides themselves.

A Pirate AU wherein Trini is a notorious pirate captain, and Kimberly just wants to be free.

Read it on AO3 here!

She had never expected to be here. Though Zack’s plans were wild to be sure, she had to concede that more often than not, they worked. Still, she’d rather it was him in her place. But as great a strategist as he was, Zack was terrible at keeping his cool. His excitement was likely to get the better of him, and if it happened here, it would spell the end of their careers - and most probably their lives. They just couldn’t risk it. Trini fiddles with the gaudy looking brooch pinned to her lapel. It looks like any other - a brassy little trinket engraved with a crown, vibrant red gemstone studded proudly in its centre. They’d picked it up in Havana last year, not long after their first success. Trini had been adamantly against spending their newfound gold on such frivolous things, but Zack would insist it was a token of celebration, a small purchase he’d treasure forever. It was hard to say no to such blinding enthusiasm, so she’d simply rolled her eyes and turned away, which he’d obviously taken as approval. Trini thought he’d get bored of it and sell it at the next port for some other shiny thing, but true to his word he’d held on to it, and the cocky grin he’d worn when brandishing it at her this morning had her reconsidering their partnership. Nevertheless, it was becoming useful now, so she supposed she couldn’t really fault him. 

She’d always thought such things were kind of tacky. Blatant shows of wealth and title weren’t really her style. They make you stand out. And in her line of work, standing out makes things a whole lot harder. Yet here she is, clad head to toe in a flashy formal ensemble. The mustard coat, the breeches, the stockings, the dastardly wig and feathered hat - the whole lot. The frills of her shirt tickle her neck and hands, a constant irritation in the back of her mind even as she peers up at the garish manor before her. Rendered cream walls, framed by extravagant trimming reflect the bright midday sun so brightly that they almost glow. The dark gravel path up to the manor is edged with smooth stones, dividing it from verdant garden beds which are somehow both calculated and unruly at the same time. At the base of the path, two uniformed guards flank an ornamental wrought iron gate. Its bars twist intricately to resemble thorned roses, and its top edge is studded with spikes. They glare at her, suspicion evident in their faces, hands gripping their rifles ever so slightly harder - imperceptible to an untrained eye. She understands their wariness - while her linen garments give the impression of status, she isn’t their typical wearer - no woman is. Trini might be accustomed to the blade, but it was time to put her sharp tongue to use.

 “State your business ma’am”.

 “Isn’t it quite obvious, good sir?” she replies. The accent doesn’t come easily to her, and if the guards notice, they give no indication of it.

 The one who had spoken looks to his comrade, visibly apprehensive. It was a difficult situation for him. If he gave the wrong person trouble, he’d be out of a job before evening. Yet he couldn’t simply stand aside, for then he wouldn’t be doing his job at all. He hadn’t signed up for such dilemmas. He sighs. 

 “Your invitation?”.

 “This is all hardly necessary” Trini remarks as she slips the folded letter from her inner breast pocket. The guard scans it over, thumbing the seal that identifies its sender. When he scans it a second time, his eyebrow quirks.

 “Forgive me ma’am, but you don’t quite look like an ‘Oliver’ to me”. His partner scoffs at this, before clearing his throat and making to smooth the collar of his regimental red coat, directing his gaze somewhere in the distance. Trini replies without missing a beat.

 “My father was quite set on the name before I was even born. Though I do wish someone had talked him out of it, I don’t very well mind being named after my grandfather”.

 The guard squints at her, before his frown eases in thought. Her reasoning wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility. 

 “Very well, Miss Bennett. I’m sure Governor Hart will be glad for your arrival. I apologise for the inconvenience. I do hope you enjoy the party.”

 At the guards nod, Trini makes her way through the gate. 

 “It’s quite alright, I get it all the time”. 

 ---

 As she steps into the main hall, Trini is struck by the atmosphere. A low chatter echoes off the stone floors, intermittently joined by the soft clanking of cutlery. She can still hear the familiar whispers of the ocean in the distance, beckoning her back sweetly. Around her, the guests are dressed much the same as she is. They converse with false smiles, many holding silver goblets filled with what she can only assume is a fine wine. A guard stands at the foot of the main stairs, rifle up against his shoulder. She passes another who stands at the entrance to the dining room. There were more than she thought there would be. How bothersome. She isn’t two steps into the room when the idle noises of the manor are joined by the gentle moan of a violin. A grand wooden dining table is set against the main window, adorned with an assortment of food, though she’s sure it normally resides front and centre. As tempting as it looks, it's not what Trini is here for. She lets out a quiet chuckle. Zack would’ve been right squiffy by the day's end, if he’d come along. The people in the room begin to pair up, swaying slowly to the violin’s song. While she’d prefer not to partake, she’s sure to arouse suspicion just standing here - and she’s not sure she could hold a real conversation without giving herself away. 

 Trini glances around the room. Standing by one of the large windows is a woman in a silken, rose coloured dress. She’s strikingly beautiful, with her dark brown hair in an elegant updo. It catches the afternoon light in a way that steals Trini’s breath for a moment. She’s about to look away, find someone else, when the woman turns, meeting her eyes. After a pause, the stranger smiles faintly, tilting her head in silent questioning. Rats. With one deep breath, Trini slips back into her persona. It was time to dance. 

 ---

 Kimberly Hart has attended many a party in her twenty three years. Her father’s parties, his friends’ parties, his enemies’ parties. It was expected of her really. Don a pretty dress, be receptive (but not too receptive) to her potential suitors. Gossip idly with girls who have far too much time on her hands. She didn’t mind it, most of the time. She had to admit though, it could get a little boring. This was her father’s third ‘dance’ of the year and it was only February. He had to keep up appearances of course. How else would his peers know of Port Royal’s thriving trade if he did not celebrate it with fine wine and finer appearances. Even so, Kimberly could only tolerate the advances of so many men. Nobles, with promises of glamour and comfort back in the motherland. Merchant sailors who weave tales of wealth and adventure that seem just a little too crafted to be true. Naval captains who think their pride and ranking should have her swooning at their feet with nary another word. Every so often, there’d be one or two who would have her attention. Whose silk tongues and vibrant eyes would draw her in, if only momentarily. But she’d find soon enough that her biting wit was never appreciated for long, and the smooth talking would always give way to frustration. It seemed she was simply a prize to be won, a hill to be conquered. Bragging rights. Quite frankly, she was sick of it.

 And so, Kimberly finds herself standing by the front window of the dining room, eyes ensnared by the gentle ebb and flow of the waves upon the beach. Her mother used to tell her stories of the ocean - stories far grander, far more fascinating than those of her suitors. Stories of sleepless nights in raging storms. Of brilliant new lands and people and creatures. Of days spent in song and nights spent in stupor. She’d always wondered what it was like out there, beyond the confines of her father’s estate and everything it represented. Would she go? If given the chance? The thought is at the forefront of her mind when she feels the familiar pressure of a set of eyes, trying and failing to be inconspicuous. Turning quickly she seeks them out, finding a woman who seems just out of place. She’s wearing an embroidered suit, woven linen in a yellow far too green. The hair of her grey wig is pulled into a ponytail beneath her feathered tricorne. Her attire is interesting, yes, but Kimberly does not recognise her. She recognises most of her father’s guests. She feels her lips twitch upwards at the woman, holding her gaze from across the room. 

 Something flashes across her watcher’s face, gone too quickly to identify. The woman strides towards her, light on her feet. There's a vague slant to her hips, an unfamiliar swagger that Kimberly thinks might betray some unknown truth. What secrets were held in her small frame? She presents her hand, palm upturned. “May I have this dance?”.

 Kimberly takes her hand, finds it unexpectedly rough and calloused, but gentle. As if their union was a cue, the music picks up, the rest of the band joining the violin as its pace hastens. They begin to dance a casual rigaudon, Kimberly following the stranger’s lead. She waits for her partner to address her, watches her eyes flick about the room. They’ve stepped around each other three times before Kimberly breaks the silence.  “The strong silent type then?” 

 As if only just remembering where she was, the woman’s eyes snap towards her. Her brows knit together. “Pardon?”.

 This was unusual. Kimberly’s suitors would usually rush to fill silences, trying desperately to keep her eyes upon them. It seems her current partner barely cares for her existence. “You haven’t spoken a word to me since you asked me to dance”. She’s surprised at the venom that laces her words - it hadn’t been intentional.

 “I’m quite sorry madam”. With a turn, they dance in the reverse direction. “I was simply admiring the Governor’s manor. It’s quite beautiful. Have you been here before?” 

 Kimberly almost stops dancing. She searches the other woman’s face for any sign of jest, finding nothing but honesty and vague inattention. It was absurd to think a guest to this party would not know her name, though she supposes it could be possible. Her irritation fades quickly, replaced by a mounting curiosity. “My family is close to the Governor’s”, she lies. 

 Her partner’s only response is an idle hum. 

 With their next step, Kimberly’s eyebrow quirks. She pulls the woman into a twirl under her arm.  “And you are?” she inquires.

 Seemingly startled by the movement, the other woman stumbles slightly, before regaining her footing and resuming their dance. “Bennett. Oliver Bennett”, she replies firmly. Pulling Kimberly into a twirl of her own, she smirks. “Merchant extraordinaire”.

 Kimberly mulls the name over. Oliver Bennett. It sounded vaguely familiar, but any recognition she might have had was fleeting - as out of reach as a feather in the breeze. Though the woman had said it quite confidently, it had a strange sort of inflection. In fact, now that Kimberly thought about it, the woman’s accent was unfamiliar. It sounded vaguely English, but her words were more rounded, had a rich and intriguing depth to them, like they were dripping with such experience that it bled into their very sound. Kimberly’s stomach dips in a way she’s sure could be addicting. She returns her attention to Miss Bennett, only to find that her eyes are once again fixed elsewhere. She follows her gaze, finds it trained on the staircase in the entry hall. With a tilt of her head, Kimberly drapes an arm over her partner’s shoulder, pulling her closer with every step. “Extraordinaire, hmm?”.

 The woman drags her eyes back to Kimberly’s and holds them there for a long moment. Her smile turns upwards. “You sound surprised, Miss…”

 “Clarke”, Kimberly supplies, flinching internally. It had been the first name to enter her mind. She banishes the thoughts that surround it. Not now. “It's not every day I meet a woman merchant” she admits. “You’ve piqued my interest Miss Bennett”. 

 Though it seems the other woman’s attention is now firmly upon her, Kimberly makes no move to increase the distance between them again. This close, she can see the depths of colour within the other woman’s eyes, reflecting the light of the setting sun. They glint with unspoken secrets, not unlike the pieces of foreign jewelry often brought by traders upon the tide. Promises of a world much larger than anything Kimberly had experienced. 

 “Some would say my methods are...unconventional”. The merchant’s words bring her out of her reverie. They serve only to deepen her curiosity.

 “However do you mean?” Kimberly presses. 

 “Trade secrets, Miss Clarke - I can’t simply give them away”, she replies with a wink. “But I have to be smart you see”. Another twirl brings their faces impossibly close together, and she whispers her next words carefully. “There are pirates out there you know”. 

 Kimberly is about to press further, when the sharp ringing of the town bell cuts through the manor, signalling another day’s end. The music begins to fade, and the woman detaches and spins away from her with a sly smile, disappearing amongst the meandering throng of people moving from the dining room into the entrance hall. She scans the small crowd, but any traces of the woman’s yellow coat and devious grin are gone as swiftly as they had come. It's only once she turns back to the window that Kimberly notices how fast her heart is beating. 

[abundantchewtoys]

Homestuck^2 re: Chapter 3 “How Are Your Feelings” p96-118

So, the next chapter appears to be about an attempted feelings jam.

I think it might be too early yet for the pursuing crew, so maybe we'll have a look at Karkat and Meenah?

Though if there's ever a way for the pursuing crew or Dirk's crew to meet up with the new teens, I'm fully expecting Vrissy to have a "mom?" moment re: Kanaya or Rosebot.

---

Page 96

OOoooh!! Okay, so I was wrong.

Hah, that does look like something Jake would do - build a fleet of wildy different space ships.

Plus, it's an emerald pirate ship... In pursuit of a great white whale- I mean shark. Hah!

So yeah... It's been three years since Rose and Kanaya were together. :/

I suspect the crew is made up out of Dave, Karkat, Jade (perhaps possessed) and Roxy. But that'd mean Jane had the run of Earth C for all this time, and Calliope is back there in a worsening political climate.

Hmmm... Maybe Roxy would have chosen to bring their partner along though. Even though Callie is upset by the presence of her other self. In any case, I wonder what they look like! Whether they're still a deadringer for Dave.

---

Page 97

Pfff, what an exhaust pipe. I love the visual pun.

---

Page 98

Woooww, this reminds me of Problem Sleuth / Midnight Crew visuals! So purple though. Whose room is this, Roxy's? (It might be closer to violet than purple.)

Ooh boy, Calliope's about to take over the narrative. So she hasn't let poor Jade out of her grasp, or at least not definitely.

---

Page 99

D'aaaaahh, she's a frickin devil now. PFfffffffff, this is Dave and Karkat's room! Glad to see Davekat's still canon.

I bet this might be a recurring occurence, Jade/Calliope coming in at the most impossible hours bearing ominous tidings.

Hihih, so she's taken over the command box only for now. I suppose it's a clever way to show she could still take over the narrative is she was so inclined.

---

Page 100

Dave is more upset with Karkat than Jade, pffff.

---

Page 101

Ooooh, new outfits! Wait, Calliope made herself a new outfit. :/ She's getting comfortable in that new body.

Karkat has a Time shirt for a pyjama, hahah. I'm pretty sure he fell on his sweater, which probably still bears the Cancer sign.

Cool to have a squinting version of Dave's sprite. Now all we still need is one with his eyes wide open, but this is a start.

I'd start wondering if Calliope's starting to be a bit lonely, reaching out to Karkat and Dave like this with her message. And yup, she does it all the time. Dave's blasé about it.

---

Page 102

Welp! Jade's doing the Possesion 180-degree turn of the head now.

Return of the gross, oil-slick coffee machine from the meteor, maybe? :P

---

Page 103

Oh cool, at first glance Roxy's appearance is that jarring. Maybe her coup is a little shorter than before, but not as short as she wore it during the Meat epilogues, near the end. Guess she might be working through some of the same things as Candy Roxy and understanding she doesn't have to go all non-binary if that isn't where her heart is up at in.

Also, cool shades! Though, of course, a Heart is a bit of a faux pas perhaps, giving who they're chasing. :P

So Jade at least spent the first part of the voyage more silent. But as her powers grow, she has more control over Jade's body. :/

Cool, Dave has Karkat's shirt as part of his jammies. Roxy just went with a full on hoodie. At least I think it's her jammies, she's reading at the kitchen table but it's probably still night.

---

Page 104

Pfff. Welp. Yes Roxy, mirroring what you think your ancestors were doing ends up looking dumber when you actually meet them in person.

---

Page 105

ooooh, okay, so her hair is back to mirroring Dave's coupe. Roxy's hair is a bird pass it on. I love the sprite art, also of the kitchen itself.

Cool to have a comparison is size between meteor and this ship. Though with even less to explore, I can see how things might have grown dull around here. Also confirmation of Roxy's pronoun change, still a thing.

And I have a feeling Dave and Kanaya are in for a feelings jam.

Blaperile has a point, maybe Calliope commands the attention of the narrative, but she commands the narrative itself, so she can make the story follow Dave instead, as he goes to find Kanaya.

---

Page 106

Cool, even the inside looks like a pirate ship. Jake's quite taken with matters of appearances, practicalities be damned! :P

I suppose alchemizing a spaceship and a sailing boat would result in still a viable means to cross the void, the physics behind alchemization would ensure it.

---

Page 107

That appears to be a different hairstyle or hood. ... Is she wearing a grieving gown?

Maybe she's contemplating how she's ended up here, having to deal with another clown coming between her and her loved ones. I wonder how much harm she's wishing to heap onto Dirk, I mean.

---

Page 108

Aww, that rose in her hood.

And yup, Dave has it pinned down: they keep finding themselves either literally or figuratively chasing through the void, with no idea what's coming. You know, remembering how Dave saw the meteor as his first real home, I get the idea he might be the most in his element here. But he knows it's not a healthy pastime.

---

Page 109

She's wearing a ribbon much like Rose used to wear.

What story could Rose have reserved for reading to grubs, and what are the odds Vrissy knows the story as well, having been raised by Rose?

---

Page 110

It is on point for both Kanaya to read too much into Rose's story, as well as Rose putting all that symbolism in it on purpose.

... Aww, she's really hurting. But through the hurt she's started to wonder, perhaps in an attempt to limit her pain, whether she isn't being manipulated into feeling like this. At this point, it could really be either.

---

Page 111

Wow. Okay, Dave's really opening up here to Kanaya. It was actually a relationship I didn't really see evolving due to both of their inherent awkwardness.

But that's Dave for you. If you find a place in his heart, he'll die before he lets you go into harm's way alone.

---

Page 113

Turntable gesture! And okay, yes, via Dave it's shown Roxy's back to identifying male after the past few years.

Yes, his and Karkat shit has definitely changed, for one, Karkat almost unabashedly acknowledges they're matesprits back there in the kitchen.

And it's Kanaya who does the title drop after all, not Dave like I was starting to think.

---

Page 114

Awww, yeah, Dave is really the only one left of the old B1 crew in a normal state of mind. Here's to hoping his brush with Davebot doesn't leave him in a state like Callie.

And yes, Dirk has shown his true colours, and Dave is feeling like a runt for ever thinking he could be different from his Bro. :/ Poor guy, I feel for him.

Meanwhile, he innocently hopes that Dirk's influence was the only thing causing Jane and Jake not being good leaders for Earth. Too bad we know the alternative is far from good.

Though he's also oversimplifying, since he himself said that Earth C society wasn't sustainable in the long run, they just sped things up.

Aww, he admits to feeling more in his element out here. Yeah, I very much understand that. It's easier to deal with fewer people in your social circles, a lot of the time.

---

Page 116

Ah, the other side of the coin. Dave and Kanaya are bonding over Rose. Karkat and Roxy are kind of related as well through Dave.

Oooooh, so Calliope DID come along. Brave of her, with how "Jade" unnerves her so.

Karkat's right, the people that left weren't really so close to him as to others, he mostly here to support Dave! But of course we know he really would be good at leading at least a rebellion. Though it wouldn't really feel fulfilling either.

I wonder what's in store for Karkat, in fact, if it isn't to be a leader.

"KARKAT: I LITERALLY FOUGHT PEOPLE FOR CONTROL OF THE TEAM, AND WHAT ENDED UP HAPPENING WAS LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE ONE OF MY FRIENDS BESIDES KANAYA DIED. KARKAT: ACTUALLY, SHE DID DIE! KARKAT: FUCK! KARKAT: I’M ZERO FOR ZERO! ROXY: ur kinda an intense dude anybody ever tell u that KARKAT: NO."

Best interaction. Is Roxy really going to help Karkat deal with something here? :P

---

Page 117

Hah! Yes, well, I guess Karkat already has his win state the way he wants it! Though he's still feeling conflicted about it on some level, but that's just the type of person he is.

Roxy's REALLY gunning to make pancakes, hahah. Guess a part of her really is good at the whole caring thing.

---

I definitely like the pacing of the chapters so far. Good combo of visuals and conversation.

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “X Marks the Spot”

This CaptainSwan one-shot was originally written to take place sometime in the indeterminate post-Season 3 future. Our pirate and princess are in an established relationship, and have been for a fair amount of time for the purposes of this story. It’s a bit more risqué than most of my previous fics for this fandom had been when I wrote it, but I think a T rating still covers it (I hope no one is unpleasantly troubled if I’m wrong there…) I was really just allowing them a fun moment of playful mischief together, and then it got a bit feelsy. Anyway, I found it in my older posts on ff.net, and thought it might be a fun one for this week’s Self-Promo Sunday.

“X Marks the Spot”

By: snowbellewells

“Well, really Killian, the question is, are you a pirate or aren’t you?” she asks with the arch of a beautifully sculpted brow, her smirk taunting him and an evil twinkle in her eyes. Swinging her mane of blond curls over her shoulder as she glances back at him challengingly from where she is rummaging in her closet for her rain boots, Emma Swan is practically daring him.

Undaunted, Killian Jones rocks calmly on his feet, hand tucked in the pocket of the modern, dark wash blue jeans Emma insisted on him trying and gestures to her with his hook. “Lass, you know I am the fiercest pirate captain in all the realms. Why do you question it now?” He wants to laugh at the way she is teasing him; his Swan may be bloody brilliant – canny, strong, and determined – but there is no way she can match him in playful deviousness or flirtation. He does not, however, mind the view she is giving him as she leans over further to reach into the back of the closet in the form-fitting breeches she seems to prefer.

“You think so, do you?” she scoffs, giving him a dubious look as she finally steps back out into the room with the tall, red, rubber boots in hand. “I’m doubting you right now, Jones. What kind of pirate fails to find a hidden treasure?”

His eyes narrow at the challenge, and he begins to stalk toward her on silent, bare feet. The air between them practically vibrates as he takes his time, making her wait as he closes the distance, running his tongue over his bottom lip – a predator moving in for the kill. “Oh, Emma Love,” he murmurs, voice low, gravelly, and practically vibrating down her spine in shivers as he leans close to brush his lips along the shell of her ear when he speaks, “you should know better than to play with fire. Perhaps I was merely trying to respect your desire to reach your parents’ little dinner party on time. If you truly wish for the pirate to come out to play, Darling…” here he traces the tip of his hook along her collarbone and slides the neckline of her shirt aside until it falls off her shoulder, “…then I can make us quite late.”

Emma’s breath catches, going shallow on her at his closeness and the heat radiating off him, threatening to set her aflame. She feels all her playful comebacks fly from her mind as his touch sizzles over her skin. Soon, his nose nuzzles into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, stubble tickling and tantalizing before he languorously kisses his way back up her neck, tongue and teeth aiding in the sweet torment. Her stomach flips, and she leans back slightly as he pushes steadily forward.

The shoes she was trying to put on fall forgotten to the floor as Killian braces his hook arm at her side, knees planted firmly – one outside her left thigh and the other pushing between them – as he follows her movement back onto the bed. A low, contented hum escapes his lips as he works the cotton shirt she’d picked out back up her torso, and impatiently waits just long enough for her to rise so that he can pull it off over her head. The fingers of his good hand skim reverently up her ribcage, barely ghost across the lace of her bra, and out along her arm to capture her hand in his. He raises the back of her hand to his lips, places a delicate kiss there, and still eyes her sensually, never breaking his gaze for a second.

Emma huffs lightly, trembling all over now with both need and anticipation, knowing she has lost the upper hand, but unable to consider herself a loser in this little game they are playing. Just as she is about to pull their joined hands back to herself, he surprises her again.

Grinning wickedly, Killian pulls her hand above her head, pressing it against the pillow easily when already captured in his grasp. He chuckles low, a dark, decadent sound in his throat, when her eyes widen and a gasp escapes at his unexpected action. “Pirate. Remember, Love?” he taunts, then leans over to truly plunder her mouth with his.

Heart hammering, Emma bits back the secret smile creeping across her lips. Though she has surrendered control entirely in one sense, she still has Killian Jones right where she wants him. His strong, calloused hand roams freely, making her squirm and writhe with pleasure, but she still can’t resist laying the bait when she gathers her wits enough to do so. “Hmm…I don’t know, Captain…” she drawls, as if seriously pondering the question. “I can’t fault your technique, but I don’t think you’ve found your prize. Have you seen any sign of your hidden goal?”

His hook trails dangerously close to her tender flesh as he moves it down her chest, her stomach, making her pant, in awe of the power and control he wields. She is totally at his mercy, and yet she knows without a doubt that Killian will never falter, never harm her.

“So,” he murmurs, running the cool metal along the waistband of her jeans, a sharp contrast to the flushed warmth of her skin. “Do you wear a map on your person somewhere, Swan? X marks the spot and all that?”

She laughs giddily, sure now that he is about to discover the surprise she has in store for him. Speaking is becoming incredibly difficult the more he touches and toys with her, and she practically stammers over the, “You’ll have to keep looking and see for yourself, Jones,” that she tosses his way before he finally undoes the button and lowers her zipper.

As soon as he begins to push the denim off her hips, he sees her secret and stops as though frozen, mesmerized. A strange, bewitched expression crosses his face, and he doesn’t look away, doesn’t blink, even as several minutes pass.

Emma has just begun to get nervous, to fear that she has guessed wrong and he hates it, when a smile – bright, wide, and disbelieving – breaks across his face and those ocean eyes flick back up to hers. “Emma…Lass, is that… is that what I think it is?” His fingers are already tracing lightly over the mark gracing her hipbone, the symbol she bears for him to uncover…for only him to see.

She is tempted to lighten the mood, to play it off; he seems so stunned, so awed, that she feels unworthy of such adoration. It had been a serious decision though, so she makes herself lie still under his keen stare. She had wanted to show Killian how committed she was to him, what their being together has done for her. She wants him to see how permanent his place with her is, though she cannot put it into words. She had hoped to give him a picture for the feelings that get stuck in her throat when she tries to voice them. “It’s a tattoo, Killian….Do you like it?” are the words she finally settles on, biting her lip and looking up at him hopefully.

He can’t seem to stop tracing over her still-tender skin, fingers tentative and light across the inked image of a ship’s anchor and the initials ‘KJ’. When he finally tears his gaze from the tattoo back to her face, there is a sheen of moisture veiling his eyes, one that Emma feels in hers as well. “Aye, you must know that I do. It’s lovely, Emma…as is every other glorious inch of you besides.”

She grins widely, blinking the haze of unshed tears away and pulling his face down to kiss him enthusiastically with both her hands now free. He cradles her in his arms gently – all teasing, ravishing, taunting, and seduction forgotten in bliss and celebration and true, honest-to-goodness, love. The emotion is pouring from him to her and back again, effortless and overflowing, and Emma basks in its glory. That he understood immediately and she didn’t have to try to explain why he is her anchor, her home, the reason she no longer has to run, the one who holds her steady in this place because she would miss him desperately if she left, is only one of the many explanations for how she knows he is hers and that they were always meant to be. For all her earlier joking, Emma believes it is Killian himself who is the real hidden treasure she has been seeking all her life. And now she holds him in her arms.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @kmomof4 @laschatzi @spartanguard @resident-of-storybrooke @ilovemesomekillianjones @effulgentcolors @let-it-raines @jennjenn615 @gingerchangeling @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @scientificapricot

[safyresky]

Away With The Fae

Summary: Charlie is Stressed, and Jacqueline knows exactly what will help him wind down...a night out with the Legates! Join Charlie the day after as he tries to piece together what happened, and why he now has $1000 (in cash), new running shoes, and...red hair dye?

Based on a prompt I read on tumblr ages ago which I’ve put below:

Your OC just woke up in their living room with hair dye, new shoes, and a note with 1,000 cash taped to it. What happened? (from the which-oc-would tumblr: post/159733622744/your-oc-your-oc-just-woke-up-in-their-living) (I know charlie isn’t my OC, but my OCs would definitely be the cause of Charlie in this situation so HERE YOU GO)

Warnings: a sprinkling of f-bombs, several mentions of alcohol. Alcohol is a huge driving force in this fic tbh so if that squicks you, I’d recommend against reading this smile shot!

---

Away With The Fae

Charlie's head really hurt. Like, bad. He opened his eyes and groaned—the light coming in from the front window was Not Good. Tumbling off of the couch and tripping over a box, Charlie fought the blinds closed and lay face down on the floor, glad for the darkness.

He wondered why he was in his living room. He thought he would be up in his room after his night out, not in the living room. And at the Pole, not his place near campus. The events of the night were kind of fuzzy. What was the box he had tripped over?

He rolled back to the couch and picked it up. It was hair dye. A bright red colour. He felt his heart race as he sat up and quickly ripped open the box; his relief when he realized that it was still full. He grabbed a bit of his hair and pulled it down towards his face—yup, still brown. Phew. He needed a haircut badly.

He put the box down and sighed, when he noticed a new pair of shoes on his feet. Why did he have those? Why didn’t he take them off when he got in? He pulled them off, trying to recall when he bought them and frowned. He couldn’t remember where they were from. He put them down beside the hair dye, which was all in a neat pile at the side of the couch with a note.

A note?

He picked up the note and gasped as he flipped it over.

"Holy shit."

Taped to the note was a huge wad of cash. He counted it out: there was one thousand dollars. Ten whole Benjamin Franklins staring up at him.

"What the fuck?" He whispered, putting the cash down and reading the note.

Hey Charlie,

Sorry about the hangover. You passed out after deciding to dye your hair. Jacqueline said we should do it anyway, but I figured that maybe it would be better if you were awake and not drunker than Bacchus to make that decision. We tucked you in and put the dye beside you. Feel free to text me if you decide you want to do it! I know a thing or two about beauty ;)

With Love,

Dite

Well that explained most things. Except for the money. And the shoes. He read the note again, realizing there was still a fold to the page. He unfolded it fully, a second part written below the neat pink script.

Hey Charlie boy!

You had a wild night, let me tell you. Sorry about your shoes, though. I hope you like the pair we got for you, now that you’re (hopefully) sober enough to appreciate them! I got the other two to pitch in and after a quick visit to the bank, gave you what we had on us at the time. I hope that helps kick start that payback thing, but my offer still stands. I’ve got like. A LOT of pirate treasure left over. Anyway, I hope you feel at least a little less stressed now!

Jacqueline :)

"A wild night, huh?" Charlie voiced. He leant against the couch, frowning.

He didn’t remember any of it.

He sat back on the couch, frown deepening. He would probably recall the night eventually, right? He hadn't been that fucked up...though another glance at the letter told him that perhaps he had been.

Well, first thing was first: he had a headache to take care of. Maybe that would help jump start his memories from last night. After all, he could recall how he ended up going out with the Legates easily enough...

---

"It really sounds like you've got a lot on your plate there, Charlie boy."

"Gee, thanks Jacqueline."

"You need to cut that sass, dude," Jacqueline replied, frowning. She had come up North with her brother today for a quick visit, running into Charlie as she and Jack headed towards Santa's home to chat with him. It was nice to see Charlie at first, but then it wasn't so nice when she got a closer look at him. He looked like he'd been hit by an iceberg.

So being the kind person that she was, Jacqueline had asked what was up and, well, a lot was up. Mostly school stress, of course; this was why she and the other two had dipped after the whole shadows thing. They had been to schools multiple times and didn't need the stress it caused people in this century. Seriously, the amount of sprite sleeps she had needed second semester was wild.

"You’re right, I'm sorry. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. It's just…there's a lot going on."

"I know, you just told me. Girlfriend stuff, and school stuff, and Legate stuff. From one Legate to another, you should really chill out about the Legate stuff. Your Dad is the legendary figure like least at risk. He's very well protected—I would know."

"Right. The Dome. Ugh. I just want to finish this year and graduate and start living life, you know?"

"Totally. You know what you need?"

"A massage? A stress ball? A screaming pillow?"

"Do you mean like a pillow that you scream into, or a pillow that screams? I could get you a pillow that screams, though I don’t know why you would want that—"

"Jacqueline. It was the former."

"Oh. Good. You had me real concerned there, pal."

"Why on earth would I want a pillow that screams?!”

"I dunno, you’re the one who wanted it!”

“No I didn’t!”

Jacqueline frowned. “Anyway, what I was going to say was that you need to go out, have a drink or two, and just de-stress."

"I tried that already."

"But you didn’t try it Legate style," Jacqueline said, grinning in such a way that Charlie was immediately reminded of Jack and immediately concerned.

"What are you getting at?"

"Sometimes, Dite, Xander, and I go out and about and just kinda, you know, have some drinks and de-stress together."

"How is it different from what I would do with Cass and Brian and Derrick?"

"Because we're magical! We're headed out at eight tonight. We'll swing by here to pick you up. Sound good?"

Charlie had thought for a moment. It couldn’t hurt, he thought. What’s the worst that could happen while out with three super powerful magical people?

"You know what, yeah. Yeah! It does sound good. I'll see you then. What should I wear?"

"Casual dress. We usually go bar hopping in the Southern Province, so it'll be warm."

"Alright. Warm place, drinks with friends, some cool magical shenanigans…I'll be ready right at 8!"

"Cool! We'll see you then!" Jacqueline said, winking and disappearing.

---

That was how it had started, Charlie recalled clearly, as he poured himself a glass of water and helped himself to plain toast. He sat back down on the couch, wrapping the blanket around him again and eating the toast, despite his stomach's protesting. He wondered if they had any Gatorade left in the house, and headed back into the kitchen to grab some (if there was any) as well as two aspirins.

Lack of food and dehydration taken care of, he popped the aspirins and lay back down on the leather couch, the surface cool to his touch and the couch very soft (as it was a hand-me-down).

That should take care of this headache, he thought, closing his eyes as the night began to come back to him, piece by piece.

---

He knew he had felt some regret as he had realized what he had agreed to. But the truth was, studying had him stressed to the max and he had needed some unwind time—and time away from his housemates, of course. It was why he had been up at the Pole, after all.

So, telling himself that this was a good idea, and it would go alright, Charlie threw on a pair of shorts and a nice plain band shirt, and waited for his ride.

At 8 o'clock sharp when he heard the loud swish of large wings, felt a chill in the air, and remembered that really cool dream he had had the other night where he was James Bond, he realized that his ride had arrived.

"Hello, anyone home?" Xander called out.

"Yeah, just a sec!" Charlie shouted back.

"Jacqueline! Isn’t that rude?”

"It’s not like they lock the doors here at the Pole,” the sprite replied, sliding into the kitchen. "What up Charlie boy?"

"Why do you keep calling me that?" He asked, eyes focused on the note he was writing for Dad and Carol.

"I like the sound of it,” she said.

Charlie briefly looked up, skeptical.

“Okay, fine! You got me. I have not yet worked out a good nickname for you. Or at least, one that you would find nice. That’s all I’ve got at the moment," she finished with a sheepish shrug.

Charlie side-eyed Jacqueline, signing his note and leaving it on the table beside the cookies. He blinked briefly, because what he saw was something he was very not used to. Jacqueline was wearing shorts. Like, sorta short shorts. He had only ever seen her in shorts that weren't super short, mostly skirts, and more often than not her old fashioned looking princess dress. The shorts were light blue; she strode in casually, wearing a big hat and sunglasses, her white t-shirt loose and breezy.

"What?" she said, pulling her sunglasses down a bit and looking at Charlie, quizzically.

"It's just. It's weird seeing you in shorts. I'm used to the big princess dress, or, y'know, skirts."

"I do own pants, Charlie."

“My apologies, Charlie,” Xander said, entering the kitchen. “Jacqueline’s patience apparently needs work. And I thought it was just my place she barged in to all the time,” he teased.

“You guys always have the windows open, so I assumed that that meant you had a door open policy.” A pause. “Or rather, a window open policy.”

That got a laugh out of Xander. “I suppose I can’t argue with that—oof!”

“Charlie! Hello!” Xander was nearly blown over as Dite flew into the kitchen, immediately giving Charlie a very squishy, very tight hug.

“Hey Dite! Hi! I need to breath, just a friendly reminder.”

“Oh! Right! Sorry,” she said, with a very big smile. She landed, her wings giving one last flap before settling behind her.

"You’re good, Xander,” Jacqueline said, steadying the sandman.

“We definitely have a door open policy here as well,” Charlie said, catching his breath. “Dad’s off in the Workshop doing some post dinner rounds, and Carol is finishing some lesson plans up at the school. It’s just me. Well, and Buddy, but he’s been passed out for a while and Dad and Carol have magical monitors in case he wakes up. It took forever to get him to bed. He’s really chatty, so let’s hope he doesn't wake up before we leave.”

“Boom! Open door policy, therefore it’s NOT rude!” Jacqueline shouted, grinning victoriously.

“You have me there,” Xander said, hopping onto the kitchen table and sitting cross-legged. He was also dressed down, in a pair of shorts and a polo. "Ready to go, Charlie? We have a fun night planned. Once Jacqueline told us you were joining us, we did a little bit of restructuring."

"Oh geez, I didn’t mean to impose. That's sweet and all, but you really didn’t need to—"

"Nonsense!" Dite interrupted. "We bar hop usually, but knowing that you were coming I tailored it so that you could get the full experience, and not just bar hops. We're starting at our favourite little beachside bar for some singing and dancing, and then we’ll head to the Final Destination and most likely bar hop on the way there! Sometime between the two spots, shenanigans tend to ensue so we’ll see where the night takes us! Isn’t this exciting?!”

Dite was also dressed down tonight, too. Charlie didn’t see a single active weapon on her: just her charm bracelet. She wore short shorts as well, and a bright pink shirt with very poofy sleeves that sort of resembled her usual Roman wear, as Charlie called it. He had once called it a toga and Dite had given him quite the lecture on Ancient Roman and Greek fashion. He had learnt a lot that day, and had profusely apologised for low key calling Dite a prostitute. Which then had launched Dite into a whole other lecture about their worker rights and a whole slew of other issues surrounding the topic. It was a very full day of learning. A lot of learning. But way more engaging then his school lectures had been.

“That first stop is the one with the karaoke, right?” Xander asked.

“It is our favourite for a reason,” Dite replied, winking. “I probably should’ve been more specific. Whoops!”

“Dite, are you already forgetting the little things? We haven’t even started yet!” Jacqueline teased.

“Or have we?” Dite teased back with a wink.

“Oh my goddess, you absolute party animal, you pre-d?”

“Sorry to interrupt, but uh. This sounds like a really busy and full plan you guys have here. Are we going to be able to do it all?”

There was the briefest of silences, and then all three Legates burst into laughter. Jacqueline was doubled over. "Will we be able to do it all," she gasped, leaning on Dite's arm, the love goddess wiping away a tear.

"Of course we will!" Dite said, grinning.

"If you guys say so. It just sounds like a lot and you know what they say, Rome wasn't built in a day."

Dite’s face immediately grew serious. “Don’t get me started,” she said.

---

Gatorade in hand, a second one in the other hand for good measure, Charlie sat up on the couch, debating if he should trudge upstairs to his room or not. The house was silent, and weirdly clean—not that he’d complain. He assumed that everyone was out and about, seeing as how it had to be nearly three in the afternoon. It was Monday, after all, and the final week of the term. And although his Mondays were free with not a single class in sight, the others had their own stuff to do. Mondays were usually quiet. A relief, since he really did not want his housemates to see him like this. Why the heck had the Legates dropped him off here?!

His stomach flopped. I need to get horizontal, he thought, falling back onto the couch. He bundled tighter in the blanket, closing his eyes and hoping for sleep.

---

“—and that’s why Nero TOTALLY burnt down the city himself.”

“Can I source you in my essay?”

“I think it would depend on your prof and how credible they think “Source: Hedone, Goddess of Pleasure, who was there” would be,” Dite said with a giggle. “Oh! Have you eaten yet, Charlie?”

“Uh, like an hour or so ago I had a small dinner.”

“Oh! Good! That means you’re probably starving. Humans have to eat every three hours or so, correct?” Xander asked, brushing snowflakes off of him. Jacqueline had poofed them over to their very first stop for the night, resulting in a spattering of snowflakes all over the four Legates.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Excellent!” Dite said, with an excited clap. “Because guess what lives across the street from our first stop?”

“Uh…a restaurant?”

“Food AND drinks! Let’s motor,” Dite said, stirring up quite the breeze as she hovered over to the left most building.

“What about the karaoke place?”

“Can’t get decently drunk on an empty stomach,” Jacqueline said, breezing in behind Dite, who had already run to the hostess.

“Come now Charlie, let’s go! This place will barbecue anything.”

“Anything?” Charlie asked.

“Anything!”

Sure enough, as they were seated and Charlie had his first drink, he discovered that yeah, they would barbecue anything. Even if it wasn’t edible, just for “funsies”, as their waiter said. They barbecued all sorts of foods, including ice cream, which Charlie and Jacqueline had an absolute riot over. Their bellies full and dessert on their brains, they all did a round of shots.

“To a good night!” Xander said.

The glasses clinked. They cheered. Four shot glasses slammed down onto the wooden table at the same time, a second round ordered.

That’s when the night really began.

---

Hand shaky, Charlie pulled the handle and flushed the toilet. He fell forwards onto the blanket with a soft thunk, drowned out by the rush of the toilet bowl draining and refilling.

The toast was a bad idea. He was absolutely fucked up today, he was realizing. The real question now was, had it been worth it?

He thought of the barbecued ice cream. Totally worth it, he thought.

I disagree, said his stomach, as Charlie found himself staring into the toilet bowl all over again.

---

By the time they finally made it to the beachside karaoke bar, Charlie was absolutely, without a doubt, whatever was between tipsy and drunk.

His recollections were fuzzy now, but he had decent memories of the night before, as he thought about it. It probably had to do with Crystal Springs being the home of the literal source of all magic. The other Legates seemed alright. Dite was definitely buzzed. Jacqueline was without a doubt at least tipsy. Xander seemed okay, though.

“Here we bar!” Xander said. “It’s our favourite are!”

“You mean here we are, it’s our favourite bar?” Jacqueline asked.

“That’s what I said,” Xander replied.

So Xander was also somewhere between tipsy and buzzed, Charlie had thought. He laughed.

“Why is this the favourite bar?” Charlie asked.

“I am so glad you asked!” Dite replied. “The best mixed drinks, the most pleasant atmosphere, it’s right beside the BEACH! AND! It has KARAOKE! WHO’S COMING WITH ME FIRST?” Dite asked. “JACQUELINE, THANKS FOR VOLUNTEERING!”

“I didn’t—”

But the protest was lost as Dite grabbed her hand and flew to the stage, Jacqueline dangling behind her. Charlie and Xander claimed some bar stools and ordered some drinks, watching the duo sing their hearts out, to much applause and singing along!

“Better buck up, Charlie boy! One of us is going to be next.”

“I can buck up alright,” Charlie said and, with the confidence only a drunk teen could have, stood up and yelled, “SHOW ME YOUR BELLY BUTTON, XANDER!”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Bartender! An tequila, please!”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Xander said. “Why do you need my belly button?” The sandman looked mortified, his hands unconsciously pulling his shirt down.

“Body shots, duuuh.”

“No thank you.”

The tequila appeared on the counter. “Suit yourself,” Charlie said, grabbing the tequila and pouring it into one of the empty shot glasses. He downed it, then a second one, then a third one.

“See? I BUCKED UP!”

“I am thoroughly disgusted and yet, oddly impressed.”

“Shanks!”

“Wou’re Yelcome! Wait. That didn’t sound right.” Xander looked perplexed.

“I need a HERO! I’m looking out for a HERO TIL THE END OF THE NIGHT! An’ she’s gotta be fast and she’s gotta be strong and she’s gotta be larger than li—woOP she got me!”

Jacqueline was laughing as Dite grabbed her from behind and swopped her around. Charlie squinted.

“She’s like a sack of potatoes to you, isn’t she?”

“Mmmmm not quite! More like an oddly cold body pillow? A small weighted blanket? No no no those are definitely heavier.”

“Dite is BUFF!” Jacqueline said. “And LARGER THAN LIFE!”

“Well I CAN be but then Charlie’d go insane.”

“Whaddaya mean? Demigods don’t make people go insane, my classics prof said so.”

“FIRST of all,” Dite began, putting Jacqueline down. “If it’s still Carson, he doesn’t know a thing about a thing, okay? SECONDLY, I’m a full goddess! A very minor one but godly on BOTH sides! SURE Mom was HUMAN when I was a FETUS but she’s ALSO A GODDESS now and BECAME one BEFORE I was born so THERE.”

“Oh my god, Dite, have you ever,” Charlie paused to laugh, “Have you ever looked at some dude you’re beating up. And like. And just frosting said this isn’t even my final form and then frosting gone all super sayan and made them go insane?” He was practically choking on laughter now, though something seemed...weird.

Dite frowned. “No, I don’t think so. But I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m messing somebody up!”

“You could mess me up and I’d thank you,” Jacqueline said. She held an orange drink with a little umbrella in her hand. She stared at it intently, the liquid becoming slushier. “Heh. Nice.”

“That makes no sense,” Xander said, looking up from a pyramid of empty shot glasses he had been building. “Why would you thank her for messing you up? I’d be very upset if someone messed me up.”

“Because she’s a pretty badass.”

There was a pause while Xander failed to understand.

“I’m more even confused now!”

“Xander, have some water,” Jacqueline replied. She squirmed out of Dite’s grip and grabbed a glass, magically filling it up with ice.

“There’s no glass in this water.”

“That sounds like a good thing,” Charlie replied.

“Xander I know a perfect song for your confused butt, let’s go,” Dite said, grabbing Xander and rushing off, the young man practically airborne with how fast she was going.

“My pyramid!” He shouted behind him, as the shot glasses fell.

Charlie tried to lurch forwards to stop them from falling and breaking, but only succeeded in causing a dizzy spell and falling off of his stool and into something cold.

“Good thing those are plastic,” Jacqueline said.

“Oh, you’re the something cold!”

She snickered. “I think you need some water too, ginger baby.”

“Ginger baby?”

“Cause Santa is like. A gingerbread man and you’re like. A tiny Santa. What’s the word, it’s my literal job—”

“Legate?”

“YEAH! THAT! Thanks, Charlie. Here’s some water.”

“No, YOU.”

“I’ll have you know this smoothie has none alcohol in it!”

“Still not water,” Charlie said, downing his. Mmm. Refreshing, he thought.

“I make ‘em that way,” Jacqueline replied, wiggling her fingers.

“Oh, I said that out loud?”

“Yeah buddy. Man, you need to get your sleet together.” She leant in close dramatically. “You’re next,” she said. Charlie had nearly paled before noticing her tilt her chin towards Dite and Xander, who were loudly singing along to Short Skirt, Long Jacket.

“That’s like. The least of my tinsel that needs to be put together. I am so frostbitten stressed out Jacquie.” That also sounded weird to him. Why did that sound weird?

“Excuse me bartender, could I get another orange smoothie thing?”

“Of course! Shall I put it on Mr. Frost’s tab?”

Jacqueline snickered. “Yes, absolutely! He’ll pick it up next time he’s in.”

The bartender nodded and brought the smoothie over asap. Jacqueline slid it towards Charlie. “Now dish, Charles.”

“That’s not my name.”

“Really? Your parents just. Named you Charlie?”

“Yeah? What’s so bad about that? I like my name, thank you very much!”

Jacqueline was suddenly very interested in her drink. “You were saying? About how stressed you were? Talk to me, Charlie.”

---

And he had gone OFF, Charlie remembered. He buried his head in his pillow, his comforter cocooned around him. He curled up in his bed, pretty sure that he had nothing left to throw up. The nausea was subsiding, for the most part. As was the haze over the night. He felt his cheeks getting red with how much he had told Jacqueline!

He had gone off about the workload he had this year, and the two reports he had due the same day as a take home exam. That had led into how he couldn’t find a spot to study on campus and he never had that problem back in community college, and how when he tried to study at home his housemates SOMEHOW managed to mess it up. And that had opened up a whole other bag of worms about chores not getting done and dishes being left around and the dog versus cat fight between Cass and Derrick. Which had led into him lamenting how much he missed Danielle, and how stressed he was that he barely had time to see her and how he was trying very hard to hide the fact that his Dad was fucking Santa Claus and then drunk Charlie had decided that then and there was a good time to differentiate the different ways you could say the word “fuck” and it was mortifying.

He recalled several smoothie things going down the hatch, and Dite and Xander popping back in before popping back out—some magibeans had cornered Xander and wanted to see the dream sand do its work and Dite had somehow found a dart and was watching one couple with interest and woah there, he said to himself. These thoughts were becoming incredibly run on.

“Alright Charlie, deep inhale…and hold…and exhale. Breath. Good. It’s fine! It’s really not that embarrassing and Jacqueline would have told me if she didn’t want to hear it…right?”

He closed his eyes, and his train of thought and recollections from last night began to blur together.

---

“Dude, I know that your dad isn’t frosting Santa Claus and that he is Santa and the frost was just added for flavour. I may be censored by magic, but I know my way around the f-word pal.”

“Gosh Jacqueline, I’m just so stressed and TIRED and like. ONE MORE SEMESTER and then I’m DONE and I can take up residency up North with Dad—oh dang. I’m gonna have to pay back my student loans!” Charlie made a very odd noise in his throat, that sounded like a scream that had screamed far too soon. “That’s so many monies!”

“Like, how much monies? I have a huge collection of pirate booty in my closet, do you want me to help you at all—”

Charlie’s hand shot up, and landed on Jacqueline’s entire face. “Sssshhhhh, It’s FINE! It’s my responsibility I gotta take it! And do it myself!”

“Alright, alright, chill out,” Jacqueline said, picking up his wrist and dropping his hand. “Look Charlie, you’re almost done! You’re so close! And your last semester is next right? Or do they do quarters…”

“’s semesters and ye, you’re right, but like. It's just a lot, you know? Do you know?”

“Charlie I may be old as sleet but I know, dude. I’ve been around, experienced stuff, whatever. Anyway, you got a lot going on. It frostbitten sucks pal. Next one’s on me, alright?”

“Oh kay, cool cool cool cool cool.”

“I GOT THEM!” Dite said, flying over to the pair and stirring up quite the breeze. “Look at them CUDDLE!” she nearly squealed with excitement. Sure enough, the couple from earlier was getting really cozy in the booth.

“Nice one, Dites.”

“Thank you, Charlie! It’s ma job,” she said, with a wink.

“A fruity one for the lady? Make it pink?” Jacqueline asked the bartender.

“Sure thing,” he said, zipping away. A pink smoothie arrived around the same time Xander did, dusting dream sand off of his pants.

“It really sticks to non-dream sand clothes,” he murmured. “Miss did I what?”

“I’ll catch you both up,” Jacqueline said gently.

Charlie was chewing his straw. He wasn’t paying attention to what Jacqueline was saying. He was too busy thinking about everything he had just told Jacqueline, and also wondering where Dite had gotten the dart from, and there was something…else brimming just below the surface that he didn’t quite understand. He ordered an old fashioned and was nearly halfway through it when a tap on his shoulder broke him out of his silent thoughts.

“Hey Charlie,” Dite said softly, smiling sweetly. “It’s your turn.”

“For what?”

“Karaoke of course! And since this is your first time out with us, I’ll let you pick the song,” she said, winking and leaning in close.

Charlie started laughing the moment the thought came into his head. “Do you know…fff…d’you know. What would be….fffhAhaHA…so god dang funny??” he broke down into a giggle fit.

“What would?”

He whispered it into Dite’s ear, laughing now. She grinned, wings fluttering. “Let’s go let’s do it RIGHT NOW—Jacqueline, you’re gonna LOVE this!”

And Charlie had been rushed away by the goddess, Xander and Jacquie sharing a look. Charlie had made sure to look directly at the pair as the song he had so carefully chosen rang out around the bar. A collective groan resounded. Jacqueline snorted, blue smoothie coming out of her nose. Xander brightened—quite literally.

“I song this love!” he shouted. “Good choice, Charlie!”

“WE’RE NO STRANGERS TO LOOOOOVE,” Charlie belted out. “YOU KNOW THE RULES AND SOO DO I!”

They had only just made it to the course when the bouncer came over. “NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP, NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWWWWN,” Charlie remembered singing as the large orc stopped at the base of the stage. He was confused, and kept singing, glancing over to the other two Legates. Jacqueline was doubled over, coughing and laughing; Xander was hitting her back.

“Can we at least finish the song?” Dite asked the orc.

“…alright, fine.”

“NEVER GONNA TELL A LIE, AND HURTT YOU!”

The song ended and the Orc waited for them by the stairs. He put a firm hand on each shoulder. “Our policy states that when the rick rolling starts, you’ve had too much. Great rendition though, one of the best I’ve heard. We’ll be seeing you Legates, yeah?” he said as they passed through the door.

“Of course!” Dite said. “See you next time, Fred!”

Fred the Orc nodded, popping back in and coming out with Xander and Jacqueline, who was still laughing.

“You frostbitten RICK ROLLED them! I’m dying that was hilarious!”

“I never understood that policy,” Xander said as he was placed down. “It’s a good song.”

“Xander do you know what a meme is?” Charlie asked.

“Pardon me?”

---

Charlie chuckled, curled up in his bed. That had been. Hilarious and he definitely didn’t regret that. Though it was a good policy for cutting people off, he thought. He couldn’t quite recall how he had explained the concept of a meme to Xander, but sometime between the start of his explanation and the end, they had made it to their final stop of the night.

---

At first, he wasn’t sure if it was his sight or just the way the place looked. But as they approached, Charlie realized it was, in fact, the way this club looked.

It was like nothing he had ever seen before. The building was surrounded by sand—as most things in the Southern Province were, Charlie was learning—and completely open concept. There wasn’t even a DOOR, it was just an archway with two burly nearly human looking people blocking it. He squinted. They kind of had wolfish features…oh! OH!

“Dude,” Charlie whispered to whoever was beside him. “Are those werewolf guards? Werewolves are REAL?!”

“Well yes, of course they’re real! They’re as real as you or me, Charlie. And nearly look just as human as us!”

Charlie did a triple take to see who was at his side. “Whaddabout your wings? That’s not very human looking.”

“Or is it?” Dite teased.

Charlie squinted, nearly crashing into one of the guards. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it kid. ID please?”

“Oh…uh…” Charlie pated his pockets before pulling out his wallet. “Here. I’m not from here but I swear my ID is real and not a fake.”

“Don’t worry about it, we see magibeans from all over, kid. Looks good, here you go. And here’s your glow bracelet—that’ll let you move in and out of the place freely. Enjoy!”

“And don’t forget the complimentary sunglasses if you folks are prone to eyestrain or seizures,” the other guard said, holding out four pairs of sunglasses.

Jacqueline and Dite pulled out their own. Xander grabbed a pair, thanking the guard, and passed one over to Charlie.

They walked in and Charlie had to lift his jaw from the floor. The music was loud, and there were magibeans everywhere from all over, just like the guard had said! There were the usual fairies and pixies, and an elf or two here and there, and a whole host of other beings! Two dragons were flying around above everyone, glow bracelets all over their wings and scales and legs, intertwining with each other to the beat of the music. The building didn’t have a roof, but it had several levels of dance floor, covered with magibeans. The structures were dark but the floors were flashing all sorts of colours. Lights on the walls moved about, in all sorts of colours, going in and out of each other and shining throughout the different parts of the club.

Charlie threw on his shades, glad Xander had grabbed them for him. “Guys I am losing my MIND-O!”

“I just gave you happening, that should NOT be sunglasses!”

“No like not literally! I’m just. This really is tons of fun and so different and colourful and the breeze through the building? That’s excellent! This is excellent! Thank you so, soo much guys I am APPRECIATE!”

“You’re welcome Charlie! We’re so happy to have you with us tonight!” Dite said, her wings fluttering happily. She squished her hands together, the biggest grin on her face.

“What did I tell ya, Charlie boy-o? Legate style,” Jacqueline said with a silly little shoulder shimmy.

“This place needs some DREAM SAND,” Xander shouted, and suddenly the place was covered in golden sand, revealing the structure to be not as dark as Charlie had initially thought, and a little bit on the rocky side of things. The dream sand wove through the crowds, taking on different shapes and forms as each dancer touched it. It glinted in the lights, leaving the place hazy. Cheers erupted all around. “What are we waiting for, Legates? Shall we?”

Time blurred together as Charlie danced his butt off. Drink stations were all over the place, people moving freely in and out to enjoy the sand and the water just outside. The breeze running through the place took the edge off of the heat, and offered a nice respite when Charlie had tuckered himself out from dancing. He wandered to one of the open archways, enjoying the view. The moon was up in the sky, shining brightly down on the ocean. The water glinted, reflecting all of the stars in the sky, the icebergs in the distance tall shadows floating across the backdrop.

“Now that is a view I could get used to.”

“The icebergs really make it,” Jacqueline added, joining Charlie. She leaned on the other side of the archway, sipping a tall cold glass of something clear (Charlie was unsure if it was water or more alcohol).

“Dude, how are we not like DEAD right now? We have had. Many alcohols. I mean you guys are all magic so like, you don’t die of alcohol? But how am I not dead. Of alcohol.”

“Well, for starters don’t be so down on yourself. You’re a magihuman, after all. A human who’s magical, that is. So that definitely plays a part. They've also been giving you water all night. They're really good about that here, since it tends to be the final destination for most of the party goers—hence the name! The Final Destination! Plus, the mist from the springs gets EVERYWHERE and since the source of magic is here, that is, in the springs, and the water is all over the place, I think it helps curb the copious amounts we drink? I’ll definitely sleep more than four hours tonight let me tell you, and I’m sure this is going to knock out Xander.”

“Like the time with the coffee!”

“Yeah! That was funny, right into the tray—”

“The mashed potatoes went ALL OVER JACOB!”

“It’s what he deserved,” Jacqueline added, as Charlie laughed. “Anyway! Xander may be the Sandman who never sleeps, but he can sleep and will after this. He’ll make his old man proud with the amount of snoring he’ll be doing tomorrow, that’s for sure.”

“Heh. Nice.” Charlie drank more drink. Water good he thought.

“Want me to top you off?” Jacqueline said, wiggling her fingers. Ice cubes appeared in the cup.

“Thanks,” Charlie said, scanning the beach as he slurped from the straw. The ice melted FAST here. He scanned past the people standing in the waves gently lapping the shore, the handful of younger fae who may or may not have been skinny dipping, some outside dancers, a group of witches playing volleyball, a huge group of people surrounding a path of coals—wait, what?

"Is that a—are they walking on FIRE?!" Charlie said, straw from his drink still in his mouth.

"Yeap," Jacqueline replied. "It's a big thing in the South. It's used for tons of stuff. Healing, team building, confidence building, rite of passage—I think they're doing it for entertainment right now," she finished, squinting. "Or team building—Charlie? Where are you going?"

He had already crossed the room and was at the archway entrance. "I'm gonna WALK ON THOSE COALS!"

"Wait a minute Charlie, wait a minute!"

He heard a scrape and felt a rush of cold air as Jacqueline caught up to him. "Are you sure about that? They're hot as heck."

"I'm POSITIVE."

"You're also not heat resistant?"

"Excuse me, sir! I'd like to do that walking thing," Charlie said, gesturing to the path of coals.

"Of course," the faun said, gesturing to the coals. "Have you done this before?"

"Nope," Charlie said, approaching the walkway.

"Let me give you some guidance then first—uh…excuse me? Hey, sir! Sir you forgot—"

Charlie had already begun walking onto the coals. "Look! I'm doing it! This is SICK!"

"Miss Frost, are his—?"

"Yes. They absolutely are. I'm so sorry, he's a bit uh…he's a magi-human."

"Ah," the faun replied, as if that explained it.

Jacqueline cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled. "CHARLIE! CHARLIE, YOUR SHOES!"

"WHAT ABOUT THEM?" he yelled back, stopping his walk and turning in place.

"THEY'RE STILL ON AND YOU’RE STANDING IN A FLAME!"

"Huh—oh! Oh, silver bells! Silver bells fruitcake silver bells!" He had booked it off to the side right then and there, the sand around them putting out the flames of his running shoes. A good thing, too—they were a bit on fire and he wasn't heat resistant, like Jacqueline had said. "YEET," he yelled, tossing the shoes far away once they were off of his feet. They hit the ground with a soft thunk.

"Oh, that's a nice breeze," Charlie said, as Jacqueline appeared beside him.

"Thanks, I'm my own walking AC unit." she winced. "I think you did a number on your shoes," she said, heading towards them.

"Nah! It's fine! The sand took care of it!"

"Guess again, buddy."

"NO, I'm Charlie, Buddy is my brother, you know tha—oh, silver bells! My shoes!"

Jacqueline had held them in her hands. They were pretty melted, and charred in a couple places. The shoelaces had burnt off.

"That fire walk was definitely lit by Aunt Summer if it did that to your shoes."

"Wait a second. What did I just say? Silver bells? What? No, that's not what I wanted to say. What the fruitcake? WAIT! I meant fruitcake, not fruitcake—wait." That’s what had sounded weird all night! But why was it happening? His brow furrowed as he tried to piece it all together.

"It's the source. We're not sure if it's the source of magic that doesn't like swearing, or the goddess herself, but either way magic censors us big time here. So instead of saying frostbite or sleet, you say frostbite, or sleet. Or, if you’re a Christmas magic person, silver bells and fruitcake, I suppose," Jacqueline shrugged, grinning cheekily.

"Huh."

"Oh! Oh, do you know what that means?" Jacqueline asked, excited now.

"I can't say the fruitcake word?"

"It means you are OFFICIALLY a MAGICAL PERSON!" Jacqueline said, giving him a very tight hug and managing to lift him a few inches off the ground. "HECK YEAH! YOU GET CENSORED NOW TOO!"

"Oh! Hugs!” Dite yelled, low flying towards them and hugging their hug. “What did I miss?" Dite asked, squishing the daylights out of them.

"Charlie can’t swear, so now he's definitely magic," Jacqueline said. Dite had dropped them and Charlie had, unfortunately, landed on his butt not very gracefully.

"My shoes died," he pouted.

"That's rough, buddy," Xander said, arriving on the scene now with his own drink. It was in a coconut.

"I'm Charlie, not Buddy."

"Need a hand there?" Xander offered.

"Thanks bro," Charlie replied, grabbing it and pulling himself up. With a lot more help from Xander than anticipated, he realized now.

“A full-on Legate! How exciting!” Dite said, clapping and hovering once more.

“I’m not as Legaty as you guys though,” Charlie said, laying down in the sand.

“I just helped you up why would you go back into the sand? It's not even dream sand just boring. Beach sand—”

“Xander, sweetie, he’s choosing to lay in the sand,” Dite said.

“Talk to us Charlie,” Jacqueline said, plopping down in the sand beside him, putting her arms under her head.

“It’s just. Like. You do the swooshy ice things, right? And Dite,” he said, as she lay down gently, her wings whooshing sand everywhere, “She even works when she doesn’t have to!”

“I just. Love love. So much.”

“If we’re going to lay down in the sand then at least let me make it comfortable,” Xander said, laying down in the sand with a thunk, palms down and fingers spread. His hands glowed, and the sand under them lit up and did, in fact, get surprisingly more comfortable.

“And then Xander does that! Just casually! You guys are all so much more legatey than me, you even LOOK legatey—”

“You look like your Dad too, y’know,” said Dite. “Just because you don’t have a big white beard doesn’t make you any less of a Legate.”

“You’re even censored now!” Jacqueline said.

“Zzzzzzz,” said Xander.

“Oh my god, he’s asleep,” Charlie said, distracted.

“So it begins,” Jacqueline said, Dite giggling.

“Should we like, wake him?”

“Nah,” Jacqueline replied. “Let’s just kick back and enjoy the stars.”

“Look! The milky way!”

“Maybe I’ll grow a beard,” Charlie said, snuggling into the sand.

“It might suit you. But you don’t need to look the part to be a Legate Charlie. I won’t be a small old grouch when I’m Cupid. And Jacqueline's gonna be a great Jack Frost! Which is more we can say about our current Jack Frost’s status, all things considered—no offense Jacquie!”

She snorted. “Please, I’m the first one in line when it comes to talking about how Jack half assed the job for a solid five hundred years.”

“We can say ass?”

“On occasion, yes!”

“And Charlie, you know, you’ve already done a lot as Santa’s Legate!”

“Yeah! Jacquie’s right! You helped us save the Legends from Erebus and Willow!”

“We never would’ve snuck in if we hadn’t done it Charlie style! And The elves won’t shut up about the things you helped them innovate when you were like, seven, dude! That’s impressive! That’s pre-Legate years, too! Before I was a Legate I mostly wreaked havoc and froze my Dad to the floor a lot.”

“He didn’t immediately melt the cold stuff?”

“I think he was humouring me.”

It was silent. Xander's snores permeated the air, the gentle lapping of the shore and far off beats from Final Destination the only things heard in the silence.

“A beard would suit you! But not the Santa beard just yet,” Dite began. “If you want to fast grow a beard, I know a guy. He has questionable methods and isn’t the greatest in matching materials to the person. Like. C'mon buddy, your son is GAY and he wants to GET WITH APOLLO, DON’T USE WAX FOR THE WINGS! DON’T!”

“Dite you never cease to amaze me,” Jacqueline said.

“Maybe I need some more red,” Charlie began.

“OH! I’VE GOT IT!” Dite said, shooting up.

“I’m awake! I was never sleeping! Sleep is a lie!” Xander said, shooting up.

“LET’S DYE YOUR HAIR RED!” Dite finished.

“YES!” Charlie said, shooting up as well.

“Oh my goddess I cannot WAIT to see how this backfires,” Jacqueline said, getting up and dusting sand off of her legs.

“It wouldn’t shoe to get Charlie new hurt, either,” Xander said, the sand coming off of him with a wave of his hand.

“Right! Getting Charlie new shoes! A very good idea!” Dite said.

“Is that not what I said?”

“You’re still doing the word switcheroo there, bud.”

“Ah. Apologies Charlie, didn’t mean to imply that we should give you more hurt!”

“I have enough as it is,” Charlie half-joked.

“You all need more water,” Jacqueline said. Before anyone could reply, she was running full speed into the water. “CANON BALL!”

“IT’S CHEATING IF YOU FLY UP FIRST!” Charlie shouted, grinning and running in behind her.

Dite laughed and flew straight up, dive bombing in and splashing the other two. Xander waded into the shallows and waited for the three of them to stop splashing around.

“When the three of you are done, shall we head to WUTSNESS?”

“What’s What’s-Ness?”

“WUTSNESS!” Dite corrected.

“It’s how you say the first letters of WTSNS. Which is short for Where The Sun Never Sets which is basically a cross between a non-magibean Wal-Mart and a Costco.”

“Like Wal-Mart, WTSNS has everything,” Xander explained. “The difference being that like Costco, the managers at WUTSNESS treat the magibeans working there like magibeans and pay them a liveable wage, make sure they aren’t overworked, and they have insurance and a very good union!”

“In that case,” Charlie said, shaking off like a dog once he was back on the shore. “TO WHAT’S NESS!”

“WUTSNESS,” everyone corrected.

“The letter U is bull-tinsel and I dunno why Crystal Springs and Canada BOTH use it so much. Fruitcake that letter in particular!”

---

That was the last clear memory Charlie had.

He woke up, groggy, everything else coming back in hazy patches.

WUTSNESS was bright, and big, and clean and tidy and staffed entirely by vampires for the night shift. Dite had tried really hard to talk him out of bright red hair dye. Jacqueline had disappeared while they contemplated hair dye and reappeared with several pairs of shoes, and Charlie had picked the nice dark blue ones that now sat at the front door.

Xander had bought a ton of snacks, and once Charlie picked hair dye and they had left the store, things got real gross real fast.

“That’s a lot of vomit,” he remembered Jacqueline saying.

“Let’s get him home,” Xander had said.

Charlie was 90% sure that Dite had carried him home all by herself, which did not surprise him. She was built, despite her soft appearance. Charlie had once watched her bench press Jacqueline, and had seen her use Xander and Jacqueline as dumbbells. She was impressive as fuck.

He grinned a bit. It was nice to swear again.

But what the heck had happened after that?

There was a knock on his door.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Cass. Mind if I come in?”

Charlie grunted. His door opened, and Cass came in.

“Is that a DOG?”

“Her name is chocolate,” Cass said. “She’s very friendly.”

Chocolate was a huge lab, and she immediately jumped onto Charlie’s bed. He had always been a dog person, and immediately pet the crap out of Chocolate, who enjoyed it immensely. The dog snuggled up against Charlie, happily lying down.

“Did I miss something?”

“I was getting up when the Legates appeared at the front door,” Cass said. “Hedone recognized me, thankfully, and the other two dropped their guard.”

“I got home that late?”

“It was just after six,” Cass said. “AM. I felt like something nutty was about to happen so I headed downstairs and poof! Three old friends and a completely drunk Charlie.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Cass said, sitting down on Charlie’s desk chair. “I asked why you were home, cause I had seen you staying at your Dad’s all week. According to Jacqueline, you insisted.”

“I dunno if I wanna hear the rest of this,” Charlie said, nuzzling the dog.

“I’ll stop then. I have to get Chocolate back to the shelter in a bit anyway, but I figured since Derrick wasn’t home, you’d appreciate doggo cuddles.”

“Oh my god, do I ever.” A pause. “I bet that she could win Derrick over.”

Cass laughed. “And he’ll find a cat that can win me over. Then we can have the best of both worlds, huh?”

There was something about that phrase, Charlie thought, before making a decision. “Actually, I think I do want to hear the rest.”

“If you insist!”

---

Cass had stopped at the stairs like a deer in headlights when a whirl of blue sparks and snowflakes had appeared just past the front door and turned into four whole people. She could tell from their auras who they were immediately: Charlie’s magical friends (you can’t hide that sort of thing from someone with sight). Jacqueline and Xander immediately called up projectiles when they saw her. Hedone—Dite, Cass corrected, (best use a goddess’s preferred name so as not to incur their wrath, her grandmother had said) immediately recognized her, and brightened.

“Hello Cass! You two can drop the balls,” she added.

“Pfft hahaha balls. That’s. That’s—” Charlie retched, putting his hand in front of his mouth.

“Here comes round four!” Jacquie shouted.

“Let’s get this recovery into man position!” Xander shouted. “To his bed!”

“NO! No just. Couch, please.” Charlie said, having stifled the vomit.

“Could you grab a bucket for us please, Cass?”

“Uh-yeah, sure.”

“Anyway, phrasing, Dite,” Charlie said, just before retching again. Cass had only just made it in time with the bucket, and thankfully, Charlie hadn’t missed. “You too Xander, watch your. Your phrasing. Man position in bed...heh. Gross!”

“Couldn't agree more,” said Xander.

Cass watched as a surprisingly yawny Xander carefully placed Charlie into recovery position.

“There we go. That should do it.”

“That was all SPIT! There is nothing left inside of my me, holy fuck, I wanna sleep!”

“I can help with that. Just stay put in that position...excellent! POOF!”

Golden sand billowed out from Xander’s palm, surrounding Charlie's head. He was out in moments, breathing deeply and thankfully, sleeping still.

“That should also keep him from moving out of the recovery position,” Xander said, slowly and carefully as if he had to think really hard about every word.

“Apparently I missed something?” Cass finally said.

“We took Charlie out for a night on the magic town,” Dite said. “We had fun! Charlie got a little—”

“A lot—”

“Drunk—”

“Absolutely frostbitten wasted—”

“BUT! He had fun! And I think he’s a lot less stressed right now.”

“His stress levels are down by about 70% I’d say, judging by how fast he fell asleep.” Xander yawned. “That couch looks mighty comfortable.”

“I think we need to get you home now too. Oh! Almost forgot! We have some stuff for Charlie. We’re just gonna leave it by the couch for him, so he sees it when he’s up,” Dite said, putting a neatly wrapped note and a box of hair dye—hair dye?! At the corner by Charlie’s feet.

“The conversion rate on a good quality piece of eight is CRAZY! I should deposit,” Jacqueline mussed, throwing a blanket on top of Charlie. “And we should still totally dye his hair.”

“Jacqueline he couldn’t possibly make a clear, cohesive, decision about it right now. He just laughed at me saying ‘drop the balls’. I think that speaks for itself, don’t you?”

“It’s a little funny,” Jacqueline said with a grin.

“I’ll make sure the guys don’t mess with it,” Cass said, having finally processed what she was seeing.

“Don’t mess with what?”

They turned to the stairs and froze, as Brian and Derrick were both making their way downstairs. Cass felt celestial magic settle around them. Dite must’ve cast a glamour on them.

Sure enough when Cass turned around, she was met with the very human trio that they had all initially met in first year: Amy, Alex, and Jackie. No frozen hair, no pointed ears, no wings and no glowing sandmen. Just three definitely human people, yup.

“Jackie! Amy! Alex! Hey dudes, what’s up!”

“We’re just heading out actually, Alex is crashing.”

“Big time but please don’t tell anybody I said that, I have a no-sleep reputation to keep up.”

“We all have nights like that dude,” Derrick said.

“Actually,” Jackie said, a current of ice in her voice. “I have a bone to pick with the lot of you. If you all have a moment?”

---

“She didn’t.”

“She DID! She went HAM on all of us for not doing the chores or pulling our weight and told Derrick and I that we should compromise on the cat and dog thing and you should have seen Brian and Derrick, they were absolutely gobsmacked. Brian actually did ALL the dishes!”

“All of them?!”

“Yeah! All of them!” Cass paused. “Jacqueline made a lot of good points. Sorry for not pulling my weight around here, and being so stubborn about the dog and cat thing. I cleaned the shower finally, and I’ll try to be quieter when you’re studying.”

“Oh. Well, thanks Cass. That means a lot! Apology accepted,” Charlie said, scratching the ears of the dog. “Hey Chocolate, can you go give Cass hugs from me? Go on! Hug her!”

Chocolate bounded off of the bed and ran to Cass, jumping up on her legs and licking her face.

“Alright alright cut it out! Those gross slobbery kisses make me really think Derrick has a point about cats.”

“Maybe you should tell him that?” Charlie said, sitting up in a blanket bundle now.

“Maybe. Anyway, I gotta go bring her back to the shelter.”

"She can live in my room! I’ll walk her and everything!”

Cass laughed. “We’ll have a house meeting first and discuss how everyone feels, and THEN maybe we can keep her.”

“Ou, so mature,” Charlie said.

Cass laughed. “Feel better, nerd.”

“Thanks, dork.”

Charlie pulled his blanket tighter around him. He sniffed. He smiled. His phone vibrated. It was somehow still in his pocket. He did a little shimmy and was able to grasp the case, pulling it out of his pocket. He loosened his hold on the blanket as he read the text

Hey love, I got a text from your friend Amy! She said that you weren’t feeling too great and taking a day off. I’m heading over now with snacks and your favourite Christmas films. Not Even God Could Stop Me rn so don’t you even try ;) Love you! See you soon!

Charlie grinned at the plethora of hearts and kissy faces and the one poop emoji that had snuck its way in.

I wouldn’t let him stop you. See ya soon! Love you too!

Jacqueline was right. He just needed to destress! He really had needed that night out and evidently, his friends had made sure of it. Xander had given him a good night’s rest, Jacqueline had whipped his housemates into shape, and Dite had made sure he got that sweet, sweet SO time in even after the three of them had also gotten magibean drunk last night and made sure to take very good care of him.

It was quite the balancing act, but Charlie was beginning to think he really would be able to have the best of both worlds.

[mx-3nglish]

Pirates Treasure (Pirate AU) Part 7

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6

Summary: A young pirate captain by the name of Anthony Lockwood manages to stumble across a mermaid. After a while, he starts to get attached to the enchanting creature against his best friend - George Cubbins- advice. As if that wasn’t problem enough, rival pirates want the glory of finding a mermaid all for their own. What is Captain Lockwood going to have to go through to keep the mermaid he calls “Lucy”?

In the end, Captains word is law. Therefore, the mermaid had become a member of the crew. Months were spent teaching Lucy basic language and basic human social aspects (such as wearing cloths). Over time, she became a pirate like the two men who had taught her, along with the occasional help from Skully. It begrudgingly helped her understand basic language and certain reasons why she could and couldn’t do certain things. She became a pretty convincing human. The only thing that differed her was when she came in contact with any form of water. This made storms a big problem.

Over the coarse of these months, George and Lucy had actually formed a mutual friendship. They supplied each other with information. She had told him what he wanted to know about the sea and other potentially real creatures. In return, he told her about the human world and all of its nick knacks. Throughout their social link, they learned a lot about each other and their respective worlds.

Though despite George doing all of the research on her, Lockwood remained the most interested in the now pirate.

Her past, her home, her family, her thoughts, her wishes, her hopes, her likes, her dislikes. The pirate captain wanted to know everything. After all, she wasn’t human.

George’s biggest concern remained that Lucy was charming Lockwood. She was using some sort of magic on him to make him favor her. And more than once had that gotten the two into an argument.

One thing that Lucy knew to be true about her own kind was that her songs were dangerous. If she sang and someone heard it, they would be drawn to her, but only if she sang of something they wished for. For all of this, she never sang. She just didn’t want to risk it. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Lucy sighed, looking at her captain as he ordered the men around the deck. It was dusk and everyone needed to secure the ship before going to bed.

Lockwood was strong, and often helped the men who were having troubles with heavier artillery. With the extra body heat produced and the hotness of summer, he didn’t have his trademark long trench coat on. He wore his light attire; a white, loose-fitting shirt, light fabric paints and his normal boots. His hair was slightly messy, but it never seemed to harm his appearance. He had his sleeves rolled up past his elbows to allow him more mobility, and somehow make him more attractive.

Lucy gazed at the man, admiring him from afar. She just couldn’t deny that this man was beyond handsome. And he was a respectable gentleman, not to mention just how talented he was. And his smile...

His smile had this ability to melt Lucy where she stood. It made her question if he wasn’t some sort of creature rather than a human. But they way the sun seemed to reflect off of his perfect white teeth; they reminded her of pearls. And the way that the rest of his face seemed to just carry on with the smile. His eyes light up and overpower the sun, his pale face makes everything else strangely distant. No matter what, when he smiled, Lucy believed that they could succeed.

Lockwood looked up to her from where he was working. He smiled his dazzling smile and waved at her. Lucy smiled and waved back, her face feeling hotter than before.

“Oh? What’s this?” A raspy whisper called out in her mind. “Could it be you are...”

Lucy looked to the floating decapitated skull in the jar. A ghostly face appeared, overlapping the skull. Lucy looked at it with a baffled expression.

“What are you talking about?” Lucy asked it. The pair were situated on the main deck by the helm. The jar was rested on the railing of the ship while red, pink, orange, green, blue, and purple tints graced Lucys’ form.

It chuckled. “You’re fond of the captain, aren’t you?” Lucys’ cheeks lit up and she scoffed, looking away, muttering insults to it.

“You are! You are! You love the fool, don’t you?” It answered its own question. “Well, you are the only female here, so it doesn't seem like you have any competition.”

“Lucy!” Lockwood called to her. She turned to see him running up to her. When he raised his eyes to her, worry filled the normally happy brown orbs.

“Lucy, are you okay? Do you need water?” He checked.

‘Do you need water’ was code for allowing her some time to just soak in water to let her tail take form. Lucy had stated time and time again that walking, no matter where, felt like she was walking on shards of glass. The pain caused her to barely ever change out of her mermaid form before she was caught. To save her sanity from the pain, Lockwood and George had the code implemented when the pain became to unbearable for her.

“No, I’m fine...” She didn’t want to look at his worried eyes. They would surely make her admit what the skull just told her. She grabbed it off of the ledge and began walking to her quarters. Because she was the only woman on board, she needed a different room away from the men for her to change, sleep, bathe, and soak in.

“Are you sure? You’re red.” He pointed out. “Come on. Perhaps you need to cool off.”

The ghost in her arms chuckled.

“‘Cool off’. Of anything, I think you’re only going to get even more heated up!” It laughed. She ignored it.

“No, I’m fine.” She repeated. He looked at her and relaxed. 

“If you say so.” He placed a hand on her arm, beginning to guide her from the deck. His hand traveled from her arm to her back, gently guiding her aimlessly around the deck. The ghost in her arms traded snarky and very unhelpful comments.

“Oooh, a nice stroll around the ship? Could this be a sort of date?” It snickered. Lucy tried to ignore it.

“We’re going to be arriving at a nearby town in about three months.” He mentioned, making small talk. 

“Town?” He peaked her interest. Of course, it made her slightly nervous. Some humans weren’t as nice as her captain was.

“Have you ever been to a town?” He questioned. She shook her head.

“Aw, poor Lucy. It might be a bit different from life on the ocean. It would be best if you stick close to your boyfriend.” It taunted. She was starting to think it would be best to just toss the jar overboard.

“Then you might want to stick with me. Some men can be quite rude when they see beautiful women.” He smiled at her. She melted before him, his dazzling smile had her almost enchanted.

“Ha! What did I say? Sure you get all pissy with me, but the moment your precious Lockwood says anything-” She had enough of the skulls’ sarcasm. Her face turned sower as she violently began shaking the jar up and down.

“And why don’t you learn to mind your damn business!” She let out a literal growl. Lockwood quickly took the jar from her.

“Luce, calm down! What did it say?” He asked. He didn’t get a coherent response. She was too busy trying to steal the skull back to chuck it overboard.

He gave up trying to figure out what the skull said that made her so mad after a few minutes. Lucy had a bit of a temper on her and it was always best to let her cool off before trying to talk to her again.

“Lucy.” He tried getting her attention, “Why don’t I keep the skull tonight? That way it won’t bother you while you’re trying to sleep.” She growled again while the skull snickered at her. She gave up after trying to jump up to reach the skull a few times and failing miserably. She crossed her arms and let out a huff of air.

“Fine. I’m going to bed then.” She turned briskly and left. For a moment, Lockwood wondered if she was mad at him and not the skull.

He turned the skull to look at him, the ghostly face still very prominent.

“What did you say to her?” He asked. It simply gave him a devious smirk before fading back to wherever the ghost went.

[macabreerudition]

Have a Santastic Day - Chapter 1

The weather outside casts the perfect excuse for you to stay inside. You take this as a sign to go to your favorite coffee shop. They have recently hired a pair of monsters as baristas. They are working most days since monsters were not yet covered by minimum wage laws, therefore they earn less than humans. You often have prayed that the lawmakers would be intelligent and humane enough to correct that issue. The two girls have always been chipper to see their regulars and were a great pair of salespeople. Their rhyming names always stuck to the tip of your tongue until you could read the alligator girl’s name tag.

As soon as you stick your head into the warm shop, out of the dreary weather outside, Bratty greets you with her (odd enough) valley girl accent. “Oh, it’s like, _____!”

From the back counter her sister from another mister, Catty cheers, “Ohmygah, hi, _____!” She finishes the current customer’s coffee and hands it to him. “Like, have a good day, Burgerpants!” she cheers. Her kitty grin seems, even more, chipper today.

The orange tom cat monster groans and asks her to not call him that. He nods a greeting to you as he sips his coffee. After a pause to swallow the warm liquid, he smirks and asks, “Staying here for the day, ____?” You feel as though you have walked into an episode of Cheers. You nod and approach the counter and grin at the orange tom slid up beside you, “We’re still on for game night, Thursday, right?”

“Yeah, of course, man,” you answer and tap his nose. “Unless you’re gonna be a scared cat…”

He huffs in mock offense before sputtering out,“What? Me? I’d never let a group of mindless golems take my team down.” He leans in and purrs with an actual purr, “Especially for a certain archery girl that I have been keeping my eye on.” You laugh and push his face away to his slight chagrin. “You have a good day, (first letter of name). I’ll see you around.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you chuckle, waving at him. “Stay out of trouble, cool cat.” You grin at his soft cough and shy glance away as he heads out the door. If he weren’t always smoking and hitting on everything that moves, I’d consider it. You wave at the gator girl, Bratty and giggle, “How have you been today?”

“It’s been, like, super dead today,” Bratty begins, letting Catty take over the answer, without hesitation.

The purple cat-like girl giggles from the blender as she fills up a cup of a smoothie for the drive-thru,”Yeah, and we’re, like, so bored, here. It’s so lame without someone around, ya know?”

“Yeah, that’s why we love it when you come around,” Bratty continues. “So, the usual?” She means if you were going to the house coffee that you usually covered up with sugar and creamer. It was cheap and you got free refills for it. But, you're craving something sweeter today.

You glance up and see that their menu has expanded since the last time you were here… or the last time you actually looked at the board. You shake your head, “How about a cappuccino? Frozen?”

“We have caramel, french vanilla, mocha, or mint chocolate for those, so far!” Catty cheers from the other side of the bakery display.  She starts rearranging the scones with altered plastic gloves on. The alteration was primitive, making them plastic mitts, but it still allows the girls to work with proper sanitation protocols. “I suggest the mocha, it’s so delicious!”

“Ohmygosh, yes,” coos Bratty. “Or, the vanilla one is really good with, like, the orange-cranberry scones. I love the combination so much!”

“I’ll take those,” you chirp, feeling the overflow of energy from the pair. “That sounds interesting.” You know that Bratty and Catty usually have a good sense of taste. “Have you had more business since you guys opened up at least?” You lean against the partition on the serving station as Bratty rings you up. Her painted claws types out the prices and adds tax after figuring it on a worn out calculator. She tells you a simple 'thanks' as you pay two dollars and some change, telling her to split the remainder with Catty.

After receiving your goods, you bring your bag and jacket to your previously claimed corner of four large, squat armchairs around a square wood table. You curl into the corner and a boot up your computer. After a few moments of fighting with wires, your earbuds are plugged in and placed into your ears. The world slowly fades.

After a half-hour of working, you are distracted by a small, scaly claw waving over the top of your computer. You pause and save everything before responding. You smile at the squat dinosaur monster and ask sweetly, “Yes?”

She fiddles with her own claws and asks in a raspy, squeaky voice, “I’m-I’m so sorry to bother you.” What a nervous little thing. I feel like I should know her... “B-but, I n-noticed that you are here al-almost every day. An-and, you seem really cool from wh-what the baristas say… and…” She pauses to look, back to a blue fishwoman. She gives bright, shark-toothed smile and a thumbs up, holding a box of pastries and a cup carrier with three cups with her freehand. She nods and continues, “I was wondering if you would like to hang out with my girlfriend and our friends and me sometime?”

You blink and look to the fish punk with some curiosity. She raises a brow and waves a hand towards you with a crooked grin. You shrug and nod, answering gently, “You both seem friendly, why not?”

“Re-really?” the clementine dino-dragon nerd enthusiastically asks. “M-may I… may I see your phone?” After you hand it to her, she motions for her girlfriend over and they take a selfie together. The fishlady kisses her girlfriend’s blushing cheek before the light flashed. The dragon? huffs and types onto your phone. Her girlfriend barks a boisterous laugh. “I-I added myself there… with our picture.” She hands it back and blushes darker before adding, “Oh! I’m Alphys and this is my girlfriend. “ You nod and raise a brow at the familiarity that you felt from seeing them together, even.

“I’m Undyne,” the aquatic maid introduces herself in a rough, airy tone. She holds her hand out with a smug grin. You take her hand, only to gasp out your name as she crushes your hand. “Sorry, I’m not used to wimps,” she chuckles with a sympathetic expression. She glances down when her girlfriend elbows her in the hip, glances at what Alphys was pointing out, and immediately groans. “You may be cool, but you and another nerd in our group will like each other. You both like puns.”

You rose your brow and look at the shirt. Right… You gave them a sheepish grin and ask, “What can I say? I wear my heart on my sleeve…” Alphys giggles and Undyne groans, picking up the reptilian woman. You wave nonchalantly, still trying to place where you know them. Perhaps they are fellow patrons of the coffee stop?

Undyne hollers over her shoulder as she exits the building, “She’s gonna message you, nerd. Later!” You waved good-bye back to the giggling Alphys, a shit-eating grin on your face.

Catty and Bratty excitedly chat between them as soon as the door closes. “OMYGAH, they are gonna love her! She is gonna fit in with them!” cheers Catty.

Bratty giggles and adds, “We’re the best at matchmaking, but, like, for friends!”

“Thanks, ladies!” you call from your spot. “I guess y’all know I was feeling bonely .” You stand up to reveal your T-shirt with a ‘winking’ skeleton on a pirate ship on it, with the caption of I can tell you a skele-ton about my ships!

Out of curiosity, you look up Alphys on a social website nearly everyone you knew from the Underground would use. It wasn’t exclusive to Monsters, but not many humans had an account there. Sure enough, it was easy enough to find the pair’s profiles. Something sparks your interest in Alphys bio section. She was the former Royal Scientist and now works on your campus. You snap your fingers. You knew she looked familiar. She worked in a department near where you usually lurked on campus. You liked her latest status talking about how she was trying to drag one of her friends back into the ‘dark side’, meaning science, and calling him a bonehead for not just breaking down already. And comment that you’d be glad to drag someone down with them. With your socialization quota met for the day, you went back pouring over and organizing your notes. Graduation was only two months away, and you had to prove that all the time, effort, money, and tutoring was not for naught. You chuckle at your own word play and mutter to yourself about offering that to Alphys and her boneheaded friend. But, despite your best efforts to remain anti-social and productive, your profile was, for once, busy with the interactions between you, Alphys, and her friend who calls himself “Bone Tired” instead of a real name. Then again, you couldn’t tell if that was a real name with most monsters having unusual monikers compared to humans.

[thexsisters]

Because @grxnadxs deserves all things good and euphoric~

BoA & Haneul

“Red, I’m home. You’re officially off babysitting duty.”

“Good blazes. It’s about time you showed up. Small Fry is ten times the handful now that he’s walking and talking.”

BoA laughed softly while being handed the twin girls as the pirate had made them corny paper pirate hats for them to wear. She had no doubt that once all her little ones were old enough, the pirate lord would take them all a ride on her ‘special’ ship.

After setting the girls down in their cribs for their afternoon nap, she decided to try and find her son. It was normal for Red to lose the little boy who was becoming more and more like his mother every day. Energetic and mischievous. Wondering if maybe he wanted some cuddle time with his mama, the tiny queen ventured into her and her husband’s bedroom only to find something very interesting.

“Hi, mommy!”

“Taekwoonie----What are you wearing?”

BoA had walked in on her son rummaging around her husband’s dresser drawer that held all of his ties. Having picked out a flashy red one, the little boy had tried to wear it like a lady’s scarf. He was wearing his Iron Man t-shirt and dark dress jeans to go along with the tie.

“I’m gonna go to work with daddy tomorrow, mommy!”

“You are? Does daddy know about this?”

“Nope! I’m gonna surprise him!”

The tiny mother was now crouched down in front of her son smiling in amusement. She had no idea what caused her son to come up with such a plan but it was hilarious all the same. If it wasn’t for possibly embarrassing her son, she’d take a picture right here and now to show her husband. Deciding to figure out what was going on here, she asked casually,

“So why do you want to go to work with daddy tomorrow? Is Auntie Red no fun anymore?”

“Nope. Auntie Red is funny. I like her. But I heard daddy talking and I think he’s sad. And when daddy is sad, mommy is sad. And I don’t want mommy to be sad.”

Even though her son’s logic was a little winded, she had a pretty good idea what he was trying to say. The other night, her husband had confided in her once more how he feared he would have no heirs to his company. She had done her best to comfort him and reassure him but of course in the end, they would allow their children to do whatever they wish with their futures.

“Okay. Then let’s both surprise daddy in the morning, okay?”

“Okay! Roger that, mommy!”

The next morning, the two had cooked up a plan and when it was time for the businessman to come down and join his family for a quick breakfast, he nearly fell backwards out of the doorway to the kitchen when he saw the sight in front of him.

Standing side by side with each a lunch box in hand, were his son and his wife. His son donning that same red tie as yesterday which Haneul had briefly noticed went missing this morning. That same Iron Man t-shirt, but instead of the dressy jeans he had on yesterday, BoA opted for him to wear a pair of black dress pants she often had him wear for red carpet events. Oh, and the tie was tied correctly this time by BoA herself. He really did look like quite the proud son as he stood there with his matching Iron Man lunch box.

Meanwhile, the queen had resisted the urge to dress more.....risque and settled for a long pencil skirt and tucked in, conservative blouse. She was holding a Wonder Woman lunch box that their son had got her for Christmas last year. He had told her that he and his father both thought she was the real Wonder Woman and it nearly had her in tears that Christmas morning.

While the little boy was racing towards the car his dad would have normally been taking by himself, said father leaned over to his wife and asked in an utterly confused tone,

“Is he feeling okay?”

“Yep. As far as I know.”

Taekwoonie’s first day at ‘work’ was an amazing one. For everyone involved. The staff loved him. Some commenting about how they hadn’t seen him since he was a baby while the female staff cooed and swooned over him. Telling him that his Iron Man t-shirt was super handsome. Of course they were all old enough to be his mother but in his young mind, he was the real ladies man.

Back in his office, Haneul was trying to focus but his wife had other ideas. “Bo---I need to get this document filled out and you’re distracting me.”

“Babe I can’t help it. You’re so sexy when you’re concentrating.”

“Yah stop touching-----”

“Mommy! Daddy! Christine showed me how to use the copier!”

Haneul was thanking his lucky stars. One more move from his wife and he was going to lose all self restraint and that only spelled trouble. Smiling warmly at his son, he said happily, “That’s great, Tae! You’ll make a great business man someday!”

“Like you, daddy?”

It had him stopping in his thoughts. The words were lost on him as he sat there in his seat; staring in awe at his son. Did he really think of his father that way? A great business man? Clearing his throat and composing himself, he nodded and said happily,

“Here. Sit in the big seat. Check out the view from here.”

“Whoa! I can see everything! I can see our house!”

“Yep. I see the city every day. It’s really cool.”

“Can I come to work with you tomorrow too, daddy?”

And that was the queen’s cue to get another playfully naughty jab in there as she leaned on her husband’s shoulder and asked sweetly,

“Yes, daddy, can we come back again tomorrow?”

Good lord. These two were going to be the death of him.

Tiffany & Jin

“Babe, I’m home.”

“I’m in the kitchen.”

Jin slipped his shoes off as well as his coat and yes----It was now very plain to see, or rather smell, that the fairest doe was definitely in the kitchen. Curiosity getting the better of him, the male padded into the kitchen to see what was up.

This house. It was abandoned. Had been for years, perhaps even decades. So naturally it needed a lot of work. Tiffany took what money she had saved up and used it to buy supplies. It was then that the two of them went to work on fixing up the inside of the house but left the outside a mess. Why? So that no one would know they were squatters. Yes. They were squatters. But they were living the best lives of their lifetime.

“How’s my blogger babe?”

“Good. How’s my handsome private investigator? Crack that case you’ve been working on?”

It was perfect, really. Tiffany had taken the advice of her boyfriend and started up a blog where she shared her baking recipes and makeup tips. Of course she couldn’t give video tutorials for fear of being recognized but people still flocked to her blog. If only they knew they were fangirling over a girl they normally knew to hate and despise. It was bittersweet and yet felt like sweet revenge all at the same time.

Meanwhile, Jin wasn’t exactly on the police force anymore, but he was still getting to somewhat live the dream. After convincing his girlfriend that he could physically handle a gun again, he went and got a concealed carry and got his license to carry under his fake ID. The great thing about being in the police force, he knew all the tricks and knew how to avoid getting caught.

It wasn’t the white picket fence type of dream, but for them it felt just as fulfilling. They had jobs they loved, a roof over their head that had long paid for itself and its repairs, decent cars that they parked in the rundown attached garage. But now that things were falling into place, Jin had more.......domestic things on his mind lately.

“Dinner smells great but.......I want dessert first.”

“Jin. I have to watch the over. You don’t want the chicken to burn, do you?”

“No. But I’m more interested in this oven.”

She had been typing up an article for her blog when suddenly her fingers slipped on the keys and she nearly lost the whole page worth of work. Blushing heavily to where she could feel it on her neck and tips of her ears, she swallowed dryly and felt her boyfriend’s hands lovingly caressing her stomach.

“J---Jin---What are you talking about?”

“Oh come on, Tiff. You know what I’m saying. Let’s make a baby. I think it’s time.”

“But----”

She wiggled around in his hold so that he was no loner giving her a back hug. Instead they were now facing each other with the fairest doe’s eyes wide and full of worry and concern.

“But this is no life for a child. We’re still hiding from the world.”

“True. But we’re making it work. Think about it. People would have even lesser of a chance recognizing us if we had a child with us. And I’ve already thought about schooling. We can home school them. And we wouldn’t even need a babysitter because you already work from home. Think about it, babe. You know this can work. All you have to do is say yes. You’d look so adorable waddling around the house with our baby growing inside you.”

She had to admit, she wanted a family with him. But they weren’t even married yet. Sure she wasn’t a stickler for tradition but still. If she couldn’t have her original dream life, then she could at least have some of it. And being married was part of that. So like any couple would, she decided to compromise.

“Fine. I’ll give you a child if you give me a wedding ring.”

“Deal. I’ll fly us out tomorrow and BoA noona and Haneul can officiate our wedding.”

“You’ve been thinking about this.........I can tell.”

“Yep.”

Ivory & Taeyong

“I can’t believe we’re really here. In Paris. On our honeymoon.”

“I am just as surprised as you are, my love. Twas very generous of BoA to lend us her whole chateau for our honeymoon.”

The two pale immortals were sitting at the patio out on the balcony while sipping on some blood wine. Of course it paled in comparison to each other’s blood but it was nice for a change as well. Ivory would never forget that fateful night where her lover asked her to marry him right before she sunk her fangs and venom along with them into her lover’s bloodstream; successfully turning him into what she was. A vampire. A child of the night.

Of course she would marry him. She wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her eternal life with him. And now she could. The wedding had been beautiful and perfect despite it being such a secret. Neither one of them had blood family so the only family that attended was the rest of the sisterhood along with their lovers. It was still a beautiful day all the same. Well......beautiful night.

“I had no idea Paris was so beautiful at night. I mean I had seen pictures in magazines that customers brought in but they aren’t anything like the real thing.”

“Indeed. BoA spoke of how breathtaking the sights are at night time.”

“I can’t wait to live the night life with you every night, Ivory. I really don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.”

The pale royal smiled over at her husband and felt herself glow with happiness. Something told her she wouldn’t get tired of it either. This eternal adventure with her husband. Her soulmate. Her everything.

BoA & Sungmin

“Yah. Stop laughing, noona! It wasn’t that funny.”

“Aigoo. I can’t help it! I told you to be careful when getting out of the gondola.”

Soaked. They were absolutely soaked and smelled like fish but the tiny queen couldn’t help but laugh her royal butt off. Especially when a small fish had flapped and flopped his way out of the male’s hoodie. Well the hood of his hoodie. Giggling, she said in great amusement,

“Your hood makes a great fishing net.”

“Noonaaaaaa. Shush it!”

It had been her first ever gondola ride. Ever. And it was one she would never forget. And there was no one she would have rather spent it with. This boy----This young man......he......he had changed her life forever. But did he even realize it? Probably not. But still, she was grateful. So very grateful. There he stood in all his embarrassed glory trying to ring out the water from his precious hoodie that he refused to toss for a new one.

They had taken the ride and it was perfect. They got to see all kinds of cool things about Venice since she had stated that Paris was getting boring again. Not to mention she wanted to lend her sisterhood sister Ivory and her new husband Taeyong her vacation home for their honeymoon. It all worked out great.

Until it was time to get out of the boat to let a new customer take a ride. Of course she was pretty sure the young male was the only one who saw it as a bad thing but she had a blast splashing around in the water. She had told him to be careful but the male had lost his footing when the boat rocked a bit and down they went. Or rather over they went. Even the gondolier had a good attitude about it; offering them help to get out of the water despite the fact that he too had fallen in.

“Come on, fish boy, let’s get back to the hotel and get dried off.”

“Yah. I like stupid face better. Go back to that one. It’s less embarrassing.”

“How about fish face?”

“Noona!!”

“Okay okay.” She laughed so hard she had to wipe a tear from her eyes while she lead the way back to their hotel. They had the perfect view. But of course the queen had insisted only the best for them and she wasn’t going to settle for anything less.

Life was getting better. Easier. Progress was slow but progress was progress no matter how small. She was slowly but surely gaining proper weight and getting good reports from her doctor in Paris. It felt like it was getting easier to breathe with every nod of approval her doctor gave her.

Not to mention she felt herself getting closer and closer with the male walking next to her. She wasn’t sure if he was doing better himself but if his change in attitude was anything to go by, she could only hope he too was improving. Since when had he become ten times more handsome than when they first met? She had no idea but it made her heart flutter.

Hatshepsut & Aedon

“Look. Are you sure this is a good idea? What if those god guys find out you’re doing this?”

“Those fools are stuck acting like musical nerds traveling from city to city. There’s no way they can weasel their way out of performing their musical duties and tracking us down.”

In other words, the Egyptian gods masquerading around as VIXX were currently stuck on tour in Japan. Little did they know that their punishment for the spoiled brat of a pharaoh may soon be coming to an end.

Egypt. She was going back home. Or at least what was a modern version of her home. And boy did it look different. This was definitely not what she was expecting. Buildings that were similar to ones back in Seoul only not as grand as Korea’s. But she wasn’t interested in that part of Egypt. No. She was after a different building.

A pyramid.

Her pyramid.

Her tomb.

After her private jet landed at the airport, she rented a car for them to take before having to make the rest of the travel by camel. Of course this didn’t bother her any, but it was quite amusing to see the male struggle a bit. She had to admit, when Aedon insisted on coming with her, she couldn’t quite understand why and he wasn’t up for sharing. Just shrugging and claiming he was bored and needed something to do.

It had taken a lot of sleepless nights but she had finally managed to track down what she believed to be her tomb. Her final resting place. It was odd thinking of it that way. Being alive and all and planning on visiting what was essentially her grave. But she had to do this. She had to know who she was. She was tired of living under another pharaoh’s name. She wanted her real name back.

There it stood. The structure she knew to possibly be her tomb. It wasn’t as large as she had hoped it to be but beggars couldn’t be choosers, right? Stepping closer to the huge stone doors, she felt the male walking close behind her. He had remained oddly silent during this time. But soon enough, they were traveling deep into the tomb.

“Shi-----”

The male never got to finish his curse as torches suddenly came to life; lighting the latest room they walked into. There it stood.

Her sarcophagus.

During their adventure through the tomb, she had yet to find anything that might indicate what her name truly was. As part of their plan to try and make sure the queen couldn’t track down her origins, they had wiped any knowledge of her reading hieroglyphics. So in the quiet hours of the night, the woman had secretly been re-teaching herself her own alphabet. Now it was time to put it to use. Finally.

Rushing up to the casket, she started to shove at the lid when the male came rushing up behind her shouting in nervousness, “Hey! Wait wait! What are you doing?!”

“What does it look like??? I’m finding out who I am!”

“But----What if-----What if you’re in there?”

“That’s ridiculous. I can’t be in there because I’m standing right here in front of you. But there might be clues in here that tell me who I am.”

“Listen......Hatshepsut......I know you want to believe this is your tomb, but what if it’s not? And besides, who cares what your real name is? You’re a great amazing woman just the way you are. It doesn’t matter who you were back then. What matters is who you are now.”

Well dang. When he put it that way.

[livinginbeauty-net]

  Our campsite tree at Myrtle Beach State Park

“While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,           As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my trailer door. Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my trailer door —           Only this, and nothing more.”

– adapted from The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe

Deer Lake Park – Burnaby, British Columbia, Canada

Jim celebrated his sixty-fourth birthday on October 4th. And if that wasn’t spooky enough, we were all alone in the woods.

With the temperature in the high 20’s at night and the high 30’s daytime, we were the solitary campers in a large densely forested park during the last a few days before seasonal closing. Shuswap Lake Provincial Park was kinda creepy in a beautiful way.

Shuswap Lake Provincial Park – Scotch Creek, British Columbia, Canada

Shuswap Lake Provincial Park – Scotch Creek, British Columbia, Canada

Shuswap Lake Provincial Park – Scotch Creek, British Columbia, Canada

But good friends, old and new, warmed our rattling bones with home-cooked delights and even met us at a cheerful pub, right across the road from our campground to toast Jim’s Beatle Birthday.

64th Birthday at The Hub

Birthday at The Hub with Laura and Paul.

Pattie is a great cook!

Pilpil! Got the recipe!

Watching the salmon run was the perfect metaphor for an epic Birthday Month. Old age ain’t for sissies! Whenever the futility of life gets me down I will turn to the salmon for inspiration …

Then, we moved south to a slightly warmer climate in Sasquatch Country!

We must return to Harrison Hot Spring in June for Sasquatch Days!

Hiking in Sasquatch country

Jim performed a Vulcan mind-read on the Sasquatch!

Lost in Sasquatch country

Sasquatch live here.

Our campsite beside a natural outdoor stage with amazing acoustics.

Very Sasquatchy, if you ask me.

In a few days, we will be in Port Townsend for my birthday and I will miss the trains in Canada. Trains soothe my mind and put me in a mood to ruminate.

Warming our feet by the fire tonight in our cozy campground on Cariboo Place, we realize how these past twenty-seven months of travel have connected us to the land, our roots, long lost friends and family … and also to some unexpected encounters with the spirit world.

Interested? Pull up a chair and sit for a spell …

Our campsite tree

The Ghost Lights

We’re not paranormal enthusiasts, but now and then, one or both of us have a feeling that a place is, well, invested with an energy – sometimes good and sometimes not so good. Traveling has sharpened our senses, made us more keen and perceptive.

An example of good energy is the ghost lights of Anza-Borrego which stayed right beside us inside our tent throughout a treacherous night of flash floods, making us feel safe and protected. Only a decade later did we learn they were The Ghost Lights. We thought they were angels.

The Monticello Snake Story

After a restful night at Golden Acres Ranch near Monticello where – we had no idea at the time – one in three houses are recorded (in a somewhat legitimate way) as haunted, I felt compelled to stop the rig on a narrow country road to take pics of an intriguing cottage.

A big yeller dog roused up from the porch and raised his hackles. The home’s human occupant promptly emerged from the house and, he – an exquisite orator in the southern tradition – recited, to my delight, a popular regional snake story.

What a gift! I hung on every word. Floridians, in my book, have full rights to all snake stories and this gentleman is a master of the art. But sometimes a house wants to tell its own story like the one in Opelika, Alabama …

Spring Villa

On our way to Fort Pickens from my sister’s house in Tennessee, we’d hoped to overnight near Opelika. We pulled into Spring Villa Park and Campground on the chance they might have space for the night.

Instantly, our eyes fixed on the gorgeous old antebellum mansion and our immediate response was, “What a shame.” Poor thing needs some serious TLC.

At the check-in, a pale middle-aged ranger with a balding head and bulbous eyebags announced in a slow, gravelly baritone that the old house is haunted. Jim loved it. Thought it was an act. “Okay. That’s really cool” he said.

The ranger, unamused, held his weary “this-is-no-joke” gaze.

“So, um. Is the house being restored?” Jim asked.  “No.” replied the caretaker/ranger guy, “We can’t find anyone to do the work. Like I said, it’s haunted.”

While this continued, I took Pico on a walk and observed the other campers who seemed to be excessively goth for small-town Alabama. A lady in a flowing satin-black gown and lipstick smiled and gave me a cheerful, “Hey!” as she decorated her picnic table in black chenille with purple string lights in late-November.

But, too tired to change our minds and more concerned about the basketball-sized anthills than the superstitious southern folk, we opted to stay put.

You see, we’d just come from Costco in Birmingham, and all we wanted to do was properly stash an obscene amount of food, and present our fresh, new rosemary Christmas tree for its first night of the season.

After dinner, we settled down, watched a movie and got ready for bed.

Jim always turns in around 10 pm while I take Pico for his last walk. But on this night, Jim grabbed the leash.

I presumed he was acting in my behalf due to the creepy neighbors. “I want to check this place out,” he said.

I had half a mind to go with him and said so, but then he got in a spooky mood and let loose an Jack Nicolson “Here’s Johnny” imitation. “Sure you don’t want to go?” he said, creeping me out better than I thought he could. I said, “Uh-uh. Not playing this game. But take the phone and may unicorns and rainbows guide you.”

He speed-dialed me and off he went into the sultry Southern night on a Young Goodman Brown escapade/with chihuahua.

Pico de Gallo – a big N. Hawthorne fan.

On digital technology, I listened to their footfall through the deep wet grass as Jim slapped mosquitos off his face.

The squishy walking suddenly stopped!

“What’s going on? I asked. “Gotta ditch the headlamp … Bugs.” Then, squish, squish, squish … on they walked. Presently, Jim said, “I’m at the house.” He said it real important-like – as if he were about to set foot on the moon.

The boards creaked under his weight. Then, Pico sounded urgent warning barks. Several voices popped up in the background, women’s voices!

When Pico calmed down Jim told me the women were ghost hunters using an app to detect paranormal energy. The app told them that a presence was just inside the door. So Jim fastened his headlamp again just as … the door opened! The women screamed and ran.

“Just leave!” I said.

“Hold on,” he said, “It was probably a draft but I’m taking a photo … Sending.” The photo showed the door about three inches ajar from the inside. But what sent chills down my spine and made me scream, “Run!!!” was the shadow-play of Jim’s hand and iPhone which appeared to be a freshly dug grave and tombstone.

A sudden thunderstorm…

… on Lake Ponchartrain drove us off the designated bike lane near Fontainebleau State Park.  We took shelter in a gazebo in an old cemetery.

By all appearances, we were alone. Yet, we both felt we were being watched.

Then … Out of nowhere

(Everything happened so suddenly the details are difficult to assemble)

Out of nowhere, a young man appeared in the gazebo with us – a boy really – blue eyes, brown hair, medium build, wearing dungarees and denim shirt. Just as I noticed the number on his shirt, I spied a work truck, way back in a far corner of the cemetery with a guard and several prisoners around it. Ah, a routine maintenance program. Of course.

We exchanged hellos and his dialect suggested he was from the area. He asked if we wanted to see some bones. Bones? No! We’re just passing by, ducking the weather, we explained.

But he wouldn’t have it. Bones we would see. For mercy’s sake and politeness, we followed the young man, and upon his request, we peered between broken crypt walls to behold the bones he spoke of.

But when we looked up to ask the boy if he knew the name of the deceased, he was gone – vanished – nowhere to be seen or heard and no sign of the old truck and crew.

Natchez

And, oh, where to begin with Natchez? The ghosts outnumber the living so they all just have to to go along to get along.

Kings Tavern in Natchez – the most haunted pub in Mississippi

Boothill

But our most haunting moment was near Mount Moriah Cemetery, commonly known as Boothill where this row of tombstone clouds reminded us of the single row of thirteen civil war graves of unknown soldiers on the Natchez Trace.

Fort Pickens

We could go on and on … Fort Pickens and the bomb removal squad.

The set of LOST?

Savannah

The Old Pirate House

The Haunted “Old Pirates House” in Savannah

and Moon River Brewing Company,

The Travel Channel’s Ghost Adventures featured this brewing company.

Harper’s Ferry

Harpers Ferry ghost stories…

But that’s enough. Now, it’s time to pass the Talking Stick.

Do you have a ghost story to share – one from personal or second-hand experience?

Or just a good travel yarn, perhaps?

We’re dying to hear it.

Let’s see if we can keep this campfire burning through Halloween night!

Nothing like a few ghost stories before Halloween! “While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,           As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my trailer door.

[xroguex1027]

Steady as She Goes (An Arcana Hurt Comfort Fan Fic)

Before we begin you may want to read this. This is my first ever posted fanfiction. That being said I should prepare you for what it is. I have emetophobia so to get over it I sometimes write sic fics to work on exposure. So there are emetophobia triggers in this. Second, I tried to make this gender neutral and sfw. There is implied nsfw but I think I did it tastefully enough that it won’t be obvious to someone glancing over your shoulder. Why anyone would be glancing over your shoulder that concerns me but without further ado here it is...oh one more thing, this was written before I knew Julian found anything in the dungeon so it’s not canonical. Feel free to reblog with credit. 

It’s been a rough week for Julian Devorak. After realizing that there was nothing for him in the dungeon and no clues as to the source of his guilt elsewhere he has decided there is only one place left to look, the Lazaret, the monument to his failures. The island looms on the horizon like a bad omen.

Of course, you couldn’t let him go alone. You know him too well, you know he would beat himself up from the inside out when it came time to take in the gravity of the lives that were lost. You also know no matter how much he denied it, he wanted you here.

You decide to distract him by engaging in sword play. You’ve always wanted to swashbuckle at sea like a real pirate, who better to teach you than the pirate doctor himself? You’ve only been at it for about forty-five minutes but it feels like hours. Your arms are growing heavy and your legs are sore from maintaining bent knees.

He critiques your footwork, apprehensive at first, but gradually he gets deeper and deeper into the teacher role. You cast him looks whenever his commentary borders on condescension. You adjust the foil in your left hand, tightening your grip. The fact that your dominant hand is opposite his and you are shorter sets him at a disadvantage. None the less he still finds ways for you to improve.

“You ah, might want to watch your feet.” He uses the tip of his sword to gesture to the placement of your toes.

“You might want to watch your tongue.” You smirk. The adrenaline is pulsing through you, faster than you can justify your dialog.

“Or…you could. Watch my tongue I mean, erm, explore it at the very least. What do ya say?” He lifts a rascally eyebrow.

You take the unguarded opportunity to swipe at him but he blocks your blade and your ear is thrilled by the ting of metal on metal.

“Swift.” You say, smirking teasingly.

“Years of practice my dear.” He smiles behind the crossed blades, then with a flourish of his cape, spins around and aims the tip of his foil at your chest.

“Let me see your perry six.” He says smoothly.

You shift your wrist slightly to the left blocking his lunge,

“Ah, that was perry four. Tilt the uh, hilt down a bit.” “Like this?” You ask Relaxing your grip just a bit.

Julian slides his sword into his belt before walking around behind you and adjusting your grip on the handle.

“Just the thumb and index finger. Hold it too tight and I might disarm you.”

“Is that what happened to Lucio?” You ask with smug satisfaction.

“Oh I disarmed him alright, wasn’t even in combat, well ah, at least not on my end, he definitely through some punches though, Ah, not that they landed, he was…he was pretty out of it at the time…Ooft!”

Julian grasps at his belly where the blunt tip of your sword is pressed into him. He looks down at you and bights his lip. He pulls on the end of your blade pressing it tighter against him, staggering back dramatically with a dreadful sound.

“Oh god! Why?” He collapses onto the deck with no finesse and you turn around to kneel beside him, playing along.

“Julian, I’m sorry, it…it wasn’t supposed to end like this…”

“Augh- it’s too…late…Now all that's left for me is death’s sweet, sweet embrace…oh come great angel of the dead and free me from the pains of this…this mortal…mmph.”

You press your mouth against his taking up a fist full of his shirt and lifting him to your lips. He lifts one hand to push the hair out of your eyes then coils his fingers behind your neck. You want him badly. You bight his lip hard, pressing lightly on the tender place where you just bruised him. You know it will heal pretty quickly but for the time being it aches a bit. He gives a low moan pressing your fingers deeper into his bruise. “Like this.” He whispers, pushing harder. You see him wince and part of you likes it while the other part of you wants to kiss away his pain. You bight him between his neck and shoulder, softly at first but gradually tightening your teeth around his flesh until you taste a metallic tinge of salt. Unsure if it’s from his shoulder or your own teeth you let go and flex your tongue, licking a tiny bit of blood from your gums.

He’s watching you with a pleading eye, but his gaze travels past your shoulder reflecting an overcast sky. You turn to look behind you at the steely grey clouds rolling overhead, molten darkness on the horizon.

“We’ll make it there alright. Don’t worry.” You say reassuringly as you rest your head against his chest.

“Oh. ah. it’s not that.” He says looking away, he’s trying to hide the flush in his cheeks but he is doing a terrible job of it.

“What is it then?” You ask him softly consumed by his heartbeat and the soft yet sturdy comfort of his chest.

“Ah, you uh, remember how I was a pirate, sort of, ah, a doctor who traveled with pirates, you know stole a pregnant war elephant, fought off mutineers, plundered for gold?”

“Cut off a mans arm?” you wink and lay your head back down.

“That…that happened later, but you remember all of that don’t you?”

He feels you nod against his chest.

“Well, I…I probably would have never left the pirate life, I loved it, I really did, I was a natural at swashbuckling, I could barter and talk myself out of any situation with the best of them, I even had ways to cure them of scurvy…er, at least keep the symptoms at bay. But ah, there was one tiny issue…I don’t, - my sea legs are… a little wobbly, to say the least.”

You feel the boat rocking softly underneath you as you look out at the heavy sky. “You mean you get seasick?” You ask with a note of surprise.

“Ah. Sometimes, Most of the time I love sailing, it’s freeing, the salty air is good for the sinuses and it clears the mind, but when the water gets choppy…ooft tosses my stomach something fierce.” He pauses to take a deep breath conveniently angling his nose towards your hair. “But it’s been years maybe things are different now.”

“Doesn’t the curse help with that?” You ask curiously. “I mean it cures you, helps you to heal right?”

“Ah. that's just the thing, seasickness isn’t exactly sickness, there’s no virus or germs to heal from just dizziness that makes your brain think you’re sick. Oh well, guess I'm just gonna have to embrace this.” A smile cracks across his face and you nuzzle into him sympathetically.

“Though, it would appear that we have a little time left before the storm hits. Would you ah, care to take this under the deck?”

Failing to suppress a grin you take his hand and he links arms with you as you make your way to the cabin. He follows you down the stairs as you drag him by the hand over to a small bench. You sit down and pat the empty space beside you beckoning him.

He takes the seat and leans over you eagerly, an intense gleam in his eye as he moves close enough to grace your lower lip. His breath is warm in contrast to his cold skin. Your noses bump against each other as something starts between the two of you. Too eager to wait you pull off your leather vest and drop it to the floor.

You can’t help but groan as he slips his nimble hands under your shirt to satisfy his mischievous curiosity. You maneuver yourself comfortably over his knee so that the thick of his leg is just between yours, this should hold you over, at least for a little while. You shift desperately against him, the kiss has become yours now and he’s the one moaning.

You dig your hands feverishly into his scalp and he tilts his head back in blissful anguish as you pull harder. Now that his neck is exposed you press your lips lightly against the place where the curse is buried under his skin. And then you kiss a little harder, perhaps you can nibble away at that curse, gnaw on it and render it free from his neck.

He breaths softly through pursed lips, squeezing you tighter, trying to wrap his legs around you. You skillfully unbutton the snaps on his coat and slide it off his shoulders. Then you begin to unfasten his jacket. It’s impossible not to laugh at how many layers he wears.

“What?” He snickers.

“You’re like a nesting doll.” You grin impishly. “There’s just no end…”

“Ah, Pasha had one of those as a-uh, as a child.” He smiles and works your shirt up over your head, briefly interrupting your progress on his buttons.

A coolness hugs your waste as the shirt is pulled off and tossed aside. His hands slide over your core, eagerly. He wants to feel as much of you as he can all at once. As his arms wrap around you pulling you close he buries his face in your sternum with a muffled groan.

Finally, you’re down to his white linen shirt, but you don’t take it off immediately. The way it clings to his sweating form does something to you. You have to take it all in, messy hair and lip bite before you peel his shirt off.

Your fingers search anxiously for his bruise wanting to make him squirm. It was too satisfying the first time not to try again.

“I’m afraid it’s uh…all healed up now.” He says, a faint pout on his lips. “But don’t worry, I can think of several other ways you can er…make me hurt.”

“I’m sure you’ll be suffering enough when that storm hits.” You remind him.

“Mmm, that’s ah, that’s too long.” He murmurs. “Make me suffer now.”

You push your hands against his bare chest and he eases down on the bench, adjusting so that it covers the length of his back. You press one knee into his stomach eliciting a slight “ooft.” You slide your leg down to support you as you lean over his chest scraping your nails across it. He clutches your hair in his fist tugging just enough to get you excited.

Your bare chest hovers over his and you are dying to feel them touch. You want to feel the skin of your belly pressed against his as you squeeze together thirsting for more sensations. You lower your self on top him and he continues to kiss you even more deeply until you can’t tell if the dizziness is from the rocking of the ship or the adrenalin rush.

When it’s all over you lay sweating and trembling naked in each other's arms. He kisses the top of your head gently and draws in a deep breath.

“You’re ah, breathing a little heavy there, are you alright?” He asks.

Somehow you find enough breath to answer him “Alright’s an understatement.” you say with a little light headed laugh.

“Oh uh, you liked it then?” His voice wavers slightly.

“Mmm very much so,” You press your hips into his leg knowing you could never possibly have enough.

You lay together in naked silence, euphoric sensations of each others company. You can hear the depth of his voice in his every breath. Thunder rumbles soothingly outside the cabin and Julian's eye snaps open. He looks up to the ceiling as though observing the ominous sky through it.

“Well, this will be fun.” He says sardonically.

“Remember how pretty I am right now because in about ten minutes, I uh…might not be. Might even change colors if I’m lucky, I think a deep sea green would bring out my eye.” He sits upright and pulls on his loose white shirt. “Then again, I’ve probably outgrown it. It’s really more prominent among children anyway. I uh, I should be fine, I’ll be fine, it’s…”

Before he can finish reassuring himself a voice calls out from overhead.

“All hands on deck!”

He squeezes your hand, as you button your vest with the other.

“Well, If I don’t make it, I want you to know it’s been a pleasure, ah a real treat getting to know you and uh…”

“Julian.” You say quickly turning off his monologue. “You’re not gonna die from seasickness.”

“Ah, it’s actually more plausible than you would believe, many people have lost there lives as well as their lunch over the side of a ship you know, terrible way to go… I envy them.”

“I’ll make sure you don’t fall overboard.” You promise as you plant a kiss lovingly on his cheek.

“Shame, I was really looking forward to finding out what drowning feels like.” He muses as you pull your pants and boots back on.

You lift an eyebrow at him and he flashes you an incorrigible grin.

As you exit the cabin your face if met with the salty spit of the sea. The wind is blowing harder now, the water is already starting to churn. You shudder, suddenly wishing you had more than just your vest to keep you warm.

“You ah, you cold? Here.”

Julian slides his coat off and drapes it over your shoulders, it’s warm and it smells like herbal spices and bath salt.

“Thank you.” You say looking up at him.

“It’s uh, it’s nothing.”

Julian bears a serious look on his face, his shirt billowing around him. You give his arm a reassuring squeeze, knowing that he’s bothered by more than the impending seasickness.

The ship is starting to rock but Julian seems unfazed as the captain calls out to him,

“Devorak! Stay the foremast!’

“Aye aye, sir!”

Before you know it he leaves your side and hurries over to tie down the mast. You are about to go over and see if you can help but the boat tips and the door to the captain’s quarters swings ajar. Perhaps you can find something inside to settle Julian’s stomach if the sea fairing gets the best of him.

The captain is on deck if there is a time to sneak inside it’s now. The room is dimly lit a lantern swings precariously over a desk. It’s feeble light gleaming off a brass pitcher. The desk is covered in papers, mostly maps, some old documents with jargon too complex for you to try to understand right now. Any other time you would be fascinated but you must move quickly before the captain catches you.

You start by opening drawers one after the other. One has a handkerchief and some folded notes, another a compass, some coins, and a key. You determine that if there are any remedies in this room they won’t be in the desk. You make your way over to a shelf and find a few canisters of herbal teas.

You pick up a small brass canister, unscrew the lid, and the sent of ginger fills your nose so instantaneously that you impulsively smack the lid back on. But the captain is still on deck, shouting orders over the downpour, surely he can’t smell the potent remedy all the way out there.

You grab a small bottle and locate a pitcher of water on the captain's desk. You try to pour a discrete amount into the bottle without splashing and drop a pinch of the ginger tea inside. Then you quickly place everything back as it was before. Save the remedy you have just created which you tuck inside the inner pocket of Julian’s coat.

When you arrive back on deck things have gotten much worse. The sky is black and you have to grasp the side of the vessel to steady yourself so you don’t slip. The sea writhes below you lapping at the belly of the ship with a feverish tongue.

You hear a horrendous belching noise followed by a familiar groan. You don’t see Julian’s face but you can still recognize him at this angle. He’s doubled over the side of the ship, spewing his guts into the sea. 

Swallowing any anxiety, you hurry over to him trying not to lose your balance. The ship bobs unsteadily on the rolling waves. Julian startles as you wrap your arms around his torso in a helpless attempt to keep him grounded.

“I promised I wouldn’t let you fall overboard, didn’t I?” You say playfully, in hopes of lifting the mood. He looks like he needs it. You slip your hand over his forehead and pin his hair out of his face

“mmh…this isn’t as fun as…” His stomach interrupts him to empty it’s self overboard “As fun as it looks.”  he continues

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and slides down the side of the ship trembling.

“Well, that was…disgusting.” He stifles a burp behind his tattooed fist.  “I uh, don’t think I’ll be having any more of Portia's bread pudding for a while.”

“Here drink this.” You offer, taking the bottle from inside his coat. You spiral the content inside for a moment heating it the way Asra taught you, then you hand it to Julian. He subconsciously holds it close to his stomach, seeking its warmth.

“Thanks, ah, er… what is it?” He asks, un quirking it and tossing it back.

“Ginger tea.” You tell him as he gulps it down, maybe a bit too fast.

His eye widens and he winces, pulling it away from his lips. “Mmph, burns.” He hiccups as the bitter drink finds his stomach. He curls up beside you with his head in your lap. You ease your fingers through his hair as he shivers and you remove his coat from your shoulders to drape it over him.

“Aren’t you ah, cold?” He asks you feebly.

“Not as cold as you are.” You whisper leaning over him to shield him from the wind.

“Here.” He says forcing himself upright. He extends one arm to share the coat with you and you nestle in tight. You lay one hand on his belly, tracing a sluggish growl with your index finger.

He leans his head against your shoulder, dizzily. And you brush the back of your hand against his stubbly cheek.

“Mmh If I hadn’t just thoroughly disgusted you…” His thumb brushes your lips longingly.

“You didn’t disgust me.” You reassure him, “Maybe worried me, but you couldn’t disgust me.”

He holds his head for a moment, trying to calm his vertigo. “If I hadn’t just disgusted myself then.” He says with a grimace.

His stomach makes another audible groan, it must be exhausted after turning it’s self inside out.

“Do you need to go back under deck?” You offer.

“Ah, actually I uh, I’m not so sure I’m finished just yet. Comes in waves, er, the nausea I mean. Funny word nausea, comes from nautical, did you know that?” He winces from lingering stomach upset and swallows hard.

“That is interesting.” You say still sounding concerned.

“Is it? Oh. erm good.” He pauses a moment eyes closed breathing heavy. “Actually I, I think I’m alright now, just ah, a little shaken,” you help him to stand. He struggles to his feet with one hand holding his aching abdominals.

Julian's eye widens suddenly “Or not.” He croaks, his lower lip tenses and his hand flies up to block his mouth just long enough for him to turn around before belching over the side of the ship again.

“You okay?” You ask him, tentatively rubbing his back. He isn’t able to respond, instead, he bends at the waste violently heaving over the edge of the ship. His stomach is writhing, trying to force up content that doesn’t exist. You rub his back gently as he gags coughs, and spits into the water.

He caches his breath and swallows, he looks back at you his face drained of color, yet tinged with green.

“Must be ah… must be nerves.” He rests weakly against the side of the ship. His arms shake as he gives an ill stare across the water.

“Are you nervous about going to the island?” You ask him gently.

“Every time I see it I just…” He casts his gaze down in solemn despair. “It’s not even a fifth of the people that I’ve let down. I didn’t just let those people die, I left mothers without children, children without parents. My own mother might be on that island, Pasha’s mother. And I’de- I’de never know.” He casts a grim look out across the settling waves. “It’s all my fault really.”

“Hey it’s not your fault,” You say, taking his hand. “You didn’t bring the plague here, alright? Lucio did. Well…I mean we don’t know if Lucio did but it’s Lucio I mean come on.”

He gives a broken sigh and slumps to the deck.“I...I let him down too. I was supposed to save all of these people. Lucio chose me to find a cure and I-I failed”. He pulls his knees into his chest and holds his head in his hands. His body shakes from overexertion.

“You’re not responsible for the well being of the entire world.” You whisper and sink down beside him.

“I know I...I wish I could be, I should be. I’ve done so many things, er, failed to do them, there has to be a way to make up for them right?”

“Ilya, you’re putting yourself under so much stress, look what it’s doing to you.” You say gently brushing his hair out of his face.

“It’s a burden I deserve.” He forces himself to stand leaning against the side of the ship “mmph…there’s not enough pain to justify the things I’ve done.”

“Ilya, you’re being ridiculous..”

“Look …I don’t know, when we get to this island, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. What if I-I find out that I had something to do with all of this, not just failing to cure them but what if I, what if I’m the reason they became infected or…”

You close your eyes and bury your head in his shoulder holding him firmly in your arms. He seems startled at first, but his body relaxes after a moment. You lift a hand and press it to his cheek, gently guiding his gaze away from the island.

“Julian, that doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person.”

“But what if I…” He hangs his head “What if I was?”

“If you were, then the person you are now more than makes up for that.” You whisper. “And I promise, no matter what you find on this island, nothing is going to change that.”

He smiles weakly, the fatigue in his eye seems to have been replaced with soft adoration.

“I…” He’s about to protest but his voice disappears behind a sigh. “Thank you. That, that means more than you know.” He swipes his thumb across your cheekbone. 

“You are a good man. No matter what happens, I want you to promise me you will remember that.”

He looks out distantly across the horizon. There’s just no keeping his gaze from lingering on that island.

“I promise.” He whispers.

-xroguex1027

[mxladymorgan]

♡ @pilawforhire submitted; answer under the break

Time and again, it could be gratifying to revisit one’s childhood. Law was never much of a beach enthusiast though since he’d discovered all the curiosities he could pick up along the shore, he made the most of his time whenever he found himself at one, combing beaches, hunched over or hunkered down, preferably when there was less of a crowd around to spy on his behaviours, for what some might consider baubles but he considered treasures: intricate samples of driftwood, colourful frosted pieces of beach glass, an assortment of seashells, but mostly fascinating rocks, polished and smoothed out by nature.

When perhaps Morgan seemed to have either dozed off or was preoccupied with a book while getting a bit of sun, Law spent close to an hour wandering along the beach and the shallow waters, barefoot, the cuffs of his jeans rolled up to his knees, collecting anything that caught his eye and placing them in his hat that served as a makeshift bucket. Finally, Law strode back to Morgan. Forget the cliché of picking seashells, Law had stockpiled a variety of rocks, amidst several pieces of kelly green, brown, white, and clear sea glass added in for decorative purposes. Law sat down crosslegged beside Morgan and started to hand her the rocks, one by one, and with each one, he told her their names, doing a much better job introducing the rocks than he did when introducing the members of his crew.

First, there were a few basalt rocks, of a range of different shades of grey. “One of the more common rocks, some are from remnants of mountain peaks withered away. They’re ancient. This would be a vesicular basalt.” He placed a textured rock covered with deep pits (vesicles) on its surface into her palm. There was also the ophitic basalt, that looked decorated with painted snowflakes; the amygdaloidal basalt, its vesicles filled with minerals. Moving on from basalt rocks, there were septarian brown stones with cracked surfaces, looked a little like mushroom caps; a reddish brown fossiliferous limestone; a smooth white egg-shaped limestone; several granite stones of varying colours (salmon pink, milky white, red, grey, etc.) and patterns; and other sedimentary rocks. Simply put, there were enough rocks to start a beginner’s rock collection - not that he would have her do that, unless she was interested.

Lastly, he gave her a small handful of chalcedony, including pieces of agate and jasper, and the only shell he had collected, the Junonia, with its squarish brown dots.

“I could find more with time, but I think I’ll have a break now.” He didn’t mention if she was supposed to keep whatever he had left in her hands. He lay down beside her, and when he thought she wasn’t looking, he placed the molted shell of a sand crab onto her thigh and waited for her reaction. (Next time, next time or maybe later, he would find a live one.)

(Sorry. I just really wanted to say that Law gave Morgan some rocks and also of course a crab, though what a pity not one alive. Next time though.)

♡ It was a summer day in a summer island somewhere in Paradise, so of course the Heart Pirates had to call it a real summer day, which meant docking or mooring the Tang as the island made possible, exchange the white jumpsuits for colourful swimwear, grab a multitude of parasols, surfboards, balls and bags and hit the beach. Bepo, in particular, looked extremely cute in a pair of shorts where tiny boats rode tiny waves, a bucket with a small shovel, a trowel, cultivator, a couple of moulds and even a watering can in his paw. No doubt he’d make plenty of human kids jealous of his gear today.

They disembarked first, the crew, already in merrymaking mode, as someone’s yelling of “PARTAY!” illustrated. Behind them came Law and Morgan.

Morgan looked pretty in the swimsuit Law had given her in spite of her looking like the Polar Tang’s daughter of flesh and bone. It was that exact shade of yellow and sexy like the submarine, with that plunging neckline that framed her cleavage. Yes, this had been a bold purchase indeed, forward, yet Morgan would resent Law had he gifted her something a grandma would wear. She wore a sun hat and you just knew there were more contents in her bag than its size showed possible. There were many things a lady needed when holidaying.

He, on the other hand, could not look more out of place. As if beaching was unknown to his culture - Impossible! Certainly, all islands had beaches! - and this was his first day. 

Law had exchanged his sweaters and hoodies for a white tee, so far so good, but that was where it stopped. On his legs, he wore not shorts but jeans. Morgan could not understand why - he was not above displaying his own couple of hairy legs and even pat the natural coat with smug pride should someone look at the limbs in horror. On his feet rested shoes. Not sandals but actual shoes.

Law carried only four items. One, his sword, as he would not leave it behind should the marines find the partying pirates and have a party of their own. Two, a beach towel, obviously yellow with black spots (seriously, what store supplied this man with stuff?). Three, a big parasol Morgan had not seen open yet, but which she guessed bore the HP’s jolly roger or the word ‘DEATH’, perhaps both; and four - his hat.

Yes, the furry one, you know the one. If the jeans were inappropriate, the hat was criminal. Yes, it would protect Law’s head of those perilous rays of sun but it would only create the bigger problem of making a greenhouse effect. It would be no surprise if Law’s head caught fire on its own. Perhaps there was a medical reason behind this choice of millinery, but Morgan doubted it.

The crew chose a spot and made camp but Law kept on walking. Morgan looked over her shoulder, did a double take and ultimately followed Law. Turned out he wanted an unclaimed place for himself, close enough to the crew to keep vigilant of them but far enough not to be too bothered by their antics. When he found it, he planted his parasol like a flag, which proved true when he opened it and the Heart Pirates’s smile greeted the sun in mockery. If there were any Government bird spies around, it was a matter of time before the day was ruined.

Ever the practical and silent kind, Law stretched his towel, sat his butt on it, removed his shoes, his shirt and stared ahead, cursing the sea for not letting him share in the fun of splashing around or blaming himself for coming along instead of staying back in the Tang, where it was fresh and cool and he could lock himself in the operating theatre to play the mad surgeon while everyone was out. That was his lady’s guess.

Morgan sensed his misery - and after all, Law was trying his lamest not to sport a bitch face - and smiled affectionately. First things first, she asked him if he could help her with the sunblock, which seemed to cheer him up a bit. Then, she spoiled him a bit with kisses, - no making out in public! - a backrub and wet cherries fed directly to his tongue.

Finally, once the job of having Law endure the beach in a happier mood was finished, Morgan grabbed the romance novel she was reading and opened it to pick up on the love of this William for this Penelope.

(…)

Something was wrong. Morgan could feel Law’s presence next to her no longer, which is to say things were very quiet, no attempts of disturbing her reading being made. As a fellow book lover, you’d expect Law to know better (behave better) than to disturb her reading, as Morgan got lost in the love entanglements of people who did not exist. Yet it was fun to tease her peace by drumming on her leg, doing loud popping sounds while sucking his fingers after eating a beach snack, munching an apple and ruminating on her ear as some kind of barn animal. Even more tempting an option when there was little to do and swimming was prohibited.

With such teasing interference being constant, Morgan found it odd that Law had gone static for the entirety of twenty pages, for that was the only way to mark the passing of time when reading, in the absence of a clock or watch. Twenty pages without a hand on her knee. Twenty whole pages without a snore, cough, fart exploding like a bomb in her hearing, not to mention, apropos, in her nostrils. Just twenty pages without a remark about another female beach-goer meant to get her nose out of the book - something like “That woman’s wearing the same swimsuit as you are” or a simpler “Holy fuck.” 

(To Law’s credit, those did work best, Morgan’s eyes emerging from the sea of pages to check what woman was this that Law was making eyes at, a peek usually followed by the marching of not a sensual young woman but an overweight middle-aged man slurping an ice cream cone or a kid running in the nude. There was no such woman around. Morgan knew it every time Law uttered a lascivious “ooh” or “ahh”, and every time did she show her face, eyes screaming murder.

There actually was a woman one time, beautiful and willowy, with legs for days, blissfully flat-chested. There was nothing wrong with it, of course, and chances were the ballerina woman’s movements were more graceful than Morgan’s could ever be, given her superior proportions in the aforementioned area. Yet, Morgan doubted - perhaps in too egotistical a way - Law would exchange these for those when he quite enjoyed fondling them and doing other things too. Still, Morgan made a mute vow to punish him later for his boldness in playing a dangerous game, even going so far as to open and close her second and third digits as to resemble a pair of scissors in what couldn’t be a clearer message.)

At last, Morgan lifted her gaze from her book, called a soft “Law?” and saw only his spotted towel and lunch bag, previously brought by Jean Bart. (Kikoku rested under the towel, both ends conspicuously popping from under it to say ‘hi’, as the sword was humongous, but it was ok, it had a female guardian to keep it safe.)

Perhaps Law had eloped with a real summer bombshell he had not troubled Morgan with. No, that did not make any sense. It was not Law’s style to womanize and never would anyone describe the gloomy pirate captain as a “playboy”. He could not be far away…

Looking in the opposite direction, to the sand spot the Heart Pirates had claimed for themselves, she saw a lot of silliness going on - towering sand castles, sculpted boobs given to crewmen as they napped, squirt gun battles, nosebleeds - but of the Captain there was no sign.

Finally, Morgan looked ahead, certain she would not find his trademark hat surfacing the sea water as he tried swimming, for that he could not do. Found him she did, walking the surf with he furry hat filling his hands, every couple of steps stopping and offering whoever cared to see an unobstructed view of his sweet ass in jeans. What the hell was he up to now?

Morgan closed her book, slid it inside her summer bag and, lounging with her elbows supported on the compact sand, just watched him. 

There was nothing reminiscent of a child about Law. He was a tall, athletic man with sideburns and a goatee. His personality was not bubbly. His smiles existed, indeed, but were almost never innocent - on occasion, he’d flash a genuine smile of affection at Bepo. At Morgan too. 

But when she understood what he was doing, she couldn’t help but find him adorable. Precious. Wholesome. She sighed in infatuation. A couple of kids ran past Law, not without drawing circles around him first, before leaving with the same items Law was combing the shore for in their own bucket. Morgan assumed both buckets - the actual one and the hat - would be containing seashells and lost bits of coral, far from their home. 

It might be nice, Morgan imagined, one day, for her to sit in the sand like she was doing now, and watch Law and this little boy who was the spitting image of him collecting shells and crabs together. The little boy would then run to her with both hands carrying the weight of the bucket by the handle’s middle, water overflowing, and excitedly he’d say “Mummy, look what we found!”

When Law came back with his shells not much later - as if he did it on purpose, to put an end to the lady’s familial fantasy - Morgan extended her hands to him, in the form of a ladle, so he could deposit in them the fruits of his labour. 

But these were not shells! They were just… rocks. Morgan pouted. Rocks and shards of glass. Rocks aplenty, available in a great selection of colours, sizes and textures, get ‘em while they’re hot!

She was interested at first, and that was no joke. This maritime rubbish had to mean something for Law, or else why would he have spent so much time mooning whatever form of life watched him for the sake of picking something off the ground? That which was important to Law was important for Morgan as well. 

And so she listened intently to his presentation for a while, wondering how he had become so versed in geology when his area was medicine. Nothing stopped an individual from excelling at two or three distinct areas, yet it was a curious range of subjects for him to know, wasn’t it? And it did not stop there. Morgan loved the sea. Law did too. But multiple things hinted at him having a fondness for sea life in a way she did not. His choice of piratical way of locomotion was the first. The living example that was Corazón Jr. also illustrated this theory (as a turtle, he was more spoiled than many a bow-wearing lap dog). He fished.

After a while, Morgan had stopped listening. She tried to imagine Law as a little boy… Perhaps, before finding his titillations in the medical field, he’d been one of those kids who loves animals and aquatic animals above all others. Every now and then escaping home for a plunge, to swim alongside turtles. To watch their eggs hatch and interfere with nature, sheltering the infants from predatorial birds as they crossed the sand to reach the sea… All pure imagination.

Eventually, the dreamy quality of Morgan’s face turned into a pout anew. God, Law was nerdy. Were it not for that aura of doom and morbid musk he exuded so well, so effortlessly, so sensually, Morgan might have imagined a teenage Law being teased by bullies who stole lunch money from them, the Laws of school life. Instead, Morgan felt the enormity of their age gap, the way its weight distanced them in spite of their physical proximity - it was like being married to an old schoolmaster who, now that he was retired, had plenty of time to dedicate to his geeky, boring pastimes of collecting rocks, bugs and coins. 

Lo! See the way his stained hand holds the magnifying glass over a dead moth while his young and strapping wife beckons from the comforts of the marital bed for mature passion! “Come and ravish me, my love!” she cries. “A minute. Let me sort this antediluvian Alabastan money first.”

Tired, the brave hero plopped down for a much-deserved rest. Morgan was left with a bored mind and hands and lap full of trash the Sea God himself did not want to keep, so much he threw it out for idiots like Law to bring home and fanboy about.

“Law”! What am I supposed to do with this?” As he did not answer, offered no possibility, Morgan browsed her bag for the cosmetics pouch currently holding her sunblock and lip balm and shoved the rocks in. The glass Law could carry in his head, under his hat, if he fancied dead beer bottles from the major breweries of the Blues that much, thank you. Oh, it was beer glass alright.

With a clear view over herself, Morgan noticed the crab on her leg. No, not the crab - its shell. Was she supposed to scream in terror? A crab’s shell was not exactly a fat, crawly, many-legged bug. If anything, it was seafood - just ask any Shipwrecker. 

The crab was returned to Law, lowered on his belly button. “Nice try.” Morgan said, bored. “But I grew up with boys.” 

Finally, she could make herself happy and fuzzy again as she lay down next to Law, inched closer and let her head find its resting, nesting spot on his right pectoral. Morgan sighed. “Promise me you will never be a boring old man.”

[poeticsandaliens]

A Pirate’s Life for Me Chapter 7

Pairing: Stella/Scully

Notes: I failed to make good on my promise that there'd be a battle in this chapter, but they did have sex again so I'm giving myself a free pass. I had to move the fight scenes forward to make room for the sex, and I have no regrets. 

Tagging @today-in-fic

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11405793/chapters/30142176

Part 6 , Part 5 , Part 4 , Part 3 , Part 2 , Part 1

“You’ll have to cut it off,” Stella said apologetically, brushing her fingers through the knot in Scully’s hair.

Scully frowned. The musky air and saltwater swims made her hair wild and tacky. One morning she’d woken with a bird’s nest tangle, and unable to brush it out, she had watched it get progressively worse. She had always enjoyed her long red curls, the intricate updos she had worn on the mainland. She supposed the life she was currently living called for a change.

“Cut it,” she muttered.

“Aye.” Stella nodded and unsheathed her dagger. It was thin and well-polished, gleaming in the moonlight. A lump rose in Scully’s throat, but she forced it down. The metal touched her sunburnt neck, and she fought back a shiver.

Stella pulled the wavy ends of her hair taut between callused fingers, and Scully heard the soft chop as she sliced them through, like the sound of an old woman snipping the end of her sewing thread. She tossed the knotted bundle of Scully’s hair into the sea.

Scully touched the clean-cut ends of her hair, settling just above her shoulder blades. Loose and flat-bottomed and fluttering about her cheeks, a feeling she was unaccustomed to after years of complicated knots and braids tugging at her neck.

“I like it,” she said.

Stella drummed her fingers on Scully’s waist. “You haven’t seen it yet.”

“Regardless, I like it.” It was easy and amateur, off-kilter in a way that belonged beneath a sailor’s cap. Perhaps a kerchief, she mused, eyeing the dark banana tied around Stella’s forehead as if she were a bandit.

Stella’s hand loosened on Scully’s waist, slipping down to her hip. “Pirate,” she whispered, and with her back turned Scully didn’t know whether she’d meant it to be heard.

“Fuck me,” Scully muttered under her breath, meant to reach Stella’s ears.

Stella spun her quickly around so their noses bumped awkwardly, and Stella’s bloodless chest pressed against her, pushing her backward. Their boots scuffed the deck, meandering slowly toward the converging V of the bow until Scully’s back hit wood.

The pirate’s cold hands tugged teasingly at the waist of her trousers.

“Fuck me,” Scully murmured again. “Fuck me right here on deck, and I don’t care how many ghosts can hear us.”

Stella pressed their lips together, and neither the salt sticking to their skin nor the cracks in their lips worried them. Scully pressed her elbows into the wheel, her shirt slipping from her shoulder as Stella wrapped an arm between her back and the ship’s splintered wood. She deepened the kiss, pulling Stella’s cool body toward her until it didn’t matter if Stella’s hand was in the way—her spine dug into the ship.

She slid down the wall, her teeth grazing Stella’s bottom lip. Her skin was dusted in crystals of salt, the crinkles in her eyes glittering in the moonlight. Weathered and tanned in daylight, Stella was bone-white in the dark, a phantom with roving fingers and a sharp tongue.

They knotted together on splitting boards; splinters crept into Stella’s knuckles, into her knees, and lined Scully’s spine like stitches as Stella ground their bodies against each other. A sound escaped her she could neither recall nor repeat as Stella’s hand slid beneath her trousers, and she rocked to the rhythm of the Dutchman. No one could catch them here, and she didn’t bite her tongue or hold back a moan; she didn’t swallow down her encouragement as Stella fucked her against the swaying wheel. When she came, she cried out, and the ocean swallowed it for her.

                                                         * * *

They leaned against the bow as the night sky opened before them like a kraken's maw. Scully could smell the salt clinging to her skin, wrinkling her shirt and breeches. Her hat had only done so much to shade her from the sun, and she could feel her lips split at their seams like doll stitches. Her skin was tan and flaky—what was salt and what was sunlight she couldn’t discern. Her eyes crinkled when she smiled, as if she’d aged years in the time she’d spent on the Flying Dutchman. If she had, it might not have surprised her. Few things could surprise her anymore.

She turned to Stella, who was swigging a bottle of rum from the cellar. She wasn’t drunk—the dead didn’t get drunk, apparently. Her blonde hair was still post-coital wild, though she’d straightened the purple bandanna tied snugly around her forehead. It enhanced her angular features, lining up her eyebrows and darkening her already stern stare. She wore nothing over her breasts, nothing over the thick, white scar that sliced between them. Her shirt was wrapped around her waist; only a hip holster crossed her chest, her pistol resting snugly inside it.

“Target practice today?” Scully asked, eyeing the pistol.

Stella cocked her head. “Perhaps. Though I won’t be surprised if we spot our destination today. I’m not sure what one more lesson will do for you; you’ve learned everything you’re prepared to do.”

“If I have to shoot a man, I will.”

Stella nodded as if she were satisfied. “It’s not just about that,” she said after a long pause. “Sometimes it’s not about who shoots first, kill or be killed. I know that when you kill a man, it’s a strike against your moral righteousness. It’s not about knowing when to strike the blow without doing wrong—you’re always doing wrong. It’s about being okay with the wrong, knowing that sometimes being the pirate is being the better man.”

Scully held her gaze. “I know.”

“You’re not going to be moral if you live through this venture. You have to square with a fucked up moral compass. When you pull that trigger, you may not be right, but sometimes being right and being just don't line up. Scully, that is the last shooting lesson I can give you, and it’s one I learned late.”

“You learned it when Spector escaped?”

Stella pressed her lips together. “Yes.”

“Do you regret that night?” Scully asked.

Stella sighed, twirling a strand of blonde hair on her finger and tossing it over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed; her shoulders tensed. “I regret not shooting him—I thought I was bound by the honor of a proper duel. Ten years to mull it over, and I’ve realized the woman he murdered deserved greater justice than I did honor. My name and honor are worth little but legend.”

“He ripped Padgett's knife from your neck.” The bare cord hung between Stella’s bare breasts, frayed and withered with time. It dangled ominously between she and Scully each time they had sex. It scratched Scully's face when Stella lay atop her in the captain's cabin.

“No he didn’t," admitted Stella.

“That’s what you told Burns,” Scully said wrinkling her brow.

Stella shrugged tensely. “It sounds more foreboding than what actually happened—I left it in Dani’s cabin, so that no one who saw it would know it belonged to Davy Jones. But I didn’t know Spector was already searching for it, had already seen it on Padgett himself many years ago. He stole it from the Ophelia, and Dani only realized after he’d vanished into the horizon. My only assurance was that he would never find the heart it carved.”

“Why lie?”

“Because the age-old tale of vengeance—the knife tearing from ‘round my neck, the burns of strangling cord—are truer to me than a thief nicking a dagger from an empty cabin as if he hadn’t just raped a young woman next door.”

She wondered how much of the myth of Stella Gibson was truer than her reality. How much of Davy Jones felt more real than Stella herself? She questioned aloud, “Is that why you wear the cord?”

“It reminds me of the threat Spector still poses. It reminds me that I must deal him justice, because no one else will.”

Scully remembered her father’s final words of advice before he departed on his final Navy voyage. He had passed her a lucky compass, broken some years after his death, pushed her tiny finger over the needle and pointed to the North shore.

Never check your compass on the Captain’s Dana. Always align it to the stars on your own.

Lieutenant Scully hadn’t joined the Navy because his fellows did. He had witnessed the duties no one wanted were often the most important. He swabbed sand and salt from the deck each morning and polished swords after a battle. Perhaps he was meticulous, a perfectionist who’d learned trust only his own hands. Scully only imagined him as righteous and true-hearted, witty at the most crucial of times.

She ruffled her newly-shorn hair and brushed the strands of red hair off her trousers. Would he be proud of the woman she had become? Had he been alive, would have stopped her going after Mulder? Would he have brought her aboard a Navy vessel and told horror stories of the Flying Dutchman?

Scully leaned against the ship’s twelve-spoked wheel, shifting with the creak of its aged wood. “Stella,” she started cautiously.

“Yes?” Stella sheathed her dagger.

“What did your father say when you took his place? How did he not…” she trailed off.

Stella sighed. “I didn’t give him a chance to say anything. When I arrived in London, he didn’t recognize me at first; he couldn’t reconcile the pirate with the elegant young woman he remembered. He never came to terms with the lawless aged captain—perhaps it was the piracy, or perhaps he simply never accepted my aging.

“We were too different to talk about our lives—imagine the dinner conversation between a pirate captain and Navy commander—but we did have an understanding. At any rate, when my mother told me to remove the bandanna from my head for dinner, he told me not to listen. He understood the sailor's ways, if nothing else.”

Stella laughed and shook her head. “He was a grave man, my father. He had these dark, hollow eyes like the tunnels beneath windswept saplings and skin like crumpled parchment. He always looked haunted to me, though I never saw him before his encounter with Padgett. That day, though, he seemed a skeleton; he had thinned and lengthened and when I put the chest on the table his fingers wrapped around it, long and slim as sewing needles.

“‘So the Dutchman has come for me,’ he said, and—” she chuckled humorlessly— “my poor mother fainted in her chair. He knew what it entailed; he knew the bargain he had made. He placed the chest on his nightstand and went about saying his goodbyes to friends and neighbors. All evening, folk I hadn’t seen in years dropped by the house to see him. He had sung at their grandparents’ funerals, taught them to sail, told them every story he knew from his Navy days to their adventure-hungry children, seen them born and raised and married.

“One by one they stepped over the threshold of my family home and shook my father’s hand, said hello to my mother. Then they would hurry off at the sight of me. I frightened them, with my sword and kerchief, an escaped convict and a pirate inside and out. And I wanted nothing to do with them after the distain they’d showed me as a young girl.

“That night I wanted nothing more than to sleep in my rocking ship, free of the men and women who knew my name before it had ‘Captain’ in front. I could hear my father toss miserably in his sleep. I made up my mind then, and took the chest from his bedside table and left a note— our debts are paid . If he was awake, he didn’t look at me.”

Scully sat with her legs curled to her chest, against the wheel. She marveled at Stella’s matter-of-fact tone.

“What made up your mind, if you don’t mind my asking?” She still hesitated to pose such personal questions, despite their pledge of honesty, and despite knowing Stella in what she considered the most personal fashion. Stella kept her emotions far more private than her body. Scully was quite the opposite, excepting the small treasure of secrets she would hardly breathe to herself.

“The sea was my home, but my father… he always said his voyages were no more than interludes. He loved his neighbors, the moors, and his quiet cottage on a hill. He loved his wife and children, and every stranger he met in the streets on warm, clear nights.”

She paused, looking over the Dutchman’s rail to a full moon trembling on the ocean surface. “My father loved everyone he met,” she said, “and I loved my father.”

Scully reached for the sharp edge of Stella’s cheek, then thought better of it. “Is he still alive?”

Stella shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I never saw him again.”

Perhaps that was Stella—a grand figure vanishing on the horizon, never to be seen again. Scully crossed her arms and shivered in the night breeze. The waves trembled weakly like a puddle on the street, starlit and welcoming. Not at all the roaring storm they had tempted when they danced to the organ of Davy Jones.

“Look at that horizon,” Stella murmured, resting her elbows on the ship’s rail. She cocked her head, meeting Scully’s eyes matter-of-factly.

“It’s easy to love the horizon,” said Scully. “You know it’ll never leave you.”

“Ah,” said Stella with a crooked half-smile, “but neither will you catch it.”

Scully wrapped her hand around Stella’s shirt-wrapped waist. “That’s what makes it easy. You don’t have to live with the hope of catching up to it. Because once you’ve got the sunset in your hands, dim and warm and copper-red, you have to open your fingers before it burns you and hope it doesn’t disappear forever. You have to be afraid.”

Stella’s blue eyes were foggy in the dark as she took Scully’s hand and raised it to her lips. “Good night.”

                                                          *  *  *

Scully woke to the slosh of uneven waves and the high-pitched scream of gulls overhead. It took her a moment—head cocked, eyes bleary with sleep and confusion, before she remembered what birds sounded like.

Tortuga, she sounded the word on her lips. The land of scavengers, men and shorebirds alike. Land —that was the word she was looking for. In an instant, she shook herself awake.

“Shore on starboard!” Stella shouted from the quarterdeck, muffled through the ceiling. “Raise a full canvas until I can see the Claudius with my naked eye.”

The ship creaked and swayed beneath her, and when she tried to stand her knees wobbled dangerously. She picked her scabbard off the floor and belted it around the waist. She tied a grey scarf round her neck to keep the sun off and fetched her hat from the foot of the bed, just as Stella’s boots clumped roughly down the stairs. Stella burst into the captain’s cabin, her sword flashing in a stray sunbeam.

“We made it,” said Stella, and Scully couldn’t help but notice the tremor in her voice.

“Any sign of the Claudius?”

Stella shook her head. “The islands have only just come into view.”

“How will they know which island?” At first Scully had pictured Stella’s heart buried on a barren strip of sand surrounded by a grove of dying palms. Then, she had imagined a lush paradise, fed by a river and a cliff of glittering waterfalls. She had conjured yet unknown species of flora and fauna, fish the color of fresh fruit and whistling birds on every branch. What she truly expected of the eternal resting place of Stella’s beating heart, Scully could not say. But if there were several islands, could Stella even remember herself which she had set foot on?

“Simple,” Stella answered as Scully followed her on deck. “Davy Jones buries her heart in the Hall of the Moerae, just as Padgett buried it there before. The trees grow from rivers of sand and spring-water, and their roots spin together like cages of thread. No ship can navigate the maze; the island must be navigated on foot, and it is a barren landscape with little but cacti, dry grasses and white rock. There is nowhere for a thief to hide.”

“So your heart guards itself?”

Stella sighed. “One could say that. If only Spector didn’t have the damned knife and a prisoner who knows too many old wives’ tales.”

Hesitantly, Scully touched the pirate’s weathered cheek, but her hand drifted downward, past the distinct bullet hole on her collarbone, to the pale scar on her chest. “I’ll go ashore.”

Stella narrowed her eyes. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Mulder’s the only person alive who can lead him to the island. He’s a scholar; he has dedicated his life to studying the legends that inhabit these waters. He’ll be needed on shore if Spector ever wants to find your heart.”

“Fair enough.” Stella nodded thoughtfully and lifted her spyglass to her eye. “We’re approaching the largest island. The main inlet leads to the Hall of the Moerae.”

Scully took the spyglass and peered into it. The shore was a thin strip of black sand; behind it volcanic rock and a veritable wall of undergrowth. She searched the glass until she spotted Stella’s channel: the mouth of a river, choked with towering trees, roots that stretched like spider legs over the water. She shifted the spyglass further. Waves crashed against spires of rock; the water roiled and burst against itself.

“If he touches Mulder,” she growled, “or if he dares to touch your heart, we will be his worst fucking nightmare.”

Stella arched an eyebrow. “It’s not about my heart, Miss Scully.”

“What do you mean?” Scully lowered the spyglass, fixing Stella with a skeptical stare.

“I’ve been searching for Spector ever since he escaped the Ophelia ten years ago, but I would be hunting him even if he’d never touched that dagger. It’s about the ship he defiled and the crimes he committed against a young woman aboard. I was Captain of the Ophelia, and it is my duty to avenge the young woman raped and murdered on that ship. Now, I am Captain of the Flying Dutchman, and it is my duty to send Paul Spector to Davy Jones’ Locker.”

It was the first time Scully had heard such venom in her voice. It was cold and dry; it haunted like a blustering wind against through cracked rock. “Would you still chase him, if not for the Dutchman?” She knows the answer, but she does not trust her understanding of Stella Gibson.

“It is my duty as a captain, a pirate, and a woman. Pirates are lawless because the laws have failed us. Make no mistake—a pirate’s life is not the moral high ground. We pillage, raid, duel, plunder unattainable treasures and bring upon ourselves terrible curses. But there is a catch to our lawlessness, written in the Pirate’s Code—the lawless must seek justice for each other.”

Scully thought of Mulder, rotting in the Claudius’s dungeon—or worse, marching hand-cuffed beneath the blazing sun with a pistol pressed to his neck. as he searched for Davy Jones’ heart to save his own life. The only people who know how to find pirates are better pirates, Skinner had told her. She hoped that when she boarded the Claudius she would be a better pirate than Spector.

In the noonday light, the archipelago seemed to move toward them, splitting the waves it rode. In actuality the Dutchman drifted closer to its beating heart, thumping reliably to a breezy ocean. Scully had grown accustomed to its unique rock, and she was not looking forward to boarding another ship. Her father had always told her no two ships were alike, and she couldn’t imagine losing her sea legs now.

“The Claudius is likely anchored behind those cliffs.” Stella pointed to an inlet hidden behind jagged cliff bands and talons of rock that jutted upwards from the sea.

“Can we take her by surprise?”

“The Dutchman cannot sink in such shallow waters, and regardless, you can’t sail with your head beneath the waves.”

Scully huffed, screwing her eyes shut. “My sense of self-preservation wants to blow Spector out of the water, but what if Mulder is aboard? How do we know whether Spector has taken him ashore?”

Stella raised the spyglass once more. “We don’t.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence.” Scully rolled her eyes. She was distinctly aware of her nervous ticks—swiping her tongue over her already dry lips, a foot tapping the deck, arms crossed tightly over her chest—all of which intensified as they approached the islands. Her fingers drifted to the hilt of her pistol, nestled in a hip holster. Could she trust herself to take the shot? Could she trust herself not to?

They skirted the pale cliff-bands, and Scully had to crane her neck to see the top. A horde of sea-birds circled overhead, emerging from the higher crevices. Waves crashed and gurgled at the base of the rock, leaving a blue-green tint in its furrows and cracks. The rock face looked like cold butter, as if she could squeeze it and leave an indent for centuries to come.

As the Dutchman rounded a corner and floated into the big island's Eastern bay, Scully spied another ship anchored near the river mouth. Its blood red sails were tied up, and its flag lowered. It was a stout ship, thick and short and less than streamlined. Its boards were mismatched, replaced at different times as if to patch up the holes made by cannons. A well-armed ship, its port flank had two rows of eight cannons.

Scully pursed her lips. “Is that the Claudius?”

“It is.” Stella lowered her spyglass. “The crew does not seem to be aboard.”

“What about a prisoner?” Scully demanded, reaching for the spyglass.

Stella snorted. “If I could see through the walls of the brig, I would tell you.”

Scully finally wrestled the spyglass from Stella’s fingers and raised it to her eye. “I don’t see any rowboats.” Squinting, she turned to the shoreline. “Those, however, look very much like rowboats.”

“Where are they?”

“Lined up next to the inlet.”

“Hall of the Moerae,” Stella murmured grimly. “They will force their way through the swamp.” Her voice hardened again. “Look for a moving figure.”

Scully scanned the shoreline; she focused for a few seconds on the inlet—its waters looked a frightening deep green, and its entrance was obscured by a tangle of roots that seemed to ward off trsspassers. She looked to the tree line on either side of the estuary—thick, white-trunked palms with bundles of coconuts so big she could spot them from where she stood. A flash of movement crossed her vision, and she froze. Several figures marched along the tree line, clumped in groups of two and three. While their faces were a blur, and their clothing nondescript, she could only just make out a man at the back, who plodded and stumbled forward as if dragged.

As if he were wearing handcuffs, Scully realized, and the blood drained from her cheeks. “I see them!” she shouted, and Stella winced beside her, cupping her ear. “Beside the river. I see Mulder.”

It was the first glimpse she’d had of Mulder—hopefully the man was Mulder—in months. She had a hard time counting the weeks since she had left Port Washington, and every day she woke wondering if the man she’d left her life to rescue was even alive. She stiffened momentarily, remembering that she would have to go ashore. Recently every horizon, every gunshot, every encounter with a kraken or a schmoozing privateer, had been hers and Stella’s to face. As soon as she set foot on dry land, the battles became hers alone. If she was captured, Stella could do nothing while her feet touched the shore. If she died, Stella would never know.

“We’re close enough to row in. Are you ready?” Stella placed a chilly hand on her shoulder, but her voice had a far-away ring. She felt a gentle shake.

“Yes?” She put down the scope and met Stella’s eyes.

“Are you prepared to go to shore?”

Scully felt her pistol; she hefted it in her hand to be sure it was full before tucking it away. She touched her sword in its scabbard and jostled the buckle of her belt and holster to reassure herself it was secure. “Yes.”

Stella furrowed her brow. Scully pushed back her shoulders, lifted her chin, and nodded decisively. Stella let her go.

“Ready a rowboat!” Stella marched down the staircase onto the main deck as the canvas flew off a rowboat and landed in a heap at her feet. The boat flipped over and dropped into the water. A knotted rope tossed itself over the rail behind it. “Raise the sails, drop anchor as soon as possible. I don’t want to be too close to the Claudius.”

Scully’s boots clicked as she followed Stella down the stairs. She sat on the railing, clinging to the offered rope, and swung her legs over. As she lowered her weight onto the rope, she threw a final glance over her shoulder. Above her, a soft, winged silhouette perched on the mast, that Scully realized was the owl she had met in Los Barriles. It had been scarce recently, but now it sat motionless next to the Jolly Rodger, solemnly watching its captain. Stella leaned against the mast, her eyes narrowed at some speck on the horizon. Her purple kerchief and sun-bleached hair fluttered in the breeze. It had

“Thank you,” Scully said.

Slowly, Stella turned her head. “All the best to you, Miss Scully. If everything goes to Hell, I’ll blow Spector’s ship to smithereens.”

Scully smiled. She let go of the rope and dropped into the rowboat with a clunk. The bucket scooped a pale full of water. Creaking in their grips, the oars pulled her forward. The Dutchman shrank; where one moment Stella stood with her back to the land, the next she disappeared, as if she’d never been more than a ghost to begin with.

[but-the-library-of-alexandria]

dnd characters I’ll never use: player or npcs

I already shared this with my dnd playing friends but I’ll put them here too to spread the love far and wide. Disclaimer: I’m not at all experienced with dnd, these are all largely based on fun character ideas and not very rooted in stats, class stuff or tactics. Genders are of course always arbitrary and interchangeable.

Before she was a party member, she was a store clerk. Worked at a soul-sucking supermarket. Has very high persuasion, charisma and constitution. Why? Dude, she’s worked in customer service. She had to pretend to be friendly while putting up the with the worst humanity can offer. War is nothing. She’s being dragged along on this quest, but is largely apathetic. Her job has crushed her spark for good. True neutral. A bard? Maybe? It makes sense that she went to music school and ended up with a retail career.

A paladin/knight who thinks he’s Don Quixote - naive and good-hearted, a classic white knight who wants to rescue all the damsels and ride all the noble steeds. The drawback is that he’s a complete idiot. Very low wisdom and intelligence. Good combat stats, and amusingly high charisma. Probably a noble. Very green. Lawful good to the max.

A fine lady who is extremely posh, quite elderly. Lost her rich husband recently. Probably owns a poodle called Wetherby. Wields the biggest, most vicious giant axe you’ve ever seen. It’s called Verity. She is, in fact, a barbarian. Lawful neutral.

(Based on a tumblr post) This character is secretly just two gnomes stacked in a trench coat. Nobody but the DM must know. Try to keep up the facade for as long as possible. Why are they doing this stunt? Literally just fee evasion. It’s cheaper to pay for one human with very short arms than two gnomes. Obviously chaotic, neutral or good. Maybe each is a bit different.

An ex-schoolteacher who becomes the group mother. Literally. She calls the party her ‘children’. A bard, Sound-of-Music style? Or a cleric. Very patronising in the way she speaks. However, much liked. An all-rounder. Lawful good. Might make a good patron-type npc.

A bard who literally thinks life is a musical. Always singing; speaks only in song, or if she does speak, it’s in a disney-like tone - strong Giselle from enchanted vibes. Terrible stealth modifiers, because she does her own theme music like Kronk. She and the above paladin knight fall in love instantly. Nobody has ever understood either of them until now. They will definitely insist on romantic duets and a giant fancy wedding, despite not really knowing each other. Noble background; an ex actress. Lawful good.

Someone otherwise useful and skillful, perhaps a rogue or a fighter, who has a weakness of instantly falling in lust with any villain they encounter. They just have a thing for the bad guys/girls. Chaotic good, or lawful neutral.

A character who can’t seem to talk without mentioning her boyfriend, Freddie: ‘it’s just like Freddie, my boyfriend, said the other day… Back in the city, where I met my boyfriend, Freddie… damn, this monster is so tough even Freddie, my boyfriend, might not be able to kill it!’ Freddie does not, as it turns out, exist. After this is disclosed, the question is - was she lying? Does she actually think Freddie is real? Is she crazy? Or did Freddie exist, once, and some magical weirdness is going on? Who knows. The poor girl - probably a cleric or someone religiously magical - clearly has some mental shit to deal with.

A mage or sorcerer who performs magic in the style of irl kids’ magicians. They don’t actually believe in magic, and keep insisting it’s all just clever tricks and illusions. Idk enough about the magic-type classes to decide which one this would suit best - maybe a book-learned character, who thinks their entire education system was just really in-character with the whole ‘real magic’ thing. A wizard? Very lawful - so lawful they can’t conceive of a force as irrational and physics-defying as magic. Probably good.

A character who is the butler of another party member - jeeves-style, long-suffering and ever efficient. His most common line is “*sigh* very good, sir/ma’am.” It would be cool if he was a monk class character - maybe coming from a kind of ‘training temple’ for butlers, Artemis Fowl style. Has the patience of a god, the combat skills of a champion street-fighter, and makes excellent tea. Might be a good player character for someone who’s new to dnd and is coming with a friend - or rather, a good character for someone who is experienced and is bringing an inexperienced friend, whose butler they could be. The butler could then advise and cover for their inexperienced ‘master’.

A variation on the above: a character travelling with their fussy, overbearing mother or father, another obviously good one for a friend to teach their inexperienced new friend how to play.

A religious character, probably a cleric or paladin, who has an element of the creationist fangirl-religious Christianity of the midwest to her. Speaks in a texas drawl. She wears a shirt that says ‘what would [insert name of deity here] do?’ and is always singing the praises of their lord/lady and saviour, trying to convert people and reminding everyone of various rules from their holy book. Lawful neutral, because she follows the rules of the faith no matter how immoral they may be. Often burst into hymns. Everything good that happens, it was the lord’s blessing. Everything bad, it was punishment for some obscure sin. Probably had a rough background and found and adhered to this faith later in life, as a kind of religious rebirth - maybe to escape a criminal past…?

A character who is a child but has all the skill in certain areas of an adult. Very creepy, Wednesday Addams vibes. Talks like a grown up. Dark and cynical. Always underestimated. Probably a sorcerer. Neutral or maybe a tad evil. Maybe could be a halfling or something, to implement that small-cute-person stealth bonus. Occasionally takes on the performance of being a normal little girl to manipulate NPCs - fake crying to get to the front of a queue, etc.

Two PCs who are long lost siblings. The DM and the two players know this. No other players and none of the characters know - including the two characters who are related. One or both of them may know they have a lost sibling, but it is only in the course of the game that they find out who they are to each other. I feel like this would be most interesting if they were of a non human species, and of very different backgrounds and classes, and maybe different alignments.

A character who is joining the party as a tourist. He has now retired from adventuring in his homeland and travels around other lands, getting the ‘authentic local experience’ by tagging onto other people’s quests. If you’re in a steampunk-y setting or your DM will let you homebrew it a bit, it would be great if he had some kind of camera and was always snapping pictures at inappropriate times. It would be even better if some of these pictures ending up being vitally useful later in the game. Probably neutral good, probably something pretty low-key class wise. Could be joined by a tour-guide type PC.

A variation on the above: a young character who is trying to break into the adventuring career market and is tagging along on work experience, always taking notes. This might be a good one for a new and inexperienced player to help them learn without compromising their characterisation. Neutral good, any class really.

A member of a certain race who is convinced they are of another race, probably due to adoption, and will attack anyone who tries to correct her, like Ellie in ice age 2. The more physically different her ‘real’ race and her ‘adopted’ race are, the better. A warrior type, hot headed. Chaotic something. Maybe even a barbarian. Someone you would be too scared to contradict.

A case of mistaken identity - the party assume this character is someone, but later it is revealed that they are in fact just a delivery boy or a maidservant. There was a mix up, they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and when the party mistook them for a powerful ally they were planning to meet, they were too awkward to correct them so they just went with it. The party shouldn’t know they aren’t who they say they are until the person reveals it, either by making enough mistakes and confessing or by being outed by someone else. An NPC or a player. Probably chaotic good. Definitely a people pleaser. Poor kid.

A ‘male’ character who is actually a woman wearing a fake moustache. She had to fake her gender to get into a prestigious all male institution - maybe a cleric or paladin, or a wizard at wizard school. Definitely a con-woman type background. Intensely good persuasion modifier so that people genuinely believe she is a man as soon as the moustache goes on. Other players may or may not know her real gender from the start. Chaotic good.

An adventuring couple who have decided to spend their honeymoon, or second honeymoon, fighting and killing with the rest of the party. Fighters or another physical-combat-heavy class. Good. Full of romantic stories about people they beheaded together and times they almost died together. Bonus points if they have, are having or have had an adventuring child too - the kind who was already wielding a tiny knife in the cradle. Good for couples who play together, and good if one partner is just teaching the other to play, so they can stick together and help them.

A druid who has spent her last ten years in animal form. She has now almost forgotten how to be a person. Still forgets she isn’t an animal sometimes. Lots of animalistic mannerisms and slip ups - trying to fly, using the wrong body language, etc. She’s just very frazzled by everything right now, so please just go easy on her, okay? She’s trying her best to readjust.

A pirate woman who sailed with an all-female pirate crew on a ship with a massively misandristic name. She’s almost definitely gay and very much a bitch to men. Sailor-pirate background, probably a simple fighter, chaotic neutral af. Bonus points if she was the captain. Double bonus points if she was the captain because she engineered a mutiny and is now constantly afraid of finding her jilted ex captain (and possibly also her ex lover) hot on her heels. More bonus points if she is a very butch, bearded dwarf lady.

Champion athlete who turned their particular sporting prowess to a life of adventure, because of some event that befell them - maybe a medal winning runner’s hometown was sacked, and their swiftness allowed them to save forty children before the fires reached the school. Or maybe a record-breaking swimmer was the sole survivor of a flood that wiped out their people and now they have to get by on nothing but their wits and their abnormally massive deltoids. Obviously good stats relating to their sport. Class will depend on the sport too. You could get really creative with sports lauded amongst different races, eg. a dragonborn who was the world champion at distance fire-breathing.

(Based in a tumblr post) A bard whose main attack is Vicious Mockery. Super chaotic neutral, they focus on almost nothing else, just developing this one skill until they can practically just kill with a single insult. Their main driving motivation or goal is to eventually find a certain person - maybe a powerful and abusive parent figure or a hated tyrant, someone who did evil to them or their people - and just fucking obliterate them with the perfect, all-destroying insult, which they hope to have composed by the time they meet this person.

The youngest son of a king or ruler with like twelve children, so far from inheriting the throne nobody knew what to do with him and he ended up being tossed from institution to institution, being kicked out and kicked out until he joined the current party (or an institution the party are working with if he’s an NPC). He’s pretty dumb, with no education, essentially raised by castle servants and never learning a thing about politics. Probably a fighter. Low intelligence, good alignment. All is well, until, uh oh, all his twelve brothers die at once and he is suddenly expected to be king. What do? Help me, more intelligent party members!

[romcomathon2016]

Fool’s Gold (USA, 2008)

This week on Romcomathon, our hilarious friend Tillery returns for our viewing of Fool's Gold, the truly terrible spiritual sequel to How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Commentary highlights include Tilliam Shakespeare (inventing such fabulous new words as "rummery" and "non sequitous"), wondering how Matthew McConaughey isn't dead from being hit in the head so many times, and a Very, Very Suspenseful Shirt-Counting Contest. Thanks for joining us again, Tillery!

Predictions: Alex, who vaguely recalled from some kind of cultural osmosis that this was a movie about Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey hunting for treasure, consequently predicted that they were divorced pirates, and that perhaps they would murder one another in their quest for gold. Kat, humiliatingly, owns the DVD of this film… ALTHOUGH SHE'S PRETTY SURE SHE BOUGHT IT BEFORE HAVING SEEN IT.

Tillery, who prepared for this viewing experience by reading many reviews and behind-the-scenes stories, bet us that Matthew McConaughey would wear exactly 3 shirts over the course of this movie. We'll come back to this prediction.

Plot: Once upon a time, Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey were, indeed, married treasure-hunters. But now they are getting divorced, because Matthew McConaughey is clearly the least reliable man ever to live, while Kate Hudson purports to be a normal human being hoping to "move back to Chicago" and "get her Ph.D." Matthew McConaughey cannot even make it to the divorce hearing on time. (To be fair, his boat burned up, and someone tried to drown him. But both of those were also probably his fault.)

Soon enough, however, a twist of fate throws the two of them together again, when Matthew McConaughey finds new evidence that could lead them to the treasure they were both previously obsessed with. Kate Hudson, inexplicably, hops right on board! Well, sort of. Actually, she is forced to because he literally hops on board the yacht she is...stewarding on???? and persuades her employer Donald Sutherland and his ditzy daughter to bankroll their treasure-hunting.

Meanwhile, villain Kevin Hart is looking for the same treasure, because Matthew McConaughey is a dumb-dumb who owes him $62,000. $62,000?!?!?!?! Dear lord, Matthew McConaughey, what did you DO???? Anyway, eventually they find the treasure, and bang, and get remarried, even though they really should not, because clearly all they have in common is treasure and sex. Also, KATE HUDSON GETS PREGNANT?????? You'd think, with all that treasure, they could have afforded some condoms. Matthew McConaughey should not reproduce.

Best Scene: The very beginning, when Matthew McConaughey's boat is burning up. The clearest moment of storytelling in this entire masterpiece.

Worst Scene: Every other scene.

Best Line: "Bullshit." -- Matthew McConaughey, in a scene that was otherwise forgettable, but this one line reminded us gloriously of how we could have been watching How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days instead. Alas. Runners-up: "The sea is all attached, right?" "So, did you all grow up on this boat?" and various other guileless lines by Donald Sutherland's ditzy daughter.

Worst Line: "No, you haven't, and yes, I will." -- Kate Hudson, literally agreeing to remarry Matthew McConaughey in the same breath in which she declares that he has not learned AT ALL from his mistakes!!!! This terrible life decision narrowly edged out Matthew McConaughey's unnecessary mid-grave-digging midget joke for the Worst Line prize.

Highlights of the Watching Experience: Shirts, shirts, shirts! After Tillery predicted 3 shirts, Kat predicted 2, and Alex, going out on a limb, predicted 5. Guess how many different shirts Matthew McConaughey wore in this film, readers?! 9.5 WHOLE SHIRTS, YOU GUYS. Who knew that Matthew McConaughey had worn 9.5 shirts in his entire life???? We counted 4 T-shirts, 3 button-downs, 1 polo shirt, 1 weird sweater thing, and 1 scuba vest (this was the .5 shirt). In conclusion, nobody won the shirt pool.

How Many POC in the Film: Weeeellllllll...unfortunately, just Kevin Hart and all of his also-black henchmen, and several of those people died, probably, while many white people survived. Not cool. (To be fair, the most rewarding death by far was actually a white dude. Although we are still not sure how that particular white dude related to the plot.)

Alternate Scenes: The alternate version of this movie in which Alex's prediction came true, Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey perished in their quest for gold, and the sequel was called...wait for it...Ghoul's Gold. (Thank you, thank you. We're very pleased with ourselves.)

Was the Poster Better or Worse than the Film: READER, IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO DECIDE. On the one hand, the film is soooooo bad. On the other hand, this poster is apparently about two golden statue people, which seems like it would be quite dull, while the unfortunate movie we just watched was really quite action-packed. Perhaps too action-packed. As Tillery wisely puts it, "In Fool's Gold, the real fool is the audience."

Score: 4 out of 10 not-so-shirtless smooches. Don't get us wrong, guys -- this movie was AWFUL. However, at least it did not bore us. It was...quite eventful.

Ranking: 69, out of the 95 movies we’ve seen so far. How existentially terrifying, that 26 movies ranked BELOW this shitshow, because Kat and Tillery both thought going in, well, maybe Fool's Gold will be better than we remember (thanks to lowered expectations), but no-o-o-o, it was worse. WORSE THAN OUR LOWEST EXPECTATIONS!!!! And yet, still 69 out of 95. Quelle tragédie. :'(

[writingwife-83]

Examining Him

Ok so this one shot (which I was encouraged to do by @fangirlhani, yay hope you like it hehe!) is basically just a fill in scene for TLD. I hadn’t tackled the infamous ambulance ride yet, so this is just my take on the unseen from that part of the episode. I don’t want to build it up to be anything more than a fill in because that could be disappointing lol. Does it feature our ship? Yes. But it’s only very mildly romantic and it doesn’t alter anything existing in the canon. So naturally there’s the angst warning too. Wow, I really know how to sell my own fic don’t I? Lol! Better read it now before I keep talking about how it’s not going to thrill you. XD

And thank you to @captain-darthsydious for giving it a read beforehand! 😉 

“Well done, Molly,” Sherlock announced in his inappropriately chipper voice. “You did remember my coat!”

Molly didn’t respond. She was still mulling a lot of words around in her mouth, unsure of exactly what should and shouldn’t come out yet after hearing what John said upon her arrival to meet their mutual friend. Instead, she called up to the ambulance driver in the front seat.

“Ok, Fred, we’re all set to go.”

“Where we goin?” Fred called back.

That was an excellent question. Molly looked to the slightly shabby, albeit annoyingly attractive, man lounging on the gurney for further instruction.

Sherlock called out an address to him, then pinched the bridge of his nose as he lay back against the pillows.

As the ambulance began to move, Molly got up from the bench and took out a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff from one of the supply drawers. Sherlock threw off the dressing gown he’d been wearing and began unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up in preparation. He let out what sounded to her like a painful exhale, and that was what pushed her to finally speak freely as she took a seat on the edge of the gurney. 

“Ok, Sherlock, what’s going on?” she asked while positioning the stethoscope in her ears.

“Well...we’re currently on route to a filming studio, as I thought you just heard me-”

“No, Sherlock,” Molly stated more firmly as he sat up for her. “What’s going on with you. What is this? You’re not actually using again, are you?”

His gaze shifted away noticeably before meeting hers again and Molly’s heart sank and she shook her head.

“Sherlock…”

The jumpy detective leapt into another random topic.

“Molly, I do like that shirt you’re wearing,” he commented, pointing to the fabric. “Are those...sailboats?”

She glanced down momentarily, reminding herself of the outfit she’d put on while only half awake that morning.

“Oh um, yep, those are sailboats.”

“You know, as fetching as this shirt is on you, Molly, I really think the whole thing looks a bit too…” He gestured around a bit. “...buttoned up. I always leave my collar undone, really makes a world of difference, I highly recommend it.” 

And with that, he actually had the nerve to reach over with his always nimble fingers and undo the button in question at her neck, and also the one holding her cardigan together at her middle. He glanced at the adjustments and grinned, apparently pleased with the outcome.

“There...much improved.” 

Sherlock had no clue how fortunate he was that Molly clenched her jaw tightly and restrained herself from physically reacting to the unsolicited changes to her wardrobe. It took all her patience not to fist each side of his shirt and pull firmly in either direction, easily popping all the already straining buttons off the stupidly tight fabric before loudly parroting “much improved” in his face.

He quirked an eyebrow at her, happily returning to whatever topic he preferred. “Speaking of sailboats, did I ever tell you I wanted to be a pirate?”

Molly wrapped the blood pressure cuff firmly around his noticeably thinner arm. “Don’t think you did,” she responded flatly.

“What do you think about that career choice? As a possible alternative to being a consulting detective. Or perhaps just when crime is slow! What a thrilling side job that would be!”

Molly let out a little sigh as she took his elevated blood pressure and mumbled a response, mostly to herself. “Fitting, since as you seem to be recklessly looking for thrills right now.”

“Oh, Molly, you worry too much,” he replied flippantly to her concern. 

“Am I supposed to not worry about you?” she question in frustration. “When you’re making a mess of your life like this.”

“This is all for a-”

“Don’t you dare think a case excuses this again!”

“A specific purpose, I was going to say,” Sherlock finished with a wag of his head, though that was hardly a satisfying answer either.

“Not good enough,” Molly replied softly as she set the cuff and stethoscope down. She picked up his hand and felt his pulse at his wrist, listening specifically for irregularities.

“Is it elevated?” he questioned in a suddenly low whisper. “My pulse.”

Molly’s eyes jumped to meet his and she was a little taken aback to notice his rather wolfish gaze.

“Not surprisingly, yes,” she answered as evenly as possible. 

“Mm, not surprisingly,” he agreed matter-of-factly. “Especially with you being...this close.”

Molly frowned at him then. “A-are you actually...coming onto me right now?”

Sherlock’s somewhat glassy eyes didn’t leave hers as he gave her a flirty little smirk in confirmation. Before she could question further though, he spoke again. Words that, in that setting and circumstance, made her blood absolutely boil.

“And what would you like to do about it if I was?” he purred, leaning in a bit closer. 

That did it.

Molly shot up from where she sat next to him, crossing her arms angrily and glaring down at him so hard that even in his addled state, she could see the recognition flash in his eyes.

“What is the matter with you?” Molly growled through clenched teeth. “I don’t care if you are high, you still have a brain, and probably more of a brain than most people would in your state! Honestly, what can you possibly be thinking? Is it not enough that you’re dragging your body and mind and life through this torment? But on top of all that, now you decide it’s a perfectly good time to flirt with me?! Here and now? In the back of this bloody ambulance while you’re high?!”

“You need me to stop, Dr. Hooper?” Fred called from the front.

“Just drive, Fred!” Molly yelled before turning her attention back to Sherlock who had his lips pressed tightly together, fully aware now of the severity of his misstep.

She took a deep breath in through her nose and blew it out of her lips slowly to cool down before taking a seat next to him again and controlling her volume when finally going on.

“Sherlock, I thought-” She bit her lip, taking a moment to steady her voice. “I thought we were at a place where if things got bad you’d...you’d be able to come to me. I thought you knew that you always always can.”

He looked a little deflated, no longer attempting to be snarky or flip with her.

“I did ask you to be here today, didn’t I?” he attempted quietly.

Molly shook her head. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. You know that when I say I want to be there for you I mean that I want to be there to help prevent you from getting into a mess, not help you wallow in it.”

He squared his shoulders and began rolling his sleeves down again. “I’m hardly insisting that you approve of my methods.” 

“No, you’re just dragging me along. And that’s just as bad,” she countered, unwilling to be appeased. “Thinking that you can ask me to show up where and when you say and then treat me exactly as you please in the moment; disrespecting my feelings, not just as your friend but as a woman who you know-”

Molly halted mid sentence despite the way he watched her expectantly. She finally cleared her throat and met his eyes squarely, speaking calmly and clearly.

“This is admittedly not the bigger issue today but I’d like to be clear...you are not to flirt with me again, Sherlock, do you understand? High, sober, it doesn’t matter. It simply can’t happen again...ever.” She let out a single humorless laugh. “Unless of course you mean it, which we both know wouldn't be the case.”

There was a moment of pause as he stared back at her, then he swallowed and turned, looking straight ahead while his fingers drummed nervously on his knees.

“Understood,” he finally agreed softly. 

Molly nodded, somewhat comforted by the glimmer of sobriety in that one simple word. Though it was somewhat short lived.

“Ah good, we’re almost there,” Sherlock announced gleefully, glancing out the back windows of the ambulance a moment later. “Time to go and be Sherlock Holmes!”

Acting on impulse, she grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes when he turned in reaction to her touch.

“But you’re not being Sherlock Holmes,” Molly whispered. “Right now you’re being an entirely different man; a man who I don’t know and don’t really want to know.” 

Her voice broke as she finished speaking, and at that point she didn’t feel like trying to hide it. “I miss the real Sherlock Holmes. Would you tell him? If you see him.”

He seemed moved to some extent, blinking rapidly and opened and closed his mouth a couple times before actually answering.

“Not sure when I’ll see him again either,” Sherlock stated glumly. “Depends largely on how things go today.”

“Whatever it is, whatever you think you’re doing or accomplishing, can’t you just stop?” she pleaded. “I’ll help you, I’ll be there for you, I swear. I’ll help you do what’s needed in some other way. But please...just stop this.”

His expression hardened a little and the corners of his mouth turned down as if she were asking something of him that was painfully out of his reach. 

“I think you’ve thoroughly examined me by now, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Molly looked down, seeing him slip his hand out of hers. Her expression hardened then as well.

“Yes, I’d say I have all the information I need,” she replied coolly. 

She got up and grabbed his coat, shoving it at him and completing the final piece of what she’d agreed upon for that day, and thereby washing her hands of anything further in this whole mess. He took it, his hand touching hers again briefly, which caused the very slightest spark that jumped from her gaze to his. But a spark dies quickly if it’s not nurtured...and they both looked away.

Sherlock put his dressing gown back on for the time being and lay back on the gurney, holding his head as he dealt with what looked like a headache. Molly got up and sat on the small seat across from him, her arms crossed protectively over her middle as she sniffed away any remaining tears in her eyes.

The rest of the ride was silent as Molly mentally prepared herself to report to John when this blasted ambulance came to a stop. She glanced occasionally at Sherlock who was probably preparing himself for...God knows what, she could only imagine. At that point, she almost didn’t want to know.

By the time the ambulance stopped, she immediately threw the doors open and stepped out to sit on the steps, desperate for the cleansing fresh air and sunlight. She could only hope and pray, as she sat there, that the next time she saw the man she loved, he would be very different. Especially as he walked away from her a few minutes later, giving her a single backwards glance that spoke volumes too complex to fully decipher...she hoped. 

She hoped there would be a next time.