#i don’t know i just suddenly found this very interesting it hasn’t marinated in my brain yet

[transannabeth]

much to consider about jordan not drinking alcohol but liking something in her hand. about her calling nick an accessory as well. therefore heavily implying her preference for woman and lack of romantic and sexual interest in men

and then after myrtle is killed and she invites nick in for a birthday drink, he says ‘you don’t drink’ and she replies ‘well maybe i should start!’

interesting

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗 IX

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: If you like to be tagged on anything new in this Space Marine Sentience, you can ask/message/comment, I don’t bite. Not as hard as Solor anyways.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams(suffer your February), @egrets-not-regrets.

𝕬𝖈𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖉𝖌𝖊: If you are under the age of 18. Shoo! Go away! Skedaddle! Why you reading this in the first place? Be responsible for/of yourself. Not proofread either.

TW // Smut/NSFW, Filthy.

The months felt like they went by with a breeze, and it was boring. There was no one to talk to beside Solor himself, but even then he went an these trips too.

Granted, I tried to use that to my advantage, and escape out of all the ways I found in this bunker. There was one in this room with the ceiling caved in, and that was a small fit. There was a vent-like passageway covered with vines that led from the ceiling of the main corridor to the outside world, and then the main room with the caved in ceiling with the most light shining through it.

I would use them every time he would go on his weekly trips. I’d crawl through one of them, and attempt my escape into the surrounding evergreen forest.

I would get very far from the bunker, especially in three days, but there hasn’t been anything in sight. No road, no town, not even a campground. It wouldn’t be long before Solor noticed, and came after me. So it seems like I would get far enough from the bunker, but I could never get far enough away from the Knight.

The first time I did it was… frightening. I thought I had made big progress within those three days. That Solor wouldn’t have a chance to track me down before I was in a town, but damn, was I wrong.

It was only a day or two later before his glowing blue visor was seen. His form stalking out of the tree-line looking angry with those very long strides quietly stomping over to my hunched form next to a stream. I didn’t even know he was there until he picked me up by the collar of my shirt. A choked yelp escaping my lips.

“These little games of yours are quite…rule breaking.” He had said to me while making the way back to the bunker. I definitely observed my surroundings better after that, and Solor didn’t go on his next weekly trip either.

Nevertheless, each time he went on his trips, I made an attempt. Each one failing, no matter how far, or which direction, there was nothing but the forest in sight. It almost became a game after a while.

I escape after a day or two when he leaves. I go out there and survive with what those books taught me in the bunker, and then anticipate Solors arrival. Hopefully to find a glimpse of anything out there at the same time.

I’ve also been seeing Solor become more…close? Then when he started off as. He was always trying to get closer to me. Trying to pull me in with these plates of food, and these new books to read in this practical dungeon. He also brings in more stuff? To put around the bunker like cloths, decorations, and even furniture? Was this regular for a Gray Knight? Or even a plain Astartes?

Shaking my head, I stood from the stream. Looking up at the moon that shone through the tree leaves. Having escaped from the bunker once again.

Though, it was too silent. Too silent for this chilly night to be quieted.

Looking around for the culprit that silenced the night of the forest. His glowing, blue visor popped out of the darkened foliage like some sort of cat looking at you in the dark. His steps, large, and swift. Almost like a march.

Maybe I should try and run? I have tried it before. Each one ending with me snagged up into his arms, but what if I can make this one just a little bit longer? Make it just a bit more interesting than a snatch, and grab?

Snap!

His armored frame was suddenly engulfed with a cloud of dust. His visor disappearing within it.

Immediately booking it, I didn’t waste any time on getting details of this surprise bomb I’ve set up on him.

Vaulting over a fallen log, and crouching beneath it. His shadow was above me, his form rolling to slow himself, his visor snapping up to look back at me.

“Little maiden.” The robotic tone of his helmet dragged. Blue visor staring me down, sending a chill of adrenaline up my spine.

I grinned at him, a laugh threatening to escape my throat. Maybe he shouldn’t have left me with a bunker full of survivalist books.

Vaulting back over the log, I heard him follow quickly behind, nearly grabbing the back of my shirt before I took a sharp right.

If Astartes weren’t such a speedy tank, I probably would have escaped him already, but of course, they were.

I yelped out, body being pulled back into his chest. Water splashing over us while I laid on top of him. A giggle coming from me.

“My little maiden.” His helmet spoke. Body rising forward from the water, lifting me up with him.

“Solor.” I greet him back, shifting in his grip. Feeling how the water completely drenched my shirt, and pants.

“What? Have I earned my own title now?” He questioned me, lightly teasing as I looked up at him with a deadpan stare. “Though, you can call me whatever you like.” Whatever I like?

I didn’t even get a chance to open my mouth before I was being held bridal style in his arms.

“Except insults, my little maiden. Those are not names.” He quickly added on.

I huffed and mumbled. “No fun.” My head softly resting on his cold chestplate. The tiredness of my little escapade, and run catching up to me quietly.

-

“Wake up, my little maiden.” Solor voice purred at me as I grumbled at him, rather snug right where I was.

“Little maiden, you have to. Your clothes are drenched.” His tone amused, his argument putting some logic into my sleepy brain.

I groaned, leaning myself off his arms. Practically throwing myself off of him as I made my way to the table in front of me. Quickly taking off my damp shirt, eager to go back to sleep.

“Maiden.” Solors voice went quieter, almost like a whisper. A heavy tink going off loudly behind me, the ground shaking beneath my shoes.

Confused at such a sudden sound, I turned back around to look at him. His hulking form now kneeling on the ground, white eyes roaming every inch of my bare flesh shown to him.

His gauntlet twitched before it came forward and pulled me closer to him by my pants. A fluttering feeling erupting from my stomach.

“Please, my little maiden.” He had begged, half lidded eyes looking up at me with hunger. Hunger waiting to be filled.

I bit my lip, very unsure about this. This man- Astartes was supposed to be a kidnapper! A murder! Not some…fling! But that’s what it could be, right? Just a fling?

After some self debaiting, I nodded to the knight kneeling before me, and he didn’t hesitate to start.

His lips kissed my stomach first, dragging up a little as my hand came up to thread through his short, white hair. My nose nuzzling on top of his head. His wooden vanilla scent evading my senses.

I hummed while I felt him get a little bit more confident, slowly kissing his way up between my breasts. A familiar heat building up between my legs.

His lips suddenly wrapped around one of my breasts. Sucking at them, nipping at them, playing with them with his tongue. Soft moans falling from my lips.

His kisses trailed to my other breast, and given the same treatment as the other one. Leaving them wet with his saliva, wanting more while he moved up to my neck.

My grip tightened in this hair while he tried to find that sensitive spot in my neck. A hum leaving him.

His gauntlet wrapped around my waist while the other went behind my back, keeping me in place as he pushed me back into the table. His teeth, sinking into my neck.

“Solor!” I yelped at the unexpected bite. His teeth definitely creating a mark within a few minutes.

“Calm, my little maiden. There is more where that came from.” He grinned, his tongue lapping at his mark before he created another, and another on each side of my neck.

He hummed again, changing directions while he lifted me up onto the table. His lips dragging once more down between my breasts. Giving each one a little nip.

“Especially for you, little maiden.” He had stated. His gauntlet never bothered to properly take off my pants, and underwear.

A loud moan ripped from my mouth. My body leaning back on the table, elbows supporting my weight. The heat building quicker between my legs, his tongue lapping at my core definitely helping with that.

I cursed out his name, and couldn’t help using my hand. Threaded it through his hair to bring him impossibly closer. A low rumble coming from him, sending absolute pleasure up my spine.

Another curse, and I came undone. Legs trying to curl on his head, back arching as I let go of his hair, the hand coming up to shield my eyes. My heart trying to beat out of my chest.

Damn, I needed that.

“You taste just as I thought you would, but the thought never compares.” Solor spoke, his teeth biting into the side of my thigh as I winced.

I could hear him drop some of his armor off of him, landing on the ground with a thunk. His armored hand took my hand covering my eyes into his and pinned it above me. His other getting ready to line himself.

“Solor, stop. I’m not ready.” I told him, my free hand pressing up against his armor.

“Nonsense, my little maiden. You crave me, as I crave you.” He purred, his thumb of his gauntlet on my waist attempting to sooth me as he slowly himself pushed in. A curse from his language leaving his lips.

My lungs lost their air, my face scrunching up in discomfort. His girth feeling like it was ripping me in two.

“S-Solor, please wait.” I begged him, the burn of him filling me all too much.

“Relax, my little maiden.” He rumbled, his thumb pressing up against the small bulge that he created. Another curse of his language groaning out of his mouth.

I whined while he pushed through more. Eyes closed, on the threat of tears while I tried to remember how to breathe. He was just so big.

“There we go, my maiden.” He moaned, gauntlet tracing up, and down my sides. Occasionally brushing up on the bulge.

I could only lay there winded by the size of him. Trying to get used to his size as I felt him twitch inside of me. A breathless moan leaving my mouth.

He took that as a cue. His hand wrapped around my waist, and gave a slow thrust. Another moan falling from my lips.

“Oh, my little maiden.” He rumbled, his hips slowly dragging in, and out, going slightly faster than the last.

My hands moved up to grab a hold of his gauntlet above me. Desperate for any type of stability for his rising speed.

“Give me more of your pretty little sounds.” He growled, hips thrusting in a particular spot, as I cried out, scratching at his armor. “Yes, just like that. Give me another little maiden.”

He thrusted in that spot again and again, abusing it. His gauntlet on my waist kept me in place while I cried out. Cried out for him.

Solor swore in his language while I tightened around him. The unexpected orgasam hitting me hard. My mouth falling open with nothing coming out. Back arching into him. Eyes closed as tears slid down my cheeks.

I reopened my eyes when I felt him push a little deeper, his body curling to latch his teeth onto my neck. A growl rumbling through him as his warm seed coated my walls. The feeling short-circuiting my brain.

He stilled for a moment before he started up again. A tiny whine leaving my throat as I tried to push up against him.

“Cease your withering maiden. I have longed for you for too long.” Solor snarled into my ear before latching back onto my neck.

Overstimulation took over me quickly making me black out, and come back into the world to find myself in a completely different angle. My body, wounded with bites, and hickeys. That I knew for sure I wasn’t walking for a months worth. Maybe a year at this rate.

When the last time I woke up I was bundled up in the gray blankets that felt remarkably nice on my oversensitive skin. My body clean, and wrapped for the more serious wounds Solor had caused.

“I…am sorry, little maiden.” Solor had apologized, his fingers lightly tracing my form beneath the blankets, avoiding the wraps.

Too mentally, and physically tired to say anything back. I just settled slowly back into my blankets. The rising of his chest rocking me back to sleep.

“I’m sorry.”

ℕ𝕖𝕩𝕥 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣: 𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗 X

ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣: 𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗 VIII

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥: “𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗” 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕷𝖎𝖘𝖙

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

about twenty minutes later, on the ship sailed by shanks’ crew prior to the red force:

strapping down the last of their crates of fresh supplies, beckman considers whether he should be worried. the marines who tried to arrest them and seize their ship earlier were a joke, barely even worth the effort yasopp put into scaring them off with trick shots… but there are rumors vice-admiral garp has taken an interest in this archipelago, and if they’re true, shanks’ continued absence takes on a sinister light.

it’s just as he’s about to voice this concern to roux that he hears a cheerful little whistle echoing across the water. a glance towards the docks reveals a cloaked redhead casually strolling their way, not a care in the world.

beckman sighs. it figures.

“ahoy, crew!” shanks calls from the dock. “how’ve you been?”

“just waiting on you, captain,” beckman says.

“we’ve been bored!” yasopp shouts. “you promised me excitement, shanks, but i’ve had nothing to do but terrorize children all day!”

lucky roux nods. “little babies in their white-and-blue onesies,” he agrees. “the closest thing to trouble was when one of them threatened to tell on us to their daddy.”

“ah,” shanks says, pulling the gangplank up behind him as they go through the motions of setting sail. “that might explain a bit of trouble i found myself in.” at the looks on their faces, he laughs. “nothing serious! just a little chase through town. it worked out in my favor, though!”

“did it?”

“another man—a pirate in disguise, i think—thought the marines were after him, and we made our escape together.” shanks half-feigns a swoon. “and i fell for him instantly.”

“oh?” this does actually get beckman to pay attention. “that’s unusual.” normally shanks falls for women instantly. his feelings for men have tended to happen slower, or at least based on a more substantive interaction. “what drew you to this one?”

“mm, i don’t know,” shanks muses. “a lot of things. he was really clever. and funny! and his eyes were—” shanks stops talking, his eyes wide.

“his eyes were?”

shanks covers his face with one hand. “you’re going to laugh at me,” he says, suddenly mournful.

“am i?” beckman says, starting to grin. “go on then. his eyes were…”

holding up a finger, shanks says, “keep in mind, i didn’t know this at the time. i only just realized.”

“mm-hm?”

shanks sighs. “his eyes reminded me of buggy’s.”

beckman and roux crack up. yasopp hasn’t been around long enough to be in on this particular joke, but they’re quick to fill him in.

“every time! every time you fall for someone and can’t place why, and then five minutes later it’s all ‘ah, their laugh sounded like buggy’s,’ or ‘in that light, her hair looked the same color as buggy’s,’ or…”

shanks, bright red, huffs like a toddler about to have a tantrum. “it’s not every time!” he insists.

“it really is, boss.”

shanks fumes, and the laughter starts back up anew.

“so, who is this buggy person?” yasopp asks.

“shanks’ childhood sweetheart,” roux says, hands clasped, voice at its most saccharine.

shanks laughs, waving away the very notion. “oh, no! no, no… god, he’d stab me for letting that idea get out.” with a conceding gesture, he says, “my childhood crush, maybe.”

“definitely.”

“oh hush, beck, you menace.” yasopp keeps watching shanks, waiting for more information. shanks shrugs. “we grew up together. haven’t seen each other in years. that’s all there is to it, really.”

there’s no way that’s all there is to it, but that’s the most any of them have gotten out of shanks. it’s just about all they’ve ever gotten out of shanks about his past at all, actually. for seeming so open and honest, he keeps things close to the chest.

“so what’s buggy like, then?”

before shanks can answer—or change the subject, more likely—roux grins and says, “ooh, how about we tell you what we think he’s like, based on the people shanks has fallen for?”

nervously, shanks says, “i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“i think it sounds like a wonderful bonding activity with our new crewman,” beckman says, and when shanks’ face falls in resignation, he gets things kicked off. “first of all, we know he has blue hair. but not just any kind of blue.”

“oh no,” shanks moans, recognizing his own words.

“oh no,” roux says, “his hair is a very specific shade of blue.”

“please stop.”

yasopp smirks, getting in on the joke. “a very specific shade of blue, you say?”

burying his head in his hands, shanks says, “you’re all fired. i’m making monster my first mate.”

“if monster could talk, he’d make fun of you too, boss.”

i know the easiest way to resolve my two wolves dilemma about the near miss notfic is for buggy to be the one in disguise, okay? i know. i just haven’t been able to figure out why he’s in disg—okay, no, i’ve got it now.

(another self-indulgent “shanks/buggy post-roguetown, pre-luffy” encounter below the cut)

buggy, lately called “the clown,” is not usually a pirate given to subtlety or discretion. he wants word of his wicked deeds to spread far and wide! if people are afraid of him, they’ll give in faster, so he won’t have to work as hard to get what he wants!

but usually, there aren’t rumors of monkey d. garp in the area.

buggy’ll thumb his nose at most any marine, but garp is an exception. that guy has a monstrous strength on his old captain’s level, plus he’s equally famous for his incorruptibility and his bullheadedness. all in all somebody buggy absolutely does not want to deal with.

and sure, his bounty as it is probably doesn’t warrant a vice-admiral’s involvement, but garp’s been around a long time. he might recognize buggy as “one of roger’s brats.” and while they never had bounties of their own back then, surely the marine still want their heads. they went after tom, for fuck’s sake, there’s no way buggy is safe.

so until he hears from a reliable source that garp has left this particular corner of east blue behind, buggy is not leaving the sanctuary of his ship without a thorough disguise.

he’s gone without his distinctive makeup, of course. his hair he’s tied up and tucked away under an old knit cap, which he’s sewn an ink-black wig to the lining of to better conceal his identity. he even rubbed a bit of ink into his eyebrows to be doubly sure. and, last but hardly least, he’s chop-chopped his nose off, sticking an ordinary-looking prosthetic in its place with spirit gum that will be very annoying to remove later—but better a little adhesive rash than prison.

looking in his mirror at a stranger, buggy sighs, clapping his hands together. “right!” his ship needs a resupply, and buggy sailed his favorite little skiff here to take care of it so he doesn’t have to explain this disguise to his crew. “rope, sailcloth, gunpowder, food,” he mutters as he heads out. just a few essentials for any sailing vessel, nothing obviously piratical about it. a perfectly safe supply run.

a squad of marines go thumping past, and buggy can’t hold back a flinch at the sight.

he breaths in deep. this will be fine. all he has to do is not draw attention to himself, and…

“hey, you!”

buggy freezes, and fights the urge to turn around. freezing is bad enough, that would make him look super guilty. and anyway, with a call like that how could anyone possibly know who the marines are after?

“you in the hat!”

ah, fuck. buggy can’t lose the hat, that’s half his disguise gone right there. he glances back, curses under his breath when it sure looks like that squad of marines is coming for him, and makes a break for it.

“this is navy business!”

“stop!”

“like hell,” buggy mutters, rounding a corner into an alleyway. he blinks when he hears his own words doubled, and realizes there’s been someone else running from the marines the whole time. ah, shit, was he even their target after all? has he been running for his life for no reason? he turns to give the guy what for and just about chokes on his tongue, because—

well, because it’s shanks.

same stupid, distinctive hair, same stupid, distinctive hat. a cape, which is more style than buggy would have expected shanks to develop, but which is also stupid and distinctive. a pretty nasty scar over one eye. buggy takes his first reaction to that—i wouldn’t have let that happen!—and violently shoves it down into the bottom of his soul, where stupid thoughts go to die. what-ifs don’t matter, what matters is this entire guy is stupid and distinctive.

shanks gives him one of those soft-hearted, empathetic looks buggy always hated. “ah, sorry, i think i got you tangled up in my business.”

…he doesn’t recognize buggy.

good! this is good, this is—salvageable, anyway! buggy clears his throat, tries to throw his voice a little higher, speak a little more politely. anything to avoid that soft look becoming one of recognition, or that awful heartbroken look from all those years ago. “that’s okay! anything to inconvenience the marines.”

as the rhythmic sound of boots thumping gets closer, an idea occurs to buggy. “speaking of…” he grabs hold of shanks’ cape, pausing only when shanks puts a hand on his wrist and gives him a wary look. right, shanks doesn’t know him from adam like this. “sometimes it’s better to fight smarter, not harder.”

shanks considers him for a moment. he lets go of buggy’s wrist.

permission granted, buggy moves quickly. goodbye, stupid hat! flip the cape around, the lining’s a different color so that will do nicely. adjust the closure so the fabric that’s supposed to be the top hem instead functions as a hood, all the better to hide that hair and scar… sure, it probably won’t hold up to a close inspection, but who needs it to? low-level marines are idiots.

buggy leans back against the alley wall and spreads his legs wide to make himself shorter and easier to hide. when shanks doesn’t seem to get the memo, buggy rolls his eyes and tugs him closer, until shanks is standing almost too close for propriety, his cape hiding both of them from view.

hands pressed to the wall above buggy’s shoulders, shanks stares at him intently, an eyebrow going up as they hear the marines run past without giving their hiding spot so much as a first glance, let alone a second. “impressive,” he says.

buggy snorts. “naturally.”

something about this response amuses shanks, who smiles, drops one hand on buggy’s shoulder, and squeezes. “thanks for the save, gorgeous.”

buggy’s mind goes blank.

well, mostly. “gorgeous?!”

shanks frowns, though his eyes are still smiling. “don’t tell me nobody’s ever called you ‘gorgeous’ before.” buggy doesn’t react—has no idea what shanks is doing—as that hand slides up his shoulder, his neck, to cup his cheek. shanks leans just that little bit closer, taking the lack of space between them from the appearance of improper to actually improper. buggy still has no idea what shanks is doing until his thumb starts to rub small circles near the corner of buggy’s eye. “that’s just not possible. i mean, your eyes alone are stunning…”

he knows that move. shanks told him about that move, about the barmaid who’d used it on him the first time, using a compliment about shanks’ eyes as an excuse to touch his face, right before she—

it’s a very sweet kiss. probably the kind of kiss buggy would have expected of shanks, if he’d ever let himself think of things like “shanks” and “kissing” at the same time before. (face hot, it occurs to him that maybe the way he’d always violently shut down such thoughts might mean something. he violently shuts down this line of thinking.) shanks pulls back after a brief moment, a curious look in his eye that buggy takes to mean ‘more?’

whatever look happens to be on buggy’s face must say ‘no’ for him—though probably not in as insistent a tone as he’d like, his mind is still pretty fuzzy—because shanks steps back, casually giving buggy space. like of course after… that… all he wants is to fix his cape and retrieve his hat.

“wh…?” is all buggy can manage.

an eyebrow goes up, and shanks smiles a little smugly as he slides that stupid hat back into place. “like i said. thanks for the save.” and with that, he’s gone.

buggy’s knees give out.

he spends ten minutes sitting in that alleyway, definitely not remembering anything that just happened in particular detail, or wishing he’d answered an unspoken question in a different way. eventually he remembers that he has duties to attend to, and he’d better attend to them soon if he want to get off this island today.

which he does.

he certainly doesn’t have any reason to want to stick around here.

no sir.

“rope, sailcloth… limes?” suddenly buggy can’t remember the last thing on his list. well, it can’t be that important if it was the last one, right? right. surely they can go without… whatever… until after garp’s gotten tired of this part of east blue.

because buggy is never going out in disguise ever again.

[densi-mber]

Paramnesia, Part 3

A/N: The highly requested third chapter of Paramnesia. In our last chapter, Deeks was called into work and Kensi, still believing they are married, insists on coming with.

***

Deeks blew out a long breath as he and Kensi walked up to OPS together. He’d been hoping to catch Sam and Callen on their own to explain Kensi’s current “condition”. Unfortunately everyone was already upstairs.

Kensi had been slightly less affectionate in the car so he was hoping it was a sign her memory was starting straighten itself out.

“Kensi, what are you doing here?” Callen asked as they walked through the sliding doors. Nell immediately rushed over to give her a quick hug.

“Yeah, shouldn’t you be in bed with an ice pack and a dozen doughnuts?” Sam added.

“Guys, it was just a little bump on the head. There’s no reason for me to stay home and go stir crazy,” Kensi said, sounding reassuringly like herself. “My head barely even hurts anymore.”

“She had the doughnuts to go,” Deeks revealed, smirking at her. “And she didn’t even share.”

“You would take doughnuts from an injured woman?”

“Hold on a second, you told me you were perfectly fine.” Kensi shrugged unapologetically.

“That’s cause I knew you’d try to make me stay home,” she said, knocking his shoulder with hers. “And force more chicken soup on me.”

“Hey, I am an excellent cook. Unlike someone I know, at least I didn’t try and pass off Walmart cookies as my own,” he added.

“You two have obviously been spending way too much time together again,” Sam commented with a roll of his eyes.Deeks found himself grinning down at her and hastily straightened up. He was getting way too comfortable with this less inhibited version of Kensi.

“Um, I’m really glad you’re ok, Kensi, but is anybody even a little bit interested in hearing about the case?” Eric asked, pointing to the big screen.

“Go ahead, Eric.”

“Last night someone broke into the home of Marine Colonel Aaron Summers and attempted to steal his laptop which contains sensitive information. Colonel Summers walked in on the intruder, one Danny Werner, and successfully subdued him. Werner is currently in the hospital.”

“Although Werner didn’t have a chance to gain access to the laptop, the Colonel is very concerned about finding out how Werner was able to breach His elaborate security system,” Nell continued.

“Ok,” Callen said, nodding to Deeks. “Since you’re solo today, go to the hospital and find out what you can from David Werner. We’ll take the Colonel’s house.”

“And since you’re here, Kensi, Hetty said she wants a detailed report of the accident,” Nell said, turning to Kensi.

“Well, that’s going to be pretty short because I still don’t remember anything,” she sighed. Turning to Deeks, she grabbed his hand and added, “Be careful out there, baby.” Before he could say respond in any way, she leaned in, brushed her lips against his, and patted his his chest before she left the room.

The silence that followed her exit was nearly painful.

“Okaaay, what was that?” Nell asked, turning wide eyes on Deeks. He chuckled awkwardly, still feeling the pressure, however brief it had been, of Kensi’s lips.

“I can explain that.” He gestured vaguely to his lips and then the door.

“Really?” Sam said in a tone filled with disbelief. “I’d love to hear it.”

“Kensi is still experiencing some symptoms from her head injury,” Deeks told them reasonably.

“You said she had some mild surrounding the car crash amnesia,” Callen reminded him, sounding skeptical. “You didn’t say she’d lost her mind.”

“I feel like I should be offended by that.” Deeks paused and drew in a short breath. “Along with the amnesia, Kensi is also under the impression that we are, uh, married. Apparently it’s called paramnesia, or false memories.”

“And how did she come to that conclusion?”

“I have absolutely no idea. The nurse told me she was waking up and when I came in, she was acting a little strange and called me her husband. According to her doctor, it should resolve on its own in a few days,” Deeks continued, realizing how ridiculous it sounded. Especially since Kensi was acting perfectly normal in every other way.

“Deeks, you can’t let her believe this for that long,” Nell said. “Imagine how upset she’ll be when she finally does remember.”

“What do you want me to do? Her doctor said we should try to let it happen naturally,” Deeks said, starting to feel a little frustrated. It wasn’t like he’d planted the idea in Kensi’s head.

“So you’re prepared to pretend be her husband for the next however many days it takes her to realize what’s going on?” Deeks shrugged, not feeling confidant in his ability at all.

“I think I can handle it.”

“Oh yeah, you handled it really well,” Sam said sarcastically. “That explains the kissing and the “be careful, baby”.”

“It hasn’t gone any further than that,” Deeks insisted firmly. For his own physical safety, he would definitely not be mentioning this morning’s cuddle session.

“It better not.” Deeks felt his anger flare a little at Sam’s comment and crossed his arms, mirroring his position.

“Sam, do you honestly think I would take advantage of Kensi like that?” There was a tense moment as Sam stared him down and then he reluctantly nodded.

“No, I know you wouldn’t,” Sam admitted. “I’m just worried about the possible fall out once Kensi realizes the truth.”

“I won’t let it get to that point,” Deeks said, not sure who he was reassuring at this point.

***

“Hey Nell,” Kensi said a couple hours later. She was supposed to be “helping” with research, but all she’d managed to do so far was build the world’s longest paperclip chain. Unfortunately, it gave her uninterrupted time to think about her and Marty.

She had a few flashes on them together, weirdly enough in another house, but most of what she “remembered” was pure guess work.

Based on those snippets, she’d assumed their romantic relationship was as strong as their professional one. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“No, I don’t have anymore paperclips,” Nell answered without looking away from her computer.

“That’s not what I was going to ask. Actually, it’s kind of personal. Really personal.” She was glad that Eric had left to grab some coffee. This would be awkward enough with just Nell.

Nell finally turned around, her brows narrowed.

“The kind of personal where I’m going to want to wash my ears out when you’re done?” Kensi made a face at that, shaking her head.

“Ew, no. It’s about Marty,” she said, noticing Nell’s face shift suddenly.

“What about Deeks?” she asked slowly, almost cautiously.

“Is he-are we happy? I mean together. Are we happy with our marriage?”

“I don’t think that’s something I can answer for you Kensi.” Kensi made a frustrated sound and slammed her hand against the desk, making Nell jump slightly.

“Nell, Marty barely touches me. Every time I try to kiss him or hold his hand, he pulls away,” she said, glancing at Nell to gauge her reaction. It wasn’t promising and her stomach clenched painfully. “Nell, I can’t remember anything about us as a couple, please tell me what’s going on.”

“So you don’t remember anything?” Nell repeated.

“I mean, every so often I get these little flashes of memories, but they’re super fragmented...and I don’t even know if they’re real or if I’m making them up.” She felt tears springing to her eyes for the first time since waking up in the hospital and pressed her lips together trying to keep them back. “What do I do?”

Nell leaned forward and squeezed her hand, her expression sympathetic.

“Kensi, I think this is something you need to talk to Deeks about.” Kensi started to protest, but Nell held up a hand, cutting her off, and added, “Before you do that I want you to answer a question for me. How do you feel about Deeks?”

Kensi almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the question.

“I trust him. More than anyone,” she said simply. “When I’m with him I feel safe and loved.” Maybe she should have felt vulnerable or self-conscious being so open with Nell, but she didn’t. It was the truth.

Nell made a face, inclining her head.

“Ok, uh, not exactly what I was expecting. Follow up question. Do you feel...married to Deeks?” It was a strange way to phrase it and Kensi almost said “yes” without thinking. Instead she held back her reply, tilting her head as she really considered the question.

“I don’t know,” Kensi whispered numbly. Nell squeezed her hand again, pulling her in for a brief hug.

“Then I think you know what you need to ask Deeks,” she said.

***

A/N: I am well aware that no reasonable doctor would likely give this advice for dealing with amnesia. This is just for fun.

And, yes, there will be a part 4.

[thebibliomancer]

Tides of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 11

Tides of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because uh oh Amri’s in trouble!

Last times on book: Amri and co are on a quest to unite all the Gelfling clans, a quest that is starting off on the wrong foot already. Maudra Ethri of the Sifa told them no thanks and it turns out that she’s hosting the Skeksis Mariner skekSa. Sifa Tae gets poisoned while the heroes are adjacent and they get briefly blamed for it but skekSa sleuths out the real culprit. But while Dr. Detective Captain skekSa is healing Tae, Amri tries to stab the Skeksis for reasons that seemed like a good idea at the time.

Chapter 11

Maudra Ethri’s plan and spider crimes

With Tae healed and rehydrating, skekSa calls everyone into the accusing parlor. Which is still her lab but she’s sitting in a nice chair chugging something from a decanter.

“Go on, then. Let it all out. All the pieces are here. I will preside, to make sure no one gets untoward... or tries to kill me.”

The last she tossed like a stick on the fire in Tavra’s direction, though the spider had retracted all her legs so she looked like any other gem resting inertly on the table. Amri soured with guilt. He had been the one who’d tried to kill skekSa, not Tavra.

YOU GOOFED UP AMRI.

Amri wants to confess that the spider is blameless but since skekSa hasn’t retaliated, he holds back hoping that everyone can get out of this okay.

Since nobody volunteers to be first in the accusing parlor, skekSa volunteers Captain Staya to air his grievance. But instead he apologizes to Tae, saying he never meant for her to be in danger. He only wanted to drug her and pick her brain! Tae is wry about his apology but this isn’t want skekSa is here for.

“Enough apologies. I want grievances!”

Hah.

She’s been out on the sea alone so mama needs her drama fix!

At her prompting, Staya says that there’s been a rumor because of the pink petal message that the Skeksis have betrayed the Gelfling and that Maudra Ethri has called them together in Cera-Na not to rise up but to gather all the Sifa to flee.

Which Ethri casually confirms. Yes, they’re all leaving tomorrow at sunset.

Staya is aghast but Naia is furious. She tears into Ethri for abandoning the rest of the Gelfling. But Ethri says that as maudra “if I choose to lead my clan out from under Emperor skekSo’s claws, that is my choice to make.”

Staya has a different objection.

“But, Maudra, you ignore the signs! The wind is against us. The tide is against us. With every limb of its body, Thra pushes us back toward the south, yet you’d sail in the face of that? You’d trust a Skeksis over the signs of Thra?”

“I don’t need the wind or the tide! The Lord Mariner has looked after the Sifa since we first touched toe to the sea. Has sailed with us far from the Castle of the Crystal and the traitor Skeksis. We have our Sifa charts and navigators, and skekSa’s ship will break the waves for us. She has promised us this, and I believe her.”

skekSa’s only response was to take another swig of her drink, as if she were watching a performance and was pleasantly entertained.

Which, in fairness, has been her attitude throughout.

Interesting how she’s forcing the airing of these grievances when she’s part of them but it doesn’t really feel like she feels like she’s part of it.

But taking her favored clan out of the clutches of the other Skeksis who she doesn’t like, I wonder whose head that idea originated in.

Naia growls at Ethri that despite what Onica said, Ethri is just a coward and a traitor, and Ethri momentarily looks as lost and confused as Amri feels.

She’s the youngest Maudra and she’s suddenly been exposed to this idea that the power structure is feeding on the Gelfling in a very literal way. She has no trust that the All-Maudra will stand against the Skeksis given how she hasn’t so far. Even Onica doubts Mayrin’s commitment to resisting the Skeksis. And she was in the shared dream conference call!

The moment passes and Ethri gets her steel back and relays an ultimatum.

“Staya, you are welcome to remain in Cera-Na if it pleases you. Stay here and die. But if you will choose wisely, then you will set sail with the rest of the clain tomorrow night.”

Then she helps Tae to her feet and leaves the accusing parlor. And after a moment where Staya internally struggles, he follows after her. Which, I guess, is a metaphor for him falling in line. Probably.

With that out of the way, skekSa turns back to the elephant in the room, so to speak.

Hm. I wonder what Thra has that fills the ecological niche that elephants do.

“Now then, on to other matters.” In a single garish movement, she lifted the jar and flung it over a shoulder so it crashed against the wall. She leaned in and sneered. “Tell me what you want, Arathim. Spider. Have you reported all this to the Emperor, then? Shall I expect he and General skekUng will arrive shortly to dispatch me? Or will it be skekMal, your mad pet?”

OKAY!

So there’s a lot here.

First, skekSa is dramatic as heck.

Second, reasonably enough, she assumes that a Gelfling with a spider on him trying to stab her is an Arathim. And so working for the other Skeksis.

I didn’t realize that the bad blood between skekSa and the Castle was ‘send assassins at her’ level bad. Or, I guess, that she was paranoid to assume it is. Then again, a Gelfling with a spider on him did try to stab her while she’s about to sail off with an entire clan the next day so maybe that’s the most reasonable paranoid thing to assume.

I wonder if the Emperor did send assassins after her before. Not out of any desire to have her actually deaded but just to send the message that he’s not happy with her doing her own thing.

A lot of questions being raised.

Third, huh skekUng is the General. I wonder if skekVar exists in the J.M. Lee continuity. And what his title is.

Anyway, Tavra refuses to speak up and out herself so skekSa decides to grind her to spider dust. Kylan scoops Tavra off the table and insists that she’s not an Arathim.

“Of course it’s Arathim,” skekSa retorted. “It’s a spider, isn’t it? Sworn to Emperor skekSo. The crystal-singers, the silk-spitters, the whole squiggly lot of them. Make my scales crawl, they do.” She eyed Kylan suspiciously, but tossed the pestle over her shoulder to join the broken jar. “What’s going on here?”

Amri can’t think of anything to say so skekSa drops the matter, just promising that one day they’ll tell her. “I will wait. After all, I have eternity.”

Then she gives Amri his sword back as “A reminder of my generosity” and calls a boat to transport them back to shore since she can tell they’re afraid she’s going to do something while they’re on her ship.

Dang, skekSa, you’re so classy. You’re going to turn out to be evil but you’re doing a great job at it.

The group regroups on Onica’s ship and catch her up on what happened.

Kylan, that nerd (affectionate), asks Onica Far-Dreamer whether its true that all the signs are against Ethri’s plan.

“There are many signs, all with many meanings. What I know is that the tide is against a northward journey, and the wind this time of season would make it impossible if it weren’t for skekSa’s promise to help. And aside from that, no one even knows what’s across the Silver Sea. Ethri is well aware of all this, yet she plans to defy the signs... It is not the Sifa way. Something has come over her. I don’t know if it is the fear of the Skeksis, or that she is being manipulated by Lord skekSa.” Onica sighed and pushed her fingers through her hair before adding, “Worst of all, I fear she is no longer the Ethri I knew.”

Still low to medium key fascinated about this Unknown Continent. All the action of Dark Crystal just takes place on this one place. And if the coast sees snow up where the Vapra lives, how cold is the unknown land that Ethri wants to sail to?

Tavra comforts Onica, promising that they’ll speak with Ethri again and change her mind. And then apologizes to Amri for biting him, saying she didn’t take control of his body on purpose.

But he’s just imagining what would have happened if Tavra hadn’t stopped him. Hitting skekSa with a teeny little Gelfling sword and only enraging her, ensuring Naia’s death because he wanted to act the hero.

“I’m tired,” he said.

He took the sword from his belt and set it on the table beside Tavra. He found a darker corner of the cabin among the cushions and quilts, wrapped his cloak tight around his shoulders, and pretended to go to sleep.

=(

[imanonymousfanfic]

Kid's Lipstick (1/2)

This one shot was inspired by this artwork, don't forget to give the talented artist some love!

https://twitter.com/naru_KITA/status/1363171402254192640?s=20

Names for the unnamed crew members is credited to @ceejindeed or @ask-bolthead-crew !

It’s only Heat and I left in the game, again. Everyone else folded, giving up early in the game for a third time in a row, it’s suspicious at this rate. Haikei is leaning into his chair, head rolled back as he takes a long drawn out drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke over our heads. Everyone else in the crew is singing, dancing, stumbling across the deck in a chaotic mess, making it hard to concentrate. Luckily the distractions make it easier to bluff my way to victory. Wire’s eyes gloss over Heat’s hand before leaning over to me, taking in my hand. He slinks back into his normal seated position,  remaining completely emotionless as he does. When he thought I couldn’t see, he nudges Heat with a nodding smirk. I can’t help but grit my teeth, the damn bastards are messing with me again.

“So if I win, you have to down another mug of beer.”

“And if I win you will down an entire bottle of moonshine.”

“Where is this fair?” Haikei chips in, showing off a shit-eating grin.

I look to him, ready to murder. “Probably because I’ve drank-” I throw my hand over my mouth and loudly burp. “Sorry-But he hasn’t drank! It’s not fair!” I yell, smacking my fist down on the table a little too hard, hitting my wrist on the table's edge. I rub at the bruising joint, whimpering to myself as I do. Haikei laughs out and shakes his head, before taking another drag of his cigarette.

Heat snorts, catching my attention again. “Not my fault that you suck at the game and you’re a lightweight.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter back, I peak into the mug to see I have only drank half of the lager from my last loss. These men purposely take advantage of my small frame to be their laughing stock, mocking me because my tolerance is deplorable next to theirs. It sure has improved since I’ve joined them though.

“So this is what, the fourth game?” Heat questions me tauntingly. Oscar leans into the table, his eyes flicking between the blue haired pirate and I. He doesn’t often show interest in things, but this seemed to peak his.

“Fifth, actually.” He proceeds to correct, now smirking too. I lean back in my chair, staring him down. Any of my remaining amusement melts away. Now I know I’m not being paranoid, they are all in on this.

Heats lips tug into a soft smile. “So it’s a deal?”

“Just show your cards.”

Heat throws his cards down on the table with another winning hand, grinning devilishly as he does. Suddenly everyone around the table falls silent, turning their attention to me. Oscar and Wire exchange glances again. I roll my eyes and throw my defeated hand down, his straight flush beat my four of a kind.

I jump out of my seat, throwing my seat back as I do. “You’re a cheater!” I accuse him, growling louder than I planned.

“You’re accusing me of cheating?” Heat laughs out, rocking back on his chairs back legs. His sarcastic remark breaks me, turning my annoyance into uncontrollable rage. I climb onto the table and march my way across it, kicking all of their belongings out of my way. Heat lowers his chair and steadily stands tall, his gaze leveling perfectly with mine.

“Are you mocking me?”

He tilts his head at me, cocking an eyebrow as he does. He grins, amused by my question. “I would never mock you.”

“Oh, really? So then tell me why you cheated, because I know you did.”

Heat narrows his eyes at me. He lifts his hand up to my forehead, and flicks it hard. My temple thumps loudly, feeling the dull aching radiate through my skull. The others gasp silently amongst themselves, obviously not expecting him to respond the way he had. I freeze, my eyes deadpanned on him as the pain fades into the overboiling rage taking over my body.

“THAT’S IT!” I launch forward, tackling the blue haired pirate to the floor. I act quickly, throwing both of my legs around his neck as I try my best to pin his hands down. He quickly overpowers my hands, bending my wrists effortlessly at his will until I give out. He transfers both of my wrists into one hand, locking his long fingers tightly around them. With his now freed hand, he latches onto my ankle and pulls, trying to pry my limbs from his throat. Sucks for him, my legs are stronger than his arms.

The guys began to circle around us, chanting our names to encourage the fight. The audience for our struggle continues to grow larger the longer we go at it. Heat shoots up into a sitting position, almost throwing me off him, but my tight grip around his neck keeps me latched on. I swing forward, now coming face to face with him. I throw myself onto the floor again, bringing him with me. My angling on his neck gives me advantage and I squeeze harder on his throat. There’s no way I will lose this brawl. He wheezes, struggling against the pressure on his windpipe. He claws at my legs desperately, fingers digging deeply into my thighs, but he’s hopeless. His eyes are drooping and his tight clasp on my wrist is giving out.

“Enough of this!” Something tugs on my shirt, I peer over my shoulder to see an arm gripping tightly to the scruff of my shirt. I release my legs. Heat gasps for air, choking on it and rolls to his side, looking at me like I’m a maniac. I wave at him as I’m being dragged across the deck by Killer. The rest of the crew audibly express their disappointment.

“I ALMOST HAD HIM!” I yell at blond. He ignores me, continuing to the back of the deck and further out of sight.

“You’re exhausting, you pick a fight every time you drink.” We come to a stop, right outside the cargo room. He takes out the set of keys, unlocking it before kicking it open.

“It’s not my fault they pick on me,” I argue back. I tug on the fabric tight on my throat.  “You don’t care when the others do it, so why me?”

Killer doesn’t reply and lets go of me, letting me fall to the floor with a loud thud. I curse him angrily under my breath as I steadily get to my feet, readjusting my shirt, and dust myself off. His hand is pointing into the room, telling me to go first. I comply, sneering at him as I do.

There is no reason for him to bring me here to help him carry stuff. If he did, it’s not like I’d be much help anyway, I’m a doctor not a pirate heavily built with muscles. I pride myself on my speed and longevity, not my power. I scan over the bottles of liquor neatly organized on the racks in front of me. There’s hundreds. Most of these bottles are near undrinkable. Kid’s high alcohol tolerance certainly makes sure of this.

I look over my shoulder to see Killer leaning against the door, arms crossed and watching me silently. I can feel his eyes. Just as I anticipated, we’re here to talk.

“Kid has been acting off, so I asked him what happened.”

“Has he?” I rhetorically questioned, not bothering to pretend to be surprised.

“I’m here because he told me he told you.”

“Ah…fuck,” I mumble plopping my back against the wall. This is not the conversation I want to be having right now.

It’s true, he did. He told me a couple weeks ago that he was attracted to me. Whether it was emotionally or just physically is still unbeknownst to me. I never got the chance to ask, I was too busy helping Senior. I broke his foot after dropping a large box of medical supplies on him. I blame Kid for being impatient, insisting that I talk with him and not later in the evening as I asked. He stormed out seeing how much distress he put me in, not expecting me to react as badly as I did. Up till now I was hoping he had let it go after seeing how I reacted, but who am I kidding? It’s Kid, he doesn’t forget anything and he sure as hell won’t let anything go. When the man wants something, he will get it.

I was homeless when Kid and I met. He was across the street, watching a group of Marines harass me for hanging outside a bar suspiciously. I managed to uphold myself, messing with them in return claiming the Kids pirates just left town right under their noses. The idiots didn’t see the red haired captain behind them and took off in the direction I pointed them in. I was covering my own ass, but he was still equally amused enough to offer me a drink. The very same evening he invited me to become the ship's second doctor, insisting I would learn even after telling him I knew nothing about medicine. He never admits it, but it's obvious he’s had a soft spot for me since day one.

I have a crush on him, I can’t deny that fact, but I never thought about doing anything about it. My dedication is to the crew now. For the first time in years I’ve found stability in my life and I can’t lose that now. As much as I respect him, he’s not mature enough to take on the emotional responsibility of our emotions colliding. He didn’t even know how to respond when I broke down crying while drunk a few weeks back about my past. I stormed off, knowing it was no point opening up to him.

“You said you needed time, it’s been two weeks.”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you care so much?”

“For you? I don’t,” Killer retorts in a cold tone, my eyes narrow at the masked man. “Kid is my best-friend and captain, when I know something is bothering him, I’m going to deal with it.” I roll my eyes. “You have a bad habit of procrastinating, and with the upcoming events. I’d prefer Kid to have his head on right.”

He leans against the door, crossing his arms as he does. “So we won't leave until you agree to talk to him.”

I drop my mouth in awe, unable to believe that this man is entitled enough to parent me. “You’re treating me like a child!” Killer shrugs his shoulders carelessly. I scoff, throwing my hands in the air before crossing my arms over my chest. What an asshole.

“If you answered him sooner we wouldn’t be in this position.”

I grab one of the bottles of whiskey off the bottle rack and bite at the cork, ripping it out before spitting it onto the floor. I smack my back against the wall and slide down to the floor and take a large swig from the bottle, filling my mouth with the repugnant liquor. Being already partially intoxicated has made it easier, suppressing the need to gag. I can’t control the creasing of my face, smacking my lips in disgust, waiting for the flavour to fade.

I wipe my lips of the alcohol. “I… like Kid-” I tell the pirate. I hold the bottle out to him, inviting him to take a drink as well. He shifts slightly, hesitating to join me. He nods and walks over, pulling out a straw from a small packet in his jeans. I watch the bottle progressively empty a little more, taking his time. Oh god that’s disgusting, who drinks straight whiskey through a straw? I don’t look at him, the embarrassment of the situation alone is enough, having him stare me down makes this even harder. My head is on fire, I can feel the blood rushing to my face. Even in this dimly lit room he will notice the colour in my flushed cheeks. I’m not exactly in a sober state, maybe that can be my excuse.

“Yes?”

As I’m taking another swig, I nod, realizing I haven’t finished my point. I swallow the poison. “Kid is well… Kid.” I shrug my shoulders, now feeling my mood shift as the conversation continues. Is he capable of being the man I need or am I just filling my mind with fantasies? I’ve been homeless and alone for so long, I don’t want to lose this now.

“I just don’t believe he can take me seriously,” I roll my head back and look up to the masked man, awaiting for his response.

He shifts in his spot. “I guess you will have to find that out.

“You call yourself his best friend and you don’t know?”

Killer angrily hums at me. “The last time he liked a girl was when we were kids.”

The response irks me, making me think about the way he’s been acting, cold and definitely grumpier than usual. He’s been watching at me from across the deck during the day. I’ve been avoiding him knowing he has his patches, even pinning it to be his lack of sex. Now that Killer says this, it’s clear he’s been taking his dejected emotions out on me. I take a deep breath and grit my teeth, the building frustration is tensing all the muscles in my body. I ball my hand tightly into a closed fist, holding it to me, with my body continuously begging to punch something.

“Help me up... I’m… kinda drunk.”

He sticks his hands out with an open palm. I take it, grasping tightly to his coarse, callused skin, and begin to pull myself up. He yanks me from the floor effortlessly, letting me stumble to my feet, the alcohol makes it harder to catch myself.

“God,” I mumble standing myself up straight. “I keep forgetting how strong you are.” My head rushes for a second, feeling the room sway more than it should.

“I’m gonna tell him.” I declare on my way to the door. I throw it open, seeing all of the guys in front of me. They’ve been eavesdropping. I give them angry glares and stomp past them, taking another swig of the bottle as I do.

I approach the table, turning around to see the guys following me with hesitant looks on their faces. “Where’s my mug?”

“Why?” Heat questions.

“Because I lost the game, I need to finish what I owe.” I tell him. He nervously shakes his head at me, holding the mug to his chest.

“A-Are you sure? You seem drunk.” Heat hesitates, a worried smile cracks his lips.

“Give it.” I snap at him. He looks to me then the mug then to me again and hands it back. I down the remaining lager from my previous game. I look at my mug once empty and then put it on the table.

I can feel the whiskey hitting me now. The sudden shift of my intoxication hits me like a brick to the face. I catch myself, burping loudly once again, followed with another apology.

“Cheers.” I slur. Oscar was standing next to Heat, cocking an eyebrow at me. Someone rests their hand on my shoulder, I look up to see it’s Wire, silently asking me if I’m okay. I wave him off and shrug his hand away. I scan the deck, looking for the red haired man, he still hasn’t come out. Of course he hasn’t. I thought I was the one avoiding him, but it’s more obvious he’s been doing it to me. I make my way towards his bedroom door, with the guys quickly catching on. Haikei jumps in my path giving me a sweetened smile.

“Hey bud, where are you going?” He asks in an innocent tone. I may be intoxicated, but not enough to bear listening to that tone to help reason with the mindless drunk.

“You know exactly where, get the fuck out of my way,” I growl at him, “I’m not in the mood.”His sweetened smile diminishes and he obliges, stepping aside, looking perturbed.

I stand a few meters away from his door. I can feel the others behind me, many of them following behind me silently, watching for what I’m about to do. I stumble slightly, taking a small chug of the whiskey. I shift my grip on the bottle. I step back and swing forward, launching the bottle at his door. It smashes, the liquor exploding with it. I catch myself, almost stumbling to the floor again from launching the item.

“Are you crazy?” Haikei burst out to me.

“No, let her. She’s got her own behavior to deal with.” Killer interjects. Almost everyone is watching me now as I stand tall, waiting.

The door swings up, Kid’s angry expression emerges from the door, his large frame stepping onto the deck. His gaze quickly falls on me, knowing immediately it was me who had thrown the bottle at his door.

“You and I need to have a talk.” Part 2

[mulderist]

Wicked Game

Chapter 1 // read on AO3 // @today-in-fic

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

CHAPTER 2

U Street NW  3rd District  11:00am

I tried to tell myself I was rested, but that was a lie. Insomnia is a bitch and she makes a hell of a bedfellow. I couldn’t be bothered with the percolator in my apartment, though day old coffee hadn’t stopped me before. I didn't bother shaving, instead deciding to give my five o’clock shadow an extra half hour. My dress shirt lightly concealed the white bandage on my shoulder and I found a set of grey pants and matching suit jacket. I remembered my raw brimmed fedora and locked the door behind me. I debated whether or not to take the car but I didn’t want to deal with public transit this afternoon. The starter on the Pontiac needed a wake up call and after some persuading I made my way out of Alexandria.

I drove across the bridge and further into the district, stopping about a block away from the precinct so I could hop into the corner diner. I needed a decent cup of joe and some bacon and eggs. Sure it was almost lunch but I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. 

When I arrived at headquarters the bullpen was buzzing like a hornet’s nest. I removed my hat and took a seat at my desk.  My shoulder burned and I felt the stitches pull slightly as I reached down to unearth a group of files from a bottom drawer. I winced as I placed everything I had on Vincenti atop my desk. From behind the stack of papers I watched a parade of suits and uniforms flow in and out of the captain’s office. A cloud of Morley cigarette smoke signaled each time the door opened or closed; it reminded me of how they choose the Pope in the Vatican. I was waiting for that smoke to turn black when I saw Skinner in the doorway. His eyes narrowed and he flicked two fingers like an impatient father. I gathered the assortment of files I was reviewing and brushed past the remaining uniforms that were heading back downstairs.

“Nice of you to join the party, Mulder.”

“Well after my patch job I decided to take a powder and take my phone off the hook. My shoulder is fine by the way.” Skinner took a seat behind his desk and asked me to close the door.

“Funeral arrangements have been made at Arlington. We’re still waiting to receive the final report from the coroner. This of course will tell me how he died but I want to know why. I know you and Detective Spender had been working for some time on the Vincenti ring.”

“Well you did make it a top priority for vice if I’m not mistaken. At the request of the mayor?” I questioned as I glanced at a crowded ashtray then lowered into one of Skinner’s leather chairs.

“Last year, the mayor asked the commissioner for help decreasing drug related crime in the district. And this precinct’s vice squad had a no-nonsense reputation which the commissioner spoke so highly of.” Skinner stated as he pressed back in his chair. “I assume those files you have are related to the case?”

I handed him the papers.

“Since you gave us this assignment, Spender and I discovered Vincenti likes to run operations out of the Navy Yard. Spender wanted to find an informant, or at least pressure someone into being an informant. We staked out a flophouse near the old factory and watched for any dealings. Saw a street-savvy kid who looked like an easy mark and followed him. I remember Spender turning on the bad cop routine and pinned the kid to the wall. We told him he could stay anonymous but he gave us a name; Dimitri Kristoff.”

“A Russian?” Skinner questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“A Russian alias. He gave us that and a phone number,” I replied with a shrug, “At the time, the less we knew the better. Spender may have contacted him and pushed for more info. Eventually we were able to build a file on our friend Dimitri.”

“That might give a little more motive for Spender’s murder,” Skinner stated as he leafed through the file, “Do you think Spender was sold a bad tip or do you suspect the kid?” 

“If Spender was dealt a bad hand he must have kept it pretty close to his chest. We were partners but I personally wasn’t very close to him. I kept Dimitri at arm’s length and I don’t think he’d squeal. You could stake my no-nonsense reputation on it.” I replied as I shifted in my seat, “Frankly if the kid knows what’s good for him he would get out of the game all together.”

“Admirable,” Skinner said while he closed the file and placed it back on top of the stack. I could see the wheels in his head turning, grinding as he tried to rearrange the puzzle pieces. He removed his wire-frame glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was something itching at the back of my head.

“Sir. Can I speak off the record?”

“What is it?”

“I think Spender might have gotten in too deep with Vincenti.”

“Do you think he was working for him?”

“Not directly but he might have been pulling a side job. Thinking he could take a little off the top and offer the precinct’s blind eye as collateral.” 

“He wouldn’t have been that stupid, Mulder. He wasn’t a green recruit fresh out of the academy. He had several years climbing the ranks before getting in with the vice unit. Not to mention his military history.”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely, sir. He also has connections to The Hill and those connections have mob ties.”

Skinner leaned forward on his desk and put his glasses back on. I could see the wheels turning again. 

“Surveillance can post-up in one of the abandoned warehouses at the Navy Yard and gather more intel, see if Vincenti makes an appearance. They’ll be coming out of the woodwork once this hits the papers. In the meantime I want you to find your junior informant and bring him in for questioning.”

  I rose from my seat and reached for my files with a wince and headed towards the door.  

“And Mulder,” Skinner began before I had a chance to leave, “it will be military dress blues for Arlington. Regardless of your opinion, the precinct lost a man with high honors.”

 I nodded in response and headed back into the fray, closing the door behind me. I weaved back to my desk, dropped the files, and searched in my drawer for a memo with Dimitri’s phone number.

I listened to the phone ring on a seemingly endless loop, the long shrill sound reverberated in my left ear and I could feel my eyelids get heavy.  The ring evolved into white noise and I was one dim chime away from disconnecting the call when I heard the receiver click on the other end.

“You’re lucky I’m a patient man, Dimitri,” I started as I tried to stifle a yawn, “we need to arrange a meeting.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he responded.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, detective, I’m no good to you. My sources are as dry as the Sahara.”

“Is that so?” I questioned as I switched the phone to my opposite ear. “Well how about we just meet for a coffee.”

“That’s sweet detective but lunch dates aren’t really my style. I like something with a bit more spirit if you catch my meaning.”

“Fine. I can meet you in the nearest alley and serve up my fist to your goddamn nose. That spirited enough for you?” I heard him laugh through the phone, my fingers tightened on the receiver. “Georgetown University library.  I’m giving you three hours.”

“You gonna have a carnation on your lapel so I know it’s you?”

“Try a grey fedora and a pissed off look on my face.”

And I ended the conversation then left the office to get something to eat. 

------

3:35pm

Georgetown’s gothic spires, stonework, and green fields reminded me of my stint at Oxford. My professors felt that I could use more than a State-side education and my father agreed. He shipped me off to England hoping I would return top of my class. I studied psychology, took in the local pubs, local women, and managed a little bit of travel. After completing my academics I knew I wanted to return to Europe. However, in 1941 I was shipped off to the Pacific in a crisp Marine Corps uniform. Never got to see the Old World before things changed. 

I found a bench near the library at the edge of campus and checked my watch. Some students took their studies outside due to the favorable weather. 

Springtime in the city. 

I surveyed the quad: A male student was more focused on a small group of chatty sweater girls than his textbooks, a professor struggled with a satchel as he hurried into a nearby building. I clocked a young man in a pork pie hat headed my direction but he stopped suddenly to retrieve a gauzy scarf that was snatched by the breeze. He caught up with the shapely owner and said something to make her smile. The man adjusted his hat and continued towards me. 

“Nice weather isn’t it?” he began, “Spring is truly in the air and the winds of change are a-blowin’.”

“Dimitri?”

“One in the same, detective.”

“I take it you’ve heard?”

“It hasn’t made the papers, but yes,” he replied as he took a seat on the far end of the bench. I fixed the brim of my fedora as another breeze rolled across the quad.

“I need some answers from you.”

“Well it depends on what you’re asking,” Dimitri said as he took a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and tapped them against his palm.

“Do you know who bumped off Spender?”

“That’s a tall order.”

“Did you set him up last night?”

 Dimitri took a drag off the cigarette then exhaled a short plume of smoke. 

“I got an alibi if you’re interested,” he said confidently as he flicked away fresh ash.

“Let me guess; you were home all night, listened to the radio, brushed your teeth then went to bed like a good boy,” I replied as I shifted positions. 

“Nah, I’m not the homebody type. Never was good company.”

“I can see why. I honestly hate being around you at the moment.”

He laughed and placed the cigarette between his lips. His glance followed a co-Ed as she walked down the path towards the library.  

“Instead I was out following a tip.”

“A tip? Related to your boss Vincentti?” I questioned. 

“You could say that,” he replied, letting the statement hang in the air. It appeared I wasn’t going to get a simple answer.   

“Let’s go for a ride,” I said as I leaned forward and rose to my feet. The kid chuckled. 

“Are you arresting me?”

“Not yet, I just want a change of scenery. My car’s this way.” 

Dimitri pulled out another cigarette as we walked, waiting until he got in my car to light it. I turned on the radio so I wouldn’t have to talk with him on the drive to the precinct. We would have plenty to talk about once we got there.

Upon arriving, I got the attention of the older uniform at the desk who led us to a vacant interrogation room. I handcuffed the kid to the table and told him to stay put as I left to find the captain.

Skinner tucked a thick file under his arm as we entered the room. I closed the door and took a seat across the table. Skinner handed me the folder. 

“Dimitri Kristoff. Or should I say Alex Krycek,” I began as I turned the page, “you’ve got a record colorful enough to hang in a gallery.” I thumbed through a series of reports. “Petty theft, bribery, breaking and entering, minor assault, and this last one - public indecency? Don’t see that too often.” I watched him shift uncomfortably in his chair. His eyes found the corner of the room and carved a path back to focus on his hands.

“A guy’s gotta make a living,” Krycek said flatly.

“Well Alex, you must have been deep up shit creek,” I said reaching the end of his file. “I want to know a few things.”

“You’ve got it all there in front of you, detective.” He gestured with a cuffed hand. “Besides I already told you everything I know.”

“Actually you haven’t. I want to know set us up that night? What was your gain in all of this?” I questioned as Skinner rounded the edge of the table. I let Krycek idle for a moment and think. He looked towards the ceiling. 

“Can I get a smoke? I got a pack in my pocket.” 

I shot Skinner a look then leaned over to uncuff one of Krycek’s hands. He cleared his throat as he reached in his shirt pocket for cigarettes and a matchbook.

“I was in a bad way when I came home from the Pacific. Better off than the boys who didn’t of course, but I was still living alone, scraping by. Did you serve Detective?”

“Marines,” I said curtly.

“Ah. Semper Fi,” he said with a quick salute, “ I was in the Army myself. I couldn’t find a decent job when I got back to the States so I got involved with a fair amount of indecent work. I tended bar at one of Vincenti’s haunts. After a conversation one night I was asked to drive them to a job they were pulling. I had driven a troop transport while I was overseas, so I figured how hard could it be? I signed on with no questions asked.” Krycek flicked a match and lit his waiting cigarette. “I put my lead foot to good use and the more jobs I ran, the more green I had for my pockets. Shakedowns and bank jobs were fine but when the heroin came into the picture I knew I needed to find a way out. I had seen enough of that when I was over there, lost a few friends to it when we got home.”

“So that’s when your moral compass pointed north?” Skinner asked. 

“I got involved with a dame. She was a honey of a blonde named Marita who was in deeper with Vincentti than I realized. She worked at a nice club the crew would frequent. I chatted her up one night and she said I was different than the others. Well, she played me for a fool. She had a strong addiction that I helped fuel and it got her killed.” Krycek let the cigarette hang on his lower lip. “Hell of a dame.”

“Okay. So the motive was revenge,” I said as I rose from my chair. “Sounds simple enough. Thought you could single-handedly take down a mob boss because of a woman. Change of heart, realized the error of your ways, and all that.”

“Why get two of my best detectives involved in the first place Krycek if you wanted to handle this yourself,” said Skinner from his corner. 

 “The top vice unit would have easily wrapped this up with a ribbon,” Krycek responded as he twisted the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray. “Apparently Detective Spender didn’t play by the rules. But that wasn’t my department.” 

I was growing impatient and paced the far side of the room.   

“Son, you better elaborate,” Skinner said with arms folded tightly.

“I’m stating that the detective might have had another agenda at that meeting. He might have been linked up with them longer than you realized. Maybe he was working as a mole all along. Or, perhaps the goon didn’t want Johnny Law getting an extra cut from the drop so he cut him out of the picture.” Krycek mimed two shots with a finger gun. He sat there grinning like a dirty rat. I ran a hand over my face and let my palm rest on the side of my jaw, feeling the muscles tighten. My eyes darted in Skinner’s direction then back at Krycek. 

CRACK

I felt my new scar tissue stretch and tear as I swung a right cross that plowed into his cheekbone. The impact knocked him sideways but not entirely to the floor thanks to the thin chain keeping him tethered to the table. I rubbed my knuckles and backed away, waiting for a retaliation.

“Mulder!” shouted Skinner as he stepped in between, “You’re dismissed.” 

I rolled my wrist and watched Krycek adjust his jaw then situate himself in the chair. No blood yet but mine coursed through my veins like a superhighway. The fact I hadn’t left the room caused Skinner to approach me. 

“Leave. Now Detective,” he said with a deep tone to his voice. I exhaled and obeyed with a heated walk to the bullpen.

[codedredalert]

and in freedom, we find

drakelaw || oneshot || 1907 words

A month after Drake leaves the marines, Trafalgar Law comes asking questions.

Warnings: alcohol, enemy lovers with petty antagonism as flirting, bad jokes

A/N: for @noswordstyle and @rocketspurs, thanks for your contributions to the lawkins cause. thanks @narramin for being the funniest beta ever. 

(On Ao3.)

===/\===

The booze Drake first learned to drink as a marine was cheap as dirt and startlingly similar to lighter fluid. Yet, somehow, the kinds of places that were willing to serve wanted men had even shittier booze, for ten times the price. That had to be a crime of some sort. 

It did the job though. The world was muted, and there was a slight ringing in his ears, along with heat radiating from his face. Everything was pleasantly numb. The drink took away the pressure of his huge undertaking and the isolation from his brother marines. It had been a full month since his staged dishonourable discharge and effective exile, he was allowed to be a little homesick. He was… 

A touch called his attention. 

There was a hand gripping his arm, over his sleeve. Drake stared at it, stared at the tattoos across the fingers, black ink on dark skin in a dimly lit bar. He blinked and the letters came into focus, D E A T— the thumb wrapped under, he couldn't see the last letter. 

He blinked again, followed the curve of the long fingers up to a faded yellow sleeve, and further up to a familiar face, with an almost friendly smile. 

"That stuff will take your eyes out, if you keep drinking it," said Trafalgar Law, Surgeon of Death. 

Drake jerked away, too slow. He reached up for his axe handle, feeling like he was moving through water. Trafalgar moved faster, and there was a flicker of blue before the strap of his axe holster split, cut with clean precision and it fell to the ground with a loud thud. Drake cursed and tried to dive for it, but Trafalgar was in the way, and there was only yellow, yellow and a grinning jolly roger swallowing up his entire field of vision. 

Those hands appeared again, uncomfortably close to Drake's face. There was the tell-tale sound of a shotgun being cocked somewhere behind him. Even comfortably drunk, Drake could tell this was Not Good. 

Drake froze. 

"The owner is about to shoot us, commodore-ya," warned Trafalgar. "Turn slowly."

Drake looked straight into the double barrel of a sawed off shotgun. He looked past it to the decidedly grizzled old lady who ran the bar. She was built like a bear. 

"If ya gonna fight, pay up, an' get out," she ordered with the dead monotone of an employee who has been with an establishment for too long and was not paid enough for this bullshit. 

"We’re just talking," Trafalgar assured her, and his hand was on Drake’s shoulder again. 

Bullshit, thought Drake. He’d cleave Trafalgar in two if he only had his damn axe. Between the shotgun and Trafalgar Law, Drake knew who he'd rather keep his eyes on. 

He turned back to look at Trafalgar, whose nasty little smile hadn't budged an inch. 

"I don't dislike a turncoat, commodore-ya," said Trafalgar, voice smooth and slow and disturbingly comforting. "I'd buy you a drink but the methanol in what they sell here could quite literally blind you."

"Why are you here?" Drake heard himself say before his brain had quite finished processing the words and the oddly nice tone behind them. "Why me?"

Trafalgar laughed, face turned up slightly. The light hit his face where it wasn't obscured by his hat. In that split second, he looked like a decent person, and Drake could almost forget this was the face of a murderer.

"Why me," Trafalgar repeated, something heavy and suddenly tired in his tone despite the upward corners of his mouth. "Good one. Let me know if you ever get the answer to that." 

There was a long pause. Trafalgar realised he still had his hand on Drake's shoulder and removed it. Drake sat back heavily on the bar stool. 

"What d'you want," complained Drake. "'M not chasing you anymore, and you come find me? Stupid crazy pirate." 

Trafalgar took the seat beside Drake without being invited to sit, and he focused on Drake, as if trying to see into him and take him apart. 

"You loved the marines. Like family, you said. They raised you. So I came to find out— what was your offence, that they'd burn you like this? What was their offence, that a loyal fool like you would do anything that would scare them into this? I thought—" Trafalgar broke his sentence for a small, dark laugh, an aside to himself. "I thought maybe there's hope for the clever commodore-ya after all." 

There was a hint of sympathy there, though Drake had the unmistakable impression that Trafalgar was laughing at least a little bit at his expense. Still, the little spiel gave Drake pause. 

"You sound like—" Drake frowned and stopped as the thought slipped away from him. Trafalgar leaned forward, interested. 

"I sound like?" he prompted, head tilted slightly. 

"...you care." 

It wasn't the most eloquent or delicate way to put it. And there was no immediate reply from Trafalgar. 

Drake blinked away the alcoholic haze and leaned down slightly to see under the brim of the hat. Trafalgar's mirth had dropped completely. His expression was altogether more restrained, and full of hate. Hate wasn't a wild thing, it focused like a blade, and it sharpened every bone in Trafalgar's body. What was it that Trafalgar hated so much anyway? And did he know it made him even more desirable? Oceans blue, as if the man wasn't pretty enough just wild and angry and mad, he had to have a civilised side too. 

"Thanks." That was definitely amusement returning to Trafalgar's voice. The nasty little smile was back.  

Oh, shit. He'd said that out loud? 

"More mumbled than said, but yes." 

"Fuck you, Trafalgar," Drake hissed. He glanced at the bar but the bartender had already cleared his almost-full glass. 

"If you're offering…"

Drake paused, the unexpected response startling him. Almost involuntarily, he looked at the man right in front of him. The heavy material of Trafalgar's hoodie folded in against his body where he held his longsword in the crook of his arm, suggesting a thin waist. Signature fitted jeans advertised long legs, spread where he straddled the bar stool. Small wrists, Drake could fit both in one hand and pin them above Trafalgar's head easily. He made very sure not to say that aloud but he could feel heat rush to his face and… elsewhere. 

"Well. One head of yours seems to have voted yes."

Drake swore and looked down in alarm and back up to Trafalgar. The asshole was grinning openly now, smug. 

"I don't have to stand for this," Drake declared, standing. The floor heaved under him and he found himself clinging to the bar counter. There was a hand on his arm, holding him up. Despite its thin elegance, there was strength in the grip. 

"Commodore-ya, it looks like you can't stand at all," gloated Trafalgar. 

Drake glared at him. 

"I. Can." He wrenched his arm out of Trafalgar's grip. The floor pitched again like a ship in a storm and he found himself chest to chest with Trafalgar, clinging to the smaller man to keep upright. 

"Do you want my help?" asked Trafalgar. From this close, his eyes were true gold instead of the strange grey-hazel of his file photo or the dead slate-white of his wanted poster. 

"No!" 

Trafalgar shrugged. Drake could feel the movement of it where their bodies pressed against each other, but any effort to push Trafalgar away was like trying to fight gravity. 

"I could sober you up," Trafalgar offered again, lowly. "With… you know." 

The fucking Ope-Ope. Yeah, Drake knew. 

"No," he growled, and tried to push away again. Failed. 

"Do you want to get shivved right out the door?" argued Trafalgar. He was doing that thing again in his voice, that small tweak in his tone where it almost sounded like he cared. Tricky bastard. "Be sensible, commodore-ya. Better the enemy you know." 

… he's dangerous. Even if he played nice now, that hasn't stopped being true. A blight upon the North Blue and the Surgeon of Death, a madman who grinned in a suspended whirlwind of dismembered soldiers. 

"I… No.” 

"Fine," sighed Trafalgar. "I'll just get you somewhere safer. You can thank me once you're sober." 

He leaned Drake against the counter and retrieved the fallen axe. He put the strap over Drake's chest again, and another pale blue flash joined the seams of the strap back as if they'd never been cut. 

"I should truss you up and leave you out there for them," muttered Drake as Trafalgar pulled Drake's weight away from the counter. The axe made his balance better, and the weight of it was comforting on his back. 

"You like your old friends in the marines that much?" asked Trafalgar as they walked out of the bar. The midnight chill hit Drake like a bucket of ice, sobering as it stripped the heat from his face. 

What's it to you, Drake wanted to ask, but the cold wind snatched his words away. 

"You sure are a good dog, aren't you," Trafalgar continued. "Abandoned on the street in winter but still whimpering for your master. Stupid marines. You all never think." 

Trafalgar nudged them into an alleyway, out of the wind. Drake stumbled over something in the shadows, and Trafalgar pivoted them so they wouldn't fall. Drake's axe clanged against the brick wall. 

A thin hand settled against the bare skin of Drake's chest where the cut of his shirt opened. Trafalgar's fingers were cold against Drake's burning skin, even colder than the wind somehow. So cold they burned right through to Drake's lungs and left him breathless. 

"Don't like the cold, commodore-ya?" teased Trafalgar. His icy cold touch dragged even further down Drake's chest, and Drake's lungs squeezed out the last bit of air he didn't even know he still had. 

Trafalgar took Drake's hand and placed it on his waist. The hoodie fabric gave in further than expected. Damn, his waist was small, just as Drake had guessed. He really should remove his hand, but he doesn’t. 

"Why are you doing this?" he murmured. His other hand reached for Trafalgar of its own volition, gloved fingers curling into the hood. The weight of it pulled at the fabric and exposed a little more of Trafalgar’s neck. He drew Trafalgar flush against him. 

"No reason." Trafalgar paused, tilting his head as he re-thought his answer. He shrugged and pressed forward. The hand on his waist slipped down to his hip. "Though you should know, it's one of the benefits of leaving."

"What benefits?" The obvious one when he had his hand on someone's ass echoed in his head. "Sex?" 

"Freedom," breathed Trafalgar. His breath formed a pale mist, and he said the word with almost-reverence. For a long moment, his expression was the gentlest Drake had ever seen it, then it sharpened back to smug. "But that too. If you want."

"Freedom?" asked Drake incredulously. What freedom could there be for a wanted man, unable to go anywhere without the ever-present threat of pursuit and arrest? What freedom could there be with murders on your conscience? What freedom could Trafalgar Law possibly have to preach to him? 

Trafalgar just laughed, a bit too much teeth and white in his eyes. 

"Yeah. Welcome to freedom," he said, and his cold hands pulled Drake’s face in for a kiss. 

===/END\===

(On Ao3.)

[nemossubmarine]

Warhammer 40k: Wrath & Glory RP #45

Even though it’s late, pretty soon after Vivek and Saef have left, Gimlet makes his way to the AdMech ship docked in the hangar of Santa Maria. Donning his Inquisition badge, he asks to see the tech priest, and is granted an audience. Gimlet requests to be handed over the belongings of the servitor. The tech-priest is difficult as always, he points out that several of the belongings are standard AdMech gear, so there’s no point in handing those over. What does Gimlet want to with stuff like clothes anyway? Gimlet says he wants to see how the servitor would react, and this seems to cause some leering from Z47r, who points out that servitors don’t react. Gimlet shrugs. In the end, most of the stuff has been either discarded or recycled, so Gimlet manages to get some of Vivek’s clothes, a bunny he looted from Wes’ corpse (back in Elysium campaign) and his phone (in pieces).

Gorm meanwhile has returned to his room where he finds Uffe looking somewhat distraught. Uffe asks for Gorm’s council, and recounts that his and Vivek’s conversation didn’t go too well. Indeed, Uffe is quite certain after meeting Vivek’s brother that he had heard Vivek talking on the phone with him before, back when Uffe had that little wolfing out incident. Uffe confronted Vivek about it, and Vivek categorically denied it but Uffe knows he is lying to him, so the talk devolved into a row. Gorm thinks this makes very little sense, as this doesn’t add up with Vivek’s past behavior. He suggests getting Vivek into the room, and see if they can figure this out for themselves. Uffe agrees, though reluctantly. (at some point the two talk about what’s going to happen after, and Uffe kind of implies he has thought he isn’t going to make it through the hunt alive).

Gorm goes to Saef’s room to get Vivek. Saef opens the door (expecting a pizza) and says he’s not sure if Vivek is up for talking, but he’ll ask. Vivek comes to the door, clearly having just finished crying, but says he���s ok with figuring this out. Gorm comments that the talk with Gimlet seemed to have gone well, and Vivek tells Gorm about them having asked about purging Triplex Phall. They get back to Gorm’s room, where Vivek sits down opposite Uffe. Gorm asks him about the situation and Vivek reiterates that he has no idea about any phone call. Vivek asks if he has at any point done anything that would harm Uffe at all, and Gorm has to concede that he has not. Uffe gets a bit angry (for the reason that he is quite scared), asking if Gorm thinks he is lying. Gorm reprimands him for his behavior and asks him not to snap at other people. Uffe points out that he knows Vivek is lying and Vivek gives Gorm a desperate side glance (because he is lying about Uffe wounding him). Gorm says that the only way to get to the bottom of this is to look through Vivek’s phone records, so he’ll have to pop by the tech priest to see if he can get his hands on it. Vivek and Uffe should go to eat pizza at Saef’s place. Vivek says they’ll be there, but he has one more thing to say to Uffe. What that is, no one will know. 

Gorm runs into Gimlet right outside the AdMech ship and asks what he’s up to. Upon learning that Gimlet has Vivek’s phone, Gorm takes him aside and explains the situation. Gimlet absolutely refuses to look into Vivek’s phone information, so he hands the bits to Gorm, who points out he doesn’t have the technical know-how to get information out of bits of phone. So they go ask Vivek if it’s okay, and Vivek says sure. So they go do that and Gimlet pulls out all the information he can from the phone, but no phone call has been made. 

Before returning to the others, Gorm and Gimlet (mostly Gorm) decide it’s time to turn this depressing pizza party into an actual party, and they go to the bar to order some drinks and then to the tax free to get some party paraphernalia (and strippers (apparently Paul the Tax-Free guy is a part-time stripper)), including party hats, glasses, a boombox with some space Kesha music. On this party’s invitation list are Tabasco and Cayenne, all the Sable Swords (Carl and Stuart show up), Molly the engineer,  and Jennifer (some of the Sable Swords watch over Laurel). So with this party bus in tow, they return to Saef’s room. Gorm lets Uffe know the results, and then shushes his “I don’t understand”s with a tankard of mead.

Party time means party games, so a game of “Never have I ever” is called upon. Saef asks about people having their memories tampered with and then grimaces (the Space Marines, Vivek, Gimlet and Theo drink). Here’s some interesting things that are called “crushes on doctors” (Gimlet, Tabasco, Molly and Gorm drink), “crushes on Space Marines” (Gimlet, Tabasco, Vivek drink), “whether one regrets joining their current faction” (Theo, Saef, Vivek and Gimlet drink), “whether one has had night training” (what’s night training? -Stuart, “ask Gimlet” - Gorm (it’s sex)) (Molly, Jennifer, Tabasco, Cayenne, Vivek and Saef drink), “whether one has overheard night training” (Molly, Saef, Vivek and Carl (apparently he was sleeping in a tent next door to some Imperial Guard) drink). Uffe asks “never have I ever made a bet of how many cookies I can stuff in my mouth and lost”, which makes Vivek complain that that was told in confidence. Vivek drinks, as does Saef, and Vivek gives Saef a hug for it.

After “Never have I ever” Gimlet suggests some truth of dare. First up Gimlet dares Carl to call the person he admires the most. Carl says that person is dead and Gorm calls for a toast to Revan. Gimlet clarifies that a person who is alive will have to do, so Carl calls Gorm and explains (somewhat drunkenly) that he really thinks Gorm has been exemplary in his behavior considering the situation he has wound up in. The thing goes around, and here’s some of the things I remember: Stuart asks Vivek about how many cookies it was anyway. Apparently 5½. Vivek asks Gorm if Space Marines truly can’t have relationships outside their squads, and Gorm says that obviously there’s differences, but he personally thinks there’s nothing wrong with having a special relationship with someone.

Saef dares Uffe to kiss the person he would like to kiss the most. Uffe wants clarification, so Saef clarifies he can’t kiss his brother, and he should probably use tongue, which he then downgrades to whatever Uffe is comfortable with when Gorm points out that that’s not nice (especially if someone hasn’t kissed anyone before). Uffe turns to Vivek and lets him know he can back out of it, and Vivek just says that it’s okay, so Uffe touches foreheads with Vivek and brushes their noses together.

Gorm dares Tabasco to go sit next to the person he likes the most in the room, so Tabasco goes to sit between Gorm and Gimlet. Tabasco asks if Saef has his vaccines in order, which he does not (Tabasco will give them to him in the morning). Later Saef asks if Gimlet is in a relationship and Gimlet says yes (which is apparently new information to Cayenne). Gimlet dares Uffe to take a sexy pic of himself and send it to his crush. Uffe says his phone doesn’t take pictures, so Gorm says he can help and they go to the bathroom, where Uffe admits he has little idea what sexy entails. Gorm suggests he take off his chestplate and blow a kiss to the camera, which Uffe is very uncomfortable with, so he ends up just flexing for the camera. Gorm asks who to send it to, and then just sends it to Vivek. Uffe asks Gorm about an incident with Ivar and some alleged “ork kill-stealing” (totally happened, because Ivar is just too slow).

Gorm calls for a bonus round of questions everyone has to answer. First question is only slightly heretical, namely which chaos god would everyone follow if they really had to? Tabasco says that he’d follow Nurgle, for his life-giving abilities, Theo says same. Molly goes with Slaneesh for obvious reasons. Jennifer goes with Khorne. Cayenne says Tzeentch. Stuart says he’d have to go with Slaneesh because Noise Marines are pretty cool. Carl and Uffe both go Khorne. Vivek says Tzeentch, Saef Slaneesh (and Stuart dubs himself, Molly and Saef the Slaneesh team). Gimlet says Tzeentch and Gorm goes with Khorne as well.

Gimlet also has a bonus question, namely what people had seen they’d like to forget. It starts off as depressing as one might say with Theo saying he’d like to forget the image of his gang leader being decapitated. Molly goes noticeably less dark and mentions having walked in on her parents doing some night training once. Jennifer says she wishes to forget the faces of her kids when she had to tell them about their father’s death (Gorm cries a bit). Tabasco and Cayenne both mention family members taken by the Tyranids. Stuart says half eaten child. Carl gets teary telling about corpses of a family they found in a collapsed building, and Gorm goes to hug him. Uffe says he wishes to forget what his brother Harald had become. Vivek tells a story about being 14 at the factory and having one of his brother’s friend getting caught in the machines of the factory (apparently it took few days to get all the bits out). Saef’s thing he wishes to erase is finding the bodies of his gang, Gimlet’s is obviously Limestow. Gorm says he wishes he didn’t go last, because he doesn’t have such a depressing answer, namely Uffe’s former haircut, even before the topknot, which was apparently just the worst.

Suddenly there’s a knock on the door and it’s the police! Stuart scrambles to hide the booze while Molly goes to open the door. It’s the strippers and they’re here to arrest everyone for partying too much and being just too damn sexy. Molly has bunch of bills and no one is sure why she had them prepared and Saef dives for his wallet as well. 

Gimlet and Tabasco slip off at some point to go somewhere more private (namely the bar, though apparently one of the strippers was the barkeep so it is truly empty). Gorm was planning on getting the Space Marines of the group together but he notices that at some point Uffe and Vivek have disappeared as well (presumably together), so he asks Carl if they could go talk somewhere and they return to the Sable Swords ship. Saef drunk-texts Demir, lets the party continue and at some point just goes to bed, while in the background Sable Sword Stuart is doing a keg-stand.

Gorm and Carl go to the Sable Sword ship’s medbay to have a little conversation. Gorm lets Carl know that he would like to visit him on Obsidia and he would like Carl to visit Fenris, and Carl seems pleased to have such a relationship. He has one last gift for Gorm, but is a bit hesitant to give it, saying that he totally understands if Gorm can’t accept it. The gift is a device, known among the Space Wolves as Claw of Morkai, made to extract the progenial glands of the Space Marines. Carl says that Gorm’s talk of possibly doing a mistake with Snorri made him think, that perhaps there will be losses in the coming hunt as well, but with this Gorm could at least bring his brothers home in one form or another. Obviously the procedure is a difficult one, and there’s no guarantee that Gorm would be able to perform it, but trying wouldn’t hurt. Gorm says he can see why Carl was hesitant to give something so valuable and important. He’ll have to ask what Fenris thinks of the gift, but for now he takes it gladly. Carl shows Gorm how the device works. 

They talk a little bit more about Gorm’s future. Gorm explains how he feels it might be difficult for him to return to the normal in Fenris straight away, and though he’d love to fight alongside Carl and his Sable Swords, it would be difficult to arrange, and he would be an outsider. There is a place however where Astartes may work together, namely the Deathwatch. Carl comments that that would mean Gorm having to work under Inquisition, which the Wolves are famously not fans of. Gorm says it’s the Ordo Hereticus they mostly have problems with. Besides this would be a chance to perhaps keep an eye out on the career of an Inquisitive friend, namely Gimlet. And, perhaps there would be a chance for Gorm and Carl to work together as well? Carl says he hopes Gorm isn’t planning on joining the Deathwatch for those reasons, and Gorm says of course not, he genuinely thinks Deathwatch might be a good suit for him, and those two would just be bonuses. Carl says it is not uncommon for Sable Swords to serve in Deathwatch, what with their acumen for fighting Tyranids. Revan in fact served for a mission, so Carl obviously would follow his former leader’s footstep if asked, and working with Gorm would obviously nice. Carl isn’t quite sure what will happen to his squad after they return to Obsidia. Perhaps if the Emperor wills it, Gorm’s and Carl’s paths will go alongside for a while. They talk about leaders, and how Revan’s influence is still very much with Carl, and perhaps some of Rolf’s is still with Gorm even though he wasn’t working under him for quite so long. Gorm says he used to think Rolf was a great leader, and Carl thinks perhaps he still was, chaos makes mockery of all the intentions of mice and men after all. One isn’t born a great leader, one grows into it, and Rolf never quite had the chance to grow. Somehow the talk turns to Stuart dancing the night away at the party, and Gorm suggests perhaps Astartes might be better off dancing a bit more. So the two have a little dance (while Gorm sings sagas of Ragnar Blackmane as accompaniment). Gorm stays and sleeps in the Sable Swords’ ship.

In the night Saef has a dream where he meets up with Ahram, his Ahram, sitting on a rock looking at the vast expanse of space. Saef sits down opposite him and Ahram greets him. Saef asks why he was sent away from the gang. Ahram apparently knew that Kane Bullard was after potential psykers and had figured Saef as one (because Ahram looked like a man who worked for Bullard, he got some stuff figured out), so he asumed sending Saef away might save both him and the gang. Nope. Ahram notes that he is technically younger than Saef, so his mistake may be forgiven, hopefully. Saef doesn’t seem to hold any grudge, he just wanted to know. Ahram is sorry for the situation Saef is in, but at least he made it, and Saef says he often wished he didn’t make it. But now he’s got this life and time to figure out what to do with it. They reminiscence the night away. (also talk about Rat, but we forgot, so will be added later) Saef wakes up to find Sable Sword Stuart passed out on the floor, so he throws a blanket on him.

In the morning Gorm calls Sveleighr on Fenris. He explains the gift he got from Carl and asks what he should do about it. Sveleighr says that indeed it looks like Gorm has quite taken a mantle of the Wolf Priest already, so that would be the next logical step it seems. Sveleighr says he’s gotten multiple reports on Gorm’s conduct, both in terms of spiritual guidance and medical acumen. Gorm says that he has indeed been trying to get better at those both. He still isn’t sure why the necklace was given to him, other than Fenris thinking he was not strong-willed enough. Sveleighr asks what if Gorm takes the Claw of Morkai and uses it and fails, either with the medical procedure or with recognizing that the seed is far too corrupt to be returned. There is after all a difference between a mistake and a failure. Gorm says the medical procedure not working he could live with, but taking corrupt gene-seed would be a great failure indeed. Sveleighr says that he believes this last hunt will challenge Gorm’s both medical and spiritual skills, and it is indeed time for him to walk the walk of the Wolf Priest, and he instructs Gorm to paint his armors black. Gorm thanks Sveleighr and disappears off to do just that.

In the morning Saef goes to visit Konstantine who is just about to leave. Konstantine congratulates him on passing the test and asks Saef how it was, and Saef admits he thought it would be harder. Konstantine asks what Saef would like to do now he’s Imperial Guard, and Saef says he’d hope eventually to end up as a teacher, he just rather not join Inquisition for it. Konstantine is sure Saef can make it. Konstantine also wanted to discuss Rat with Saef, namely that if Saef doesn’t mention anything about Rat’s existence, Konstantine will neither. Konstantine feels he has failed Rat, but there isn’t really a place for her. Konstantine thinks she would be better off with her people (she might not want it). The only place that might take her is the Ordo Xenos, but that would have to be a non-scummy Inquisitor and even then Rat would be working against her own people. Saef says he’ll try to figure things out with the little time he has. Konstantine tells Saef he can always call, if he needs Inquisition-adjacent help. With that he is off.

In the morning after getting some breakfast, Gimlet goes to knock on Saef’s door. Theo answers and Gimlet asks for the “strange little man”. Vivek comes to the door and Gimlet asks if they could talk in his room. Which they do. Gimlet wants to know what to do with the whole Vivek being Inquisition evidence situation. What was Vivek planning on doing after all this anyway? Vivek shrugs and says he was planning on getting his friends off Triplex Phall, hopefully figure the life eater virus situation, finding safe places for his friends and then getting as far away from them as possible to keep them safe. Truthfully he has not thought about Gimlet’s situation much, like obviously Inquisition wouldn’t want Gimlet to let Vivek go, and that is something Vivek can’t help with, unless Gimlet wants to shoot him in the head, which Vivek rather he didn’t. Vivek recommends maybe asking someone else for help, because Vivek, as a literal prisoner, is in no position to help Gimlet. Not sure who would help, he definitely doesn’t want to get the Wolves in trouble (and neither does Gimlet). Gimlet laments that the odds don’t look to be too good for either of them, and Vivek agrees that there is indeed a lot of trouble ahead. Gimlet apologizes for telling Vivek about the whole purging of Triplex Phall, and Vivek says it was good, just means he and Eden were right in thinking Inquisition can’t have Eden. Gimlet still thinks it’s a bit fucked up that they could talk about it so casually. That’s Inquisition Vivek says. Gimlet asks if Vivek still wants to talk with his brother, and Vivek says yes, but that would probably spell more trouble for Gimlet in the future, so Gimlet might want not to do that. Gimlet tends to agree.

Saef returns to his room and begins to clean the rest of the party away when there’s a knock on the door. It’s Uffe who has come to retrieve his chest plate. And while he’s here, he wanted to point out that Saef kind of told him he doesn’t do mind magic, but now he has done it twice. Saef admits that yeah, maybe he wasn’t thinking too straight in the party. It is a new power, and he didn’t think it through. Uffe asks about the other time, and Saef said he was maybe a bit panicked at the moment. About Uffe killing Vivek? Uffe asks. Saef says yeah. Uffe thanks Saef for assistance with Vivek, but says that he’d like it if Saef would ask about that kind of stuff first. Saef agrees. Saef asks if he may use it on Uffe on the up-coming mission, and Uffe says only if it’s really, really important. Saef explains why he is coming along to the mission, namely finding Rat and Uffe offers help with dealing with Inpax, which Saef is sure Gimlet has got covered. Saef also says Uffe his old hair wasn’t that bad in his opinion, too bad about losing it, Uffe says thanks, better losing hair than losing a brother. Then he takes his armor and off he goes.

Gorm comes back to his room after finishing painting his armors (they’re left to dry in the other room). Uffe is there, and he wants to apologize for his behavior the day before, he got his fears got the better of him. Gorm doesn’t think there’s anything to apologize for, understandably it felt real to Uffe. Uffe admits that it is very rough right now, not being able to trust himself, and he can’t exactly live his life leaning on Gorm and Vivek. Gorm thinks that Uffe shouldn’t beat himself up over having to rely on others. It is a good thing to cultivate relationships. Gorm says he’s always thought Uffe as a loner but the more they’ve spent time together, the more he has started to see similarities between the two of them, both needing other people, forging bonds. Uffe says that Gorm appears to be much better at it than Uffe, but Gorm points out that not very many Space Wolves would bond with an AdMech. They discuss Vivek’s rather difficult situation for the moment, Uffe is not happy that Vivek has been forced on the run. Gorm says that though Wolves are very keen on head-on conflicts, there is not shame in retreat. In fact Gorm has read of something called a Tactical Retreat, fancied by the Primarch of Ultramarines. No shame in positioning oneself better for survival.

Uffe admits that he has a lot reservations about Triplex Phall, lot of blanks he doesn’t probably want filled. He just has this persistent feeling that something bad is going to happen. Vivek has been helping him out with mapping the blanks of his memory, and there’s a lot more missing than he had realized, around the time he left the others (after having killed Rolf). He mentions that Vivek recognized the ship he left in as an AdMech ship, so obviously AdMechs were around when he left. Gorm asks if he contacted Fenris, and Uffe says yes. Gorm asks if they should ask Fenris what kind of information he gave them originally, and Uffe agrees to it. They decide Gorm should get the information, just in case it’s bad. 

Gorm says that he has something to show Uffe that might take his mind off the current situation. Gorm takes Uffe to the room where he has been painting his armor, and Uffe congratulates him on his path, telling Gorm that he is proud of him. Gorm mentions his wishes to possibly join the Deathwatch, and asks what Uffe might do in the future, perhaps Deathwatch might suit him as well. Uffe says he hasn’t considered, as he hasn’t expecting to make it this far. Gorm asks him to consider, to keep his mind off all the bad things he seems to be so keen to think about. Uffe agrees that he’ll give it a go.

Uffe notes that Gorm seemed to be rather close with the Sable Swords sergeant, Carl at the party. Gorm says it was mead but yes he is close to Carl, there is certainly something special between them, that he really can’t put into exact words (and Uffe doesn’t think he needs to). Uffe says that he was kind of against these kinds of relationships for a while, as he deemed Harald’s fate to be the fault of Rolf, because of the closeness of their relationship. But he has changed his mind about that, and thinks good things may come out of being close to people. Besides it would be rather hypocritical of him to think that they are bad now. Gorm asks if he means him and Vivek, and Uffe admits that yes, there is something very similar there to Harald and Rolf and possibly Gorm and Carl. He feels no need to define it any further than Vivek being very important to him. Gorm says that Uffe is very important and dear to him, and that he loves him, and Uffe says he loves Gorm too.

Gorm also makes a phonecall.

Gorm goes to find Vivek in Saef’s room. He asks to talk in private, so Vivek shoos Theo away. Gorm mentions about thinking that Uffe might also be carrying the life eater virus, and that would probably need to be tested. And for that, Eden might be needed. So how are Vivek and Eden right now anyway? Vivek shrugs and says that Gimlet telling about the possible purging of Triplex Phall only justified his and Eden’s decision to merge, and that Eden can’t survive, but doesn’t mean Vivek is very happy about it. They’re not in much communication, currently. Vivek notes that there are some good stuff in his head too, that might be useful to hand out if they can find a person to give it to. Vivek has the ability to completely purge Eden from his mind, and the other part too, but right now since they can’t reach the other half, he is holding back. But yes, Vivek can do the test with the help from Tabasco. Vivek asks how much they can trust the doctor, whether it’s wise to let him see the results. Gorm says that he doesn’t know the doctor very well, certainly Gimlet trusts him (since boyfriends). Doesn’t mean he would maybe get the whole life eater virus thing, so perhaps better not to tell. Gorm asks Vivek to come to him with the results first.

Vivek comes back with bad news few hours later. Gorm was right, Uffe has it. Obviously this has really big rammifications for the relationships between the Space Wolves and the Mechanicus and Vivek is quite distraught, though understanding. Gorm is sure that Fenris is not going to go all Inquisition on the planet. Vivek also brings up his brother, and says that he thinks his brother might agree in putting something inside his own body, he would never agree to do the same to an Astartes, as that goes against the core beliefs of the Mechanicus (and all the bad things he’s done has been to prisoners). But if he is involved, obviously he needs to get his comeuppance. They discuss whether to tell Uffe about this, and Gorm asks Vivek’s opinion. Vivek thinks they should, namely the things Vivek hasn’t told had been about things Uffe would beat himself over and there is no reason this would be Uffe’s fault. Besides if something happens to both Vivek and Gorm, Uffe needs to know so he doesn’t put Fenris or any other planet at risk. Gorm agrees to this assessment so Vivek goes to break the news, while Gorm calls Fenris. Fenris is understandably angry, but also agrees that this has to dealt with discretion, since whoever did this clearly has few screws loose and access to means of mass destruction and that is the last thing anyone wants.

Vivek has been gone for a while, but as he catches Saef in the room they chat a bit. Vivek mentions that he is pretty sure he told Saef not to get caught with the army. Well, can’t be helped. Vivek says he would have helped Saef desert, but probably not the best idea at the moment to hang with him. Saef is rather resigned to his fate, but Vivek says he is allowed to feel frustrated about it. And he does. Vivek says he would change places with Saef in a heartbeat, but hey army is not for everyone. Saef’s going to do fine, still. (and Vivek hopes Saef knows he loves him, and Saef loves Vivek back)

Vivek asks about Saef’s family and how they are, and Saef mentions that things with family are still awkward. Vivek has three people who Saef and his family might help, three AdMech friends of his; Agda, her partner Max and Agda’s son Zeki. They’re decent people, not criminals. Agda apparently started the whole factory riot that got Eden’s skitarii arrested because Zeki got caught in unsafe machines and almost died (without Eden’s help). There is of course the problem of Eden being the only one willing to help renew Zeki’s cybernetics when he grows, but if that issue is somehow cleared with could Saef’s parents help rehome the three to Civitas A? Saef thinks so. Saef brings up Rat, the problem of her and Theo’s future, and in fact tells Vivek about her eldar parentage. Vivek admits that being a problem, but is sure they can manage something, they may need help (maybe not from the Wolves…).

Vivek asks Saef’s opinion of Eden at the moment, and Saef says that obviously he’s in debt to Eden, but doesn’t agree to everything he’s done. Vivek laments that he totally gets why Eden did why he did, which is why he doesn’t feel entirely justified in his anger, but yeah, he hasn’t decided Eden’s fate yet. His usefulness will be weighed against Vivek’s AdMech friends and all of Triplex Phall, and Vivek is not sure how that’s going to break down just yet. Saef says he’ll support Vivek no matter what, and Vivek says he shouldn’t if he makes a dumb choice. Vivek also asks Saef about his opinion of Gimlet, and Saef says that he doesn’t agree to some things Gimlet has done, but Saef’s the kind of guy that doesn’t let single actions change his opinion and Gimlet is still a friend. Vivek admits having difficulty reading Gimlet, but seems to think he is sincere in not wanting to screw Vivek over (despite it being so much easier for Gimlet), for whatever reason. Saef mentions having drunk-texted Demir, and Vivek hopes it’s not dick-pics (not that there’s anything wrong with that per se). Just strippers, says Saef (better?). Vivek asks if there’s anything there and Saef says they’ve only met once, and besides it doesn’t look like a good time for a long relationship. Vivek says that it’s important to find joy in small moments, and not do stuff just because they might not last. But that’s just his opinion. 

[sinninginpurple2-0]

Some Casual Relief

Will Write For Coffee

Nothing explicit but still a little unsafe for work

“Okay, what is it this time?” Marinette asked with a smirk as she opened the hatch above her bed for Chat to drop down through, “Are you just horny, stressed, or did she do something to wind you up?”

“Last one,” he mumbled in embarrassment, “She was going on and on about needing to warm up and-”

“And all you could think about was the way you normally warm up?” she teased, as she closed the window to block the chill of the evening outside.

He rolled his eyes and smirked in response. Ladybug hadn’t meant it as anything other than an innocent comment he was sure, but her voice had sounded positively sinful when she’d asked if he knew what she needed to spread some warmth through her chilled body. Hot chocolate hadn’t exactly been what he was thinking of when she’d announced it in an overly cheery voice before leaving him stunned and far too warm to be comfortable despite the cold.

So of course, he’d had to stop by Marinette’s before going home. He had a pretty severe itch to scratch that he knew she’d be only too happy to help him take care of it, given her own sex drive was as furious as a raging bull.

If someone had told him six months ago that he and his cute classmate would have a regular arrangement to work out their sexual frustrations together, he’d have laughed until he hurt himself. Ladybug was the only one for him, after all; no one else would ever do. Which, it turned out, was exactly the same situation for Marinette and some boy at their school.

After some awkward initial discussions, they had come to terms with the fact that they were both attracted enough to each other to be interested, but far too caught up in other people for it to be fair to try anything so serious as dating. They had promised to stay just friends, enjoy each other’s company and never complicate anything. That was until exams and university applications and stress joined the mess and they found themselves finally agreeing that letting off a little steam might be helpful and possibly even necessary.

And, of course, it turned out to be a handy way to deal with the unfortunate side-effects of their oblivious love’s words and actions at times.

“Was it as bad as the popsicle incident during the summer?” Marinette asked.

He groaned, remembering the way she’d teased the frozen treat in front of him, with no regard for the way his male brain was wired to react to such a thing. “Nothing could ever be as bad as that,” he said before leaning into her personal space and observing the way her face was already flushed pink. Perhaps she’d been hoping he’d visit before Ladybug had ever stirred his interest tonight? “Anyway, what about you? Mystery Boy been distracting lately?”

“Yup,” she said, eyes dragging down his body as she leaned back -not to move away- but instead to recline against her bed.

“You ever gonna tell me who he is? You know my not-so-mystery Lady.”

“Yeah,” she snorted, “because it’s obvious. If you don’t already know who gets me wet, I’m not opening myself up for your mocking.”

“You don’t seem to have any issue opening up for me in other ways,” he grinned before pushing her onto her back and grinding his hardness between her legs.

***

“Holy shit, that was awesome,” Adrien gasped as he rolled off of her and onto his back, removing the condom quickly and tying a knot in it before throwing it to the edge of the bed. He watched Marinette’s grin turn sly as she wiped sweat from her forehead, careful not to disturb the blindfold across her eyes as she did.

“Isn’t it always?” she asked as she sat up, slowly feeling her way to the edge of the bed and facing away from him before she lifted the scarf from her face and dropped it to the mattress. He chuckled breathlessly as she reached down for his clothes, blindly passing his jeans and boxers back to him so he could begin to dress before transforming for some cuddling.

She stilled slightly as she grabbed his button-up shirt from where it had fallen in a rumpled pile on the floor. Holding it out in front of her, she considered it and he wondered what was going on in her mind, considering he couldn’t see her expressions to work from.

“Is this from your father’s new line he hasn’t released yet?” she asked casually.

He froze. “My…my father’s?” he choked out.

“Yeah. I haven’t seen this one before, but it screams runway version instead of adjusted for the racks.”

Her voice was still too casual. Too nonchalant. Was she aware of what she was saying? Had she forgotten who she was with? Or, did she-

“Yeah, I know Adrien,” she said in answer to his unasked question, turning her head slightly so that he could see her face in profile.

“H-How?” he asked, feeling more exposed than he ever had before, even considering that he was more dressed than she was right now.

“You remember how I found your wallet in the school library?” she asked, finally turning fully to face him, handing him his shirt as she did so. He nodded as he took it. “It wasn’t really in the library. It fell out here. I wouldn’t have looked, but it was already open and your student ID card’s right at the front.”

“But…that was three days ago!” he spluttered, “You’ve known all this time? And you still let me- We just-” He vaguely gestured to the used condom discarded amongst the sheets.

She smiled and shrugged at him, moving onto the bed fully again to recline beside him. She was still very naked, and he was really surprised she didn’t seem to have any issue with it.

Pushing herself against his side, she wriggled her way into his hold so that they were snuggled up much the way they usually were after working out some tension, and Adrien couldn’t help but wrap his arm around her out of instinct.

“So, it turns out two of my friends are the same person,” she said, “Doesn’t change anything. Just means it’s easier for me to get in contact with you now when I’m horny, instead of scanning the rooftops and trying to get your attention when you pass.”

“Really? You’re not…freaked out? You don’t hate me?”

“Don’t be stupid. It took a couple of days for it to...marinate, I guess. But I’m over it now. Besides, now I don’t need to wear a blindfold, so I’ll get to see your pretty face when you come, Kitty.”

Adrien couldn’t help but laugh nervously. Could he really be this lucky, or would everything start going wrong?

***

He was still a little shell-shocked the next day at school. He got ready for class and sat in the back of the car in a stupor, watching the world from a distance until he got out and approached the building, absently saying hi to Nino. He was just starting to feel more human again and was actively listening to the latest talk about local club-life, when his best friend suddenly started to choke on the bottle of water he was drinking from, Adrien thumping him on the back until he gasped in breaths again before turning to see what had gotten him into such a state.

Immediately he grabbed for Nino’s forgotten water bottle himself and gulped down a huge drink, suddenly feeling a might thirsty at what he saw.

Marinette had just arrived at school -with a scandalised looking Alya in tow- and boy, was she ever underdressed for the chilly weather. She wore an off-shoulder, low cut, black corset top -one he was sure would be picked up on by the teachers citing dress codes the second she walked into class- and she had paired it with a short, pleated green skirt. Her long legs remained completely bare until they ended in cute little black ankle boots. The fact that she must have been freezing was only a distant thought at the back of Adrien’s extremely overheated mind.

“Just felt like looking pretty today,” she said in response to something from Alya that he had managed to miss in his haze, and he shakily handed Nino his water back, so the other boy could take a much-needed sip himself.

“Screw pretty. You look hot!” Nino blurted out and Adrien had to internally restrain himself before he socked his friend in the jaw.

“You have a girlfriend,” he reminded him in a harsh tone of voice.

“And she has no issue with him staring at Marinette today,” Alya told them with a wide-eyed grin, “She does look hot. I am seriously considering asking how you feel about a threesome.”

Marinette let out a full-blown laugh as she continued on her way, walking right past Adrien as she made her way inside. The quick wink she sent him was probably not lost on the others, but thankfully, neither said a word about it as all three of them openly gawked at their sexy friend.

Adrien was actually kind of grateful when they made it to the classroom because Marinette suddenly pulled a black hoodie from her backpack, covering up her rather obvious cleavage from view. He felt it like a fog suddenly lifting and he gained the ability to think clearly again without her chest distracting him.

At least, until he took his seat a few desks behind her, only to realise that the hoodie had the words “you know you ‘knead’ me” written on the back in green stitching with a couple of paw prints beneath. He groaned. It was going to be a long day.

***

Adrien was beginning to think that things might not be so bad after all.

He’d managed to get through an entire day now and -other than her provocative clothing and that initial wink- Marinette hadn’t acted any differently than usual towards him. They’d had shared classes and chatted like always. The four of them had had lunch together in the cafeteria as usual and there had been plenty jokes, some innocent and a few naughty ones -but that was typical of their interactions before she’d known. She’d even been more open to the dirty jokes he and Nino made when normally they caused her to blush even as she giggled.

So now, everyone had headed out to go home and he was on his way to his locker to retrieve his fencing gear before his driver came to take him to practice.

He was just passing by the supply closet two doors from the locker room when he felt a tug on the back of his shirt and stumbled backwards into the small space with a yelp. His back was pressed against the shelves with a thud as he heard the door slam shut and the sound of a lock engage.

It took him a few seconds to take in what had happened and the girl standing in front of him, smirking. Marinette had just dragged him into a small, secluded spot at school. After everyone else had left. There was no way in hell this was meant as anything innocent.

“Marinette?” he asked tentatively, trying to hide it with a firm tone.

“You could have at least commented on my clothes, you know,” she said with a pout, “I froze myself half to death to get a reaction from you, and it was Alya and Nino who ended up with their eyes hanging out instead.”

“So, you did wear that for me.” It was something he had been wondering on all day. Just in case. He didn’t want to feel conceited by assuming it was meant for his benefit.

“Of course I did. I’m cat themed and these are your colours.”

“Uh, yeah. So…any reason you had to pull me in here to tell me that?”

She smirked again, and Adrien just knew he was in all kinds of trouble now.

“You -as Chat- used to tell me you had an activity after school on a Thursday. I’m guessing that’s your fencing group?”

She placed her palm against his chest and his eye widened as he considered what else he had told her about that particular activity. “Um, yes.”

“Well, as you said, fencing’s an energetic sport. Really gets the blood pumping. One naughty thought at the wrong time and…”

And he’d embarrass himself in his tight uniform is what he’d do. Something he’d told her once before, although to be fair it had been an attempt to be seductive rather than give her fodder to taunt him with.

He took a deep breath. “Please don’t make fun of me,” he said.

“Oh, I’m not going to make fun of you,” she said, her hand sliding down his chest until it rested on his stomach, her pace slowing but not stopping completely as her hand continued its downwards route.

He cleared his throat, swallowing and desperately trying to wet the inside of his mouth. Fond memories of this morning’s water bottle returned, and he wished he had brought another with him to chase away the dryness trying to wreck his voice. “Please don’t try to get me worked up right before I need to go be around people for the next hour,” he practically begged.

“Too late,” she giggled as she began to palm him through his clothes. He couldn’t help but growl a little in both arousal and annoyance at her actions before his mind caught up to the fact that Marinette wasn’t doing this for Chat -she was doing this for Adrien right now. Despite what she’d said last night, did she really have no issue with knowing that who she was touching was a close friend?

“Wait-”

“Besides, that is the exact opposite of what I plan to do,” Marinette purred, ignoring his words and suddenly dropping to her bare knees in front of him and wrenching his belt loose.

“What are you doing!?” He squeaked as she looked up and held eye-contact with him as she unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them down. Because of the blindfold she’d never been able to keep eye-contact before. It was so hot.

“Well, I can’t promise you’ll go the entire hour without a little danger,” she said, pulling him out his underwear, “but this should hold you for at least the first half of fencing.”

“B-But you don’t have to-”

He trailed off with a moan and his head hit the shelf behind him as she engulfed his length and her mouth and tongue went to work.

***

Adrien was pleasantly surprised by how little his identity revelation affected things between him and Marinette. As time moved on, they only seemed to grow closer as friends, and other than a few sly looks thrown at them by Alya and Nino, who simply didn’t know about their arrangement and therefore didn’t understand the ins and outs of their specific friendship (a childish pun, but one he was extremely proud of himself for), everything flew under the radar.

The things that did change were definitely for the better.

At first, too awkward and unsure of the shift between them, Adrien had stayed away from her house. Two days after the unexpected fellatio in the supply closet, however, he’d gotten an unexpected late-night call from Marinette. He’d ignored it at first, but finally answered on her third attempt to reach him and after a nervous hello, she’d jumped right in without preamble.

“I’m stressed out over this essay question for ESMOD and I need you to come over and return the favour I did for you the other day.”

“Are you…sure you want me to come over?”

“Well, I can hardly sneak into your room, can I Monsieur Superhero?”

“I suppose. But…do you really-”

“Less talk, more cock, Chat.”

It had taken surprisingly little convincing to get him to visit after that, at which point he had done far more than just return the favour. The two of them soon fell into a new rhythm of school closet shenanigans followed by late-night booty calls from then on.

A part of him was disheartened that both he and Marinette had other people they were interested in; they seemed to work so well together.

***

His new favourite game was strip studying. The two of them would take turns using flashcards to quiz each other on Bac topics and every incorrect answer lost them an item of clothing.  It was the one time Adrien was okay with messing up and getting things wrong.

“Maybe I peaked when I aced the French section last year?” he told her, handing over his jeans to be added to her pile of winnings. He had completely forgotten a key point on statistics that would have seriously hurt his score on any essay he wrote, so now he was sitting with nothing to wear but his tight boxer briefs.

“I think you just like losing,” she joked, sitting back on her bare legs and stretching so that the oversized sweater she wore dropped to reveal her pale shoulder beneath.

“Maybe,” he said with a smile, grabbing another flashcard, “Okay, translate as many of these subject names as you can into English.”

“Easy,” she said, beginning to list them off as he gave her each one.

He faked a long-suffering sigh. “Something tells me your questions aren’t nearly as hard as mine.”

“Two more questions wrong, Kitty and you can show me just how hard yours is when you have to start paying in sexual favours,” she said with a wink.

“Why wait?” he asked sensually, pulling her forward to sit in his lap, their underwear the only barriers between their lower halves.

***

“So, um…you called me Adrien,” he said, gasping deeply for breath now that she had rolled off him and was curled into his side, also recovering.

“Yeah?-” -she panted in a quick breath- “-It’s your name.”

“I know. I know. It’s just…I think that’s the first time you’ve said Adrien instead of Chat when you come.”

“Really?” she said, the surprise in her tone evident, “Huh.”

He tilted his head and glanced at her as he dealt with the condom. Her eyes were shut, in bliss or tiredness he wasn’t sure, and her face was wonderfully flushed. It was the best way to see her, he had long decided. Only he got to see her like this.

Their breathing calmed after a few minutes and just as he prepared to close his eyes and doze off for a while, her own opened, piercing him deeply. “You called me Ladybug again,” she said.

He flinched. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Oddly, she actually looked like she meant it. Her face was nothing but casual indifference. “You love Ladybug. It’s expected you think about her when we have sex.”

He opened his mouth to explain himself. To tell her that while he loved Ladybug, he was also very much into her. That the arrangement only worked because they both liked each other -at least a little- and because she was one of the two hottest and most talented girls he’d ever had the good fortune of laying eyes upon.

He stopped short though, as something occurred to him.

“Hey,” he said, his brow furrowed in confusion, “don’t you ever think of Mystery Boy?”

“What?” she responded, looking equally confused, “Of course I do. What makes you think I don’t?”

“Well, you’ve never used another name. It’s always been Chat, and well, now Adrien too. I thought his name might have slipped out by now.”

She tucked her head under his chin tightly, her voice becoming quiet and muffled. “I was really careful not to use his name before. It’s a mystery remember?”

“Before? So, you think you’re getting closer to slipping up?” He grinned and pulled back to look down at her face. “Will I hear a familiar name soon and just suddenly know?”

“Adrien,” she said, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asked, reaching out to tickle her, his hand brushing her bare breast as he did and stealing a gasp. His body twitched in response. His recovery period was lessening all the time. Soon her Thursday afternoon pre-fencing precautions would only buy him fifteen minutes or so.

“I already slipped up, okay?” she said. Her tone sounded relaxed and unconcerned, but she wore a pout on her face and there was a slight wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows that countered her apparent ease.

“Really? When?”

“I said Adrien, didn’t I?”

He frowned. Was there another Adrien he knew? It was a common name, there was bound to be. But Marinette had implied in the past that she knew him personally and he spent most of his free time with her these days, so surely he’d have met him. Or at least Nino and Alya would have mentioned-

And suddenly it hit him. They spent all their free time together. The looks Nino and Alya always threw them when they got a little too flirty in front of other people and had to reign it back. The way she had acted and dressed for him right after she’d discovered his identity. The way she complained to Chat that Mystery Boy had wound her up when he’d spent the day with her, teasing her.

He was Mystery Boy.

“Oh. Uh, Marinette, I-”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, looking a little pained but surprisingly upbeat considering, “You love Ladybug. I’m happy to get what I can.”

His heart reached out for her. The one person she’d turned to in order to help her through her crush on him had turned out to be the same person. And she’d kept going all because she had realised that he could never truly want her while he continued to hope Ladybug might love him.

“I…I don’t think we should keep doing this,” he told her, chest aching as she rolled away from him to lie on her side, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not,” she said with a yawn. Probably pretending she was just tired, not upset.

“I need you to know,” he hesitated, unsure if his next words would help or make things worse, “If I hadn’t met Ladybug, if I hadn’t fallen for her…it would have been you. No one else.”

She remained silent and he dressed quickly before calling for his transformation. Looking over at her one last time, he could see that she had fallen asleep, breathes coming deep and even and a small smile playing about her lips. He wondered if she was dreaming of things having gone a different way.

He placed a tender kiss on her forehead and pulled the blanket up to cover her before letting himself out and making his way home.

***

Chat felt like the lowest form of life on the planet.

After breaking off things with Marinette last night, she had tried calling him several times and sent several texts. Considering most of them had consisted of her telling him she didn’t mind and wanted to continue things, followed by many typical booty call texts, he’d elected to ignore them. She needed time to realise that things had finally changed between them. Then he’d talk to her, let her work out any anger she might have, and hopefully see if they could salvage any part of their friendship.

If she never wanted to speak to him again, he’d follow her wishes, but there was a good chance it would kill him. He wondered how they would explain things to their best friends. Alya was the kind of person to stick by her BFF and as Alya’s boyfriend, Nino would be forced to choose between her and Adrien. He never wanted to put that on him, so he would do the noble thing and allow them to drift apart. Which meant, if she did hate him, he would lose all of his friends.

So, here Chat was, sitting atop Notre Dame and feeling miserable instead of patrolling. Of course, he also felt guilty for daring to feel miserable at all, considering what he must have put poor Marinette through already.

He was a little distracted, so he missed Ladybug’s arrival until she was right beside him. Jumping slightly at being caught off-guard, he put on a smile for her benefit and stood to greet her.

“How are you this evening, My Lady?”

Ladybug smiled at him, her usual brand of devilish beauty behind it. “I’m cold, Kitty. As always.”

“You should have brought that hot chocolate with you. We could have shared,” he said, his smile faltering a little as the effort to pretend everything was fine started to take its toll.

“I can think of something better to warm me up.”

His smile dropped completely at that. It was the kind of thing that would normally have him riled up to the point of racing back to Marinette’s afterwards for some much-needed relief. With what had happened yesterday, it had the opposite effect of usual as he slumped in place.

Only to startle when Ladybug lifted his arm to cuddle into his side. “Warm,” she hummed in pleasure.

He gave a humourless laugh and rubbed his hand against her arm in an attempt to counteract her Miraculous tendency that caused her to struggle with the cold. He slowed and stopped nervously as one of her hands unexpectedly roamed his chest.

“Um, Bug?” he squeaked.

“You’re just as warm as hot chocolate,” she said in a syrupy smooth voice, “Are you as sweet to taste, Kitty?”

“Woah!” Jumping away from her, Chat cursed his bad luck. He’d been waiting forever for his Lady to take an interest and now, at the worst possible time ever, she had decided to do so. “Ladybug, don’t take this the wrong way, but now is not the best time.”

“Why not?” she asked, in the same rich, chocolatey, indulgent tone, “I thought you loved me?”

“I do. But…I’ve done something. Something horrible. And if anything happened between us right now, I’ll hate myself all the more.”

The seductive almost love-drunk look slipped from her face and softened to one of concern instead. “What’s wrong?” she asked, a genuine note of caring in her tone.

So, he told her. He explained all about his arrangement with a classmate, about how she had found out his identity via misplaced ID and how things had evolved from there. About discovering he was the one she was in love with and how he realised he must have been hurting her all along.

And most of all, he told her about his own genuine feelings for Marinette. It didn’t make a lot of sense in the grand scheme of things. He loved Ladybug and he wanted her to love him too. But he needed her to understand that he hadn’t agreed to become a fuck-buddy with his friend because he was just some kind of cad. That it had been in part because he didn’t think it would be fair to try and date someone while he still loved someone else. That he had thought she was in the same position and that they were simply helping out someone they both cared for, without hurting them over their unrequited loves.

He ended by telling her that he still loved her, but that he also had strong feelings for Marinette -as well as the need to protect her- and that he needed some time to allow her to heal before even considering moving on in case he hurt her.

Ladybug listened in silence the entire time. Her face remained mostly expressionless and neutral, mostly just allowing him to get everything off his chest.

“I understand, Kitty,” she said, standing to leave as he watched.

As she walked across the top of the slanted rooftop, his eyes caught sight of something dropping from her hand, sliding down the facing and catching on a roof tile. He skittered down the side to grab it for her quickly before it fell again and was lost.

“My Lady, you dropped something,” he shouted as he reached the small piece of laminated card, lifting it to his eyes as he did so. His eyes widened, and he stared at the card for far longer than necessary before turning to look up at Ladybug, still standing on the edge of the roof above him.

“Is this yours?” he asked, indicating the student ID card in his clawed hands; the one with Marinette’s name and picture on the front.

She grinned and nodded, before sliding down the rooftop and coming to a stop on the slate tiles beside him. She leant in to kiss him lightly and Chat melted -just enough so that he didn’t notice as she took the card from him carefully before pulling back.

“How about we go to your place for a change, Mystery Boy?” she said with a grin, quickly latching her yo-yo around a gargoyle and swinging away in the direction of the Agreste Manor as he watched dumbfounded.

Will Write For Coffee

Bonus:

"Wait - we started this in the summer. You did that popsicle thing ON PURPOSE!!!"

[katieskarlette]

Before the Storm:  A Reaction Post

I just finished binge-reading the latest WoW novel, and I have thoughts.  Quite a few of them, actually.  So here goes.

Short non-spoilery version:   Game tie-in novels are never going to be high literature, but for what it was, I really enjoyed this book.  I know Golden’s name has been mud around this neck of the internet lately, so this probably isn’t a popular opinion.  The contrast between Anduin and Sylvanas as leaders--and as people--was interesting to see, and the questions about how the living and the undead can (or should) interact were incredibly poignant.  There was only one significant lore development (at the very end, regarding a new variety of undead) that is easy to catch up on via a quick summary, so it’s not a mandatory read to understand Battle For Azeroth.  But as a character study and a fleshing-out of the world and how various issues stand going into the new expansion, it was a enjoyable read.  If you’re a fan of Anduin, Sylvanas, Genn, Calia, or goblins, definitely check it out.

Spoilers (as well as a mention of real-life death/grief) below.

I think sometimes fandom marinates in an echo chamber and, because of how seldom new canon material is released, we assume that because Blizzard isn’t releasing a weekly short story they’re letting unresolved plot threads dangle and fester.  Sometimes they do, granted, but there were an awful lot of things addressed (or at least mentioned) in this book that fandom has been wondering/worrying/complaining/speculating about:

The leadership void among the Darkspear.  The impact of losing so many soldiers and supplies in the war with the Legion.  What’s been going on in the Undercity while Sylvanas is away doing Warchief stuff.  The fact that none of the Horde leaders have families.  The reaction of the Cenarion Circle to their losses in Silithus.  The unpopularity of Gallywix among his own people.  The confusion and cross-faction misunderstandings about the disastrous battle of the Broken Shore.  The tension and lost trust after Genn Greymane and Admiral Rogers’ shenanigans at the start of Stormheim’s storyline.  Moira’s son not being a baby anymore.  The unresolved issues between Moira and Magni.  Velen’s grief over his son.  The fact that Tess and Mia Greymane exist.  Theramore.  Calia’s claim to the throne of Lordaeron.  The long-lasting impact of the Cataclysm.  The mixed opinions among the Horde about the way the goblins terraformed Azshara.  Kalec and Jaina’s relationship.  Lore from the priest order hall.  And yes, the fact that Anduin needs an heir.

I’m not saying all these things are settled or developed, or handled in ways I necessarily agree with, but it’s good to be reminded that Blizzard hasn’t forgotten about any of these elements.  (Wrathion, on the other hand...  Sigh.  Don’t get me started.  Suffice it to say he’s not even alluded to in the book.  Onyxia does get a passing mention in relation to how her scheming impacted the Wrynns.)

Anyway, moving on to the main theme of the book:  life, death, and all the corpse-gray areas in between.

It was hard to read sometimes because of how raw the emotions were and how hard the questions were that it asked.  I’m not sure that it would have the same impact on someone who has never grieved the death of a loved one, but for me it was quite emotional.  I got misty-eyed in several places.  

I found myself imagining what it would be like to see my much-beloved grandmother (who, by the time she died, was as hunched, emaciated and discolored as any Forsaken, although that’s not how I try to remember her) standing across a field from me.  To be able to speak to her again, tell her how much I love and miss her, to tell her what I’ve been doing in the last fifteen years...yet to see her as a withered, pungent, unnatural husk, to know she’d been denied the rest of the grave...  Faced with that choice, I don’t know how I would react.  I’m glad I never will--for a lot of reasons!

The book never said that Anduin imagined himself facing either of his parents under such circumstances, but I’m sure he must have.  (I mean, not that there was anything left of Varian to turn undead, but hypothetically speaking.)  Anduin’s a very empathetic person, and his own grief over his father was still so raw.  It certainly affected Genn, who I thought was written very well. 

I’ve never been a fan of the Forsaken, because their dark, mean-spirited, nihilistic outlook and the corpse/bone aesthetic don’t appeal to me. (It doesn’t in other contexts, either.  Give me cute jack o’ lanterns and chubby-cheeked ghosts for Halloween decorations, and skip the plastic tombstones and cardboard skeletons, please.)  This book gave a lot of insight into what it would be like to be undead, without the need for sleep, cut off from any living friends/relatives, with a body that’s slowly wearing out without the ability to heal or do physical therapy, knowing that you are repulsive and smelly to others, making the most of second chances while also perhaps yearning for the peace of true death, and being acutely aware of how fragile you really are.  It made the Forsaken more sympathetic and (excuse the pun) fleshed out.

I was also quite pleased to see acknowledgement of Forsaken who aren’t emotionless, gibbering eeeevil.  My lone, seldom-played undead alt, a lowbie priest, is that kind of a character:  holding onto the Light even though it now is painful to use, and refusing to stoop to being a monster just because she’s a walking corpse.  That wasn’t a viewpoint that was really highlighted in canon before.  (Of course, that means my little priest would be out there on the Arathi plain with a bunch of black arrows sticking out of her right now, so...)

I was disappointed that the book never mentioned Anduin bringing Elsie’s body back to Stormwind to bury beside Wyll.  I’m going to assume he did, because geez.

I still don’t know where they’re going with the new Light-infused variety of undead, but we’re not really supposed to.  It’s just a teaser and cliffhanger.  There’s a lot of story potential, anyway.  We’ll see.  I’m glad they didn’t remove Calia from the story completely, at least.

Speaking of cliffhangers, if that adorable gnome/goblin couple didn’t survive, I’m going to be majorly bummed out.  It was also interesting to know that goblins and gnomes can get married in canon.  Presumably other cross-species relationships can be made legal, too.

Anyone who’s emotionally invested in the Menethil dynasty has sure had a rollercoaster of ups and downs lately.  Yay, Calia’s finally in game!  Noooo, she’s not interested in claiming her throne!  Yay, she’s interested after all!  Nooooo, she’s dead!  Yay, she’s...undead?  And she's totally cool with the idea that Lordaeron belongs to the Forsaken?  (Which, I mean, it does, but it’s surprising to have her think that.  So many forum threads about this stuff suddenly became obsolete...)  And there’s a slim chance that her daughter is either undead or still alive out there somehow?  WHAAAAAAT? 

Oh yeah, she secretly got married to a footman, had a kid, escaped the Scourge, lived in Southshore for years under an assumed identity, and then presumably lost her husband and daughter when the town got Blighted (yet she’s okay with the Forsaken???), but we didn’t see the bodies so heaven only knows what plot twist could come of that.  

On one hand (the Watsonian one) it’s a tragic, awful thing for her to have gone through and I felt really bad for her.  On the other hand (the Doylist one), did she really need more tragic, awful backstory?  No.  No, she really did not.  It seemed like overkill, which makes me suspect they’re seeding a plot thread for the future.  Meh.  Hey, if she lived in Southshore, did she know the Rogers family?  Would Admiral Catherine Rogers recognize her as whatever her fake identity was?

On a related note, you’ve got Anduin who in the past was always like, “OMG noooo don’t compare me to Arthas!” and now is like, “Okay, Calia, I’m officially adopting you as my new big sister.”  Oh, the irony...

I should address the rainbow-striped elephant in the room:  There is no LGBTQIA+ representation in the book.  Anduin is specifically mentioned as having been attracted to the female dwarf Aerin, and he expects to fall in love with a woman someday.  Personally, I‘ve headcanoned him as bi, perhaps leaning a bit ace, while always expecting Blizz to have him marry a woman.  I do sympathize with those who had hoped that he might be canonically gay, and I strongly agree that Warcraft badly needs more representation in that regard.  In this book alone, it would have been so easy to have that blacksmith bringing a helmet as a gift to his long-lost Forsaken husband instead of friend.  But we also need a major Warcraft character to be unequivocally LGBT.  It’s way, way past time.  Get on it, Blizzard.

[Edited to add:  I almost forgot, another kind of representation I wish they had explored was that of physical disability.  As convenient as Anduin’s Magic Lie-and-Bad-Idea-Detecting Bones are, why couldn’t he have had some negative lasting effects of being crushed by the Divine Bell?  Chronic aches, maybe a limp at least?  Loss of a limb, even?  There is a narrative to be explored there, and as someone with a close family member who suffers from chronic pain and limited mobility it would be refreshing to see that kind of thing addressed.]

Moving on, I’ve never cared for Valeera Sanguinar that much, but I did like how she’s set up as Anduin’s super secret spy.  I wonder if she gets to wear pants now.

Big ol’ meanie Sylvanas made Baine and Anduin stop being pen pals.  *pout*  I loved how Magni called her “lassie,” though.  That takes balls of diamond, to be sure...

Speaking of the banshee queen, I tried very hard to read between the lines to see what their long-term plans are for her.  Just because the last line of the book is Anduin proclaiming that she’s beyond saving, that doesn’t mean they aren’t going to try to pull off some kind of redemption arc.  If anything it just draws our attention to the question.  

Is Anduin right?  A big part of his plot arc lately is how he’s finding his way, making mistakes and learning from them.  Could he be wrong about Sylvanas?  He saw potential for good in Garrosh that never developed, so it’s not impossible that he could find compassion for Sylvanas someday...if she shows remorse and a desire to change.  And that’s an “if” bigger than the sword sticking out of Silithus.

I didn’t see any signs of her wrestling with her conscience.  If anything, the emphasis on how some Forsaken do still have feelings (besides hatred, bitterness, and anger) condemned her all the more by comparison.  Yet she does regret Vol’jin’s death, and she did respect him.  And her feelings were definitely hurt by her sisters’ responses to her, and you have to have feelings to have them be hurt.  But her lack of remorse for any of the vicious, heartless things she does, combined with her new penchant for killing her own people, doesn’t bode well for her to have a change of heart any time soon.

I also kept a close eye on Nathanos.  In his short story they made a point of saying that his senses were sharper with his new body, and that he felt a pang of regret for the first time since his death.  That could simply be an indication of his renewed state, or it could be a tiny sliver of foreshadowing that he’s not 100% on board with Sylvanas’ plotting.  Then again, that was set before Legion, and he spent all of Stormheim frantically trying to find her, and worrying about her, and just generally not being remotely subtle about how much he cares for her.  Heh.  Then again, he can care about her (in whatever way the undead feel such bonds, that is) and still think she’s going too far with her ideas about the valkyr, raising more Forsaken, keeping them up and functioning indefinitely without the release of true death, etc.  Interesting potential for conflict there, as well.

I don’t know that I even want to see a Sylvanas redemption arc, but it’s fun to try guessing what Blizzard has planned.  And such a plot twist would alleviate some of the “Didn’t we just do this same ‘overthrow a bad warchief’ plot with Garrosh?” syndrome, and allow them to keep around one of the franchise’s most recognizable characters.

I was also relieved to find no evidence that Anduin is being corrupted by the Old Gods, Azerite, or anything else.  He’s true to himself and the Light, as always.  I appreciate characters who stubbornly insist that there is good in (almost) everyone, despite living in a world that does its best to beat that optimism out of them.  It’s not blind idealism or naivete; it’s faith and its own kind of strength.

Sylvanas and Anduin are fascinating foils for each other.  The stark contrast between a young king who is still finding his place and a bitter, scarred, centuries-old queen, someone who comes to understand that death is not always the enemy versus someone who digs in her heels and refuses to accept it, someone who wants his people to be happy versus someone who kills them for not agreeing with her...  It’s intriguing.

Was it the best book ever?  No.  Did I enjoy reading it?  Yes.  Is it absolutely necessary to read in order to understand the story going into the next expansion?  Nah.  Would it have been a lot better with Wrathion in it somehow?  Of course.  ;)

And that’s my two cents.  (Er, well, judging by how long this post got, more like $2.50.)

[hekate1308]

Roommate Not Wanted

Drowley AU. So I really really have a thing for giving Crowley a specific job. Well. 

Say what you want about his mother, but he won’t need a roommate. As a matter of fact, he takes pleasure in the thought that his very first appearance at college will be him simply showing up to announce to said roommate that thank you, he is going to look for an apartment because there is nothing money can’t do.

He thinks little of the whole college experience anyway. If only the world allowed people to make a career without having to waste useful years at institutions that couldn’t teach him anything anyway.

But well – he knows one thing. Crowley’s years at college will be pleasant, easy, and spent mostly on his own. He’s never had the patience to endure other human beings for long, another reason to stay far away from the college dorms.

At least he thinks so until he actually meets his prospective roommate.

All he knows is that his name is Dean Winchester. It does in no way prepare him for the man he encounters when he opens the door.

Dean, who apparently is already busy unpacking, looks up and grins. “Hey, you must be Fergus!”

Normally, he would correct him immediately, but standing in front of him is the most handsome person he’s ever set eyes on, and he first has to swallow down the lump in his throat before he manages to reply, “I prefer Crowley.”

“Fine by me. Dean. Winchester.”

They shake hands and Crowley’s plans are changed.

He can well live through one semester of sharing a room if it means he can eventually have Dean Winchester in his bed.

Living with Dean is almost too easy. He’s friendly, kind, polite, and knows when to leave Crowley alone.

Normally, he’d expect to hate him within days.

Instead, they become something like friends.

Dean simply accepts him and his disdain for humanity at large, mostly just laughs when he complains about the other students, encourages him to relax, and he’s a good cook.

Not that Crowley would ever admit as such.

Dean knows anyway, Crowley can tell from the glances he bestows on him when they have dinner together.

The only downside to Dean being so utterly... charming is that seducing him becomes a much more difficult task than it ought to be.

Opposed to other teenagers, Crowley matured rather fast because he had to, and he never had any patience for the silly games the other students in his school were so fond of playing.

If he wants someone... well, he usually gets what he wants.

But Dean? When he flirts with him, Dean simply winks and flirts back, then asks what he wants for dinner; or whether he’s got work to do. Crowley can never be sure he actually emans it, and it’s beyond frustrating.

He’ll get there, though. He always does. He just needs a little time.

One morning Crowley gets woken up by Dean shouting. It’s such a surprise he needs a moment to get his bearings.

“Yes, yes, I know, I abandoned the family because I dared go to college blah blah blah. Don’t start that, Dad – Sam’s doing well. How? He calls me more than once a month, that’s how I know!”

Normally, this would be the moment where Crowley got dressed and left their room until things calmed down.

Somehow, he simply gets up and finds Dean sitting at the table, head buried in his hands.

He bites his lips. Of all the things he’s learned, comforting people isn’t one of them.

“I assume you heard everything?” Dean asks.

“It would have been difficult not to.”

Dean looks up and nods. There are tears in his eyes. “My Dad... he doesn’t like it that I went to college.”

“I gathered as much. In case it makes you feel better, my mother hates me.”

“I’m sure she –“

“She hates me, believe me.”

Dean smiles weakly. “What are we, the victims of bad parenting club?”

“You don’t seem like a victim to me. Everyone likes you.”

It’s true; The whole building seems enamoured with Dean. Not that Crowley is one to talk.

“Yeah, well...” Dean shrugs. “Everyone doesn’t include my father, it seems.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of college? Building your own life?”

“Seems like you’re better at it than me” Dean says somewhat bitterly.

“I just started early” Crowley hears himself say, and he has no idea where this new-found empathy comes from. Sure, he wants Dean Winchester – that hasn’t changed – but why does he suddenly care so much?

Dean smiles, and it’s one of the most beautiful sights he’s ever beheld. “Should have known, with you being all...you”.

Crowley isn’t entirely sure this is a compliment, but at least Dean seems to be in a better mood.

It is after this morning that Crowley begins to feel the danger of paying Dean too much attention. While he feels that he’ll always be ready to invite someone into his life for a few fleeting hours, he’s already decided that caring about people will only lead to heartache; and he’s rather sure he is already... a little too interested in Dean for his liking.

Maybe he should go forth with his plan of seduction, get it out of his system? No; he sadly comes to the conclusion that one taste of Dean Winchester would be addictive enough to tie Crowley to him for the rest of their lives, and he has no interest in having a significant other. If Dean would even wish for that, and why should he?

So he decides to stay safely away and move out at the end of the term.

The problem is that while this is an excellent plan in theory, Dean Winchester has already proven that he is the only one in the world who can surprise him.

And then comes the evening when Crowley is studying (it’s all so simple, really; why do people act like college is difficult to begin with?) Dean knocks on his door. “Hey, you got any plans for tonight?”

“No” he answers honestly, which is probably his first mistake.

Not protesting against the movie night that Dean proposes then is his second.

Apparently him never having much indulged when it comes to movies is a “crime” by Dean Winchester’s standards – that alone would not be a problem, Crowley could easily deal with watching a few films – no, the problem is that Dean looks entirely too captivating as he once more dives into the world and stories of characters he already knows by heart.

Crowley should have gone through with his plan to get his own place. He sighs and pretends that Dean’s sparkling eyes are not the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

After that, Dean routinely coaxes him out of his room, and Crowley comes to both love and hate his siren-like ability to make him do things he’d never imagined he’d end up doing, like going to college parties or actually interact with his peers.

There is Benny, who’s studying marine biology; Charlie, who could and probably will one day hack everything from the Pentagon to the FBI; and Garth, the weird guy with his sock puppet, only to name a few.

They all adore Dean, just like –

They all adore Dean.

Probably because it is not at all difficult to do so. Not that Crowley –

He really should step away.

He doesn’t. Dean even introduces him to his little brother when he visits, and Sam Winchester is not bad company, really; Crowley just thinks it’s weird that he seems anxious to like him.

It’s certainly the first time this has ever happened to him.

When he goes to his room to study, he hears them whisper.

“Dean, he looks like he’s plotting to take over the world.”

“Trust me, there are way worse options than Crowley around.”

“Just because you have a crush on him –“

Crowley doesn’t hear anything else. The thought that Dean might find him attractive has crossed his mind; as a matter of fact, in the beginning he was counting on it; but a crush? Someone actually having feelings for him? It seems too preposterous to be true.

It all comes to a head after finals week, with Dean barely conscious on the couch and Crowley trying to get him to wake up enough to have dinner (he noticed Dean barely ate in the past few days. That is all. He won’t have a comatose roommate).

“Come on, show me those lovely green eyes. You can do it.”

Dean moans but does sit up. Crowley proceeds to get dinner into him, but he’s not to be moved from the couch; he’ll have to sleep there tonight.

Crowley thinks he’s already asleep when Dean suddenly opens his eyes once more, reaches out, kisses him, and mumbles “knew you liked my eyes.”

Then he’s out for the count.

Crowley half-hopes he won’t remember, but no such look. The next day when he gets up, Dean is already cooking breakfast (small wonder, he had twelve hours of sleep due to his exhaustion).

“Morning Peaches. Still think I have lovely eyes?”

“And what if I do?” he challenges him.

Dean’s grin turns hungry. “Alright then.”

Much later Crowley remembers that he did actually come into the kitchen to have breakfast, but with Dean in his bed, he’s far too comfortable to move and see what became of it now.

Dating Dean Winchester isn’t all that different from living with him as roommates, he learns. Dean still jokes around and flirts with him, but now there are kisses and further activities too, and that’s just fine by Crowley.

It’s when this thing, whatever it is, lasts that he starts to wonder.

There comes the time when Crowley has to stop and take in what they are doing and decide his next step.

Because this... thing with Dean, it has the potential of making him happier than he ever thought he would be, he knows that. But at the same time, it could get in the way of his ambitions, and he isn’t prepared to sacrifice that much.

But on the other hand... There’s Dean. Just the thought of letting him go is too much for him.

When they graduate, Crowley cannot believe how much time has passed, and how their lives have intertwined. They have the same friends, visit family together; Hell, his mother likes Dean.

And yet...

Dean starts speaking of buying a house together, building a life, he even hints at rings and children (and that is something Crowley never thought he’d have to deal with).

One night, Crowley decides to speak openly about his reservations.

He explains it all carefully to Dean – how he’s a bastard who’s set certain rules for himself, how he doesn’t think he’ll ever make compromises, and yes, how he should be looking for a better man than him – but at the end, Dean just shakes his head and smiles. “You idiot, Crowley. I knew exactly what kind of man you are when we first got together.”

“But still –���

“But still” he mimics him before leaning in and kissing him. “So you’ve got plans. Big deal. We’ll just have to work on them together.”

Many years later

“Mr. President –“

“I am speaking to my husband” he says impatiently. Because Gavin got sick, Dean wasn’t able to accompany him on this trip, and he misses both him and the children greatly.

“But –“

“It’s alright, we’re doing fine here” Dean assures him. “My biggest problem is to make sure Emma doesn’t draw on the walls of the Lincoln bedroom.”

“Sounds heavenly” he sighs.

“Hey, you were the one who had all this ambition, remember?”

“And you were the one who chose me regardless.”

“Last time I checked, we chose each other, Peaches.”

“That’s true” he concedes while his secretary continues to wave frantically at him. “Sorry, I have to go.”

“We’ll be at the airport when you return” Dean promises and Crowley can’t imagine a better prospect.

[the-desolated-quill]

The Doctor, The Widow, And The Wardrobe - Doctor Who blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

I actually went into this one cautiously optimistic for once. While there were a few problems with it, Moffat's adaptation of A Christmas Carol was pretty damn good overall and surprisingly touching at points. (See, I do say nice things about Moffat sometimes. So I don’t want anymore hate mail saying I’m just a Moffat hater. I’m not a Moffat hater. I just despise shit writing. It’s not my fault if most of what Moffat writes is shit, is it?). Granted I wasn’t too keen on the idea of Moffat adapting The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe. I’m not exactly a fan of CS Lewis (misogynistic prick), but I figured I’d give Moffat a chance. It might be really good.

Was it? Well... I suppose it’s not the worst thing he’s ever written.

Things don’t exactly go off to a promising start. Remember when the Doctor said it was time to step back into shadows? Go into hiding? Stop being so big and noisy? Well this episode opens with the Doctor blowing up a spaceship. So much for hiding. And don’t get me started on the Doctor falling to Earth and trying to put on a spacesuit whilst in the vacuum of space. I know the science in Doctor Who has always been incredibly dodgy, but this is taking the piss.

Anyway the Doctor is rescued by a woman called Madge and he vows to return the favour. Three years later, during World War 2 (yes again), Madge and her family get evacuated (to an empty house, which is unusual. Also Madge is evacuated with her children. Why I don’t know. Either she’s a lot younger than she looks or Moffat hasn’t picked up a history textbook in a while) and the Doctor returns to give them the best Christmas they’ve ever had.

Let’s quickly talk about the family. First there’s Madge, played by Claire Skinner. Not a particularly interesting character, but she seems likeable enough. I enjoyed her resourcefulness at the beginning with the lockpick and everything. I also liked her emotional dilemma. Trying to give her children a happy Christmas while at the same time handling her own grief toward her seemingly dead husband and attempting to put a brave face on it. Her husband is played by Alexander Armstrong, who gives a good enough performance with the small amount of material he’s been given, although it’s a bit hard to take him seriously as an RAF pilot considering that he played an RAF pilot in the comedy sketch show Armstrong & Miller. Every time he talked, I kept expecting him to start complaining about how he wasn’t allowed to wear his ‘well hardcore trousers with all the pockets and shit’. Their children are less effective however. Cyril is a gormless troublemaker played by a child actor who gives a performance more wooden than the trees. And finally there’s Lily, who... exists. She breathes in oxygen and breathes out carbon dioxide. That’s basically her main contribution to the story. (And don’t forget, trees absorb carbon dioxide and release oxygen, so Lily is in fact making a very important contribution indeed).

We then spend some time enjoying some wacky hijinks with the Doctor, including spinning armchairs, taps that dispense lemonade, a train set built into a Christmas tree, and hammocks. While I’ve never been very fond of Matt Smith’s Doctor, even I have to admit I found this amusing. I think it’s because of how humble it all is. The Doctor isn’t being weird just to show off how weird he’s being like he normally does. He genuinely wants make this family happy.

And then it’s off to Narnia.

At first things are pretty suspenseful. Christmas trees that grow their own baubles, mysterious footprints and a wooden building shaped like a giant Playstation Move (remember those?). But as things go along, you get the sense that the episode is treading water a bit. Let’s face it, there isn’t actually a plot here. Sure Moffat tries to shake things up with the wooden statues and Bill Bailey in a space marine outfit. He even name-drops Androzani in the hopes that it’ll get classic series fans like myself excited. But it does little to disguise the fact that we’re basically watching a bunch of people trudging through the snow for 45 minutes with not a lot actually happening. It’s a bit dull. In fact name-dropping Androzani might not have been the best idea because all it did was remind me I could be watching The Caves Of Androzani right now instead of this.

Bill Bailey is utterly wasted. Who casts a brilliant comedian like him as the comic foil? Whose stupid idea was that? It hurts especially because you just know if he was doing most of the jokes, he would knock it out of the park. instead it all feels really awkward and forced. The other two Androzani miners just aren’t very good. And more to the point, what are they all even doing there? They’re using acid rain to harvest the trees, but why do they need to be there on the ground? And why, other than for the sake of plot convenience, did they leave that mechanical walker behind?

It soon becomes clear this is supposed to be an environmentalist story. The souls of the trees wanting to escape from the destructive influence of man. A worthy cause I suppose, even if it is a bit old hat. It’s a pity it doesn’t really make sense. So their plan to escape is to just wait for a human woman to conveniently happen upon them? Bit weak, isn’t it?

And then of course Moffat’s trademark sexism comes creeping back in. When her children disappear, mild mannered Madge suddenly shifts to the Moffat default of a gun toting sass machine (where did she even get the gun from anyway?) because that’s the only way Moffat knows how to write women. Apart from anything else, it’s just boring by this point. She manages to incapacitate the Androzani miners with ease, she manages to operate the mechanical walker despite the fact it takes years of training to do so apparently, and she absorbs the souls of the entire forest. How is she able to do all of that? Because she’s a mum. Yes ladies, it’s your capacity to bear life that makes you strong.

Moffat thinks he’s a feminist. I think he has an extremely unhealthy and patronising obsession with the female reproductive system. Also he doesn’t seem to understand how relationships actually work (which is a bit worrying considering he’s married). Newsflash: A man following a woman home alone in the middle of a forest is not romantic or charming. it’s just fucking creepy.

Yeah, so anyway, after some convoluted bullshit that gets everyone back home and brings Madge’s husband miraculously back from the dead, the Doctor goes off to visit Amy. I was more than happy to see the back of her, so you can imagine my disappointment when she showed up at the end. (And with a water pistol to assault carol singers with. What a delightful person). The episode concludes with an oh so poetic tear trickling down the Doctor’s face while the audience simultaneously groans with embarrassment at such a cliched ending.

Like I said, The Doctor, The Widow, And The Wardrobe isn’t the worst Moffat story I’ve seen. It’s not outrageously bad or anything. It’s just not very good. Also, apart from the WW2 setting and the snowy forest, it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe whatsoever. In my opinion, the biggest crime this episode commits is that it’s just really, really dull to sit through. My advice is to just watch A Christmas Carol again.

[bobmagicashopaiat313-blog]

Story Board

The story takes place over five days - one game day is consists of 3 - 5 story moments.

Day 1 - 

Act 1: Puffie Dream 

Bob dreams about the good old times he had his ex-girlfriend had. 

Act 2: Wake up Call 

Bob wakes up to a call from his landlord, telling him that if he’s gonna get kicked out if he doesn’t pay the rent in full amount in a week. 

Other activities:

- The players can navigate the home interface. Buttons are disabled if the plot requires. 

(Inventory Interface, where the player can check what ingredients are needed for each recipe)

When Bob doesn’t possess the item or haven’t unlocked the recipe, the icon remains black. 

-  Tutorial on how the gameplay (No pictures yet) 

- Meets Bob’s friend Buttons

Act 3: Tonight is the night 

Buttons drags Bob to The Bar to hang out. There, Bob seems Puffie with another monster - it looks like a date. Hurt, Bob ran back home. 

Day 2 - 

Act 1: First day back on the job

Bob wakes up, still feeling sad about seeing Puffie has already moved on while he locked himself up all this time. 

The player is required to go out and get store supplies. - The player cannot go back to the shop before going to the three available locations and buy a certain number of ingredients from the two stores. 

Rock Shell - The owner Cronoki asks Bob if he could make an energy drink for him 

Herb Garden - Meets a new resident, Nami

Youth Center - Sees Puffie, Bob signs up to be a conversation partner for the local youth to impress her

Act 2: Shop time!  Gameplay time (No pictures yet) Act 3: Event choice: 

Buttons comes to Bob’s shop again to hang out, but Bob has other things to do too. 

Player choice -  

1. Hang out with Buttons 

2. Make the energy drink for Cronoki 

3. Go to Youth center 

1. Hang out with Buttons - 

Buttons tells Bob that his cousin quit his job at some factory about a while ago and apparently the factory recently go shut down because it made its workers ill.  

2. Study Shygo

Bob stayed home and unlocked a new recipe - Energy drink. 3. Go to Youth Center 

Bob is informed that Puffie has left early so he didn’t see her here. However, after having an interest conversation with a young Steel Moth called Feathers, Bob was given a glow lipstick from Feathers. She claims that this thing makes her feel sick. 

Day 3 

Act 1: React to last night 

Bob quickly talks about what happened last night: 

If hung out with Buttons:

Bob: I wonder what happened to Buttons’ cousin . . . I hope he’s doing alright. Good thing the factory shut down. If a job makes the worker ill, it shouldn’t exist in the first place. 

If Developed for Cronoki:

Bob: I need to talk to Cronoki about this!  (Shop button disable)

If went to Youth Center: 

Bob: Hmm . . . Feathers said the Art Gallery has a free painting workshop tonight . . . Maybe I should check it out . . . 

Act 2: Shop time 

Gameplay 

Act 3: Puffie with bad news

Puffie comes to Bob’s shop to talk about something important. She tells him that there’s a flu outbreak in the two next to the monster city. The flu is actually an unknown disease that kills the patient. As a toxicologist, she and her colleges have been working on an antidote for almost a year now - but nothing has come of it.  Bob: So . . . You want me to help you find a cure?  Puffie: *Sigh* Yes, that would be helpful. Bob, we don’t have much time - this disease is spreading fast. So far, we only know the toxin is likely to be from an ancient marine monster but . . . I can’t tell you any more. I’m not even supposed to be here -  Please do not disclose this information to anyone else, or it can cause a major panic. 

If developed energy drink for Cronoki -  Bob receives 150 mo from Cronoki for developing the energy drink. However, Cronoki has another request. He bought a glowing lipstick for his daughter, but he thinks it’s problematic - from his own experience, most glowing things tend to be poisonous for Steel Moths like him - so he asks Bob to look into it, makes sure its safe. 

Act 4: Event choice - 

Player choice:

1. Call Buttons to hang out tonight 

2. Stay home and study 

3. Go to the art workshop (disabled if did not go to Art Gallery earlier today) 

Hang out with Buttons: 

Buttons is sad that his friend who is supposed to come to visit him got sick and she seems to be in a lot of pain. Bob worries that Buttons’ friend has caught the deadly disease Puffie was telling him about.  Stay Home and study: 

Bob does some testing on the toxin and is shocked by i. It’s like nothing he’s seen before. 

- If has lipstick:  Finds out that the lipstick seems to be able to coexist with the toxin. 

Goes to the Art Gallery: 

Meets Nami and the two become good friends. 

Day 4: 

Act 1: Morning reaction: 

Bob reacts to what happened last night. 

If the player chooses to go out, Nami at the herb garden and Cronoki for rock shell tell him to take care of himself because it’s flu season. 

Act 2: Shop time! Gameplay 

Act 3: 

After a day of work, Bob is ready to close the shop and relax. He starts thinking about his life without Puffie and how empty he feels inside. To suppress his sadness, he calls up Buttons. It turns out Buttons is sick . . . And he hasn’t gone to work today because he was in so much pain for some reason. 

If hang out with Buttons on Day 3: Buttons: Bobby . . . Remember my friend I was telling you about? Her brother called me his morning . . . She passed away . . . I . . . I don’t understand. It’s supposed to be a regular flu? . . . Bobby . . . Am I gonna be ok?  Bob tells Buttons he will make some sort of pain-killer & sleep potion for him so he could rest.  After Bob hangs up the phone, he now feels incredibly sad and driven to find the antidote. 

This has put the pain of the breakup in perspective for him. 

If went to the Art Gallery:  Suddenly, someone knocks on the door. Nami was outside. She came to ask him if she could learn some alchemy from him, after talking to him yesterday.  Player choice: 

Sure.  Sorry, I have to do some important research right now. 

Act 4: Research 

If know the relationship between lipstick & the toxin:  Bob comes to the conclusion that the toxin may not actually be what Puffie said it was and research into what the lipstick is made of. 

If studied the toxin but doesn’t have the lipstick:

Bob is frustrated and decides to step away from the research so he could work on the pain-killer & Sleep potion for Buttons. 

If haven’t studied & decides not to teach Nami: 

Repeat Day 3  - if doesn’t have lipstick, makes the painkiller & sleep potion for buttons. 

If decides to teach Nami: 

Bob got frustrated teaching Nami alchemy and lashes out on her. Nami asks what’s going on, and Bob can’t help but telling her that Buttons’ sick and he might not have much time to live. 

Nami is surprised to hear that and then tells him that she’d like to help him find an antidote.

Nami:  *Pulls out a bag of leaves* Remember this? This isn't a regular plant . . . I infused my wind-magic into its seed and plaint it in the wind magic-infused soil. I . . . I don't know what this herb can do yet . . . But why don't we do some experiments now?   

Day 5 

Act 1 

Bob reflects on what happened the previous date:

1. Researched what the lipstick is made of: Has a working theory about where the disease comes from - the factories that produced the glow lipstick have been releasing a toxic gas during their production, which is confirmed by the piece of news he found. A glowing lip balm factory in a city far away from the monster city was shut down due to evidence of its environment making its workers sick. 

2.  Makes the sleep potion: Bob successful developed the sleep potion but is frustrated that his research on the toxin didn’t go anywhere. 

 3. Knows the relationship:  Frustrated by the research, Bob comes to a conclusion for himself. The toxin isn’t what Puffie said it was. 

4. Studies with Nami:  Nami and Bob stayed up all night developing the antidote - and it turns out that Nami’s wind magic-infused herb was the key ingredient. 

(For all conditions:) Bob decides to go to Youth Center and talk about his research. 

Bob meets Puffie at the youth center, he gets a nervous vibe from here. 

Bob: the flu . . . It’s happening, isn’t it?

Puffe: Yes . . . *Sigh* It spread to Monster city way faster than we expected. I worried the kids the most . . . They are . . . So vulnerable. *Sigh* Now, let's go somewhere private and talk about your research. 

Act 2: 

They came back to the shop: If Has a working theory:  Puffie is impressed by Bob’s research. Very different approach to her and her colleges. Before Puffie leaves, Bob confronts her on why she broke up with him, Puffie simply said she had work to do, not time or energy for anything else.

Narrator: With those words, Puffie left. Bob stood there for a few more moments before he moved. Only now he realizes that the Puffie he fell in love with is no longer there. 

Makes the Sleep potion & Know the relationship: 

Bob admits that he isn’t sure where to go regarding his research and asks Puffie for more information. Puffie says she cannot disclose that information.  Bob gets angry and lashes on her and then breaks down - he tells her that Buttons is sick and he feels so useless not being able to save his friend.

Puffie: Stop that Bob. There are lives at stake. That kind of talk has no value. 

The two argue for a bit and finally, Puffie admits:

Puffie: Can’t you see I’m just as sad as you? But I can’t be like you Bob - I can’t afford to feel sorry for myself. Hundreds of lives are lost because I made no progress! I . . . I can’t be weak, I have a job to do. 

Bob begs her to stay and help him but she still leaves him. 

If Nami: 

Puffie is impressed by Bob and Nami’s work. Puffie: Wind Magic? . . . interesting, such a different approach than ours. 

Before Puffie leaves, Bob confronts her on why she broke up with him, Puffie simply said she had work to do. Bob says he understands and tells her that she deserves happiness. However, that turns out to have the opposite effect than he intended.

Puffie: I’ve been working on this for almost a year now . . . and you . . . you found the antidote in less than a week. Hundreds of lives are lost because I couldn’t figure out sooner . . . I . . .I do not deserve anything. 

Narrator: With those words, Puffie left. Bob stood there for a few more moments before he moved. Only now he realizes how truly depressed his lover is. 

Act 3: Shop  

Game play 

Act 4: choice

if Working theory: Successfully developed the antidote

If Nami: Spend the evening with Nami

If has Sleep potion - Goes to Buttons’ home and take care of him. 

Knows the relationship - Goes to Youth center and ask her to help him develop the antidote. She finally gives in. 

Ending (if Rent >= 1000): 

Antidote: Puts the breakup behind him, becomes the city hero and is hopeful for his future. 

Nami: Puffies the break up behind him, Bob introduces Nami to Buttons and they take turns to take care of him. The three become great friends. 

Take care of Buttons: Still bitter about the break but Bob is more worried about Buttons. He take care of Buttons for the next days, knowing that he needs to prepare for the worst.

Finds Puffie: The two keep working to develop the antidote. They know it wont be easy but they feel confident with each other’s help. 

Ending (if Rent <= 1000):

Ushaga comes to kick Bob out.  

[cyrelia-j]

[short fic] For the Glory of Morning (Jack/Julian)

So how does Julian end up on Jack's ship? Let's take a looksie and find out. May post to AO3 if I mess with it more but we'll see. Am still very much on the garashir ship but sometimes I like to have fun with odd offbeat things too and I already have a million weird Jack/Julian headcanons on the horizon

Rating: T this part

Warnings: bit of language and threats of violence with some sexual undertones

Pairing: WIll be Jack/Julian

Summary: Julian Bashir, genetically enhanced human and doctor newly hired on a freighter ship oddly finds himself at the mercy of some rather colorful individuals. He can only pray he makes it out alive

"You're never going to get away with this." Julian Bashir looks at the four of them from behind the force field. He's seated uncomfortably on the floor still not quite understanding how he ended up here. The last thing he remembers is speaking with the tall brunette- nice eyes- at the station bar. It was a simple stopover on their way to deliver the bolts of Tholian silk. It was his first trip with the crew of the Moa to be exact and his parents had fretted something awful about it. His father had found him a nice enough position from a friend of a friend and at the time it seemed to terribly boring to be assisting an aging station doctor on Beltane IX. Not when the Moa was in need of a doctor for some of their long distance runs and while they couldn't pay well it afforded a chance to really live the spacer's life.

Julian thinks as the man with the mustache takes a step forward, arms crossed, that Beltane might have been a better option after all. Lord knows, his father will never let him hear the end of it once he pays whatever ransom they're likely to- "This is the doctor, hm? The one who couldn't keep his eyes off of you? The one you said was interested hm? He doesn't look like much of a doctor to me. He looks like another guy you picked up off the station who won't do anything except try and steal our latinum and eat our food mmhm." The man speaks quickly, pacing a moment, glaring at the woman. She had said that night her name was Lauren but Julian doesn't know that he ought to believe the word of the woman that drugged him and had the rest drag him here.

On closer study, Julian isn't quite sure who'd have brought him. Granted he's hardly more than a wheelbarrowful as his aunt would say back on Earth but between the delicate blonde woman staring at him intently- him or the wall behind him he isn't quite certain-, the heavyset older man shuffling forward uncertainly, or the leader? himself there aren't a lot of options. He supposes that's one of those questions he's going to have to let go. Right Julian. Just see what they want, stay calm. They haven't hurt you yet and if they were going to they surely would have already. "Airlock!" The man with the mustache yells all of a sudden making Julian almost fall backwards by the ferocity. "I... I beg your pardon?" Julian stammers suddenly far less certain of the situation.

"Jack-" Lauren- until he hears otherwise he's just going to call her Lauren- warns stepping forward. "He," Jacks points at him accusing looking agitated, "is not a doctor! I know doctors, mmhm, I know their look, I know their eyes and he hm is not a doctor." He looks at Julian suddenly, and rather impressively box jumps right up on a crate to look down at Julian almost comically. "Why did you tell her you were a doctor? You had to know we'd find out. You had to know you weren't fooling anyone." "I am a doctor, Julian replies calmly though feeling a bit irritated at the man's ridiculous display of dominance. "And you're not a bird so I don't see why you need to stand up there just to talk to me." "I'm not a bird, I'm the captain. Look up, I outrank you, I out perform you. You couldn't get up here like this, could you?" He's crouched down, peering down at Julian with a squinty look. Julian stands up irrationally to feel a bit taller.

"I could climb up there," he says defensively not sure why he's even having this ridiculous conversation. "I told you he was a doctor, Jack. Doctor Julian Bashir. I checked his credentials quite thoroughly. I think he'll do. He has good hands. He has doctor's hands. Don't you, Julian?" Attention darting quizzically and a bit uncomfortably with that scrutiny and the way she half purred at him, Julian nods. "Er... yes I suppose but I'm afraid my parents are in a bit of a spot with money, My father owes quite a tidy sum of credits so ah... you may find keeping me costs you more than any ransom they can pay right now.” "Airlock!" Jack declares again doing a backflip from the crate back to the floor making Julian's eyes go wide. He watches Jack straighten out, a rather odd suspicion beginning to settle upon him as Jack brushes off the elaborate brown captain's jacket. He didn't think one could still find epaulets on a coat. He's also becoming rather unnerved at the idea that they just might space him on the whim of the madman in charge.

"We can't do that, Jack, remember what Dr. Loews told us?" The older man pipes up all of a sudden looking nervous, voice high and childish. "Don't open the airlock with people inside." Dr. Loews? Dr. Loews, I know I've heard that name before but I can't quite place it. "I don't see Nurse Ratched here, Patrick, do you? Does anyone? Hm? No? No nurse Ratched, no doctors, no walls just us and our latinum and space and Dr. Bashir if that's your real name Dr. Bashir." "It is," Julian answers trying to remain collected, quite sure now that he's dealing with some sort of loony bin parade. He looks at Lauren, seemingly the less... violent and more reasonable of the bunch. "So ah... I assure you the airlock isn't necessary, and if you er... are in need of a doctor..." He looks at the blonde woman who still hasn't spoken. "Is she ill... does... does she need a doctor perhaps?" He looks hopeful, probably pitifully so but he really hadn't planned on waking up on a ship of pirates when he'd gotten up this morning so he's sure some of that can be forgiven.

"Don't ask her. Why are you asking her? I'm the captain of this ship not her." Jack is pacing, arms crossed biting his index finger as his eyes dart back and forth between the both of them. His eyes are never still, and Julian notes absently that his eyes are nearly the same hazel as his own. His brown hair is wild, the mustache seemingly some "suave" affectation or another and Julian almost could bizarrely imagine him in some ancient mariner's tale. Julian sighs inwardly. This really is going to take all of his charm. "Right, I'm sorry I'm just a bit confused." "Well you shouldn't be. You're in there and we're out here and I'm the captain and I'm throwing you in the airlock," he turns to Patrick, "and I'm opening it." "We need a doctor Jack, we agreed it was on the list,” Lauren argues. “Not the airlock,” Patrick wails. Julian is inclined to agree with him. The blonde woman hasn’t said much of anything merely approaching closer before turning back around slowly. He doesn’t imagine she’ll be much help.

"We need a doctor not a playboy who's going to throw everything out of order. This is a well oiled machine not a holonovel, we need a worker, a real go getter, a guy who knows his stuff, that this arrogant upstart here hm? You remember Roger? Roger was a doctor. Roger didn't work out because Roger couldn't keep his hands to himself, so, Airlock!" Julian practically hears the capitalization of airlock as he steps right up to the forcefield. “If you think for one moment I’m letting you space me-” “He’s a mutant, like us Jack,” Lauren interrupts and Julian almost thoughtlessly rushes the forcefield at just what’s she’s implying. Lauren is calm, her eyes moving slowly between him and Jack. Jack’s eyes narrow.

“He’s a mutant? Can’t be. He’s a doctor. Genetically enhanced people can’t be doctors. You know that, I know that. So he’s either lying about being a doctor or lying about being a mutant hm...” Jack approaches the force field, studying Julian carefully. “Which is it hm? You know you can’t lie to us because we are enhanced and we can see right through you.” He waggles his fingers at Julian who isn't impressed. He decides to treat Jack with the same lack of urgency as Lauren. “I’m both. You can check my credentials at your leisure.” Julian takes a breath, looking away to the wall feeling hesitant. “I am genetically enhanced but most people don’t know about it,” he says softly.

“But you weren’t at the Institute,” Patrick protests and Julian’s attention immediately goes to him. The Institute! That’s where they’re from! Julian swallows, almost afraid to look at them all now. He’s all too familiar with the unlucky ones who didn’t turn out like him, who couldn’t integrate, who couldn't adapt. He looks at the blonde woman. The ones who had issues... And if they’re here that means they escaped their handler or whatever. Why hasn’t this been broadcast? Why isn’t there an alert? Surely I’d have remembered that. No, that’s not right, there was an alert. There was an alert three years ago and Julian had always just assumed they were- “The cube root of three hundred twenty nine, what is it?” “Six point nine zero three,” Julian answers automatically and almost claps a hand over his mouth.

“See, he’s a mutant, all right,” Lauren says with a big triumphant grin. Jack still looks irritated. There’s hardly any point in denying it anyhow. He sighs. 

“That’s why I didn’t try and join Starfleet. It was safer that way.” It had been his dream of course but when one had spent a lifetime trying hard not to stand out... Really, he was thankful that he was able to study and get a medical license at all though his father had to get a bit creative. He looks at them all frowning hoping perhaps he might be able to reason with them. “I’m no one special, I’m just a doctor who should be on the Moa not here on the... the whatever this ship is called.” “The Morning Glory,” Jack declares proudly with a puff of his chest and Julian prays that his face is completely blank as the first stupid thing that pops into his head is some old Earth slang and he swallows hard, voice a bit tight as he asks, “like the flower, right?”

“Of course like the flower,” Jack answers looking at him like he’s an idiot while Lauren smirks behind him. Julian almost literally bites his tongue. “You don’t like it,” Patrick says far too shrewdly and Julian blanches. “It doesn’t matter if our prisoner doesn’t like it, it’s a fine name and we took a vote. That’s democratic, that’s the Captain showing his benevolence to the crew, we’ll have no mutinies around here! mmhm. Are you trying to start a mutiny?” he accuses and Julian almost pinches the bridge of his nose wondering if the universe isn’t having some grand joke at his expense. “Perhaps you ought to ask your second in command there about the name,” Julian answers deadpan. Jack whirls around looking at Lauren who answers that it’s a fine name with a toss of her head. This is getting nowhere quickly and while Julian hardly has any intention of trying to dramatically thwak anyone over the head with an iron and steal the ship, he really would like to be out of the holding cell so he can eat something and use the restroom.

“I’m a fine doctor,” Julian answers with that “boyish grin” his mother likes to compliment him on, not turning down the wattage when Jack glares daggers at him. “And I would be delighted to serve on your ship,” he says thinking the first damn port they make he’s running like hell to the authorities and never looking back. “Aw no no no, we’ll have no mutiny here, loverboy,” Jack says looking between Julian and Lauren suspiciously. “Is that why you brought him here? Your boytoy and the new ship’s captain hm? Mutiny gets the airlock!” Jack declares, the entire time not having ceased his pacing. “No airlock!” Patrick yells and Julian catches the blonde woman walking in front of him just as Jack approaches the cell seeming like he’s really going to drag him out of there. Julian takes a deep breath, almost feeling like he’s dealing with an entire room full of children.

He beams that smile at Jack, deliberately paying Lauren little mind. Admittedly, she intimidates him a bit- she had the night he met her and he’s decided that it’s definitely less intriguing now than it was then and more than a bit much. “I wasn’t speaking to her, Captain,” he answers with his finest bit of acting as Jack’s hand hovers over the button for the force field. “I’m ah... afraid my tastes don’t run to women so I can assure you that you’ve no worries on that count.” Julian doesn’t particularly like lying, but he doesn’t think it will be much of an issue. Lauren is striking but just not his type and the blonde woman doesn’t seem like she’ll be much distraction either. Well, it’s not entirely a lie, his tastes run to both rather and if smiling a bit for a man who might be just a bit more on the handsome side when the murderous mania is removed from the equation...

“You...” Jack’s eyes are somewhat adorably wide at that and Julian doesn’t quite understand since it’s hardly uncommon, but it seems that for all his bravado, he hadn’t ever expected Julian to be turning that sort of attention to him. It actually makes him feel bad for taking any advantage but Jack is already moving, spinning around almost twice as he practically runs for the door. Julian opens his mouth and shuts it again, not having quite expected that reaction. “Right! Of course you are... you’re not. I knew that! I could see that! So I don’t know why you would lead the poor woman on like that. Rude, very rude. Work on that. We’ll work on that now I need to make sure we don’t crash and you can figure out what we’re...with Lauren... -ituated hospitality.... -ot -avages” It’s only Julian’s hearing that allows him to hear as much as he does before he’s looking at Lauren. “Jack’s embarrassed,” Patrick declares almost wondering. “Now this is going to be interesting. It’s not often we get to see Jack flustered like that,” Lauren says as she releases the force field. “Better for you though, I’ll only break your heart, doctor.” She paused thoughtfully and gave him a wicked smirk. “Now Jack... he might break far more than that.”

TBC!

[readbookywooks]

WHEN I had done breakfasting the squire gave me a note addressed to John Silver, at the sign of the Spy-glass, and told me I should easily find the place by following the line of the docks and keeping a bright lookout for a little tavern with a large brass telescope for sign. I set off, overjoyed at this opportunity to see some more of the ships and seamen, and picked my way among a great crowd of people and carts and bales, for the dock was now at its busiest, until I found the tavern in question. It was a bright enough little place of entertainment. The sign was newly painted; the windows had neat red curtains; the floor was cleanly sanded. There was a street on each side and an open door on both, which made the large, low room pretty clear to see in, in spite of clouds of tobacco smoke. The customers were mostly seafaring men, and they talked so loudly that I hung at the door, almost afraid to enter. As I was waiting, a man came out of a side room, and at a glance I was sure he must be Long John. His left leg was cut off close by the hip, and under the left shoulder he carried a crutch, which he managed with wonderful dexterity, hopping about upon it like a bird. He was very tall and strong, with a face as big as a ham - plain and pale, but intelligent and smiling. Indeed, he seemed in the most cheerful spirits, whistling as he moved about among the tables, with a merry word or a slap on the shoulder for the more favoured of his guests. Now, to tell you the truth, from the very first mention of Long John in Squire Trelawney's letter I had taken a fear in my mind that he might prove to be the very onelegged sailor whom I had watched for so long at the old Benbow. But one look at the man before me was enough. I had seen the captain, and Black Dog, and the blind man, Pew, and I thought I knew what a buccaneer was like - a very different creature, according to me, from this clean and pleasant-tempered landlord. I plucked up courage at once, crossed the threshold, and walked right up to the man where he stood, propped on his crutch, talking to a customer. "Mr. Silver, sir?" I asked, holding out the note. "Yes, my lad," said he; "such is my name, to be sure. And who may you be?" And then as he saw the squire's letter, he seemed to me to give something almost like a start. "Oh!" said he, quite loud, and offering his hand. "I see. You are our new cabin-boy; pleased I am to see you." And he took my hand in his large firm grasp. Just then one of the customers at the far side rose suddenly and made for the door. It was close by him, and he was out in the street in a moment. But his hurry had attracted my notice, and I recognized him at glance. It was the tallow-faced man, wanting two fingers, who had come first to the Admiral Benbow. "Oh," I cried, "stop him! It's Black Dog!" "I don't care two coppers who he is," cried Silver. "But he hasn't paid his score. Harry, run and catch him." One of the others who was nearest the door leaped up and started in pursuit. "If he were Admiral Hawke he shall pay his score," cried Silver; and then, relinquishing my hand, "Who did you say he was?" he asked. "Black what?" "Dog, sir," said I. Has Mr. Trelawney not told you of the buccaneers? He was one of them." "So?" cried Silver. "In my house! Ben, run and help Harry. One of those swabs, was he? Was that you drinking with him, Morgan? Step up here." The man whom he called Morgan - an old, grey-haired, mahogany-faced sailor - came forward pretty sheepishly, rolling his quid. "Now, Morgan," said Long John very sternly, "you never clapped your eyes on that Black - Black Dog before, did you, now?" "Not I, sir," said Morgan with a salute. "You didn't know his name, did you?" "No, sir." "By the powers, Tom Morgan, it's as good for you!" exclaimed the landlord. "If you had been mixed up with the like of that, you would never have put another foot in my house, you may lay to that. And what was he saying to you?" "I don't rightly know, sir," answered Morgan. "Do you call that a head on your shoulders, or a blessed dead-eye?" cried Long John. "Don't rightly know, don't you! Perhaps you don't happen to rightly know who you was speaking to, perhaps? Come, now, what was he jawing - v'yages, cap'ns, ships? Pipe up! What was it?" "We was a-talkin' of keel-hauling," answered Morgan. "Keel-hauling, was you? And a mighty suitable thing, too, and you may lay to that. Get back to your place for a lubber, Tom." And then, as Morgan rolled back to his seat, Silver added to me in a confidential whisper that was very flattering, as I thought, "He's quite an honest man, Tom Morgan, on'y stupid. And now," he ran on again, aloud, "let's see - Black Dog? No, I don't know the name, not I. Yet I kind of think I've - yes, I've seen the swab. He used to come here with a blind beggar, he used." "That he did, you may be sure," said I. "I knew that blind man too. His name was Pew." "It was!" cried Silver, now quite excited. "Pew! That were his name for certain. Ah, he looked a shark, he did! If we run down this Black Dog, now, there'll be news for Cap'n Trelawney! Ben's a good runner; few seamen run better than Ben. He should run him down, hand over hand, by the powers! He talked o' keelhauling, did he? I'LL keel-haul him!" All the time he was jerking out these phrases he was stumping up and down the tavern on his crutch, slapping tables with his hand, and giving such a show of excitement as would have convinced an Old Bailey judge or a Bow Street runner. My suspicions had been thoroughly reawakened on finding Black Dog at the Spyglass, and I watched the cook narrowly. But he was too deep, and too ready, and too clever for me, and by the time the two men had come back out of breath and confessed that they had lost the track in a crowd, and been scolded like thieves, I would have gone bail for the innocence of Long John Silver. "See here, now, Hawkins," said he, "here's a blessed hard thing on a man like me, now, ain't it? There's Cap'n Trelawney - what's he to think? Here I have this confounded son of a Dutchman sitting in my own house drinking of my own rum! Here you comes and tells me of it plain; and here I let him give us all the slip before my blessed deadlights! Now, Hawkins, you do me justice with the cap'n. You're a lad, you are, but you're as smart as paint. I see that when you first come in. Now, here it is: What could I do, with this old timber I hobble on? When I was an A B master mariner I'd have come up alongside of him, hand over hand, and broached him to in a brace of old shakes, I would; but now - " And then, all of a sudden, he stopped, and his jaw dropped as though he had remembered something. "The score!" he burst out. "Three goes o' rum! Why, shiver my timbers, if I hadn't forgotten my score!" And falling on a bench, he laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks. I could not help joining, and we laughed together, peal after peal, until the tavern rang again. "Why, what a precious old sea-calf I am!" he said at last, wiping his cheeks. "You and me should get on well, Hawkins, for I'll take my davy I should be rated ship's boy. But come now, stand by to go about. This won't do. Dooty is dooty, messmates. I'll put on my old cockerel hat, and step along of you to Cap'n Trelawney, and report this here affair. For mind you, it's serious, young Hawkins; and neither you nor me's come out of it with what I should make so bold as to call credit. Nor you neither, says you; not smart-none of the pair of us smart. But dash my buttons! That was a good un about my score." And he began to laugh again, and that so heartily, that though I did not see the joke as he did, I was again obliged to join him in his mirth. On our little walk along the quays, he made himself the most interesting companion, telling me about the different ships that we passed by, their rig, tonnage, and nationality, explaining the work that was going forward - how one was discharging, another taking in cargo, and a third making ready for sea - and every now and then telling me some little anecdote of ships or seamen or repeating a nautical phrase till I had learned it perfectly. I began to see that here was one of the best of possible shipmates. When we got to the inn, the squire and Dr. Livesey were seated together, finishing a quart of ale with a toast in it, before they should go aboard the schooner on a visit of inspection. Long John told the story from first to last, with a great deal of spirit and the most perfect truth. "That was how it were, now, weren't it, Hawkins?" he would say, now and again, and I could always bear him entirely out. The two gentlemen regretted that Black Dog had got away, but we all agreed there was nothing to be done, and after he had been complimented, Long John took up his crutch and departed. "All hands aboard by four this afternoon," shouted the squire after him. "Aye, aye, sir," cried the cook, in the passage. "Well, squire," said Dr. Livesey, "I don't put much faith in your discoveries, as a general thing; but I will say this, John Silver suits me." "The man's a perfect trump," declared the squire. "And now," added the doctor, "Jim may come on board with us, may he not?" "To be sure he may," says squire. "Take your hat, Hawkins, and we'll see the ship."