#it starts off as him poking at how they wield their weapon and carry themselves so detached

[impossible-rat-babies]

Ardbert means so much to eyrie in their journey as a warrior it’s so. aggressively squishes them

[themadlostgirl]

Keeping Warm (2)

*Did I make a second part to this because one person asked for it? Yes I did. Come to me my Felix simps! Enjoy your fluff!*

~~~

That had to be the best sleep I’ve had in a while! This cloak was a lot better than my old one. I wonder how long I could get away with keeping it before the boys stole it back. I folded it up neatly and hid it under my cot so it wasn’t out in the open for them to steal back.

I left my tent and noticed that the boys that had been laughing and teasing me yesterday were keeping a wide berth from me today. I had no problem with that. The farther away they stayed the better.

Since I was truly well rested for the first time in a long time I decided to take advantage of my energy and practice my archery. Before Neverland I never had a need to learn how to wield a weapon but archery was fun and it helped in hunting small game. I grabbed my bow and quiver of arrows before setting off into the jungle. When it came to game on the island there wasn’t a whole lot outside of fish and some birds but they didn’t make for much food.

If you wanted a good meal you had to head into the dark jungle of the island. It’s where all the big game lived since anyone ventured in there. You could sometimes find a rogue boar running around outside of the dark jungle but they mainly stayed within the perimeter. Other than boars there was also a type of goat that lived there. The boys had tried keeping some of the goats for milk a while back but after the “incident” all the goats were shoved into the dark jungle and water became the only acceptable source of drink. Probably for the best.

I was out tracking for a while when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I tried to make it out through the foliage and saw the head of a goat pop up. Gotcha. I notched an arrow and took aim. I let the arrow fly and cheered when it went right through the goat’s eyes.

“What the hell?” Another head popped up, this time it wasn’t a goat though. Felix turned to look at me. “What was that?”

“Sorry!” I rushed over, “I was hunting and saw the goat head. I didn’t mean to shoot at you. What are you doing out here?”

“Same as you it seems. I had been tracking this fat bastard for over an hour.” He kicked the dead goat at our feet. “Almost had it too before you got it first. Nice shot by the way.”

“Thanks! I was really lucky this time around. I usually don’t get a clear shot like that.” I tore the arrow out of the goat’s head. “Since you’re here do you mind helping me lug this beast back to camp?”

“Sure,” Felix heaved the goat up and threw it onto his shoulders. “Let’s get moving.”

“This will surely make for a good dinner tonight.”

“You really wanna let those jerks tear into your catch?” Felix asked.

“I mean not really but this is way more food than you and I can eat so we kinda have to split it up.” I shrugged, “Why do you care anyway? I thought you liked the other Lost Boys.”

“They’re my brothers but brothers can get damn annoying.” He muttered, “Taking shit that doesn’t belong to them and whatnot.”

“Ugh, I know what you mean.” I sighed, “They stole my cloak out of my tent last night so I stole one of theirs as payback.”

“Did you now?” Felix trudged further ahead, “Did you give it back yet?”

“No and I don’t plan to. Mine was so thin it didn’t help at all but this one is really warm so unless they come and pry it away from me I’m not giving it up. It also helps that is smells good so I cuddle up in it even tighter.” My face started heating up after I realized what I just admitted. “Sorry, that was a lot of unnecessary information.”

“It’s fine,” Felix muttered.

I jogged to fall into step next to him. I grabbed an apple out of my bag and started cutting off slices with my knife. I wordlessly offered one to Felix. This time when I popped it into his mouth for him though I didn’t roll my eyes since his hands were full carrying the goat. We trekked back to camp in companionable silence. Felix set the goat down for the others to skin and cook while we rested.

We sat down on a log together while I picked bits of goat fur off his shoulders.

“Felix,” One of the boys approached us, “Pan was looking for you earlier but you were away from camp so he wanted me to pass on a message.”

“And?” Felix asked.

“He’s gone off the island on a mission of sorts. Says he may not be back till morning at the latest so you’re in charge till then.”

“Got it.” Felix nodded and the boy ran off again.

“Man in charge tonight,” I poked his shoulder, “Don’t crack under the pressure, captain.”

“Har har,” He rolled his shoulder ushering me off, “Being in charge for a night doesn’t entail much. I just have to make sure these idiots don’t go rogue during Pan’s absence and do something stupid like burn the camp down again.”

“These boys can really be just the dumbest things on the face of the earth, can’t they?” I shook my head. Then my body shook. A cold gust of wind blew through the camp. It wasn’t like the slightly cooler breezes that Neverland usually had. This was cold. Really cold.

The other boys felt it as well. All of them rushing to their tents and reappearing with cloaks and others running for firewood. “What’s going on?” I asked Felix as I rubbed feebly at my arms.

Felix sighed. “I almost forgot that this happens when Pan leaves. He so rarely does anymore it didn’t even cross my mind.”

“What?”

“When Pan leaves then time stands still. I don’t mean that in the way that tie naturally stands still here. I mean the island basically goes into hibernation without him around. Depending on how long he’s been gone we should start to see the beginnings of…” Felix looked up. The once clear sunny sky had been replaced with dark dreary clouds.

“Oh don’t tell me it’s gonna rain!” I pouted.

“Worse than that.”

We sat there for a minute as delicate white flakes started falling from the sky. “Snow?!” I gaped at the offending weather. “How is there snow? This is a tropical island!”

“It is a magic island too though.” Felix said. “You may want to grab something to put on, viper. It’s only gonna get colder.”

“Right, I’ll be right back.” I ran back to my tent and pulled the cloak out from under my cot. I put it on but while it was thick enough to keep out the chill of the night it was just another feeble layer against the bitter cold that we had been subjected to now.

I went back to the log where Felix and I had been seated but he wasn’t there anymore. I made my way towards the bonfire the boys had started and huddled as close as I could get to the flames. I really hope the boy I stole the cloak from won’t try to take it back now. I fear I’ll freeze to death without it.

The sky grew even darker and the island got even colder. We were quickly burning through our supply of firewood and I knew that it would run out soon. When that happened it was every man for themselves. I figured I’d hunker down in my tent and try to keep warm by myself until Pan returned and the cold went away.

I stayed by the fire as it dwindled down to faintly glowing coals. The snow had really piled up and my toes were numb in my boots. Oh no! I didn’t even take into account the snow! I ran as fast as I could to my tent but it was of no use. The snow had weighed it down and it crumpled. My cot was soaked and the beams I had used to pitch it had snapped. This was just great.

It looked as if the other boys had gotten the memo to keep the snow from piling up on their tents since they rest were still standing. Would have been nice if they mentioned something to me. I shivered violently against another harsh gale of wind and trudged away from my ruined tent. Maybe I could find Felix and he’d take pity on me and let me stay in his tent for the night.

I scoured the wintry white camp but saw no Felix. He was probably already hunkered down. If only I knew which tent was his.

~~~

Damn this cold. Why did the island have to go into hibernation just cause Pan wasn’t around? It really wasn’t fair. Felix hated it all the more since he didn’t have anything to keep him warm now that he had let you have his cloak.

Upon realizing just how bad it was going to camp Felix remembered something that could help him keep warm. He jumped up and ran into the jungle until he found the old, gnarled dead tree that years and years ago had been the first home of the Lost Boys. He knocked against the trunk until he found the hatch that opened up. It would be a tight fit but if he kept his arms close to his chest then...Felix slipped down the hollow trunk of the tree and was deposited into an underground cavern.

He lit a torch along the wall and breathed in the dusty but altogether warmer air. This place looked as if it hadn’t been touched in decades. It probably hadn’t. Felix only ever remembered this place when Pan left and turned the rest of the island into a wintry hellscape. He never told any of the other Lost Boys about this warm oasis since he didn’t want them crowding in around him.

Felix was down there clearing cobwebs and shaking out the dusty furs and blankets when he was hit with a sharp realization. He left you back at camp. He left the one person who cannot handle any amount of cold in any way back in a blizzard!

“Shit!” Felix hissed and climbed back out of the cavern. He raced back to camp and spotted you easily enough since you were the only one still outside. Why were you outside? Why weren’t you in your tent at least?

“Hey,” He shouted, pulling you away from where the bonfire had been, “What are you doing out here?”

“Tent collapsed under the snow.” Your whole body was shaking so bad that it even bled into your voice. “Was looking for you…”

“Come on,” He grabbed your hand and tugged you along, “I know someplace we can go to wait this out.”

Felix knew it was a bad time but he couldn’t get over the sight of you in his cloak. It was just like last night when he got that strange fluttering in his chest. He gripped your hand tighter and tried pulling you faster but you ended up losing your balance and tripping. Felix caught you before you landed in the snow but he could tell you were having trouble keeping up.

“We’re almost there, just a little further,”

“I can’t feel my toes,” You whimpered.

“Damn it,” Felix ran a hand through his hair. “Well we can’t stay out here. Hold onto me.” With that Felix gathered you in his arms and pulled you off the ground. He hiked his way back to the dead tree with you held in his arms. This was the first time he had really been this close to you. Your head nestled on his shoulder as your body trembled. He set you down long enough to open the hatch on the dead tree again and set you inside. You went sliding down and Felix shortly followed.

“Where are we?” You gazed around the cavern you both were in. “It’s warm in here.”

“My own little get away when the island goes into stasis.” Felix explained. He helped you up and ushered you towards the bed at the back of the cavern covered in blankets and furs. “You’ll keep warm down here.”

“Blankets!” He burrowed underneath the blankets with a content sigh. “I am never leaving this pile.”

“Thought you’d enjoy that.” Felix smiled. “Are your toes still numb?”

“A little.”

“Let me see, I want to make sure you don’t have frostbite.” He instructed.

You untied your boots and Felix grimaced when he saw that your socks had been soaked through. You peeled those off too. There was no way to make this awkward so Felix grabbed your feet and inspected them, pushing on your toes to make sure they hadn’t incurred any damage.

“Good news, you get to keep your toes.” Felix pushed your feet off his lap and pulled the blanket you were wrapped in back over them.

“That is a relief.” You smiled brightly. “Thanks for sharing this space with me.”

“Well I wasn’t just gonna let you suffer out there in the cold. The others deserve it but not you.” Felix said. The fluttering was back and he could feel it’s way creeping up his neck into his face. The air in the room suddenly felt too hot. He shuffled back to the foot of the bed further away from you.

There was a beat of silence.

“Hey Felix?” You crawled over to sit next to him.

“Yeah?” Felix tried not to look at you lest the pink in his cheeks be noticed.

“Where is your cloak? Don’t tell me you were out running around in this weather without grabbing it.” You said. Felix resisted a bark of laughter. Said cloak was still around your shoulders and you clutched it tightly in your hands as you looked at him.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” He pulled the hood up over your head and down in front of your eyes. “You kinda stole it, viper.”

“Huh?” Your eyes peeped out from under the hood. He watched with amusement as the realization hit you and you pulled the hood back down to hide. “I’m sorry! I had no idea it was yours! I thought it belonged to one of the jerks that stole mine!”

“It’s alright, you needed it a lot more than I did anyway.” He chuckled softly. “Glad to know you think I smell good though.”

“AGH!” You dove under the blankets to hide further. Your embarrassed voice still rung clear from underneath the furs. “I cannot believe I told you that!”

“Come now, it’s not that bad.” Felix couldn’t help the spark of joy he felt when he teased you. “Come out. I wanna talk to you.”

“Nope! I am never leaving again for the sake of my dignity.”

“Fine.” Felix took a deep breath and pulled the covers up over himself. Your face was inches away from his under the blankets. “I’ll just come to you.”

“Felix…” You muttered, you were still keeping your eyes down so you weren’t looking at him.

“I wanna know something.”

“What?”

“If you get so cold at night why didn’t you ask me for help? I could have brought you as many blankets as you wanted from down here.”

“I didn’t ask because I had already tried asking the other boys for help and all they did was make fun of me. I didn’t want you to tease me too.”

“Teasing you is fun but I’d rather you not freeze to death.” He said, “I also told the boys that if they steal anything from you again then they’ll answer to me.”

“Why would you do that?” You asked, “I get that we’re friends but you don’t have to fight my battles.”

“It’s because you are my friend that I want to help you, idiot.” He poked your forehead, “Which means threatening Lost Boys and letting you steal my cloak. It kinda feels like it’s my mission to keep you warm.”

“A noble cause indeed.” You laughed and Felix decided then that he had never heard a more pleasing sound.

Your smile softened and Felix got lost in your eyes for a moment. The fluttering was getting worse but he found he didn’t mind it. “Here,” You closed the distance between the two of you and left a quick kiss on his cheek, “A little token of thanks.”

Okay. Now he minded. It felt like a billion butterflies had gotten trapped in his ribcage. It was just a moment. A mere second of contact but it lit his body from the toes up as if he had stepped into a fire.

“You okay? Did I cross a line? Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just thankful for what you did and you’ve always been nice to me so--”

“Give…” Felix mumbled under his breath but it was enough to stop your mess of ramblings.

“You say something?” You asked.

“Give you…” Felix took a deep breath but it did little to calm his nerves. “Want to give you one.”

“Give me one what?” You asked.

“A...um…” he tapped his cheek. This was stupid! Why was he trying to initiate this right now? It was only meant to be a thank you kiss between friends and he was making it weird!

“Oh!” Your face got even hotter than it had a moment before. “I mean if you really want to then go ahead. Can I ask why first?”

“A thanks for never dropping a hermit crab in my mouth whenever you offer me food?” he joked. You laughed again, the tension between you breaking.

“I do deserve thanks for that.” You nodded and presented your cheek, “Go ahead.”

Okay Felix. Do not screw this up. There is not conceivable way to mess this up. He inched closer and left a darting kiss to your warm cheek.

“I bring you a lot of snacks,” Your voice was a whisper, “I think maybe that’s worthy of two kisses.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Felix turned your face so he could kiss your other cheek. “While we’re at it I think I’m owed more thanks for lugging that big goat of yours back to camp. It wasn’t light at all.”

“I suppose you do.” You grinned wider. This time when you kissed him you pressed it to the tip of his nose. “You also carried me here so if we think about it logically then I should--”

“Just kiss me already.” Felix pulled you closer.

“Yes sir,” You held his face in your small warm hands and kissed him on the mouth. Your lips were so soft and you tasted sweet like berries. “Felix,” You murmured against his lips.

“Hm?”

“If this is another way of keeping warm, it’s working.”

“Then we probably shouldn’t stop.” His lips met yours again. He couldn’t have you getting cold again after all.

---

(Part 1)

[holylulusworld]

Savior or devil? – Part 1

Thanks go to @firefly-graphics​ for the wonderful text dividers. <3

Summary: Only days after Rick found you in the woods and takes you in, you end up surrounded not only by walkers but his worst enemy too.

Pairing: Negan x Reader, Rick Grimes x Reader (platonic)

Characters: Daryl Dixon

Warnings: angst, language (it’s Negan ladies and gentleman), blood, violence, treats, innocent reader, a hint of soft Negan, unrequited feelings, the reader is a ray of sunshine (maybe a bit naïve too but we love her), age gap (reader is around 25)

Teeth, you can almost feel their teeth sink into your flesh, so you close your eyes. Better you than the girl you helped to climb up the tree you think, praying the walkers will end you fast and not toy with their prey.

Foul breath hits your lungs, and you start to shake when something warm hits your face. The liquid smells like copper and you dare not to open your eyes, afraid that the last thing you see is one of those rotten creatures.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, kid?” A voice, an angry one yells before a man yanks you toward the tree. “How can you be that fucking stupid.”

“I…I…”

“I…I…,“ the man mocks, an angry look on his face when you finally blink your eyes open. “The girl is long gone, kid. One of my men took care of her,” you nod, thankful the girl is safe. “She was one of us. Why did you save her?”

“One of you? I don’t understand. Aren’t we all human?” Another man calls for the one saving you, jerking his head toward Rick and Daryl who look worriedly into your direction.

“Fucking perfect. Of fucking course it’s Rickaroo messing things up once again,” the man holds your arm in a tight grip, yanks you toward Rick’s group to force you on your knees.

“Negan,” Rick looks up at the man who saved you from two walkers, when he  pokes an odd-looking baseball bat into his shoulder. “We didn’t come here to cause trouble. It was Y/N, she ran off to save the screaming girl.”

“Thank you,” his eyes land on you when you mumble something he doesn’t get. 

“Shush, we do not talk when Negan is around.” A woman whispers. “You better keep your mouth shut. You got us into deep shit already.”

“I only wanted to thank him,” stubbornly you glare at the woman, not caring the man you are talking about walks toward you to lift your chin with the bloody bat. 

“You should learn that no one talks when I’m talking, kid,” Rick gasps, not wanting to witness your death he clears his throat.

“She’s just a kid, Negan. I swear she didn’t mean to offend you. The kid, she’s new, doesn’t know the rules yet. Please, I’ll explain the rules to her,” Rick fears for your life when Negan grabs your arm harshly, dragging you away from the rest of your group. “Negan…!”

Pushed into an abandoned cabin which falls apart you look up at the man swinging his barbed baseball bat, pointing toward your head now and then. “Tell me what you said to me, kid.”

“I said ‘thank you’,” nervously tugging at your stained shirt you give Negan a sly smile.

“Why should you thank me?” Negan steps closer, pressing the tip of the bat into your shoulder. “I hate liars, doll.”

“You saved me, Sir. In the woods, you killed the walkers,” you still smile when he fists your shirt, looking you all over. “Not many people would’ve done so. You put yourself into danger to save me. That’s the reason I wanted to thank you. I didn’t know I’m not allowed to do so…I’m sorry.”

“Thank me, huh?” Amused Negan moves his hand to your neck, forcing you to look up at him. “Do you know who I am?”

“You’re Negan,” you choke out. “I know that you are the leader of the Saviors. I heard rumors you are a cult leader or something, but I don’t listen to rumors,” you laugh nervously, giving Negan a soft smile. “All I know is that you saved my life, Sir.”

“If you want to thank me, give me a kiss, doll,” you blink at him but his eyes narrow and you know, Negan is no one to mess with. Before he can get mad you stand on tiptoes, pecking his lips innocently. “That’s what you call a kiss?”

“I…I don’t know,” Negan grunts, glancing down at you, giving you a once-over. “How do you kiss?” His lips roughly crush against yours. He’s licking into your mouth, tugging at your bottom lip. You can taste smoke and whiskey on his tongue and something which seems to be just Negan.

“That’s how I kiss,” your legs wobble and you need to fist Negan’s leather jacket to not fall to your knees. “I guess Rick didn’t taste you, huh?” 

“Taste me? Why should he taste me? We just met three days ago,” Negan hums, a smug grin on his lips he slings one arm around your waist, leading you back outside, toward Rick’s group.

“Rickaroo, I must admit, you’ve got a great taste. You’re lucky my friend, kiddo here made it all up to me,” Negan zips up his pants, pretending you gave him more than a kiss. “I decided to keep her and let you and your friends go. You know the rules,” pointing his bat at Rick Negan grins, “don’t you mess with me again, Grimes.”

“Y/N,” Daryl grits his teeth, tries to get up but Negan pushes him back down with his bat. “You can’t just keep the girl. She has nothing to do with this shit.”

“Watch your tongue,” Negan wields the bat, but you grasp for it, making everyone around gasp. “Doll, what the fuck?”

“Please, I’ll do anything. He didn’t want to offend you, Negan. Let me take his punishment,” you look up at Negan, batting your eyelashes. “I could give you another kiss.”

“Kiss you say,” Negan licks his lips, silently humming. “Daryl, you got lucky too. I’m in a good mood thanks to little miss sunshine here. Go and never come back. If I see your ugly face again, you are dead.”

One moment Negan talks to Daryl, the next he has his hand around your throat, slamming you against the truck. 

“Never touch Lucille again. Never stop me from doing anything I want. Never talk back again. You are Negan now, got it?” you nod, looking up at Negan who grins when he sees a few tears run down your cheeks. “Too late to go with Rick, you’re mine now…”

“Wait here. Do not leave the room or there will be punishment,” Negan warns, pointing toward a sofa. “Sit and wait for me to come back.”

The room he brought you to is warm, cozy even. There is a bed, a couch, and even a table carrying a plate with fruits. 

“That bat, you called it Lucille,” you point toward the barbed baseball bat. “Why? Is there a reason you call it like that? Maybe like guys called their cars baby or something…”

“None of your business,” he barks, towering intimidating over you. “Stop asking questions or you won’t like the answers one day.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you mumble, glancing at the fruits. “Maybe you should write down your rules. Would be easier to follow them,” you grin, looking up at Negan who runs one hand gloved hand down his face.

“Do not make me lose my shit, kiddo. If you talk back one more time, Lucille will gladly split your head,” Negan warns, pointing toward your head. “I killed men for less. You should’ve asked Rick.” He storms out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

“That kid seems to want to fuck with me!” Negan grunts. He’s staring at you on his bed. You stripped your clothes off, dropped them somewhere on the ground. You even dared to steal one of his favorite flannels only to snuggle on his favorite side of the bed. “No cunt lies in my bed.”

He pokes your ass with the bat, grunting as you move a bit to the right but do not wake. “I should kill you right here and now but I don’t want a mess in my room,” you sleep peacefully on his bed, in his shirt and Negan asks himself if you are oblivious to the danger you put yourself in or simply naïve.

“Fine, I’ll let you sleep, but tomorrow you are going to get punished. Freaking hell,” grumbling Negan shrugs his jacket off. “Not even one of my wives is allowed in this room and you just made yourself home, doll.”

“Daddy…” you whine in your sleep, grasp for an invisible hand you can’t reach. “No, she’s still mom…” Negan can hear the fear in your voice when he crawls onto the bed to find rest. “Please…”

“Shut the fuck up, girl,” startled you turn around, only to fall back onto the pillow. Exhaustion taking over your rest your head against Negan’s shoulder, missing his angry expression. “Should’ve let you die out there, kid.”

“Rules,” Negan points toward your dirty clothes. Eyes cold. His favorite weapon in his hands he towers over you. “You came here, tossed dirty clothes onto my floor, stole one of my shirts, and dared to sleep in my bed.”

You flinch with every word he throws at you, but your eyes meet his and he can see no fear. Negan is close to just end your life when you nod at his words.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll pick up the clothes and wash your shirt. It’s just, I got so tired and didn’t want to sleep on your bed in dirty clothes.”

“You’ve got an excuse for everything, huh?” you shrug, a grin on your lips when he tosses the bat onto the couch, gripping your arms roughly. “You will stay here, talk to no one, and clean my fucking room. I’ll be out for a few hours and when I’m back, you better not sleep on my bed again.”

“Yes, Sir,” you nod, batting your eyelashes. “I will clean the room and not sleep on your bed again. Can you explain the rules for me now? I don’t want to break more.”

“Jesus,” teeth gritted Negan steps back, taking deep breaths. He’s close, so fucking close to ending your life when you stand on tiptoes to peck his lips again. “What the fuck!”

“You said that I shall give you more kisses,” Negan rolls his eyes, pushing you away. You trip over your shoes, causing you to fall to your ass. “Ouch…”

“We have the fucking apocalypse out there. Walkers took over the planet and I waste my time with a clumsy useless kid.” You pout, arms crossed over your chest. “Don’t give me that face, doll. If you ever…”

“I got it, Sir. If I dare to do anything you do not like, you’ll kill me,” grumbling you tug at the shirt you stole from Negan. “I’ll die either way. If not you will kill me, one of the walkers will. Or the guys here will force themselves on me.”

“No one will dare to touch you!” Negan exclaims. “They are my people, they are Negan. If I do not tell them to fuck you, they will not dare to look at you. Now clean this fucking mess before I lose my mind…”

The door slams once again shut behind you, leaving you in silence. “I’m Negan too now…”

“Fuck, fuck…fuckity fuck!” Negan looks around his room, finding all his clothes folded neatly. His jackets hang on clothes-hanger and the room smells like perfume. “This is my room, and you just…” you sleep on the couch, barely registering someone yelled behind your back. “I should just…” Negan unlocks his gun, aiming it toward your head when you turn around, mumbling his name in your sleep. “Shit, doll…”

He’s securing the gun, placing it onto the table to pick you up, carrying you toward the bed. “If you tell anyone about this, you’re dead, Y/N.”

You wake with a weight on you for the fifth time this week. Negan must’ve turned in his sleep and buried his face in your neck. He’s breathing against your skin, sleeping peacefully.

“Angel…” your heart beats faster when he presses a soft kiss to your skin. “You’re mine…angel…”

Believing he means someone else you lie still, just staring at the ceiling. You wish he meant you, not someone else but you heard rumors about his wife who died before the world ended. 

“Warm…, angel…Y/N,” your name leaves his lips, and you gasp, looking at Negan when he lifts his head. He blinks a few times before he rolls off you, acting as if he didn’t seek your closeness once again. 

“Morning,” you mumble, heart still fluttering. “Do you want me to change the sheets or wash your clothes?”

“You’re not my mother or wife,” Negan angrily storms into the bathroom, slamming the door shut with a loud thud. “I don’t need your help.”

Patiently waiting for Negan you sit on a chair. Usually, he comes to his room to have dinner with you before he leaves again. Lately, you’ve got the feeling he tries to be close to you anytime he’s got the chance to but tonight, he’s late…

When minutes turn to hours, the candles long burned down you sit on the couch, worried something might have happened to Negan, the man saving you.

You bite your nails, debating to leave the room, and ask Simon for help or just sit and wait for Negan to return.

Almost asleep you blink your eyes open when Negan finally stumbles into the room, kicking his shoes off. He grunts, falling onto a chair to look at the now cold food.

“Why are you not asleep?” He seems to be angry so you try to make yourself as small as possible not showing Negan scares you when he’s like this. “I asked you a question.”

“I was worried, Negan. You didn’t come for dinner and I believed something happened to you,” you wring your hands, looking at Negan. 

“I had some fun with one of my wives,” smirking Negan gets up to strip his shirt off, revealing hickeys all over his neck. “Needed release.”

“Wives…” you heard about the women Negan calls his wives but since you moved into his room, he never talked about them nor did he visit the girls. “I’m sorry,” your voice cracks when you meet his eyes. “I like you a lot and the thought you got hurt made me itchy.”

Negan turns around, gritting his teeth he takes a deep breath. “It’s good you are still up. I wanted to tell you that tomorrow, you’ll move into the common room. You’ll share it with other women and earn your stay at the sanctuary.”

“You want me to leave your room?” tears threaten to fall but you blink them away. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I had to keep an eye on you, kid. I needed to know you mean no harm,” Negan lies, hating he grew too close to you. “Now I know you’re as dangerous as a kitten and can give you a job.”

Nodding you do not meet Negan’s eyes. You know if you would he’ll see that you are close to crying.

“Maybe I should leave tonight. I could go right now and leave you to your bed. I occupied it for too long,” you get up to grab your few belongings, still not looking at Negan. “Thank you again for saving me.”

“Go to Simon…he’ll show you the room,” when you leave the room, you do not look back. If you would, you know seeing the hickeys at his neck would break your heart even more…

 >> next

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[phantom-wolf]

Day 8: Pirates and Cowboys

Old life, New Beginning

A/N: I'm going to put content warnings in the tags and also before the story just in case

For @usukweek

Content warnings: character held captive/ prisoner, mentions of robbery, use of guns, mention of insects, 10 year age gap, minor character death, suggestive themes 

Summary: In 1875, Arthur Kirkland decides to travel to Europe. On his journey the ship he's on is attacked by pirates. Lo and behold one of those pirates is Alfred Jones.

You can also read it here:

A familiar four clicks accompanied the movement of his thumb as the hammer of the single action was cocked. A spatter of blood and gore soon accentuated the deck as one of the pirates took the bullet that tore from the blond's revolver. He instinctually ducked as bullets whistled by and nearly found their mark. The only thing roaring in his ears was the sound of his own heartbeat, unimpeded by gunfire but rather spurned to a faster beat as adrenaline flooded his senses. The ringing in his ears that would've been acknowledged by a novice went unnoticed.  Fragments of wood dispersed as bullets embedded themselves into the deck and masts of the ship. 

The male found himself in a less than ideal position, forced to take cover in a location that left his rear exposed and able to be flanked. He couldn't afford to let his attention divert to this fact in the chaos of battle. All he could do was hope that the others could fend off the invaders and that there was no second point of entry. Another click distinguishable from the sound of the hammer was audible as the last chamber of the Peacemaker was emptied. Instead of wasting time reloading he reached for the second gun in its holster, a relatively newer Smith and Wesson model three he had bought off someone whose name he couldn't recall. Before he could properly grip and raise the weapon he sensed a presence behind him and felt metal dig into the back of his head. Instinctually he froze and mentally cursed himself for acknowledging the weakness while doing nothing to prevent it. 

"Hand away from your weapon."

Weighing his options he complied, slowly feeling himself relax as the barrel was removed from the back of his head. He turned to face the perpetrator, sizing him up, taking note of his broader figure, dirty blond hair and estimating his age to be in his thirties before his focus shifted to looking down the barrel of the weapon. A gleeful delight overcame him, a catalyst for confidence whereas in a different situation he may not have had. There wasn't a round chambered in the barrel. His eyes flicked to the other man's blue ones before a laugh escaped his lips full of contempt and amusement, the tension in his shoulders relaxing as the fear drained from him.  Pointedly he stated "If you're going to be aiming a weapon at someone it should be loaded." 

His attacker had enough common sense to look slightly embarrassed, eyes widening slightly before narrowing once more, his finger curling tighter around the trigger and his thumb brushing against the hammer of his revolver in an attempt to regain control of the situation "There are five rounds, all it takes is a quick rotation of the cylinder. So I suggest you cooperate."

The pirates' attempt wielded no fruit as another snicker left the other's mouth." This was poorly planned on your part. If I was a- duller gentleman what would stop me from pulling my secondary and shooting you on the spot?" 

The pirate looked affronted. "The fact that by the time you would've pulled it out I would've taken the end of this weapon and hit you over the head. Or simply pulled back the hammer a few times and shot you before you could me." Arthur could see the stranger practically bristling as he continued. "Anyway, what's wrong with you? Who decides to look down the barrel of a gun pointed at them?!" To his utmost amusement he could hear the man murmur under his breath about how in all the years- 

"You're confident in your abilities I'll give you that. And you're lucky I'm no gunslinger." Arthur started, peeking over the barrel that served as cover and scanning the deck for any other resistance from the other crew members of the merchant ship. Finding none he decided not to risk being shot by the thieves who had boarded during their conversation. It had seemed the victors were decided. "To answer your question, a very clever man."

"Or a very stupid one" The pirate grumbled and narrowed his eyes, giving him a glance over before stopping on his face. Despite the now rather medium length beard that accompanied his features and some grey poking through his wild blond hair he could see a multitude of things flash through the other's expression, the two most prevalent being surprise then recognition. 

"You're- Arthur Kirkland." 

Arthur let another curse leave his lips not caring enough to hide his rather foul mouth as the stranger shouted to the others and he was guided on board the pirate's ship. 

--

Now he found himself imprisoned aboard some ship he knew nothing about. A rich orange light filtered in through a circular window of some kind, slowly retracting and leaving strange shadows in its wake as the sun started to set. Left to his own thoughts for entertainment, he mulled over the irony of the situation and mused that if he had wanted to be in a cell he would've walked himself into the local sheriff's office. He mindlessly swatted festering insects away as they found their way into his holding through the opening, torn between being grateful for the ventilation while also loathing it for being an easy access point for flies. He'd come acquainted to the soft creaking of wood and boisterous voices above drowning in whatever alcohol they could scrounge up. Several days, ten since his capture and a few days on board his previous vessel had granted him the mercy of letting him adjust himself to the sway of the waves underneath them. His body ached and he wasn't sure if it was from the hard floor below him or from the moisture that was in the air. It was however a definite reminder that he wasn't as young as he used to be.

 A nearer, heavier creak caught his attention and he turned his head to the source spotting a silhouette in the doorway. With the illumination of the kerosene lamp his visitor clutched he could make out the details of a familiar figure. Deeming him as non hostile he relaxed and decided to greet his company. "Come here for free entertainment? If you did I apologize. I'm not very interesting."

"I came here to give you some food"  The familiar voice of the pirate who had found him in the first place spoke. "And to deliver some news. As for that second part we both know that's not true."

At the announcement of food Arthur sat upright and moved to the bars. "We'll thank you for the compliment" He murmured more focused on what the other carried then the conversation. He kept his composure despite the rumbling of his stomach, stamping down any ebbing curiosity that threatened to reveal itself. News was an inconsistency in routine that had been made over the past several days and frankly he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what that meant.  "What is it this time?"

"Some dried beef and some beer today." 

A little humorous and witty remark rolled off his tongue easily."You pirates' meals are quite bland, you know that don't you Alfred?" 

Sensing the humor in his words Alfred chuckled. Somehow he managed to juggle the beer, meat and lamp by keeping the drink close to his body with his arm and gripping the wrapped cloth that had the dried meat with the same hand, letting the other carry the light source."You're lucky you're not eating the biscuits. The bugs like to make their homes there."

At that Arthur grunted, disgusted but not surprised. "The bugs make their homes everywhere. It doesn't surprise me they are embedded in your food as well."

"Your food now." Alfred responded with a light hearted grin deciding to take the lasting conversation as an invitation to stay. He'd done this every time he brought food and drink. Arthur held no hostility to him, not minding the company either. Afterall, if he had been in the pirates' place he would've done the same thing. Extra money wasn't something that was stumbled upon frequently. He supposed he should even be grateful that Alfred hadn't decided to shoot him right then and there. Although conversing with the man led to one of the answers he was searching for. Turns out Alfred didn't like to kill civilians if he didn't need to. At the time he had figured the situation was under control and sensing the opportunity for an ambush had done so. He'd much rather use intimidation tactics to manipulate the situation. What the quartermaster hadn't realized was that the newest edition to the crew, Jackson had been shot until after. These things tend to get lost in the chaos of gunfire and screaming. 

The lamp was set down as a hand slipped between the bars with the cured meat clutched in it, which he eagerly took and was soon followed by the beer. He knew it was beneficial to them to keep him alive, however that was a very...broad term. He doubted the bounty poster specified that he had to be in pristine condition to claim the reward. So he was happy to accept some of the more quality food. 

They stayed in silence for a few moments, Arthur slowly tackling the meat and washing it down with beer until Alfred broke it. "You're to be brought up to the deck today".  

Upon hearing those words Arthur nearly choked on the beef, managing to swallow without incident. "What?" 

Alfred shrugged nonchalantly, although had appeared concerned when the other almost choked. "I did say I had news for you."

"You could've mentioned it earlier!" 

"Yeah I guess so. But then you wouldn't have eaten, insisting to go now. This way you have energy. So finish your food and then I'll bring you up." 

Arthur seeing no other option simply ate a little faster. 

---

Arthur was grateful for the sun's position upon stepping out onto the deck for the relative lack of light. He was sure if the sun had been higher an unforgiving headache would've blossomed behind his eyes at the sudden influx of light. His joints popped from the exercise he found himself able to partake in. It felt nice after being confined to a small cell for a little over a week. He was still weary however. Years of experience had taught him that nothing was easy in this world. Nothing was given, everything came with a price. Not even stealing was without its dues. This situation was quite the reminder. 

He sensed Alfred's eyes on him and turned to look at him. It was at this moment Alfred spoke up. "Captain Williams wants to talk to you." 

There it was. "Oh? And why's that?" 

"That's something you'll have to ask him yourself. But don't worry! Whatever it is, it will be alright. After all, you got me on your side! I'll do my best to protect you!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow at this statement dubiously. "My hero" he retorted with a roll of his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his words. 

Alfred seemed to brighten up at that not seeming to either notice or care that it had been sarcasm. Not wanting to ruin the man's mood, Arthur wordlessly followed Alfred to the Captain's quarters. Williams was waiting for them, looking up as the door opened and Alfred greeted him. "Mr. Kirkland" Was the simple greeting he'd received. At least the captain seemed to hold a little respect for him. 

Arthur gave a small nod of his head, tilting his hat in recognition. "Captain Williams. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked hoping his sarcasm from earlier didn't bleed into the words for his own sake. When he locked eyes with the older man's brown ones he was met by a stare not so unfamiliar. Experienced, calculating, straight to business. A non verbal and pointed reminder to not cross the pirate captain. He met the challenge with his own confidence only tempered as to not get on the man's bad side. 

"A deal has been made between myself and Jones. You'll be considered part of the crew and will fill in for the member you shot and killed.  During this time you will not take a cut of any bounty we receive until the price on your head is paid in full." The captain responded. "You may discuss Jones's part of the deal on your own time with him." 

It didn't seem like he had much of a choice in the matter. Very well- he'd chose limited freedom to a cell any day. "Thank you" He said mustering up as much sincerity as he could and giving Alfred a side glance. 

Alfred gave him a faint smile quickly tilting his head to motion for them to depart, thanking his captain as he did so and turning to leave the cabin. Arthur spun on his heel but before he could take a step forwards William's voice rang out again. "Oh and Kirkland, if I hear any stray word about a mutiny that has passed from your lips. I'll take your tongue."

A small sly smirk threatened to etch itself across his lips however he was smart enough to keep himself straight faced. Of the same breed indeed. "I would never even consider doing such a thing" He responded turning his head to make eye contact with the one in charge. "Thank you for your mercy, Captain. I will serve you well." 

"You better. You're a three hundred dollar investment." 

---

Once they were back out onto the deck a peaceful silence fell between them, Arthur relishing in his new found freedom of sorts and Alfred undecided if he should interrupt the quiet. The sun had long departed by now, leaving the celestial bodies of the stars and moon to paint the night in light. The waves below reflected this light, swirling it in unpredictable patterns before being swallowed by the depths and replaced. The temperature had dropped a few degrees but neither seemed too affected by it. The silence was broken by Alfred who found himself uncomfortable with it. "What was being a cowboy like?" He finally blurted. 

Arthur looked at him startled out of his thoughts at the outburst. "Did the stories I told you when you visited with food not paint a good picture?"

"They did. I just wanted to know if you had more" Alfred responded embarrassed with himself, a  faint red painting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "Sounds pretty fun." 

Arthur grunted graciously deciding not to comment on how red the other got.  He took a moment to think of his response wording it in a way as to not get too personal. "Fun isn't what I'd describe it as. It's hard work as many things are in life. You have to be observant, be able to think on your feet. A thousand pound animal isn't going to stop stampeding because you told it to. Then combine that with upwards of a thousand other animals of the same size and the horses you're riding on top of it. It definitely makes for a good excuse to always be on guard. But generally things didn't get too exciting. The only 'exciting' thing I could count on daily was the game of: will I get bit by a snake when I get off my horse to take a piss and die a few hours later? Or on a more rare occasion, if bandits would be stupid enough to try to rob us. The real fun happened once we arrived in town after a successful transfer of cattle. Once we arrived we had to load the cows into a train cart then we got paid. After going a few weeks without a bath or proper entertainment I'm sure you can imagine what happened at the saloons" the wink accompanying that statement  went unnoticed. "I'm sure you can relate to such sentiments out at sea yourself. Minus the snakes of course". 

Truthfully Alfred enjoyed hearing Arthur tell his stories. He'd get so enthralled as he talked about his past experiences, spoke with a passion that let Alfred know that Arthur had enjoyed the job. It was one of the times where Arthur became truly expressive, a little less on guard. When Arthur got going his words painted such clear imagery that Alfred hadn't needed to be there to feel like he experienced it. Admittedly as much as he enjoyed hearing him talk in this moment he got… distracted. He accidently ended up staring at his lips briefly, wondering how they'd feel pressed against his own then dismissing the idea and blaming it on the fact he hadn't had much company lately. He blinked shaking his head of any stray thoughts and cleared his throat. It caught Arthur's attention but when he didn't say anything the cowboy now turned pirate continued. 

"I worked in the northern plains. Montana actually. So it has taken me a while to get here. The local deputies and pinkertons had started poking around on a lead that someone matching Arthur Kirkland's description was in town. Some folk from the East must've recognized me while I was celebrating a successful drive. Upon seeing the unwanted attention I decided that frankly I have been chased enough to last a lifetime and thus my decision to come to Europe. Offered the merchant ship my gun if anything were to happen and some cash as well. However nothing is ever that simple clearly." 

He partially processed the others words, nodding along but was too distracted giving the other a once over to truly hear what was being spoken. The older man's attire alone stuck out now that he had been declared part of the crew. The Englishman had a white, tall crowned hat with a narrow brim that was curled upwards on the sides. He adorned a navy pullover shirt made of cotton with a black vest made of the same material. He also wore grey wool pants with an additional layer of fabric to reinforce the seams. Of course his clothing wasn't in pristine condition, various stains and the occasional stitch from where it had been mended littered the outfit. They'd taken away the black bandana that had originally been tied around his neck, fearful that it may be used as a weapon against one of the crew or himself. 

"Wait a minute Arthur. I'll be right back" Alfred chirped, turning to head underneath the deck and deeper into the ship. Arthur watched him go before turning his attention back to the ocean, focusing on the feeling of the breeze in his face and the sound of crashing waves that surrounded the ship. 

Alfred returned with his bandana in tow holding it out and offering it to him. Afterall with the freedom now granted if Arthur wanted to, he'd have better things to use against them than a bandana.  "You will probably need some new clothes more suitable for the sea. But for now we can't buy anything since we aren't in port and we technically aren't making anything off the next several exchanges-"

"We?"

"Oh right! I gave up my cut as well until your bounty is paid off and the credit makes a profit. Technically I promised them six hundred dollars so we're going to be living on some scraps for a while."

Arthur raised an eyebrow in suspicion and curiosity, cocking his head as he looked back to Alfred."Why go through all the trouble to save me?"

Alfred gave a disarming half smile upon sensing the others suspicion trying to prove he had no ulterior motives and a shrug. Sure he found him attractive but that was not why he saved him. "There's something about you I like. You're clearly clever, a hard worker and we needed a new member of the crew. And I think you have a story to be told. Would be a shame if it were to end prematurely." 

"Don't we all have a story to tell-" He murmured, shifting his body to lean against the closest mast of the ship and crossing his arms as he was securely balanced. "And you didn't take any of the crew from the merchant ship?" 

"We offered but they declined." 

Arthur gave a hmph of disbelief. Pirate's tended not to give people many choices. The two options usually consisted of join their crew or die which brought the next question to mind. "Are they fish food now?" 

"No, we let them go." Alfred responded. When Arthur proceeded to stare at him with his eyebrows raised for further explanation he continued. "Captain Williams tries to avoid casualties where they can be avoided. He also doesn't like to take people who are likely to turn tail at the slightest hint of freedom. Took a lot of convincing to get him to accept you for that reason. As for your job on the ship you'll have to learn how to rig the sails and some level of carpentry. If those aren't your thing perhaps you could help the doc out and learn from him- or maybe the cook." 

The older male took a minute to digest this information weighing the situation. He supposed it would've worked better for him if they had been killed. There would've been fewer loose ends, less mouths to talk if the wrong parties came looking. Oh well. "And for your information I do know some carpentry and my way around a needle. Ropes shouldn't be an issue either although you'll have to teach me any particular knots you use." 

"Good and no problem. Isaiah is the ship master. He can show you some duties and I'll also be helping out when I can. The others will also show you how we operate if neither of us are available.  We all have a part to play after all. In reality most of our time is spent on ship maintenance."

Arthur couldn't help but be curious."You're going to have to be more specific when you mention maintenance because frankly I have no idea what that entails."

 Alfred paused mentally counting off, his fingers moving from a curled position to straight as he counted with them before disregarding whatever he had been doing. "Cleaning the decks, checking rigging and ropes, checking for any potential leaks or holes and repairing them. You also eventually may get to make sure everything on the gun deck is properly stored and cleaned- just to name a few. Oh and did I mention cleaning bird shit off the deck?" 

"Sounds-" a pause and despite not trying to be rude he couldn't exactly color himself enthusiastic at the prospect "...delightful. When do I begin?" 

Alfred looked smug, probably happy that some of the more unpleasant tasks were going to be now dished out to the newest member of the crew. With a clap on the other's shoulder he chirped "Your duties start right now!". With that he began to back away towards the stairs leading to the lower decks. 

"Wait where are you going?!" 

"I'm going to sleep. Isaiah is at the stern. I'll see you in the morning!" 

"Where's the stern?!" Arthur called letting his frustration seep out through his words, scowling at the retreating pirate's back. "What does Isaiah look like?" 

"Guess you'll have to figure that out yourself. Goodnight Arthur!"

Cheeky bastard. He didn't even get to shave. 

---

Both their hands were calloused, jagged chunks carved out of them from one experience or another. The years had only added to the collection of scars and disfigurations. The black bandana that had first accompanied the cowboy-ex-outlaw-pirate was now draped over one of each of their hands, both using their free hand to knot the material and bind themselves together. Together, promising to watch over each other despite what altercations that could find themselves apart of. In life and death they'd take care of one another. 

A cheer arose from their spectators as mugs were risen and beer sloshed onto the floor which would promptly have to be scrubbed later. "How about that Mr. Outlaw. You're now properly married to a pirate however fitting that may be."

"Cowboy" Arthur corrected. "I prefer cowboy although, I suppose neither occupation is particularly civilized. And the correct term is matelotage." 

"He does learn! Would you look at that" came a playful quip from one of the crew members. 

"I've learned quite well. It's you who still gets confused when I rattle off cowboy terms at you." A flippant and well timed reply caused snickers to erupt amongst the band of people gathered around. 

Alfred decided to interrupt after chuckling to himself. "Arthur I don't think there's a single civilized thing about you" earning a playful eye roll in response. 

"I don't think either of us have ground to talk" Arthur hummed giving him a small smile. The newly wedded partook in the drinking activities and celebration for a little while until Arthur directed a suggestive and flirtatious wink towards his beloved, earning him a smirk. To further drive his intentions he gave a slight tug on their bound hands. "Boys, thank you for the celebration but I suggest you clear out of the cabins for a while. Enjoy your drinks!" 

---

Alfred found himself ahead of Arthur, deciding to clear some of the rooms up ahead, his gun raised as he did so. Upon entering one he was thrown off balance as someone barreled into him from a blindspot. He stumbled but caught himself, his body twisting to take the brunt of it as his back collided with the wall and he tried to throw off his attacker. They struggled for a brief moment until Alfred found himself a second too slow. A sudden crack filled the space as the weapon was brought down against his head. A sharp pain rattled his skull causing him to fall forward as the stranger stepped away. He nearly face planted onto the wooden floor only managing to distribute some of the weight with his hands, his jaw hitting the floor and causing his teeth to clack together. He helplessly watched his weapon clang as it hit the floor and bounced out of reach. He doubted it would be of much use to him anyway with the way his vision was doubled and the room was spinning. He let out a groan as everything slowly became bearable, rolling into his side to look up at who had ambushed him. 

His attacker stood over him, weapon drawn and pointing at him. Perhaps this was karma for being over confident. In a final act of bravado and defiance he stared at the other man, their gazes interlocked. His pain only manifested through a clenched jaw and partially squinted eyes, managing a cold but accepting smile. "You know I don't like killing civilians. If I were you I'd stand down." Whether the next unfolding of events was pure luck or divine intervention he wasn't sure. An echoing boom sounded from the hallway ripping through the relative quiet of the lower decks. His attacker slumped lifelessly and collapsed partially on him before he could scramble out of the way. He blinked, staring at the corpse before his attention was caught by approaching footsteps. 

"Unfortunately for you, I don't share such qualms" The familiar accented voice of Arthur sounded. 

Alfred scooted away from the body, a relieved smile tugging on his lips and letting his tense body now relax. Needing a reprieve from the close encounter he decided to diffuse the situation with humor. "Took you long enough. I got a smack to the head thanks to you" He said no malice or bite to his words just teasing affection. Feeling the adrenaline leave him and feeling safe with Arthur's presence he took a breath and leaned back, closing his eyes. 

"You're gonna get a smack on your arse if you keep it up" The other fired back, relief flooding his voice as he moving over him and crouched beside him to inspect the wound on his head. Deciding that nothing could be done here he placed a hand on the other cheek, encouraging him to open his eyes. "You need to get up Al" He murmured, standing up to a more appropriate height to help him up. He outstretched a hand expectantly. 

"That sounds kind of hot Arthur" He teased indeed, opening his eyes and taking his cowboy's hand. Once up he felt the others hand on his back to support him. He gave a grateful smile before wincing and running his hand over his left temple to see if there was any blood. Thankfully there wasn't. 

"We'll try it sometime if you'd like. But for now let's focus on the task at hand. Just because I'll get your cut if you were to die does not mean I want you dead. Let's get you back to the ship to be looked at by Johnson." 

"We need to-"

"The others have everything under control. You're going to the ship. End of discussion." 

Alfred decided not to waste the energy with arguing especially because Arthur was right. He took half a step, stumbling as his vision doubled again. At that Arthur pressed against his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders for some extra support. "Thank you" he whispered, enjoying the others' warmth. His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle kiss to the right temple. 

"A reminder not to go too far ahead alone next time."

"Of course my love" He agreed. When they reached the doorway sunlight flooded Alfred's vision. He hissed squeezing his eyes closed upon finding a newfound sensitivity to the light. Arthur paused and shifted around a moment before he felt something pressed to the top of his head. He opened his eyes slowly, the sunlight limited by the narrow brimmed hat on his head. It was a little small but it would do. Alfred found himself grateful for the fact Arthur incorporated his old attire with a more seaworthy one. 

--- 

All Alfred knew was that the sensation of having Arthur over him, the other pinning his arms above his head while their lips captured each other's hungrily was addicting. No matter how many times they'd done it for the past few years, it always managed to thrill him to no end. The way their bodies arched into one another, lips worshiping and marking everywhere they possibly could. And afterwards basking in glory as they settled down from their escapades. Surely they realized that with the life they lead they sacrificed the longevity of it to do so. But they could at least enjoy each other until the end of it. 

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 80.3

The Battalion goes on the search for the rest of Carcas’ rebels.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Return of Carcas Part 3

           Dib paces back and forth across the floor of Zim’s lab, constantly checking the time. “Pepito and Tak have been gone way too long,” he points out in concern.

           “Something must’ve happened,” Gaz says apathetically, not even looking up from her Game Slave.

           “Of course something happened!” he exclaims, frustrated.

           “Alright,” Zim snaps, “we’ll go look for them. Skoodge!”

           “Yes?” the smaller Irken questions as he slides into the room.

           “Lock Uu in one of the cells,” Zim orders, pointing to their captive alien on the floor. “We’ll be back later.”

           “Ah, okay,” Skoodge nods and picks up Uu with his spider legs, carrying her away while Zim, Dib, and Gaz go into the elevator.

           “We’ll go to the crash site of Uu’s shuttle,” Zim declares, “most likely, one of her comrades went there looking for her and ran into Pepito and Tak. So be ready for a fight.”    

           “Surely the two of them would be able to handle a fight,” Gaz argues as they exit the elevator and head for the front door. “I mean we all defeated those losers one-on-one.”

           “They could’ve been ambushed,” Dib points out, “or maybe Carcas’ crew has some new weapons and tricks. We don’t know.”

           “Exactly,” Zim agrees, “we must be ready for anything.”

           They open the front door to see Squee standing there, hand up like he was about to knock.

           “Oh,” Squee says, “hey, guys.”

           Zim, Dib, and Gaz stare at him dumbly for a second before exclaiming, “Squee!”

           Dib lashes out, excitedly squeezing Squee’s shoulders. “It’s so good to see you! You look great!”

           “Wh-uh-r-really?” Squee questions, smiling awkwardly.

           “Well, kind of,” Gaz shrugs.        

           In the three weeks since he’s been away, Squee’s appearance has changed a bit. His hair is a little scruffier and there are dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. But he’s wearing new clothes: a black sweater with purple stripes across the sleeves and a black t-shirt displaying the scowling face of Happy Noodle Boy.

           “In any case,” Zim says, “it is good to have you back.”

           Squee smiles gratefully. “Thanks, guys.”            An obnoxious cough from behind interrupts their reunion. They look back to where the Night Terrors and Johnny are standing, looking rather impatient.

           “Hate to rush you, Boss, but uh…” Reverend Meat trails off and motions to the body bag wrapped in ropes tucked under his arm.

           “Ah, right,” Squee nods and looks back at his friends. “So uh can we come in?”

           “Yes, yes, of course,” Zim replies. After everyone has entered the living room, Reverend Meat drops the bag onto the floor. Whatever’s inside lets out an annoyed grunt.

           “What is that?” Dib asks.

           “A familiar face,” Squee replies and nods to the Doughboys. “Open it.”

           They quickly untie the ropes and pull off the bag, revealing the captive to be an alien, bound and gagged. He’s covered in black fur with dragonfly-like wings and a long scaly tail.

           “Mixxar!” Dib exclaims.

           The alien looks up at him, snarling angrily into his gag.

           “He tried to attack the house,” Squee explains.

           “Interrupted our board game,” Johnny pouts, “and I was so close to becoming Epic Lord.”

           “But he didn’t stand a chance against us,” Eff says proudly.

           “This is perfect!” Zim exclaims excitedly and starts rifling through Mixxar’s pouches. “Does he still have-yes, he does!”

           He stands up, victoriously holding out a device that looks like a handheld radio.

           “What’s that?” Squee asks.

           “A communicator,” Zim replies, “and the source of their demise. With this, we’ll be able to track the rest of them down. Skoodge!”

           “Yes?” the little Irken questions as he slides into the room.

           “Take Mixxar and lock him up with Uu,” he orders.

           “Ah, okay,” Skoodge nods and picks up the bound alien with his spider legs before scurrying away.

           “You already have Uu?” Squee asks.

           “Yes, but she didn’t have her communicator,” Zim replies, “Computer! Release hacking cord.”            A cord hangs down from the ceiling and Zim plugs it into the communicator. The television turns on, briefly showing lines of code before a map of the city and surrounding area pops up. It shows five red dots, mostly spread out outside of the city. But two are clustered together and one is at Zim’s house.

           “That one is clearly Mixxar’s communicator,” Zim says, pointing to the one at his house. Then he points to the two clustered together. “That’s at the site of Uu’s crash. Someone else must be there.”

           “With Pepito and Tak,” Dib points out.

           “Oh, yeah. I was wondering where they are,” Squee says.

           “Right,” Zim nods, “we need to deal with all of them quickly but also help Pepito and Tak. Ugh, we’re stretched thin.”

            “The Night Terrors can help,” Squee points out.

           Zim looks at them, like he completely forgot about them until just now. “Oh, yeah! Okay, we’ll split into four of groups of two. Dib and I-.”

           “I’ll go with Squee,” Dib declares.

           “But-I…ugh, fine. I’ll take Gaz,” Zim groans.

           “Don’t sound so excited,” she grunts.

           “We’ll go after that farthest dot.”

           “Why?” she questions.

           “Because I hope it’s Carcas,” he growls, “Dib, Squee, you two go for this dot here. And the Night Terrors will help Pepito and Tak. Alright, everyone, split!”

           The Night Terrors dive out the door and leap onto the buildings and Zim activates his PAK rockets and carries Gaz off while Dib and Squee watch them leave.

           “How are we gonna get there?” Squee asks.

           “We’ll take my dad’s car,” Dib replies, “just gotta stop at my house.”

           Squee nods and looks at Johnny. “And what are you gonna do?”

           “Guess I’ll go to the house and unpack,” he replies, “but if you need help, just call.”            “I will.”

           Dib and Squee hurry to Dib’s house and get his car. As they drive to their location, they chat a little about Squee’s vacation.

           “It was nice for the most part,” Squee replies, “nice to take a break. I learned some little tricks. Literally, tricks. I taught myself close-up magic.”

           “Why?” Dib asks with amusement.

           “I dunno. Fun? Check it out.” Squee reaches behind Dib’s ear and pulls his hand back holding a coin. “You got a coin behind your ear.”

           “That’s pretty impressive,” he smiles, “you should show that to Zim. It’ll blow his mind.”

           They share a laugh as they exit the city.

           Dib drives the car down the highway as close as he can get to the location before pulling over into the ditch. He and Squee get out and continue on foot.

           “We’re probably gonna be in for a fight,” Dib points out, “you up for that?”            “I might be a bit rusty,” Squee warns, “but I’ll do my best.”

           “Well, don’t worry,” he grins, “I can carry the team.”

           After going around a group of trees, they stop just short of a crater with an escape pod similar to Uu’s. Dib and Squee glance around carefully for a second before sliding down to the shuttle.

           “Doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” Squee observes.

           “They couldn’t be far,” Dib warns, “keep an eye out while I check out the shuttle.”

           Squee reaches around his back and unsheathes his two knives, looking around suspiciously, while Dib crawls into the pod. The tech inside seems simple, albeit alien, with only a couple buttons on the console next to the seat. It’s mostly empty, except for the communicator sitting on the cushion.

           While Dib’s poking around inside the shuttle, Squee hears a rustling from the top of the crater. He spins around and sees nothing, however he knows they’re not alone.

           He carefully eyes their surroundings, knives raised. He hears more movement to his right and turns just in time to see a large slug creature leaping towards him.

           “Dib!” Squee cries and leaps backwards, dodging the long swords the slug is wielding with her long arms. As she lands, she glares at him with her one big eye.

           “That’s Yrel’ian!” Dib exclaims as he gets out of the shuttle. Squee scuttles over to his side as she points at them, saying something in her alien language.

           “I-I don’t have a translator,” Squee says.

           “It’s okay, I got mine,” Dib says, “she said ‘when Uu and Mixxar disappeared, I knew you’d use their communicators to track us. So I lured you here’.”

           “Ah. Very clever.”

           “Give up, Yrel’ian!” Dib snaps, pointing at the alien. “You’re outnumbered.”

           “I don’t have to defeat you in battle,” she retorts, “to defeat you.”

           “What’d she-?” Squee starts to ask but is cut off when Yrel’ian opens her mouth and spits out a large, green loogie. It lands inches from Squee’s feet, causing him yelp and jump into Dib. They both lose their balance and crash into the pod. Before they can collect themselves, Yrel’ian closes the hatch, locking them inside.

           “Hey!” Dib barks as she slithers off. He pushes against the hatch but it doesn’t budge. “Uh oh.” He fumbles around for some kind of handle, but there is none.

           “Okay, it’s fine,” he says, “there must be a button on the console that opens it. This is no…problem…”

           He trails off as he looks at Squee, who is staring at the hatch, eyes widened in fear and panic and breathing increasing rapidly.

           Dib watches him in concern, suddenly remembering his extreme claustrophobia. “Uh oh…”

[twilighteve-writes]

Campfire Warmth, Lightning Sparks, Cooling Gold

Summary: Huey knew fire, and that meant he knew heat, and everyone carried heat within them. Dewey could generate electricity, and he could sense it around him, too. Louie could sense gold, and call it, and control it.

With magic so prevalent in their lives, it wasn’t a surprise that Huey, Dewey, and Louie would be so familiar with each other’s magic.

(Also available in AO3).

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Huey knew fire, and that meant he knew heat, and everyone carried heat within them. He could feel them when he really tried, and he would be able to tell who were around him. It was a little like heat vision, in a way, only that he sensed the heat instead of seeing it through special goggles. There was also the fact that each person’s heat felt different. Webby’s heat was different from Uncle Donald or Mom’s, for example. Webby’s was the warmth of a hearth in winter, hugging and inviting; Uncle Donald’s reminded him very much of underwater thermal vents, and Mom’s felt like the unrelenting sun in the middle of summer.

As long as they entered a certain range, Huey could feel them, vague and blurred like distant light in fog. If he really concentrated, he could tell who it was, and they always got clearer the nearer they were to him.

But Dewey and Louie were different. He could always feel them, no matter how far away they were. Their heat was a constant thing, always there at the back of his mind, accompanying each step he took and bringing him a vague sense of comfort and acceptance. Sometimes, he would reach to them, feeling Dewey’s quick and flitting heat that touched and jumped away again, like lightning scorching the ground and disappearing, and Louie’s constant exuding heat – much cooler than Dewey’s intense but flitting heat – that reminded Huey of the constant heated air of a forge, like air-cooling metal after being smelt.

Their magic only intensified that heat. Dewey’s lightning-quick heat was even more flitting, even more intense, constantly buzzing when dormant, and Louie’s heat grew weaker but more contained, like cold-forged gold. Each night, as he fell asleep, he reached into them and felt their dwindling heat as sleep began to claim them, and found himself resting better.

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Dewey could generate electricity, and he could sense it around him, too, and he had found that everyone carried at least a little bit of electricity within them. Not in their phones, though it also counted, but in their body and the air around them. In general he could only feel the inner electricity when he was touching the person he was sensing, but the soft buzzing field around people was a lot easier to detect.

And it got easier to differentiate each person’s field, too, as time went on. Webby’s was a low buzzing static that enveloped her and easily left traces in other people’s fields, Uncle Donald’s reminded him of an electric eel; quiet, building, building, building, and discharged when his temper flared. Mom’s was sudden lightning in clear blue sky. And sometimes, when Dewey was close enough, he thought he could sort of feel the changes in other people’s fields that gave him impressions of what they were feeling. It was only a fleeting impression that was never a sure thing, though. Sometimes it made him desperate to feel the hints of approval within their fields, but most of the time, he couldn’t tell.

But it was different with Huey and Louie. With them, he could always feel them as long as they were within sight, like his eyes were drawn to the energy they exuded. He could always feel them at the back of his mind, watching, keeping track, ready to help if needed be. Huey’s was a constant steady buzz, giving off a feel of warmth and support. His buzz strengthened with his feelings, with it growing intense when he had a flare of temper, but was otherwise always present. With Louie, it felt almost imperceptible at times, but like Huey he was constant. Lazier, somehow, sluggish, more on the colder side and more easily drowned out by other, stronger buzz, but it connected with his own buzz so easily it was surprising. They always responded when he reached out to them, soft buzzes that he poked and quickly poked back, with Huey quicker to respond but somehow keeping his stance, and Louie taking longer to reach back but easily pulling his buzz into his own like it was nothing.

When their magic came in, it was easier to see why. Huey might have been a constant buzz, but fire was still fickle to change; it flickered in a breeze and blazed when provoked, and Dewey knew gold was used as a conductor for electricity. But he was grateful with how their buzz felt underneath his fingers. It made him feel secure in a way no one else has ever managed to, and he welcomed it with open arms.

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Louie could sense gold, and call it, and control it. When he expanded his senses, he could feel gold in his vicinity; the necklace that one passing duck wore, the loop that one busker had on his nose, the small amount of gold in electronics. Sometimes, when he really concentrated, he thought he could feel other people, too. Not their jewelry or the phones they carried, but the person themselves. But people had always been flitting and hard to grasp.

It wasn’t much different with Huey and Dewey. Sure, he could sense them more easily, but that was probably more because they’d grown up together to the point that Louie could tell when they were around and less because he could sense them.

When his magic came in, it somehow got worse and better at the same time. Huey, like his magic, has always reminded Louie of heat and fire, a constant flickering flame from a comforting campfire, and Dewey had always been active with short attention span, much like the lightning he called to his hands. Their heat and flitting intensity made it easier for Louie to spot them, but at the same time, he would be better off trying to track them through their phones or something. Their magic muffled what little something Louie could use to track them, and sometimes it made him feel lonely in a way he couldn’t describe to them.

But sometimes, he would feel something at the back of his mind, reaching for him; like campfire beckoning him closer, or like sparks of electricity jumping excitedly. It never took him long to recognize Huey and Dewey. He could recognize them anywhere. He would reach back, always, and rested easy with the knowledge that they were there, ready to remind him that they were around.

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Huey was aware of himself – of his heat, of his fire, of everyone’s fire – when he used his magic. It expanded as he felt the heat around him, as he raised his temperature until the air grew hazy with it, and willed it to spark and let the licks of flames dance.

He would be aware of where the others were, which was convenient; he knew from the start that fire was hard to control and could be dangerous to wield, and knowing there others were made it easier to track where he should avoid blasting flames and where he had free reign to do whatever he wanted. It was like holding any sort of weapon. He needed to know where his friends and family was to avoid hurting them.

In a way, it was almost like his world focused. Everything felt sharper and easier to track, more obvious, so much louder in a way he never thought heat could be before. Sometimes, everything felt too focused, and it got a little scary.

But that was okay. All he needed to do was reach for Dewey’s lighting-quick-scorch and Louie’s cold-forged-gold, and he knew he would find the strength to keep going and let the laser-focus blur back into the quiet warmth, and everything would be okay.

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Dewey’s senses reached out and expanded when he used his magic, as if his electricity keep jumping out and reaching farther, farther, farther, until it couldn’t anymore. It could only really go one way, but the reach was so far he sometimes wondered how he could even get that information.

He would know who was there, in the direction where his lightning was going, and just for a fleeting moment he would know what they felt. And sometimes, when he sensed the person his lightning passed, he would feel fear clenching his heart. He never really found out his powerful his lightning could be, but he knew his usual zaps were strong enough to singe. How much would be too much? How far would be too far? How should be keep from hurting someone?

Whether it was a conscious effort or not, he almost always found himself reaching for his brothers for support and reassurance when he let his lightning loose. Huey’s steadying buzz would let him stand taller on his own feet, and Louie’s own would snake into Dewey’s, adding stability into his wavering will and letting him take control of his magic.

And in the end, that was all he needed. Huey and Louie’s presence was all he needed to make sure everything would be okay.

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Louie’s world would narrow into a single focus when he let his magic loose. When he let his senses out to search for a specific piece of treasure, or when he exerted his will to the gold he wished to control, everything else vanished – all that was left was the gold, and what he wanted for the gold.

Nothing else mattered anymore. Nothing else existed. His vision would grow darker and tunneled until all he could see was the glitter of his own magic. Sounds grew muffled and distant, and words spoken to him ceased to hold meaning. Every bit of warmth he felt would recede, leaving cold, cold, metal cold in its wake. His own feelings and thoughts grew muted until he was a blank slate that only had eyes for the gold. All that was left of his own will was what he wanted his magic to do.

Feeling others had always been almost impossible to do, but when his magic reared in, he was barely even aware of himself. But sometimes, he could feel a touch of breeze or a splash of water, too weak to identify properly, or the stronger campfire warmth and jumping sparks. And sometimes, the feeling would persist, stubbornly grabbing until Louie, who was buried deep underneath the gold and glitter, was pulled back into the forefront and the darkness faded into light, the distant sound would grow louder, and he could understand meaning in speech again. More likely than not, he would feel fingers holding him gingerly, arms wrapping around him and chasing away the coldness, infusing warmth back into his body and calling him back to wake.

He never found it in himself to reach for his brothers when his magic pulled him in so deep he forgot who he was, but he wasn’t worried about that. He knew, no matter what, Huey and Dewey would be ready to pull him back to the surface.

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Huey had felt the changes of the heat simmering the air when his brothers used their magic. He’d noticed it with Mom and Uncle Donald, too; Mom’s summer sun intensified and wrapped around her, solar winds roaring and letting her soar, while Uncle Donald’s heat exploded, like underwater volcano erupting. Which was weird, because their heat when they used magic and their own magic were different; Mom’s summer sun, at least, went well with the string winds and blue sky around her, but Uncle Donald’s rising waves and deep-sea-pressure contrasted with the eruption, a little.

He was still most familiar with Dewey and Louie’s heat and how their magic changed their heat. Dewey’s lightning heat intensified until Huey felt like he would get scorched if he touched Dewey, but he was never worried. He knew Dewey and knew his strangely comforting scorching heat, and he knew Dewey would never hurt him.

But Louie… worried him. And Huey said worry, not scare, because of course he wasn’t scared of Louie. He would never be scared of Louie.

It would be a lie, though, if he said Louie’s magic didn’t unsettle him at times. With Dewey, and Mom, and Uncle Donald, their heat built and intensified as their dormant magic rose to the surface. With Louie, it was different. His heat had always been gentle to begin with, like cooling gold after being forged, but when he used his magic it was like the metal had grown cold at last. His magic felt uncomfortably cool to Huey. Coupled with how his expression seemed to grow slack and he became unresponsive to words, Huey couldn’t help the way his stomach turned.

But that was fine. He was the responsible brother, and he would take care of them. He kept his eyes on Louie whenever his heat grew weaker and pulled in into himself, kept his attention to Dewey whenever his heat grew stronger and intense, and swore he would keep them both safe.

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Dewey noticed how the buzz of people around him was different when their dormant magic grew active. Mom’s sudden lightning strike would grow wild, shooting everywhere and jumping around without much care to the world, while Uncle Donald’s slowly, silently building electricity rose and kept getting stronger until it became a constant, and it wouldn’t grow weaker no matter how much he used his magic until its purpose had been filled. And it was great that he could at least feel that, because Huey and Louie had described feeling like the sea was swallowing them whole when Uncle Donald’s magic spilled, and he never felt that.

He still found Huey and Louie’s buzz easiest to identify. Huey’s constant buzz would intensify and grew hotter, hotter, hotter, the strength increasing until his field buzzed so strongly Dewey could almost hear it. It felt like him, it was him, from the way the buzz kept him steady with Huey’s desire to affirm their family no matter how unsure he felt to the way it easily grew and flicker until his arms were ablaze.

Louie’s was different. Sometimes, it made Dewey turn to see if he was still there. Louie’s weaker buzz felt off, like it retracted into Louie abruptly and refused to even peek out. And Dewey didn’t like that.

Because Louie’s buzz had always been able to snake into his and let it go through them both. Louie’s buzz had always been able to pull some of Dewey’s own into Louie, letting it pass through to the ground or somehow managing to return Dewey’s buzz into himself again. But when he used magic, the field around him was practically nonexistent, gone to somewhere Dewey didn’t dare to get into, and he couldn’t feel Louie anymore. Like he was just… gone.

But he’d noticed how Louie’s hand twitched when he heard Huey and Dewey call him, how the slackness in his face passed and how his buzz returned little by little when his brothers reached to him – with their voices, their hands, their magic. So he made the decision to always be aware when Louie’s buzz disappeared, so he could reach for him and pull him back out.

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Louie had never been able to sense people with his magic the way Huey and Dewey could, not really. But he could still feel magic, and it was honestly hard not to notice the way people’s magic rose to the forefront and blasted their vicinity with power when they used it.

Like how Mom picked up breeze and let it build until the wind carried her up, and how the very air around her felt like the blue summer sky rushing, white clouds blurring as she soared. Or how Uncle Donald emitted a feel of the tides, pushing and pulling and receding into the depths before rushing up, up, high up like devastating tsunami.

Like always, it was much easier sensing Huey and Dewey’s magic. Huey’s usual heat would build, and it was always easy to see the heat haze around him. Sometimes, when Huey let the temperature build without letting it burst into flames, his eyes would glint orange-red that reminded Louie of lava. And Dewey’s electricity sparked and jumped off his fingers and feathers all the time, with blue-white light glinting off his body and overtaking his eyes until they looked blankly white.

He’d seen Uncle Donald pay more attention to them when their magic flared – he probably did the same for Louie, too. Even Mom sometimes would have a somewhat wary look in her eyes, usually when Dewey’s sparks jumped more excitedly than usual. And in a way, he could understand why. Huey and Dewey’s command over their fire and lightning wasn’t perfect. The elements still reacted volatilely whenever they got emotional.

But Louie had always found comfort in Huey’s campfire warmth and Dewey’s lightning sparks. They had always been radiating comfort and safety and home. Sure, sometimes they lost control of their magic, but they had the best intentions. It only took him the meager effort to call their names to make sure they didn’t get lost in their own power. Grab their hands, if it got bad. It never took Uncle Donald or Mom much more than that, either.

And, well. If they didn’t want to put in the effort, then fine. He’d pick up the slack.

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Huey didn’t use his magic a lot. Not in his day-to-day life, anyway. As crazy as his family’s sense of normal was, there wasn’t much place for fire magic in classrooms, libraries, and the streets. There was place for it in his Junior Woodchuck outings, arguably, but it felt like cheating if he just lit his firewood on fire with his mind when his fellow Woodchucks had to light the fire the old-fashioned way.

Well, okay, Boyd lit his campfire on fire with his laser eyes, but if Boyd wanted to use his… unique physiology that way, then that was his prerogative.

But in adventures with Uncle Scrooge? Oh, there were a lot of times to use it. It was almost a requirement, even, with the deadly traps and the dark caves and tunnels. And it was almost freeing, how he was able to use his magic. But he was also young, and inexperienced, and magic responded so easily to feelings that it was almost always volatile. So, if anything wrong was to happen, it was bound to happen in one of those adventures.

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Dewey tried to limit his magic use as much as possible in his day-to-day life. Aside from not wanting to hurt people with his electric shocks, there wasn’t really much use for his magic in school and running about in Funzone or just playing war with his brothers and Webby. And, sure, sometimes they did use their magic playing war anyway, but come on, Webby had trainings in several martial arts, armed or otherwise. Using magic was basically levelling the playing field when it came to her.

And, well, he still zapped people from time to time, sure. But he was getting better at it! He knew to keep an eye out for signs when his magic had built up too much so he could get somewhere safe to discharge now.

He didn’t have to limit himself in adventures with Uncle Scrooge, not really. Sure, he still had to make sure he didn’t electrocute anyone lethally, but he didn’t really have to not use his magic the way he had to keep himself in check usually. He’d learned to jumpstart the plane safely, for one, and charging batteries and phones. He’d learned to use quick zaps to defend himself and his family from attacks, either from other people or from whatever creature wanted to swallow them whole. He’d even heard Mom and Uncle Donald and Uncle Scrooge discussing the possibility of him using his electricity to jumpstart a stopped heart once he’s gotten better at controlling himself, and that’s pretty cool, to be able to jumpstart a stopped heart. But, well, between his barely controlled magic and his tendency to wanting to look as daringly cool as possible, something was bound to go wrong sometime. And it was only natural that it would happen in one of their adventures.

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Louie never really found any use of his magic in his everyday life. Sensing gold in any urban area was useless at best, since the gold around was most likely owned by people, and trying to control them was just plain rude since they weren’t his. Well, okay, he wished he could have more gold on his own, but he wasn’t about to flat out commit robbery to get rich.

And, okay, he used his magic to pull his khopesh to his hand all the time, and he kept bringing it around because it provided him with a sense of security in how holding gold and knowing he could defend himself when he needed to made him feel safe, but magic generally had no place in modern life.

Not so in adventures. He never really liked joining in their adventures because he didn’t do well with high-stress situations, but hey, he did like gold. And he would like to make sure his family would be safe. And given that sometimes Uncle Scrooge would bring them to maze-like tunnels or cave system, his gold sense came in handy, and if that could help lead them away from certain death, well, he was all for it. But adventures were never safe, and he knew there were chances of things going south within just a few seconds. So, of course, if he ever had a trouble with his magic – which was one of the few things he found comfort in during adventures – it would happen then.

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It happened during an adventure, because of course it did.

They travelled out to the ocean just off the coast of Duckburg, braving the unnaturally still waters through the thick fog that had rolled in as the untimely winter-cold in the middle of summer creeped in and hugged every corner of the Duckburg Bay using the trawler Uncle Scrooge had plucked out of his garage and towed to the bay.

“We could have used my houseboat,” Uncle Donald grumbled, even though he had taken the role as the sea captain without much fuss. Launchpad hovered around him, managing a role as Donald’s first mate with surprising efficiency.

“Your houseboat will sink once it hits the bay,” Uncle Scrooge scoffed.

“She’s seaworthy!” Uncle Donald protested, indignant.

“As a floating house in some body of water. Not for this sort of expedition! Beakley told me your boat sank during the Shadow War!”

“It only sank because the shadows ripped it apart,” Uncle Donald muttered glumly. Mom, who had been listening without bothering to hide her grin, hissed in sympathy and patted Uncle Donald’s shoulder reassuringly. Uncle Donald nodded appreciatively.

Huey noted how much calmer Uncle Donald looked in this expedition, but he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Uncle Donald had always looked a little bit more composed, more in control, when their adventures were anywhere near the ocean. He noticed how Uncle Donald rolled his shoulders with the ease of an old veteran in his field, feathers brushing lightly against the surface of the water, and he understood.

Uncle Donald didn’t bring the ocean within him, the way Huey could contain and summon fire anytime he wanted, the way Dewey could spark lightning as freely as he wished, the way Mom called to the wind to help her defy gravity. The fact that he was literally in his elements was probably an extra reassurance Uncle Donald couldn’t always have, and when he had it, Huey could see the adventurer in Uncle Scrooge’s old painting a lot more easily than usual, when Uncle Donald was land-bound and had his bad luck haunting his every step. He had his moments, but most of the time, his caution and protectiveness shrouded the daring adventurer he truly was on the inside.

“Remind me again why we’re going out to the sea with all this thick fog and cold when we could be sitting in the manor while drinking, I don’t know, hot chocolate?” Louie piped up. He looked at Uncle Scrooge. “We’ve usually gotten to the adventure speech by now.”

“Yes, yes, I’m getting to that,” Uncle Scrooge said with a smile, rubbing his hands together. “You should have heard of the Lady Gullianne?”

Huey blinked. “The legend? The ghost ship that’s said to travel foggy waters and come to Duckburg every summer?”

“Oooh, are we gonna fight ghost pirates?!” Dewey shot up in his seat, bouncing at the balls of his heels and staring expectantly.

“Uhhh, not exactly,” Uncle Scrooge said with a grimace. He cleared his throat. “Now. Lady Gullianne. We all know the story that circulates in the public, with the ship sailing out from old Duckburg hundreds of years ago during a foggy summer afternoon, never to be seen again, fated to roam foggy waters forevermore and can only come back to Duckburg Bay once every fifty years in a foggy summer day but unable to leave the ocean. What the legend doesn’t say… is why and how.”

Huey took out his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook and flipped to an empty page, ready to scribble notes about Lady Gullianne. He noticed Louie noticing it and opening a voice recording app in his phone. He nodded in appreciation; he was a fast scribbler but Uncle Scrooge’s speech sometimes got too fast and spirited for him to follow.

Uncle Scrooge straightened and gazed out of the window into the foggy sea. “Fifty years ago, I managed to find my way into the Lady Gullianne. I did not go there to find something in particular; at that point I was just curious about the ship. I got to the captain’s quarters, and I found these.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folder. He flipped it open and showed them leaves of paper nestled in the folder, old and yellowed, with the writings faded. “It took me hours on that ship trying to read this, then I heard the anchor being hoisted and the ship start moving again. And I didn’t see any crew around.”

“Are we going up against ghosts now?” Louie asked.

“Possibly. I saw no one on the ship but it was still moving,” Uncle Scrooge said. “I got off the ship, after that. The ship was moving, the fog was starting to thin from the shore. I had no plans to get stuck in a ghost ship without any apparent crew for fifty years or more.” He shrugged. “I went home and studied the papers.”

“Did you find out how the crew disappeared?” Mom asked.

“I have speculations,” Uncle Scrooge admitted. He moved to the desk and settled the papers on it. “The captain’s journal details that the crew had something in their cargo. They carried the usual things for their supply run; food, water, they might have had some spices. But apparently, the night before they departed from the docks, someone went to town and took something that the captain suspected was cursed.”

“So this thing is what turned the ship into a ghost ship?” Uncle Donald asked.

“Most likely.” Uncle Scrooge rummaged around and pulled another sheet of paper. “Judging from the time period, my guess is the item in question is the Three Feathers Pin.” He pushed it to the middle, where everyone could see. Huey peered in to get a better look, and saw a piece of paper, showing a sketch of a pin from multiple angles, scribbled with notes. The pin in question was more of a brooch, featuring three rigid tail feathers joined at the base, with three gemstones glinting at the tips of each feather – one a sharp, startling red, one a pale, clear white-blue, and one a deep and intense green.

“The base of the pin is made from gold, with the fine details made with silver,” Uncle Scrooge pointed, showing the lines of markings of the feathers. “The gemstones are bixbite, aquamarine, and emerald – all three are from the beryl family. Legend has it that it was made by three brothers. One mined the gemstones, one mined the gold and silver, and the other made the pin. Eventually, they broke into a quarrel over who had the rights to get the pin, and the fighting was so intense they ended up killing each other.”

Dewey hissed. “Sheesh, that’s brutal.” He glanced at Huey and Louie. “Just so you know, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I wouldn’t either, why would I?” Huey agreed.

Louie looked away and smiled in that specific way he always did when he was joking. “Gee, glad to know I’m the only one who’s willing to sell any of you for one corn chip.”

Dewey gasped. “How dare you! I’m worth two corn chips, at least!”

“Well, at least he’s generous. I’d sell Don for half a corn chip,” Mom added with a smirk, snickering when Uncle Donald let out an indignant hey. He was soon preoccupied when Launchpad asked him how many corn chips the pilot would worth.

“No! You’re all worth at least a thousand corn chips!” Webby chimed in. She looked genuinely disturbed.

“I don’t know, Webby, I don’t think anyone has done any person-to-corn chip conversion,” Huey commented. He furrowed. “Now how do you convert it, though…?”

Uncle Scrooge knocked the table loudly. “Kids, focus.” He looked at them one by one, exasperated, but there was a touch of fondness in his eyes. “Alright. According to the stories, the brothers’ hatred cursed the pin that anyone within vicinity of it would suffer bad luck. It is never specified what sort, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it managed to pull a whole ship to vanish.” Uncle Scrooge set the pin’s sketch aside. “The captain’s logs detailed how they kept trying to find land but were unable to. Their supply was dwindling. Eventually, the logs stopped. There is no confirmation of the crew’s fate.”

Huey glanced at Uncle Donald. “Any idea, Uncle Donald? You probably have the best guess.”

Uncle Donald’s gaze was grim. “I have an idea, but I hope I’m wrong.” He glanced at Huey and shook his head. “And I’m not telling what it is.”

Mom stared at him, and they seemed to have a silent conversation for a while. Huey frowned when he felt their heat rose and poked at each other, then Mom’s face turned grim and she shook her head. Their heat receded, and Mom turned to Uncle Scrooge. “So. We’re going to take this pin?”

“Yes. If I’m right – and I usually am, let me remind you – it should break the curse on the ship and let her dock.”

Mom folded her arms and stared at Uncle Scrooge. “Okay, why exactly do you want the pin? You keep circling back to the ship.”

“Of course I keep circling back to the ship. It’s a historical ship! It’s as much a treasure as the pin is, maybe even more!” Uncle Scrooge thumped his cane to the floor and huffed. “Honestly, Lady Gullianne has been a pain in my arse for a long time. Business stalls every time the fog rolls in, and the fog comes right in the middle of summer vacation when everything should be booming! And the legend is so localized there is no tourist around to make it an attraction! And even if we could make it an attraction, no sailor is willing to sail to get closer to the ship!”

“That would be because the average sailors have better sense of self preservation than all of us combined, Uncle Scrooge,” Uncle Donald snarked.

Uncle Scrooge didn’t respond to that. “The pin in itself is a worthy treasure to take, but Lady Gullianne herself is the main prize to be had.” He lifted up a fist resolutely. “I will lift the curse shrouding Lady Gullianne and drag her back to the docks myself. People will see for themselves the ghost ship the Scrooge McDuck brings back from the foggy seas!”

“Can I manage the promotion and ticketing? I want seventy percent of the revenue,” Louie requested.

“We’ll start with ten and see how you handle the work before we decide for more, on the condition that you will locate the pin for us,” Uncle Scrooge shot back without missing a beat.

Louie frowned and leaned back. “Okay, but that might be hard. How big is the pin? It looks pretty small.”

“It’s about as long as my index finger, and about as wide,” Uncle Scrooge said, holding out his finger. “Since it’s gold, I figured you should be able to track it down.”

“I should, I guess.” Louie hummed. “Is there more gold in the ship? If you only want that specific pin, it might be hard to track. I get distracted by all gold equally.”

“We don’t know that for sure, but it will probably be put with the other treasure if there is more,” Uncle Scrooge said. He rummaged around an took out what seemed to be a detailed ship plan and gave it to Uncle Donald. “Since you are the one with the most experience with naval vessels, I want you to get us to the treasure cargo.”

Uncle Donald took the plan and scanned it. “Okay, I got it.” He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. “So, what now?”

Uncle Scrooge gestured outside. “We go to the deck. Let’s see if we can board the lady.”

They filed out of the pilothouse, walking to the foredeck. Huey looked around the foggy expanse. “Uncle Scrooge, what do you mean we need to see if we can board?”

“The ship always comes, but you can’t board every time,” Uncle Scrooge answered. “I’ve been trying to board again. I thought you could only board once every three years, or five, or seven, or ten…” He sighed. “This is the fiftieth year. Let’s see if it’s our lucky number.”

“It better be, because I don’t like that we have to be here all cold when we could’ve been watching Ottoman Empire with hot chocolate back home,” Louie grumbled, rubbing his hands together. He shivered, even though he’d worn much thicker clothes than his usual hoodies. Huey decided to take pity on him and bumped shoulders with him, knowing his natural body temperature was higher.

Louie’s reaction was immediately. He sighed and practically slumped over Huey’s side, and Huey slung his arm around Louie’s shoulders to keep him upright. He nearly lost his balance when Dewey pretty much put all his weight to him when he glued himself to Huey’s other side, but somehow he managed to stay upright. He sent Dewey an unimpressed glare.

“What? Louie’s right, it’s cold!” Dewey protested. “And you’re basically a living furnace!”

“Good to know that me running a higher temperature than normal is useful for you two,” Huey commented dryly.

“Shhh, pocket warmers don’t talk,” Louie shushed as he snuggled closer to Huey’s chest.

“I will drop you, Louie.”

“Oh no, Huey doesn’t love me anymore. Dewey, you’re the only brother I have left.”

“That’s okay, Louie, I was always the best brother anyway.”

Huey huffed. “You two are the worst,” he grumbled, even as he shuffled so he could hold both of them better.

Dewey looked like he was about ready to comment when Uncle Donald made a muffled croaking sound. He straightened up, letting go of Huey, and on his other side Louie reluctantly did the same.

“What’s wrong? Did you see something?” Webby asked, looking around. “All I see is fog.”

“Something big is moving closer,” Uncle Donald said. “The seawater’s rippling.” When Uncle Scrooge asked him where from, he pointed ahead. “Not too far from here.”

“Launchpad, steer where Donald is pointing,” Mom told Launchpad, who went back to the pilothouse to man the wheel. The boat they used was never the fastest, but it creeped ahead especially slowly, following the direction Uncle Donald had provided.

Something shifted in the fog. A shape loomed.

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When Lady Gullianne was finally visible, close enough to see clearly through the fog, Uncle Donald let out a soft breath.

“She’s beautiful,” he said, and Dewey looked up to study the ship, and agreed. She was a large ship, grand in a way the trawler would never dream to be, wood creaking hauntingly like a soft lullaby trying to harmonize with the lapping water of the ocean. She held four masts, each holding sails that would have been square if age had not ripped and eaten them to the tatters that hung on the woods.

“It’s creepy,” Mom whispered back to Uncle Donald.

“Have some respect. She can be both,” Uncle Donald retorted. Mom regarded the ship again and gave a conceding noise.

Lady Gullianne gave a groan and slowly came to a stop by their trawler. Clinking metal cut through the air, and a massive anchor splashed as it fell into the water, creating ripples that had the trawler bobbing up and down.

Dewey looked up, surprised when he felt something pinging his senses. Something caught, and suddenly electricity crackled that the very tip of the ship’s tallest mast, lighting blue-white light that stayed, whizzing static only he could really feel through the air.

“St. Elmo’s fire,” Huey said. “I… don’t think it’s common occurrence during foggy weather.”

“Sailors consider it a sign of good luck, though,” Uncle Donald retorted.

Uncle Scrooge hummed. “Last time I was able to board, it was present,” he said, staring at the crackling fire. “Maybe that’s the sign we can board. Let’s go.” He turned to Launchpad. “Drop the anchor and man the boat. We’ll be back soon enough.”

“Sure thing, Mr. McDee!” Launchpad yelled. He let the anchor drop, careless in his motion, and Uncle Donald winced when it hit the surface of water with a loud splash.

“How do we go up there?” Louie asked.

“I can fly you up,” Mom offered. Soon, they had been moved to the Lady Gullienne’s deck, flown easily as Mom summoned wind to her aid. They touched down on the cold wood of the deck, looking around the expanse.

Dewey took a deep breath and let his excitement spill over. “Okay, cursed pin, here we go!” He looked around, looking for a way to access the inside of the ship. “How do we go down?”

Uncle Scrooge turned to Louie. “Do we go down?”

Louie’s field of static pulled in into himself, the way it always did when he used his magic. It wasn’t much. His eyes didn’t turn into golden discs, only gaining glints of gold and green. The field of static expanded back out as the glints disappeared. “Yeah, down,” he said. “It’s around the back of the ship, down there. I can only feel gold in that spot. It feels like there’s a lot, though.”

“Good, that means more profit,” Uncle Scrooge practically sang. “Come on, then. Lead the way, Donald.”

Uncle Donald took out the ship plan, scanned it over, and looked around. He took a deep breath, then he began walking.

They walked down, dipping below deck and peeking into mess halls, through the corridors between cabins, looking around. Huey’s fire lit the way, and light from their flashlights shone to corners where Huey’s flickering flames didn’t reach. The ship was eerily still, silent save for the creaking of wood where they walked and the occasional groans as it bobbed on water, like a great beast struggling to wake. It would have been boring, with how little happened, if it wasn’t so eerie.

It would have been boring, if Dewey didn’t feel the ship filled to the brim with the buzz he felt around the living.

His eyes caught Huey rubbing his arm with his free hand, an uncomfortable look in his face as he looked around. Huey met his gaze and shrugged. “It’s cold,” he said.

“It’s… not,” Dewey said, hesitant. Huey almost never feel cold anymore, not since his magic came in.

“Wait, really?” Huey blinked in surprise and felt his forehead. “I don’t feel sick, though.”

Webby looked around, frowning. Her field felt somewhat… frazzled. “Can we just be quick? I don’t like it here.”

Uncle Donald glanced at the ship plan again. “I think we should go further down, still. Louie?”

Louie looked down. His eyes had glints of gold again. “Yeah, down,” he affirmed.

“Shouldn’t we explore, though?” Mom asked, and Dewey was torn – he wanted to impress her, still, and that meant he wanted to do what she wanted to do. But he really didn’t want to stay in the ship longer than he needed to be, and Mom didn’t look all that certain, either.

“I’ve taken the most important and informative things when I made my run last time. Lets just go and get the pin,” Uncle Scrooge said. “I don’t like it, either. It wasn’t this unsettling before.”

They kept making their way down, and eventually they reached the deepest part of the ship. This far down, Dewey could almost hear the groan of the ocean pushing against the wood of the ship. The soft light of Huey’s flickering flames reached the crevices of the empty hull.

Uncle Donald frowned. “This isn’t right. This is smaller than the blueprint suggests.”

“What, are you telling me the ship’s shrunk or something?” Mom asked, her frown matching Uncle Donald’s.

Uncle Donald shone his flashlight into the ship plan, studying it intently and looking around. At long last, he hedged, “I think someone built a wall to conceal something here.”

Louie glimmered gold and green, his field pulling in on himself. “I feel gold there,” he said as his glow receded, pointing at a wall. “Do we just… pull it apart?”

Uncle Donald gasped, aghast. “No! Look for a switch!”

So that was how they ended up running their fingers along the walls and floor, looking for something to open the wall. After a while, Dewey’s fingers caught between floorboards and found a latch of sorts. He pulled it, and something clicked as wood groaned and creaked, scratching against one another as it ground each grain to leave marks. When he looked up, he saw the wall in front of him had somehow moved, pulled out of its place.

“Good job, Dewey,” Uncle Scrooge praised, and Dewey preened under the approval. He watched as Uncle Scrooge and Uncle Donald pushing the wall aside, showing a gaping maw behind it. Dewey could see something glinting in the darkness, catching the light of their flashlights and Huey’s fire.

“That’s the gold,” Webby said, peering in. She casted her light around, keen eyes searching. “I think it’s safe to go in.”

“Let me go in first, just to be safe,” Uncle Scrooge said. He stepped lightly, carefully, into the room, looking at everything but the pile of gold in the middle of the room, tapping his cane experimentally and glancing back at his family. After a while, his shoulders relaxed and he bent to scoop a handful of gold coins. “Well. I suppose this is safe, then.”

Dewey kneeled by the pile of gold. “This doesn’t look like a huge amount of gold. How much is this? Like, a big travel suitcase full of gold?” He looked up at Uncle Scrooge. “I thought we’d get a lot more than that.”

“At least we got gold and not barrels of rotten spices,” Uncle Scrooge said with a shrug. “There was time when spices is more valuable than gold.” He held up a coin and studied it with a smile. “This is good, though. It’s got historical value, outside the story that we found it in Lady Gullianne. If we can get the Lady back to shore and the pin on top of that, we’ll be golden.” He laughed at his own joke.

“Do you see the pin?” Mom asked. She was looking around, staring at the crevices built into the walls, seeing trinkets sitting snugly in the occupied ones and shards and bent and dented trinkets littering the floor around the empty ones. “I don’t see anything resembling a pin.”

“I guess… I could try probing around for it?” Louie suggested. He looked around doubtfully, hands fidgeting inside the pocket of his hoodie. He looked like he was itching to draw the khopesh he strapped to his back, but he restrained himself from it. “It’s shaped like three feathers, has silver on it, and also three different gemstones, right?”

“Yes,” Uncle Scrooge confirmed. “Can you sense it specifically with all this gold here?”

“I don’t know, but I can try,” Louie said. He took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and called forth his magic.

Dewey didn’t feel Louie’s magic rise. He wasn’t sensitive to magic that way. But he could feel, like usual, Louie’s field of static disappearing as his face went slack and golden glow started to overtake him. His eyes flattened into golden discs as speckles of emerald appeared along the glow. He tilted his head as if in thought.

The gold coins rattled against each other as Louie’s glow intensified. Some of them started levitating. Fallen trinkets floated in midair while the ones snug in their crevices fell to the floor.

Dewey glanced at Huey and locked gazes with him. They both knew, they had to be there to call Louie out of this state later. Mom could do it too, as could Uncle Donald, but Dewey and Huey’s combined effort had always been the most successful champion.

Louie’s breath caught, and Dewey focused his attention back to him. “I found it,” Louie droned, voice devoid of feelings, and he lifted a hand. He must have beckoned to the pin to come to him, because something shot out of the pile of gold and landed firmly in Louie’s waiting palm while the pile settled again.

Later, Dewey would struggle to explain what had happened and how it all felt for him. He would explain it as all hell breaking loose, but that didn’t feel entirely accurate. After all, the others were okay. It was only the triplets that were affected, and Dewey had no idea why.

He could feel his own magic tensing, coiling, condensing into itself for a split second, then it blasted out with the power of a thousand storms. He cried out, more in surprise than anything. There were others yelling, too, but he wasn’t sure who. Huey’s distinct yelp rang out above the others, but he couldn’t hear Louie. He would have felt fear at that, if it wasn’t for the fact that his magic was bursting out of control and zapping blindly and occupying his attention.

The sharp sound of Webby shrieking and the loud ping of something hitting another spiked up his panic, and he tried to breathe, breathe, calm himself and get his magic under control. He had to put a lid to his magic somehow, stop it from bubbling up and spilling away, but he wasn’t sure how.

Lightning zapped up and hit the ceiling, leaving a charred mark but miraculously not catching fire. Some more hit the walls, a few bolts went for his family. Some sort of barrier appeared around them, stopping the lightning. He wasn’t sure what it was.

He could hear someone calling his name, practically screaming their throat raw, but it was somehow buried by the buzzing in his ears and his own prayer, beak chanting please please please as he tried to push the magic and lightning down under. He hadn’t been successful so far. His heart hammered loudly against his ribcage and the bright of his vision was blurred with tears. His magic was going wild, and he had no idea what to do with it.

“Dewey!” Huey’s voice rang clear, high pitched with stress. For a split second, his magic stilled.

Someone slammed into him and enveloped him in a crushing hug. His magic roared again, blinding his vision with white-blue that overtook everything as he buzzed again from head to toe. Then, in the rare moments when he could really feel others’ magic instead of their fields of static responding to the rising magic, he felt the surge of the depths and waves, and sea blue crept at the edges of his vision.

“Uncle Donald, stop,” Dewey pleaded, voice trembling. “I can’t keep it down. I’ll electrocute you.”

“Hush, Dewey,” was all Uncle Donald said before he rippled with his sea magic and Dewey felt like he had been plunged into the sea. The waves Uncle Donald wielded enveloped him and siphoned away his lightning until the buzz fell to manageable levels.

(Later, he would learn that Uncle Donald had called the sea to help him redirect the lightning, letting water’s conducive abilities to draw away the bubbling magic until Dewey could safely control it again.

Later, he would learn that the ocean around Lady Gullianne had been awash with white-blue light that scattered and electrified whatever was in sight.

Later, he would learn that the trawler Launchpad had been waiting in had had electricity running up and down its metal walls, and it was a miracle that the engines weren’t fried, that the solid rubber of his boots had stopped the electricity from cooking him alive.

Later, Dewey would find his breath catch as what-could-have-been haunted his thoughts, and Uncle Donald would say sorry, sorry over and over again over not thinking about what would happen to the ocean around the ship and what it would mean for Launchpad, but his eyes would be grim. “The sea doesn’t care for him,” he would say.

But that was later. Now, Dewey let Uncle Donald channel his magic someplace else, too afraid of hurting whoever was around his immediate vicinity to think much about later.)

Soon, his magic fell to a more manageable state. Still buzzing too actively to be comfortable, still prone to zapping, but it didn’t sharply jump and snarl at anything that moved. He extricated himself from Uncle Donald, muttering a thank you that received no reply, frowning when he saw Uncle Donald’s eyes still shimmering like ocean waves and his whole body shrouded in sea blue. He was twitching, almost uncontrollably, but at least he was aware of what Dewey had said, jerkily nodding at him.

He glanced around to check his surroundings. There were char marks at the wooden belly of the ship, but he had expected as much. Uncle Scrooge had pulled Webby to a corner, practically hugging her by the waist to keep her from charging into danger. There was something transparent around them, a shield of sorts that glinted when Dewey’s magic rose dangerously. The bracelets Webby wove for them shimmered beneath the shields. Louie was standing motionlessly, holding the pin, flowing softly gold. Dewey couldn’t feel his field at all, and that worried him.

But his main concern was Huey. Mom was with him, surrounded by the white cotton-like clouds around her that spread like feathers, so much more than her usual clouds that she generated when she used magic. In front of her, Huey stood hunched, his flames blazing uncontrollably as Mom used her magic to try to contain the fires into a sphere around Huey.

“Can you extinguish it yet, Huey?” she asked, voice trembling. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what else I can do.”

“I – I can’t, I can’t.” Huey’s reply was followed by a series of wheezed breaths and broken sobs, and something in Dewey snapped. Huey wasn’t supposed to look like that, afraid and defeated by the very magic he normally wielded with a smile. His field should generate comfortable, welcoming warmth, not reeking of fear and hopelessness.

Huey let out another choked sob, and all traces of common sense left Dewey’s head. He moved before he fully realized what he was doing, Huey’s name in his beak, and he ran into the sphere of flames Huey was in, ignoring Mom’s horrified scream. He followed Uncle Donald’s example and rammed himself bodily to Huey, enveloping him in a hug, chanting a string of words consisting of Huey’s name and reassurances that it was okay. The fire was gone almost immediately, but it took a while for Huey’s body to cool down from the burning-coals-heat that had enveloped him. When Dewey let go, he could see Huey’s eyes glimmering orange-red, slowly returning to their usual colors.

“I can’t believe – the recklessness!” Mom yelled, incensed, and Dewey flinched. “Barging into fire! Dewey, you can’t just do that!”

Dewey curled and dug closer to Huey’s side as Mom spoke, tasting rust in his tongue. Did she hate him, now? He thought he had done what was required to bring Huey’s magic down. It wasn’t much different from what Uncle Donald had done for him.

“Della,” Uncle Donald interrupted, staring at Mom. Mom glared hotly at him, and for a moment their fields intermingled together, charging the air with static, before Mom looked away with a harrumph. Uncle Donald sighed and turned to Louie, twitching. “Louie? Can you hear me?”

Silence answered his question. Webby, who Uncle Scrooge had released, slowly approached Louie. “Hey, Louie?” she asked, her field brimming with uncertainty, while Louie’s field was still nonexistent. “Are you okay?”

“Something’s wrong with his magic, like ours,” Huey said slowly. “Maybe Dewey and I can pull him out of it…”

“Oh, I’m… I’m sure he’s fine, you two are,” Webby said, but her voice wobbled as though uncertain. “Maybe he’s just… surprised! Right, Louie?” She placed a hand on his shoulder.

He shone blindingly gold like the sun, dappled with emerald green only the clearest emeralds could be. His hood billowed, pushed by the force of his magic, and the gold around them rattled once more. Slowly each piece of gold floated up and circled Louie, slowly at first but surely gaining speed.

Webby stumbled back in shock, gasping when Louie, too, floated. The bright glow faded, somewhat, allowing them to see the duck beneath it.

Louie’s eyes always turned disc-like when he used magic. Like gold had taken over his insides and hammered his eyes into plates. The same thing happened, now, with Louie’s eyes looking like solid gold even against the glow he exuded.

But the way the tips of his fingers turned metallic, the way the edges of his beak gained a glint of metal… the way his feathers gleamed like glossy, polished gold, that was new. That had never happened before.

Huey found his voice before Dewey did. “We need to bring him back right now,” he said, and Dewey wholeheartedly agreed.

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There was the pin.

The Three Feathers Pin, something told him. The voice was small, but informative, and it didn’t matter. The pin was the only thing that mattered, and he had it in his hand.

He stared at it, familiarizing himself with each crevice of it. The weight was something welcome in his hand, the call of precious metal a siren song in his ears. The gemstones glittered, red, and blue, and green, distantly familiar in a way he couldn’t comprehend. The gold beckoned, and he followed.

There were muffled sounds around him, but they grew quieter and fainter. He felt like he had stepped into a chamber of sorts, dark and soundproofed, and nothing could reach him. Everything felt cold and distant except for the pin. The pin was here. The pin was the only thing that was real, and tangible, and here.

But there was something else, too. Faint sounds, nearly inaudible, creeping in and refusing to be gone. Repeating the same syllables over and over until it echoed in his head, clawing and pulling, accompanied by campfire warmth and lightning sparks. They demanded his attention.

But… the pin was here. It was the most important thing. Right?

The pin twinkled, awash in golden light. It seemed to catch the light in a way that was impossible to ignore.

And then the voices grew louder, screaming Louie, Louie in his ears, with campfire warmth and lightning sparks blazing stubbornly, intent on taking his attention elsewhere. Warm hands caught him – holding his shoulders, enveloping his torso, and he still had the pin lingering in his mind, but suddenly it didn’t seem as important anymore. Something took it from his hand, and there was a sudden blast of wind as the feeling of soaring through blue skies smashed into his bones, intermingled suddenly by rising waves at the edge of a horizon, before everything settled into nothingness as the feelings receded. The pin was gone, but it wasn’t important anymore, and that was okay.

Louie, the voices called again, and he blinked, slow. With a jolt, he realized it was his name.

He followed the voices, reaching out to let his gold-cold touch campfire warmth and lightning sparks, and let them surround and embrace him and guided him out. Slowly, his senses came back to him; the calming sounds of people calling his name softly, the warm touches and hugs that kept him upright, the weight of his clothes against his shoulders, the light of flashlights hitting wooden walls. He blinked and swallowed the taste of metal on his tongue and tried to move.

Huey and Dewey released their hugs and held him at arms’ length. “Louie?” Huey called, soft and hesitant.

“I’m here,” Louie whispered. It was hard to speak louder. “I’m back.”

Dewey smashed against him as he enveloped him in a bear hug. Louie tipped backwards, surprised at the sudden collision, and only Huey’s steadying hands managed to keep him from falling over. And then all three of them did end up falling over when Webby tackled them, blubbering and making sure they were okay.

“Wait, what happened to the pin?” Louie asked, looking around warily. He wasn’t keen on touching it again, though. The others could hold that for him, thanks.

“I have it here,” Uncle Scrooge said, showing a leather pouch that he held gingerly. “When Della took it from you, it made her magic go wild. Same with Donald’s. Webby tried holding it but it gave her gashes. We’ve decided no one should hold it without protection.”

It was only then that Louie realized Webby’s arms were dappled with red, lines of cuts lining messily along her skin, tainting her feathers scarlet. He stared, horrified, and she shook her head reassuringly. “I’m okay, this is nothing a first aid kit can’t help,” she said.

“Then we’d better get back to the trawler,” Uncle Donald said, jerking oddly. His eyes were glued at the red along Webby’s arms. “We’re done here.”

“Yes, we are,” Uncle Scrooge looked up at the ceiling. “We’ll figure out what to do next at the trawler.”

The walk back up to the surface was tiring, mostly because Louie had exhausted his magic with the pin earlier. It was more or less the same with Huey and Dewey, less so with Mom and Uncle Donald. Uncle Scrooge walked at the front, leading the march back to fresh air, while Uncle Donald fretted over Webby’s cuts, still twitching oddly. Mom hovered around Huey, Dewey, and Louie, like she wanted to say something but was unsure of it, and ended up instead keeping a close eye on them all. Louie didn’t mind – Mom’s presence was more than enough to keep him calm.

They reached the deck, and to Louie’s surprise, the fog had subsided enough for sunshine to seep through the remaining mist. Almost immediately, he could feel Mom’s magic swelling, the air around them greeting her as sunlight kissed her hair. Something similar happened when Uncle Donald peered over to peek at the ocean, with the waves lapping lazily at Lady Gullianne’s hull and Uncle Donald’s magic pushing and pulling against the water. Something settled within him and the twitches drastically improved. He sighed and waved Launchpad over, who moved the trawler closer to them.

“Okay, you kids, get back to the trawler, we’re going home.” Uncle Scrooge waved them over, and Mom scooped Huey and Louie into her arms, letting Dewey climb over to encircle his arms around her neck, then floated over to the trawler, where Launchpad helped them settle on the deck. Uncle Donald, meanwhile, held onto Webby and jumped overboard, ignoring Uncle Scrooge’s surprised squawk. He landed surprisingly lightly on the trawler and made a beeline to the pilothouse, where he kept a first aid kit. His arm feathers were stained red, but he didn’t seem to realize it. Launchpad, seeing the red mottling Webby’s arms, frowned and went after them.

“He’ll be fine, he always does better at sea,” Mom assured as she scooped Uncle Scrooge and floated over. The moment Uncle Scrooge’s feet left the ship, a crack thundered loudly. Mom landed on the trawler and set Uncle Scrooge down as Uncle Donald dashed out of the pilothouse, flared blue for a split second, and dashed back in, starting the engine and pushing the boat with both engine and magic closer to shore as soon as possible, rocking the passengers.

A moment later, Louie understood why. A great crack split the Lady Gullianne in two, climbing up its main mast and pushing down, allowing water to rush in into the hull as the ship dipped and sank. Louie doubted the vortex would have pulled their trawler in, but he understood why Uncle Donald didn’t want to take any chances. Seeing how the wooden masts fell apart was hauntingly beautiful from afar; much less so from anywhere near.

They watched, silent, as Lady Gullianne finally broke apart and sank into the depths, claiming its place in its watery grave. The solemn air was eventually broken when Uncle Scrooge wailed, “Me ship! Me money!”

“Uncle Scrooge, you got the pin,” Mom protested.

“And Lady Gullianne deserves her rest,” Uncle Donald added, peeking out of the pilothouse. “Isn’t it obvious by now that the pin had been keeping her afloat?” He slipped back inside, no doubt to treat Webby’s wounds.

“You can still prove that she’s real if you have people dive around here,” Huey suggested. “With the right measures to preserve natural life here, I think it’s doable. It’s not too far away from land so it shouldn’t be too deep to dive.”

Uncle Scrooge’s face scrunched in thought. “That may be doable. I’ll have to see if it’s safe for diving, though, and send a team to assess the damage and if it’s appropriate to have people dive to see a shipwreck here…”

Dewey’s hand shot up. “Ooh, ooh, I can dive to see the damage too! Uncle Donald’s been talking about ships all our life, I bet I can tell if it’s good or not.”

“Only if Donald goes too,” Uncle Scrooge said, and Uncle Donald yelled an okay from the pilothouse.

“And the pin?” Louie asked, eyes tracking the pouch Uncle Scrooge still held. Here, now, in the safety of his family surrounding him, he could feel the pin’s cold tendrils reaching out to him again. It made him feel cold, like his magic was trying to bubble up and swallow him whole.

Uncle Scrooge lifted the pouch and stared at it in disdain. “It’s clearly not safe for any of us. I’ll keep it in the bin, with the other dangerous artefacts. It should be safe there.”

Dewey leaned against him, resting his elbow on his shoulder, lightning sparks reaching and twining with his gold-cold. “Well, that’s good. We don’t really want to see that pin anymore.”

Huey shrugged bumped his shoulder to his. His warmth seeped into Louie’s fingers. “Yeah, it’s a lot more trouble than it’s worth.” He glanced at Louie and admitted, “I don’t want to see you lose control like that anymore, honestly.”

“Yeah, it’s scary.” Dewey lifted his elbow off his shoulder and shuddered.

“It’s not like I plan to do that again, ever,” Louie said defensively. “I don’t like it either, when that happens.”

“It’s okay, though,” Dewey assured. “We’ll bring you back, always.”

Lightning sparks thrummed with certainty, enforced by campfire warmth that circled Louie’s gold. Louie let their reassuring hum of power wash over him and allowed a smile. “Yeah, I know. I’ll do the same.”

[goldlockingterritories]

Waker Of Gulls

A young woman wakes up in a space habitat filled with spear wielding war parties...

Lynne panicked as warm plastic filled her mouth.

No matter how wide she opened her eyes, she remained surrounded by total darkness. She could barely move her arms and legs. No air came through her mouth. She was trapped, suffocating, growing lightheaded, confused, and terrified out of her mind.

Then, slowly but surely, the plastic gripping her whole body started to loosen.

Lynne found herself blinded by light. A single line in the darkness opened up to her. It was so bright her eyes couldn’t make out anything.

She struggled to move up towards it. But even though the plastic had loosened, she found her arms not obeying her. She felt fatigued, as she did when her brother had once pushed her at the gym to the point where her muscles didn’t have the energy to keep going.

“Careful.” A soft and alluring voice met her ears. “Your body’s still waking up. Give it time, before you make your escape.”

The voice belonged to a woman, and it calmed her. She hoped that it was a nurse and that she was in a hospital. But whoever she was, she cleared her nerves enough that she realized she wasn’t suffocating. Her airway was blocked, her chest didn’t rise and fall, but she held her breath underwater before, and right then she felt she could go on forever.

Another voice spoke, “I’m afraid we don’t have the time, Mother of Sleepers.”

The shadow of a head and torso blocked the light, and she felt something tug plastic away from her. Her mouth had been cleared- and she finally felt air rise and fall in her chest.

Warm arms wrapped around her waist, and she felt her body grow cold as she was pulled upwards. She had been underneath hot water, her dangling fingertips told her.

The world was a blur, too bright for her to keep her eyes open for long. Her arms were too exhausted to lift their hands just to shield her eyes.

“This will prepare your body.” Lynne realized that the other voice, a man, had been the one to lift her out.

Something was stuck into her neck. A needle?

Suddenly, she felt something change in her body. Pins and needles formed up her arms and legs, jolting them into movement once more. She was able to move her hand over her face, but she didn’t need to for long; the light started to hurt less and less.

Colors stopped bleeding together. The features of the person carrying her slowly started to reveal themselves; a yellow beak covered the forehead, above unblinking slits of eyes belonging to a golden stone face. At first, Lynne thought he had to be wearing a mask. But behind those eyelids, she saw pinhole cameras stare back at her.

Another warm hand touched her shoulder- and she saw a four armed creature. She jolted. But it was gentle, moving to caress her. “Have no fear,” the soft voice of the woman, Lynne realized. “There’s no danger in this room.”

It was like a statue that crossed the body of a caterpillar with the appendages of a spider. It moved with a soft precision that relaxed Lynne as its arms moved to console her.

She felt her mind regain it’s awareness, like she just received an injection of caffeine. She finally took notice of the layout of the room; egg shaped pods, transparent, were hung on the walls. People floated within them. 

Lynne felt bile rise up in her throat. They were vacuum sealed within plastic, suspended. She looked and saw the trail of liquid dripping from her body, leading into an empty steaming pod that had been opened.

Her eyes widened when she made the connection.

A bang at one of the doors sent shakes through her. “Let us in, Waker!” An old voice pierced through, violent in his tone. “You won’t fly away with your catch!”

“There might not be danger in this room,” The thing holding her spoke, “but it certainly wants in.”

The Mother of sleepers suddenly unfolded, like an animal jumping to protect its child. “Hostile agent recognized.”

“Agents of the schools.” The thing- Waker- dropped Lynne to her feet while with a single claw he clipped the string off a pouch attached to his white cotton loincloth. That’s when Lynne finally noticed that his whole body was mechanical. 

He was ball jointed, and his chest was an exposed plastic ribcage encircling what looked like a glowing purple heart. Tiny clay faces had been stuck to where his pecs would be, fanged creatures that stuck out sharp tongues and had hungry glares.

He pulled the pouch off the object it held. It was round, surrounded with four clay faces; skulls with bulging eyes.

“This object is rare, and has been with me for a long time.” He gripped the faces in his hand, and they crumbled away to reveal green underneath. “It travelled ninety years to get here.”

He picked the rest like a hard boiled egg, revealing the gridded texture underneath. 

“What…?” She was confused as to what it was, until he broke away the top; the pin and trigger made everything clear.

The door was barraged with hits that dented holes into the room, a blunt object poking through each blow. The hits rounded the door, until the whole thing was detached from the space it was embedded in. That’s when the smell hit Lynne.

It was overwhelming, putrid and sickly. “It’s their trophies,” Waker took notice of her reaction. “They take them wherever they go.”

The door is pushed away, and a snarling partially clothed old man stands there. A metal frame surrounds his body, following his movements; what broke through the door had been attached to his arm.

Waker pulled Lynne back as the old man’s entourage filed through the door around him, wielding bamboo spears and clubs with sharp metal jutting out of them like serrated pieces of wood. The ‘trophies’ dangled from the old man’s hips; it looked as though metal had been poured over their rotting faces. 

Lynne’s legs started to shake. The way the old man with a sharp bone poking out of his nose glared at Waker and her- they were there to work their tools on them.

Lynne hears a click, and the grenade soars through the air. Her waist is grappled and she is pulled behind a pod for cover.

Bang!

A wave of dust surrounded her and Waker. Screaming followed after.

Waker pulled Lynne out with him, and they witnessed the carnage together- many of the others who came with the old man laid bleeding on the ground. They hadn’t tried to get away from the thrown grenade, somehow not understanding what it was. The old man himself was bleeding profusely all over his body.

But he still stood. “The board gives me strength!”

With a limp, he charged Lynne and Waker, and this time she saw the fire axe attached to his right mechanical arm. Waker shielded Lynne with his body, when the mother interrupted the old man’s charge.

“Not so fast!” The mother's two biggest arms gripped his real arms, granting her control of the mechanical ones.

She yanked him around, until eventually slamming him into the ground. “Go! Now!”

Waker got the message, and led Lynne by the hand, running out the door.

“Come back here, coward!” The old man screamed from underneath the mother.

Leaving the room didn’t bring them to safety, Lynne realized. More members of the group that came with the old man had stayed back down the hall. This time, Lynne’s nostrils picked up the smell of cannabis.

They were young, she saw. Some barely pass their pre-teens. That didn’t stop them from looking any less murderous.

They clutched their weapons, this time all bamboo spears, and approached steadily. They had been taught to take formation, it seemed.

Waker released his grip on me, and wings spread from behind his back. They were dragonfly-like, four-sectioned and with a sort of membrane over it. They shifted colors like a swirling rainbow.

The oncoming would-be murderers paused in their march, tips of spears trained on him. “Nines!” the oldest teen behind them shouted. “Forward!”

They picked up speed again. Then, with greater speed, Waker leapt forward. 

His wings had long reach, slapping away their sticks three at a time. Some were hit in the face and collapsed to the floor, clutching their burning red cheeks.  But the leader who had made themselves known was his target.

His wings shortened and solidified once he made the spears, and embedded themselves into the leader’s throat, stopping his stone axe mid swing. Lynne gaped. The leader- barely older than her younger brother- went limp, and fell to the ground.

The small band’s formation had been broken apart; they scattered around Waker, terrified out of their minds at the show of his wings. And Lynne too, for in the chaos, she bolted.

“Get behind me!” Waker must've assumed she ran to join him, but with his back to her and his front to the retreating child warriors, Lynne ran far down the hall and made the corner unnoticed. “Wait! Where are you-!”

“Students! To me!” The voice of the furious old man echoed through the halls.

Lynne’s heart pounded, but it pounded long before she took off. She saw a doorway and thought to look there for escape.

The door opened with a slide, and she covered her mouth. They had destroyed the mother machine in this room, smashed her head to bits. The people in the pods never stood a chance. An old woman in the same sort of metal frame led this group.

She glared at Lynne with the sharpest glare of hate. “Sleeper! Take her now!”

“Yes, Ms. Kalklin!” The Students took their attention away from the bloodied cracked open pods and made for Lynne.

Lynne slid the door shut with a slam, and took off again. She rounded an intersection before she heard them break into the hallway, and she went into a full sprint.

It was a maze, and they were everywhere. She had to turn back when she nearly ran into a group patrolling the hall. Luckily, the confusing layout worked in her favor, and she was able to lose them. 

But the halls started to be filled with their shouting.

Some ordered around others to cover more ground, “Split up!” 

Others taunted her, “We see you!”

An arrow narrowly missed her and embedded itself into the wall. The sound of a chainsaw revved itself up and made her feet even more sore from running, trying to gather as much distance from the frightening sounds she heard...

Lynne stopped. She found the nearest corner and stood in it, listening. She searched for them herself, listening to the sound of feet smacking against tiled floors. To voices ordering, “Go that way! Cover this exit! Get your bows ready!”

The strong smells also helped to pinpoint them; of rotting flesh, filthy body odors, gasoline exhaust, and weed. She picked the direction where she didn’t smell or hear anything.

“Waker of gulls!” A panicked young voice shouted somewhere. “Waker of gulls!”

The sound of cursing, screaming, smacking, hitting, crashing and falling followed after. They were fighting.

Lynne saw sunlight down the hall; a smashed through door was at the other end. When no smell wafted from it, she ran for it. When she came out, and the sunlight no longer blinded her eyes, she was hit with the strongest sensation of vertigo.

The world spun around her. Trees and buildings twirled around and around, above her head, from the left and right, front and back. She gripped a tree in a bearhug to keep herself from falling down, and she avoided looking up.

She stared at the grey tiled ground. Then a shadow engulfed it, and a powerful gust of air blew over her.

She looked up to see a wooden boat with four massive fans- two on the front and two on the back. A face looked down from it. “There!” The mid-aged man pointed down at her.

The fans rotated and drove the boat to the side. It descended, levelling with her, and Lynne saw a line of younger adults pull the strings back on their bows.

She ran moments before the arrows hit, sticking to the tree and smacking off the ground. The boat angled around, tracking her. The ground ended in front of her, and looking over the solid railing showed a canal that ran...east?

She actually considered diving into it, when arrows suddenly surrounded her. She turned and hoped to run back for the building, when Waker sprinted out the door, arrow notched in the bow he now held.

The arrow flew and struck it’s intended target- the aircraft’s driver. It didn’t take the whole thing down, but it was enough to stun them.

They scrambled to take over the aircraft while Lynne rejoined Waker. “This way!” He didn’t take her hand this time, but she followed anyway.

He produced an item that had been attached to his back, underneath his green and red patterned cape. It was a pink plastic tube with markings painted onto it.

He brought it over his head and spun. It let out a whistle that he wove into a tune.

“He’s calling his steed!” Lynne turned to see more of the attackers filing out of the door, entering a dash for her and Waker.

“There!” One pointed above them all of a sudden, terror in his eyes. “There! There-gah!”

A big object swiped through the group. The closest chasers dropped to the ground, large slashes across their chests. It glided through the air, wings twisting and turning its body as it orbited the building; it looked like another boat, but it had no rotors, no fans to give it it’s thrust.

Lynne found herself half gawking, but focused when it flew back towards them.

“Don’t let them escape!” The old woman from before came back. “Take your formations! Charge!”

Waker’s ‘steed’ touched the ground, its wings folding up as its momentum brought it towards him and Lynne on wheels. 

“Get on!” Waker ran for it and jumped onto the canoe-like vehicle, Lynne tumbling in after. The wings unfurled again, longer this time, and Lynne felt air be pulled down into them and directed towards the ground.

It lifted off without flapping a single wing. “No!” The old woman threw a tantrum. “WOG! I’ll kill you!”

More aircraft flocked from below the building, the raiders climbing onto them before they even touched the ground.

“Don’t let them reach the stream!” The leader’s voice shrank as the flyer climbed up higher into the air.

The flyer tilted upwards at a slight angle, the wind blowing Lynne’s hair all over the place. The world still spinned around her, and the bile that had been forming in her throat finally came up all the way.

Then Lynne felt the wind start to die down. The flyer’s ascent was slowing.

“Why are we slowing?” She looked down behind them as Waker- wog, whatever- tied rope around his leg. “They’re still behind us!” She exclaimed with wide eyes.

They ascended at an angle away from Lynne and Waker, so that their arrows didn’t fall back on them.

Lynne nearly jolted when she felt a rope get wrapped around her foot. “The stream is not their domain,” Waker tightened it.

Arrows flew- but they flew wildly. They went out in all directions, like they’d stop aiming at all with their bows.

But Lynne could see that they were aiming directly at her. “They’re missing!”

“They’re not used to everything becoming feathers.”

“...Feathers?” Lynne scrunched her brows in confusion, until she turned and found Waker floating mid air.

He had a hand gripping his seat, but his legs were floating freely, weightlessly…

As light as feathers, she realized.

At first she thought they were just falling, caught in the same sort of phenomena that NASA’s vomit comet used to simulate zero-g. But no- there was no gravity at all.

She let go of her seat, and floated away from the boat. Not fall; floated. Her rope kept her attached to the flyer, and all it took was a single yank to end up back in the boat.

But their chasers picked up speed. Even if their shots were bad, they still had the spears, chainsaws, and numbers. They just needed to get close.

The sound of a horn nearly shook the air. “There!” Waker pointed to an object floating above them.

It was long, a series of red modules with four sails- made of the same material as the flyer’s wings- surrounding the construct in a diamond shape.

Lynne saw men float outside of it, bracing their feet against rails with ropes keeping them from flying away as they levelled their own bows down at them.

“Wait,” Lynne paled. “They’re gonna hit us!”

The sound of smacking strings signified the loosed arrows. But instead of scattering like the arrows of the raiders below, these followed a steady formation- and met their target.

They flew past the flyer and rained down on the chasing aircraft. Screams met Lynne’s ears once more, but this time, she felt relief. The attackers broke away, leaving to avoid more of their men receiving arrows to the face.

Lynne watched them, even as Waker leaped out of the flyer with a hooked rope and attached it to the vessel that saved them. They grew small in the distance, and it was then that Lynne realized the world wasn’t spinning. The twirling landscape that surrounded her truly did surround her. The world was along the inside of a cylinder, it’s star in the middle…

The building she had woken up in, only moments ago, shook and kicked up dust as it receded back into the ground. Lynne laughed as she finally passed out from all the blood she lost from the arrow embedded in her back.

[autumnalfallingleaves]

How to be a Lapis Lazuli (By Lapis Lazuli)- Jim Lazuli Lake AU

AO3

Jim whoops as the warm summer air hits his face. He’s high off the ground, watery wings carrying him aloft. On the ground, Toby laughs as Peridot berates Amethyst for something-or-other, which only serves to make the purple Gem taunt Peridot right back. Jim blushes at the sound, the other boy’s laughter making his chest- his own gem- warm. He does a backflip and hears Claire clap in response.

 

“Jim!” He looks down. Rose is gesturing for him to land. “Come have lunch, honey. You haven’t eaten since early this morning.”

 

The boy hears Toby whoop again, but this time, it’s excitement at the prospect of a meal. Jim had prepared the meal himself this morning with a little- just a little!- help from Pearl. Jim knew Toby and the other humans he knew liked when he cooked. He was good at it and everybody knew it, including Jim himself. 

 

With a flap and a little gliding, Jim touches down on the grass next to the barn, and with a little added concentration, he directs the water he was using for his wings back into the little pond Lapis and Peridot had built. He laughs as Toby and Claire- his best friends, he loves them so much- wave for him to come join them. Pumpkin yaps at him and runs around his feet as he joins his family for lunch. 

 

“What did you make today?” Claire asks, tying her long, curly hair back into a ponytail. Jim shrugs. 

 

“The usual. Sandwiches and some fruit salad.” He grabs the picnic basket and starts to pass out food. A sandwich and some salad each for Toby and Claire, three sandwiches and a full bowl of salad for Amethyst, a sandwich for Rose, a sandwich for Garnet, and a little fruit for Pearl. He looks to Lapis and Peridot; he knows what his close family and friends like, but not the two newest additions. Peridot wrinkles her nose. No food for her, then. Lapis considers, then shrugs. 

 

“I’ll try it.”

 

Jim gives her half a sandwich to start, as well as a few pieces of fruit. She’s a lapis like him, so maybe she’ll like it? Do Gems of the same type like similar things? Jim really doesn’t know much about Gems like him. He’s the only hybrid, after all, and Lapis is the only other Lapis Lazuli he knows, and she’s, like, really old. Older than everyone else other than Pearl and maybe Rose, he thinks. He doesn’t really know. 

 

(He wishes he did.)

 

Lapis, after a moment, takes a small bite of her sandwich. She chews. She looks thoughtful. She swallows. 

 

And a thumbs-up! She likes it! Jim grins and gives her the other half of the sandwich. The blue Gem takes it with a small smile. 

 

Peridot shakes her head. “I don’t know how you can stand to- ugh- eat that stuff,” the green Gem directs at the other Gems. She frowns, “Gems don’t need to eat, so why would you?”

 

Amethyst waves her sandwich around. “Because it tastes good, dude! That’s why! And also, like, Jim makes a mean sandwich.”

 

Jim blushes at her praise, but shakes his head. “If you keep eating all the stuff in the fridge, I won’t be able to make sandwiches.”

 

Amethyst shrugs. “Not my problem, bro.”

 

Jim splashes her with a bit of water from the pond in retaliation. Amethyst shrieks and goes to tackle him, but a raised brow from Garnet is all it takes to calm her down. She raspberries him instead, and Jim giggles. 

 

The conversation goes from there, Toby talking about his warhammer training with Pearl, Claire going on about her and Peridot’s efforts to get the Gem-tech staff Claire found up and working. It’s a wormhole-making staff, Peridot elaborates, made for creating quick transpiration over a planet. You could also fight with it, Claire adds. 

 

Jim would like that, if Claire learned to wield her own weapon. He’s got his sword and Toby has his warhammer, so they can defend themselves pretty well. Claire, however, is weaponless. Yes, she’s an expert at hand-to-hand combat, but that wouldn’t work well against a Gem who is ten times stronger than her, like Jasper. 

 

(Jim doesn’t like to think about Jasper, because he’ll end up thinking about the time the orange Gem almost killed Claire- no, no, Jim, stop thinking about it. Claire’s safe. She’s safe and she can learn to wield her own weapon and be safe.)

 

A gentle hand lays on his shoulder. Jim looks up into Garnet’s visor. She’s impassive as ever, but Ruby’s gem is warm against his skin. He knocks his head against her side and she pulls him into a brief hug. He gives her a whispered thanks, and she lets him go. Garnet and Rose are the two Gems who can help ease his anxiety the best, but Garnet is the best at it. You know, with the future vision and all. Rose looks over in concern, but Garnet nods at her. He’s okay, the nod says. He’s anxious, but he’s okay. Rose nods back.

 

They finish lunch, and Toby goes back to training with Pearl. Jim makes drops of water float around him, distracting him, while he and Claire laugh. They love Toby, but it’s fun to mess with him during training. Pearl gives him a Look, but she’s smiling. Her boys love each other, so the distraction is in a non-malicious spirit. That doesn’t mean, however, that Jim can continue to mess with Toby. She sets down her own warhammer and claps her hands, eliciting Jim and Toby’s attention. 

 

“Jim, why don’t you do some of your own training? You’ve been doing well with your sword, so it would be a good idea to practice your other abilities.” 

 

She means his hydrokinesis. Jim’s been getting better, but he still hasn’t figured out how to summon his wings out of basically thin air like Lapis. He nods, and Pearl looks to Lapis, who is lazily watching Claire and Peridot tinker. 

 

“Lapis.”

 

The blue Gem looks up. 

 

“Would you be able to help Jim learn about his Gem abilities?” 

 

Lapis looks startled. Her? Teach this skinny hybrid how to use his powers?

 

“Please,” Pearl finishes, and Lapis looks at Jim. He’s beaming up at her, the gap between his two front teeth making him unfairly cute. Actually, he’s giving her the same look Pumpkin gives her when she wants food or pets. And she can never resist Pumpkin. 

 

Lapis sighs and stands. “Alright. I’ll… try.” Jim cheers and hugs her. She hugs back, hesitantly. She’s not really used to the physical displays of affection Jim and the other children use daily. 

 

Okay. Where to start? Lapis looks over the hybrid appraisingly before snapping her fingers. She knows where to start.

 

A few moments later, the two are standing near the small pond. Lapis summons her wings and gestures for Jim to do the same. After a moment and some concentration, Jim pulls water from the pond and affixed it to his back in the shape of wings. Lapis shakes her head. “That’s not the best way to do it.”

 

“Do what?” Jim asks, confused. This is the way he always summons his wings.

 

Lapis gestures to the pond. “You’re not always going to have a water source to draw water from. You know how the water I use always comes out of my gem, right?” 

 

Jim nods.

 

“That’s because I store water in my gem.”

 

Jim’s eyes widen. That makes a lot of sense! “So… like how I store my sword in my gem?”

 

Lapis shrugs. “I guess. I don’t have a weapon.”

 

Jim contemplates this. That’s true… Lapis, from what he’s seen, doesn’t have a weapon in the sense that he and the other Crystal Gems do. He has his sword, Pearl has her warhammer, Rose has her own sword, Garnet has her gauntlets, and Amethyst has her whip. They all store these in their gems. Lapis… Lapis stores water in her gem and uses that to fight. Jim looks up suddenly, startling the other Gem. 

 

“But you do have a weapon!” He exclaims. Lapis looks confused, and he gestures to her wings. “You store water in your gem, and you use that to fight, so that’s your weapon!” Lapis looks skeptical, but doesn’t get a chance to talk as Jim, in all his 14-year-old excitement, barrels on. “So if you store water in your gem and water is your weapon, it should be easy for me to put water in my own gem! It’s gotta be like when I use my sword!” Jim pulls his sword- a broadsword with a notch in the blunt side- out of his gem with a flourish, then puts it back. It’s an odd sensation, to be sure, to pull a full sword out of a gem embedded in your chest. Jim has gotten used to it, though, with all the times he’s had to use it. 

 

Lapis looks contemplative now and less skeptical. “I guess I see. So try it.”

 

Jim nods and concentrates. He can feel his gem glow, and the water on his back start to shift. He can hear Toby and Pearl stop sparring, and Claire tell Peridot to watch. He’s self-conscious now. He doesn’t really like it when people stop what they’re doing to look at him. 

 

He persists, anyway, and envisions the water in his control entering his gem and staying there. There’s a splashing sound and an odd sensation in his gem, and Jim opens his eyes. There’s no more water on his back and the ground is dry. He blinks. 

 

“…I did it?”

 

“Dude! You did it!” Toby crows and slaps his back. Jim stumbles. Toby’s getting strong with all that warhammer training. Lapis, standing off to the side, looks something resembling happy or proud. Jim can’t tell.

 

He then turns his focus inwards, like Pearl had taught him, and focuses on his gem. It feels… different, but not in a bad way. It feels full. It feels good, like something that he was missing had finally been found and replaced. Is this what it feels like to be a full Lapis Lazuli? To have water in your gem and feel good because of it? Jim concentrates a bit more, and water flows out of his gem and forms into his wings. A little more visualization, and the wings form large hands and arms. He pokes Toby and Claire with them. The three children laugh, and Amethyst slings an arms around his shoulders. 

 

“Nice job!” She ruffles his hair and he ducks out from under her arm and hides behind Pearl. The soft-spoken Gem rubs his shoulder and says that she’s proud of him, that she’s happy he’s finally figuring out his powers. There’s a sort of nostalgia to the words, though, and Jim doesn’t understand why. Maybe it has to do with his mother. Pearl and Lapis- his mother, not his friend- were close. Maybe she remembers when she was using her powers.

 

He pushes it aside for now. Now, he and his family are happy and together and having fun. This is what he wants. No threats from Homeworld, no corrupted Gems attacking them, just happiness. Just peace.

 

He wants it to stay this way forever.