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inkandpen22 · 3 years ago

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Chaotic as The Sea (3/?)

Pairing: Jack Sparrow x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3k Warning: swearing, violence Part Summary: The Black Pearl arrives in Bimini and as any adventure with Jack Sparrow, there’s chaos

Masterlist

Two days later...

Will

We arrive at Bimini as the sun begins to set. Y/N and Barbosa argue that we should wait until sunrise to explore the island. I argue that we can't waste another minute without trying to rescue Elizabeth. Jack, to my surprise, agrees that we shouldn't wait. Though, I think his reasoning is because he wants to see the fountain.

Barbosa, Jack, Gibbs, Ragetti, Pintel, Y/N, and I all hop off the boat to explore the island. Gibbs, Will, and Pintel all carry long torches for us as the only sources of light.

"Okay, so I know the general direction, but unless you feel like risking the chance of getting lost, which I don't, I suggest we use the compass," Y/N announces.

"I thought you were certain of the fountain's location," Barbosa remarks a tad agitated.

"Every tree and speck of white sand look exactly the same. Next trip, I'll drop your ass in a jungle in the middle of the night and tell you to find your way out!" She snaps.

"Okay, well then let's use the compass." Ragetti takes the compass of Jack's belt and hands it to Y/N.

The device begins to spin in her hand and Ragetti peeks over her shoulder. Jack quietly moves to stand beside her, wishing to catch a glimpse of himself.

Abruptly, Y/N shuts the compass and frantically tries to get rid of it. "Oh uh, no it's okay, Jack can take it." She tosses it to him.

"Me?" He looks at her wide-eyed and panicky. "No, give it to Will! He wants to find the bloody place." He tosses it to me.

"What's wrong with you two?" Barbosa yells in frustration.

"The compass doesn't work for them," I state.

"Seriously!" Y/N huffs.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Barbosa questions.

"When Jack holds it the arrow points to Y/N," I explain pointing between them.

"Who told you that!" Jack questions.

Then, Jack and Y/N both glare at Gibbs. "Gibbs!" They bark in unison.

The older man holds up his hands in surrender.

"Well, why can't Y/N do it?" Pintel questions timidly, circling his hands together.

"Why can't Will just bloody do it and we can move on!" The woman challenges.

Jack nods. "I'm with her on this one."

I sigh. "When Y/N holds it, it points toward whatever she wants so bad in New France."

"But isn't New France North of here?" Ragetti questions.

"Yes!" The rest of us answer in unison.

His face scrunches together in confusion. "But uh-"

Y/N elbows Ragetti in the ribs. "Shut it!" She's quick to change the subject. "Let's go! Will! I'll lead the way, you just act as a checker."

_______________________________________________

30 minutes later...

Y/N

As the seven of us continue to march through the thick jungle, Jack appears beside me. "After we're finished in New France. I say you and I pay a visit to Tortuga for old time's sake."

I laugh. "Ha! Wish to relive our break-up?"

"Think of it as a celebration of our reunion," he tries to sugarcoat it.

I roll my eyes, laughing as I move ahead to join Will up front. "In your dreams!"

Ragetti

I pick up my pace to catch up with Pintel. "I know something you don't know!"

"What?" He eagerly asks.

"When Y/N was holding the compass, the arrow was pointing toward her," I whisper.

His face scrunches together. "Y/N desires herself?"

"No!" I huff. "Jack was standing next to her!"

He gasps, putting it all together. "So you mean-"

"Yes!"

He grins. "That's kinda sweet actually."

Y/N

"Now be careful!" I announce to the men, watching my step as we get closer to the mountainside. "The natives made pit traps and other boobytraps-"

Before I can finish my warning. Jack screams from the back of the group. When I whip my head around, Jack is nowhere to be seen. "For idiots like Jack," I sigh.

"Does anyone see him?" Will questions, moving his torch around.

"It's kind of dark!" Gibbs remarks.

"Thank Jack and Will for that! They refused to wait until morning," I grumble, marching back to where I last saw Jack.

"Jack!" We all call in a scatter as we search.

"Captain!" Gibbs shouts.

We all watch our steps, checking the heavily covered jungle floor and sky for any sign of him. He could be hanging from a tree in a net or in a hole somewhere. If it's deep enough and well covered, it'll be hard to hear him.

"This is ridiculous!" Gibbs huffs.

"I say we leave him and tell the crew some natives got him," Barbosa suggests.

"I have an idea," I announce as one pops into my head. "Give me the compass," I ask Will, holding out my head.

"But how will that help?" He questions with a raised brow.

I hold the compass in my palm and lift the lid. I watch as the arrow spins. Soon, each of the men are gathered around me in a circle, eager to catch a glimpse. Then, the arrow stops, pointing Southeast. The men break apart, allowing me to follow it.

"Watch your step," I advise.

I keep a close eye on the arrow, making sure it doesn't change direction. I'm about to take another step when Will suddenly grabs my arm. I glance ahead and realize there's a massive pit in front of me. Its edges were covered in leaves and brush.

"Oh, thanks," I exhale deeply.

"Captain! You down there?" Gibbs shouts down below, holding a torch above the massive pit.

I kneel down beside the pit and await an answer.

There's a faint, "Am I dead?"

I giggle and shout back. "No, you're not dead you idiot!"

"Pintel! Ragetti! Go fetch a rope from the ship!" Barbosa commands, sending the two off.

I laugh, relieved that Jack is okay. Based on the distant swooshing sound, the pit is filled with water thankfully, not spikes. This could've been a recovery mission. I sit back on my knees and glance up to find the remaining three men staring at me with knowing grins.

"What!" I sass, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Nothing," they all say, breaking apart to roam in different directions.

I roll my eyes, such nosy people, pirates.

____________________________________________

The men work together, yanking Jack up from the bottom of the pit. I remained to kneel beside the edge, holding up a torch so we can see Jack when he pops up.

"Ho!" Barbosa calls out as they tug the robe. "Ho!"

Soon, Jack appears from within the darkness and I grip his belt, guiding him to safety. The men release the rope and relax, releasing panting breaths.

"You okay? Captain!" Gibbs questions.

"Yeah," Jack flips onto his back, catching his breath, "yeah, I should be fine. How did you-" His eyes flicker about until his eyes land on the compass on the ground beside me.

"Ah, now that's interesting." A cheeky smirk begins to form on his face as he lifts his gaze to meet mine.

I shove him in the shoulder, frustrated. "I told you to watch where you were going!" He has no idea how worried I was.

"I was a tad distracted by you, Love," he chuckles.

My eyes fall shut as I release a sigh of relief. Thank God, he's okay.

Jack places his hand on my thigh, capturing me by surprise. His dark eyes meet might and I place my hand over his. He flips his over and they interlock in my lap. His eyes soften at the sight.

Suddenly, there's a series of yells from across the jungle. Each of us tosses our heads to the side and sees small glimmers of light in the distance. Jack flies up beside me from his laid position.

"Are they with us?" He questions.

There's the ring of a gunshot and the bullet hits the tree right by Barbosa's head.

"Don't think so!" Will declares, his voice shaky.

"Who are they?" I shout.

"Wait! They're Black Beard's men! I remember one of them. He's the one who took Elizabeth!" Will determines.

“How did they find the fountain?” Barbosa yells.

“He knew you’d come and find me!” I comprehend and look over at Jack. “He’s been following us here!”

Pintel and Ragetti immediately make a run for it.

“I’m with them, time to go!” Will decides and starts to run back to the ship.

Jack takes my hand and instantly brings me to my feet. We begin to run too, hand in hand.

“Cowards!” Barbosa shouts and stands his ground. He whips out his gun and begins to shoot at the mob. “Come and get it you slimy gits! Ha!” He laughs.

Running utterly blind in the dark jungle, there’s hardly any light other than that that can make it through the tree tops from the moon. We make it through the jungle and see the beach a few yards ahead. Will and the two morons make a bee-line for the ship, when they’re suddenly stopped by a cluster of Blackbeard’s men running from down the beach. Jack pulls me into his side and draws his sword.

Suddenly, I feel a hand wrap around my wrist and I’m yanked away from Jack. He immediately whips around and his eyes grow wide. My back slams into someone’s chest and I struggle to free myself. More of Blackbeard’s men appear from within the jungle and begin to fight Jack. Two men begin to drag me off and I fling around, trying to break free.

"Jack!" I scream. “Let me go you bastards!”

Jack searches for me and when he finally spots me, he screams. "No!" He looks at me pleading and full of guilt.

As more of Blackbeard’s men appear, we both quickly realize there’s nothing either of us can do. These morons are taking me to their ship, more than likely to see their captain and to be held prisoner. This is yet another reunion I did not request.

______________________________________

After sailing out to the Queen Anne's Revenge a couple hundred yards from the island, the nasty men take me aboard and immediately drag me off to the captain’s quarters. They swing open the double doors below top deck and we enter a familiar red velvet decorated office.

A tall man stands behind the desk with his back to us. "And who do we have here?" A familiar voice purrs. When he spins around, his grin falls to confusion. "Y/N?"

"I told you! Idiots!" I huff and yank my arms free from his buffoons."Hi, Eddie," I offer a fake smile.

"Eddie?" The pair beside me repeat in unison.

The captain pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "How many times must I tell you?"

"You could hand me the Templar Treasure yourself, I won't call you Blackbeard. It's stupid," I laugh, approaching him.

"Leave us," he commands his minions. Once we’re allow, he moves to stand the other side of his desk. He props himself against it with a grin. "So, you and Jack are back together again..."

"No way in hell," I snicker, taking a look about his office. He’s changed it in the last five years. "He promised me he knew where the Templar Treasure was, I'm simply completing my half of the deal."

"Which is?" He inquires.

I stop my admiring of his decor to meet his gaze. "Showing him to the fountain."

"You would honestly betray me like that?" He acts offended my placing his hand against his chest.

"If it guaranteed me the Holy Grail? Yes,” I stand firm.

"Your loyalties still lie with that treasure? You truly are a pirate at heart,” he smirks. He rises from his position on the desk to pour us chalices of wine. As he approaches me, his eyes travel up and down my entirety. "Dare I say, you look amazing."

I accept the wine, but roll my eyes at his compliment. "Oh save it.”

He pouts dramatically. "What happened to the spirited eighteen-year-old I first met?” He reaches up and tucks strands of my hair behind my ear. “You're bitter now."

I lift my arm and knock his hand away from me. "It's called maturing."

"Have you matured enough to conclude that I'm the better man than Jack?" He smirks, stepping closer to me.

I move away from him and toward the book case against the far wall behind his desk. "I think I prefer neither of you,” I answer over my shoulder.

"One point, if I recall correctly, there was a point where you couldn't choose between us." He narrows his eyes, taking a sip of his wine as he creeps closer to me again. "Do you remember those few months in Bermuda?"

I shift of my heels, allowing my eyes to fall to the Persian rug beneath them. "It was always going to be him, Eddie..."

Abruptly, he rushes toward me and pins me against the bookcase. My wine falls out of my hand and stains the rug. "I could've had you if I wanted!" He growls.

I look him dead in the eyes with a clenched jaw. "You dare threaten me!”

He laughs mockingly. "What? Going to curse me?"

I grin. "That used to terrify you if I recall correctly."

"You're all bark and no bite. I happen to know for a fact, you don't practice dark magic!" He challenges.

"Just because I don't practice it, doesn't mean I don't know how to use it.”

There’s a commotion outside and soon the double doors swing open to reveal Jack marching in, gun drawn. While Eddie is distracted I pick up a vase off one of the shelves near me and I knock him over the head with it. The vase shatters into a hundred pieces over his head and the man falls to the ground with a thud at my feet. My chest rises and falls rapidly as I meet Jack’s gaze. His eyes flicker away from the man knocked out on the floor and up to me.

"I hate that I'm relieved to see you," I pant.

He runs over to me and takes my hand. "Consequence of loving me." He guides me over to one of the windows and swings it open. “Can you jump?”

I look at him as though he as three heads. “Can you jump? What kind of dumb question is that?” I mock. Then, I ask him a similar dumb question. “I don’t know Jack, can you swim?” I roll my eyes and climb up onto the windowpane and jump out.

“Jesus, Mary, and the bloody camel sorry for asking!” I hear him grumble under his breath as climbs out the window and jumps in after me.

___________________________________

Jack

We’re not sure how we’ll get Elizabeth back, but we will. Though, I suspect that he was never after the fountain. No, what he truly wanted was Y/N and the fountain was just a cover-up. I brought her right to him. For now, we just need to create some distance between us so we can form a plan.

Y/N climbs the ladder above me and Gibbs helps her on board. She offers him a thank you and brushes herself down. The crew is well into their tasks, getting us far from this island as soon as possible.

“Glad to see you’re safe, Miss,” Gibbs greets.

“Did everyone make it back okay?” She questions as I climb aboard.

“Yes, even I,” Barbosa announces with a proud grin. “Not with the help of you lot,” he adds.

“Don’t exactly have a death wish,” she giggles.

“There’s a change of clothes for you in the Captain’s office,” Gibbs informs her.

She offers him thanks and begins toward my quarters. Barbosa and Gibbs break apart to return to their positions.

“You! Hold it!” I call out.

The two men glance in my direction, wondering who I’m speaking to. They follow my gaze to Y/N.

She whips her head around, her gorgeous, long, wavy, Y/H/C flowing in the breeze. She crosses her arms over chest. “Excuse me?” She scoffs with a grin forming on her lips.

I narrow my gaze at her. “I have one question.”

Barbosa and Gibbs watch the interaction, their heads tilting back and forth between us with each exchange. The crew too watches as they attempt to multitask with their duties. Her eyes remain on the deck panels and anywhere else but me.

“Did you know the compass would lead you to me?” I ask.

There’s a pause and I can tell she’s reluctant to answer despite the amused expression she wears. Then, her eyes rise to meet mine with a sigh. “Yes... maybe...”

I smirk, approaching her slowly. “Oh see now that’s interesting, don’t you think?”

“What? Just going to gloat about the ship now?” She rolls her eyes, directing her focus in the distance away from me.

I bring my hands up to her cup her face and make her meet my gaze. To my surprise and pleasure, she doesn’t move from her spot or shove me away. Instead, brings her fingers to hook through the loops of belt.

“You stay with me from now on. No more hiding out.” I smirk. “That’s an order,” I tease quietly between us.

“Whatever you say...” Her eyes fall to my lips and then flicker back to my eyes. She grins. “Captain.”

One my hands slips behind her head to her neck and I bring my lips to meet hers in a needy kiss. Her arms fling over my shoulders, deepening the kiss.

“Now they’re going to be insufferable!” I hear Barbosa grumble to Gibbs as he stomps off.

Five years of searching for her, waiting for, wondering if I’ll ever see her again. What happened between us all those years ago is one of my greatest regrets if not the biggest. Our relationship has never been easy, in fact it’s exceedingly complicated and one giant headache. We haven’t stopped arguing since the moment we met and rarely agree on anything. Yet, we love as we do argue with each other, passionately and with everything we have. Now that I have Y/N back and I know she loves me in return, I’m never letting her go. God help me if I let Blackbeard anywhere near her.

_______________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @subwonwooagenda @starfire56 @doveygirlkay-blog @dansyberry @dansyberry @meany-marcelini @naturallyathief @oliviamae4193 @xxshoutxx @house-chase465636 @the-clint-barton @lxr1582 @m00ny-stars @lonliest-love @meandmymessyminds @jick-n0nas @biracy @kriimu10 @soxpoprocks @peachyplxm @captainluciabianchin @cannibalistic-cicada @a-e-i-owe-you @velvetsnaiil @mindifislytherin666 @bunkyung @livinglifewithoutbeingseen @ghosts-face @mx-pibbles @bigplaidwinnerparty @greentea121598 @that-eco-bitch

#pirates of the caribbean #pirates of the carribean imagine #jack sparrow imagine #jack sparrow #jack sparrow fanfic #jack sparrow x reader #PotC #will turner #elizabeth swann

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sunnywritings · 4 years ago

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you’re amusing

request: n/a pairing: pirate!dream x reader genre: angst/fluff word count: 6k warnings: fighting, bloodshed(not graphic) summary: captainpuffy’s crew raids your island. :)

extra: i spent two days writing this and it turned out to be 14 pages on google docs- please- lmao. um anyways,, you can use my au if you’d like(just @ me if you do!!/credit me), feel free to ask questions and i’ll answer and give y’all the info i have on it! :) also this is NOT edited dsifds anyways!! (i dont usually add keep readings but this is so long im sorry please-) - - - - - - - - - -

winter was never kind to us, the only things that seemed to warm us all were the bread and pastries niki made, or the fire we’d have ever night. otherwise, the town was silent, not a peep from anyone simply trying to survive.

we were close, or at least some of us are. every now and then you’d here whispered talking, most now guarded and isolated from the first attack. tubbo and tommy were the two that spoke the most to each other, tommy commonly being seen entering and exiting tubbo’s florist shop, except not always with flowers.

he’d leave with weapons now, newly crafted and made swords or arrows, shields sometimes even. it wasn’t new but it was still shocking that this is what the town had come to. what used to be a lively, social town now filled with the cold, bitterness of a half victory.

wilbur hadn’t been seen for a couple of weeks, the only signs he was still in there were the fact patrols were still being sent out. tommy, techno, and purpled all wandering the island, weapons drawn and looking out for that one boat.

‘masked raiders’ is what they called them, the members rather than the ship. the title was earned when their raid leader had become recognizable for their white eye cover/bandana and mocking smile.

no, the ship itself was called ‘ethereal fury’. led by the infamous captain puffy. legends say it’s hundreds of years old, passed on to their family like an heirloom, yet no one knew who would lead it next.

you stared out over the waters, one leg over the cliff side and the other tucked up, elbow leaning against it and palm in hand. your bow sat beside you, the bundle of arrows scattered around messily. organization was never your strong suit, but aim was. tubbo had crafted you personalized throwing knives, your initials craved into the handle.

your hand clasped around one of the knives, running your thumb delicately over your initials. glancing up at the sky, you took note of the time, pressing a hand against the ground and standing. purpled would be home soon, and you needed to check him over for wounds. he was your brother, as reckless as he was, he never learned to take care of himself.

with a sigh you walked around, picking up the discarded arrows, sliding your bow over your back. the string pressed against your front, though it became an invisible, phantom of a feeling when you turned around, hearing noise from the waters.

around another island in the distance pulled a ship, not too far away from your home island. quickly you pulled a shrinkable scope from your pocket, an intention fundy had given you to test, looking around the boat for a symbol.

and there it was, the ram horns on the front of the ship. quickly a gasp left you, from your post you ran for the watchtower. the cliff was a watchpoint and practice area, one you commonly went to.

you rushed up the mossy watchtower stairs, almost stumbling. finally, you reached the bell, grabbing the string inside and frantically ringing the bell.

it’s noise rung out, hurting your ears, yet you continued to hit it and let the sharp sound fill the island. immediately you heard the upsurge from the side, hearing the draw gate start to close and defense barriers begin to set up. techno and tommy must’ve been closing in when you hit the bell, what ironically and unfortunately perfect timing.

the cold wind stung at your skin and face as you raced back down the stairs and to the cliffside. you kneeled, pulling your bow back out and drawing an arrow from your quill. your sight was aimed down at the ship, keeping a steady aim and stare on the offensive, and enemy raiders.

the ship began to slow, and you could see the cannon windows begin to open. steadying your grip on the arrow you aimed slightly up, breathing in before releasing the arrow, exhaling while you shut.

the arrow zoomed through the air, piercing directly into the opening of the cannon. the window immediately shut on that opening, and you took out another arrow, quickly changing positions to be further in the shrubbery. loading another arrow you aimed at the pirate ship again, watching them begin to dock. the moment you saw a sign of movement you fired the arrow, repeating your breathing process. it hit against the board that let them down, bouncing off and into the waters, though you had been inches away from hitting someone's foot.

you glanced up slightly from where you had been aiming, the white sticking out against the rest of the outfit. pain shot through your lungs at the aggressive and sharp inhale you took. the leader of the masked raider’s was staring directly up at the cliffside, though not at you, but rather at the watchtower.

quickly you rolled into the bushes, back against a tree while peering out at them. you saw two of the raiders jump out, one throwing a fireball at the wooden defenses and the other throwing two potions down. their swords gleamed, even from how far back you were. suddenly, you heard a familiar warping sound.

drawing your attention over, you watched a black and red hooded figure land, glancing over the town. they stood beside the watchtower, only about twenty feet away from you. slowly you leaned a hand down, grabbing a pebble. keeping it held firmly in your hands you reared your hand back, throwing it at the shrubbery on the other side of the watchtower.

that got their attention, and you got a good glimpse of their face. a half demon, black horns prominently protruding from their forehead and white eyes. you bit your tongue to prevent any noise, pulling a throwing knife out of its sheath. it was silent for a moment before the half demon began to walk over to investigate, sword drawn.

you had to block out the noises of the battle below in order to focus, inhaling softly and slowly. tunnel vision took its effect, and everything around you became noiseless, void while you zoned in on this half demon’s back. the knife flew from your hand, embedding yourself into their shoulder.

“agh!” the half demon shouted, flinching forward and dropping their sword before spinning around, growling. clearly they were angry, ripping the throwing knife from their shoulder and looking at it. their blood was white like their eyes, and while they seemed focused on the throwing knife you drew the dagger you had strapped to your thigh.

from where you were you could hear the half demon’s breathing, before their gaze flickered to the shrubbery you were in. your eyes met, and before you realized what you were doing, you had sprung out of the bushes, lunging at the half demon.

their grip on the knife changed, clasping tightly around your throwing knife. while you swung to the side in an attempt to hit them, they swiped at you. the knife clipped your shoulder, but you had managed to slash across their leg.

you rolled away, on your good shoulder, the adrenaline numbing the sting from the wound. the half demon took a step back to look at you, seemingly unfazed from the wound. they slowly took steps towards you, while you stood there, shifting your feet into a fighting stance.

suddenly they rushed at you, stabbing the knife down at you. your knife raised, meeting the knife in the middle. while you both struggled to push the other knife away, you rose a foot, kicking the half demon in the stomach. they flinched, gasping while being kicked back.

your throwing knife dropped, and while you quickly moved, ducking to pick it up, the half demon threw their own knife at you. it landed in your shoulder, which brought a gasp of pain from you.

glancing over, you saw the half demon running at you again, sword drawn, having picked it up when they were kicked away. you stared, rage now burning in your stomach. when they took several swipes at you, you managed to duck or back away from the strikes. when the barrage of hits ended you swung forward, slamming the handle of your knife into their head. the half demon got knocked down, and before they could get back up again, you slammed into their stomach. you hit the handle against their head once, twice, and finally three times before they were down for the count.

standing up you inhaled shakily, reaching a hand up and ripping out the knife. you gasped again, stifling a cry of pain by biting your lip. tears burned in your eyes before you rolled the half demon over, slowly taking all their weapons. you hesitated before grabbing the half demon by the back of the hood, dragging them over to the watchtower. you propped them up against a wall inside, leaving their practically emptied bag there.

new sword in hand, you walked out, the pain slowly returning from your dying adrenaline. returning to the cliffside over town, you stared down at the battle, panting softly. the battle reigned on, techno fighting the masked raider’s leader, tommy fighting the one that started the fire, and purpled fighting the one that splashed potions. from what you could see the battle was in the town’s favor, philza even shooting arrows down from above the town’s biggest building, the townhouse, where wilbur, fundy, and philza all lived.

with a sigh you readied yourself to go down the cliff, shaking out your arms, not without a spike of pain in your left one. slowly, you used your heels to ground you to the earth, sliding your way down without hurting yourself too badly. scrapes now littered your hands when you hit the ground, quickly running into the town.

the battle was louder now, metal clashing against metal and the sounds of the crackling fire. you ducked beside the bakery, peering inside for niki.

when you looked inside you saw her behind the counter, the traveler jack inside with her. they seemed to be talking, jack gesturing to the battle outside while niki shook her head. she saw you, pausing before waving. jack turned to look at you, scowling, which seemed to be his natural expression. you waved back before looking back at the battle, huffing.

the fire was spreading uncomfortably close to the townhouse, though philza seemed fine from above. it was fundy you were worried about, less than about purpled but still worried. the fox hybrid had been taught to fight, but hadn’t completed his training, and was even a few years older than purpled. he’d been babied for so long by wilbur that he hadn’t gotten the chance to train.

glancing around at the battle, you made sure all of them were distracted before running, sprinting across the open field. the clinking of the swords grew louder as you ran past them. unfortunately, the moment you got close to the townhouse, you heard the loud sound of cannon fire. the noise pierced the air, a ringing noise now sitting in your ears as you watched the cannon ball hit directly into the townhouse.

“no!” you screamed, voice cracking. the impact knocked you off your feet and threw the sword away from you, though you scrambled back up, you were forced to watch the townhouse crumble and fall. philza managed to swoop down with his wings. “phil, fundy’s still in there!” you shouted at the advisor, who paused with wide eyes.

“get him! i need to help techno!” he shouted back before dashing off, not even giving you a chance to rebuke. you exhaled heavily before running into the burning remains of the townhouse, roughly scrambling through while coughing from the smoke.

lifting the broken wood, “fundy! where are you!” you shouted, coughing afterwards. faintly you heard him call back, a weak ‘help!’ from within the rubble.

dashing over, you quickly began to remove the wood, ignoring the sting from the fire. it burnt your skin, licking at it to create new wounds while you simply continued to move. finally you found the fox hybrid, grabbing his hand and pulling him out. his fur was burnt slightly, tips singed. you put a hand on his head, forcing him to duck with you. “c’mon! this place is gonna collapse!” taking hold of his hand you rushed fundy out of the building, with him stumbling behind you.

when you both managed to get out, only a few moments later did the building groan, the rest finally collapsing. your hands shot to your knees, crouching while you coughed aggressively. fundy pat at your back, covering his own cough with an arm. “thank you.” his voice was hoarse, yet almost broken sounding. you glanced up at him, nodding before walking a little bit away. picking up the half demon’s sword, you handed it to fundy. “protect yourself.” even your voice was hoarse, strained from the smoke and coughing.

he nodded at you before both of you turned to the battle still raging on. ringing set in your ears again, the pain coming back like a tsunami. you winced, crying out in pain before collapsing to your knees. burn wounds littered across your hands and upper arm, the stab wound to your shoulder not doing any better from the ash that now rests atop it.

your breathing had become labored, shaky on top of that. fundy rummaged through a he had, taking out a healing potion. he kept a hand on your back, “tilt your head back.” you glanced over at him before doing as told. the fox hybrid pushed the bottle to your mouth, pouring half of it for you to drink. you gulped it down like it was water and you were going through a drought. leaning your head back forward, he drank the rest of the potion. “thank you.” you muttered, able to feel the energy returning to your body, watching the burn scars fade slightly and feel the stab wound stop bleeding and scab over.

he hummed, removing his hand quickly after that while discarding the bottle. “now let’s get back to this battle right?” fundy grinned, one of his fox ear’s flicking. you smiled back up at him, standing up and taking out your dagger. “we got some raiders to beat the shit out of.”

together, you rushed towards the battle, though fundy diverged from you, running to philza. you kept running straight, sprinting to where purpled was fighting, though his opponent’s back was to you.

just as you were above to slash at him you heard the call out, “george! behind you!” it came from the one tommy was fighting.

the one now known as ‘george’, spun around, swinging his sword. you ducked back, sword swiping over your stomach and head. you spun, pressing your hands off the ground and kicking him into the stomach, knocking him back towards purpled. while you landed your brother slashed george in the side, rearing a hand back and punching him square in the face while he was in shock.

his glasses crumbled to the floor, now broken, blood dripping down after it. he gasped, and while you moved around george to purpled’s side you could see why. george’s nose had been broken from purpled’s punch, and your brother still wasn’t letting up. purpled landed another punch into his gut, shoving george back again. the enemy raider let out a small fry of pain before punching back at purpled, hitting him in the shoulder.

it was slow motion when you watched the raider’s leader appear behind george, and as george ducked, the leader’s sword swung towards purpled. you dived forward, knocking purpled out of the way. the sword hit empty air while you stood back up, glaring at the masked raider. their head turned to stare at you before one of their hands rested on george’s shoulder. george glanced at the leader before running off into the battle.

you stared at the masked one, or the bandana, shifting the grip on your dagger. right now you really wished you hadn’t given fundy that sword. it was silence between you two before he bolted forward, swinging at you. you backed up, ducking and dodging his rapid swinging.

purpled shouted, “catch!” you glanced over only for a second, dropping the dragged and catching the sword, spinning on your foot and clashing your swords together. the clink rang out, the renowned, mocking smile forming on the leader’s expression.

you stared flatly, glaring before smiling. the masked leader paused when you smiled, quickly spinning around and hitting purpled’s dagger away. with his back turned, you slashed down it, cutting through his shirt and drawing blood.

the masked leader paused before aggressively swinging at him, pivoting and slashing the blade at you. you bounced his blade off, taking steps back while he took steps forward, making aggressive slashes at you.

the tip of his sword hit you every once in a while, making shallow cuts first to your arm and then one to your chest. finally something intervened, though it definitely wasn’t what you hoped for.

“stop the fighting or he’s fucking dead!” the fire started called, sword to someone’s neck. you and the masked raider both paused, looking over. fundy was beaten up, bleeding from his lip and nose, slashes made down his arms and a couple on his legs.

you gasped, “fundy-“ your voice started, but before you could move the masked raider’s sword was put in front of you like a wall. slowly you looked over at them, staring with wide eyes. purpled came to your side, weapon discarded and glaring up at the masked raider. “back up.” he commanded, but his demand fell upon deaf ears.

the masked raider continued to stare at you while one of his companions shouted, “drop your weapons and give up! one fucking arrow or knife comes at me and he’s gone!” the sword moved closer to fundy’s neck, who managed to hold his head back slightly, his eyes wide, mouth tightly closed, and arms drawn in.

“let him go-“ your voice was quiet at first, before your fist nestled around the grass below you, though it was practically dead. “let him go!” you shouted, voice breaking halfway through, tears finding their way to your eyes. “he’s just a teenager how the fuck can you do this! you’re threatening to kill us for what? greed! fucking satisfaction you sick fucks!” you continued to scream, even when the masked raider moved his sword closer to your neck.

tears spilled over your eyes, “if you’re gonna do it then fucking do it! but leave him alone! fuck off! we’re a small island! a fucking family that you made distrust each other from the first attack! what’re you gonna do? stab me?” you reached up, grabbing his sword and bringing it to your neck. your grip was tight enough to cut your hand, blood dripping down the blade. “do it then you fucking sick prick.” from behind the bandana you could feel them staring at you, as if actually contemplating it.

their sword dropped as they walked forward, crouching down and grabbing you by the collar of the shirt. they smiled, “drop the fox!” they called, holding an amused tone of voice. “we’re taking this one.” as they spoke they hoisted you up, lifting you slightly off the ground. you squirmed, and as much as you hated it you had to accept they were stronger than you.

“no you aren’t!” purpled shouted, swinging the sword you had discarded towards their arm. another sword intervened, but not by who either of you expected.

wilbur scowled at purpled, pushing your brother away. “stand down purpled.” he ordered. purpled opened his mouth to speak, but wilbur didn’t give him the chance. “you heard me.” he glared before looking over at the masked raider.

“leave.” was all he said, turning his back on the masked raider, walking across the burnt town-square and over to where fundy had been dropped.

the masked raider tossed you over his shoulder, where you wiggled, hitting at their back while cussing bitterly. the raider who had started the fire was handed a pouch of gold while wilbur took fundy, leading the fox hybrid away from the raider.

the raider whistled, “and thank you-“ the masked raider shouted after a moment, “sapnap! c’mon we don’t have time for this!” they called. ‘sapnap’ groaned, rolling his eyes before going along. “and see you all another time!” he mock bowed while the masked raider walked up the board.

you hit at their back with closed fists, wiggling. “let me go!” your voice echoed, screaming, though no one listened. no one in the town could look at you, the only ones who did make eye contact were purpled and techno, one who looked regretful and the other looked guilty. both were wounded, techno more so than purpled, before they were gone from your sight.

the board was hauled onto the ship when sapnap got back on, george and the half-demon getting their wounds tended to as you were set down. the masked raider set you down against a pole while the boat got moving. feeling the boat lurch forward, you moved with it, wincing when your head hit the back of the pole.

your eyes closed, biting your tongue before opening your eyes. when you opened them you saw the captain staring at you, ram horns decorated with gold jewelry. you yelped, trying to flinch back even further from the captain.

alas, that did nothing as she only grew closer. you shut your eyes tight, tucking your chin and grabbing onto your own wrist tightly. the feeling of a hand on your chin brought back all your fear, and it only worsened when you were forced to look up, opening your eyes out of shock. she stared down at you, studying your expression and how you reacted. you were forced to stare back, and your fear mixed with anger burned into your eyes and stomach, boiling like a geyser.

“good job dream, now we have leverage.” she hummed, smiling. “welcome to ethereal fury.” captain puffy stared down at you before letting go, simply taking a few steps back. her sword shifted as she moved, and with a snap of her fingers you were being picked up again, this time by strangers. ‘dream’ seemed to be the masked raider, who stood beside the captain.

the new people holding you were up some not out on the battlefield, you assumed they were behind the canons or simple helpers. one was a half endermen and the other looked more dead inside, and bored, than sapnap did behind dream.

“now i find it awfully impressive you managed to take down bad,” that sentence got the half endermen to tighten their grip on you, “but i’m not all that happy you did it to begin with.” puffy turned to look at you, unsheathing one of her daggers. “now you can either tell us everything about yourself and the island,” the tip of the dagger pressed against your lips, applying pressure on your lower one, “or you can decide to not speak at all.”

your jaw fell loose, and the light pressure applied to your mouth made it fall open slightly. the cold of the blade shot through your head, the metallic taste was a bitter reminder of what was happening. she removed the knife after a moment, to give you the opportunity to speak.

you looked up at her slowly, glaring. “your men tried to kill one of my friends,” your voice was low, words slow, “so frankly, you can suck my fucking dick.” a smile drew onto your face, “because at least mine is bigger than half your men’s.”

puffy stared back at you, and while the fear and loss of confidence dwelled in your stomach, you were determined to keep staring back.

finally, she laughed loudly as well. your expression and body slacked at the noise, eyes widening. “that’s a good one kid, a good one.” puffy leaned slightly down to look at you, smiling. “you’re amusing, so full of spite it seems.” she stood back up, sheathing the knife. “i like this one.”

dream rose a brow before scoffing, him and sapnap walking over to george and ‘bad’. “release them.” puffy ordered, which got everyone’s attention.

slowly you were let go, you stretching by rolling your arms, though you winced right after. your arm was still sore from where bad had stabbed you. hesitantly you glanced around, unsure of what to do now that you were let go, though puffy brought your attention back to her. “alright kid, now you’re not one of us so don’t get the wrong idea, but you’ll definitely have to stay in the cell for a couple of days.” those words brought your scowl back.

“well if your so-called dream hadn’t insisted on taking me you wouldn’t have to worry about me.” you grumbled. puffy laughed again, though it sounded more mocking this time.

puffy grabbed you by the wounded shoulder, tugging you over. her nails dug into your wound, which made you wince out of pain, biting your lip and whimpering slightly. she let up on her grip, though she still dragged you down into the bottom of the boat, through a staircase. down there was one guy cracking jokes and the other laughing. the one making jokes was in blue, a scar down one of his eyes, and the other was in a colorful outfit, goggles on top of his head and a book in hand.

you stared at them for a moment, and eventually they both looked over at you, pausing in their conversation. puffy continued to tug you forward, and as you passed them they both returned to conversation, though more hushed this time.

when you looked forward again you saw puffy pulling you towards a cell, which was quickly opened with one of her keys. you inhaled sharply when she pushed you inside, landing on your side.

you sat up as puffy spoke, “now if you behave for a little we might consider letting you join, or return to your companions.” she locked the door again, spinning the key. quickly you went to the bars, shaking them a couple of times. you knew it was futile, only the width of your arm could fit between those bars.

moving back in the cell you sat against the wall, sighing while tilting your head back. this was gonna be a long few days wasn’t it.

- - - - - - - - - -

you woke up to the sound of the cell door opening, jolting up. pain shot through your shoulder when you sat up, staring with wide eyes at the door. dream stood there, bandages and gauze in his hands. he stared at you before clearing his throat, “puffy sent me to clean your wounds.” the raider muttered, walking towards you.

before he could reach you your back had hit the wall, distrust dwelling in your stomach. dream’s posture was slack, relaxed and unafraid, clearly he didn’t take you as a threat for now. no words were spoken as you slowly turned, huffing while showing him your back first.

the sound of him sitting down was the only noise in the cell, besides hearing your own breathing. when he stopped moving the noise of his breathing became clear as well, and oddly your breaths had been in sync. you flinched when a rag touched your shoulder wound, clearly he had doused it in gauze to clean and disinfect it. he stopped moving for a moment, waiting before slowly wiping the rag down the cut. it wasn’t necessarily long, just a deep stab in your shoulder, which hurt like all hell.

after a moment of repetitive wipes to the wound, he removed the rag, using his other hand and tugging your sleeve down. you bit your lip to distract yourself, fidgeting with your hands. “lift your arm.” his voice was surprisingly soft, calm to an extent. you did as instructed, wincing, though all he did was begin to wrap the bandage around your shoulder. he lifted a hand, gently pulling your arm down after he’d looped the bandage around the front, pulling the rest down onto the flat of your wound.

he cut the bandage off, though his other hand stayed on your arm for a moment longer before he removed it. you shifted, turning around and holding your arms out. the gauze rag he had used was tainted with a light red, though he still used it to clean the shallow cuts to your arms. his hands moved slowly, and you watched him work, closely studying his expression, or lack thereof, and his hands.

when he finished bandaging your arms his head tilted to look you in the face. silence settled between you two, only the sound of your breathing filled the room.

“why’re you listening to puffy and helping me?” your voice came as a surprise to even yourself, having blurted out the words.

dream only stared back before a smile formed on his expression. “puffy was right. you are amusing.” his tongue clicked, raising a hand and pulling his bandana back. piercing, green eyes stared at you, bright somehow even in the darkness of the cell, a taunting, yet charming smile painting his face. “i’m glad i chose you over the fox.” dream’s words were practically purred out, voice filled with amusement. you couldn’t help the small blush that spread to your face, both from his eyes and sudden change in voice. “try and get some more sleep doll, we have a long couple of days to go.” he leaned towards you, grinning before patting the top of your head.

the bandana returned to cover his eyes after he gathered the gauze rag and bandages, walking out of the cell and locking it. you stared wide-eyed at the spot he once sat at and the cell door. a sharp breath left you, one you didn’t realize you were even holding. who the fuck was this raider? and who did dream think he was to do that to you? but most importantly, what did he mean?

- - - - - - - - - -

dream had visited you a couple more times over however long it had been. mainly he had been bringing you food and water, his excuse was always, ‘puffy sent me down to do this’. the more he used it the less you cared, you were tired of that excuse, you just wanted to know what he saw in you that had him coming back.

on the brighter side, you had met a few of the other crewmates. quackity and karl were the two you had passed before below deck, they seemed fun and even cracked jokes with you despite you being in a cell. they had made you laugh for the first time since you got here, it was refreshing too. you had also met ranboo, the half endermen, and punz, the one who had looked dead inside. though it was more you had heard his name was punz, from ranboo who had been coming down to check on some storage.

anytime you tried to ask how long you’d been down here you never got a certain answer, just an ‘uhhh’ and then a shrug, or being flat out ignored. at this rate you were tempted to shimmy out of the bars and see if there was a window you could jump out of. it felt like you could swim to shore with how long you had been cooped up in here.

you heard his footsteps again, he had come by enough for you to recognize them. turning, you looked at the cell door, focusing back in, seeing dream walking. something hopped in your stomach, seeing him carry a tray of food and a glass of water.

he opened the cell door again, “puffy had me-“ you interrupted him, “oh quit the fucking excuse, if you’re gonna bring me something at least tell me why you’re coming.” dream looked mildly shocked you had snapped at him, shoulders stiffening.

his jaw clenched while he set the food down, water beside it. you grabbed the food, picking up the bread and biting into it. cold as always, “well? you gonna talk or you gonna keep shoving your head into your ass?” you swoop your hand in a vague ‘get it going’ gesture.

dream paused again before laughing, sitting down. “i’ve always been interested in you. since that first raid we pulled on your island,” he started, while you slowly continued to eat, “when we lost and were retreating you didn't shout in victory like the other island protectors did. you turned around and helped the others of your island, checked on them, made sure they were fine, and began to help set up housing for those who had temporarily lost it from our cannonballs.” his words slowed considerably, pausing to breathe.

another smile formed on his expression, though not a mocking one, “something about you drew me in, something i can’t explain.” dream undid his bandana, resting it on one of his crossed legs. he leaned forward and towards you. his eyes scoured your expression, looking for something, which had developed a look of mild shock. you didn’t think he paid that much mind to you before they had taken you.

he leaned back, standing up and tying his bandana back on. dream offered a hand out, “your days in the cell are up.” a grin split across his expression when you took his hand, stumbling after pulling yourself up. “oh doll, you’re gonna love it here.”

dream led you out of the cell, careful to support you to avoid you falling or stumbling, even as you climbed the stairs. the daylight burned you eyes when you saw it again, squinting up at the clouds before glancing around. the crew had all gathered by the stairs, puffy in the front.

you paused to glance at dream, who was still grinning, before looking at puffy. she was smiling, taking strides towards you. the ram hybrid stared down at you for a moment, letting the silence ring out before she spoke.

“we want you to join ethereal fury.” puffy offered, “we all here believe you’d fit right in with us, training as a team, close as a family, and forming a bond with everyone here.” the ram hybrid hummed, finishing her small speech.

silence sat between you two again, the only noise was the waves rocking the boat. dream’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, but not as to intimidate you into joining, more of anticipation.

a small smile formed on your face, “sure.” why not try it? you’d probably return home eventually anyways, right? the crew burst out into cheers, karl running at you and pulling you into a hug, “welcome!” he shouted, shaking you slightly.

they were so trusting of you. but why? they’d barely known you, didn’t know if you’d say yes to joining. it made no sense to be this trustworthy.

dream pulled you away from karl, pulling you into a tight hug while quackity shouted something about getting the tequila and rum out. “welcome to the team, glad to have you here.” he shifted back slightly, using a hand to tilt your head up and kissing your forehead, smiling. a blush rapidly spread across your face, eyes widening slightly, and your posture and expression momentarily falling slack.

maybe this was the start of something new, a good new, and frankly? you couldn’t wait to see where it led.

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oh-three · 2 years ago

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7, 11, 17, 18, 34, 41, 58, 65, 78 and 94 for the ask game

7) Tell us about the plot of the first fanfic you ever wrote.

Oh god.

It was a Transformers fic, three chapters long, about Hubcap (red version) getting kidnapped by Decepticons then rescued by Blurr and Ironhide. It's actually pretty cringey, and I hate the dialogue so much. My writing has improve so much since then.

11) What’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? Also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

[TW- slavery]

I don't worry about research too much, unless it's like historical or medical stuff (occasional Wookieepedia use aside).

I did write a Pirates Of The Caribbean fic a year and a half (or two and a half years) ago, spent days researching slavery. I learned all kinds of stuff from that, stored it on a document for safekeeping. Have this on there:

Slaves were scrubbed and their wounds filled with hot tar before auction. The unsold and frail were often sold by scramble auctions, where after agreeing a flat rate, plantation owners would race to grab the best workforce.

17) What is your favorite line you’ve ever written?

I don't really memorize them, but whenever I look back on a fic and read one of them, I remember how much I love it. For the sake of saving time, here's one from A Hand In Refuge:

Because even though his master had discouraged the voicing of his opinion, the desire to share had lingered deep beneath his rigorous teachings, waiting oh-so-patiently to arise.

18) What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

My most favorite part of writing is watching it turn from outline material into fully fleshed out conversations and ideas. There's a certain magic to watching it happen, to comparing the two afterward.

My least favorite part is figuring out how to pick something up again from where I've left off. Really struggling to start the next chapter of my Cobb Vanth series at the moment. I know what I want to do, I just don't know how to execute it.

34) How do you name characters and places?

Honestly? I usually just run a name generator until I come upon one that just fits. Something that I like the sound of aesthetically, something that feels like it suits the personality of the character receiving the name.

41. What is the weirdest story idea you’ve ever had?

I'm part of a (now -inactive) Discord server with a few other Pirates Of The Caribbean writers. Went to a feed store one night, shared a few pictures of chicks staying warm.

That turned into me writing a story about Jack Sparrow smuggling a couple pocket-fulls of chicks onto the Black Pearl. It's the most random thing I've ever written, and I love it.

58) What is the last thing that a fic made you google when you were writing it?

"hyperspace lane"

Yeah, I was trying to figure out what skylanes were called. I got there.

65) What is your favourite title for a fic you’ve written?

Me, who's written over four-hundred fics: ...

I've Seen Things In This House I've Never Spoken Of is a good one. It's a Spider-Man fic, the title itself being a quote from one of the characters.

When The Suns Grow Low, The Fight Only Gets Tougher is the title of the first fic in my Cobb Vanth series. I don't even remember how I came up with it, but I really do love it a lot.

Solus Tome (Alone Together) is another favorite, the fic surrounding the Bad Batch and Fives, an AU in which he survives and they find him. The first part of the title is in Mando'a, the translation being the part that's in parenthesis.

I'm going to stop there before I get ahead of myself.

78) How do you choose where to end a chapter?

Yeah, that's always a tad difficult.

I usually just chop it up between scenes to make it a bit more natural, though I sometimes cut it in the middle of scenes for the sake of length consistency or dramatic effect.

94) Do you prefer dialogue or description?

I really like both, if I'm being honest. I can't say I prefer one over the other. I love description, going in-depth on how things look, but there's just something about nailing a character's line that is pretty magical itself.

#thanks for the ask!#definitely took a trip down memory lane!

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 years ago

Text

Watomatic, for lower Whatsapp switching costs

Any discussion of monopolization of the web is bound to include the term “network effects,” and its constant companion, “natural monopolies.” This econojargon is certainly relevant to the discussion, but really needs the oft-MIA idea of “switching costs.”

A technology has “network effects” when its value grows as its users increase, attracting more users, making it more valuable, attracting more users.

The classic example is the fax machine: one fax is useless, two is better, but when everyone has a fax, you need one too.

Social media and messaging obviously benefit significantly from network effects: if all your friends are on Facebook (or if it’s where your kid’s Little League games are organized, or how your work colleagues plan fun activities), you’ll feel enormous pressure to join.

Indeed, in these days of Facebook’s cratering reputation, it’s common to hear people say, “I’m only on FB because my friends are there,” and then your friends say, “I’m only there because you are there.”

It’s a form of mutual hostage-taking.

That hostage situation illustrates (yet) another economic idea: “collective action problems.” There are lots of alternatives to Facebook, but unless you can convince everyone on Facebook to pick one and move en masse, you’ll just end up with yet another social account.

This combination of network effects and collective action problems leads some apologists for tech concentration to call the whole thing a “natural monopoly” — a system that tends to be dominated by a single company, no matter how hard we try.

Railroads are canonical “natural monopolies.” Between the costs of labor and capital and the difficulty in securing pencil-straight rights-of-way across long distances, it’s hard to make the case for running a second set of parallel tracks for a competing company’s engines.

Other examples of natural monopolies include cable and telephone systems, water and gas systems, sewer systems, public roads, and electric grids.

Not coincidentally, these are often operated as public utilities, to keep natural monopolies from being abused by greedy jerks.

But the internet isn’t a railroad. Digital is different, because computers are universal in a way that railroads aren’t — all computers can run all programs that can be expressed in symbolic logic, and that means we can almost always connect new systems to existing ones.

Open up a doc in your favorite word processor and choose “Save As…” and just stare in awe and wonder at all the different file-formats you can read and write with a single program. Some of those formats are standardized, while others are proprietary and/or obsolete.

It’s easier to implement support for a standard, documented format, but even proprietary formats pose only a small challenge relative to the challenge presented by, say, railroads.

Throw some reverse-engineering and experimentation at a format like MS DOC and you can make Apple Pages, which reads and writes MS’s formats (which were standardized shortly after Pages’ release, that is, after the proprietary advantage of the format was annihilated).

This is not to dismiss the ingenuity of the Apple engineers who reversed Microsoft’s hairball of a file-format, but rather, to stress how much harder their lives would have been if they were dealing with railroads instead of word-processors.

During Australia’s colonization, every state had its own governance and its own would-be rail-barons. Each state laid its own gauge of rail-track, producing the “multi-gauge muddle” — which is why, 150+ years later, you can’t get a train from one end of Oz to the other.

Hundreds of designs for interoperable rolling stock have been tried, but it’s proven impossible to make a reliable car that retracts one set of wheels and drops a different one.

The solution to the middle-gauge muddle? Tear up and re-lay thousands of kilometers of track.

Contrast that with the Windows users who discovered that Pages would read and write the thousands of documents they’d authored and had to exchange with colleagues: if they heeded the advice of the Apple Switch ads, they could buy a Mac, move their files over, and voila!

Which brings me to switching costs. The thing that make natural monopolies out of digital goods and services are high switching costs, including the collective action problem of convincing everyone to quit Facebook or start using a different word-processor.

These switching costs aren’t naturally occurring: they are deliberately introduced by dominant firms that want to keep their users locked in.

Microsoft used file format obfuscation and dirty tricks (like making a shoddy Mac Office suite that only offered partial compatibility with Windows Word files) to keep the switching costs high.

By reverse-engineering and reimplementing Word support, Apple obliterated those switching costs — and with them, the collective action problem that created Word’s natural monopoly.

Once Pages was a thing, you didn’t have to convince your friends to switch to a Mac at the same time as you in order to continue collaborating with them.

Once you get an email-to-fax program, you can discard your fax machine without convincing everyone else to do the same.

Interoperability generally lowers switching costs. But adversarial interoperability — making something new that connects to something that already exists, without its manufacturer’s consent — specifically lowers deliberate switching costs.

Adversarial interoperability (or “competitive compatibility,” AKA “comcom”) is part of the origin story of every dominant tech company today. But those same companies have gone to extraordinary lengths to extinguish it.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Just as a new company may endorse standardization when it’s trying to attract customers who would otherwise be locked into a “ecosystem” of apps, service, protocols and parts, so too do new companies endorse reverse-engineering and comcom to “fix” proprietary tech.

But every pirate wants to be an admiral. Once companies attain dominance, they start adding proprietary extensions to the standard and fighting comcom-based interoperability, decrying it as “hacking” or “theft of intellectual property.”

In the decades since Microsoft, Apple, Google, and Facebook were upstarts, luring users away from the giants of their days, these same companies have labored to stretch copyright law, terms of service, trade secrecy, patents and other rules to ban the tactics they once used.

This has all but extinguished comcom as a commercial practice. Today’s comcom practitioners risk civil and criminal liability and struggle to get a sympathetic hearing from lawmakers or the press, who have generally forgotten that comcom was once a completely normal tactic.

The obliteration of comcom is why network effects produce such sturdy monopolies in tech — and there’s nothing “natural” about those monopolies.

If you could leave Facebook but still exchange messages with your friends who hadn’t wised up, there’d be no reason to stay.

In other words, the collective action problem that the prisoners of tech monopolies struggle with is the result of a deliberate strategy of imposing high technical and legal burdens to comcom, in order to impose insurmountable switching costs.

I wrote about this for Wired UK back in April, comparing the “switching costs” the USSR imposed on my grandmother when she fled to Canada in the 1940s to the low switching costs I endured when I emigrated from Canada to the UK to the USA:

https://www.wired.co.uk/article/social-media-competitive-compatibility

Today, there’s a group of tech monopoly hostages who are stuck behind their own digital iron curtain, thanks to Facebook’s deliberate lock-in tactics: the users of Whatsapp, a messaging company that FB bought in 2014.

Whatsapp was a startup success: founded by privacy-focused technologists who sensed users were growing weary of commercial surveillance, they pitched their $1 service as an alternative to Facebook and other companies whose “free” products extracted a high privacy price.

Facebook bought Whatsapp, stopped the $1 charge, and started spying. In response to public outcry, the Facebook product managers responsible for the app assured its users that the surveillance data WA extracted wouldn’t be blended with Facebook’s vast database of kompromat.

That ended this year, when every Whatsapp user in the world got a message warning them that Facebook had unilaterally changed Whatsapp’s terms of service and would henceforth use the app’s surveillance data alongside the data it acquired on billions of people by other means.

Downloads of Whatsapp alternatives like Signal and Telegram surged, and Facebook announced it would hold off on implementing the change for three months. Three months later, on May 15, Facebook implemented the change and commenced with the promised, more aggressive spying.

Why not? After all, despite all of the downloads of those rival apps, Whatsapp usage did not appreciably fall. Convincing all your friends to quit Whatsapp and switch to Signal is a lot of work.

If the holdout is — say — a beloved elder whom you haven’t seen in a year due to lockdown, then the temptation to keep Whatsapp installed is hard to resist.

What if there was a way to lower those collective action costs?

It turns out there is. Watomatic is a free/open source “autoresponder” utility for Whatsapp and Facebook that automatically replies to messages with instructions for reaching you on a rival service.

https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.parishod.watomatic

It’s not full interoperability — not a way to stay connected to those friends who won’t or can’t leave Facebook’s services behind — but it’s still a huge improvement on the nagging feeling that people you love are wondering why you aren’t replying to their messages.

The project’s sourcecode is live on Github, so you can satisfy yourself that there isn’t any sneaky spying going on here:

https://github.com/adeekshith/watomatic

It’s part of a wider constellation of Whatsapp mods, which have their origins in a Syrian reverse-engineer whose Whatsapp comcom project was picked up and extended by African modders who produced a constellation of Whatsapp-compatible apps.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/03/african-whatsapp-modders-are-masters-worldwide-adversarial-interoperability

These apps are often targeted for legal retaliation by Facebook, so it’s hard to find them in official app stores where they might be vetted for malicious code.

It’s a strategy that imposes a new switching cost on Whatsapp’s hostages, in the form of malware risk.

Legal threats are Facebook’s default response to comcom. That’s how they responded to NYU’s Ad Observer, a plugin that lets users scrape and repost the political ads they’re served.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/04/553000000-reasons-not-let-facebook-make-decisions-about-your-privacy

Ad Observer lets independent researchers and journalists track whether Facebook is living up to its promises to block paid political disinformation. Facebook has made dire legal threats to shut this down, arguing that we should trust the company to mark its own homework.

Whatsapp lured users in by promising privacy. It held onto them post-acquisition by promising them their data would be siloed from Facebook’s main databases.

When it reneged on both promises, it papered this over by with a dialog box where they had to click I AGREE.

This “agreement” is a prime example of “consent theater,” the laughable pretense that Facebook is “making an offer” and the public is “accepting the offer.”

https://onezero.medium.com/consent-theater-a32b98cd8d96

Most people never read terms of service — but even when they do, “agreements” are subject to unilateral “renegotiation” by companies that engineered high switching costs as a means of corralling you into clicking “I agree” to things no rational person would ever agree to.

Consent theater lays bare the fiction of agreement. Real agreement is based on negotiation, and markets are based on price-signals in which buyers and sellers make counteroffers.

A “market” isn’t a place where a dominant seller names a price and then takes it from you.

Comcom is a mechanism for making these counteroffers. Take ad-blockers, which Doc Searls calls “the largest consumer boycott in history.” More than a quarter of internet users have installed an ad-block, fed up with commercial surveillance.

This is negotiation, a counteroffer. Big Tech — and the publications it colonizes — demand you give them everything, all the data they can extract, for every purpose they can imagine, forever, as a condition of access.

Ad-block lets you say “Nah.”

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

The fiction that tech barons have “discovered” the “price” that the public is willing to pay for having a digital life is a parody of market doctrine. Without the ability to counteroffer — in code, as well as in law — there is no price discovery.

Rather, there is price-setting.

Not coincidentally, “the ability to set prices” is the textbook definition of an illegal monopoly.

#pluralistic

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cutesilyo · 3 years ago

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Notes and References for i know your eyes in the morning sun

Hi! These are notes and references for my IndoPhil fic i know your eyes in the morning sun, so please check it out before reading this!

Title: i know your eyes in the morning sun Summary: When a homesick Indonesia is unexpectedly taken out of his meeting for a day trip in Rome with Philippines, he isn't expecting much more than exhaustion ahead of him. Instead, what happens is a whirlwind of food, fun, and a surprising amount of reflection on their histories and differences as nations. And as he looks deeper and deeper in the other nation's bright eyes, he learns to come to terms with the feelings he's been ignoring for far, far too long. Alternatively: a nation who's too attached to the past goes on a date with a nation whose entire philosophy is built on trying to live in the moment. Yes, there is kissing involved. Read on: AO3 | FF.net

Scene 1: Pizza al taglio

As coincidence would have it, the G20 2021 Summit actually will be held in Rome, Italy. However, it’ll be on the end of October rather than the end of September like how its depicted in the fic. I’m also very much ignoring the COVID-19 pandemic. Pretend it never happened.

Borobudur is the largest Buddhist temple in the world, found in the island of Java, Indonesia. It was built way back in the 7th Century and it's probably Indonesia's top most visited site.

Terang bulan is basically like a really large, fluffy, folded pancake. It also has a variety of different names and is also eaten in Brunei, Malaysia, and Singapore.

If you could have a convenience store dedicated solely to pizza, that's what pizza al taglio establishments are like. Its literal translation is pizza by the cut, and since it's a lot more common to find in Rome than in other places in Italy, it's also called Roman-style pizza. The layout for the al taglio shop that Indonesia and Philippines go to is inspired from the shop that me and my family went to: a small family establishment just a short walk away from the Vatican.

You can actually find a recipe for Indonesia’s arugula and mozzarella pizza here: https://shared.publicmediaconnect.org/docs/atk/Pizza_Taglio_Cooks_Illustrated.pdf

Scene 2: Souvenir store + Bus stop

Indonesian rupiahs are notoriously hyperinflated, so the 15 euros that Philippines uses to buy the keychains convert to 250k+ rupiahs. That's around 50k short for actually being able to buy a local economy flight on Lion Air. For comparison, the same amount of euros convert to approximately 900 Philippine pesos. It’s also a few hundred pesos short of buying a local economy flight on Cebu Pacific.

There actually was a point when a G20 meeting was held in the Coliseum. It was the G20 culture ministers meeting just a few months ago, in July 2021.

Yes, on top of the thousands of festivals we already have, Filipinos also celebrate Oktoberfest! It's more of an excuse for local beer companies to shamelessly promote their product and encourage drinking fests on a massive scale, but a more legitimate Oktoberfest celebration is organized by the German Club in Manila. Lucky Philippines gets to celebrate it authentically in Munich with the German brothers, who historically aimed to conquer the Philippines before America managed to stake his claim. So if you sense that Germany is being oddly shy towards Philippines here, that's just Germany being embarrassed because of their history.

Italy's major international airport in Rome is Aeroporto Internazionale di Roma–Fiumicino "Leonardo da Vinci", so you generally just call it Fiumicino for short. A possible travel route for flying from the Philippines to Italy is Clark-Dubai-Rome, and another is Manila-Hong Kong-Rome.

Scene 3: Gianicolo

Bali, Boracay, and El Nido are beaches that serve as major tourist destinations.

Vietnam has already been mentioned to be a menace when she's drunk in her most recent character introduction. Laos is at the top of ASEAN when it comes to alcohol consumption, with the average Laotian drinking seven liters of pure alcohol every year.

Indonesia is sometimes known as the Invisible Nation. What this means to say is that there have not been many things that Indonesia has done that made massive waves on the global scale. From what I’ve read, this seems to have been an especially popular sentiment among Western analysts during the Cold War.

Australia's awkward attempt at an apology is a reference to when the Australian government had allegedly monitored and spied on the phone calls of several Indonesian officials. Indonesia and Australia have a history that goes far deeper than that though.

Monas is a common abbreviation for Indonesia's Monumen Nasional, proudly standing tall in the middle of Merdeka Square as a commemoration of the fight for Indonesian independence. Taman Surapati is a large, chill public park; it also has a monument dedicated to commemorating ASEAN there. Both are located in Jakarta, Indonesia's capital. Meanwhile, Philippines' mention of Luneta refers to Luneta Park. It's also known as Rizal Park, as it's the place where the national hero Jose Rizal was executed for the influence he had in encouraging the fight for Philippine independence.

In Rome, there are seven major hills: they formed the geographical heart of Ancient Rome, with Palatino and Campidoglio as the most significant given how connected they were to Rome's founding and Rome's religion. Gianicolo is outside the boundaries of Ancient Rome, and as such, it isn't counted among the seven hills. It is dedicated to the Roman god Janus and was a place for the augurs to divine the will of the gods — kind of like a prophecy, if a prophecy could be divined from bird entrails. Now it's a great spot for a scenic view of modern Rome which features, among other things, a large statue of Giuseppe Garibaldi. Garibaldi was a major figure in the Italian Reunification.

Nusantara means many different things, but in the era of the Majapahit empire, it referred to the vassal kingdoms in what is now modern-day Malaysia, Singapore, Brunei, Timor Leste, and the southern parts of modern-day Thailand and Philippines. Modern usage of the word in Indonesia generally refers to the Indonesian archipelago, but it can also be used to refer to the entirety of maritime Southeast Asia. Culturally and historically, Southeast Asia is divided into the mainland region (the countries connected to the Asian continent: Vietnam, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, Myanmar) and maritime (the countries that are islands and archipelagos: Malaysia, Indonesia, Singapore, Brunei, Philippines).

Italy, together with the United Kingdom, is the largest European migration destination for Filipinos. The largest migration destination for Filipinos in general is America.

Shout-out to Ro-na for this wonderful headcanon of Philippines being sickly in his early days as a Spanish colony! The galleon ships used to facilitate trade between the Philippines and Mexico (perhaps the Philippines' most major contribution to the Spanish crown) would often be attacked by pirates or destroyed in typhoons, especially in the first few decades.

Majapahit and Srivijaya are only two of pre-colonial Indonesia's many powerful empires. A lot of the pre-colonial stuff has been simplified for brevity's sake, but a brief summary of it all basically goes like this: pre-colonial Indonesia was involved with everyone in maritime SEA, where everyone traded with each other; and mainland SEA was non-stop fighting where the major powers were the empires that would later become Vietnam and the Khmer empire that would influence everyone else in mainland SEA. You can find a more detailed look into mainland SEA history by Gemu in her posts here, who is my main influence for everything mainland SEA-related.

A young Brunei picking flowers for a young Philippines is a reference to all the marriages that had occurred between their nobility during the pre-colonial era.

Scene 4: Apartment

The turtle fountain in Rome is a real thing: Fontana delle Tartarughe was originally designed with dolphins in mind, but the dolphins were removed and replaced by turtles. In fandom, you usually see Philippines calling Indonesia kuya, which is Tagalog for older brother. In at least one Indonesian language (I can't remember which one at the moment, sorry!), kuya means turtle.

Tondo, Seludong, Butuan, Sulu, Sugbu, and Panay are all polities in pre-colonial Philippines, two for each of the main island groups in the country: Luzon in the north, Mindanao in the south, and Visayas in the middle. Unlike pre-colonial Indonesia, the societies in the Philippines were never united by a single kingdom or empire; the Philippine islands were only united through the efforts of Spanish and American colonization.

Filipinos tend to sing a lot. Many of us are really good at it. Karaoke is really popular here.

Philippines' PIN code of 8862 is a reference to when ASEAN was founded: August 8, 1962. The founding members were Philippines, Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, and Thailand.

This might be as good of a time as ever for me to mention that I am depicting Philippines and Indonesia as Catholic and Muslim respectively. Filipinos are predominantly Catholic and the Philippines is the largest Catholic country in Asia, while Indonesia has a number of official religions and is the largest Muslim nation in the world.

Special thanks to Desa for helping me with Indonesia's prayer times! Normally, Muslims pray five times a day, but when travelling Muslims are allowed to pray only three times. This is called Qasr salah, or Qasr sholat in Indonesia. What is usually Fajr (called Subuh in Indonesia), Zuhr, Asr, Magrib, and Isha becomes only Fajr, Zuhr-Asr, and Mahgrib-Isha; essentially, without getting into the specifics of time, a prayer for sunrise, afternoon, and night. The mosques will remind everyone when it's prayer time with adhan (called adzan in Indonesia), but in non-Muslim countries abroad, many Muslims have to use websites and apps to keep track. Something I didn't mention in the fic is that Rome actually has the largest mosque in the Western world, Moschea di Roma, so Indonesia could have potentially prayed there.

Scene 5: Apartment dinner table

Sholat wouldn’t take Indonesia more than a few minutes, so imagine that he did something else while waiting for Philippines to finish cooking.

Baked fish with sliced lemons is a meal that got served to me a lot in Italy. Chop suey is Chinese, but China has had a significant cultural influence for most of Southeast Asia throughout history; the Indonesian version is known as kap cay. Indomie Mi Goreng is a particularly tasty and famous kind of instant noodles from Indonesia. It's very popular in many Asian countries. Indonesia doesn’t drink, but Philippines is drinking white wine because that’s what you’re supposed to do when eating fish. Red wine goes with meat.

Admittedly, this is my own personal headcanon, but I like to think of Philippines living in Spain with the other Spanish colonies while everyone else in maritime SEA were left behind to live in their own countries. It's my own neat Hetalia universe explanation for how much Spanish influence there is in Filipino culture, and how isolated Filipinos can sometimes feel among their neighbors.

I do think that Philippines would have a Hispanic-sounding human name, but I've never really settled on what name actually would be: in fandom, Felipe, Lorenzo, and Jaime get thrown around a lot. In contrast, it seems like most people have settled on Dirga (short for Dirgantara) for Indonesia.

Philippines is sometimes called as la colonia abandonada in Spanish sources: the abandoned colony. Because the Philippines was so far away, Spain couldn't manage the colony directly and had to rely on Mexico/Nueva España to do the dirty work until Mexico became independent. This led to a more relaxed manner in how the country was managed for most of its Spanish colonial life; some scholars even go as far as saying that Spain's treatment of the Philippines was kinder than Spain's treatment of Latin America. I don't really agree — it was different, sure, but it wasn't kind in the least.

Contrast that with Indonesia as the largest and most important colony of the Dutch empire. Aside from all the money and economic prosperity that Indonesia gave to the empire, you'll also find many Dutch songs and hymns that are all praises to Indonesia. Much of the research in Indonesian history, ethnography, and archeology was made possible because of Dutch interest and support; until now, the Netherlands remains to be Europe's leader when it comes to Indonesian studies. This isn't to say that Netherlands treated Indonesia well, however.

After the Japanese occupation of Indonesia in WW2, Netherlands fought to keep power over the archipelago. Needless to say, the Netherlands failed. Indonesia was recognized as an independent country soon after.

Indië is the Dutch colonial name for Indonesia.

APEC is the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation, of which Philippines and Indonesia (and Thailand!) are members.

Scene 6 + 7: Apartment bedroom

What was Philippines doing in the 1920s, you ask? Being an American colony and trying to lobby for laws that would hasten his independence. Indonesia was in the middle of what’s called the Indonesian National Awakening; all the different peoples under Indonesia were beginning to come together and unite to fight for a single independent nation.

As a tarsier, Pien is actually supposed to be nocturnal; he shouldn't be sleeping at night at all. Maybe he just got jet lagged? Who knows.

BL stands for the boy's love genre of TV series. For years, Thailand had been the lead when it came to BL production with shows like TharnType and SOTUS. Recently, the Philippines has also been developing BL series — Gameboys specifically had achieved worldwide acclaim and is distributed globally through Netflix.

Filipino languages tend to have more complex verb conjugation and sentence structure compared to Bahasa Melayu and Bahasa Indonesia. The linguistic explanation for this is that most of the Filipino languages are based on the older Proto-Malayo-Polynesian language while Bahasa Melayu and Bahasa Indonesia are based on the newer, more simplified descendants of Proto-Malayo-Polynesian.

Pramoedya Ananta Toer was an Indonesian author that focused a lot of his work on nationalistic sentiments. He has a quote on bravery that I really like: Dalam hidup kita, cuma satu yang kita punya, yaitu keberanian. Kalau tidak punya itu, lantas apa harga hidup kita ini? Loosely translated, this reads as: In our life, we only have one thing, which is bravery. If it’s not, what is the value of our life?

Indonesia, as a large archipelago in the Pacific Ring of Fire, has a lot of active volcanoes. In contrast, the Philippines is regularly hit by tens of typhoons annually.

There are an estimated 12 million Filipinos overseas, and this number consistently rises through the years. It's one of the largest diaspora populations: name a country, you'll probably find a Filipino working there somewhere. OFWs (Overseas Filipino Workers) account for 10% of the country's population and the remittances they send back to their families account for 10% of the country's GDP. Indonesia has a similar phenomenon with TKIs (Tenaga Kerja Indonesia), of which there are 4.5 million worldwide.

Post-independence, Indonesia was very paranoid over Western influence in Southeast Asia. In that same time period, Philippine delegates to international conferences would always speak of democracy and the looming threat of Communism; even though most of the Asian delegates would prefer to move past Western problems and disputes to focus on a united Asia.

Telenovelas are soap operas produced in Latin America. They became popular in Southeast Asia as they were distributed and remade here. The Indonesian equivalent is the sinetron, and the Filipino equivalent is the teleserye.

Additionally, I cannot stress enough how much this fic is built on the foundations laid by others. I’ve already mentioned how much I took inspiration from Gemu’s depiction of mainland SEA, but I also credit Indonesia’s thing for temples to Desa; the passive-aggressive energy between Thailand and Philippines to Hali; amnesiac Piri to Koko, Kopi, and Sopas (among the many). There are a dozen other things I can attribute to a huge assortment of writers and artists: that Singapore has trouble remembering his pre-colonial roots as well, that Piri might have had a good relationship with Romano, Piri’s general flirty and flighty attitude, Indonesia’s awkwardness and big brother aura, etcetera, etcetera. If you’re someone that has been contributing to the SEA fandom these past few months, thank you. Thank you so much.

#mine #indophil #hws indonesia #hws philippines #hws #PHEW THIS TOOK THE WHOLE MORNING TO WRITE

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surviving-mental-illnesses · 3 years ago

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Living with Trauma #2

Erin

Finding Comfort in Gintama

I’ve started re-watching my favorite anime of all-time, Gintama in these recent months. Every time I feel overwhelmed with emotions, watching Gintama can make my day a little better. People probably think I’m exaggerating but it’s true. Gintama saved me.

I came across this article https://www.animefeminist.com/perspectives-indecent-exposure-of-the-soul-trauma-and-recovery-in-gintama/ a few weeks ago. I knew that someone out there understands the significance of trauma in Gintama, so I try to look up on google to see if other Gintama fans have written an article on trauma recovery in Gintama. And I found it. I would like to thank the author for writing such a good article. I could not articulate it better.

Losing my childhood to mental illness, as a child I’ve been told that I was mature for my age. I’m constantly moody and brooding, and I’m not as cheerful as other little kids. I read a lot and find joys in anime. I’ve watched hundreds of anime, but nothing could compare to Gintama.

According to wikipedia :

The series focuses on an eccentric samurai, Gintoki Sakata who works as an odd-jobs freelancer. He helps a teenager named Shinpachi Shimura save his sister Tae from an alien group that wants to send her to a brothel. Impressed by Gintoki, Shinpachi becomes his freelance apprentice to pay the bills and learn more about the enigmatic samurai. When the pair rescues a teenage alien girl with super-strength, Kagura, from a Yakuza group, they accept her into their freelancing business and the three become known as "Yorozuya" (万事屋, "We do everything" or literally "The Anything Store").

A very odd premise, even for an anime. Unlike other shounen anime, Gintama’s main protaganist is in his late 20′s, has PTSD and shows symptoms of other mental illnesses, pre-diabetic and he’s a loser. I’m not trying to be mean, everyone else in this show is a loser too. Even the coolest villains who intend to destroy the world is a loser deep down.

This is an anime who doesn’t take itself seriously. Hell, you can even find dick jokes and toilet jokes in the middle of a fight. The characters are constantly thrown into the most absurd situations. I don’t really find humor in anime funny, but I laugh the hardest when Gintama cracks a diarrhea joke. It was that good.

On the surface, Gintoki is a funny, anti-hero character with mad sword skill. He’s beaten countless strong antagonists, and he has a reason for his strength. He’s an ex-soldier who led a war against the government to save his teacher at the age of 17. Before that, he was an orphan wandering around battlefield picking up food from corpses. Basically, his whole life was a shit-show.

He’s better than me I would’ve cry every day because I’m a little bitch

I won’t go into details since I would spoil the whole show, but if you’re an anime fan I would suggest you to finish Gintama. Don’t just watch the first 100 episodes, because the series gets even better.

Now onto Shimura Shinpachi, because he’s my son and I’m proud of him.

He’s constantly screaming and he gets pushed around by people around him. His backstory? SPOILERS START He is an orphan, his only living family member is his sister. He’s just 16. I would say he’s actually mature for his age compared to Kagura. He stopped Kagura from killing a man because he knew Kagura would regret it later. He lost his brother figure, who came back in his life as a robot only to lose him again. SPOILERS END

Here is Kagura. Well, she seems normal enough. She’s a Yato, an alien race on the verge of extinction. One of their oldest tradition is killing their father to prove their strength.

Her family is dysfunctional. After the death of her mother, her brother left the family and became a space pirate. Her father was rarely home for...reasons. Anyway, his dad is just a shitty parent. Unlike her brother who turned to crime-life, Kagura becomes a member of Odd Jobs / Yorozuya and hates violence. She’s content with eating seaweed and arguing with Gintoki (they lived together) and Shinpachi and occassionally spars with a certain policeman.

Each of Gintama’s characters have their own traumas.

Aside from what I’ve mentioned, their trauma doesn’t stop there. But they keep going. In spite of every bad, shitty things that happened to them, they will live a long life ahead of them. It’s what Gintoki said in one of the episodes.

“If you've got time to fantasize about a beautiful death, why not live beautifully until the end?”

When I was 15, I thought this was the corniest shit I’ve ever heard. I remember saying fuck you to Gintoki. But now, at the age of 22, I’ve come to appreciate the meaning.

“Tears are handy for washing away troubling and sad feelings. But when you grow up, you'll learn that there are things so sad, they can never be washed away by tears. That there are painful memories that should never be washed away. So people who are truly strong laugh when they want to cry. They endure all of the pain and sorrow while laughing with everybody else.”

When you’re depressed, you don’t want people to give you advices. You only want them to listen. You want your friends to be with you through hard times.

Gintama wants you to live despite the pain. All the hardships in your life will keep coming to you, and it’s your job to chin up and live a long life in spite of that. You’ll cry and you’ll laugh, because life happens. You will meet new people and gain new experiences, you will grow old and get wrinkles and die. That will happen in your future, whether you’ll like it or not. But what about tomorrow? Tomorrow, you’ll smile and laugh.

“The world looks different through a smiling face and a crying face, you know? That is, if you have the power to smile through difficult times, then you have nothing to fear. Even hell becomes heaven for you.”

So, laugh.

#gintama #depression #bpd #kagura #gintoki #shinpachi

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sor-vette · 4 years ago

Text

two, down!! (index/description)

☜ one, strike!!

☞ three, an all-out fight club!!

It was the middle of February. The month of perpetual grey and rain. It tapped against the small cubic window of your bedroom as you laid in bed reading the text.

Erik: "Meeting, you and me. Main building. Now! Wear something without any blood on it. 😘"

The phone falls out of your hands and smacks you in the middle of the nose.

"Ow."

***

You already see Erik in the distance. A bright red shirt flowing around him like a drape in the frequent bursts of wind. Across the river, he looks like a will-o'-the-wisp and you can't help but be increasingly apprehensive about what has he planned.

You get off the bus in the middle of the bridge, stop and glare at the circular high rise. Legally known as Bighit - an independent advisory firm for various claims, to the large variety of your clientele it was BH - vigilante made business. Briefly put a vast clockface with thousands of cogs spinning both on the own and tandem with others. It looked and sounded and you knew it to be an imposing organization. Nevertheless, you entertained the idea of how would this company would fall and could it be possible to burn down all the spider webs it has formed in the now 22 years of its existence.

"Good morning!" Erik beams widely, trembling in the wind. His pirate shirt not doing anything to help the situation. In his hands, there is a thick brown folder. The sight of it begins a gnawing motion in the stomach.

"What are you doing?" you ask suspiciously, studying his face for any giveaway. Which of course there were a lot. He was still young both in the field and age. The little runt was mostly brazen, often impolite and careless. But now, now, he was nervous. Maybe it wasn't even the weather that had him shaking like a leaf.

"Oh, I'm taking my enrollment review today. In 20 minutes to be precise."

What was gnawing had turned into a stone that travelled up, ignoring the gravity, and settled deep in your chest pressing down and creating a hole. A horrible numb feeling that you'd hoped you wouldn't feel again. And again. And again. And now once more.

"Oh."

You take a moment to force your voice to remain unfazed but even to your own ears, it sounds too hoarse and slow.

"Don't you need my referral?"

"I asked Olga." Yes. Olga. That's why you didn't know.

"So let's go up?" if Erik had a tail it would wag at lighting speed. He is not just nervous but positively jittery. You had seen him this happy...never. Yeah, this was the first time. When he would officially enrol in another department, at best giving you a clap on the back for all the trouble caused and moved on. In a week he would give you a distant wave, in a month maybe a nod if you passed by in a hallway, in half a year it'll be like you never even existed.

You nod quietly entering the glass doors. BH was a massive, subtly hidden maze, much like the overall organization. By the schematics and the layout, no one would give a second thought that it would be more than just an ordinary office firm. But of course, what they didn't know and what was a closely guarded secret were the literal hundreds of small alcoves and passes hidden within the walls. Meant for in case of a sudden police raid. Not to mention the literal escape tunnel that stretched underneath the river you just passed. No one knew exactly how it looked like or how it was even built. Some said it was an abandoned underground transit system from WW2, others said that it was built in the early years of the BH establishment having cost literal billions. But no one knew the truth. Even Namjoon had shrugged when you asked him, long ago already.

In silence, you both take the escalator upwards. To the 25th floor, a.k.a. the 7th department - the literal heads of the system. The building usually had hundreds of people running from one place to another but even so, this was a large commotion for an event this small.

In the doorways there stands a tall woman and you nearly bite your tongue off at the sight of her ramrod back.

"Petsch." You growl and Erik beside you throws a surprised glance.

She turns around almost immediately. As if hearing you or just sensing your presence like the ill-bred Cerberus that she was.

"Hello, .̴̭͙̪̻̈́.̸̮̟̳̐͆͘͠.̶͚̉͛.̸̺̞̉͐̈́̐͋.̶̟̻̺̽͛̒̚.̷̗̱̃.̶̮͚̼̾͜͜.̷͉̋̈́̐̔͝.̵͖͛̓͆.̷̼̲̥̙͆̊̊͝͝.̸̢͕̔.̸̜̜̲͈̅͜͠.̵̱̤̆̑͘.̸͖̰̣͈̾̊̈́́́ " Her glee is almost maniacal as she power walks towards your little group.

"Deputy Petsch. How wonderful to grace our Earthly realm with your presence. I did wonder why it looked like the skies were weeping."

"It's Chief of Staff now," she corrects getting even closer, "to no one's surprise I've been promoted while you've been demoted."

"Yes, I can see the stress of the new position. Or is that just your face?"

In the corner of your eye, you can see Erik standing completely still, his head darting from one speaker to another bemused.

"As the Chief of Staff, I'm here to evaluate your...pet." Erik gives a silent wave and Rosaline narrows her eyes, most likely not knowing what to make of him.

"What happened to Michael?" Petsch scoffs at your question.

"He retired to live with his family so much so for living a dignified life." You straighten stubbornly at the newly given information. Erik's hands are still lightly trembling, along with the file in his hand.

"Interesting. I will attempt corporation." You push out through gritted teeth but immediately get one of Rosaline's bony vulture fingers thrust in your face.

"Don't even try to sweet talk me!"

In return, you snap your fingers near her outstretched hand. A gesture you would normally never do but it was Rosaline. Anything but an abnormal reaction could ward off this lietonis off your neck. (a/n)

"I tried to be peaceful. Well then. Let's. Begin." She huffs and puffs and then stalks over to the lecture hall, her tight blonde ponytail swinging like the world's most obnoxious metronome.

Erik stands silently for a few short moments before -

"The fuck was that about?" You hide your face in the palm of your hand. If Rosaline was here for the panel review then this little fucker had no idea what was coming.

"Rosaline and I have what you would call an uncivil work relationship."

"A rivalry?"

"No, a rivalry with another woman would be inherently attractive. Rosaline just...sucks the lifeforce out of me like a goddamn Dementor." Erik chuckles at the sight of your displeasure but a quiet bell coming from within the lecture hall stills him again.

"Please all attendees take your seat! We're about to start soon!" A faceless voice calls over the crowd and the unpleasant feeling that Petsch managed to eradicate away for a moment returns worse than ever. Your own hands begin to mutely tremble. Erik looks close to passing out.

"You're going to be fine." You say gently bumping into him, "you're my trainee after all."

***

Oh, he's going to be not fine at all.

For some reason, the hall is literally stuffed with attendees.

The enrollment panel reviews despite the name, yes, was actually an open doors event. Much like an undergrad presenting a thesis it had a panel of judges and a crowd of listeners. Usually, it was limited to other potential interviewees who wanted to get a sneak peek in the twisted action to come but the number of people was 5 if not 10 times more audience than what you've ever been in.

Truth be told you never knew how friendly Erik was with other departments but even if he was a magnet surely this crowd was too massive.

With a rapidly rising anxiety, you start to pick out familiar faces. Some of them your trainees and previous teammates, some who gave you a stink eye, and then some with whom you didn't want to interact.

On the third row there sits Jungkook and sweet Jesus what were they feeding him in the footsoldier department. He was now almost twice as large as he had been when you last saw him. One tap of those arms and you'd be in an automatic knockout. Behind him sits Jimin, also looking confused as to why he's here. Which is somehow even more offputting considering he's the one who decided to be here. In the back rows, there is Jin, face hidden in his hands, large sunglasses pushed atop of his head. The only reason why you recognize him at all is that those very sunglasses had "JIN" in large letters above the rim. Naturally.

At this point, your insides are just a gaping screaming void of pure social terror as you start to suspect they were all here. While scanning the crowd you notice an orange fleck that is surrounded by a gaggle of students who eagerly listen to every falling word. That would be Hope. And far closer to the seat that you wanted to take sits V. For reasons unknown he was perched in the first row, fiddling with the strap of the camera. The last thing you want is to meet that vitriolic, judgmental stare of his but it would be unfair to Eric to sit anywhere else. The supervisor, even the one who had no idea that the review was taking place and did not actually write the referral, always sat in the front. The little scamp should have at least that.

You sit down stiffly with your hands bunched up in fists and shoulders tightened to the point where it was almost painful. V pretends he doesn't recognize you. You turn around once again to look over the crowd, almost meeting Jungkook's gaze but he suddenly finds his shoes to be the most captivating image in the world. Jin nearly takes off his jaw while ducking below the chair line and Hope is still surrounded by his devoted students. Jimin is persistent in looking disoriented.

In the faraway upper back, behind the fifteen rows of cascading seats, there is a second door. Slightly ajar and leading to complete darkness but you can swear there is a hand holding the doors open. For a moment you wonder who would hide away in a dark side room only to silently observe everyone but then you know exactly who. Yoongi. You whip around so fast the chair makes a loud squeak. In the peripheral vision, you make out a movement from V but he turns back to the camera without a second thought.

No, Erik was in deep trouble. The panel of judges or should you say evaluators was much too high standing for the first time enrolment. Rosaline Petsch's choice of coming here could be attributed to her being a harpy. Sure. Namjoon, although a CEO was known to just arrive at small scale events, to fully support his staff and also fully give them untreatable heart conditions. But the following had no place being here: Rhys Bethany, the key speaker of yesterday's anniversary and the head of Internal Affairs. Rahul Singh, chief of Communications. Tamira Johnson, head of International Affairs. Shen Qiongzi, head of Large Operations management. And two others whom you didn't even recognize. These were some of the biggest names of the entire organization and also the most bewildering. Strictly speaking, none of them had any input on the hiring or the enrolment process. The matters far, far below their usual duties.

Why were they here? Had Namjoon invited them? Why would he? Because he was still angry at you and was punishing Erik for it? He wouldn't do that but would he? Were you being narcissistic for thinking it had anything to do with you??

Whatever the answer was, hearing the last bell ring and seeing Erik, suddenly look very small and scared climbing up on the stage without even the protection of his notes folder... You felt a lot like seeing a crowd of shrikes encircle one mouse. You squeeze the handles of your chair, rocking back and forth with anxiety.

"As part of your legal right, what would be Your prefered choice of name for the course of this review?" You hear Ms Johnson speak. Erik picks up the microphone to speak...

....not a sound comes out of his mouth. You cringe.

"My real one, ma'am," he finally manages to croak after a moment of silence that was perhaps too long to be unnoticeable.

"Thank you. We will begin the first part of the enrolment request review for Erik Genyer."

You blanch at her words. The first part... meaning that what is about to happen was an actual full, point by point review and not the shortened version that came into popularity in recent years. The review would last three hours and it was three hours of ruthless questioning.

You grip the handles even tighter.

***

Erik fares surprisingly well. After the initial shock, he starts to melt into well-rounded answers. After the five minute pause in between the two parts, he even starts to subtly lean into humouring the panel, offering sarcastic, unhelpful comments. Truly one you could call your own.

Your heart is in continuing thunder as it beats harder with each given situation and particularly hard question. At this point, you have tossed and turned and quietly whined at every to the degree that it is noticeable to everyone in the room. And that in itself pushes to a worrying realization that Erik had somehow managed to slither his unholy way into your heart and become not just a trainee under your care but a friend. Like a proper friend. A friend that would leave you in literally the span of 10 minutes.

Namjoon who was eerily silent for most of the hearing, providing only two softball questions, had noticed your flighty twitching and leaned back to glance at you. You look at the ground knowing that you were perhaps not in the right mindset to put on a facade of your somewhat trademarked blasé attitude.

For God's sakes, you were not even this nervous in your own review but then again you had resigned yourself to the bottom of the barrel. Erik was not.

Finally, he passes the third part of the review. He had taken a few hits, all of which delivered by Petsch, but overall came out with impressive results. Two things were left to unfold. The panel would ask him what was his preferred choice of the department and then either allow it or politely indicate his skills would be more useful in another department and refer him there.

"Mr Genyer do you have a specific department choice?" Mr Singh asks politely. He'd been a tough but fair reviewer nevertheless it was always Namjoon who asked this question. Why was he so quiet? What was the point of showing up if he was going to be silent?

"I have." Erik answers and you see a smile form in his mouth. It was his bastard smile. Eerily similar to the picture of the cat surrounded by knives. You've seen that expression many times, mostly when he was breaths away from pissing off a lot of people.

"And what would that be, sir?"

"The cleaner department."

....

Not a single person breathes. Not a sound is made. The panel has gone speechless. You think your heart has stopped entirely.

"I'm sorry, do you mind repeating that?"

Erik couldn't look smugger as everyone stared at him.

"I'd like to work in the cleaner department."

The second time he says it causes an uproar. People actually stand up in the back. You hear a crunch to your side. Tae dropped his camera on the ground. There's so much noise you can't even decipher what is being said. Vaguely you maybe hear Jin's loud ass "what?" but that also could be literally anyone else.

The panel has to turn around and repeatedly shush the crowd. It is not an easy task. You just stare at Erik, mouth dropped open, eyes bugging out and he gives a self-satisfied smirk.

"I promise tomorrow you’ll have reparations."

These were the reparations. As the crowd finally eases back you let out a breath, lungs screaming for oxygen. Hadn't even noticed the lack of breathing process.

"Why would you choose a cleaner department?" It is finally Namjoon's turn to speak but he too sounds astounded all the way to outer space.

"It is a lowly position." So low in fact, they were not in the count of departments. Hence the status of 0 out of 7. You're hit with another realization. "Aspiring 0". The one Erik had placed in his Instagram bio. It was not zero aspirations that you thought he meant, no he was aspiring to be 0. And suddenly it makes sense. Him being such a little pain in the ass, always sneaking off, taking cases well above his position, taking yesterday's case in fact. All to rank up and enter the review faster. You don't even know how to function with this information.

"Why would you choose the cleaner department?" There was only one person who had chosen the cleaner department. A year ago. You. But even back then the choice was between quitting altogether or becoming part of the 0.

"The cleaner department is as hard-working and as essential as any other position in the organization." He shrugs.

"Yes, but why choose it?" Ms Shen pursues. You can hear it in her voice that she simply cannot comprehend why would anyone choose to work there. Honestly neither can you.

"I like it there. The cleaner department has the friendliest, most genuine and accepting people I've met among all departments. Also, I've had the most supportive, protective mentor anyone could wish for. I've never been more inspired to both be myself and improve forward as I have under their tutelage and I hope that by working in the cleaner department I can repay them for the faith they had and hopefully continue to have in me."

His request is approved and after a quiet "review ended" Erik is officially given the position of the evidence removal department.

***

The crowd is restless. There's not a soul that's not debating outside the room. Everyone huddled up together. What Erik did today would go down in the history of the company. Right next to your name.

Briefly, you encounter Petsch who throws something snide in your direction but you brush past her without a second thought. Finally, you find that stupid red shirt, snuggled against the window. You break out in a sprint and smack him in the middle of the chest.

"OW!"

"Why would you do that?" You yell. Why are you yelling? You don't know. You're happy. Literally so happy. Erik begins to laugh, kinda nerdily as he is snorting a bit like a pig.

"You should have seen your face! Oh, man, I wish I had my camera with me! Oh, a picture truly is worth more than a thousand words."

"You idiot! I trained you," you deliver a smack "so you could," a smack, "have a better life!" Erik's smile doesn't falter for a second.

"What's better? It's a shithole here anyways. So they pay me more in other departments. The money I'd spend on therapy for working there would still decimate my pay into non-existence."

You stop hitting him as something dangerous bubbles up your throat. The hole in the chest filled. No, not that, he will never let me live if I do, you think to yourself.

"Are you actually crying?" Erik giggles his expression turning somewhat strange.

"No."

You do end up crying. After taking you to Omelas where surprise, surprise, your inner circle of other cleaners and Irina were waiting. Diego was already rolling on the floor with Liz trying to pull him up in a somewhat vertically inclined position. J.D. giving a quiet, appreciative nod and S - Jo along with Byun screaming their lungs out in some kind of celebratory song. You can't even tell which language they are screaming in.

Olga looks at the scene with mild amusement. If you'd had become a little bit like an unwilling older sister to this little horde of gremlins then Olga was like everyone's collective mom. How many of your messes and mood swings had she endured? You couldn't even count but you remember how badly you were afraid of disappointing her. And if Erik felt even the half of that...

It was then and after two bottles of vodka that you started sobbing. But just a little bit. After all, you hadn't cried in a while and if there was a better place to cry it was among this little makeshift family.

***

(a/n: lietonis, more commonly known as lietuvēns is a spirit from my country's folklore that is rumoured to strangle people and animals in their sleep. Basically something like a sleep paralysis demon.)

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greenninjagal-blog · 5 years ago

Text

The Space Between Us

Alien au? Alien au! I have no self control! Please accept this one shot that quickly spiraled into 23 pages of Virgil being a disaster in space. (If you guys enjoy it, let me know because I’m considering making it a series.)

Summary: The cosmos is a Gigantic place and somehow Virgil’s past still catches up to him.

Words: 11400

TW: Human trafficking, Human experimentation, dehumanization, fighting rings,

Quick taglist: @chelsvans @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders

Read on Ao3 || General Writing Masterlist

“Tell me again why this is absolutely necessary?” Virgil asked, watching Logan’s hands dance across the console. On any other day the sight would be comforting. Every time his digits landed on a key, his nerves glowed with sparks of multicolored light through his transparent crystal skin, creating a beautiful firework show right in front of them all. Logan had told him once it was called Lightdancing, an evolutionary adaptation of the Tenkarie people: their bodies were near invisible in dim light, and they could control the pulses of light just enough to attract other cave dwelling creatures to them before striking the killing blow.

Now, though, the sight made Virgil’s stomach churn. Logan’s lights were a calculated system that he had trained to hone better than most of his race: he could make any part of his body glow at a brightness ranging from a flickering candle light to a flood light, he could make his whole body radiate or he could make just the tip of one of his sixteen fingers, he could even change the color of the light with just a thought. Virgil had always been glad that Logan was the only Tenkarie that dared venture from their caves on L0-G1C; Logan’s kind had perfected the use lights and dancing which made all other creatures become so nauseated they couldn’t fight back or become so mesmerized by the swirling motions that they didn’t see the attacks.

(Of course, because Virgil was rather distinctly human, it took longer for either of the effects of Logan’s fighting to work, which had saved both their lives more than once.)

However, in contrast to the usual focus of Logan’s fingertips on the control panel, lights were flickering all over his body, up and down each of his four arms and burning from the notches around his neck. The lack of control was enough to make Virgil’s stomach churn.

“Because its Remus,” Roman replied, although it didn’t help that he said his brother's name the same way he might have said puppy kicker.

“And we care about Remus because....?” Virgil prompted, running his fingers over his satchel again, checking the latches to make sure they were still there, still closed, still containing the supplies within. “If my memory serves me correctly, Remus was the one that set us up to be ambushed by those space pirates the other week. You know, the ones that nearly killed Patton?”

“We care because, in Erefrenian customs, blood bonds are the most sacred of bonds.” Logan supplied distractedly. “And Remus invoked the Oath of Brothers, which means that if Roman were to ignore his call for aid, Roman’s honor would be forever stained which would prevent him from crossing to the planes of heroes after his death according to the religion of his people.”

“Yeah that,” Roman says, even less excited than Logan at the idea. The bone spikes along his spine had been secreting that red poison that usually only happened when he got annoyed or anxious. Virgil had learned quickly to stay away from him when he was like that: touching it merely made Virgil’s limbs feel pins and needles, but the Orlun thief had screamed until unconsciousness.

It was one of the (very) few perks of being a Deathworlder, Virgil supposed. Most of the things that hurt the other species out here usually had a looser effect on humans because humans rarely made it this far. In fact, it was illegal for humans to get this far by at least sixty doctrines (all of which Logan had filed away in his room).

Humans were juggernauts-- the alien versions of the boogie man told to children to keep them from acting out. Virgil had seen some of the written documents about his kind, and the tales of bloodshed and terror invoked by merely existing were pretty horrifying. Graphic depictions of humans tearing aliens limb from limb, scientific studies on the amounts of chemicals that humans had absorbed and withstood against, an interview with a survivor of a human rampage who revealed the bite marks left by the so-called beast.

Almost every species out here was just as scared of him as he was of them.

The problem came from the ones that weren’t scared.

Which, of course, was how Virgil had ended up hundreds of literal light-years from Earth, on a ship with three aliens whom he was pretty certain he would end up dying for sometime very soon. Yurinks were crafty, shameless, bold, creatures, and they were notorious for visiting Earth and abducting humans for individual sale. Weslors ran fighting rings and humans were almost always the safest bets for some quick cash. Quitans were a fan of skinwearing, which was not something that Virgil ever wanted to see, based on the name alone. And Pol’turs loved learning how things worked and paid very handsome prices for human subjects on the space black market.

Virgil, himself, had sold for 300 griot. (Which was apparently a lot, based on the way that Patton’s eyes had quite literally bugged out. Virgil was still trying to figure out the conversation ratio of American dollars to griot and getting nowhere with it.)

“I hate him,” Roman said under his breath as he threaded through the spare armored uniforms in the storage, trying to find one to fit over the rigid bone plates along his back. His tail squirmed behind him as he searched, dragging the spikes through the air. “I hate him so much.” His bone claws cut through the fabric and he growled as he tossed the ruined clothes to the floor. “We’re gonna save him and then I’m going to toss him off into space, myself.”

Logan made an affirming noise, using his lower left arm to nudge his visor back up his nose. Virgil had only caught sight of Logan’s eyes once or twice, as most light strained his sensitive eyes. They had paid a pretty griot for a repair and a spare of his light blocking visor after the first time some space smugglers had surprised them and managed to break the lens. Logan’s pained scream was the worst thing that Virgil had ever heard and he had sworn he’d do anything to avoid ever having to hear it again.

(That had been the first time that Roman and him had truly worked together on something, Virgil noted absently. Between Virgil’s uncharacteristic bloodlust and Roman’s furious wrath they had taken out the smugglers in less than five minutes and they hadn't been very nice about it.)

Looking from the back, Roman resembled a stegosaurus to Virgil. If, like....stegosauruses ran around on two legs, flourished a sword, and were prone to acting like every minor occurrence was a slight against them personally. His red-ish skin had the appearance of leather but was twice as thick, his bone plates were slimmer rounded triangles than Virgil remembered from his kindergarten picture books but they ran from the based of his neck all the way down his back and to the tips of his tail which he liked to use as a spike-ball-and-chain attack along with his ridiculous sword. Virgil couldn’t count the number of times that Roman had nearly taken him out along with the enemy. His claws were only a few inches long but Roman whined like a baby when they broke-- which was ridiculous because his bone plates literally grew back overnight, and the ones on his forearms were made to be taken off and thrown. (Logan had indeed informed Virgil that Erefren grow new bones every moon cycle and proceeded to lose the old ones which Virgil had then mentioned that humans did that too sorta! With their baby teeth! And Roman and Logan had both looked unnerved by that information.)

“I’ve got it!” A voice sang from the ceiling, which was about all the warning Virgil got before a child sized figure vaulted down from the rafters of the teleportation deck right onto his shoulders.

“Jesus! Pat!” Virgil yelled as he stumbled swaying to accommodate the new weight that had stuck itself to Virgil’s back and then wrapped around to hug his chest. “Give a guy a warning, will you?”

Patton giggled, hooking his legs around Virgil’s waist so that he could sit comfortably, swinging the two other satchels he had been sent to fetch from his hands. Roman accepted one of them readily.

“What's a Jeeezus?” Patton asked, stressing the syllables as English terms never really fit right in his tongue. As far as Virgil was aware no species were equipped to speak human languages, although Roman’s Erefren dialect involved some rolling syllables. He probably could have picked up Spanish, if Virgil hadn’t barely passed Spanish III with a C minus.

To be fair though, that year had been bad. Janus had been in his class, and then he hadn’t. And it was hard to focus on conjugation of verbs when the golden student of the entire school who had sat next to him had been declared dead and Virgil had been the prime suspect of it.

That, and Virgil was pretty terrible at picking up new languages. He had only managed to figure out how to communicate with Logan by luck: hands raised with the fingers spread was a symbol of innocence and fear for the Tenkarie, while a sign of rage and fury for Yurink. This, of course, had also been in the middle of an illegal Weslor fighting ring which Logan had been dragged into and essentially sentenced to die in after being separated from Roman and Patton.

(Virgil tried not to think too much about those days. Alien blood was still blood and it was very not-good to feel dripping from his hands, even if it was him or them, even if it had been his life on the line, even if it wasn’t another human with heterochromic eyes and smug smirk. Virgil had fought nearly six times before Logan had been his opponent, and that was six times too many.)

Regardless, Virgil was lucky that when Roman and Patton had come for Logan, Logan had remembered his reluctance to fight and insisted that Virgil come with them in an escape. Roman and Patton had their hesitations but Logan wouldn’t take no for an answer.

(And Virgil who did not understand Common, had honestly thought that Logan had come back to kill him officially. Not a good first impression.)

Logan had made him flashcards to study from and taught him common in the sitting area of their ship. The endless hours of memorization, the drills, the sentences, all of which helped him more than he thought the others knew. They were something to do with his mind and Virgil had been in desperate need of something to do with his mind those first few months that wasn’t thinking about Earth or home or boys who were dead.

“We could go to Earth,” Logan had offered once during one of their sessions.

Virgil had blinked looking up to from the practice reading he had been studying with a bewildered look. “What?” It had taken a moment for him to realize that he had spoken in English rather than Common, but Logan must have picked up on the meaning of the foreign word anyway.

“You were… badly, ah, stolen,” Logan had said, pointing at the flashcards. “We could give you back.” He had used his lower two arms to mimic the motion of handing something off.

It had been so touching, the way that he had scaled down his speech to match Virgil’s progress, had offered despite Earth being the infamous Deathworld, had been looking at Virgil like he was living being and not just some animal. Virgil had cried.

He should have wanted to go back to Earth, should have wanted to go home, but instead he had begged in his broken, garbled Common for Logan to let him stay in space with them. And Logan had glowed nearly blindingly with purple light, a relief light, a content light, a happy light and promised that he wouldn’t have to go back if he didn’t want to.

Perhaps that had been the day the Virgil had realized he’d die for Logan.

And once Virgil had decided that for Logan it wasn’t hard to decide it for Patton too. The Reytin was just so nice. Even back in those first months when Virgil didn’t know how to talk to them and Patton had been so obviously terrified of him, the alien had made sure that Virgil was eating, that he was sleeping, that he had space when he needed it. Though, Virgil really suspected that their friendship had blossomed so quickly because of Patton's rare Reytin ability to see emotions with his frog-like eyes. Once he realized that Virgil was actually terrified of everything, and it wasn’t just ploy to kill them (or maybe despite that….Virgil hadn’t gotten a straight answer from him), Patton had done his best to befriend him back to good health.

And Virgil liked being on the ship. He liked his room, which was filled with stupid alien plants he had managed to collect and the weird shapes of the bed. He liked being right down the hall from the kitchen so he could smell when Patton was cooking something, and the way that he could always hear Roman singing in his room. He liked slipping out to the observation deck and just seeing Space the way no other human really had.

(Its stupid really, that sometimes he forgot it had been three years. Its stupid really, that sometimes he still turned to ask a question of someone who was never going to be there. Its stupid really that he could be so happy and still feel the gaping hole where someone used to be.)

“Oh this is so exciting!” Patton said happily, shaking his hands in the air to show his excitement. “Isn’t this exciting, guys?”

“Exciting isn’t the word I would use,” Virgil said hoisting the smaller creature from around his waist to settle him on the floor carefully.

“More like Vexing! Or perhaps burdensome! Irksome! Problematic!” Roman snarled, finally finding the armor that would fit around his plates and slipping it on. “You know what? Let’s forget it! Remus got himself into this mess and he can get himself out!”

“Now kiddo…” Patton warned, and wow, Virgil sometimes forgot that the alien who was half Virgil's height and twice as lively, was also older than all of them combined. Reytin lifespans were literally off the chart. Patton had been around way back when humans were first declared illegal on this side of the cosmos. “You know that we can’t do that! He invoked the Oath of Brothers so we have to!”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Roman griped. “Worse case, my soul just becomes eternally damned and I’m shamed by the rest of my race until I die a lonely, lonely death on some distant planet!”

“Must you be so dramatic?” Logan asked.

“You won't die alone!” Patton said, “We’ll be right there with you! Probably even die right next to you as well!”

“No offense Pat,” Roman said glumly, “But that makes me feel like I’m gonna be the cause of your death.”

“It’ll be fun!”

Thankfully before Roman could explain exactly there was nothing fun about making all his friends die, Logan cleared his throat and made his upper two palms glow with a soft blue light. Green and pink bulbs flashed up and down his neck. “I have mapped out the perceived trajectory of the enemy ship so we should be able to beam directly into the hold. However because of possible miscalculations I believe that I should be--”

“--The first to beam aboard as I am the only one who is not affected by the lack of gaseous properties and the extreme temperatures of the expanse of space.” Roman, Patton, and Virgil chorused together.

“Must you all?” Logan asked, with just enough fondness in his tone for Virgil to know that he wasn’t actually bothered.

“Change up your speech sometime, Teach,” Roman suggested, and then he sighed dropping his head. “You guys are really willing to do this for me? These are mercenaries, you know. If this doesn’t go well they’ll likely sell us for parts.”

Virgil really didn’t need the reminder. Just the thought of once again having his arms restrained, having his clothes striped away, being reduced from a person to a thing used for entertainment, was enough to have Virgil eyeing the door back to the rest of the ship. Even on the off chance that they didn’t try to take him apart to see how he ticked, they would still sell him for griot. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, survive being thrust back into the fighting rings. He’d shake himself apart before they managed to drag him into that dust riddled death trap.

Patton reached up and tugged the edge of Virgil’s under armor tunic, drawing his eyes away from the door and down to his friend. Patton, of course, was smiling, imitating the human action of bearing his teeth (something that Logan had explained was incredibly threatening to all other species and you may want to avoid participating in that activity with Roman in the vicinity, Virgil).

It was silly things like that that make Virgil hopelessly certain that he would do anything to protect his friends. He didn’t need to worry about being caught and sold off because the others wouldn’t let that happen again, and in turn, he wouldn’t allow them to be taken away either. They were a family, for better or worse.

(He wasn’t going to lose someone again. Not like before. Not without a fight, a trace-- not without Virgil doing every single thing he could to get them back first.)

“We’ll be fine!” Patton told Roman brightly.

“Yeah, cheer up, Princey,” Virgil added, hooking his satchel over his shoulder, “Worse case scenarios are my thing.” He offered out a folded fist, palm up and Roman dutifully knocked his own knuckles against it, as an upside down fistbump (a signal of friendship in Erefrenian).

Patton let out a chittering and jumped up to knock his own knuckles with them. And Logan’s left forearms flickered pastel pink from the wrist up to his neck and he begrudgingly added his own to the pile.

“Everyone remembers their part of the plan, correct?” Logan asked, letting his two lower arms finish typing a final sequence into the control panel.

Patton sprung in the air, jumping Virgil’s entire height, and shook his palms. “I’ve got the emergency pods and the armory, using Virgil’s thingies to shut down the access to the lower rooms and blocking off escapes as I make my way to the medic bay!”

“I’ve got the crew quarters to where I’ll use Virgil’s thingies--”

“Can we not call them thingies?” Virgil grumbled. “They’re just EMPs. Barely enough to take out the door locks. And it's likely they won’t do much of anything if this group has an emergency system reboot in case of an electrical surge. It’ll buy us five minutes, max.”

“--Virgil’s thingies,” Roman repeated with his tail rattling in that way that said he took pleasure in Virgil’s annoyance. “To lock as many of the doors as I can, before travelling to the cell blocks to get my brother and his crew and move them to the medic bay where Patton will have the necessary supplies ready incase of injuries.”

“I will take the Bridge,” Logan said, “and act as the major distraction, as Tenkarie are very rare and it is likely that they will have never encountered nor have preemptive measures against my Lightdancing. Once I have control of the bridge I will cut off the communications to other ships in the area and start inputting the redirection course. Once I have the new coordinates I will send them to Virgil for him to implement.”

“I’ve got the engineering deck,” Virgil said, finally, “To make sure they don’t try to blow us all up with the warp core and whatever. Then I’ll redirect the teleporting course and get us home while the rest of you take out the bad guys. Piece of cake.”

Logan’s neck notches glowed red, “There should be no stopping for cake--.”

“Idiom,” Virgil interrupted quickly, “Human saying. Means it should be easy.”

Logan hummed musically, which sent a vibration of multicolored lights off his shoulders and down under his clothes. “Ah, interesting. This should indeed then be a piece of cake.” He picked up one of the teleportation bracelets from their charging pads and fixed it on his upper right wrist. “I’ve already added in the coordinates to the watches, so merely wait for my signal and press the button.”

Virgil would be lying if he said he didn’t have a little bit of anxiety over their plan. It was pretty slapshot compared to the things that they had put together before, but Remus’s transmission had been shoddy, even after Roman and his combined efforts to clean it up. It was hard to remember that Remus was every bit a ship captain as Roman was with how he had appeared in the picture dressed in ripped and tattered clothes, oozing green poison from his forearm plates, and bleeding profusely from a wound on his forehead. He had been leaning heavily on the communication panel, gritting his teeth through the pain, but his tail had been dancing in the air behind him in the same motions that Roman’s did when he saw a new sword to add to his collection.

Remus had invoked the Oath of Brothers, spit up blood on the console, and then relayed as much information as he could about the attacking ship. They were lucky, in that way. Most of the Pol’tur ships followed the same base model, which meant that the Bridge was always going to be at the bottom, the engines would be at the top and the engine core center would be between them.

If it was possible Virgil was sure they all would have wanted more time to make a better plan, but they all knew that Pol’turs loved to work quickly. They had already lost three days chasing after the ship, and in that time, Pol’turs could cut apart fifty Reytins like Patton.

They were working mostly on the assumption that the Pol’turs would save Remus for near last, and they were going to be absolutely fucked if they had chosen to chop up the other Erefren first.

In addition, their plan had Virgil avoiding most of the fighting. well, as much as he could while being on an enemy ship. Virgil himself wasn’t sure how he would do in a lot of combat, but they had seen what happened when one of the others were in danger (when Logan’s glasses had broken, when the space pirates had almost shot Patton through both his hearts, when the spikes had been pulled from Roman’s spine by the Quitans before the new ones had grown in--). He could fight, and he could fight well, but the cost was a little bit of Virgil’s sanity and his ability to sleep through the night.

Patton plucked his own teleportation watch from the pad and hooked it on, before offering Virgil his. Well it wasn’t really his, the same way that the red one wasn’t Roman’s and Patton didn’t own the blue one. They were all Logan’s pet projects, but he had tailored them to their favorite colors. It felt a bit like coming home when Virgil clicked the locking mechanism into place and the screen lit up with the digital alien symbols.

“I shall see you all soon,” Logan said matter-of-factly, as if he couldn’t see all the ways that their plan could go wrong. Then with barely more than a breath he clicked the activation button and his form flickered out of existence.

Roman made a nervous noise with the back of his throat, which ended up sounding a bit like the first bars of a Disney song Virgil had forgotten. Virgil gently tapped his tail with the toe of his boot, avoiding the glisten poison spikes. Roman startled just enough to laugh.

“Its funny, you know?” He said, glancing towards Virgil. “A year ago Remus told me he had taken in a Deathworlder, and I thought he was crazy. A Deathworlder? But now that I know you guys I can’t believe I didn’t get my own sooner.”

“Remus has a human on his crew?” Virgil asked.

“Oh, I wonder if you know each other!” Patton added.

Virgil bit back his original comment, and let the weight settle in his stomach. If Remus had a human in his crew there was even more of a chance that Remus was dead, because the Pol’turs had chosen to save the mysterious human for last.

“Earth is a big place,” Virgil said instead. “Like really big. They’d probably be from like Russia or something.”

At the blank stares he got, Virgil tried rewording, “We probably never have met before. Or speak the same language.”

"There's more than one human language?"

Virgil breathed through his nose, warding off a memory of rolling Rs and failed pop quizzes. "Yeah," he said, "Humans can't agree on anything."

Roman thoughtfully crossed his arms, but Patton made a chittering again and bounced, “Oh well! Now you guys are gonna meet! All the way out in space! How cool is that?!”

Virgil hid a smile in his shoulder. Trust the Reytin to find the bright side to everything.

Roman looked like he had more questions (questions that Virgil wasn't exactly enthusiastic to answer; Earth was a sore topic for him) but mercifully each of their watches let out several musical bars from Patton’s favorite song. The alien shook his palms one last time, beaming at each of them.

“Oh this is gonna be so much fun, guys!” He said right before pressing the activation button and disappearing.

“I’m so going to kill Remus for this,” Roman grumbled, one hand on his sword hilt.

And, really, Virgil agreed with him on that. Tossing Remus into the airlock and ejecting him directly into the void sounded like an excellent plan for when they got back to their ship alive and whole and safe.

“Let’s do this,” Virgil said and jabbed his thumb into the activation button.

***

Predictably, their flimsy plan fell apart within seconds of them appearing on the ship. Starting with, exactly, Virgil did not appear in or near the engineering deck. Instead he had landed approximately two feet above a box in the Cargo hold of the Pol’turian ship, which likely meant he was somewhere left of where he needed to be.

It also meant that the Pol’turs in the Cargo Hold had a grand view of his body blitzing into existence, landing on a crate, and then tumbling off it with a lot of English cursing. It was a mere matter of luck that Virgil was able to roll his body to the side just before the first BZZZTTRRRT of their blasters went off.

(There was an actual name for the guns that most aliens used, and Virgil was pretty sure that it started with a hard K sound but he had never been able to remember it. He stuck to calling them blasters in his head, and hoped somewhere back on Earth George Lucas was proud of himself.)

The Polyfurnish of the crate hissed and sizzled as it took the brunt of the attack meant to vaporize Virgil, and the human hissed another curse as his hands dug through his satchel.

One of the Pol’turs-- the deep purple one although Virgil hadn’t truly been able to catch sight of how many there were-- shouted something in its language. Probably something along the lines of “Stop”, “Surrender”, or “Kill him”. Virgil wasn’t exactly a fan of any of those options.

He had heard them before-- too many times. The hundreds of variations of the terms spat and yelled and cheered down at him, and he scrambled away from the edge of a sword, as he tasted nothing by dust and dirt as he dodged another attempt on his life, as he desperately backed away from an opponent who couldn’t understand that Virgil didn’t want to fight, please, stop, please, I’m sorry, please I don’t want to hurt anyone--

Virgil curled up as another gold blast ricocheted off the top of the crate he was cowering behind. The air was cooler here, he told himself, the air was cooler and the floor was slicker, and he was surrounded by shelves of goods. He was not in a colosseum and he was not in a fighting ring and he was not alone.

He had the others to regroup with and no time to panic over the past here and now. Virgil gritted his teeth, remembering the feel of Roman’s knuckles bumping his, the sight of Logan’s excited lights, the sound of Patton’s laughter, and then his hand wrapped around the homemade smoke bombs in his satchel.

He yanked the pins from their sockets, wound back, and launched them over the crate into the mass of where all the shooting was coming from. Almost immediately the shoots veered off course, and the cavernous room echoed with high pitched screams. Virgil ripped his turtleneck up and over his nose and then he grabbed the edges of the nearest shelf and hoisted himself to a higher area, out of the range of the low hanging gas.

It was a pale red, near pink thing: a concoction formed by Logan out of Roman’s poison that had taken them literal years to perfect. Virgil was mostly immune to it, the same way he was mostly immune to most poisons that horrified the other species. Inhaling it made his head dizzy and his limbs a little numb, which was just unpleasant enough that he tried to avoid inhaling anything when he had the chance. Other species though...they weren’t so lucky. According to Logan, inhaling it allowed it directly into the bloodstream where it would swiftly ignite all the pain sensors in the body and could make one feel like they were being stabbed everywhere at once.

(He knew this, Logan admitted, because it had taken him many times to get it right. His scientific journals recorded experiments #1 through #357 as “unpleasant” and “ill-advised” and Virgil had nearly throttled him when he discovered that Logan had used himself as a test subject.)

Using the shelves he boosted himself another level until his head was parallel with a box of what he thought were floating Welsor hearts, before he scanned the ground under him. There were three Pol’turs on the ground writhing in pain, blasters discarded, and pale smoke floating ominous above them. Their usually languid tentacles flopped up and down on the floor like a bunch of fish out of water.

The glass container next to his hip exploded, missing him by mere millimeters. Virgil cursed as he scrambled up another level, eyes darting around to find where the hell that shot came from. His armor took much of the hit but it was sizzling with heat in a way that was decidedly not-comforting.

“Up there!” Something shouted.

Another blast missed his ear and a container of Sblorp fangs shattered and sent the teeth spilling to the floor. Virgil kicked his feet through the lower shelf pushing through a crate and a dozen jars of various indeterminable body parts and squeezed his body in the place of them. The crashes on the next isle were rather satisfying.

He ripped the pin from another smoke bomb with his teeth, and felt his tongue buzz slightly as the proximity to the toxin before he launched it out at the direction of the other shooter. There was another scream and Virgil took the time to roll into the next isle and leap back down to the floor.

The gas still hadn’t cleared around the original three Pol’turs, but they had gone unconscious from the pain, with a few seizing tentacles here and there. Virgil would feel bad about it, really he would, but the last time he had been in a room of Pol’turs they had been discussing how nicely his skull would look in the centerpieces of their tables and tried to buy him for 270 griot.

His skin tingled the same way he thought it might right before he would get struck by lightning back on Earth. Virgil ignored the feeling in honor of sliding across the polished flooring to the nearest fallen mercenary and hoisting it up as a shield, while he grabbed its blaster from the floor.

Two blaster shots sunk into his Pol’tur shield and it dissolved into ashes in his hand. Virgil cursed again, raising the blaster with his other arm and using his ash coated hand to slide the trigger, because this blaster-- like all other blasters-- were not made for human anatomy at all.

The last Pol’tur was a sickly orange color, like some type of invasive evil moss with long arms. Virgil grinned as the blast exploded forth in a dangerous golden ray of death. The heat singed the edge of his fingers, although the mild numbness prevented him from feeling much more than the slight pressure he assumed was warmth. The shot went wide, and the kickback sent Virgil to the floor, but it was enough.

The blast shattered though several items on the shelves and Pol’tur scrambled back to avoid the avalanche of perishables-- scrambled back right into the pink fog of Virgil's last smoke bomb. It was screaming before Virgil could even sit back up.

Virgil inhaled heavily, sucking as much oxygen into his lung as he could afford and breathing it out through his nose. He squeezed his hand around the handle of the blaster, and tried to pretend like his skin didn’t feel too small. His empty hand-- the one that had held the Pol’tur-- was trembling, shaking, burning.

“I just think you’d be better off spending time with someone else.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Storm!”

“What was it like, Virgil? When you killed him?”

His hand was covered in soot, tingling from nerves and poison and the heat of the blast that had annihilated all evidence of the living, breathing alien.

“It wasn’t….” Virgil breathed heavily, “I didn’t….”

He sucked in another breath, two, three, seven breaths, until he could feel the masquerading gas in the air turn his face numb, and the voices in his head went back to threatening buzzing.

“Fuck,” he whispered softly, and pushed himself off the ground.

Virgil took the blaster with him, and made a private note to ask Logan to look into building communicators for times like this. There were an untold number of things that could have happened to get them mixed up: the Pol’tur ship could have barrel rolled at the time of, or before the final teleportation codes were in, it could have slowed or sped up, it could have marginally changed direction. All of which just proved that only stupid people like Virgil, Logan, Roman, and Patton would dare attempt a teleportation on a moving ship. Virgil tried not to think about what would have happened if his coordinates had been a little lower in space, a little closer to the box he had landed on, a little more personal and prompted whatever was inside of the crate merged with whatever was inside of Virgil.

It took him a moment to realize that the lights had started flashing an interspaced red and yellow series: a visual alarm to the crew.

“Fun,” Virgil mumbled, hugging the wall next to the exit, with one last breath, and then punching the exit lock. The hydraulics took a moment to work (probably due to excessive use of the doors and wear on the components), but it opened to reveal a brightly lit, completely empty hallway. Virgil raised his blaster, checking both the direction before he stepped out and punched the door closed behind him. Then he lined the blaster up with the door controls and fired.

You know, for safekeeping. The last thing they needed was the Pol’turs inside to wake up with a vengeance and come after them before they were off the ship.

(If he was still on the ship by the time that they woke up, Virgil was pretty sure he’d be dead. But hey! Surprising things happened all the time when one lived in fucking space.)

The floor was springy under his feet, some mixture of carpet and flooring that Virgil didn’t know the name of, just that it was weird and he didn’t want it in his Sims House. He could feel the fibers through his shoes as he hugged the wall and sprinted towards where he thought the Engine room would be located.

He could hear the sound of more blasters echoing from the depths of the ship, some yelling, some cursing: all lovely signs that Roman was doing his best to be the most annoying moving target anyone had ever seen. Virgil found his lips curling into a smile as he faintly at the noise.

“Oh come on!” Roman taunted, “I’m a big guy! Surely, you can’t be that bad of a shot!”

There was deafening BZZZTTRRRT, a clamorous crashing, and an ear splitting series of screams.

Virgil flung around the last corner but in time to see Roman stand up from a kneeling position over a clump of bodies that had probably been more alive a few seconds ago. There were blaster marks all along the walls, and several had blown through a wall revealing a cozy living quarters with giant sword slices in the beddings and floors.

“Oooh, so close!” Roman said with faux-empathy bordering on smugness which at this point should just be his default to the mass. “Maybe next time you’ll think more before attacking an Erefren!” He spun at the sight of Virgil coming around the corner, pointing his sword and then shaking his tail in a greeting.

“Roman,” Virgil sighed in relief. “You okay?”

“Virgil! It seems like I got a little off course! Checked the prisoner cells but they were all empty. And then a few new friends of mine had some fun things to say about Remus.” Roman looked feral as he bared his teeth. He jabbed his sword down into the corpses and something wheezed painfully. Virgil didn’t look at them, didn’t look at them, didn’t look.

“Do you know where he is?” Virgil asked.

Roman used the edge of his shirt to wipe the blue grey blood from the tip of his blade. “Not yet, but if you give me a few more minutes with these lovely fellows of mine I will!”

It did not take “a few more minutes”. Roman hoisted on still gasping Pol’tur up by its gangly neck and it had already started blubbering in a mix of languages. Virgil watched the halls while Roman took notes from their new best friend.

Half a minute later Roman dropped their captive to the ground with a fire in his eyes and turned to Virgil with his bone plates clinking, and dripping poison.

“He was on the Bridge.” He said, coldly, “He didn’t know if they had finished with Re or not, but he was up there”

“Okay,” Virgil said.

“The rest of his crew, Virgil,” Roman growled, squeezing the hilt of his sword. “His friends! His family!” He stared down at the shaking cowering alien life. “They..!”

The back of Virgil’s throat tasted like his stomach acids.

Remus had tried to have them killed, he had sold them out, he had been a thorn in their side since before Virgil had become part of the team. Between the harrowing escapes and the near deaths, it wasn’t hard for Virgil to absolutely despise him.

But his crew? His entire crew? In three days?

Just….gone?

Condensed into the memories with a snap, removed from the future in just a blink. The initial attack on them must have been bad and bloody for Remus to call them for help, a surprise ambush type of attack. And for all Virgil hated Remus, he couldn’t help but wonder if Remus had had plans with them-- had they been discussing visiting the bars on L3-012 or shopping on K5-369 or relaxing on C2-276? Had Remus made plans with the people he had been close with and now those plans were meaningless because the people he had made them with were dead and gone and never coming ba--

The Pol’tur on the ground giggled something hysterically, one last brave blubbering comment, and Roman took the toe of his boot right into the creature's soft flesh. Its tentacles flopped on the floor with a plu-plat.

“Virgil,” Roman hissed, without looking up.

Virgil blinked and swallowed hard, “Right, Engines,” He said, turning to go back to his task but Roman reached out and hooked his claws on Virgil’s shoulder, stopping him there.

“Change of plans,” The Erefren said, “You’re coming with me to the Bridge to get my idiot brother.”

Logan was on the Bridge too. Roman didn’t need to have Virgil come with him-- in fact, Virgil shouldn’t come with him. Too many people, too close to fighting, and Virgil couldn’t wipe away the feeling of grit on his hand.

His entire crew. In just three days.

Roman didn’t mention anything about how Virgil was shaking from head to toe, and Virgil didn’t point out the way that Roman’s voice wobbled with silent pleading. He just nodded at the alien and let him lead the way towards where they suspected the examination rooms would be.

Two heads are better than one, and all that.

It was less of a guessing game when the halls and doors were labeled and Roman was very fluent in Pol’turian. Roman was quick to move, quick to sort his way through the poorly designed areas, quick to move. Virgil kept the pace as well as he could, watching the halls behind them for stragglers attempting to get the drop on them and Roman cut down anything in his way.

Blue grey blood splattered across their shoes, filling the air with a sickly sour smell that made Virgil want to gag. He settled for squeezing the handle of the balster and counting out his breaths again as he avoided Roman’s tail striking forward at astonishing speeds and squeezing his eyes shut when he thought he saw a pair of mismatching eyes in the reflection of the lights.

There was no way for them to go quietly through the halls, not with Roman stomping hard enough to shake the entire ship and his poison attacks turning every enemy into a screaming, begging, crying puddle.

“Roman!” Virgil yelled as heat billowed around them, and the taller alien stumbled back, hit the wall and fell to his knees.

Virgil snarled at one of the mercenaries and fired three times at them. Between the near misses and the scattered yells of “Deathworlder!” they retreated into nearby rooms and locked the doors after them. Virgil tore one of his EMPs from Roman’s belt and sent it flying down the hall to keep them trapped there for a little bit, before he turned to check on Roman.

His shirt was smoldering, and one of his bone plates were cracked, but he just looked out of breath and angry, “I’m fine.” His claws scraped the floor as he stood up. “Armor took most of it.”

Virgil checked the hallway again. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, like a cancerous lump that he couldn’t get rid off no matter how much he swallowed or coughed. It pulsed to a beat that he wasn’t sure he could replicate: too fast and yet the space between each thud had felt like forever. It was so loud he almost was afraid of missing the sounds of another attack.

(An attack where Roman’s armor wouldn’t be enough, where he wouldn’t be able to wheeze off the pain, where he’d hit the wall then the floor and he wouldn’t be able to get back up and it would be all Virgil’s faul--)

Roman’s claws pricked his shoulder as he looked. With a slightly trembling hand he pointed in the direction they needed to go and Virgil did his best not to let his churning stomach get the better of him.

“Virgil! Roman!” They both spun at the voice; Roman in particular struck out with his tail, and just narrowly avoided impaling Logan’s crystalline chest on spikes.

Logan didn’t even flinch, not that he could really. His lower arms spread with palms out to signal innocence but his upper arms were busy holding up the profusely bleeding Erefren that was leaning mostly on him. Logan’s arms were flickering with so many colors Virgil couldn’t keep track of them. (Vaguely it reminded him of a disco ball, of party lights, of something so Earthly it would have made him laugh if he wasn’t so busy trying to hold back a panic attack.)

“Remus,” Roman breathed, reaching forward, impossibly gently.

“Ro’mn,” Remus slurred, shifting his head ever so slightly. His blood was pooling down the left half of his face, his eyes were partially glassy, but other than that he looked remarkably like Roman: they shared the same face with a strong jawline, the same dark dark hair curled the same way, and the same long tail with dozens of bone plates. The only real difference was the tinge of white in Remus’s hair, the oozing green poison leaking from his bone structures in place of Roman’s red, and the gaps where someone had torn out his bone plates before Remus had grown new ones in.

“Didn’t think…” Remus’s head lulled to the side, showing off the smile he was desperately forcing on his face, “didn’t think… you were comin’.”

“I’m throwing you out of the airlock,” Roman told him.

“‘ounds fun…” Remus murmured, dropping his head back to Logan’s back, and wincing like each inhale was a battle.

“They had him on the Bridge,” Logan explained, “When I arrived, they were attempting to retrieve information from him through barbaric methods. I may have gone overboard with my retaliation.” Logan shifted Remus’s weight slightly, drawing a groan from the other alien. “I am by no means a medical examiner, however, I suspect that he may have several rib fractures, and a few wounds that need to be looked at and well bandaged.”

Roman nodded, although Virgil didn’t think he actually heard anything. Virgil was an only child himself, but he could guess that even if Remus had been the biggest asshole in the entire cosmos seeing him reduced to this weakened, bloody, broken mess was terrifying. From the stories of their childhood, Virgil had always guessed that Remus was as lively as they came. But this version of him couldn’t even stand by himself.

Roman’s head shot up, “Patton. Where’s Pat? We’ve got Re, now its time to get out of here and get him help--”

“NO!” Remus shouted lunging forward suddenly. Logan stumbled at the change of weight, nearly dropping him to the floor, but it seemed that the movement had taken most of the rest of his power. “I can’t… They have…Jay… I prom’sed…”

Virgil checked the hall for enemies because that was easier than looking at the desperation in Remus’s eyes. His voice was scratched and grated like a glass under the assault of a diamond. He coughed so violently it dragged out a glob of purple blood from him.

“Remus, you can’t--” Roman said.

And despite Remus looking like a simple breeze could end his life, he grabbed at Roman’s outreached arm, above the danger of the forearm spikes.“Me and... my crew,” Remus coughed, weakly. “The oath…”

“I talked to one of those bastards,” Roman countered, forcibly soft, forcibly strained. “Re, your crew is--”

“Ro…” He pleaded, “Please.”

Roman made a noise like something in him was physically shredding him apart. Virgil suspected it was his hero complex, which usually manifested the urge to save every living being he saw. Lost wasn’t a good look on Erefrens, Virgil decided right then and there. Hopeless and terrified and sad-- all of them made Roman look wrong.

“What's wrong, Vee? You look like you want to say something.”

“....It’s nothing.”

“What? Not even a joke? Come on, I know you--”

“Let it go, Ekans.”

Virgil blinked away the unwanted memory. He sighed out of his nose and reached up to hook on the back of Roman’s armor collar. “Let’s go.”

“Virge…” Roman murmured.

“If we don’t do this now,” Virgil said, “We’ll regret it.”

He didn’t wait for the others to catch up with his train of thought, or maybe he wasn’t waiting for his own train of thought to catch up. He tugged Roman back a step and nodded at Logan. “We’ll double back and find any crew that’s left and get Pat. You take Remus to the engine room room and get the codes ready for us to get back.”

“For real?” Roman said.

“Understood, Virgil.” Logan nodded back. He glowed purple softly, around his neck notches as if he had expected this after all. “Don’t be late.”

“Time is a construct.”

Remus laughed like he was choking on a handful of rusted nails. Roman tensed at the sound, gritted his teeth, and then tightened his grip on his sword. Resolved hardened in his eyes, burning through the lost expression like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm.

“Right,” Roman said, “Let’s go.” Roman grabbed Virgil’s hand and took off in the direction they had come from. “Any guesses where the guy’s gonna be? Or where Pat is?”

Virgil felt his stomach churn. He closed his eyes and let Roman pull him along as he tried to remember the 3D diagram of a Pol’turian ship. “Well if I was in cargo, you landed near the prisoner blocks, while Logan was on the Bridge...that means that while Logan was doing the calculations the ship probably did a half roll on the longitudinal axis, which he couldn’t have accounted for. Since this ship appears to be the same as the other makes and models of Pol’turs that means that Patton probably ended up in the medical bay. And if I had to guess that’s where any last member of the crew would be as well. Take this left here.”

Roman nearly stumbled over his own feet. “How in the name of the Great God, Disney-- have you memorized all the maps?”

Virgil furrowed his brow at the alien, “Haven’t you?”

“Well yes, but--” Roman’s face flushed with a bit of his purple blood, “Nevermind, Deathworlder.”

The medical wing of the ship was easy to get to compared to the other places. It seemed that either the Pol’turs had wisened up for an ambush or they had fled when they had the chance. Either way they only came across two mercenaries and Roman made quick work of them.

He knew they had arrived by the buzzing of air, the tingle of his skin that made him feel too big and too small at the same time. The walls were bare and there were four rooms lining them, each with a number engraved in the door and the lock panels glowing red with what Virgil guessed was the Pol’turian symbol for “closed” or “locked” or “dangerous chemical inside do not release”. Virgil reached for another EMP, but his bag was empty. There were scents around them, faint scents: something metallic, something sour, something clean, something, something, something--

Something that smelled like blood. So many different kinds of blood.

Virgil swallowed hard. He hadn’t known a lot about Remus’s crew, but he knew that Remus had had a dozen different species with him. A dozen different species that hadn’t survived the encounter.

“Pat!” Roman yelled down the hall, brandishing his sword.

“Roman! In here! Help--” A voice that was most definitely Patton’s yelled out.

Roman didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward to the room the voice had come from, almost feverishly, desperately, and he didn’t bother with the password. With a swift violent motion he jabbed his sword into the locking panel and then pried open the door with his claws and his hands.

Virgil thought that it would have been one hell of a sight: if he had been strapped to a table, a knife jab from death’s door, begging, pleading, crying and knowing that all his friends had been taking to the room before him and had not come back out intact? If Virgil had been bleeding out and clinging to the slippery bit of hope that was a miracle, and then he saw his captain’s brother literally prying open the door with his bare claws to get to him---

Virgil thought it would have been pretty awesome.

Not something that should have warranted a knife being thrown at them.

Roman let out a curse in Erefren and it was one of those don’t-repeat-this-don’t-tell-Patton curses that Roman specialized in. He staggered back, clutching his shoulder where the knife had sunk in all the way to the hilt, Jesus! What the hell! Virgil kicked the rest of the door open, dropping low as scalpel skirted by where his body should have been, and then he sprung back up with his blaster set on that asshole.

Except.

“Virgil!”

The room was small, almost claustrophobically small. Just standing in the doorway made Virgil’s breath shorten (his cell back at the Welsor fighting rings had been bigger than this--). And it was lit with cold harsh white light, nearly blinding, if it weren’t for the greyed walls and the splashes-- the splashes of faded pink and blue and other colors that Virgil recognized all too well as blood. The table took up most of the room, leaving just enough space for a Pol’tur to sweep around and a small hand tray of twisted instruments.

In fact there was a Pol’tur on the ground right there. Limp and unmoving with an eye scoop so far in it’s skull there was no way it was coming back out.

But Virgil wasn’t staring at the body.

“Don’t you get tired of being everyone’s favorite person?”

It couldn’t--

“Just shut up and help me with these conjugations, will you?”

This wasn’t--

“What do you mean no one can find him?”

He hadn’t--

The detective had looked at him with such a pity that it had made Virgil’s entire body flinch. He squeezed the plastic cup in his hand, crushing it, letting the fragments cut into his skin. He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel anything. The man was still talking to him, talking softly like anything louder would shatter the fragile reality around them, talking so quietly Virgil couldn’t hear a single thing he was saying at all over the sound of his own heartbeat.

“You’re wrong,” Virgil had croaked. “He’s not dead.”

But he had been.

He had been for nearly two years now.

And everyone had thought that Virgil had done something to him, had thought that Virgil was the last to see him, had thought that his dark clothes and his eye shadow and a few sneers in the hall had meant that Virgil was suddenly capable of killing Janus Ekans in cold blood.

Except.

Except that Virgil was staring at Janus --fucking-- Ekans right now.

It was unmistakable, the shape of his face, the curve of his lips, the slimness of his nose. The wispy brown hair that turned golden under the summer sun, the mischievous eyes danced with different colors, the flick of his tongue that moved so freely when he let it, the tattoo of two theater masks on his chest that no one was supposed to know about-- Virgil could have spent days naming things, committing them to memory, staring in disbelief at him. This was the same boy who had sat next to him in Spanish. The same Janus who had been convinced he was so completely untouchable up until Virgil had dragged him off his stupid, golden pedastal.

It was the same Janus who was currently wrapped around Patton like a boa constrictor cutting off the alien’s ability to move and had a knife perched ever so closely to one of Patton’s eyes.

“What the hell?” Virgil had said because-- because--

Because Virgil had asked Logan once if there was a race that could pick through minds, pull memories from heads, change the way someone thought. And Logan didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t lie to him. There were no alien types that could break into a mind and drag illusions into reality and there were no races that could bring ghosts back from oblivion.

“Virgil,” Janus said barely a whisper, barely enough to be heard, barely enough to mean anything. The knife was tilting in his hand, tipped like he wasn’t sure what he was saying, wasn’t sure what he was doing. “What-?”

Partially drugged, Virgil thought with absolutely no room to breathe in his chest. Partially drugged, holding a knife to Patton’s weakest point, and alive.

“Janus,” Virgil said, ”Put down the knife.”

He’s still partially strapped to the table, bound by his left ankle and sporting a lovely series of cuts on the side of his face as if someone had started carving scales into his cheek for funsies. If Virgil had to hazard a guess he would have assumed that Patton had dropped in literally as the Pol’tur was taking Janus-- Janus, alive, breathing, real-- apart one centimeter at a time, then proceeded to win a very cramped fight in the room. Virgil would even say that Patton had started taking the restraints off of Janus when he had gained enough consciousness to realize that he needed to defend himself.

(The fact that they found something capable of drugging a human, a Deathworlder, was concerning, so concerning, terrifying--)

“Virgil….You are not real,” Janus said, slowly, blood dripping down his neck. “You cannot be real. None of this is real.”

“I’m the one thats not real?” Virgil muttered. “You’re the one that was declared dead.”

He laughed. Virgil’s stomach swooped.

For a second, a brief fleeting second, he could have sworn that this was all a dream. A fever dream in which Virgil would blink himself awake from and find himself on the floor of Janus’s stupid, giant ass room surrounded by a dozen cans of off-brand energy drinks, a half eaten bucket of popcorn, and the credits for a horror movie scrolling on the screen. For a second it felt like he would roll over and bump elbows with Janus who had woken up an hour previously to study for that stupid Spanish test that wasn’t until Monday. For a second it was like he was seventeen again and his biggest worry was figuring out if it was too weird to ask to run his hands through Janus’s silky hair.

“Of course, I was declared fucking dead!” Janus said, like it was the obvious thing that would happen, “I am dead. I have to be, because there’s no other way that the kid who's afraid of going outside made it this far into space.”

“Janus, put down the knife.” Virgil took a step forward, a half a step, but Janus just squeezed the knife tighter.

“Why don’t you come and make me?” Janus smiled at him, smiled, smiled, smiled.

Smiled like he knew that this was a dream and nothing he did was going to matter. Smiled like they were back on that balcony of his room with their feet swinging between the bars and two Seagrams gone each and they were going to get in a shit ton of trouble for it. Smiled like he had never been dead and Virgil hadn’t had to bury the thought of him.

Patton made a noise, a small whimper, and Virgil felt it in his chest. The near silence of the room, the soft muted buzzing in his head, the fuzzy dream like quality of reality-- it all shattered at the sound. Shattered like glass, like a mirror, like the concept of “forever”. It shattered and Virgil was suddenly hyperaware of how small the room was, how cold he felt, how metallic the air smelt.

“Hm, just as I thought,” Janus said softly, smile dropping into something wistful and disappointed, “I really am just seeing thin--”

Virgil didn’t give him the satisfaction of finishing; he surged forward, throwing his blaster to the side, and using his left hand to catch Janus’s wrist millimeters from putting that knife in Patton. He twisted his hand, pining his fingers into the soft flesh of Janus’s nerves until his hand jerked open on reflex and the knife fell into the open air.

Janus froze, inhaling so sharply Virgil was certain that he took all the oxygen in the room away.

He was warm, Virgil realized absently. He was warm and had a pulse and for some reason both those things made Virgil’s chest hurt. His skin was soft and his breath was sweet and Virgil had gotten punch-drunk stupid on less.

Which probably explained why, how, when, Virgil’s lips ended up on his, pressing firmly, and tasting like something from a past Virgil had thought he had given up on. Virgil had always been stupid, but this was another level of stupid. This was incredibly dumb, unbelievable, ridiculous.

Janus’s mouth was on his, and Virgil’s hand was tipping his head back ever so slightly, and Patton had managed to scramble out of Janus’s absolutely shocked slacked hold.

“You’ve always been so annoying,” Virgil gasped between breaths, “Always thinking you know everything. Have you ever considered you might be wrong before?”

“You’re--” Janus whispered, “Real? For real?” Then, “Don’t you know what the fuck consent is?”

“Fuck you,” Virgil told him.

Janus grabbed him by his collar and yanked him forward again. “Since you asked so nicely.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“Don’t be coy.” Janus shot back because he was still the same asshole who needed to have the last word. He bit at Virgil’s lip, and then pulled back to show off a wolfish grin.

Virgil was stuck somewhere between wanting to smash his stupid smug face in and wanting to kiss him until he lost all sense of direction. Janus was like that, Virgil remembered suddenly, even when they were kids, when Janus was trapped on that pedestal everyone had put him on, when Virgil couldn’t have cared less about him and somehow had ended up unsure how to live without him.

“Not that this isn’t the fucking cutest shit I’ve ever seen--“ A voice behind them called and Virgil stiffened.

“Language!” Patton interrupted, as Roman grunted through the pain of still having a surgical knife in his shoulder.

“--But can the two of you save your weird-ass….human…. greeting custom…. for some other time?” The Erefren snarled with one hand clutching the hilt and then yanking it out with a wheeze that Virgil felt physically. His purple blood spouted out from the wound but Roman didn’t seem to care, beyond tossing the knife to the floor.

“That’s an Erefren,” Janus said because he’s just as good at stating the obvious as he is at kissing. “That is not Remus.”

Roman snapped out something in his native tongue, which by the stress on the syllables was probably not nice and definitely not Patton approved. The Reytin even puffed up, shaking his head in a way that normally prefaced an hour long lecture on manners and the reintroduction of a swear jar.

However, Janus just laughed that pretty stupid little laugh of his but when he opened his mouth the words were all forgein. It took Virgil a moment to catch up, a moment to realize that he hadn’t even fumbled, that Janus had actually spoken Erefrenian and it had been grammatically correct enough that stunned Roman for a whole half second.

“You speak Erefrenian?” Virgil asked.

Janus blinked up at him a smug looking expression on his face. “You don’t?”

Virgil had a good response, he did. It was a response that had been some-three years in the making and Virgil had been ready to wipe that prideful expression of his face. But before they could do anything the entire ship lurched to the side, taking gravity with it. Virgil let out a yelp and grabbed for Janus and clung for stability.

(Space had done wonders for Janus’s abs, Virgil thought distantly.)

Roman slammed into the door frame and stumbled out into the hall, with all the grace a drunken ballerina, and cursed again when Patton landed on top of him.

“That’s our cue to leave!” Roman growled.

“Ya think?” Virgil shot back. He lunged for the end of the table where Janus’s bare foot was still strapped to the table. He didn’t look at the rusted color on the buckle, at the stiffness of the leather strap, at the rawness of Janus’s skin where it was biting into his ankle. He didn’t, didn’t, didn’t--

His hands shook. Janus reached over and clasped his forearms, the fabric of his tunic, him.

“Virgil--” Janus said, softly, unsuredly, with no trace of that previous pompous expression on him. “I--”

There was blood on his face, trailing all the way down his neck in scarlet silvers from the cuts. His hair was sweat matted, pressed and tousled in a way that made Virgil feel a certain rage in his chest, like someone had been running fingers through his curls while they sliced him apart. His eyes were still slightly glassy from whatever they put in him. There was an unspoken question on his lips, in his eyes, through his fingers as he clung to Virgil.

“I’ve got you,” Virgil told him, practically scooping him up. Janus heaved a breath as his feet touched the ground again. “Us humans have to stick together, right?”

Janus Ekans was alive.

It sounded surreal even in the moment, because Virgil had been mourning him since they were seventeen and stupid. Everyone else had moved on, had buried his memory, had forgotten about him. But he was not dead, and Virgil had not killed him. Somehow he had ended up in space, ended up with Remus, ended up here on this ship in the several billions of lightyears from anything they had known previously.

There would be no more late-nights-turned-early-mornings study sessions, no more sneaking over the gated walls of the Ekans mansion, and no more scaling the lattice underneath Janus’s balcony. They were never going to go stargazing on the hills outside of town again, never going to ruthlessly text each other under the desk during History class, never going to skip prom together to go trespassing in the woods somewhere to find Mothman. He was never going to butcher Spanish past participles in the cozy corner of the school library after hours and he was never going to get to listen to Janus brag about obtaining his Seal of Biliteracy finally despite his proficiency in about three languages.

Janus had disappeared right before senior year. And Virgil, who had been the biggest thorn in his side, the biggest instigator of all their fights, the wild and unruly punk kid that lived in detention-- Virgil had stopped looking for him. Because everyone said he had died. Because everyone said that Virgil had killed him.

But Virgil could feel Janus’s pulse, could hear his heartbeat, could see the way his chest moved as they stumbled out of the room.

Part of him was afraid that if he let go now, later, ever, Janus would disappear again. Shimmer and fade like a mirage in the desert.

“Careful Virgil,” Janus said breathily. “I almost think you missed me.”

“I hate you so much,” Virgil said back, as Roman and Patton led the way toward the engine rooms by blade and alien jujutsu and well-placed pun.

“Somehow, I don’t think you mean that, at all.” Janus said, grinning.

And then he closed that last little bit of space between them again.

[Next installment: Stars Die (But We Don’t)]

#Sanders sides #Virgil Sanders #Janus Sanders #Patton Sanders #Roman Sanders #Remus Sanders #Logan Sanders #Alien Au #Sympathetic Deceit #Sympathetic Remus #23 pages of Virgil in space #humans are space orcs #blood #Anxceit #background intrulogical #Probably will end up as part of series if you guys want more

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cecaeliana · 4 years ago

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UMA NAUTICA : arcs. ( including divergences )

inspired by @zzozo ( psd )

arc one : pre - descendants ( you gotta fend for yourself )

uma atlantica, the only daughter of ursula, the sea witch. born on the isle of the lost, a place where the sun never shines and the food is never fresh. she is raised by her mother, a firm hand to keep her in line- and a protective one to keep her out of trouble. for a small girl on a small prison island, uma can’t help but feel like queen of the world. she gets away with everything, loves pulling pranks and is best friends with the other isle bigshot, mal- daughter of maleficent. the pair terrorise the isle and its residents.

but nothing good ever lasts and at the age of ten the girls fall apart, mal initiating aggressive action against uma, publicly shaming her and defeating her, marking her as public enemy number one. to make matters worse, ursula doesn’t want anything to do with the fight, barely lifting a tentacle to help out her daughter- it becomes obvious to the entire isle that uma is no longer protected by anyone, not mal, not her own mother- and she becomes a target.

the bullying is ruthless, people calling her names is the least of her problems, but it stings just as much as the rest. aside from name calling, she undergoes constant public humiliation, with rotting fish guts and shellfish being thrown at her. everyone is desperate to prove that there is someone they can overpower and uma’s an easy target. to make matters worse, she used to think she was above it all. so call it revenge if you will. people love to see the mighty fall. and they’re more than willing to help her on her way to rock bottom.

there isn’t much one girl can do, she’s weak, underfed, small for her age, and the bullying keeps coming. but not all is lost, she finds solace in the hook children. harry, her friend from an early age, and harriet, a caring hand in a cruel world. she has something, someone. they give her reasons to fight back, and better than that, they give her lessons in doing it.

uma picks up a sword and never looks back. she defends herself with brutality. she doesn’t care who gets in her way, or who calls her names anymore. she makes an example out of all of them. and people start paying attention once she’s demonstrated why they should be listening. she makes a show of strength, of power. she takes it for her own. pushes herself back onto a winning streak and then keeps fighting. no longer content to just be second best, she’s determined to outshine mal in every way.

it starts with a bid for territory. under her own name and her own power. there’s no hiding behind her mother’s name anymore. she adopts a new one. UMA NAUTICA. she doesn’t belong to her mother, doesn’t belong to a sea-kingdom outside the barrier. she belongs to this world, her world. she belongs to the sea. she’s a pirate. she’s a sea witch. she’s a goddess. but most importantly, she’s a faction leader in her own right. people are falling in line, agreeing to follow her, agreeing to work for her.

captain hook announces a chance to win a ship he needs rid of, and uma takes that challenge too. she races against hundreds of other isle residents, but importantly, against harry- under the caveat that if she wins he’ll work for her, and if he wins, she’ll work for him. uma wins the race, not by much, but it’s still a win and for the first time she gets herself a real ship. THE LOST REVENGE.

it’s a rotting mess that doesn’t even float properly, but it’s a base, and a home away from her mother. she takes on only the most loyal people she can find and makes them a crew. with herself as captain and harry as her first mate. he does his best to get the ship working, but with the limited supplies they’ve got basically no chance. that doesn’t matter, though. it’s theirs and it’s home and it’s perfect.

arc two : descendants - descendants two ( the revolution is coming the have-nots are gonna win this )

and then at age sixteen, the worst thing happens. mal and her cronies get chosen to leave the prison, to leave the isle of the lost and travel to auradon, to go to school there alongside all the princes and princesses. a reminder that there is life outside the barrier- that there is more to the world than simply stealing territory on a forgotten island in the middle of the bay. that there’s a whole world out there that they could be exploring.

she’s filled with rage and unhappiness. all the feelings she’s been trying to push aside come flooding back and uma finds that more than anything she wants to be free of the barrier, free of the prison. and, more importantly, she’s disgusted that mal got there first without ever having to do anything for it. she got picked and uma is left to wonder why her, what makes her so special. it only causes her resentment to fester and grow.

it only gets worse when mal defeats her own mother at the king’s coronation. she had been meant to free the entire isle, but instead she turns maleficent into a lizard and the barrier is closed- leaving the residents inside to turn their frustrations on each other. there are mass riots all over the isle and uma and crew have to defend themselves and their territory from the insurgency. and then they have to start looking for a new way off the isle.

so when word comes that triton’s trident has crossed the barrier somehow and is sitting in the water around the isle, uma is left with no choice but to go after it- so she can use it as a bargaining chip to get herself and her crew off the isle. but her own boat doesn’t float, so she has to strongarm someone into letting her borrow one that does- and she has to blackmail yen sid’s apprentice into giving up the location of her mother’s lost necklace. and she takes her crew to retrieve first the necklace, and then the trident.

the necklace is well guarded with traps and the pirates almost die escaping a collapsing cave, but they get what they need and they rebuild ursula’s shattered necklace. it responds to the trident, both godly gifts from poseidon himself, and the crew set off in search of it. a storm whips up around the isle, though- and outside the barrier mal and co are racing to save the trident from falling into the hands of a villain. specifically, uma.

it ends in a showdown, with a small hole in the barrier allowing uma her first taste of real magic, but mal still wins. she uses her magic to turn back time, allowing her a chance to get to the trident before uma can lay her hands on it- leaving uma confused and angry that she’s been cheated out of her freedom once again.

this only cements the idea in her mind that mal doesn’t care about anyone but herself, that she’s so eager to hold onto her life in auradon that she’ll happily leave the rest of them imprisoned permanently. so it’s up to uma to hatch a plan to bring down the barrier.

fortune favours her, it seems, when it drops the king of auradon straight into her lap. and she uses him as a bargaining chip to get mal to bring her fairy godmother’s wand, the only thing powerful enough to bring down the barrier from the inside. only mal brings a fake and escapes with the king, and the barrier intact. or so she thinks.

uma in a last-ditch effort, jumps through the barrier as mal and co are leaving, throwing herself into the waiting arms of the ocean and swimming her way to shore with a gift brought to her by one of her followers- mal’s spellbook. she seeks out a spell and performs an enchantment on the young king, causing him to publicly spurn mal and choose her. she’s incredibly close to getting him to drop the barrier when mal figures out her plan and stops the whole thing.

uma throws herself into the ocean again and turns, for the first time, into a cecaelia. a brief fight ensues, but in the end she’s left with no choice but to flee into the sea, alone. but for the first time, free.

arc three : the lost year - descendants three ( if you stand for nothing what’ll you fall for? )

freedom isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, really. not when there’s no-one to share it with. uma spends her time exploring the depths to avoid guards of both the land and sea variety and, when she’s sure they aren’t looking, trying to bring down the barrier.

but it’s difficult. the auradon guard are searching and so, it seems, are the merfolk. so she has to be careful and crafty. she spends a lot of time in the darkest depths, meeting creatures thousands of years old. or on the surface, on remote islands or the backs of whales that are willing to carry her. she discovers an aptitude for disguise that allows her to search auradon for spells that might bring down the barrier.

and she spends her free time staring hopelessly through the magical wall at her crew, wishing she could be with them. she does find a small crack in the barrier, not big enough to get through but she finds she can talk to someone on the opposite side. specifically, hades. and she finds she can work just a little bit of magic through the hole too.

together they come up with a plan. mal returns to the isle again, to try and sell the idea of VK day- and construction begins on new buildings, so clearly there is some amount of effort being made- but uma isn’t content with that and she enlists hades to help her try and get the barrier remote from mal.

they end up battling it out in a dreamscape, and when uma almost has the remote, mal is snatched away by her friends and the hole in the barrier is closed. leading her to believe that hades double crossed her and once again leaving her with no way onto the isle, and no way off it for anyone still trapped there.

she spends around a year outside of the barrier. and as the people get more complacent, she spends more time around the isle, watching for her moment. it comes a week after vk day, when mal and co are forced to travel back to the isle and as they leave, harry and gil jump through after them. uma, watching from below the water, sees something fall from the bridge, hears mal’s cry and immediately snatches it out of the air.

it’s hades’ ember and it’s full of power. mal declares she needs it and so uma decides to use it as a bargaining chip, threatening to destroy it if mal doesn’t agree to release all the vks. knowing better than to trust a simple agreement, uma follows mal to auradon to help her save it and make sure she keeps good on her promise.

though it becomes clear the situation is more dire than expected and that if the gem isn’t returned to mal there won’t be much point in freeing the villain kids because they’ll just be turned to stone. so uma returns the ember to mal. only to be told that mal had been lying the entire time about the vks and that the intention is actually to close the barrier for good, so that no-one can ever go in or out again.

betrayed and angry, uma abandons the mission, refusing to try and help re-light the ember after celia douses its flame. but another problem presents itself, celia gets kidnapped by audrey and mal is losing the battle without the ember, so uma is left with no option but to re-ignite the spark. it drains her very quickly, but the ember sparks back into life and mal wins the battle. but audrey is dying and there’s nothing that anyone can do. except hades.

uma has a choice to make, she can go back to the isle for good, with no hope of leaving and no chance of escape, or she can stay in auradon while everyone left behind suffers. it’s not a choice at all. she volunteers to go back to the isle, to watch out for it, to look after it once the barrier is closed. she returns willingly to captivity- with harry and gil in tow, even though she had tried to convince them to stay.

arc four : queen of the isle of the lost - main verse ( every action is an act of creation )

back on the isle, a week passes- the residents and uma all believe that the barrier is closed permanently, that there’s not going to be any way off from now on. uma starts really planning for the future of the island, wanting to keep people as safe and as happy as possible, despite the dire situation. and then she spends the lesser part of her time still contemplating how to bring the barrier down.

until the unthinkable happens, and the barrier disappears anyway. mal, having had second thoughts, brings down the barrier completely- freeing everyone. though it is later made clear that the adults are being tracked and placed on probation, since they’ve already served a life sentence in inhumane conditions. if they reoffend they’re getting sent back to prison, only one slightly less geared towards violating all the basic human rights.

with the barrier gone, many residents take their leave. around half of the population decide to go and live in auradon- but there are some who still think of the isle as their home, some who don’t want to leave. uma amongst them. she wants to see what auradon has to offer, of course, but living there doesn’t really feel like her thing.

not to mention that she’s determined to see through the betterment of the isle now that she’s started. she names herself unofficial queen of the isle, though six months later they hold an actual vote on who should get the title and she wins in a landslide.

she turns her focus to making the isle a flourishing economy in its own right. together she and ben work on building lasting structures, on putting in the right infrastructure- water pipelines and electricity. magic is used to turn the soil from a contaminated mess into land that can actually be used for agriculture and they begin farming their own crops. residents who want to learn skills are given the opportunity, with a focus on skills needed to keep the isle going, building and farming etc.

ships are built and trade links are created between the isle and other parts of auradon. slowly, they build a working community. people work, they have enough food, clean water. the isle begins to flourish, until eventually, it’s a place people want to live. and a place people can live quite happily. and uma, queen of it all.

she takes time, between creating plans and laws and building a better future, to explore auradon properly, to travel up and down the country and see it in all its splendor alongside her crew. they explore thick jungles and forgotten caves. they get to experience real freedom.

arc five : emancipation and secession ( raise a glass to freedom - something they can never take away )

in the far future, once the isle has established itself as a state in its own right, with everything it needs to rule itself, it’s not long before the idea spreads that maybe they don’t have to be a part of auradon, to be beholden to the country that had shunned and imprisoned them for twenty two years. they have everything they need to control themselves and that’s what they should be doing.

and it’s hard to disagree. auradon is not just an overbearing ruler, but a constant threat- the fear that the barrier could go back up at any moment is an ever present fear in people’s minds. and more importantly, the isle never signed into any treaty with the united kingdoms.

so the answer becomes obvious, secession. but done peacefully and not through revolution. the citizens on the isle are given the chance to vote on whether they want that or not. when the vote comes out a yes, uma enters negotiations with ben- and the rest of the leaders in auradon, to try and find a peaceful, amicable solution.

it takes time, as with anything related to politics, but eventually the isle comes out as a solo nation, not technically part of the united kingdoms of auradon, but a close friend and trade partner nonetheless. it stands as its own country and the residents no longer feel like they have to live in fear of the control from auradon. for once, everything is at relative peace.

#⤪ 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⊰ headcanon. ⊱#⤪ 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆? ⊰ meta. ⊱#do you ever just write nearly 3000 words?? no? just me?#if you read this whole thing you get a cookie ig #⤪ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ⊰ queen of the isle verse. ⊱#⤪ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 ⊰ isle verse. ⊱#⤪ 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒂 𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒎. 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 ⊰ future verse. ⊱#⤪ 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒂 𝒇𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 ⊰ pre descendants verse. ⊱#⤪ 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓 ⊰ lost year verse. ⊱#i am once again very sorry to miss china anne for trying to colour her hair teal and failing #my edits.

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angrylizardjacket · 4 years ago

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heard your name in every love song {Ben Hardy} 1

1. when he was looking out for me (i would pretend he was my summer fling)

Summary: When you’re twelve and you have a crush on your babysitter, your parents think it’s puppy love, think it’s cute, and you’ll forget about it soon enough.

A/N: 2266 words. Female!Reader. okay so the sprained ankle in Space Jump is a direct reference to something that happened in my theater class, that being a dude snapped his fucking femur playing Fruit Salad. RIP adam’s femur for the following few months. he’s fine now, that was like 8 years ago. whatever. are all these theater games i mention real? i’ll never tell. here’s part 1. DISCLAIMER: NO CREEPY SHIT I SWEAR TO GOD I WOULDN’T DO THAT; THERE’S A LITTLE BIT OF PINING FROM Y/N BUT THAT’S IT. there’s a few assumptions made abt Y/N’s life; only child, parents (plural, idk how many, doesn’t matter), plays Crash Bandicoot and Mario Kart, takes theater classes outside of school.

the mutant brotherhood: @daisy-lu @hervoidparadise @nedmjpeter @ultrunning @d-r-e-a-m-catchme @clementimee @that-fandom-sucks-tho @cjand10 @rest-is-detail @baileymae @rosesvioletshardy @onceuponadetectivedemigod @hazelstyles94 @bitchylittleredhead @bihemian-rhapsody @sweatyexpertgardenpanda @whereeverythingisbetter @dedxbed @xxencagedxx @glittrixvibe @a-girl-with-stress @sunflower-ben @pxroxide-prinxcesss @mrsmazzello @cubedtriangle @haileymorelikestupid @misscharlottelee @nevilles-insinuations @jovialcreatorkidtoad @brianmaysclog @sambuckywarrior @hey-yo-bedussey @bubblyanis @lifesciencesbois @elektraofcrete @diosanaz @bbdoyouloveme @kirstansworld @okilover02 @cardboardbenmazzello @dreashappyworld @juliarose21 @simonedk @greycuby @emmasunshiine @dinotje @qtrogerina @spiketacus @nympha-door-a @local-troubled-writer @emphatic-af @wh0a-thisisheavy @lustgardn @banginashton

When you’re twelve, and almost at the end of your first year of high school, you get into a fight with your parents as to whether or not you still need a babysitter. Much to your chagrin, however, they don’t see twelve as ‘practically sixteen, which is practically an adult’ and you sulk for the full three days leading up to the night they were going out. The night of, you’re fully intending on staying in your room, until there’s a knock at the door, and you hear a voice that is absolutely not your usual babysitter.

“Be good,” your parents call to you as they’re leaving, having noticed where you’d cracked the door to your room to see who it was. You make a face at them, but you’re surprised to see a kid from Sixth Form on crutches, who is absolutely not Madeline, standing in the hallway awkwardly. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen him around school, maybe he’s on the soccer team? You’re not sure.

“You’re not Maddy,” you tell him, opening the door a little wider, and he seems surprised for a moment to see you there. A kind, awkward smile appears on his face as he regards you with gentle amusement.

“Well spotted, I’m Ben, Maddy’s got the flu,” he explained easily, and offered his hand, “you’re Y/N, right?” And he’s trying so hard, but you’re still kind of mad at your parents for insisting on a babysitter in the first place.

“Who else would I be?” You asked flatly, which surprised a laugh from Ben, but you shook his hand anyways; you had to give him props for trying, “why are you using crutches?” You asked outright, since you’re pretty sure he wasn’t using crutches last time you saw him at school. You turned, heading for the living room, deciding to at least give him a chance.

“Sprained my ankle in class the other week,” he explained, hobbling along behind you.

“Sport or just P.E?” You asked, throwing yourself onto the sofa and picking up the TV remote. Ben was quiet for a long moment, and when you look at where he’s sitting gingerly on the edge of the sofa, he’s making a face like he doesn’t quite want to admit the truth.

“Theater sports,” he explained, which piqued your interest, which, of course, you try not to let show on your face, because if your babysitter knows you already think he’s cool, you might die of embarrassment. But also, you suddenly feel incredibly validated for taking those theater classes every Thursday afternoon.

“They’re -” he tries to explain, but you give another eye roll.

“I know what theater sports are,” you tell him, and his smile turns amused.

“You do?” He asks, and you think he might be a little bit impressed, or perhaps it was just wishful thinking, either way, you nod firmly, “well I was in the middle of Space Jump - you know Space Jump, right? Where you start an activity and then someone else calls ‘Space Jump’ and you have to freeze and they have to make a new scene from your freeze, and then someone else comes in -” he explained, mostly to save you the embarrassment of admitting you didn’t know the game, “well I was up on one leg on a chair, climbing the rigging of a ship, you know how pirates do, and I froze, and -” he gestured how he’d fallen off the chair, with accompanying sound effects.

“Couldn’t you have just put your other foot down and balanced yourself?” You offered, and he shook his head, expression adamant.

“It’s all about the commitment to the bit; I was trying to entertain them, and the best way I can do that is to put myself out there one-hundred percent,” he told you sincerely, “you’ve always gotta follow through.”

“You sprained your ankle,” you pointed out, “isn’t that dangerous advice?” He deflates a little, looking down at his leg.

“Follow through but use your common sense, you’ve got common sense, don’t you?” He asked, giving a wry smile, two which you nodded diligently, “don’t get yourself hurt, then,” he suggests, before changing the subject quickly, “you hungry yet? Your parents said we could order pizza.” You’re easily excited by the thought of pizza, a rare treat your parents allowed you whenever you were babysat.

It’s a pretty uneventful night, all things considered, you order pizza, and he lets you win at Crash Team Racing, and you’re falling asleep to a comedy movie until Ben gently suggests that you go to bed. You’re too tired to argue and try and weasel your way into staying up later, so you yawn loudly and wish him a good night before shuffling off to bed. The house is quiet, apart from where he’s watching a Top Gear rerun and waiting for your parents to get home.

You don’t think about it much beyond telling your parents ‘yeah, he’s pretty cool’ when they ask. You don’t think about him much beyond that, at least not for almost a full week, until you’re sitting in your geography class just before lunch, having managed to snag a seat by the window looking out onto the back field, and there’s a PE class doing laps on the field. All are running, except the teacher, and a boy with blonde hair, standing with all his weight on one foot, and a pair of crutches tossed to the side, looking like he’s arguing the teacher.

“I heard when you’re in sixth form you get to push in the front of the line at the canteen,” you hear your friend, Merissa, next to you muse, and when you turn, she’s followed your gaze outside to the field. After a moment, you turn again, and watch the blonde attempt to put weight on his obviously injured foot; it looks like he regrets it, and he sits on the grass, sulking.

“That’s probably Ben,” Merissa tells you matter-of-factly, “he’s on the football team with my brother.” And something about the kind of unwarranted pride in her voice at being in the know makes your face scrunch up. Part of you wants to tell her that you know who Ben is, obviously, but another part of you doesn’t want to admit to still needing a babysitter; it feels childish. So you keep your mouth shut and turn to back to the board.

And the following week, in your weekly theater class, you’re about to take your turn at Bus Stop, wherein your goal is to make the other person on the ‘bus stop’ as uncomfortable as possible until they finally leave, which is when you’ll assume the roll of the innocent bystander, and someone else from the class will come up and try and make you uncomfortable. It’s a lesson on improvisation disguised as a game.

The voice you’ve been practicing slightly pinches your vocal cords, and you’ve barely got a moment to assume a matching physicality, and you worry for a second that it’s not funny, that you’ll just look like an idiot -

Put yourself out there one hundred percent.

You steel yourself, making strange shapes with your hands as you twist yourself into as much of a creature as possible, within reason, using the strange voice you’d concocted, feeling a thrill as your entrance gets the biggest laugh of the class. Oh.

A few months later, in the Summer after your first year of high school, you’re finally thirteen, and are allowed to have the house to yourself for the day, but if you’re parents are anticipating staying out later than midnight, you need -

“Please,” you begged, “just don’t say babysitter, I’m not a baby.”

“Fine,” they acquiesce, “you need supervision, just if we’re out very late.”

Despite your indignation at the situation, Maddy’s got a cello concert, and you’re hoping that that means -

Ben greets you like a friend, wearing a denim jacket with no crutches, and he might be the coolest person you know.

“You still on Crash Team Racing?” He asks with raised eyebrows as he heads into the living room, and you roll your eyes.

“That’s so old school,” you scoff, and he raises his hands in surrender, trying not to look as amused as he feels, watching as you pull out two Wii remotes, “Mario Kart’s much better.” And you hand him one.

He’s not above letting you win, but it turns out, he doesn’t have to; you’re scarily good at the game, which you credit to playing pretty much nothing else for a solid month, and by the time the pizza arrives, the win ratio is about fifty-fifty, and you’ve bonded considerably over your mutual and unreasonable hatred for Waluigi, the only NPC who seems to consistently beat you both.

“Do you get to push in the front of the line at the canteen?” You asked, holding your pizza in one hand and letting it cool for a moment.

“Huh?” Ben’s burnt the roof of his mouth, and is reaching for his drink when you ask, “whaddya mean?”

“My friend Merissa says Sixth Form gets to push in the front of the line.”

“I don’t think we’re technically allowed to,” he says after a moment of consideration, and you hear his nonverbal ‘but we still do’ anyways, “it’s not a rule rule, you know?”

“Are the A-levels hard?”

“Haven’t done ‘em yet,” he answers honestly, burping quietly after taking a drink, and you hum, and take a bite of pizza.

“I’m already scared of my GCSEs,” you admit after a moment of chewing, and Ben laughs gently.

“You’ve got nothing to be afraid of,” and he sounds like he means it, so you can’t help but believe it, soothed a little in your premature worrying. To be fair, Ben could say anything about school or life and you’d probably believe it; he was cool and older than you, but he treated you like a friend.

You mention in passing that you’d gotten the lead for your class’s skit in the end of year showcase your theater company puts on, and mentions that it’s because you’d been committing to the bit in class, and the pride in his voice when he congratulates you is something you end up thinking about for days.

He ends up babysitting you twice more that Summer, not that you were complaining. It meant you got pizza, and to hang out with the coolest person you knew, a fact which you reiterated to your parents, much to their fond amusement, though you made them swear to never tell Ben that. He brought over Super Smash Bros and you guys would play for hours.

The only problem was that Ben was never allowed to know about the crush you had on him, because everyone in the world knew it was weird to have a crush on your babysitter, and you’re pretty sure he has a girlfriend and -

Doesn’t matter. You’re just started to discover the delightful world of crushes and relationships, and Merissa has a boyfriend on Tumblr, and you know that when you get back to school you can have a normal crush on a normal boy in your year, even if all the boys in your year look like thumbs. And Ben...

Is your babysitter. And a decent guy. And your friend, sort of. So you just hope he hasn’t noticed.

After Summer, he’s studying his A-levels, and Maddy’s got a day job so she can babysit at nights again, and it feels like everything’s gone back to normal, like you can breathe again.

You’ve never really seen him at school; you don’t tend to hang around the back fields, but a few weeks into the first term, you’re having lunch with Merissa and Charlie, one of your other friends, in the library, when you spot him laden down with textbooks, making his way to one of the study rooms at the back. You’re not sure if he’ll even acknowledge you, even though your table is directly along the best route to the back rooms, so you just give him and smile and a nod in greeting.

“Hey, Y/N,” he grins quickly, doesn’t stop, but nods in return, and your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest. Charlie sinks her nails into your arm the moment he’s gone into the study room, and Merissa quietly screeches your name.

“Chill out,” you’re trying to keep a low profile, but both other thirteen year old girls are demanding to know what just happened, “we’re friends.” You say with a shrug that’s far too casual.

“Friends?!” Merissa demands, and you can feel yourself growing more flustered.

“We hung out a few times during summer,” you open your notebook in front of you, trying to distract yourself.

“You hung out with Ben? Y/N he’s a football guy, he’s so old, he’s like eighteen!”

“We’re friends,” you insist, “don’t be, like, creepy about it,” you snorted, and Charlie let out a pterodactyl-like noise. They drop it at your insistence, and you’re just glad they don’t ask you to elaborate.

You don’t see Ben much after that anymore, he’s too busy with his A-levels to babysit, and when you’re fourteen, your parents agree that you don’t need a babysitter anymore. You’re more than happy to let your Summer crush fall to the wayside, and let your memories of Ben, like all good Summer memories, fade into blurry obscurity.

You wouldn’t need to worry about seeing him again anyways, right?

Oh how wrong you were.

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy fanfiction #borhap #queen #borhap cast #borhap cast imagine #bohemian rhapsody cast #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody cast imagine #the angry lizard writes

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onepiecereactions · 4 years ago

Text

One piece Halloween 2020 scenario: Marco, Ace, Thatch, Whitebeard and Garp.

ENGLISH VERSION

Title: Five minutes before midnight

Notes: Family / Friendship / Drama / Funny. Around 3 000 words. SFW.

(Sorry for the mistakes my main language is French)

Five minutes before midnight

Three knocks echoed against the door of the sleeping pirate. He growled as he snapped out of his sleep and put on his glasses. Then he rubbed his head as he looked at his clock: five minutes before midnight. He huffed, tired but unfortunately used to being disturbed in the middle of the night. Three knocks sounded again and this time the pirate could hear tiny claws slash through his door. Surprised, he used his haki: two men and a cat were waiting behind his door. But that wasn't what surprised Marco the most: all his brothers were sleeping. Absolutely none were awake, even the man on guard. Which meant that the two men behind his door were not from his crew. His blood stopped for a second. He kept his cool, however, and opened the door, ready to fight if necessary. Behind the door, Marco could see a calm, extremely calm sea. Thick black clouds had taken over the sky and prevented almost all of the moon's rays from passing through. He didn't hear a single sound, not even the sound of waves crashing gently against the Moby Dick. He could only hear the cat purring in front of him. Marco came face to face with the two men his haki had identified. The men, barely taller than a 10-year-olds child, were quite calm. One of them, the one who didn't have the cat on his shoulder, was eating a pumpkin. Marco remained on his guard. They stayed several seconds to look at each other straight in the eyes. The two dwarfs didn't look hostile, but something was wrong.

- Number 8834MF77? Asked the one with the cat in a deep voice that didn't quite match his height ...

Marco was stunned, completely lost. He could not sense any power from the two men, and to tell the truth, he felt no hint of life emanating from them. Yet they stood well in front of him… and his brothers were still sleeping.

- 8834MF77, hurry, we have more people planned. Said the dwarf while consulting a long parchment filled with scribbles. He pointed to the west end of the ship.

Marco tilted his head and was amazed: a small mansion was floating a few yards from the Moby Dick. A few lights made it possible to detect the foundations of the house which must have been three floors and barely three hundred square meters. At the entrance, an elderly woman was leaning against a table where Marco could see pumpkins for sale. No sail, oar, or flotation mechanism seemed to allow the mansion to move. Yet the house was proudly in the middle of the ocean and was moving slowly, without a sound.

The second dwarf put his foot on the ground to show his impatience. Marco refocused on him.

-The new world ... he mumbled to himself. That was the only explanation he could find for understanding all of these.

-Number 8834MF77, are you coming? Insisted the dwarf. The black cat on his shoulder was staring at Marco with his beautiful green eyes.

-No thank you… The pirate replied simply, not really sure of the answer to give.

The two dwarves shrugged their shoulders and walked back along the Moby Dick to the mansion. Marco came out of his room lightly, to make sure the two men got off the ship. For safety, he used his haki one last time throughout the Moby Dick. No other intruder was present.

The two men jumped over the ramp of the pirate ship and quickly landed on the mansion's terrace. One of them stole a small pumpkin from the old woman who had fallen asleep and the two rushed into the mansion. Immediately, Marco could see the mansion rotate on itself and move slowly. The strange building then passed in front of his eyes. Never, in so many years of piracy, had he seen such a thing. He moved closer to the edge to better see the "ship". The wood creaked in some places and a few rooms were lit, letting shadows be seen. Marco used his haki again: no signs of life emanated from the building. He was about to return to his room as the mansion began to pass the Moby Dick when his blood froze again. Beyond one of the windows, Marco recognized a shadow. He hesitated for a moment. It was not possible ... But yet he had seen it ... This shadow looked like his captain, who died just a few weeks ago in Marine Ford. He remained stoic for a few seconds and began to run down the halls of the Moby Dick in an attempt to reach the mansion, which was moving further and further away. As the "ship" began to face him back, he saw through a second window two other figures. His heart knotted; a wave of sadness washed over him. He easily recognized the bodies of his two deceased brothers: Ace and Thatch. Time seemed to freeze around him. He didn't even try to figure out how, why? He just saw the three most missed beings in the world in front of him, chatting as if the past few months were just bad memories. But still behind him was the grieving Moby Dick and his few brothers who survived the war.

Marco was not an impulsive man. He was thoughtful, mature, master of himself. But when the possibility of reuniting with his family presented itself in front of him, he didn't even hesitate for a second. Even if it means going into a trap, even if it means losing his life, these last minutes will have allowed him to feel alive again.

Blue flames swept over the deck of the Moby Dick, and the magnificent phoenix soared gracefully towards the mansion. With a few flaps of his wings, Marco found himself at the front door. The old woman woke up slowly when she felt the pirate but immediately fell asleep again next to her pumpkins. Marco knocked on the door. No answer. He could hear noises behind the door. He knocked a second time, and at the lack of response, he gently opened the door. He came face to face with a receptionist.

The room was tiny. Only a desk sat in the middle of the room. Behind him was a woman, in her fifties, scribbling on parchment. A huge chandelier swayed above the blond's head, to the rhythm of the sea. Through the window, Marco could see the Moby Dick slowly pulling away. He hold a sigh. He had sworn to protect this ship and its occupants, but the possibility of finding his father, Ace and Thatch had made him lose his mind.

He stood there in front of the receptionist for a few minutes, waiting for her to note his presence. Which she did after a few minutes.

-Number 8834MF77 is that right? She asked in her voice damaged by years of heavy drinking.

-I guess… Marco replied simply.

The woman sighed, grabbed a huge book from the counter, and hurried through the pages.

-Marco the phoenix. Captain of the Moby Dick. You were scheduled for five minutes before midnight, you are late... The woman muttered, looking at him over her glasses.

Marco turned to the huge owl-shaped clock stuck in the wall: five minutes before midnight.

-I'll need your social security number. She said, picking up a pen.

-My number of…? I don’t have one. Marco replied, scratching his head. But where had he fallen? Does this mansion belonged to the world government ?

-You have no social security at all? The woman repeated, clearly showing her impatience.

-No

-Well, little boy, that is very dangerous. You shouldn’t play with your health, you know.

-I'm a phoenix… I heal myself… Marco replied simply, completely surprised by the conversation.

-Yeah, you were less proud during MarineFord... The receptionist whispered as she drew a long line in front of number 8334MF77.

Marco waited a little longer. He was looking around for his brothers, but the hall only led to a room on the left and behind the receptionist were rails.

“Next stop, Vice-Admiral Monkey D Garp's ship, five minutes before midnight,” screamed the escargophone on the wall.

Marco turned around, surprised. By his calculations, the vice-admiral's ship was at least a three-hour drive from Moby Dick and was heading south. How could they have already arrived, when they had left less than ten minutes ago. And why was it still five minutes before midnight when it had been twenty minutes or more after five minutes before midnight?

-Well, you're not going to look like a plant, are you? We have other clients arriving. Hurry to get dressed in the storage room and take the train. We don't have all night. The woman vociferated as she left her desk.

A dwarf suddenly rushed past Marco. It wasn't one of the two he'd seen on the Moby Dick, but this one was at least as small and as big. He rushed into Marco's legs and took him by the waist to take him to the storage room. The pirate found himself thrown into the completely black room. He barely had time to feel the dwarf's hands all over his body when he felt a tissue around his right leg. A red scarf. A few seconds later, the dwarf guided him without delicacy towards the mini train. It was plain, black, but no conductor was visible. Marco sat in the front row of the locomotive, which started off just as hard. The blond was thrown against his seat and immediately filled with darkness as the train passed.

Within seconds, the train slipped out of the tunnel and tumbled into a tiny city. The buildings must have been barely twice Marco's size and were covered with red bricks. Tiny businesses lined up and a few dwarves, women this time, were walking on the streets with their children. Marco felt himself faint. Absolutely none of this situation was normal, logical. How could such a small mansion have an entire city? The train continued through the streets and headed at full speed towards a hill dotted with small hiking trails.

Marco was pulled out of his contemplation by a pat on the shoulder. Behind him was a child, red hair, barely three feet tall. She was smiling at him.

-Good night 8334MF77, who did you come to see? She asked gently.

Marco, still surprised, listed the names of his two brothers and his father.

-Oïïïï driver, stop at door 230B! She yelled at the back of the train. The machine took a sharp turn which pushed Marco against the window. When he saw again, the girl was gone.

Snow began to fall gently from the sky, which he couldn’t see the end. He was sure it wasn't the sky he was seeing from the Moby Dick, and this mansion was supposed to have a roof. The train stopped abruptly. Marco lost his balance again but remained seated. He heard a door slam at the back of the train and a figure, small and fat, ran towards him. Seconds later, the train conductor grabbed his shirt collar and pushed him out of the train. Marco fell heavily on the snow-covered lawn and saw the train leave at high speed. He stood up quickly and scanned the horizon. He was facing a wooden wall lined with numbered doors.

-230C right? He said to himself, trying to remember the little girl's words that had been partially covered by the sound of the train.

He made his way to gate 230C but was quickly stopped by a skeleton bursting from inside the wall.

-Keep off your shoes please, I just washed the floor. He said, his huge glasses pointed at Marco. The pirate didn't dare to ask him why a skeleton needed glass, he just dropped his shoes off at the entrance.

He opened the door and rushed into the room. It was bathed in a comforting golden light. He could see in the corner a young woman sitting on a red sofa, a book in her hands. She was so absorbed in reading that she didn't even notice the pirate's presence. Marco barely had time to examine the features of the woman's face - she was vaguely telling him something - when he heard the train stop again a few feet behind the door he had just passed. Seconds later, the door slammed open, letting someone rush into the room. It only took a few seconds for him to recognize Vice-Admiral Garp's massive body. The vice-admiral stared at him, surprised to see him, but said nothing. Marco realized he wasn’t supposed to be here and left the room, letting the Marine fal into the woman's arms.

He gently closed the door behind him and walked back to the skeleton grumbling at Garp who hadn't taken his shoes off before entering.

- Hurry up, chicken, it's 230B not 230C, it will soon be midnight. The skeleton vociferated while washing the floor.

Marco did so immediately and walked without knocking into room 230B.

He was first blinded by the light. It took him several seconds before he could open his eyes. His heart seemed to come out of his chest.

-Oï? he said in a barely perceptible voice.

The other three men in the room turned to him. They all stared at each other for a few seconds, before the dark-haired man rushed over the blond and hugged him as strong as he could. Tears rolled down Marco's cheeks as he felt the softness of Ace's hair tickling his skin, when he felt his peculiar scent, when he heard his brother laugh in his ear. Ace finally released him and Marco could see his father at the end of the room, sitting at the table, Thatch at his side cutting a turkey with surgical precision. They both gave a warm smile to Marco, completely confused, who joined them directly at the table. He sat down, felt father's hand place a napkin next to the plate Thatch was rushing to fill. Marco couldn't speak anymore, he just admired them. Never in his life had he seen a more beautiful scene. Ace sat down next to Marco, a huge smile on his face before he was took over by a narcolepsy attack and collapsed head first in his plate. Thatch grumbled when he caught turkey splashes in the face but handed his plate to Marco.

- Enjoy it! Said the cook before sitting down and drink his glass of wine.

Marco was about to ask his father the why and how of this surreal situation when the huge owl-shaped clock hanging on the wall rang with a loud melody sweeping through the room. The three awakened men looked at the clock: it was exactly midnight. Edward Newgate turned to the blond and in an almost imperceptible whisper told him, "I love you my son. "

Marco didn’t have the time to answer as the escargophone hanging on the wall screamed again:

“Midnight, midnight, get ready for the fall! ".

Marco's heart raced, something was wrong. All his senses were awake and he look out the window. He then saw, a few meters in front of the manor, an enormous waterfall and the manor which was heading straight for it at high speed. Barely a minute later, Marco couldn’t felt the ground under his feet: the mansion began to fall, carried along by the speed of the waterfall. He was the only one in the room to panic: Ace still slept like a child, Whitebeard continued to eat his turkey and Thatch put his glass of wine back on the table, as Marco was thrown against the wall, dragged down by the fall of the mansion. He turned to Thatch, whom he thought he heard talking. "Don't be in too much in a hurry to join us, pineapple, everything happen at the right time..." Marco could not have said if it was a hallucination or if his brother had actually spoken to him. A second later, Marco closed his eyes, ready to take the shock of the fall.

He jumped up, sweat dripping from his forehead. Reflexively, he tried to swallow deep breaths of air, as if he were battling drowning. He recovered quickly when he realized that he was not at the bottom of the ocean but in his bed, in the cabin of the Moby Dick. He wiped his face and noticed that someone was knocking on the door. He preferred to use his haki and recognized his brother Vista. He sighed. He tried to reassure himself by telling himself that it had all been a bad dream, even though it had seemed very realistic to him. He hurried to get rid of his soaked blankets and quickly got up to open the door to his brother. When he walked over to the door and opened it automatically, he froze, his hands shaking. His gaze scanned his right leg: the red scarf was still around his leg.

End.

#one piece #one piece halloween #one piece scenarios #marco phoenix #Marco the Phoenix #Marco the pineapple #Portgas D. Ace #portgas d ace #thatch #one piece thatch #edward newgate #Whitebeard pirates #Whitebeard #Monkey D. Garp #monkey d garp

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out-of-jams · 5 years ago

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A Dance of Fire and Wind || (05) || jjk

↠ A Dance of Fire and Wind ↞ One year ago you were banished from the Fire Nation, branded a traitor and a coward by the scar on your face. The only way to win back both your throne and the respect of your father was to capture the Avatar, master of all four elements.

You’d be damned if you failed.

Warnings/Genre: Avatar the Last Airbender!au. Female Prince Zuko!Reader. Avatar!Jungkook. Fluff. Angst. Explicit language. Smut. Light violence. Waterbender!Jimin. Sokka!Taehyung. Nonlinear drabble series.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/n: These will not be posted in order, so you do not need to read them that way! However, they will each be numbered, so if you do want to read them in sequential order, you can!

All of my works are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission.

| Series Masterlist |

05: The Chase

“Catch me if you can!”

A grunt of annoyance left your lips, but that was the only response you gave to the obvious taunting. Not like the brat ahead of you would have been able to hear it anyway. The armor you wore was heavy, weighing you down as you ran through the dirt path streets of whatever small Earth Kingdom village you’d docked at an hour ago.

“Out of my way!” You bit out through clenched teeth. The older man who’d just been standing in your path met the side of the road with a thud with a harsh shove. But you didn’t care. Didn’t bother to pay any mind to the barely concealed disgruntled shout. Especially when whatever he’d been about to say died down in his throat the second he got a good glance at the color of your uniform.

The day had started out just like any other. You’d woken up at sunrise and did your morning exercises and meditation. It’d been right in the middle of said meditation when the door leading to the empty deck of your ship cracked open. Normally, the soldiers under your command knew better than to interrupt you and you knew for a fact that your uncle was still asleep.

When the presence had refused to disappear, a frown pulled at your lips and you snapped your eyes open in irritation. You ignored the flash of dull pain that licked at the harshly scarred, burned skin on the left side of your face, surrounding your eye and reaching all the way back your ear. One year later and the pain had still yet to cease. Not even the cool breeze drifting from the ocean was enough to cool the fire that itched beneath your skin. The heat that fluctuated with the rise of your temper.

“What?” You’d snapped, relaxing out of your meditative posture.

The soldier, whose shadow fell over your seated position, shifted. Whether in nervousness or caution, you frankly didn’t give a shit. You were known for many things, but your patience wasn’t one of them. His eyes dropped to the metal deck of the ship and the armored helmet over his head bobbed with the movement.

“I apologize for the interruption, Princess Y/n. But the ship is in need of restocking.”

A puff of breath, warmer than usual due to displeasure, passed your lips. “Then inform the captain that we’ll be stopping at the next port.”

“Right away, Princess.” He--you never bothered to learn the names of the peasant soldiers so far beneath you--bowed his head once again before making himself scarce.

Luck. That’s what your uncle would have called it when you’d happened to glance up in the middle of the village market just in time to recognize a familiar face. Your hand had been outstretched to place a few gold pieces into the palm of the tea vendor (your uncle had picked out an obnoxiously expensive tea set claiming that his last one had been damaged during a pirate raid two weeks ago) when you’d spotted him.

His bright yellow and orange outfit would have been a dead giveaway even if you hadn’t already noticed him standing there, frozen. Big brown eyes were wide with shock and you took a moment to acknowledge the fact that his two little lackeys weren’t by his side for once. Not that it mattered, you could’ve taken on all three of them in a fight easily.

One month. It’d been one month since you’d first laid your sights on the boy, the Avatar. Which marked one year and one month since your banishment from the Fire Nation. You’d never known what exactly to expect him to look like when you’d first begun your journey to hunt him down. But it sure as hell wasn’t a boy who looked barely even a year younger than you. Barely even eighteen. He was supposed to be the master of all four elements: Earth, Fire, Water, Air, and over a hundred years old. Not a teenage boy.

You’d managed to capture him once during that first month, when he’d voluntarily given himself up in exchange for the promised safety of the village he’d been taking refuge in. But the bastard was surprisingly and irritatingly slippery. From the moment he’d first escaped your ship and therefore your capture, the chase had been on.

So seeing him in that moment, across the market square, you didn’t even hesitate before shoving the gold pieces into the hand of the vendor. Your uncle, who’d been patiently awaiting his new wrapped tea set, had let out a sound of surprise when you bolted. The Avatar’s panicked squeak was audible even over the small crowd. You’d barely even cleared half of the distance between you before he turned tail and ran.

Whatever alarm the Avatar had been feeling seemed to have vanished and now he turned to childishly stick his tongue out at you from over his shoulder. His brunette hair, that clashed horribly with his outfit, fluttered around his head playfully. “Too slow! What do they feed you Fire Benders? Lazy cakes?”

A growl rumbled in your throat at the blatant taunt and you clenched your fist. It was anger that drew the fire from your stomach and down your arm. Fury that caused the air around you to simmer in warning right before you ignited it and sent a ball of fire flying straight at the annoying little shit.

The Avatar just let out a laugh, hopping into the air far higher than any normal person could achieve. He’d just barely managed to avoid the flames, but the vegetable cart that stood in the way wasn’t so lucky.

“My cabbages!” A male voice screeched as you sprinted by, but you didn’t care to spare a glance.

“Oops. Sorry!” The Avatar called back casually, like he wasn’t in the middle of a chase. Like you were some kind of game that he’d just so happened to fall into. Like you were some kind of fucking joke.

“Get back here!” You shouted, sending another volley of fireballs that the Avatar just managed to dodge. Around you, peasant villagers fled from the scene, terrified at the sight of fighting.

“Uh,” the Avatar twisted out of the way of a stream of fire, sliding off the wooden staff hooked over his back to throw a gush of powerful air to clash with your next assault. “No thanks.”

His muscular back flexed with the effort it took to hold you off, biceps bulging with the power of his swings. Spotting the large, inhumanly sized flying bison that the boy kept as a pet and used as transportation up ahead resting on one of the rooftops, you gritted your teeth. Two familiar heads poking up from over the leather saddle, both dark heads of hair, urged you to move that much faster. If the Avatar managed to reach them, he’d more than likely escape before you could capture him.

One of his weak companions noticed you and his jaw dropped open, eyes widening at the same time. His blue Water Tribe--wasn’t it a little too warm to be wearing something so fluffy and padded?--stood out amongst the dull brown buildings. “Jungkook, hurry! She’s right behind you!”

“Obviously.” The other, his voice much deeper and less fitting to his appearance, grunted. He was thin, but not as petite as the other and climbed his way to the front of the saddle, picking up the long reins tied to either end of the animal’s horns with his hands. “Appa, yip-yip!”

With a crack! the reins snapped and the gargantuan beast let out an answering howl that had you leaping upwards to kick a stream of flame, right into the Avatar’s path the moment he took to the air. At the last minute, with another swing of his staff, he sent your own fire careening back towards you. You barely even had to flick your wrist to disperse it, but it was already too late.

The Avatar flew through the air, hair whipping around his head and wind tearing at his clothes, to land safely inside the bison’s saddle. Out of your range, you had no other choice but to skid to a stop right in the middle of the steadily emptying street. You craned your head back just in time to see the Avatar lean over the side of the saddle. A blindingly white grin stretched his cheeks, doe eyes scrunching as he waved a hand.

“Nice try, but better luck next time!”

Your hands clenched into infuriated fists at your side.

Next time he wouldn’t be getting away.

#bts #jungkook #jungkook fic #bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsbookclub #magicshopnet #jimin #taehyung

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carlycchapman24 · 4 years ago

Text

The Adventures of Celine Markus-Chapter 3

The following morning, they all get up, step outside their tents, and see Jolien still wide awake outside, “Not a thing happened,” she answered before anyone could say anything. “I suppose we’ll go our separate ways then,” Sidqiel says, beginning to pack up his and Arlech’s tent. “I suppose so, may the Gods and Mother Nature herself keep you all safe, I have some things to do,” Jolien said, standing up and dusting her cloak and dress off. “You can’t come with us to Tortoise Landing?” Celine says sheepishly. Jolien laughs, “No, this is a test to get into a Guild. Having someone like me be there would be cheating, especially according to Mistress Bula, who I dare say would likely disqualify you and kick out her favorite member,” she glances over at Sidqiel who has a look of shock on his face when she mentions him. “Now, I must be off, could day to you all,” she says and turns towards where the four came from, leaving them behind as Daxina picks up her and Celine’s tent. “Well, off we go then,” Sidqiel says and they all make their way down the road. “So, Elf lady,” Arlech says, “are you going to tell us your name or-?” Daxina sighed in annoyance, not wanting to tell the Wizard Girl or the Tiefling her name, but she was tired of them calling her ‘Elf’ or ‘Blondie,’ “It’s Daxina Amakiir, I’m a Pirate and I like fights, are you happy now?” “Yes,” Arlech answered. “What are your names then? It’s only fair that I get to ask too.” “Arlech,” the Tiefling said. “And you?” She asks the redhead, who seemed to not be paying attention. Daxina waved her hand in front of Celine’s face and said, “Uh, hello, Wizard Girl, are you there?” Celine shook out of it and said, “Huh, what?” Daxina sighed, “I said, what’s your name, since we’re all stuck together?” Before Celine could ask the blonde what her name was, Arlech whispered, “Her name is Daxina, she just told me.” Celine cleared her throat, “Uh, Celine, sorry to not pay attention, just, there’s a lot to think about after what’s happened in the few days I’ve been here.” “So you really aren’t from here?” Daxina said, genuinely surprised. “Obviously, did you not see my reaction to that giant fucking cat?!” Celine answered. Before Daxina could be snarky back at her, Sidqiel spoke up and said, “Tabaxi, they’re called Tabaxi, and they find it offensive to call them giant cats, even if that’s exactly what they are.” “So Tieflings, Gnolls, Elves, weird Dragon looking things, Tabaxi, Halflings, Gnomes, Devils, according to something Arlech told me when he was drunk, Demons for the same reason, drunk Arlech told me, but what else is in this ridiculous world?” Celine said, frustrated at having to remember all of these new things. “Much more than that, I can tell you that much. A lot of which I hope you’ll never have to run into. There are some nasty things in this world, and many would scare the living daylights out of you.” Sidqiel answered. “Okay, okay, I get it, you don’t want me to go looking for anything too dangerous,” Celine said, both aggravated and slightly freaked out. “Not until you’re strong enough, no.” The man answered and they continued.

After what seemed like ages, they arrived at Tortoise Landing, only to be greeted by the sound of bagpipes and people rushing out, getting ready to fight, “No, no, please, we’re here to help with your Gnoll problem!” Arlech says. No one believes him and the villagers prepare to defend themselves with what little they have. “No, please, he speaks the truth,” Sidqiel shouts and lets his glowing bronze wings out and both of his eyes glow a bronze color. Out of the crowd steps a, what looks like to Celine, a giant turtle. “I’m sorry, but what the hell is that?” Celine whispers but is told to hush by Arlech. The giant turtle says, “I am Koryver, the Chief of Tortoise Landing. If what you say is true and you’ve come to deal with our Gnoll problem, let us have a feast and discuss more of my job for you.” “Of course, we would be honored to join you for dinner,” Sidqiel says, putting away his wings bowing to the Chief, the other three follow his lead and bow to the Chief as well. When they stood back up the Chief said, “Come along” and they all went after him. After they set up the feast, with the members of the group sitting on either side of the Chief, Arlech and Celine to his left and Daxina and Sidqiel to his right, the Chief stands up and says, “Tonight, we welcome these four brave souls who are willing to rid us of the Gnoll problem we’ve had for the last few weeks. May the Gods smile upon them as they take on these dangerous foes who have done nothing but wreak havoc on our land and our people. Vu uas tewoust!” The villagers repeat “Vu uas tewoust!” The quartet looks on in confusion and after the Chief sits back down, he says, “It means ‘to our saviors’ in Aquan, my language. Now to the business at hand, there are usually three or four Gnolls that attack our village per night. We do not know if they are the same ones each time or different ones, but regardless, I want them dead and I want them to stop torturing my people. Gnolls are cowards, so if they see us fighting back, they’ll run away. If they see that none of their scouting party has returned, they will run. I want you all stationed at the front entrance, Gnolls are not smart creatures and will attack the same place every time, and they’ve been coming through the front entrance each time. Are you willing to take on this task?” All four nod and the giant turtle actually smiles, Celine notices, which is a little off-putting. “Good,” the Chief says, “now let us enjoy this feast and hopefully you’ll be victorious come the morning.”

They finish eating their meal and make their way to where they entered about three hours ago, keeping an eye out on the path ahead. Within minutes, Arlech and Daxina see three Gnolls making their way up the path and they point them out to Sidqiel and Celine. “How far away do you think the first one is?” Celine whispered. “A good one hundred feet, why?” Arlech answered and in an instant, Celine shot off a Fire Bolt, and it impacted the first Gnoll in the line, scorching it alive. All three Gnolls immediately run as fast as they can towards the source of what attacked them. “Good work Celine!” whispers Arlech. The first Gnoll, the one Celine hit, kept on running forward, Daxina also shot off a Fire Bolt towards the first Gnoll, just barely hitting it as well. Seeing what the other two were doing, but not being able to do much, he waited for them to get closer. The Gnoll furthest away just kept running forward, as did the middle one. Arlech looked between the two women, not being able to do much, so he prepared himself and waited until the Gnolls got closer. Celine shot off her Magic Missile and aimed it at the closest Gnoll with direction from Arlech, two out of the three went wide and the third one made impact, causing a little damage, but not enough to her liking. The first Gnoll kept running forward, trying to find its target. Daxina grinned and shot a Fire Bolt at the Gnoll getting closer, but missed, getting too cocky. Celine chuckled at Daxina’s misfortune and Sidqiel rolled his eyes and cast his Spiritual Weapon, which manifested as a Morningstar again, and placed it right next to the first Gnoll, then tried to hit it, but missed. The third Gnoll was keeping pace with the first two. The second Gnoll was right behind the first one. Finally able to do something, Arlech yelled, “You’re worthless, you’ll never amount to anything!” to the first Gnoll, casting Vicious Mockery and it instantly kills the first Gnoll. “You just insulted it to death.” Celine said in amazement. “Yes, yes I did,” he answered her with a wink. Celine rolled her eyes and shot a Fire Bolt at the second Gnoll, now that the first one was dead, hitting it with ease. Daxina pulled out her pistol and fired a shot at the second Gnoll since the first one was dead, and it hit easily. It was looking pretty ragged now. Sidqiel grinned and tried hitting the Gnoll again, it impacted and knocked the Gnoll down. The third, now second, Gnoll shot an arrow at Sidqiel, but missed and the arrow bounced off of a rock and fell on the ground. The second, now first, Gnoll tried hitting Sidqiel with an arrow as well but also missed. Both Gnolls growled at their attackers and Arlech used Thunderwave, hitting everyone. Killing one Gnoll, damaging the other, and accidentally hitting Celine, Sidqiel, and Daxina, apologizing in the process. Celine said, “Yeah, yeah, whatever, let’s kill this last one quick,” and threw a Fire Bolt at the last Gnoll, but just barely missed. Daxina laughed and shot a Fire Bolt herself at the last Gnoll, hitting it, it now started slowing down and was scorched and bleeding. Sidqiel threw a spell none of the recognized at the Gnoll, it was a gray-ish color, but it, unfortunately, missed the Gnoll, “Gods dammit.” The last Gnoll finally reached the quartet and bit at Sidqiel, but its teeth met Scale Mail, earning a chuckle from Sidqiel. Arlech shouted an insult at the last Gnoll, “You are a disgusting creature and no one will love you,” and cast Vicious Mockery, but the Gnoll seemingly wasn’t affected. “Oh move over,” Celine said, backing up a bit, so she was fifteen feet away from the Gnoll, and she casts a new spell of her’s called Burning Hands and a cone of flame came out of her hands, hitting the Gnoll who now looked like it could collapse any second. The others stared in shock, but Daxina shook it off and pulled her Great Sword out of its sheath and sliced at the Gnoll twice, the first slice missed, but the second one impacted it and killed it instantly. Celine collapsed on the ground and sighed in relief, “Holy fuck, thank whatever deities

this place has that we won.” A few moments passed and then Arlech asked, “Does anyone need to be patched up?” Celine, Daxina, and Sidqiel all raised their hands, “So everyone but me, all right then,” the Tiefling said. “I can heal myself, you can take the ladies.” Sidqiel answered, touching his shoulder and casting a spell that Celine didn’t recognize, all she did know is that it had a bright, white, light from her perspective. Arlech walked over and asked Daxina, “May I?” Daxina sighed, “Yeah, go ahead,” and let him touch her shoulder, a bright, white light like what Sidqiel’s spell looked like came out of Arlech’s hand and any bruises from his Thunderwave spell disappeared as if they had never been there at all. This surprised Celine and she blinked and shook her head, as if it was the darkness playing tricks on her. The next thing she knew, Arlech knelt next to her, holding a hand out, “Well?” Celine hesitantly stuck her hand out and Arlech took it and held it for a second, his skin feeling weirdly like warm coals, she noticed, and just as with Daxina, the bright, white light came out of his hand and her bruises from his Thunderwave disappeared before her eyes. “What the hell?” She said, not realizing how quietly she said it. “Well,” Daxina said, “let’s get a pelt off of one of these guys, that was the thing, right?” “Indeed,” Sidqiel answered, “Who wants to do it?” Arlech got up, stretched, and said, “I’ll do it.” “Do you have a knife?” Sidqiel asked. “No, but I have a dagger.” Arlech answered. “That should do it, have at it.” Arlech went down the path to the very first Gnoll they killed and skinned it with ease, taking the pelt off with precision that surprised everyone. “Celine,” he said, getting back up, “put this in your Bag of Holding and we’ll take it back to the Guild,” and gave it to her. “Gross,” Celine said, but did what she was told. Then, they finally went back into the village and were met by the Chief, “Did you kill them?” “The ones that tried to get to the village anyway,” Celine said, pulling out the Gnoll pelt with a disgusted look on her face. “Oh good, here, one hundred gold to split amongst yourselves,” the Chief said, handing them a large bag of gold, “and you’re free to stay for the night in one of the empty houses from the previous attacks. Maybe you could suggest this village to people on your travels so we can become more than just a small village.” “Thank you, sir,” Sidqiel said, taking the bag of gold. They made their way to one of the abandoned homes, split the gold amongst themselves, and went to bed.

The following morning, the quartet said their goodbyes and headed back to Crisherton. “So, how did you all enjoy your first contract, besides, of course, those damn bandits on the way?” Sidqiel asked. “It went better than I expected at least,” Celine said, stretching to wake herself up more. “Your idea to start attacking from a distance was a great one,” Sidqiel answered with an amused tone in his voice. “Yeah, well, after attacking those bandits or whatever they were head-on, I figured it would at least be something to try,” Celine said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Well, it was a smart choice,” Arlech said with a grin. “Well, thanks, guys,” Celine said awkwardly, not really sure how to accept the praise she was receiving. The two days to get back to Crisherton passed surprisingly quickly and Celine could only hope that the pelt didn’t decompose and get all gross inside her bag. When they got back into the Solarstriders’ building, they were greeted by Mistress Bula, “So you’re alive then? That’s amazing, considering you lot couldn’t take on a simple group of bandits that you ran into on the road,” she said and before any of the four could say anything she added, “Oh yes, I heard all about that, the whole town has. Jolien told us herself that she had to heal all of you up and bring Miss Red Head over here back to life completely, as she had been killed, not just knocked out cold. Here’s some advice, and I’d expect more from you as well Sidqiel if you cannot take on an enemy, run if you can. This world has no place for cowards, but nor does it have a place for martyrs. Now hand over that pelt and I’ll induct the three of you into the Solarstriders and forgive the damage from the Elf girl.” Celine sat her Bag of Holding on the desk and pulled out the Gnoll pelt, which to her surprise, didn’t decompose in her bag, and handed it over to the Mistress. Mistress Bula observed it and said, “Interesting, I’ll send this to the leatherworker in town so they can prepare to send it to the tailor for clothing. Now, come along, we need to mark you to induct you into the Guild.” “Uh, what do you mean, ‘mark us?’” Celine asked, which she regretted when she heard the answer. “Well you can’t expect to join any Guild without a branding of some sort, now can you?” Mistress Bula said. “Wait, branding, as in burning us? No. No, no. No, I refuse, I’m not going to get some symbol burned into my fucking skin!” Celine exclaimed and her wrist was grabbed roughly by the Mistress who said, “You will or you’ll be arrested and tried for trespassing in my building and for doing a trial and then leaving. Got it, Princess?” Celine tears her wrist out of Mistress Bula’s hand and massages it to get rid of the pain of the woman’s grip, “I’m not a princess,” she says with venom in her voice. “Then stop acting like one, you may not be from around here, that’s clear enough, but you’ll follow our customs and rules if you plan to stay. Now, as I said, come along.”

The trio is led down a flight of stairs and taken into the first door on the right at the bottom. They stepped in and saw a large furnace with fire blazing, a chair nearby the furnace that looked like a torture device, and a very tall woman, who looked like she was carved out of a mountain, was banging away at a weapon of some sort, “Niria, dear,” Mistress Bula said and for the first time since she met her, Celine noticed the woman had a look of admiration and love in her eyes, ‘Is this her wife or something?’ Celine thought. The giant woman turned around and said, “Ah, Umog, my love, what have we here? Some new recruits?” “Umog?” Celine whispered. “Her first name I assume,” Arlech answers back, just as quietly. “Yes indeed, they need to be branded, could you take the time to mark these three?” Mistress Bula asks. “Of course, but you’ll need to make it worth it since you interrupted me making more weapons for the Guild,” the giant woman said suggestively. All three rolled their eyes as Mistress Bula continued in the same suggestive tone, “You know I will.” The giant woman went over and kissed Mistress Bula on the cheek and said, “Well, then I’ll see you later tonight. Head back on upstairs, I’ll take care of them.” “I’m sure you will,” Mistress Bula said with a smile and left the trio downstairs. When the Mistress was out of sight, the giant woman’s demeanor changed, “Alright you lot, clearly you got far enough to be able to get inducted, so you better be able to handle yourself when I do this. If not, well, I don’t know how you got this far. Now, who’s first?” “I’ll do it,” Daxina said. “Then get in that chair over there,” Niria said, pointing at what Celine had thought looked like a torture device when they walked in. Her fears were confirmed when Niria tied down Daxina’s arms with some type of leather and rolled her sleeve up to her shoulder. “Uh, what’s this for?” Daxina asked. “Well, some squirm when I do this because it’s quite literally hot metal being placed against your skin to mark you.” Daxina went paler than usual and said, “Oh, I guess that makes sense.” “Now, let’s begin.” Niria said and pulled out a brand with a symbol that looked like a sun with a sword surrounded by fire in the middle of it, and above the point of the sword it read ‘Solar’ and it read ‘Striders’ beneath the hilt and pommel. Niria heated the metal until it was bright orange, “Now, take a deep breath,” she said and pressed the heated metal against Daxina’s shoulder with enough pressure to leave a permanent scar. Daxina gritted her teeth and passed out from the pain, which made Celine even more nervous, if Daxina passed out from the pain, she might just die. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Niria said and unhooked Daxina after she was done and sat her in the corner. “Who’s next?” the woman asked, holding the brand up. “I’ll do it.” Comes Arlech’s voice, sounding cocky. “Ah,” Niria said, looking up and down Arlech’s form, “Devil spawn, are we? This should be no problem for someone of your heritage. I may not even tie your arms down.” “A pity,” Arlech said, “I was quite looking forward to that,” and winked. “You’re quite charming, but as you saw, I’m a taken woman. Now, sit down.” She said with a laugh. Celine was dumbfounded, Arlech’s flirting almost worked, and the only reason it hadn’t was because Niria was with Mistress Bula. She took a minute to process this as Niria heated up the brand again and pressed it against Arlech’s shoulder with the same amount of pressure as she did with Daxina, if not more. Arlech sucked in air as the pain hit his skin, but stayed conscious, after it was imprinted, he got up as if he felt nothing at all and went over to Celine, “See, nothing to it. Go on,” he said gently. “Come over here, girl,” Niria said, not unkindly. Nervous, Celine hesitantly walked over to the very large woman and the chair, her legs felt like lead and it seemed like it took hours to get over to them. She sat down and let her arms rest on the arms of the chair and Niria tied Celine’s arms to the chair, noticing how worried the young woman was. “Take a

deep breath,” came the woman’s voice, but it seemed slow and distorted to her. The second the hot brand hit her shoulder, Celine screamed out in pain and agony and the next thing she knew, she saw blackness and felt nothing. The next thing she knew, she woke up lying on the ground with Arlech and Niria standing over her with very worried faces and when she sat up, she saw Daxina looking at her nails with a look of disdain on her face, which Celine assumed was directed towards her. “You really are weak,” Daxina said, not looking Celine in the face. “Fuck off.” Celine said as she leaned against the wall. “Are you all right?” Niria asked before the two young women started fighting, “I think I’m okay now, I’m sorry if my reaction ruined the branding so you couldn’t do it.” Celine said with a monotone voice. “No, no, don’t worry about it. That’s the usual reaction, albeit a bit more extreme.” Celine looked embarrassed as Arlech made his way over to her “Here, let me help you,” he said, kneeling next to Celine, “I already fixed up Daxina,” then he held out his hand. Celine rolled her eyes and held out her arm, he took her hand and cast Cure Wounds on her, “There you go, all healed up.” Celine immediately glanced at her shoulder, and the brand was still there, which she didn’t know if she should be relieved or disappointed about. Then it dawned on her, she had no idea how long they had been down here, she reached in her Bag of Holding to try and pull out her phone when Arlech smacked her hand lightly as if to say, “Not here.” Not wanting to potentially fight Niria for whatever reason, she sighed and took her hand out of her bag and closed it back up, deciding instead to ask, “How long have I been out?” “A few hours perhaps, why?” Niria said. “Well, I’m pretty tired after that, but if it’s not dark outside then I don’t want to go to bed.” Celine reasoned. “Well, then you all should make your way back up the stairs. Welcome to the Solarstriders.” “Thank you.” Celine said and got up, then the three of them headed back up to the main room.

“I cannot believe you flirted with her and it almost worked,” Celine said to Arlech when they were out of earshot. Which made Arlech laugh, “I told you it works in the right scenario, but you didn’t believe me.” “Wait, he did what?!” Daxina said in disgust. “You two are quick to judge, it meant nothing. Obviously, she’s with Mistress Bula, it was simply in hopes of having her be gentler with the brand.” Arlech said, rolling his eyes. “Do you ever mean it when you flirt with people or is it all just a game to you?” Celine asked with an annoyed tone at the Tiefling, disgusted at his attitude with such things. Arlech looked genuinely hurt at the accusation for a second and said, “Well, it depends on the person I suppose.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Daxina asked, now honed in on the conversation. “Well, when it comes to store clerks or others of the sort, it’s merely just to get what I want, like information for example. If it’s someone I’m genuinely interested in, I mean every word.” Both women were still unsure but went with it and Celine asked, “And how does someone know the difference? The person on the receiving end that is? You’ve tried flirting with me multiple times and I haven’t fallen for it, because to me it certainly just seems like some bullshit a lot of men in my world do just to get in a woman’s pants. I call them fuck boys, as do many other people.” Arlech was taken aback and Daxina covered her mouth, snickering. “Mind explaining that term to me?” Arlech said, raising an eyebrow. “A fuck boy,” Celine said, starting to step closer to Arlech, “is a young man or as I say, a boy,” she stepped closer, “who thinks they’re hot shit,” even closer, “and who thinks they’re sexy,” closer still, “and will flirt with multiple women at a time,” she got even closer until she was as close to Arlech’s face as she could be with the slight height difference, “and don’t know how to take no for an answer, and the only thing on their mind is sex. They don’t want actual relationships, they just want a fuck buddy or friends with benefits and will keep on asking even after one of the many women he’s flirted with has said no.” Celine looked Arlech up and down, the tension in the air was so thick that it could be cut with a knife. Arlech stood his ground and said, “Well, they sound like terrible people,” also looking Celine up and down. Daxina looked on, half expecting the two of them to kiss, and cleared her throat, “I don’t know if you’re going to kiss or kill each other, but maybe we can do it outside of the Guild?” Just then, both Arlech and Celine looked around and saw Sidqiel, Mistress Bula, and a few random members of the Solarstriders that none of them recognized, staring at them with their jaws on the ground. Celine stepped back first, “I think I’ve made my point,” she said, glancing over to the Tiefling. “I don’t know if you have, maybe you could explain it further later on,” Arlech answered with a wink. “Maybe I will, but not in a room alone with you, I’m not that stupid.” She replied haughtily and stormed out, finally letting herself flush red at his flirting, which she thought was odd, it had never worked on her before, why now?

Not long after, Daxina and Arlech join her outside and immediately Daxina shouts, “I’m sorry, but what in the Nine Hells was that?! I have never, in the short period that I’ve known you two, seen you go at each other like that. Care to explain?” “I’d ask Celine that if I were you, she’s never snapped at me like that before. She’s been sarcastic, but never gotten in my face like that, it was kind of sexy.” Arlech answered with a grin. “You’re gross,” Celine said a few feet ahead of the two. “You’re attracted to me,” Arlech shot back. “No I’m not,” Celine answered, getting furious now. “Then why did you get in my face like that?” The Tiefling shouted back. Just then, Celine turned around sharply and shouted angrily, “Because I’m tired of your bullshit!” and passers-by in the streets turned to stare at the two. “Just admit you find me attractive and we can settle this,” Arlech said, smiling. “You’re delusional,” Celine answered and made her way to The Clydesdale Inn. “I’m not convinced,” Arlech said to Daxina, who was walking next to him. “I’m not either,” she said, watching Celine walk off. A moment later, a light bulb went off in Daxina’s head and she suggested, “I have an idea, either before or after the next time we fight something, you kiss her and see what happens?” “It seems a bit rude to kiss her without asking, don’t you think? I’ll shamelessly flirt with someone, especially her, no big deal, but unless they permit me to do anything more than that, I don’t go further than a flirt,” Arlech reasoned. “So you do have feelings for her then or at least are genuinely interested in her,” Daxina said. “Well, yes. Ever since I first met her I thought she was cute and rather interesting. What are you supposed to feel when someone claims they’re from a different world? You’re instantly interested and drawn to them in some way, correct?” The Tiefling answered as if it was the most logical thing in the world, “You want to know more, you want to see how they tick, how they react, yes?” Daxina thought on this for a moment and said, “Yes, I could see how that would make you interested or attracted to someone, and while I respect the fact that you want to ask permission before going any further than flirting, I don’t find it very likely that she’d give you permission to kiss her or do anything of the sort with her adamant claim that she’s not attracted to you in any way, shape, or form.” “I understand your point, but it just feels wrong to not ask first.” Arlech insisted. “Fine,” the Elven woman started, “but if you change your mind or feel like you aren’t getting anywhere with her, take my idea into account.” The red Tiefling sighed in a defeated way, “I will.” When they got back to The Clydesdale Inn, Arlech took a seat at the bar and tapped on it to get Mr. Longfoot’s attention, the Halfling turned and went towards Arlech, “Hello Arlech, how are you doing today? What can I get you?” “Nothing today Mr Longfoot, I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be performing tonight. I don’t feel well and I have a lot to think about.” Arlech answered. “Well,” started the Halfling, “it’s a shame you won’t be performing, but if you feel you need time to yourself, I have no problems with that.” “Thank you, sir, I appreciate that. I think I’ll go two doors down to Madam Fibavam’s Bathhouse whilst I think.” Arlech answered, and walked out. Not long after, Celine came down from her room and started walking out, only to be stopped by Mr Longfoot, who asked, “Are you going two doors down as well?” “To the bathhouse? Yeah, I feel like shit after getting branded by the Solarstriders today, why?” Celine asked. “Arlech just went over there too,” he said and Celine froze in fear, thinking Arlech would see her naked, but then she remembered there was a fence between the two sides of the bathhouse and relaxed a little. However, she second-guessed herself and asked Mr Longfoot, “There are two sides blocked by a fence, right? A men’s and a women’s side?” “I believe so,” the Halfling answered, “but I’d ask Madam Fibavam to make sure.” This made Celine

nervous, but she went over to the bathhouse anyway.

As she stepped in, Madam Fibavam was at the desk and she looked up from her book in surprise, “Two people in one night? That’s a new record I think. How are you doing Celine?” “Fine, hey I have a question,” Celine responds. “What is it dear?” The Gnome asks, sitting up more. “Uh, are the baths separated by gender or only the changing rooms?” Celine asks and the Gnome laughs, “Yes, the baths are separated by gender as well, with a tall wooden fence, don’t you remember that from when you were here a few nights ago?” “I didn’t really pay attention, so I suppose not.” Celine answered. “Well, they are, are you wanting to be here for a while too?” Madan Fibavam says with a warm smile. “Yes, two silver, right?” Celine asks and the woman nods. Celine hands over the two pieces of silver and goes into the same changing room as last time and puts her stuff in the same closet. Then she tries to stealthily step into the hot spring so Arlech doesn’t hear her, but unfortunately, Arlech hears her step in the water through the fence. He jumps up, startled, and says, “Hello?” Celine clasps her hand over her mouth and tries to make her breathing slow and silent and succeeds, and her second step was far more silent than the first one. “Hello?” Comes Arlech’s voice again and a shift in the water as if he were turning around to look through the fence to see if anyone was on the opposite side, but nothing. Celine heard him shift again, assuming he was turning his back to the fence again. Celine sighs in relief as quietly as possible and leans against the fence herself. Just then, she hears Arlech talk to himself and clearly hears, “How do you even tell someone how you feel about them? I could just go ahead and say it to her face, but what if she thinks it’s just another attempt at flirting? I could try Daxina’s idea, but she might smack me across the face. Gods, this is difficult.” Celine tilts her head, was he talking about her? She couldn’t tell, all she could understand was that he was clearly stressed out about whatever and whoever he was talking about. She thought back on all of the times he flirted with her from her understanding of what she knew to be ‘flirting’ in her world. The suggestive comments, him calling her cute while he was drunk, him holding her hand when he healed her instead of placing his hand on her arm or shoulder, did he really mean those things or was he just trying to get in her pants? Because what she knew from her world, men, or boys even, would only act that way towards women with one thing, and one thing only on their minds. Then she thought about how his earlier attempts didn’t work on her, yet this afternoon, something changed. His flirting actually worked on her, why then and in that moment? Did he use a spell on her? She knew he had healing abilities, could he make people fall for his flirting with some sort of spell too? “What did it all mean?” she unintentionally said aloud and froze in fear, “Celine, is that you?” Comes Arlech’s voice from the opposite side of the fence. He even recognized her voice, which she was dumbfounded about. “Uh, no, not at all. Who is this Celine you speak of?” She asked with a horrible, fake, English accent. She could hear in his voice that he had rolled his eyes, “That was the worst accent I have ever heard. What are you doing here?” Then it was Arlech’s turn to freeze in fear, “How long have you been here?” She made a split-second decision to lie and said, “I just got here.” Arlech sighed in relief, but Celine couldn’t keep the smirk off of her face, and it could be heard in her voice, when she said, “Why do you ask?” “Don’t torment me like that,” Arlech says, hearing the tone of her voice ‘You torment me enough by just existing,’ he thought. “Okay fine, you don’t have to tell me. I just thought I would take the opportunity to mess with you like you did to me earlier.” She said, and it was that moment when they remembered they were both naked and talking to each other through a simple wooden fence and an awkward silence followed. “So, um,” Celine finally said, subconsciously

covering her top half even though he couldn’t see her, “why here?” “What do you mean?” Arlech asked. “I mean, you came here, as I heard from talking to Mr Longfoot, why here and not, I don’t know, another bathhouse or the hot spring behind The Clydesdale Inn?” Celine asked. “Oh, well, the only other bathhouse in this city is on the complete opposite side of town and the one behind the Inn is pretty small and I wanted to stretch out and maybe swim around in the hot water a little.” The Tiefling explained. “Is the one behind the Inn really too small for that?” Celine asked. “For someone my height, yes, the one behind the Inn is for one person at a time and for just cleaning up and getting out. I think it’s six and a half feet long and three or four feet wide or something, and I’m six feet tall. These ones are about thirty feet long and forty feet wide, each. Madam Fibavam was lucky that she managed to get this much land on this side of town and still be far enough away from the ocean.” He explained, which prompted Celine to look around and see that it is indeed a very large hot spring and for a moment she felt quite lonely in the wide expanse of this spring. “She’s been here longer than this town has been here, this town is maybe a hundred years old, Madam Fibavam is about two hundred years old, so her bathhouse and spring have been here longer than this town, so they had to build Crisherton around her bathhouse. Gnomes can live up to five hundred years, you know.” Arlech says and Celine immediately says, “I call bullshit, there’s no way.” “Fine, don’t believe me, but you can ask her yourself,” he responds. “Maybe I will.” She answers indignantly. Then Celine comes up with an idea, grins, and says, “Oh yeah, you wanted more of an explanation about fuck boys, didn’t you?” Even though she couldn’t see it, Arlech’s mouth dropped open and he said, “Hold on, now this isn’t what I meant when I said that.” “I know what you meant, but I’m not gonna give you what you want. Now, a fuck boy is somewhat in the same vein as an incel. Now an incel is a man, or boy rather, who likes to be creepy to women online, I’ll explain what ‘online’ is later, and they often feel entitled to a woman’s body, which is absolutely disgusting behavior. When a woman rejects this man-child, he often calls her many names such as ‘bitch,’ ‘fat fuck,’ ‘whore,’ ‘slut,’ you name it, it’s probably thrown around and they often assume the account on a dating app or even apps that aren’t meant for dating, is fake just because she rejects him. I’ll also explain what an app is at a later date. They also objectify women, only seeing them as a piece of meat, or ‘a piece of ass’ and see them only as things to reproduce with or just have sex with and leave them for another. Following along so far?” Despite this not being what he expected or wanted, Arlech found himself very interested in her explanation. A few hours and some questions later, Arlech said, “Gods, they really do sound like awful people. I may be a shameless flirt, but I don’t feel like I’m owed anything if I do flirt and they flirt back. I also ask permission before I go any further. I just find flirting to be fun and in some cases, useful.” “Then you’re neither of those things, surprisingly.” Celine responded. “Did you really think I was one of those things?” Arlech asked, somewhat offended. “I didn’t know what you were or how you were. I mean, for Gods’ sakes, I’ve only known you for a week,” and at that moment it registered in her brain, and there was a pit in her stomach, she had been in this world and away from home for a week and suddenly she panicked, “Wait, oh Gods, I’ve been here for an entire week, I died in my first week and came back alive, my parents probably think I’ve been kidnapped, or worse, murdered!” and she started hyperventilating. In the short time he had known her, Arlech never heard Celine sound so scared and panicked, if anything, to him she seemed the least likely to be scared of anything. “Whoa, whoa, slow down,” he said, trying to calm her down to the best of his ability while

naked and separated by a fence, which made it slightly awkward, but he shrugged it off, “Is there any way you can contact them and let them know that you’re safe?” “No,” Celine said, starting to sniffle but holding it back, “my phone doesn’t work here, I have no service, so unless there’s a way to send a letter to another world, it’s hopeless.” Arlech thought it over for a moment, “There might be a way, but it’s rather complex and pricey. There is a sort of magical letter paper that can be sent to anyone in any plane of existence as long as you write their names on it. It is, however, a good one thousand pieces of gold, if not more. Then there’s also something called a ‘tuning fork’ that you can attune to any plane of existence, and obviously, there’s a little bit of magic in your world if The Royal Wizard was able to bring you here through magical means. However, those are rare and require very strong magic.” That gave Celine hope, if only a small amount, and she imagined something that made her laugh through her sniffles, “I just had a thought, imagine what my parents would think of you if we brought them here, the world itself would be strange but imagine if they got brought here and you, Daxina, and I were right in front of them. Daxina looks at least somewhat normal, by my world’s standards, but just with pointy ears. You on the other hand,” she said with a weak laugh, “and Madam Fibavam, and Mr Longfoot.” Arlech began laughing too, “And let’s not forget Niria and Mistress Bula.” “Holy shit, yes.” Celine said, now in a full-on laugh. There was a moment of silence and out of nowhere, with a hint of awkwardness and shyness in his voice, and no evidence of his usual cockiness, Arlech asked, “May I hug you? When we’re out and dressed, I mean, not now. I don’t even think there’s a way right now, even if you were okay with that, which I’m sure you aren’t considering the state we’re in.” Celine rolled her eyes, which he could hear in her voice when she answered, “Yes, but preferably not in front of Madam Fibavam or Mr Longfoot, I feel like they’d take it the wrong way and start some rumors and gossip around Crisherton.” “That’s understandable,” he said and then added sarcastically and playfully, “I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation of being able to easily reject any of my attempts at flirting with you.” “Ha, ha, very funny.” She responds sarcastically as well.

They finally got out of the hot springs after what seemed like several hours, both of which had wrinkly feet and hands, and went to change. They walked out of the changing rooms at the same time and Madam Fibavam looked at them and said jokingly, “Certainly took you two long enough, I almost thought you’d drowned. I’m glad to see that I was wrong.” Celine laughed and then said, “I have a question, and I don’t mean to offend you,” the Gnome answered, “It’s hard to offend me, go ahead,” “Is it true you’re about two hundred years old and did this city really need to be built around your bathhouse?” Celine asked cautiously. The Gnome laughed and said, “I take it Arlech told you this?” Celine nodded and the Gnome continued, still laughing, “Well, two hundred years old is a bit of an exaggeration, I’m around a hundred and seventy-five years old, but yes, Crisherton had to be built around my bathhouse because I refused to leave when they began building it up.” Celine’s jaw dropped and Arlech burst out laughing, “I told you so.” “Shut up,” Celine said, now embarrassed. Then the two went back to The Clydesdale Inn, having to knock so that Mr Longfoot could let them inside and Celine and Arlech added two extra nights in their respective rooms for four gold each. The Halfling gladly accepted the gold and went back to bed. They both glanced around to see if Mr Longfoot was still in the room, but it was hard to tell, so Arlech hesitantly put his arms out for a hug, which Celine had forgotten she agreed to for a split second, and she cautiously wrapped her arms around him, as did he in return. It most definitely wasn’t her imagination when Celine thought Arlech’s hand felt like warm coals, in fact, to her astonishment, his entire body felt like warm coals, which was rather relaxing. She could feel it through his shirt as her arms were wrapped around his torso, and she could feel it in his arms, which were wrapped around her waist. ‘A first step at least,’ Arlech thought as they let go of one another. “Uh, before I go to bed,” Celine said awkwardly, “may I ask you something?” “What?” The Tiefling asked. “I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination when you first grabbed my hand to heal me or not, but now I know what I felt was real. Why does your skin feel like warm coals? Is it like that all the time?” “Ah,” said he, and they sat down in front of her door, “that’s part of my heritage. As a Tiefling, or a Half-Devil, you have a higher body temperature than beings such as full-blooded Humans, or Dwarves, or Elves. Our skin also does, in fact, feel like warm coals when someone touches an arm or whatever. Think of it this way, a full-blooded Devil’s skin, living in the Nine Hells, would feel like raging fire, or burning coals. A Half-Devil, like myself, living on the Prime Plane, which is what this is called, our skin would feel like warm coals, or a dying, low, fire, like embers.” “Would that change if you went to the Nine Hells?” Celine asked. “I’ve never been, so perhaps, but perhaps not. The only way to find out is if we go, but I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.” Arlech answered, standing up. “Fair enough,” Celine said, getting ready to stand up on her own, but Arlech held a hand out as if to ask if he can help her up. Celine rolled her eyes but had a small smile on her face, and she grabbed ahold of his hand. He pulled her up as if she weighed nothing and said, “Goodnight,” letting her hand go, and the two went to their separate rooms for some sleep.

#OCs #Original Story #The Adventures of Celine Markus #Fantasy #DnD #Dungeons and Dragons #Dungeons and Dragons 5e #dnd 5e

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