#shuffling my deck of fully grown men

[rocketbirdie]

Why can't Kunsel just, like, drape himself across them. Weighted blanket mode. Or he could go under them and he could get the weight benefit. Think smarter, Kunsel!

just stack 'em like playing cards... i like your style

[jasper-tarot-reader]

Reviewing Divination Methods: Silver Witchcraft Tarot

Kicking off my new round of deck reviews with one of my first tarot decks, the Silver Witchcraft Tarot! Let’s discuss this deck in full, shall we?

Let’s start with the imagery. The primary themes of this deck are witchcraft from a Wiccan perspective and the elementals that work inside of the four suits. The artwork is very European, sitting somewhere between realistic with a cartoony bend and whatever those recent church paintings have going on. Though soft at the edges, there are a lot of details packed into these full-art cards.

The pips (2s through 10s) are fully-illustrated. Though there are a lot of ages depicted in this deck, there aren’t many different body types, the court cards are all gendered (Pages and Queens as women, Knights and Kings as men), and only three cards (the Chariot, the 7 of Chalices, and the 10 of Chalices) have any people of color on them. As for nudity, there are some barely-hidden female boobs on the 5 of Pentacles, featuring "grandma that’s coming out of the water with a towel" and "full-grown granddaughter who's coming out of the water but carrying her towel much lower". The art was clearly made for this deck, though it doesn't really match the meanings of the card – for instance, the Tower is depicted as a tree with lightning striking in the background with one bird flying away from the tree and the other sitting in a nest in its branches.

Thankfully, the artwork is consistent. There's nothing particularly jarring in this deck from one card to another, they all look like they go together. It's also very concrete (as opposed to abstract) for most of the cards barring a few Majors where you’re sitting there like "...What does this even mean?" Once again, the Tower is a good example of this, but so are Judgment, Death, the Fool, and the Devil, along with the 10 of Swords. As for religious iconography, this deck is HEAVILY Wiccan, referencing the Wiccan Triple Goddess in many of its cards.

But now let’s talk about the physical parts of this deck. The cards are 64 mm wide and 117 mm tall. The cardstock is fairly cheap (a few degrees better than printer paper) and is easily damaged from bridge shuffling. The card corners are rounded and the card back is reversal-compatible. The cards themselves are very easy to handle (no gloss finish, in fact, no finish at all). The deck has no bonus cards.

And now, into the divinatory part of this divination tool. You're going to want a prior knowledge of tarot before diving in here, as the booklet doesn't guide you through how to cleanse or shuffle the deck, nor does it tell you how to draw cards. The meanings are often skewed in favor of a more positive light. Major number 5 in this deck is the High Priest rather than the Hierophant, the entire suit of Cups is instead called Chalices in this deck, and the Wheel of Fortune is simply the Wheel and refers to the Wiccan Wheel of the Year. No card numbers were switched and there are no words at the bottoms of the cards other than the card names. The Majors utilize Roman numerals, while Arabic numerals appear in the pip cards.

The little white booklet is printed in English, Italian, Spanish, French, and German despite the cards only having English names. The booklet was easy to reference and find cards in. The meanings are in the pattern of Majors, Chalices, Pentacles, Wands, and Swords. The keywords are very simple and often short for the pips, while the court cards get full sentences and the Majors get many keywords and several sentences. No reversal meanings are provided for this deck.

The only spread in the booklet is a 5-card "Sabbat Spread" focused on the Wiccan Wheel of the Year. In the book, the Ace is the self, while 2 is Yule, 3 is Imbolc, 4 is Ostara, 5 is Beltane, 6 is Litha, 7 is Lammas, 8 is Mabon, 9 is Samhain, and 10 is the Universe. For this spread, you take all of the cards for the one number of the holiday you're reading for and draw one of them for your first card, then use the whole deck to draw for the other four cards to help you figure out what to build on, what to let go, what to reach for, and what you should do. Very simple in practice.

Also, this deck isn’t very appropriative? It even removes the Jewish symbolism often put into tarot decks (due to the Golden Dawn appropriating Jewish mysticism and symbols while having no respect for the people they stole it from) and replaces it with Wiccan symbolism. It also has no Catholic symbolism besides the name of the Devil card.

And now to our last category, the miscellaneous notes. This deck was written by Barbara Moore and illustrated by Franco Rivolli before being released by Lo Scarabeo in 2014. Barbara Moore has been reading tarot for more than 30 years and has many tarot decks and tarot books to her name (though she doesn’t mention this particular one on her website). Franco Rivolli is just some dude somewhere who does a lot of illustration work for Barbara Moore’s tarot decks and some random flamingo fiction book that I’ve never heard of before but am deeply intrigued by.

Without any sales applied, it can be found for $23.95 USD pretty much anywhere, from Barnes & Nobles to Amazon to Ebay to the publishing company itself. I wouldn’t recommend this deck to a child or a beginner for the same reason – it’s very hard to get into if you don’t have the context of tarot AND Wicca, which not a lot of people come in with when they’re just getting into the market.

As for my own experiences with the deck, I like it. It was easy for me to connect to and work with when I was still getting familiar with tarot (thankfully I had the Dragon Tarot to teach me how tarot actually functions) and has been my main tool for talking to at least one deity.

Overall: 9/10, you pay for a simple Wiccan tarot deck, you get a simple Wiccan tarot deck

[kpopisamood]

Queen’s Clan { 4 }

Summary: y/n is plagued by nightmares. She realizes that the more she runs away, the less frequently they haunt her. However, in running away, she’s also running straight into her ultimate demise. Will she be saved in time by those who would lay down their lives for her, even if they don’t know of each other’s existence?

Monsta X/Reader, Human/Vampire(s), Reverse Harem, future smut?, violence, language

Word count: 1.42k

Tag list: @noonaduck

***

“I’m sorry, but, can you run that by me one more time?” You staggered out, not truly believing the words coming out of this woman’s mouth.

She pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance, taking off her glasses to clean them with a handkerchief while giving the two boys on either side of you a look that said, is she serious?!

The guys were true to their word; a Guardian showed up. She went by Myrna Kudrow and looked as old as the earth itself, carrying a brown leather suitcase and completing her odd looks with huge glasses that threatened to fall off her face with the slightest movement. She’d sat you down to talk about your family history and tell you of your responsibilities as a Queen, but there was one thing you couldn’t get past.

“As the newly represented Queen of your lineage, and the only surviving noble of your immediate family, you are to inherit this sum,” she roughly pushed a paper at you. “Of money.” Your eyes widened at the amount of zeros on the page. Surely, there was a mistake? “Your mother left her estate to you and your father, may he and she Rest In Peace, and you inherited this sum the moment you turned of awakening age.” She said simply, pulling out more pieces of paper and beginning to explain more history.

“That’s a mistake, then. My mother is alive and well. She lives with my dad a few states away and we weren’t this well off.” You pointed to the piece of paper that seemed to burn a hole in you.

She glanced at Minhyuk and he returned her look with a glare, begging her to say something that he could reprimand her for.

“Yes, well, your adoptive parents weren’t this well off. But your birth parents were. So, as I was saying—“

You stopped listening. How dare this woman come in and say the parents you had grown up with weren’t your own? They would have said something, right? She could be lying. This could all be fake.

“My parents,” you growled out, “Would have told me if I was adopted.”

Ms. Kudrow sighed and clasped her hands together. “Yes, they should have when you awakened. But from what I’ve gathered, you’ve just started this process yesterday and they haven’t had time to fill you in. In our tradition, should a child of our species lose both parents or harem and become adopted, it is that a caregiver's responsibility to make sure you are cared for, but also well informed of your history after you have completed the awakening process.”

“There’s that word again, awakening. And what species? No one is explaining any sort of thing to me to help me better understand.” You demanded. Although you weren’t focused on them, you could feel Minhyuk and Hoseok tense next to you.

“Miss L/N, I know these aren’t very helpful situations you’ve landed yourself in, but I’ll try and explain some stuff. I’m what they call an Adra, or Guardian/Sponsor for fledglings and newly appointed Ardetha. In modern words, you’re a vampire. A royal one who will need protection from other Ardethas, Queens, who wish to seek out your newly awakened power and add onto their own.”

Was she on crack?

“Since you haven’t grown up within our lifestyle, you will need to make your harem, or clan, quickly. You can choose who comes and goes as well as what they can or can’t do. It’s like you’re the head of your family that you choose. You can choose to form bonds with these two gentlemen,” she gestured to the guys. “Or you can choose to go out and make your own once you’ve fully awakened. I’m all for empowerment, but it may not be the safest thing to go out in the world since your presence alone is a red flag to Ardethas hundreds of miles away while you’re still in a vulnerable state.”

Just play along. You can escape this loony bin later. “They said there would be others trying to find me, as well as these, uhh, Queens.” You prodded.

She smiled warmly. “Ah, yes. More will come flocking to you, women and men alike, we don’t discriminate in our society, and wanting to serve you. Your awakening shift sent a huge rift around the United States and now those who do not have a Queen or King to serve will come seeking you out to live alongside you.”

“There are Queens and Kings?”

“Well, surely, both must exist. Though Kings are not as regarded as much and tend to stick to themselves. Kings do not take Queens or vice versa and tend to steer clear of each other. Both have the same status, but Queens are more revered and I suppose, needed, if you catch my drift.” Needed. As in, baby making machines. You shuddered in distaste and shake your head to clear images of farms out of your head.

“Say I believe all this. If I take Minhyuk and Hoseok as my own, I’d have to reproduce with them?” You cringed at how traditionalistic and sexist and downright wrong you sounded, but she acted as if you were talking about the weather.

“You could choose to continue your line with both of them or just one, or neither. It’s truly all up to you. No one is asking you to believe all of this,” she reached for your hand, grasping it softly. “But you and I both know you believe at least a fraction of it. Or else you wouldn’t be sitting here.” You huffed and yanked your arm back, standing up. Minhyuk and Hoseok stood with you, while Miss Kudrow sat, unbothered.

“I need some space.” You stated, and took off in the direction of the outside deck. Some fresh air was needed.

***

“You couldn’t say it any other way?” Minhyuk growled at the Guardian.

“I’m not here to coddle her, and neither are you. I’m here to explain and do my job as her protector. Those people who raised her should have done a better job so I didn’t have to explain things this way. I shouldn’t have to explain anything at all.” She rolled her eyes at him.

Hoseok agreed but also slightly disagreed. Yes, your parents should have said something to you. So why didn’t they? You didn’t live with them but he couldn’t figure out why the hell they’d let you leave so easily without telling you anything.

The two were still arguing.

“—and that baby talk was not needed!” Minhyuk glowered.

“Oh, shush. Like you both don’t want the same thing?” That shut him up.

It was true. They’d been in search of a Queen ever since her. They wanted to give someone the world and then some and also live happily with each other. They wanted peace.

Miss Kudrow packed all her necessities and made her way around them, stopping at Hoseok.

“What are you going to do when her hunger starts?” She smirked at Hoseok’s eyes widening before shuffling out, slamming the door behind her.

“Bitch.” Minhyuk bristled.

“She’s right, though.” Hoseok grumbled.

“She is, but that doesn’t mean we have to like her attitude towards our Queen.” Minhyuk muttered back.

“She’s not our Queen yet, Min.” Hoseok growled out, making a beeline for his room. He slammed his door shut behind him, throwing himself onto his bed in a slump. After a few minutes of sitting there with his thoughts, his eyes looked at his window. He pulled himself up and walked slowly to the window, opening his blinds slightly. A small smile made its way on his face taking in your form. He really liked that fact that his room was connected to the deck, after all, he gets to watch you now. As creepy as that sounds.

He could hear you cuss and throw yourself onto the bench, throwing an arm over your face in frustration. A slight moan leaving your lips.

His smile dropped before he felt his pupils dilate. Shit. Not yet.

Please do NOT repost. All rights reserved.

[onwesterlywinds]

Noble Gold and Silk

Part of my Godhands series.

Features Madelaine Lachance, a character from @llymlaenscompass.

"It's good to see you," said Élodie. The girl had brought flowers - an array of Rhalgr's gold - and as Sigrid accepted them, she lifted them to her face to take in their scent: wild, fresh, shaped in the terrain and breezes of the Peaks.

"So kind of you," she said, and meant it. Yet for all the clutter in the house, she could think of no vase in which to place them; instead, she held them upon her lap and resolved to find a worthy carrier at the market. "And I appreciate your coming."

"You're truly leaving Ala Mhigo, then?"

Sigrid had found her resolve a week ago, and the truth of it had yet to fully sunk in. She had made few preparations for the house - her linens sat unwashed, the pantry remained full, and her parents' relics sat untouched in the loft - with the result that the place looked much as it had when her father had still been alive. Sigrid had wondered for a time if the ghosts of the past would abate if she were to live under another roof, and she had gone so far as to find lodgings in an inn to put the theory to the proof. Yet her dreams had only grown worse. Better to imagine her father's curses and bellows from the basement forge than the whisper of an Undercity lord stirring her from her dreams.

"I must, Élodie." The words pained her, but they carried with them the promise of liberation. She could not stave off what she knew she must do because it would hurt.

"Who else knows? Ashley, I assume, but-"

"You're the first I've told. I meant to send word to Marco later today."

Élodie tucked a strand of her dark hair, so very much like Sigrid's own, behind her ear with a shy smile. "...I'm honored," she said at long last. She carried herself differently in private, with a youthful sort of slouch. Sigrid had once been much the same: accustomed to stooping through Undercity passages, or else lowering herself for the shorter men in her vicinity. Hopefully Élodie, too, would grow out of such habits; Sigrid's heart clenched with the knowledge that she would not be around to see for herself.

A silence drew out between them, and Élodie did not sit. She stared around at the crates stuffed with tomes and the faded rug and everywhere except at her, and her pale eyes had begun to fill with tears.

"What is it?" Sigrid asked her gently.

"Was it not enough?" Élodie blurted out. "Was it all for nothing?! After so long, why do you have to-"

"Because, Élodie," she replied, as firmly as she could muster, "there is a world far beyond Ala Mhigo that I could not even have hoped to conceive of as a servant. My mother was a learned, well-traveled woman; I have always sought to follow her example in that regard. I've gathered excerpts from her diary - records of the places she loved best, and others she never saw." Places with names like Voor Sian Siran and the Sea of Spires. "I wish to see them as well, before I am too old and too afraid to take the chance."

"It doesn't have to do with-"

Sigrid shook her head, a gesture sufficient to cut off the remainder of Élodie's sentence. "If it has to do with anyone in the city, it's Theodoric. Though I suppose I should thank him. He was as good a reason as any to go into retirement."

Élodie offered up a smile, though the expression did not reach her reddening eyes.

"Come here." Sigrid took up the flowers from her lap as she stood, and opened her arms; Élodie threw her own around her, and her lanky frame shook from unshed sobs. "I'll have to write to someone of my adventures, won't I? Marco's whereabouts change by the bell and Ashley hardly ever responds, so it'll have to be you."

"I want to hear from you every week."

"You know I won't be able to promise that." She hesitated, still holding the young woman close. It was perhaps the warmest embrace she could recall in her recent memory, at least since her stint in the Undercity. "...I had hoped to leave the house to you."

Élodie did not break the contact, yet the whole of her body stiffened. "I know what you mean to do."

"Élo-"

"It isn't going to work. I'm embedded now - living in the Undercity full-time."

"Élodie, please."

"I'm making my living, for the first time in my life, and I love it."

Sigrid held the girl at arm's length, staring her straight in the eye for a time before she spoke again. "I, too, loved the Undercity when I was a girl. Even when I was your age. I hungered for it - for its thrills, its dangers, and the things it could show me about myself. But it steeps you in things that no woman as compassionate as you should ever have to endure." Élodie made a noise that might have been a cough, but Sigrid resolved to maintain her contact. "Whatever the Undercity offers, it comes at the cost of a life full of bitterness. It is too much for any one person to change alone, or even to try. I... I meant to step away from it all, even my mother's sigils, when I found Brynhilde. I say this knowing that I would never seek to order you onto any given path, but I hope that you will listen and heed me."

"I am listening," said Élodie. "I listen, and I will remember. But I will not accept this house."

Sigrid's heart sank.

"Leave it to Ashley," Élodie continued. "Or Marco. Or even the both of them. They'll appreciate it, and they'll put it to good use."

Leave it to Ashley. For all her love for Brynhilde, the idea of giving her late partner's son a house to replace the one her death had taken away had not occurred to her. The suggestion settled somewhere deep in her gut, along with all of her suspicions that she was now giving up the last of her father's hopes for her - and she nodded her agreement.

The captain shuffled across the Merlose's deck, uneasy despite their mooring. Madelaine Lachance could hear her steps all the way from the bow. The woman's stealth had been legendary only a few moons ago, to the extent that many wondered if she could teleport throughout the ship at will for the purpose of delivering rebukes; yet her fall had taken much and more, including her mobility, and her full recovery was yet an uncertain thing.

Madelaine breathed out a little sigh but turned to greet her superior nonetheless. "So much for staying in bed."

"I ran out of water and didn't want to trouble you." Sure enough, as the captain approached unsteadily toward Madelaine's vantage in her favorite silk dressing gown, she held a full glass between her bony brown hands. "Lovely morning."

And it was at that, for nothing on Hydaelyn could compare to a sunrise in the Diadem. The region had an atmosphere of its own, as unpredictable as any sea; the aether all above and around them offered different marvels with each waking and with every turn of the head. That morning, the day dawned in a burst of heavy pinks and violets, like the bloom of some all-encompassing flower.

It was only the two of them aboard the Merlose, at least for now. The crew had been small from the first, and comprised entirely of women - less through strict doctrine like the Sanguine Sirens, and more through a string of pleasant coincidences. The other crew members had all departed within the past fortnight, however, to make their preparations for other ventures - leaving only a hold full of plunder, the captain, and Madelaine in the unexpected position of being first mate without any inclination of how long she herself was to remain aboard.

"Where to from here?" Madelaine asked. "Ala Mhigo?"

The captain tilted her head, as if to listen to the wind, but she shook her head. "Not yet."

And for a time, that was all she said as they watched the aetherial sunrise and sipped at their respective drinks. Madelaine was content to stand in silence, a buffer to the northerly winds as the captain's silvered hair whipped across her shoulders.

"Thank you," said the captain at last. "For accommodating all of my dallying. And I hope you know you're under no obligation to follow me to Ala Mhigo."

Madelaine shrugged. "Someone has to help you bring the Merlose into port."

"Perhaps so," the captain replied dryly, as if unconvinced. "A note of sentimentality, then: of all the regrets I've carried throughout my life, perhaps the heaviest of them all is that I often did not express thanks to those I loved before the chance to do so was long past."

"That is sentimental."

"Blame it on this beautiful sunrise. Now, when was the last time you dropped a line to that ranger of yours?"

Madelaine whirled around to the captain in time to see a lock of hair obscure a very self-satisfied smirk playing across her Highlander features. "Don't you try and turn this back onto me."

"I'm quite serious."

Madelaine rolled her eyes. "I imagine now that Ala Mhigo's been freed, he'll be returning at the rearguard." Timing had never been among Sairsel Arroway's virtues. "What about you? Who's waiting for you back in the capital?"

"No one anymore." Somehow, it was the definitiveness with which the captain spoke that struck Madelaine, more so than the bitter reality she conveyed. "Which means that while I may consider paying a visit to your good friend the Grand Steward, I'm in no hurry to return."

If the stories were true, Ashelia Riot had led her force against the Garlean viceroy himself. Perhaps that tenacity would be enough for her to handle whatever business the captain had with her.

"I'll be here until you're ready," Madelaine promised, and found herself meaning it. "But we'll be going nowhere until you park your arse back into bed."

Again the captain scoffed, though she began her slow retreat back to her cabin. "Oh, very well. Boss me around all you'd like, while it's just the two of us; I imagine you've earned it."

Madelaine fired up the Merlose's propellers and charted their course through the resplendent color before them, and only much later did it occur to her that the captain had expressed her love in no uncertain terms.

[deactivated4179291]

The Cure - Part 1 (H.S AU)- “The Cure”

This is an AU story, so if things show up that wouldn’t have existed before the world ended…it’s my story so plz don’t come for me

 A/N - trigger warning - mentions of wanting death, etc

Maverie’s POV

The world, though it still turned, had deteriorated to dust, ash, and what remained of structure from buildings after mass destruction. Warm faces that once held bright eyes and wide smiles have long lost their flesh tone, and have grown pale with death, as they reanimate to roam the streets for fresh meat. Their ears perk at any sounds, and their hungry stare draws to anything that moves. And I was so close to being one of them…

But me? I was born into this world. Specifically, I was born the day this became our world – May 15, 1998, right here in the city of San Fransisco, California. This cold cruel and incredible disastrous chaotic world. This world was my version of 'normal.' According to those who were around before the 'new era' as they called it - this world was nothing like what I know it as. People who are now deceitful, violent, and most of all deadly, could have been some of the nicest people you'd ever meet 19 years ago. Death changes people. The world changes people. But most of all, people change people.

Shooting the dead that roam and hunting what was still alive was all I'd ever known. For nineteen years I'd hunted and gathered like nobody's business. For nineteen years I'd lived and loved - I'd loved the family I was taken into, as if they were my own. The only problem was that a life that should have ended about three weeks ago...never did. I still remember it likes it was yesterday, though. The pain of my flesh being torn by enamel, the way the dead recoiled in agony at the taste of me, drawing all the others away like some sort of warning call as the herd backed off seeking its next victim. I remember the blood dripping from my arm, as I clutched my wound tightly and stared at the sight before me- and the panic as my family grew frantic - trying to figure out what to do. Whether they should put me down or hold onto me in the pointless hope that maybe I'd be okay. However, their fate was sealed in tragedy that day, as I lost each and every one of them in their attempt to escape the dusty old supermarket in which the herd had cornered us.

I was completely and utterly lost without them. Their hope wasn't pointless, though, because by some miracle I'm still here. They strapped me down to a chair in the small house we’d taken temporary shelter in, and we waited. 12 hours, two days, four days, yet the fever never came, as I camped out in the abandoned furniture store inside the mall, tonight, still longing to be with my family. I couldn’t understand why I was alive, and they were gone. My head could never fully wrap around the concept of me being…immune?

Whilst I sit outstretched on a white suede couch way too spotless to still exist, I stare at my grimy, dust-clouded sneakers. I’d like to feel clean, and rinse them off in the bathroom, but there’s no point – the water here probably doesn’t even work, and they’d just be getting clean to be covered in filth once more. I thought of all the possibilities as I stare at the once bloody, messy of a bite mark on my arm that now had completely healed skin that was covered in not only scar tissue, but small bubbles of skin that had formed as it began to reach its nearly full recovery. Feeling a sudden chill as the tips of my fingers glided over the abnormality, I slipped on the one source of warmth I had obtained from a store in the mall – my black zip-up hoodie. It came from somewhere that used to be called Macy’s? I think? Most of the store sign was missing, leaving only ‘Mac ‘s.’

Just as I am running through my thoughts, the loud echo of a gunshot rings throughout the mall walk. People, I thought. I grabbed my 9mm gun in my hand, and entered the main mall cautiously, sweeping across the old tiled floors, as I search intently yet cautiously for the source of the noise. The soles of my boots nearly squeaking against the surface of the floor as a shuffle aimlessly through the building. Just as I turn right at the corner of the main aisle, and head down the adjoining hall, voice booms from behind me.

“Stop right there!” the man’s gruff voice boomed throughout the empty space and bounced off of each and every wall. If any walker had somehow wandered in here, by sure they would be making their way towards us. “if you can understand me, place your hands behind your head and turn around slowly!” he orders. I do as I am instructed- placing my gun-grasping hand behind my skull, along with my empty hand, before twisting around to face the voice that commands me. He is of average height for a man, and he along with all of his men, are decked out from head to toe in white uniforms with parts that stick out resembling body armor on their chests, knees, and elbows, like futuristic soldiers. The one in the middle – clearly their leader had silver hair which told me that he has been around since before this time. He saw it happen – he saw the world end, but…These were the kinds of people who came from a community, this could be my chance, I told myself.

“Place your weapons on the ground!” his voice calls out to me, forcefully. I internally roll my eyes, knowing I should have seen that coming. I bend over and place the 9mm on the tile floor, sliding it toward them by kicking it gently with my foot. The gesture seems to surprise the soldiers as they eye each other cautiously – their seemingly fearless leader included. Seeing as I am being cooperative he seems to lessen the harsh tone in his words. He cleared his throat, in an attempt to riddle the air of uncertainty as he turned from staring at one of his men to staring at me as I found my voice, once trapped somewhere deep inside me, and let it fly, though small and somewhat strangled.

“Do you guys have a community?” I dared to ask them hopefully. Surely this was just their protocol for new recruits…right? They all sent me small subtle smiles, before the man in charge turned to his nearest soldier, “check her for bites, please,” he asked. I gulped, realizing that they would see my healed wound – what if they didn’t believe me? What if they call my bluff, and put me down, the way my family couldn’t? The way I couldn’t put them to rest…

Captain Bossy Pants’ second in command marched toward me, his weapon swaying at his side with each of his fluid steps. He tucks his gun into his belt and reaches forward to unzip my hoodie with a sympathetic smile. I didn’t argue, nor put up a fight, because who was I to confront 5 guns that were still pointed in my direction? He’s just lucky I was wearing a tank top under the cotton garment he slid from my torso. I did appreciate his polite demeanor – as he clearly didn’t want to scare me. Little did he know on the inside I was quaking with fear produced by a group of ‘what-ifs.’ My faith shook as the room chorused with gasps, and exclamations of “Holy shit,” when my grotesque bite scar that rested just above the junction of my elbow was revealed.

Though still fully clothed, I felt bare – as if every piece of fabric on me had been stripped, along with my chances of joining their way of living. The soldiers abruptly cocked their weapons and aimed the barrels of their guns towards my head. This is it - this is where the pain finally ends, I thought as a single lonely, yet peaceful tear escaped from my eye as both my eyes closed, and the bodily fluid slipped down my pink cheeks, cooling the warm skin where my slight rosacea poked through.

“HolHold your fire!” The first in command’s voice rang loudly, as he held up a backhand, and squinted curiously as me and then the spot on my flesh.

“Sir?” the one near me asked, confused just as much as his comrades by the halt of action. The silver haired man retrieved my gun from the floor and pointed it at me as he elegantly glided towards me with determination, and his head held strong, powerful. It was only when the barrel of my own defense was a foot from my face, that I noticed the slivers of walker blood splattered across his face in their dark, thick form.

Two strong, white armor covered arms wrapped securely around the inside of both my arms, holding me in place in the most awkward stance possible by pushing my arms out like a duck, as the man in charge grasped my arm gently, running a finger over my wound. His face scrunched together to create an expression that meant he couldn’t believe the sight before his hard blue eyes.

“When was this?” he asked flatly, with no emotion or wavering in his returned strong tone as he stared at me coldly with the gun pointed back to me once more.

“Three weeks ago…” I muttered weakly as the man holding only my limbs clutches tighter making me groan.

“I don’t believe it,” he gasped but smiled. Relief – all of his body language said that he was relieved, “cuff her, please – and don‘t hurt her… she’s coming back to meet the boss lady,” he commanded, as the men around him cheered, and the cold metal entrapped my wrists behind my back. That was the last he said before I was ushered out of the mall, past the dead walker they must have shot (and caught my attention with the sound) as the push onward towards a large black van, pulling me inside before they drive away from the abandoned building.

As if having a fully functioning vehicle at this time was not impressive enough, their community outshined any place I had ever laid eyes on. Though from the outside, it looked just like an abandoned old hotel, the inside was pristine. The lobby crawled with doctors dressed in white lab coats, and civilians dressed similarly to me, but their clothes were spotless. I had to close my mouth to keep from inhaling some sort of bug, though I was certain there was no such thing in a building this spectacular.

I was lead into a small concrete room, with a metal table and two chairs sitting opposite one another in the middle of the space, and was sat down as the leader of their army unlocked and removed the handcuffs from my wrists, sliding them off and looping them into his belt hooks, letting them dangle at his thigh. “I’m sorry for these, by the way,” he says kindly, “it’s simply a safety measure.” I nod and smile politely up at him.

“I understand,” I said. He offered me another smile before exiting the room, leaving me on my own just as I was before today. I reached up and pulled my hair tie out of the messy catastrophe of a bun that my dirty blonde hair was held in, and combed nervously through it with my fingers, yanking restlessly to undo any tangles that trap my hand, letting it fall on my shoulders messily after ruffling it until the way it looked in the reflection of the chrome colored table satisfied me. I sat and played with my mother's opal ring on my ring finger, twirling it around my finger repeatedly to pass the time. It had only been about twenty minutes, though it felt like an hour when there was a quiet knock on the large metal door, and in walked a beautiful tall tan woman, with dark hair in a perfect bun and a pristine white doctor’s jacket. She presented me with a warm smile, and held a twinkle in her brown eyes, as she strode towards the opposite side of the table.

“Hi, sweetheart! My name is Jenine, Welcome to the Embassy San Francisco Base. What’s your name, dear?” he voice was kind and silver and her words rolled off her tongue compassionately, making me feel more at ease, as we shook hands.

“I’m Maverie…Maverie Jensen, ma’am.” I nodded and offered her a nervous, yet excited smile.

“Ah, she has manners,” Jenine said, turning to stick out a shoulder towards me in delight, “so, Maverie, what seems to have brought you to our community?” she asks.

I lifted my arm from it’s sheltered spot under the table, revealing to her my scar. “The last thing that happened was I showed this to your men, and before I knew it, I was being rushed here in handcuffs…this bite was three weeks ago,” I explain. She rubs her chin between her thumb and forefinger as she leans forward to examine my mark closer.

“I see…” she comments, as she stares, “well, Maverie, there are a few tests I’d like to run in our labs if you don’t mind – just an ultrasound so we can check out your organs, and a blood test mostly, to see what’s kept you so…well, you.” She says politely. Nothing about her tone sets me off – between her soothing voice and kindhearted nature, so I simply nodded in agreement. Besides, she wasn’t the only one with questions.

This time without handcuffs, Jenine lead me up to the second floor, and into a room. I had never been in a hospital before it was all but ruined, but this is what I imagine one would have looked like before I was born. I am sat down in a reclining chair of sorts, and a sharp IV needle is stuck into my arm. I only know what this equipment is because my mom was a doctor, and when we went on raids for first aid equipment she’d tell me stories from her golden days.

“Ow! I exclaim, looking at Jenine questioningly.

“Sorry, should have warned you,” she says bashfully, before extracting a blood sample, and pulling the small needle from my now sore vein. She then proceeds to roll over an equipment cart, which must be the ultrasound. I change into the gown she gives me, stripping myself of all of my clothing suddenly feeling exposed. She runs the ultrasound all around my abdomen, as she searches for any abnormalities.

“So…if I’m not like, sick, am I going to get to stay here?” I ask awkwardly.

“Well,” she sighs, still digging the small device into my gel coated skin, “luckily for you, four of our elderly residents just left their rooms available to newcomers. However, I am not expecting to find any form of illness within you, per say. You see, people like you are very rare. In fact, as of right now, you’re the only person known to exist with your…gift.” She stumbles for a word. “Ah! There she is,” she says as the guides the tool just below my sternum. I look over to the monitor and see a white, blob-like form that she points to. My eyebrows knit together as I look upon the growth with perplexity.

“Maverie, dear,” she pulls my attention, “do you know what this is?” she asks nodding toward her finger on the fuzzy screen.

“No ma’am…” I shake my head. A grin breaks out on her face.

“My dear, this,” her finger taps the glass, “this is hope. This, my dear, is the reason you’re you’re immune. This” she taps the screen excitedly once more, “this, my dear, is the cure…your blood can cure the dead.”

My eyes bulged, and my mouth flew open to speak, though no words came. I was the cure… how does one respond to such a discovery?

“You’re going to change everything,” Jenine emphasized, nodding encouragingly as tears of joy slipped past her eyes. She took both of my hands in hers and squeezed them hospitably. “I know how you can save us. All you have to do is say yes…”

“What do I have to do?” I ask her, with a gleeful smile.

1 Day Later…

Harry’s POV

I lead my group haphazardly through the streets of San Francisco in the hopes of finding the alleged sanctuary known as the Embassy Base. My honorary family shuffled behind me as we dragged onward toward our destination, with guns in hand. There was no more stopping to take photos by the Golden Gate Bridge, nor was there anything left of Alcatraz, just the sound of our boots and sneakers scuffling against the dingy concrete ground while we crossed the bridge. A number of cars that had been seemingly abandoned in a traffic heap were unnerving, knowing that there could be a dead one at any turn. Hell, there could be at least one walker for every car sprawled out across the small road.

“Guns at the ready, everyone,” I announced over my shoulder. I heard the cocking of ‘Old Man’ Martin’s shotgun as well as the clicking of young Mason’s pistol. Our group was small – a mere six-some of lost souls, trying to keep our heads above the water in this world.

There was ‘Old Man’ Martin – the voice of reason, who, more often than not kept me moving forward, and kept me sane. Mason, who was practically my younger brother, with his long brown hair, and toned build. When people saw that kid, they’d never believe he was a mere 16 years old. Then there was his actual brother, and my best mate, Mitch, whom I looked up to greatly. Though we were raised together, a majority of which occurred during this era, he resembled more of a father figure to me.

No offense to my honorary mum, and their real ‘mom,’ Addilyn. Despite her sons’ dark hair and eyes, Addilyn was the picture perfect blonde haired and brown eyed woman. She was petite, which was often troubling as I felt the need for us lads to keep her safe. Everything about our lives apart from fighting our way out of dead people that walked around, was completely normal until our worlds were shaken for the second time.

My ‘brother,’ Mitch and I made a pact that day. We promised one another we’d never allow ourselves to feel things for another person, nor would we care for anyone apart from our immediate group.

“Shh…” Mason stops us all in our tracks, “did you hear that?” he whispers.

All of a sudden there was a crashing sound that, and the sound of shattering glass filled our ears with the sound of an exasperated groan. It sounded…human. We all maneuvered our way through the cars taking out any walkers that stumbled forth. We reached the sight before us expecting to find scouts from our end goal, but what we found instead, changed all of our lives…forever.

 A/N - Let me know what you think! PART 2 COMING SOON

[thievesgambit-a]

fun little character game! fill in the below categories with 3 — 5 things that your character can be identified by.

𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 / 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂.

entertained | remy’s almost permanent mood. if something is not entertaining him or interesting him in the moment, he will either abandon the moment or influence it so he is having fun within it. the man almost never takes anything seriously, and finds a way to make light of a situation in the most inappropriate of ways and times. he considers life a game, after all. if you’re not having fun, neither is the game. 

pissed | i could’ve chosen a more delicate word, but that doesn’t really fit remy, does it? when remy is annoyed, he makes no attempt to pretend he isn’t. his comments are scathing, his expression is that of scorn, and he’s not afraid of shoving, pointing, jabbing, or otherwise getting physical if it suits him. most of the time, he stalks off alone rather than dealing with the other person or situation. if required or if he feels like it, he’ll abandon the person and the situation entirely without regard for their comfort or convenience. 

𝙲𝙾𝙻𝙾𝚁𝚂.

#ED46D7 | hot pink 

#000000 | black 

#FFFFFF | white 

𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂.

cigarette smoke

mint toothpaste

aftershave 

𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶.

jewelry | including earrings, rings, necklaces, and watches. he has multiple piercings on his ears. he enjoys wearing multiple pieces of jewelry at once when he can. 

expensive tastes | the appearance of wealth just heightens his looks, as far as he’s concerned. he enjoys wearing clothes that make a clear statement of his status and where his priorities lie. 

body suit & trench coat | the body suit’s pink is more cosmetic than anything ( and a mild fuck you indicating that he can still steal things while wearing vibrant colors ). it is mildly armored while still flexible, and has thermal suppressors to lower his apparent body heat from cameras. his trench coat is both aesthetic and for keeping himself warm, as he has higher body temperature than average humans 

𝙾𝙱𝙹𝙴𝙲𝚃𝚂.

wedding ring | made for him and rogue by the mutant bling!, remy has his wedding ring on him or nearby at all times, including when he’s on missions or thieving. it is a representation of a love that, while tumultuous, prevailed--something that remy has rarely experienced, and would not have rather experienced it with anyone else than rogue. 

cards | remy keeps at least one deck of cards with him at all times, including during casual outings. usually, for outings, they are more for entertainment purposes than for combat. during missions or thieving, remy keeps at least four or five decks to up to ten, depending on the severity of the mission. despite being unwieldy projectiles (relatively speaking; he throws them quite well), he’s got style to think about. 

bo staff | a collapsible staff he keeps on his person for missions and thievery. he used to take it around everywhere, but has grown out of the habit after time with the x-men. 

𝚅𝙸𝙲𝙴𝚂 / 𝙱𝙰𝙳 𝙷𝙰𝙱𝙸𝚃𝚂.

vanity, pride, conceitedness, & arrogance | gambit might not be the most powerful mutant of all, but 

smoking | an obvious bad habit he has. rogue, in most recent timelines, has weaned him onto e-cigarettes and vapes. he’s mellowed out a lot in terms of frequency, but especially during his marauder years and before he met storm, remy would burn through pack a day or so. he never smokes while thieving. 

pettiness & bitterness | remy holds grudges hard, and makes it no secret when he’s done with you. it’s hard to really piss him off, but when you do, remy makes it clear how upset he is. he’s competitive, vindictive, petty, and can be extremely vengeful and apathetic, depending on the circumstance. if something leaves a bad taste in his mouth--he does not forgive, nor does he forget. 

𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚂.

languid, easy, & lazy | remy’s default language is typically extremely casual and at ease. he shifts his weight onto one leg, crosses his arms, tilts his head, leans on something when he can, drapes himself across chairs and tables and couches where appropriate, and generally almost never stands up straight and proper. it’s mostly unconscious and instinctual--remy is naturally a very relaxed and careless person--but some of it is very much conscious. he enjoys drawing attention to himself and giving off a laissez-faire attitude. there are few, as far he’s concerned, that will deserve him giving his full attention. 

sharp, controlled, & calculated | a direct opposite of his default, when remy is on the job, upset, or on a mission, his movements are consciously controlled. he stands straight and at the ready, his movements are snappy and to the point without wasting time, and when required, his body can be extremely still and steady. he has, after all, been required to maneuver through some of the most delicate of security systems in the world, as well as throw playing cards at a target at the drop of hat. 

𝙰𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂.

in china town, there’s a hideaway restaurant shoved between a dumpster and a convenience store. squirreled away in the back, behind the shabby tables covered in cheap cloth and the beady looks of the owners, is a single dim room. in this room is a group of five men sitting around a plastic folding table and folding chairs to match. the room is quiet, but the atmosphere tenuous, as they lay down their cards to reveal their hands. wordless shuffles as real bills--not chips--are thrown into the center pot. only one man remains careless and easy, leaning back in his seat, one arm thrown over the back of his chair, mild smile on his face as he lazily looks over his cards. “what do you t’ink, amis? one more hand?” 

the night is still young, but one man has already retired for the evening. he straightens up from his crouching position on the bed, fully naked, body sweaty, hair sticking to his face, and a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. wordlessly, he throws himself into a sitting position against the pillows and lights a cigarette. its glow is the only one in the room, but even in the gloom, his silhouette can be seen: the curve of his shoulder, the cocky messiness of his hair. with abandon, he takes a long drag and throws his head back, exposing his neck, as he exhales smoke into the ceiling. the room smells of nicotine. he smiles as the glow of a phone and the flash of a camera go off. “make sure t'get my good side, chéri.” 

𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚂.

Little of Your Time - Maroon 5 | please, don’t leave! stay in bed / touch my body instead / gonna make you feel it / ( can you still feel it? ) / oh my! I don’t mind being the other guy / nice try -- for these games? I do not have the time! / if you want me, call me / come and take a risk kiss / leave somewhere deep under the surface 

Desperado - Rihanna | desperado / sitting in an old monte carlo / a man whose heart is hollow / take it easy / ... / if you want / take a peek and run away! running from / and it’s out of luck / there ain’ nothing here for me anymore / but I don’t wanna be alone 

Victorious - Panic! At The Disco | I’m like a scarf trick ( it’s all up the sleeve! ) / I taste like magic; waves that swallow quick and deep! / throw the bait, catch the shark, bleed the water bed / fifty words for murder and I’m every one of them / my touch is black and poisonous / and nothing like my punch-drunk kiss / I know you need it! ( do you feel it? ) / drink the water -- drink the wine! 

Take A Slice - Glass Animals | one is pretty, but the other lies / chewing on a fat smoke / ( no filter, but you’re puffing ) / sucking on a slim vogue / dark fingernail polish / I’m the treasure, baby -- I’m the prize! / cut me rails of that fresh cherry pie / shitty old pistola / shot a bullet through my wallet / gonna go to pensacola / gonna fuck my way through college / ... / sitting pretty in the prime of life / I’m so tasty ( and the price is right ) / stewing in the black dope / ( I’m filthy and I love it ) 

Irresistible - Fall Out Boy | you’re second hand smoke, second hand smoke / I breathe you in but, honey / I don’t know what you’re doing to me, mon chéri! / but the truth catches up with us eventually / try to say live -- live and let live / but i’m not good at lip service / ( except when they’re yours, mi amor ) 

𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙶𝙴𝙳 𝙱𝚈:  @fierceststorm​ ᴛᴀɢɢɪɴɢ:  @no1asshole​, @transvcrto​, @geneborne​

[fntstory-blog]

Jaws of Neptune (part VIII)

 In which there is a calm before the storm | chapter I | pt i | pt ii | pt iii | pt iv | pt v | pt vi | pt vii

Haru’s dreams were strange that night. He dreamt of broken teeth and tempests and the haunting, unseeing eyes of the Vodacce Fate Witch. When he awoke, it was to a pounding on his door and Mr. Beckett’s voice coming from the other side.

“Rise, if you please, Mr. Haru! I run a tight ship!” Hard wooden soles shuffled outside the door, more than like the young lieutenant pacing back and forth. “We’re going up in the rigging, so it’s shoes or nothing!”

Haru rose slowly, though it was still with more speed than he would have demonstrated were he comfortably back home. The alcohol from the night before had his head feeling cotton-stuffed and his throat dry. With some dismay he realized he had fallen asleep fully dressed; a first in his life.

Splashing some water on his face - there was still some in a pitcher from some days before, he couldn’t rightly recall - he pulled his hair up into a topknot and set to answering the door. His ribs still ached, as did his head, but he would work through both.

“Good morning, Mr. Haru,” Beckett said brightly, eyeing his newest charge. “Come along, then.” He began to walk briskly out onto the deck and into the odd silver light. “I do trust you remember some of the knots you were able to untie, because we’ll be tying some today.” A grin broke across his face at the prospect.

Dutifully, Haru followed the lieutenant across the deck, nodding at his question before remembering himself and adding a “Yes, sir.” The words sounded and felt strange; he counted Beckett more a friend than a superior, but it was how things were done here on the Ivory Maiden.

Without much ado, Beckett hopped up into the rigging, pulling himself up as agile as any monkey despite his clunky shoes and woolen uniform. “Come on, then!” He called, spurring Haru on. A few men were sitting atop the smaller mast they ascended; the smallest of the three on the ship. “This is the Mizzen-mast and, like the others, she’s tall to catch the wind!”

At first, Haru’s climbing was slow, painfully so for the more experienced Beckett, but the novice sailor didn’t much relish the thought of escaping a beating death to only do himself in through carelessness. However, as he grew more familiar and comfortable with the precarious perches the ropes presented, his speed and dexterity increased.

Strange as it might have been, Haru found that his time in his daimyo’s court helped in this new task. There he had need to remember not only faces but names and titles, familial connections, enemies and lovers, peculiar interests and eccentric dislikes. This attention and retention of detail served him now in recalling the names of the crew he met as well as the strange names for the ship’s anatomy.

Once they had reached the top of the mast, there was a crossbeam and Haru saw where the ropes on the deck actually lead. It was so much more complex than the Rokugani vessels he had sailed on back home. The two men he sighted were not familiar and Beckett grinned down at him as he made the introductions. “Mr. Haru, this is Swann and MacConnell.”

Swann, a ginger-haired man with small and flinty eyes muttered a greeting. MacConnell, larger than his fellow and sporting a dark beard, wore what appeared to be a skirt and offered a curt nod. “Laddie-buck.”

Swann and MacConnell were greeted with a polite “Good morning” and smile; he was still unsure what the proper protocol was amongst the crew. The captain he knew was greeted with knuckles pressed to the forehead and a deferential ‘sir’, Berek rated low bows and a ‘m’lord.’ But amongst the men, he had witnessed curt nods, hurled insults, and cheerful words; having no real experience amongst the more common elements, it left him slightly off-balance socially.

Over the next few hours, Haru got used to moving around on the net, raising and lowering the sails, and learning where the ropes went to the deck. By the end, his arms and legs ached from holding onto the rope, but much of the mystery of the men’s duties were beginning to unravel.

Pausing in his morning’s work, with Beckett’s leave, Haru turned his attention from sails and ropes and masts and looked out on the water come sky. Though they were far removed from its shores, he could almost believe that any one of Rokugan’s sea demons and spirits lived in these sterling seas.

A series of bells rang and lunch was called for, interrupting his reverie and bringing to light that he must have slept through breakfast. He was informed that he would dining with the lieutenants, a group that weren’t much better than the men. They were all younger, teenagers by and large, their elders having been lost during battles at sea and their time in Rokugan. Lunch was a less formal affair than dinner the previous night and Haru, unfortunately, experienced the food of the common man.

A cut of beef, still somewhat rare and smelling of salt, a serving of nearly wilted vegetables, and a hard roll which, to his horror, contained a weevil. Beckett laughed, pointing with a fork at the invader. “Here, now, you’re evicting him, Mr. Haru!” The lieutenants shared a laugh, only somewhat at his expense.

He took lunch as well instride as he could. Self-conscious not only for his unfamiliarity with the younger men, but also because of what had just transpired between Barrows and himself, Haru did his best to answer the questions put to him. The lieutenants were a friendly, curious bunch and put just as many, if not more, questions to him regarding Rokugan as he had put to Berek and Lannigan the prior evening. The food presented was only partially eaten and, then, only because he knew he needed to eat something to avoid fainting from hunger during the day.

As lunch ended, the bells rung again and everyone fell back to formalities in the face of resumed duties. Each lieutenant filed out of the mess hall, returning abovedecks and to his workcrew. Mr. Beckett approached Haru, a wry smile on his be-freckled face. “I hope lunch wasn’t all that terrifying …”

“I’m not … much accustomed to finding insects in my food, but I think I’ll survive.” The sardonic grin that accompanied his words faded to something more genuine as he added, “Your fellow lieutenants seem a good sort, though …”

“Weevils are a fact of navy life, Mr. Haru, though I do agree that it’s quite distasteful.” Beckett nodded in agreement with his secondary statement. “Aye, they’re fine lads. We’ve grown closer ever since we arrived in your lands. We see each other more … honestly.”

Beckett walked with Haru across the deck and pointed up to the bow of the ship. Captain Hayes and Doctor MacMorgan were there, Hayes with his sketchbook and MacMorgan with a small squeeze-box. “Meeting with the brass, Mr. Haru,” Beckett explained, catching Hayes’ eye and pointed nod. He saluted his captain and took a step back. “We’ve knots to tie when you’re finished!”

Haru stepped forward and, again, wished something could be done for his appearance; barefoot and battered, his clothes now two days old and slept in, hair sloppily tied and just beginning to show new growth, face bruised and sun-pink, he hardly resembled the courtier he still viewed himself to be.

“Captain Hayes, doctor,” he said in greeting, bowing in the habit he maintained. The shadow of a grimace passed over his face as a stab of pain shot through his side and, if he were honest, the awful sound coming from the box in the doctor’s hands.

“Mr. Haru,” Owen smiled, his sketching stopping for cradled in the crook of one arm was a sketchbook and in his opposite hand was a stump of a pencil.

The doctor ceased working his awful instrument as well and waved his patient closer. “Ah, yes, let’s see to those bruises. What a face to make, ser, are you in pain?” He asked, the strange tentacle-like instrument falling off his knee and squawking like several angered gulls as it extended to its full length.

“It’s not so bad, more discomfort than actual pain,” Haru answered, lying in a misplaced effort to protect what remained of his pride as he removed his shirt. “The rest you prescribed has helped.” This, at least, was the truth.

His movements were stiff from rope climbing and damaged ribs, and his cheeks colored slightly at the immodesty of the situation, standing half-naked for all the crew to see. The bruising along his one side had gone ugly in its healing; deep purples fading to sickly yellow-green. The scrapes and cuts along both arms were scabbed over and the worst of them would undoubtably leave scars.

The damage rendered to his face remained a mystery. He hadn’t seen his reflection since before boarding the ship, though tentative touches told him he was healing. Or so he assumed; as of yet, no one had recoiled in horror at the sight of him. The thought of carrying scars forever wounded his lingering vanity, though, but then so did the sight of his red-raw, blistered hands. This voyage, it seemed, was determined to rob him of everything he had once been.

“There’s jaundicing, that’s good,” Doctor MacMorgan said, leaning his bulk forward. He tapped at Haru’s ribs lightly, then his sternum. Arms were raised and lowered, his patient turned ‘round and chin grabbed to better look at the state of his pupils. His examination lingered for a moment over the twin scars in Haru’s breast; arrow wounds, long since healed.

“Theus’ sake, man, he’s not a side of beef,” Hayes objected, frowning as the doctor continued his poking and prodding.

MacMorgan chuckled, “We are all made of meat, good captain; a doctor, it should follow, would make a more than passable butcher.” He reached down to the black satchel by his seat and pulled out a neatly wound length of clean linen bandages. With quick, experienced fingers, he wrapped Haru’s ribs tight and replaced the bandages around his wrist. His expression said that was healing well, too.

Owen tsked, standing just that much closer to Haru, as if to support him with his presence. “It isn’t anything to -“

The doctor held up a hand. “Nothing to worry about.” He cleared his throat, giving his patient a pointed look. “It will do no good to lie to a physician, ser, and worse if he is a Highland Marcher like me. I appreciate your stoic nature, but I know better, laddie.”

“You may dress yourself, Mr. Haru. I’ll make it a point to prepare more bandages and perhaps a salve, for the bruising. Ah.” MacMorgan reached into his pocket, coming out with a watch on a chain. He hung it in front of Haru; the front served as a small mirror. “A salve will help with … your face as well.” He smiled apologetically.

Haru gladly slipped his shirt back on and carefully cupped the watch-come-mirror in one hand. Gone was the carefully cultivated complexion, cool fawn always so perfectly accentuated by rich blues, replaced by something more wan, unhealthy. High cheekbones, so prized, now bore blue blossoms where once they had been perfectly palest pink; once pillow soft lips showed cracks and a red line just caught the bottom edge, running to the chin where another bruise bloomed.

It felt silly, stupid, petty, to be so dismayed by the injuries inflicted. Surely Lannigan didn’t care so much about the state of his nose. But then the sailor hadn’t been born into a family, a clan, that prided itself so deeply on beauty and perfection. He didn’t expect any of the Thean crew to understand, though he suspected Owen would make an effort, so he cleared the disappointment from face, if not mind, and handed MacMorgan back his time piece.

“Thank you, doctor. I appreciate all your ministrations; surely, that I am here is testament to your skill …”

The doctor replaced his pocketwatch into his vest - and the flash of a silver flask could be seen as he moved his coat - and he nodded. “Quite welcome, Mr. Haru.” He cleared his throat and reseated the spectacles on his nose, uncomfortable with the high praise. “Well, I do try my best …”

Perhaps because he saw something of that sadness and disappointment in his lover’s expression, Owen passed along the sketchbook he had been working in. Prominent on the page were a self portrait of the captain and a portrait of the doctor. In one corner, though, a hidden detail could be picked out: Haru climbing the rigging with Beckett a step or two above him.

“When will I have this chance again?” He asked with a sly smile.

Haru met the captain’s smile with his own, murmuring, “I would sit for something closer if you wished …” as he handed the book back to its owner.

“We can make a night of it, Mr. Haru,” Owen promised.

Doctor MacMorgan, happily oblivious to his captain and patient’s flirtations, hefted his strange instrument once more and began to play it; he hit several sour notes. “It drives Lord Berek MAD,” he grinned ferally, relishing the reclusive lord’s dislike.

Haru’s expression shifted from coy to one of polite interest as he looked to the doctor. Biting back a wince and grimace the thing’s atrocious noises aroused within him, he forced his smile wider saying, “Ahh, yes, I can see that such a unqiue instrument would not be … appreciated by just anyone …”

“Aye, well, a surgeon I may be, but I can never seem to tune my oldest friend.” The doctor the instrument and buckled it together with a clever arrangement of straps. “A pity; once it was a raiser of spirits and entertainment. Now it’s been relegated to my petty revenge on that — that —“ He glanced up to the captain and cleared his throat once more. “Lord Berek.”