#pirates smp fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thedo0zyslider · 9 months

Text

Sail Out To See And Fall For Me - 2k words

Scott and Martyn have a handful a moments together, many of them happening on the seas, in a boat far to small for two people to comfortably sail in.

A03 Link

To Scott, the Kestrels are a weird faction. They’ve always seemed to have a rivalry of sorts with his own faction since…well as long as he’d been alive and longer probably. The two groups are always calling each other names, yelling out mean jabs when they pass each other in the streets, much more than either of them seemed to do to the other factions. It’s just always been that way, Scott supposes. So it’s a little surprising when there’s one Kestrel he finds himself drawn too.

Most of the current Kestrels are fine, don’t get him wrong. Scott gets along with most of them, Sausage in particular. But at the end of the day they’re still Kestrels ; vain and money hungry. But one of them doesn;t seem to be that way, one of the newer members.

Martyn’s a fun guy, very good at wordplay and puns, Scott notices rather quickly. He finds himself liking Martyn quite a bit, and very much enjoys expeditions with him. Whenever they get the chance to share a quest of course, not that Scott goes out of his way to explore with Martyn. No, not him. He would never .

He thinks Martyn should’ve been a Heron instead, as he seems to enjoy adventure more than he does riches. But Martyn says he’s in the Kestrels to find a specific treasure, which he could do just as easily in the Herons, in Scott's totally humble and unbiased opinion. They discovered unique treasure all the time, it was like, their whole thing after all.

They have a lot of friendly adventures together, just the two of them, each one more fun than the last. The two pirates find stuff every time, but it’s never what Martyn’s looking for, so much so Scott has to look at Martyn and wonder if he even knows what he’s trying to find anymore; or if he lost it long ago.

Scott finds himself looking at Martyn a lot on these expeditions actually, more than a normal amount probably. He doesn’t do it on purpose, half the time anyways. Martyn’s eyes are just very easy to get lost in whenever he talks. The fact that he’s showing so much skin doesn’t help either, or that his arms are on the more muscular side.

On their next little quest the two of them end up leaning against the rails of Scott’s ship, waiting for night to fall on the island. They need monsters to actually emerge from the caves to slay them, but that’s a few hours off. So the two pirates have just been content to sit there and wait, making idle chatter and doing other things to pass the time.

About two hours into waiting, when sunset must have been less than an hour away, Scott finds himself staring at a certain Kestrel again. Though this time instead of admiring his arms, Scott’s eyes are tracing over the scars that litter one of them. They’re very interesting scars, and he can’t help but be a little bit curious about where they came from. Anyone would be really, with the strange pattern they almost seemed to be in.

“Hey Martyn?” He asks, tapping his fingers against said scars lining the other’s arm. The blonde just hummed, and gave him a quizzical look. Scott feels like the question he’s about to pop might be too personal, but also reasons he’s probably not the first person in the isles to inquire about it.

“Why’re you tapping my scar?” The blonde asked with a small smile, amusement lining his tone. Scott smiles back at him. He’s quickly finding that he really likes it when Martyn smiles.

“How’d you get this thing?” Scott questions, catching a glimpse of how the blonde’s face falls for a moment, and regret flashes through him.

“If I said a tiger, would you believe me?” Martyn cracks a joke, a playful grin dancing on his lips. The sight of it makes Scott all warm and fuzzy inside, yet his response comes out quite deadpan.

“No.” Martyn laughs and gives a cheeky smile at his response, and Scott elbows his side playfully.

“You’re not gonna tell me, are you!?” The Heron exclaims, shoving Martyn playfully. He doesn’t do it too strongly, well aware he could very easily send his friend overboard. Martyn shows him back, but with a little more force. Scott laughs, gripping the side of the ship to keep him upright.

“Nope!” Martyn cracks another cheeky smile, and Scott tries to send him overboard again. Somehow, the play fight escalates, and they end up falling onto the deck, tussling with each other like children do. Martyn wins in the end, pressing Scott to the floor. Scott makes an oof sound as the blonde basically lays on top of him, proclaiming his victory proudly.

Scott just rolls his eyes, and any snarky retort he ever had dries up in his mouth as Martyn holds the side of his face gently. The Kestrel is looking down at him, and it’s a fond look, one that makes butterflies flutter wildly in Scott’s stomach. The blonde is beginning to chuckle again as he does so, not able to stop himself. Scott can't hold back his own laughter either, with how ridiculously this whole interaction has been.

Martyn presses their foreheads together, laughing. It’s an infectious laugh, one of pure joy, and Scott can’t help but be infected by it. He laughs along with the Kestrel, admiring him in between giggles. Martyn’s laugh is loud and booming, a sound he enjoys hearing. The corners of his eyes crinkle whenever he smiles, and there’s a million other little details Scott notices as he stares up at the blonde.

He’s quite the pretty man, Martyn is, and Scott isn’t surprised at how enamored he’s become with him. He’s not at all surprised that there is blush spreading across his face, or that his heart is beating rapidly in his chest. It’s just a shame really, that the man he’d fallen for had to be a Kestrel.

__________________________________

The next time the topic of scars is brought up, they are on a ship again. Because all of their little moments seem to happen on one of their ships for some reason. There’s no play fighting this time, just more fleeting touches. Ya know, the usual stuff with them.

They’ve just started to set sail, and the waves are calm. Calm enough for both of them to feel comfortable enough to anchor the ship and take a lunch break, both men having taking turns steering. They used to travel separately when they shared quests, but soon found using one boat was a lot less risky, more time efficient, and a hell of a lot less tiring for the both of them. And Scott was never one to complain about more time spent with pretty men again, even if the ships they have access to at the moment hap[pen to be rather small and cramped. They’re supposed to be getting ones soon, apparently, according to the merchants, and Scott will believe it when he sees it.

The two men are sitting by the mast, sharing some bread and pasta they’d remembered to pack, when Scott finds his eyes landing on Martyn's scars again. There’s two more that are visible, matching ones shaped like little stars under his eye and on his chest. As his gaze traces the marks, the Heron finds himself getting a probably bad idea, but he’s committing to it before he can think twice. Again, it’s a dumb idea, but all of this man's scars are interesting, the conversation has lapsed into comfortable silence, and Scott is feeling bold.

Scott leans closer to his friend, eyes still fixed on his chest. Martyn, probably more than a little puzzled, just blinks at him dumbfoundedly for a good moment. Until he processes what exactly seems to be happening, that is, then the blonde’s heart rate starts to increase just a tiny little bit.

Scott runs a finger along the scar on Martyn’s chest, gaze filled with curiosity. “How’d this one happen?” He asks, and before the blonde can answer he’s moving to trace the matching one under his eye. The Heron thinks he sees Martyn’s breath hitch a little, and definitely sees how he turns a little pink at the contact. Which he’s totally not smug about at all.

“An accident. One I wouldn't like to talk about.” The Kestrel huffs, leaning into Scott’s hand. He fails to hide a smile at that, and also has to stop his eyes from flicking just a bit downwards. Scott had to stop himself from leaning in as well, and doing something absolutely stupid. Absentmindedly, while he tries to get a handle on his impulses, he starts to trace circles in Martyn’s cheek with his thumb, and makes the blonde turn beet red in the process.

He wants to kiss Martyn. But Scott can’t kiss a Kestrel. What would his parents say? What would his Heron friends say?

So instead he moves away rather abruptly, and maybe sees a little bit of disappointment flash across Martyn’s face, before it's schooled into something more neutral.

After that they continued on with the quest like nothing had happened. They reach the island, complete their goal, and take any treasure they find. It's getting quite late by the time they finish, and Scott does not want to swim back to the boat in the dark. The ships have to be anchored a good amount of feet out, before the water gets too shallow, and there’s always some mighty big fish lying around, waiting to catch an unsuspecting sailor.

The swimming back part is, very predictably, where everything goes wrong. Scott makes it back to the boat just fine, but the splashing from the both of them had made quite the scene apparently, and his little Kestrel friend wasn’t going to be as lucky as he had been.

“Martyn!” Scott calls, gripping the edge of the boat as tight as he can, eyes trained on a rather large shadow in the water. “There’s a thrasher!” He hears the Kestrel swear to himself upon his call, and then watches as he swims back faster. Scott can also see the thrasher swimming equally as fast, maybe faster, and wishes there was something he could do that wouldn’t endanger him. Well, he does have his gun, but it’s a few feet away in his bag, and the fish is getting far too close to Martyn for him to be uncomfortable firing it.

Unfortunately, the fish is faster, and catches up with the blonde as soon as he reaches the boat. Scott had already moved down to help him up, and is grabbing wildly for his friend's hand before worse comes to worst. There's a blinding panic settling over him, both of them probably, and Scott isn’t even sure he’s grabbing at the right area before he feels something warm and distinctively not a fish tug on his arm.

Just as the thrasher is about to grab Martyn’s foot and drag him down, Scott manages to pull him onto the ship. There’s exclamations of alarm as the two tumble backwards, Scott landing on his back with a thump . They land on a heap on the deck, both men trembling in relief as the adrenaline wears off, and Scott catches his breath. He doesn’t even notice how he hugs the other closer to him for just a moment, arms wrapped around Martyn’s back protectively, before letting the shaking limbs fall against the ship’s wooden floor.

Martyn had landed on top of Scott, and was now basically laying on him. The blonde paid that fact no mind, clearly trying to regan himself after the extremely near miss. He had an absent sort of look in his eyes, and his breathing was still a little quick. The Heron doesn’t know what is running through his friend’s head right now, be it fear or something else, but whatever it is isn’t good. The wide eyed look he currently has says as much.

“Hey,” Scott muttered, voice gentle. “You okay?” He pushed the wet locks from Martyn’s face as he asked this, his hand ghosting over the other pirate's cheek for just a second.

“Yeah, ‘M fine.” Martyn huffed a few seconds later. If he noticed the position they were in, he said nothing, and only rolled off Scott and onto the deck. Scott got up as well, letting the blonde sit down for a second before helping him back to his feet.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Scott asks with furrowed brows, steadying Martyn as he stands. The other seems a bit shaky on his feet, which makes his claims of being fine even less convincing than they were before.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Martyn insists again, and starts to move away and towards the sail. Scott stops him before he can go far, grabbing the Kestrel by his arm and pulling him back. Martyn just blinks at him like an idiot, and Scott wants to roll his eyes.

“You’re shaking.” He points out, deadpan, nodding towards Martyn’s hands. The blonde looks down at them and seems to realize that yes, he is indeed shaking. That’s a concerning thing his body is doing at the moment.

“Yeah, guess I am.” Martyn murmurs, and stops trying to move away. Instead he leans closer to Scott instead, and rests his head on Scott’s shoulder. The Heron smiles, and absentmindedly runs a hand though soft, blonde hair. “Sorry about this..” The blonde mutters, burying his head until Scott’s chest just a little.

“It’s fine, really. It is.” Scott reassures him, and finds that Martyn is shaking less. The Kestrel is also leaning into his touch, and Scott really can’t stop himself from placing a comforting kiss on his friend’s forehead.

“What was that for?” Martyn’s question comes out as more of a muffled giggle, head still buried comfortably against the ginger's chest.

“Just want to kiss you is all.” Scott admits it quietly and very tentatively, and it kinda feels like he’s admitting to something sinful. Even though, logically, this is not a sin. Being in love is not sinful, but his brain has been hardwired to think otherwise.

“You do?” The blonde pulls away a little to meet Scott’s gaze. His tone and expression are surprised, and maybe a little hopeful as well. Scott’s heart seems to melt at the sight.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He smiles, and knows there’s no holding back anymore. Because if he doesn’t do it now, Martyn is sure to make the first move in a minute or so. And Scott is not letting him have the victory, no siree, not after all that flirting he did today.

“I-- Mmph !” Whatever the blonde was about to say was cut off by Scott smashing their lips together, doing so maybe a little frantically. It took a moment, but Martyn was soon kissing the Heron back with fervor. Hands went to cup his face, and the blonde quickly turned to putty in Scott’s hold. The ginger nipped at his bottom lip after a moment, and Martyn let the other’s tongue slip into his mouth with a held back whine.

For a few fleeting moments, Scott didn’t care about what anyone would think, and let himself kiss this guy stupid. Just like he’d been wanting to do for weeks now.

When they pull away both of them are gasping for air a little, Scott’s face turning a nice shade of pink. He brushes the messy hair out of Martyn’s face again, and smiles when the Kestrel leans into his touch. Their faces stay close, foreheads resting together, and Scott has never been happier.

“I guess you fell for me a second time, huh Martyn?” He murmured teasingly, bumping their noses together.

“Oh shut it!” The blonde huffed, tone laced with affection. He connected their lips for a second time, Scott melting into it as he continued to hold Martyn’s face. The second kiss was better than the first, and he couldn’t wait to dive back in for another when they finally reached the shore.

#ron.fic #ron.writing #inthelittlewood #scott smajor #pirates smp #piratesshipping #mean gills #majorwood #smajor1995 #martyn inthelittlewood #hehe late night fic postin

78 notes · View notes

frozenjokes · 3 months

Text

A Meeting Of Three Future Pirates (i enjoyed this little scene and wanted to draw a little thing)

in which Scar refuses to tell Mumbo his name, and Grian is determined to get an answer

Ao3 Link for the fic!

***

Luckily, the day passed without incident. That is, until Mumbo turned around and Grian was gone.

Gone and already halfway across the docks towards Pirate- for goodness sakes, what did Mumbo expect! Why had he described him so accurately? Not that it was difficult to pick Pirate out in a crowd, he stood out just as much as Mumbo did- augh! And now, here Mumbo was with an armful of cleaning supplies, bumbling while Grian was making a beeline towards a bad decision.

“Hello there, sir! Might I have a moment of your time?” Grian spoke before Mumbo could, and Pirate, quick as ever, wasted no time before turning around.

“Well hello there! What might a mysterious cloaked figure such as yourself be looking for?” The salesman lilt was in full display, Pirate facing Grian with open arms. Grian turned briefly back to Mumbo with a quick wink. Oh god. Mumbo dropped what he was carrying and hurried forward, but stopped in a strangled breath as he opened his mouth. He couldn’t call either of their names; he didn’t even know Pirate’s, but Grian’s was just as bad to yell on a crowded dock. Mumbo didn’t get to make a decision before Grian continued.

“A name, if you have one,” Grian smirked, and Mumbo couldn’t see his face, but he knew Grian was smirking, “See, I’m here on behalf of Mumbo Jumbo, we’re acquaintances-“

“His last name is Jumbo?”

“Yes, it’s very silly-”

“I don’t think so! Well, I do think so a little bit, but in a good way! It’s kind of whimsical, yeah? You guys are friends? Ah, that makes sense. He gets so worked up about the name thing it’s- oh! There he is behind you! Hello Mum-”

“Shut it!” Grian pointed hard at Pirate’s face, so aggressively, his hood nearly came off, but other than a quiet ‘oh, okay,’ Pirate didn’t look discouraged at all. Quite the contrary actually, which could only be an awful sign- “I’m here for your name, and if you don’t tell me, I’m gonna tell you what he’s called you.”

“Gri- G- Please don’t do that!” Mumbo tried, but only Pirate paid him any mind, smiling and waving in a fashion that made his heart beat a little faster.

Pirate laughed, clearly irritating Grian, though he didn’t give any indication that he noticed, only looking back at him brightly, “Funny coincidence! I was actually wondering about that! I’ve tried asking, I’ve even offered to guess, but Mumbo doesn’t have the same appreciation for games that I do. Just between you and I though, secretly, I think he likes guessing-”

Mumbo bristled, unable to help himself, “I do not like guessing!” but even Pirate ignored him this time, Grian holding all of his attention.

“I wouldn’t be so sure you want to know.”

“Oh believe me, I do! Not much phases me, I’ll tell you that much. Go ahead and hit me!” Pirate was clearly not prepared for Grian to take that literally, but Mumbo winced as he said it, knowing full well Grian could never help himself, and sure enough, his fist landed squarely in Pirate’s gut before Mumbo could even say a word of warning. Pirate gasped, folding over, but Grian jumped back like he’d been stung, eyes wide under his cloak.

“PIRATE!! PIRATE!! HELP!!”

If Grian had any talent at all, it was pointing and screaming. The dock erupted, sailors and fishermen and everyone else having returned from their trips for the evening, all spurred into action by the shrill (and if Mumbo was being honest, quite feminine sounding) scream. Mumbo, only a close distance away by now, ran forward in an attempt to help, but despite being stronger than most people tended to assume, he was no match against the beefy, adrenaline filled sailors with everything to lose.

#hermitcraft #boatemghostsau #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #he doesn’t have any scars yet :)#grian #mumbo jumbo #pirates smp #hermitcraft fic #hermitcraft au #hermitshipping #redscape #mumscar

32 notes · View notes

connorsnothereeither · 8 months

Text

I know most people here on Tumblr follow me for Fable and my Fable fics, because… well, I’m in FableSMP and I mostly write Fable fics lol, BUT if y’all didn’t know, I also have a MerSMP fic!! 👀

The fic is ‘Lovely Bitter Water’ on AO3, and is a historical pirate AU!! At this stage the plan is to keep it mostly grounded but there’s room for some more supernatural elements because sometimes I can’t help myself-

The updates are a lot slower than my usual rate but it is still ongoing, and while it’s still only very early on in the story the plan is to (much like Brink for reference, if people have read that) expand it into a wider multi-POV narrative encompassing a broad chunk of the MerSMP stories and characters in this world, because I think they’re ✨neat✨

But yeah… that’s one of the things my brain is rotting about rn. If you want some gay not-mermaid pirates… that’s where I got ‘em!

#mersmp #mer smp #I realised I never mentioned this fic on tumblr or outside of the mer fan discord so I dunno I wanna talk about it I think pirates are neat

52 notes · View notes

xoxo-ren-xoxo · 9 months

Text

Journal of Impulse S.V., Quartermaster of the Flying Jellie Pirating Vessel: June 18th, Something’s up with the Captain. He’s just been acting off, lately, and I’m not the only one who noticed. I’m glad only Mumbo can read this because I don’t know what he’d do if he found out—but it doesn’t matter. Scar’s different, somehow. It’s putting everyone on edge. I don’t like it. OR: Scar abandons his crew. What happens next is not pleasant.

Just your average survival cannibalism / monster transformation boatem crew with a need for vengeance against pirates SMP scar. nothing to see here.

Also a little bit gay but I promise you it does not go well.

#ben chats shit on the internet #pirates smp #goodtimeswithscar #impulsesv #grian #pearlescentmoon #mumbo jumbo #boatem #scarian #grumbo #fic #hermitcraft #fanfiction #fanfic #cannibalism #????#darkfic

42 notes · View notes

m0ther-of-p3arl · 8 months

Text

across the great divide (there is a glorious sunrise)

chapter two: home, can we go?

hiya and WELCOME BACK to the next chapter of my lovely little au for the niche-est audiences ever :DD if you're into owengejuicetv, charlie slimecicle, and camp halfblood aus, this fic is defo for you!! enjoy the second chapter <3

(also its my birthday so wish me a happy birthday :P)

Owen steps cautiously into the room, trying with little success to curb the quivering of his knees, biting at the inside of his cheek to stop from nervously jabbering away; as was a common tendency of his. Madeline is waiting at her desk, ball gown splayed out around the edges of her chair (why the heck is she even wearing a ball gown anyway- honestly just not at all acceptable teacher behavior from this person all around.). The mottled brown bulldog continues to look up at Owen from its perch under the desk, and if not for its intense and unnerving stare, Owen would have easily thought the animal to be dead.

“Hey, Ms Pemberton,” Owen greets, attempting to swallow down some of his worry (this is just a normal student-teacher conversation anyway, no reason to be scared), “Any reason why I’m being kept inside? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, darling, nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all!” She seems like she’s telling the truth, but as Owen listens a little closer, replays her sentence in his mind, he can hear the grating edge of her voice, the way it lilts higher at the end, crescendoing to an almost squeaking tone.

“Then why am I here?” He tries to keep his voice calm, he really does.

“Well, we’ll just have to figure that out together, won’t we?” She stands from her desk, leaning on it with her hands, the bulldog growling long and low beneath her.

“But… you can’t keep me inside without a reason.” Owen glances backwards at the door, swallowing quickly and resisting the urge to run out the exit as fast as he can. But Charlie told him to stay, and he trusts his best friend above all else.

“I’m the teacher. I have authority here. I can do whatever I want, honey.” Her words are somehow clipped and sloppy at the same time, a slithering quality that's masked by sharp enunciation and crisp syllables.

(The bad vibes Owen’s getting from this situation are ridiculous. He has to admit he’s never felt anything like it before, and that scares him. Usually when he’s around a dangerous or at least unsavory person, he’ll be able to tell what they want from him, and how best to go about handling the situation. That, or he has Charlie with him, and everyone knows that something bad is much less likely to happen if you’re not on your own. Plus, Charlie has the added benefit that he'll cuss out anyone who even tries to harm them, which usually scares most people away.

This, however, is different. Owen doesn’t know what to do, and worse than that, he can’t even tell what the problem is. Why has he been kept inside? Why him, why not any of the other students? Why only him? It feels like an isolation tactic, a way to get him alone so Ms Pemberton can strike. The thing is, if that’s the case, then the original query returns: Why him? Why not Charlie, or Bill, or anyone else in the class? As far as Owen can remember, he’s never met this woman before in his life. So why does she seem so intent on, presumably, harming him?

Owen doesn’t know, and that’s the part that scares him.)

“But I want to go spend time with my friend, and if there’s no reason to keep me here, then- is there?” Owen voices his question with a blanket of confusion masking simple caution, every instinct in his body screaming at him now, more than quiet chatter, to run, straight out that door, and never come back.

But Charlie said he had to “deal with… that,” and, again, Owen trusts his friend. So no matter how much he wants to, no matter how many longing glances he'll throw towards the direction of the exit, no matter how his hair stands on end, his skin prickling with nerves, Owen knows he will not leave the room- because Charlie told him, Charlie promised, that Owen would be okay.

“Oh, trust me, there’s a reason. We’ve been looking for you for a very long time. You’re quite powerful for one of your kind- born from a lesser power, though, unfortunately. Athena is nothing when you compare what she can do to Hades or Demeter- those are the ones to watch out for. I’m just here to take you out real easy, a nice meal before things really start going down,” Madeline says, her tone absolutely pleasant, only the faintest hint of hatred poking through the facade. Why is she so against him? Again, Owen can’t remember ever meeting, or even seeing, this person before in his life. So why is she suddenly acting as if he personally has wronged her in unimaginable ways? The whole situation screams unsafe, and it's so uncomfortable he can almost feel the wrongness of it in the air.

Then the implications of the other things she’s said finally reach his mind.

“Did you say a meal?” Owen asks, backing slowly away. He's not sure if she's alluding to cannibalism, or what- though, thinking about it some more, that does seem extraordinarily unlikely.

(If Owen didn’t know it was completely impossible, he would have sworn he could see Madeline's mouth lengthening, tongue splitting in two and forking at the end like a snake’s- he could’ve sworn as her shoes were kicked off her feet that he could see legs fusing together under the dress to form a silvery snake’s tail. But such things are impossible, and he chalks it up to simple hallucinations from stress. A much easier, more consumable explanation for the horrors taking place before his very eyes.)

“Yes, young halfblood,” Madeline hisses, delight written plainly across her now-hideous face, the skin bloodily crackling at the edges of her unnatural smile, “I am Lamia, and in my heyday, I destroyed countless men just like you, who thought that they were superior to everyone else. Idiot! You will be no different, little one- it has been far too long since I properly feasted. And what better time than now to satiate my appetite? You’re not much, but you’ll simply have to do. It's not like I have another option.”

And with that, she discards her dress, cackling like a witch- and Owen gasps, not so much from fear as from simple surprise. Her body is completely covered, save for her face and hands, with brutally scuffed silver scales. Some are even peeling off, hints of raw, irritated skin peering out from beneath. Her eyes have widened and eyelids thickened, snake-like vertical pupils gracing the centers of eerily yellow irises. Madeline is bleeding from her face, a continuous torrent from cracks and cuts, formed due to the stress that must be caused on her facial tissues whenever she smiles. Her nails have elongated into borderline claws, chipped and bloody, her own finger tissue still visible from where it is stuck underneath the talons.

Owen’s eyes go wide, breath becoming shaky, erratic- he is witnessing a marvel, a scientific phenomenon. He's afraid, of course he's afraid- but fear is eclipsed by wonder and interest as his eyes graze over Madeline- no, Lamia's body, and he almost wants to reach out a hand and run it along the scales, to see if they're as rough and jagged as they appear or if that's simply an intimidation tactic. She sneers at him, and his nails dig into the orange still clutched in his hand instinctively, some of the skin peeling away and sticking under his nails.

Until all of a sudden, he's no longer clutching a molded orange in his fist. Instead, a gorgeous antique pistol is how gripped lightly in his hand, and it feels as though he's held the gun a million times before, it feels as if everything has suddenly just clicked into place. Owen barely has time to register his astonishment before Lamia pounces at him (insofar as a creature with a snake tail can pounce), and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s slid under her, winding up behind the creature as she hisses in frustration.

"Stay still, idiot!" Lamia screeches, blood streaming from the cracks in her cheeks, from cuts formed by every broken scale, her mouth pulled into a hideous sneer. She reaches out one clawed hand, her fingers too long, claws far too sharp to be anything of this world- at least anything Owen knows of. He flinches back, heart beating too fast to be healthy.

After this little aggression, Owen doesn’t have time to think. He lets instinct take over, cocking the pistol as his pointer finger pulls deftly on the trigger, the world flashing into slow motion as the bullet rips straight through the monster’s chest. Owen’s sure that the gunshot, along with her subsequent scream, are loud enough that his parents back home in England can hear it- the deafening thunder crack of the bullet, a scream more enraged than terrified sounding from her too-wide mouth as blood-

No, wait, Owen realizes. That’s not blood. He’d expected it to be, but- somehow- it’s not. Owen doesn’t know how it’s possible, but all of a sudden, Lamia has exploded into soft, golden dust- the woman, the creature, is gone, and all that’s left in her stead is a meager pile of shimmering sand that coats the room, and, subsequently, Owen.

(He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get the taste of her scream out of her mouth, the memory of the bitter flavor grating at his tongue and irritating his eyes. It’s all up in his hair, and he writhes at the thought that the remnants of- of whatever that was- are still upon him even in its death. It’s an unwelcome realization, and with it, he gets the strong and sudden urge to shower as soon as humanly possible.)

Owen handles the pistol almost reverently, releasing it from his rock-solid grip and turning it over in his fingers, admiring the lacy metalwork and brightly varnished wood that adorn the beautiful, almost ceremonial-looking, weapon. The metal appears to be some kind of bronze, though certainly it is like no bronze Owen's ever set eyes upon before. It shines with an almost unnatural glow, although in all honesty it should have been varnished and scuffed beyond recognition.

(At least he assumes so, as given the state that the orange was in, and if the orange was the gun… he’s kind of accepted at this point that weird things are at work here and if moldy oranges are going to turn into guns, there’s not much he can do about that other than roll with it.)

Owen’s attention is lifted from the firearm laying in his hands by the screeching sound of tennis shoes skidding along the linoleum floor, followed quickly after by Charlie, doubled over and wheezing, hands planted on his knees, appearing in the doorway. He must have run all the way here, Owen realizes, though what he doesn’t understand is from where.

It seems to take Charlie a minute to realize what he’s looking at, to take in the pistol clutched in Owen's hands, the sand-like material blanketing the classroom in a carpet of gold- but when he finally does, his eyes widen in something resembling shock, with a heavy tinge of pride mixed in. “You- you did it!”

“No need to sound so surprised,” Owen mutters, the pistol hanging awkwardly from one hand. “So, uh, was I supposed to do that? What- what happened to her, Charlie? Why did she, like, turn into a snake person, and then I shot her and it was so loud, and now she’s just- just this, just dust, and it’s everywhere- How am I going to explain this to my parents, and the school- what have I done? Where do I go from here?”

“Well,” Charlie suggests, a happy tint to his voice that Owen does not think fits well with the situation, “you could come to my summer camp!”

Owen stares at him, the suggestion so ridiculous on so many levels that he feels it's only best to voice the most obvious concern first; lest Charlie's mental state be somehow compromised due to the way he's acting. “School’s just started, it’s not summer anymore. Plus, I don’t really think that they’d be willing to harbor a literal murderer-”

“You’d be really surprised, actually,” Charlie interrupts, beginning to walk casually down the hall. Owen has no choice but to follow, body still quite literally shaking with adrenaline. “And I may have lied about that bit. Only a little, though! Only a little bitty lie. They do a year-round thing too, for kids like you-”

“Criminals, you mean? Juvenile delinquents? Because that’s what I am now- Mom and Dad are going to be so disappointed, I’m not going to be able to finish my education and become a lawyer like they’ve- like I’ve always wanted. Charlie, why the heck did you make me do that?”

“Okay, um- well. First things first, I need to- I need to fucking- to explain some things. What that was, what you killed- Lamia. That wasn’t a human, dude, it's not murder- I promise you're not a murderer. That was a full-ass fucking monster. Monsters are what we call them, by the way-” Charlie is cut off abruptly by Owen, pushing in with his own two cents.

“But Lamia is from Greek mythology, Char! Those things aren’t supposed to exist! And why- no, the question here is how- how did you give me a moldy orange that turned into a literal gun?!” Owen accepts what’s happened, yes, but that doesn’t mean he understands what’s going on. Not by a long shot.

“Okay, stop interrupting, stop interrupting! X will explain everything when we get to camp, until then, you really just need to stick by me. Now that you’ve slain your first monster, your scent is already so much more strong, even I can smell it and with a nose like mine-”

“Scent?” Owen lifts his arms, sniffing his armpits expectantly. “I don’t smell any worse than usual.”

“No, no no no, not that kind of scent, the other one, the one that smells like- like fucking buttered bread or some shit-

(Charlie’s brow is wrinkled up in annoyance- it doesn’t seem like it’s directed at Owen, but instead at the fact that Charlie knows all of these things that he doesn’t. Usually Owen can catch onto a concept really quick, and he supposes it must be really bothersome for Charlie that he’s not exercising that ability to its fullest extent here- but honestly, what does the guy expect him to do? Greek myths and- and the monsters from Greek myths just are. Not. Real. Things like- like whatever’s just occurred- things like aren't real things that happen real to people. That’s not how the world works.)

“Okay, okay, I’ll just lay off until someone better at explaining can tell me what in the world is going on," Owen placates, hands raised up in surrender and the ghost of a grin reappearing on his face, dimples pulling inwards.

Charlie shoots him a glare (albeit not a super angry one, but Owen still instinctively flinches back) and continues to lead him down the hallway, their two sets of steps on cold linoleum the only sound permeating a silence that hangs in the air like molasses slowly dripping down the edges of its barrel. It’s only when Charlie throws open the doors of the school and gestures to a taxicab waiting outside that Owen balks, stopping in his tracks as his eyebrows raise up into his bangs in incredulity.

“We can’t just leave the school in the middle of the day. You know that, right?” Owen asks, a hint of pleading in his voice, a giggle of discomfort breaking his voice in two. His parents, still living back in England, receive daily reports from the aunt he’s currently living with, and if she finds that he’s skipped school, he’s in for the angriest phone call of the month- no, his entire life, even.

“Dude, you don’t really have a leg to- Owen, you honestly just don't have a choice at this point.” Charlie half-laughs the words out, decidedly shaking but still firm in his decision.

“I just- I-” Owen pauses, thinking over his options. He trusts Charlie with his life, that’s simply a fact. That is the only indisputable truth in his life full of uncertainty. And just knowing that, he knows he’s already made the decision. He would follow Charlie to the ends of the earth.

“Fine,” Owen relents, sighing deeply, “Fine, I’ll go with you. But just- What about my parents? My aunt?”

Charlie cringes and scuffs his shoe against the pavement, one foot on linoleum, the other on warm concrete. He’s in between two worlds right now- the thought comes to Owen’s mind, and though he’s never realized it before, he realizes it’s true. There’s something that Charlie’s not telling him, something he’s hiding- not just about this mysterious summer camp, not just about what it actually is, no. Charlie is hiding something about himself.

“You- we’ll notify them that you’re fine. Your dad will understand, he’ll know where you are. And your mom… she’ll probably also be fine. She married your dad after you were born, right?”

Owen affirms Charlie’s statement with a sulking nod of his head.

“Okay, good. We need to hurry the fuck up, though, if we’re going to get back in time for me to check in with X. I would just call the sisters, but I don’t have a drachma- of course I don’t.” Charlie shakes his head and walks forward, gesturing for Owen to follow. He does, but not without another boatload of questions.

“Who’s this ‘X’ guy, by the way? You keep talking about him and I have no idea who he is.” Owen fiddles with his fingers, the worry having seeped out of his chest and into the appendages.

“Camp director,” Charlie answers, pulling open the back door of the taxi and climbing in, handing a wad of cash to the driver. Where did he get that? “You’ll like X, he’s really smart, just like you. He’s also a super good teacher and mentor, you two will get on great.”

Owen nods, and as he slides into the backseat beside Charlie, no idea where they’re headed and no clue if it’s safe, following his best friend into what for all he knows could be oblivion, or death, or sadness. But he follows Charlie, because he always follows Charlie and always will.

Owen trusts him. And that’s the only thing he knows for certain anymore.

25 notes · View notes