#then stowing them in the cargo hold

[helion-ism]

SJM Romance Week 2024 Day 1: First Date

@sjmromanceweek

Summary: “This is the weirdest first date I’ve ever had,” he said and laughed, sipping his glass of wine. / Elain and Lucien’s first date.

Word Count: 2,014

or: read it on ao3

someone lit from within

There was only one thing Elain Archeron hated more than spiders, hated more than withered flowers or more than cold tea. One thing that she hated more than waking up to dark grey clouds hanging threateningly over the city, one thing that made her shiver more than any horror film could ever do. 

Wrapping her arms around her body and clutching her light blue Cleo bag to her stomach, Elain was squeezing past the people trying to stow away their luggage in the cargo hold of the small airplane she was boarding. She absolutely loathed that there was simply no way of entering and leaving an airplane without having touched at least five different people. 

She’d been trembling for at least an hour now, ever since arriving at that wretched airport. Was shaking despite wearing her favourite sweater for comfort. Nesta had gifted it to her for her last birthday. Elain hated herself for a moment for not spending additional money for a seat of her choice. Then she wouldn’t have had to make her way all through the aisle to the very back – of course, she would be that unfortunate. It didn’t matter that this was a small plane and it didn’t matter that it wasn’t too badly packed. It did nothing to calm her furiously beating heart. But she had promised Feyre. She’d promised she’d come visit again for Nyx’ first birthday, and she wasn’t one to break promises. Especially promises that involved the cutest nephew a young woman could have.

For as long as she could remember, Elain hated flying. Even as a little girl she knew that there was nothing natural about humans trapped in a box in the sky completely relying on forces most of the passengers did not care to grasp. It wasn’t normal, she thought now, too. It was especially not normal how she began to tremble uncontrollably as soon as she boarded the plane while every other person seemed to be fine with it, a few of them even enjoying the process simply because it meant going somewhere else. They weren’t even in the sky yet. She had debated requesting diazepam from her doctor but ultimately decided against it. Elain wanted to fight this – in her opinion – utterly rational, albeit apparently not very common, fear of flying. 

A woman was what looked like fighting with her carry-on bag in the aisle. Elain stopped and smiled politely. The blonde cursed when she noticed Elain, apologizing, and moved out of the way. Another reason for hating flying: Almost everybody was stressed. There was absolutely no way of travelling by airplane and not getting stressed in the process. Everyone seemed to be on the edge, the slightest annoyance reason enough for a ruined day. 

Elain finally reached the back where her seat was. She was sweating and desperately wished for a shower. Some rows weren’t fully occupied, but there were enough passengers on the plane that at least one person was seated in each row. She hoped — 

Elain frowned as she looked at her ticket again that she had pressed into her chest. Yes, there was somebody occupying her seat, the one she’d not chosen, the one in the very back. She cleared her throat, unsure of what to do. The man was handsome, his long red hair was tied up into a half bun. A thin braid accented his facial bone structure, and Elain’s heart appeared to stop for a second when he looked up at her and smiled, immediately getting up.

“Do you have any luggage I can help you with?” His voice was like honey, smooth and gentle. 

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine, that’s all,” Elain said, not understanding at all why she sounded so nervous. She blamed her aerophobia. The stranger looked at her, waiting.

“What?”

He cleared his throat. “Do you want the window seat?”

“Why?” Did she sound suspicious? 

“I’m just being polite,” he said, holding his hands up in defence. “I fly quite a lot, so I don’t really care where I’m sitting.”

“No, no,” she replied quickly, feeling like a fool. “I don’t want to. But thank you.” She tried to smile at him, but had a feeling it looked more like she was cringing. She also immediately regretted her answer. Who on earth would turn down a window seat? 

After she settled down and the plane’s engine started, the noise cutting out the voices and the rustling of the passengers, Elain noticed the temperature of the cabin. Despite feeling quite hot when entering the plane, she almost always felt cold in flying box – another phenomenon she could not quite understand.

She shivered at the coldness, cursing herself silently for not bringing her jacket with her, and closed her eyes as the plane began to move. Everything seemed to be going wrong. 

She hated this part the most and wondered whether she should have taken the train instead. But it was a tedious trip, too long and exhausting, and flying was just too convenient. The handsome stranger next to her did not seem to have a problem with flying or the temperature at all, so Elain tried to not let her anxiety show. He smelled nice, too. But that didn’t matter now when the plane was taking off. 

Elain gripped the armrest tightly and closed her eyes. Only a few minutes and this would almost feel like a train ride. Ant then finally – 

Pace picking up. Turbines louder. And those few seconds of anticipation and dread in every passengers’ stomachs right before the plane takes off. Air rushing. Ears popping. 

At last, the plane levelled out. To calm herself, Elain took out a small book out of her bag and began to read it. Nesta had given it to her for her a while ago, and from what Elain knew about Nesta’s book preferences, she didn’t need to look at the description on the back of it to learn that it is a romance with quite a few explicit scenes. She wondered if the stranger next to her saw what smut she was reading. But she couldn’t focus, her eyes registered to words, but her brain didn’t. Elain decided to put the book away. 

Now, she sat in her seat, still restless, wondering when the flight attendants would come to serve drinks and snacks. Maybe that would help. 

The last time Elain had flown was about a year ago when Nyx had been born. She had felt a lot more awful back then, having just discovered Graysen in bed with his assistant. His 20-year-old assistant. In her and Graysen’s bed. Needless to say, Elain got rid of that bed. And the guy. But God, had she felt awful. Crying in her seat and mourning both her old life and her future as his wife. She could not remember if she had been scared then. Maybe that was the trick, Elain thought now. 

Suddenly, the all-too-known and hated, shrill beeping noise came out of the speakers. Elain peered out the window behind the stranger, but it was too dark. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking booking a flight at night. The plane began to shake, and she imagined the wind was howling outside. Turbulences. Of course, there would be turbulences. Elain had thought it might calm her down, might stifle her uneasiness, flying in the dark. Not seeing anything, maybe she could pretend she was taking a train through the countryside where no city lights lit up the surroundings. 

Obviously, it did not calm her down. She was fairly certain she was shaking slightly. 

She couldn’t just pretend to be in bed, couldn’t pretend her window was open and the airflow coming from the air conditioning wasn’t just the wind breeze in her face. It was the noises that destroyed any possibility of that. 

A baby was crying somewhere in the front.

Elain clutched her throat. Suddenly, a male voice, soft and cautious, asked, “Are you okay?” She knew the only reason why she didn’t feel embarrassed at that was her fear. Embarrassment would follow later.

“I’m just … a little afraid of flying, that’s all.” 

He was silent. Then, he said, “That explains your pale face.” Elain snorted at his reply and opened her eyes to see him look at her tentatively. He really was very handsome.

“You know, the odds of an airplane crash are one in eleven million. More than 90 percent of plane crashes actually have survivors. Chances are pretty good. It’s more likely you experience a train crash. Or even more than that, a car crash. How many people do you know who have been in a car accident?”

Elain thought about his question for a few seconds. “Like four people.”

“How many of those happened separately?”

“Three,” she smiled at him now.

“And how many people do you know who have been in a plane crash?”

“You know, that’s not fair. Obviously, no one.” He grinned at her. “But! But that doesn’t make my anxiety magically disappear.”

“I understand that argument. The first time I flew, I was about five years old. Went to visit my dad for the first time. I was so scared. My mother never told me I was silly for being scared. She understood and told me the same I just told you. Statistics helped me. But also knowing that flight attendants were trained for difficult situations. If you can’t rely on numbers, then you should try to rely on people.” He held out his hand to her. It was warm when she took it, shaking it slightly. His fingers wrapped around her hand effortlessly. “I’m Lucien, by the way.”

“I’m Elain,” she said and managed to relax a little. She found herself enjoying his company. Lucien was charming, funny, and conversation with him was easy. 

Soon, the turbulences thankfully ceased and flight attendants, the ones Elain had decided to trust after all, began to hand out drinks. Lucien got a bottle of Pinot noir for the two of them after asking if she drank wine. He suggested the alcohol might help her anxiety a little, too. She was always unsure about this, but decided to indulge in it. He made it easy for her. 

They talked about Lucien’s mother and his first meeting with his dad. Elain told him about her nephew and how difficult it was for her to see her family so rarely. Lucien told her about his pet – a twelve-year-old orange cat named Ollie that his brother took care of at the moment. It was natural, the way they talked to each other without taking breaks, and even if there was one, it was comfortable. Elain didn’t feel stressed about keeping the conversation going because she felt like he was in control of it, not in a creepy, dominating way, but rather in a manner that allowed her to relax and lean back. He showed interest in her, which flattered her. She was too scared to ask him where he lived, not wanting to seem too eager. 

Lucien apparently didn’t have those any qualms. 

“This is the weirdest first date I’ve ever had,” he said and laughed, sipping his glass of wine. 

Elain startled at his nonchalant statement, but quickly found she liked his charming boldness. So she asked, “How do you know I’m not with someone right now?” 

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Neither am I,” his smile broadened. This time when she felt a flutter in her stomach, it wasn’t from the airplane, but because of his smile. He looked so relaxed, confident, and content, as if he was lit from inside. It seemed as if his calmness and happiness transferred over to her, dispelling negative feelings. 

“I am visiting. Or, I should say, going home. To see my sister.”

“I am visiting, too,” Lucien said. 

“Thank God,” Elain smiled in return. It meant wherever he came from was not too far away from her current home. Maybe flying wasn’t really that bad after all. At least, she thought, when he was sitting right next to her. 

#elucien #maria writes #sjmromanceweek2024

[freesia-writes]

Chapter 6: Interest

During the Clone Wars, the Bad Batch is tasked with a variety of missions across the galaxy. An unexpected addition to their team throws a wrench in the mix, particularly for Tech, who finds a particular connection with this disillusioned Padawan-turned-mechanic named Vel throughout the events in this action-adventure romance.

COVER ART BY @zaana!! And this was my first fanfic ever, y'all! :D

Master List of Chapters

This chapter has fanart!! :D

Vel was lounging on the bridge one day when she decided to go down to her quarters. As the door slid open, she noticed Tech on the opposite side, performing some incredibly procedural calisthenics in an open corner. At the whoosh of the door, Tech stood up, momentarily pausing his routine.

"Ah, excuse me," he said, wiping a light sheen of sweat from his brow, "I assumed you would be upstairs for a longer period of time." He bent to pick up his armor, wearing only his black base layer. "Sorry," she said, waving one hand in front of her dismissively, "Don't mind me, keep doing your thing." Pausing for a moment to discern between any possible self-consciousness at being observed and the importance of maintaining his fitness routine, Tech watched her walk to her bunk. Returning the armor to the ground near a crate, he moved slightly to place a tall cargo pile between himself and her before continuing.

Vel saw him drop down out of the corner of her eye and found herself unable to resist a surreptitious glance. Was he... hiding? She smirked, a mix of cynicism and a shocking bit of warmth, and turned down to her book. She read for a moment, listening halfheartedly to the various quiet rustling sounds and occasional grunts coming from the opposite corner.

Finally, she could resist no longer, her curiosity far outweighing her desire to read. She stowed the book and stood, moving sideways until she could see Tech through a gap in the cargo. He was swiftly moving back and forth in some strange crawling motion, holding his body in a rigid plank while bringing alternating knees up to his chest before flipping onto his back and performing a similarly complex routine. Entirely without her permission, she found herself noticing a surprising agility and strength she hadn't seen before. She marveled at the fluidity of his movement, not being familiar with this sort of exercise, when her unabashed assessment was interrupted by his awareness. "Unlike Wrecker, I do not enjoy being observed while exercising," Tech stated, pausing his movement and sitting up on his knees to look at her. "I can continue later."

"No, sorry," she said, wincing at her own obviousness, "I just..." Just what? She paused, hating the feeling of being exposed, but decided to admit her curiosity. "I just haven't seen anything like that before."

"Of course not," Tech replied, with a hint of pride in his voice, "It is an adaptation of Noghri combat forms, blended together to provide a challenge for every muscle group of the human body. Some may criticize its lack of bravado or showiness," he continued, and Vel mentally replaced the "some" with "Wrecker" as he spoke, "But it is highly effective when executed correctly." She found a small smile on her face as he rolled up his sleeves, adjusting his goggles and regarding her with patience. When she realized her expression, she quickly dropped the corners of her mouth to nonchalance. "It looks hard," was all she could say, lowering her eyes to his forearms, unremarkable yet indescribably pleasing to the eye. She followed them down to his hands, splayed on the tops of his thighs as he sat on his knees. He noticed her gaze, lifting a hand to the back of his neck for a quick rub that belied his discomfort. "Sorry," she said again, "I'll let you get back to it." But before she could decide her next move, their planetary arrival was announced. "Coming out of hyperspace," came the voice from the bridge, and Vel braced herself for the inevitable forward jolt. The ship lurched to a cruising speed and Kashyyyk came into view. The planet was impossibly green and dazzlingly blue, peppered with rich tones of brown and red. As they dropped low over the tree line, Vel pressed her face to the window, eyes wide. She had never seen such a place.

Canopies of trees stretched out as far as the eyes could see, interwoven with simple rope ladders that branched out like a spiderweb. Sparkling rivers flowed beneath, lined with reeds and bushes, weaving throughout the massive forest. The Marauder came to a smooth stop on a landing platform as Tech finished assembling his armor. Helmet under his arm, he moved toward the lift. 

He had seen her gaping at the scenery, and he understood her awe -- it was a fantastic ecosystem and unrivaled by most of the planets he had seen. It had been months of missions to Outer Rim deserts or greasy Core underworlds, and this was a disproportionately refreshing sight.

"Would you like to see Kashyyyk?" Tech asked, his hand hovering over the control panel for the lift. 

"What makes you think I haven't?" Vel replied, guarded and cocky by default.

"Your face," Tech answered bluntly, regarding her solemnly from his bespectacled helmet, "When we entered the atmosphere."

Vel laughed, caught off guard by his seemingly complete ignorance of her sarcasm. She felt herself let the walls down a little, surprised at his genuine honesty and intrigued by the invitation. "Sure," she shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant but feeling a growing sense of eagerness in her stomach. She joined him on the lift and the doors whooshed closed.

***

Their stay on Kashyyyk ended up stretching into days and then weeks as the team waited for their cargo to be ready. They coped with the extended stay in their own ways, from excessive exercise (Wrecker) to target practice with the locals (Crosshair). Tech found a local archive of the region, full of everything from mythology to botany, and set to work expanding and updating his own files.

Vel took some time to herself, meditating in the forest which was an entirely new experience. She tried to reach out to the Force but felt nothing but a dull ache. She strained to move a pebble, and it teetered onto its side after a valiant wobble. She let out a breath of frustration, flopping onto her back under the shady canopy of trees.

No wonder she had failed Jedi training. The only time she felt even remotely connected to the Force was in perfect moments like this, surrounded by lush nature that was an undeniably living, breathing entity on its own. When it came to the nuance, the precision, the rules, the complexity... She didn't have the focus. Once again, didn't have what it took.  Sunlight streamed through the boughs, casting little dancing reflections off of the bugs and dust that swirled through the air. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, folding her hands behind her head. She had no idea what she was doing. Was the plan to just cavort around the galaxy with this ragtag band of defective clones, like some kind of pathetic pit droid, fixing the ship and anything else that was needed? A crunch of leaves behind her startled her to her feet, and she swung a large stick toward the intruder without ever consciously picking it up. Holding it in front of her like a sword, she squinted as he stepped through the foliage. Even with both hands in the air, one of them still held a datapad, and Tech took another step closer.

"If you would be so kind as to postpone my impalement," he began, hands remaining in the air as he approached, waving the instrument, "I found something nearby that I thought would be interesting to you."

She lowered her arm, casting the stick off to the side. It landed among some bushes with a swish, "Sorry," she said, "Old habits. What did you find?" "There is a geological cache approximately two clicks east of here," he said, pulling his visor down as he continued to enter information for his scanner. "You told me about a part you used on the ion cannons of a cruiser that drew power from a particular mineral that is found on only two planets, of which this is one. I'm curious if the same process could be replicated on a smaller level to provide a boost to the hyperdrive when it begins to fail." "There's only one way to find out," Vel replied, brushing off her pants, "Lead the way."

***

The geological cache ended up being a fascinating wealth of history and information about hundreds of minerals and elements. Vel found herself feeling childishly giddy, an age-old love of learning awakening within her, a curiosity she hadn't felt since she was young. She was still young, technically, but her life experiences left her feeling a million years old, and the voracious delight of discovery had faded long ago.

But here, it was different. Somehow, being unable to do anything else and being forced into a world as captivating as Kashyyyk had brought back some old yearnings, and in the dusty third level of the geological cache, Vel was pressed close up against a glass case containing a variety of minerals and describing the possible reactions between them all.

"Tech!" she exclaimed, pressing a finger into the glass, "Look at this!" He sidled up behind her, raising his visor to examine the text she was indicating toward. After a quick skim of the words, his eyes squinted behind his goggles.

"I would have never guessed," he said simply, regarding both the glass case as well as Vel with a newfound curiosity. There was a different sense about her suddenly, a disarmingly genuine enthusiasm for the content of their exploration. It was a refreshing departure from her typically morose behavior and borderline annoying apathy, and he found himself intrigued.

"It says there is a botanical archive as well, a sister site that can be accessed here," Vel said, reading a map at the end of the exhibit. "Can we look?" she asked, turning to look at Tech and realizing her appearance. She stuffed down the girlish delight and set her mouth in a casual line, "I mean, it would be smart to check it out, since the Syren plant's fibers are worth a small fortune if we can extract the pheromones." Tech did not miss the sudden change of composure, but it didn't seem to invite conversation, so he simply nodded in agreement, entering new coordinates on the datapad and pointing to an exit.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

EEEEEEEE LOOK! FAN ART!! :D

Tag List: @merkitty49 @vimse @arctrooper69 @dystopicjumpsuit @starrylothcat @ghostperson69 @dreamie411 @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff (If you're on my regular tag list, let me know if you want to be tagged in this; I didn't want to spam ya!)

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I need to add these photos so that your mental images are closer to mine! This is what I had in mind when writing Tech working out 😘

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars fanfiction #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #tech fanfiction #tech x oc #tech slow burn #slow burn romance #tech #tech fanfic

[evenfall-au]

Proof Of The Soul

Rating: M Prompt for Frans Monthly May: [Sleep] Word count: 1,000

Cross Posted to Ao3 here!

@frans-monthly

The night was long, and it was dark when the vampire finally returned to his abode. The sound of leathered wings slicing through air a prelude to his arrival as the paned glass window to his study flew open; bidding him enter, welcoming him home.

A thin whistling zipped and zapped, twisted into a low sigh of expelled energy as booted feet met carpet, and azul colored twin lights lit the space around an insouciant grin.

Sans stood to his full height and turned to shut the entryway with a gentle hand. He hadn't meant to linger as long as he had that evening, his mind focused on other duties to attend to at home concerning his new bride and brother, but unfortunately events hadn't played out as he'd planned.

The delivery from the red cross had been tainted, a month's supply for his coven wasted on petty grievances not of his own making suffused with garlic and other supposed vampire weaknesses and toxins.

Rage hadn't even begun to describe the way he had felt.

What a twist of luck that the boat had yet to depart when he'd arrived. It was easy to rectify the wrong that had occured. Not only had the supplier been willing to replace the loss without compensation—but Sans had managed to find the saboteur, foolishly stowed away among the ship's cargo as if freight.

He'd been quick, he'd been silent.

Regrettably.

Hobbyist hunters were getting bolder.

Tiredly he ran a hand over his sockets and let loose a sigh of exasperation. He'd missed dinner, missed the chance to keep his promise of a moonlit stroll and floating Lily pads.

Sans had so looked forward to it.

Disappointing.

Hopefully she wouldn't be too upset—

He stilled as he spotted a silhouette perched upon the fine leather of his study chair. The light of his eyes brightening as he took slow, cautious steps forward; sensing, feeling for disturbance or ill intent.

Sans' grin hitched up at the corners.

It was a woman; dressed in a simple nightgown with mousy brown hair, reposed gracefully with crossed ankles and folded hands even in the depths of slumber.

She must've waited for him.

How cute.

It sent a warmth fluttering through his bones, still chilled from the night air.

Briefly, Sans contemplated leaving her there. The sight of her adding a rather pleasant contrast to the whole of the room. He was severely tempted to spend what few hours remained before daybreak admiring her.

What a hilarity it was, that she still slept during what was supposed to be their waking hours.

He felt a flicker of concern.

Had she eaten? There were vials she could drink from but he knew she wasn't partial to them. Like he she much prefered to drink from the source.

One of her locks flew up from her forehead in a cute flip to the side as she let out a sigh.

…why was he worrying?

If she was sleeping so soundly surely she must've been fine. If anything she might have been suffering from disappointment and longing, given the position he found her in.

He stared, savored, and shrugged.

To leave her as is would do her neck and back no favours. She'd be sore come morning, and the last thing he wanted was her sad and grumpy on top of it.

He'd have to think of a good way to make it up to her. Ideas were already forming but he'd much prefer to assess how she was when awake before committing to anything.

Doing his best to not wake her, he reached down and slid his hands as delicately as he could beneath her knees and around her shoulders. With naught a blink he easily lifted her up and against his chest.

She shifted.

Sans froze.

A small huff, and she settled more comfortably in his hold, on that border between wakefulness and sleep, before seemingly falling once again into deep rest as her head fell softly against his shoulder.

He felt a thrum in his chest.

For thousands of years Sans had wondered if he'd even had a soul like his brother had. If he'd been born with one.

Monsters and Humans had them both alike no matter the existence. But Sans had still questioned it, even as he'd borne witness to them countless times; at the loss of light in one's eyes or the joy of life being brought into the world.

He'd always felt cold, detached.

A shade away from the depth of emotion those around him displayed, though he wore a happy grin or saddened frown.

He'd felt empty.

How easy it was to tell a joke, to be crass and make remarks lacking any tact, when he truly felt so little in the way of emotional consequence.

In no way was Sans heartless—in the metaphorical meaning of the term—but he did admit he could be cruel, he could be indifferent, though he sometimes wished not to be.

Was it really so hard for him to believe he might be soulless, knowing that?

Once upon a time, yes.

It was true.

But now the proof of his soul lay in his arms, tucked safely against his body and nestled contently upon his shoulder.

Frisk.

His precious one, his lady of stars.

A fallen bird with broken wings that he'd been unable to ignore. That drew upon such profound sympathies and compassion that Sans had instinctively embraced and splinted her the only way he knew how. So moved him with her cries he wanted nothing else than to take her, protect her.

Her body beat against his where they touched. Her being a loud drum to his quiet hum.

A moment of weakness…

He gave in, and breathed deeply of her hair, her scent.

…The blood beneath her flesh.

Craved.

Sans closed his sockets.

With a gentle press of his teeth to her forehead he swept her away—to their room, and their bed.

#undertale au #evenfall #frans #sansxfrisk #fransmonthly

[livyjh]

Unexpected Visitor ch.4

Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+

Word count: 2k

Entire work can be found on ao3 here

Chapter links listed at top of first chapter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up to some turbulence, you guessed it was Mando taking the ship out of hyperdrive. He did say you may need to stop for supplies.

You open the compartment and crawl off the cot. You use the fresher and climb up the ladder to the Mandalorian and the baby.

“Morning.” You greet them.

“Morning.” Mando replied.

You sat down behind him as you watched him bring the ship into a port. “Is this Tatooine?”

Mando almost laughed. “Corellia. Tatooine will take a few more days to get to.”

“Ah.” You nodded, crossing one leg over the other.

He landed the ship with no trouble, turning flipping switches and pressing buttons to shut everything off.

“What city?” You ask curiously.

“Coronet City.” Mando got out of his chair and motioned for you to go down the ladder.

“Good. That’s the only one I’ve heard of.” You go down into the cargo hold, the Mandalorian following close behind with the baby in a bag slung around him.

“I can take a turn holding him, if you’d like.” You motion to the kid.

“I’ll let you know if my shoulder gets tired.” He nodded and clicked a button to open the gate.

You walked out and Mando closed the ship, the three of you heading for town.

“What do we need?” You ask.

He stays silent for a moment, thinking.

“Wait, are these bounty supplies or like… food and goods?” You pipe up again.

“Mostly food.” He replies.

“What kind of food do you eat?”

He laughs for only a second. “You ask a lot of questions, mesh’la.”

This made you blush.

“Just follow me. We’ll get everything we need.” He rested a hand on your lower back, guiding you into a large market. Stalls upon stalls of fruits and sweets you’d never seen before. Other vendors selling fried womp rat of all things.

“Ever had womp rat?” You turn to your shiny companion.

“Never. Can’t imagine those things are any good.” He stopped at a stall to look at what were labeled as apples.

“Six of these, please.” Mando spoke to the vendor. He bagged them up and exchanged them with Mando for a few credits.

The Mandalorian kept walking, one hand returned to your low back to keep you close. He stopped at another spot, a fried looking food called endwa being served with orange gravy. He thought for a moment. “We’ll come back to this when we’re ready to leave. I prefer it fresh.”

You nod and keep walking with him. He picks out some more fruit, rice, and spiceloaf.

“Do you need any, um,” Mando paused, “toiletries?” He whispered the last word.

You snicker at his sheepishness. “No. I’ve got what I need packed in the ship.”

He gives a silent nod, looking down to check on the child, who seemed to be enjoying a leaf he must’ve stolen off a table when you or Mando weren’t looking.

The Mandalorian hums, looking around for a moment in the center of the town square you’d just gotten to. “I think we have what we need.”

“Don’t forget the endwa.” You remind him.

“Couldn’t if I tried.” He turned on his heels and went back towards the direction of the ship, knowing you’d pass the vendor along the way.

You got two sticks of it to-go, returning to the ship soon after. He stowed the food in a cabinet across from his armory before turning to you and handing you the kid. “Gonna trust him with you for a few minutes while I get us in the air and eat. Stay down here, okay?”

You nod, taking the child and resting him on your hip. He would be eating, which means he’d have his helmet off. He trusted you to not only watch the baby but also to not sneak up into the cockpit to catch a peek at him.

That was something you could manage. Did you want to know what he looked like under there? Sure. But you respected his creed. His dedication to his culture and religion.

He climbed up into the cockpit, taking one stick of the endwa with him and closing the door.

You sat on the edge of the cot, enjoying the gravy covered meat on a stick while holding the baby. He cooed up at you, reaching for the food.

“Alright. Just a bite. Your dad hasn’t told me what you’re allowed to eat yet.” You said, bringing the food to his mouth.

He chomped a big bite off of it, gravy getting all over his cheek.

“You’re silly.” You hold the stick in your mouth while you use your t shirt to wipe the gravy off his face. As you do, you feel the ship roar to life and lift off the ground.

You keep eating, finishing the food after a few minutes, throwing the stick into the waste bin. You scoot back a little and cross your legs, cradling the baby against your chest now. You could tell he would be falling asleep for a nap soon, he kept making little noises and yawning.

Once you hear a tiny snore against your shoulder you get up and put him in his carrier, pressing the button to close it.

You’re alone again. You look around the cargo hold, deciding to lay on the cot for a bit while you wait for Mando.

It doesn’t take long before you feel the ship jump into hyperspace and hear the cockpit door open. “You can come up.” He calls out.

You get up, make sure the baby is still asleep, and go up the ladder. He’s turned around in his chair to face you as you come up, legs spread, hands on his thighs. He probably didn’t mean to look so enticing… but he just did.

“H- hi.” You stutter as you enter the small room.

“Hello.” He speaks in a low, gravelly voice. “Where’s the kid?”

“Sleeping.” You assure him.

“Good.” He tilts his helmet to the side a touch, no doubt raking his eyes over your body. “Take off your clothes.” He demands.

Being the tease you are, you talk back. “When are you gonna get naked for me?”

“I said take off your clothes.” He sits up a little, broadening his shoulders.

Your cheeks turn red and you do as you’re told, removing your clothes one piece at a time, giving him a bit of a show.

“My pretty girl.” He pats his thigh, welcoming you to sit down.

You sit on his lap, but then he corrects you. “Ah ah.” He says, moving you to straddle his right leg. It’s only then you notice his thigh gauntlets are off.

His thigh is firm but giving against your core, the heat coming off of him feeling good.

“What would you like me to do?” You ask, confidence hiding somewhere in your voice.

“You’re going to get off on me, and then I’m going to cum down your throat.” He says gruffly, one hand holding your mid back, the other on your hip.

You bite your lip to keep from whimpering. You wondered how a Mandalorian had such a way with dirty words. You imagined he didn’t get intimate often. Sexual, maybe. Intimate? Absolutely not.

“Okay?” He asks for your assurance.

“Okay.” You nod, grinding yourself down against his leg. “Fuck.” You sigh, loving the pressure.

You put a hand on each of his shoulders, bracing yourself there as you rock back and forth against him.

You expected him to just watch you and wait for you to cum. He surprised you.

“Do you like that, y/n?” He asks, voice full of lust.

You nod. “Yes, Mando.”

“Din.”

“What?”

“My-“ he pauses. “My name’s Din. You can call me that when we have… privacy. I don’t give my name to just anyone.” He admits.

“Okay, Din.” You smile and his grip tightens on your hip, still guiding you forward and back, rubbing down on his thigh.

You gasp softly, hands moving to hold the back of his neck. You were fogging up the outside of his helmet again but you couldn’t find any way to care.

You were getting there, each thrust getting quicker and harder.

“Talk- talk to me.” You whine.

“You like when I talk you through it, sweet girl?” One hand moved up to grip your left breast, other hand still on your hip.

“Maker- yes.” You nod fervently.

“You look so good like this. Wrecking yourself for me.”

You moan, eyes slipping closed as your orgasm gets nearer.

“Want you to feel good. Always.” He flicks your nipple.

“Din-!” Your climax surprises you, coming a few moments before you thought it would. You keep grinding down on his strong thigh, resting your forehead against his helmet to ground yourself.

Your legs grow shaky and tired and you slow to a stop, leaning back to look at him. You remember what he said was next. It was just gonna take you a second to get down to your knees with how hard you just came.

You move slowly but soon settle between his legs. He looks down at you, tilting his helmet slightly. A move that made you quiver every time.

“Don’t be shy, mesh’la.” Din speaks softly.

You grip the waistband of his pants and underwear, pulling them both down. He lifts his hips for you to keep going and now his manhood and the upper half of his thighs were visible.

He ran a hand through your hair as you took hold of him, making him gasp when you licked the head of his cock.

His hips pushed up and you pushed them back down. “So impatient.” You grin. He just grunts in response.

You start to stroke his length, taking the rest into your mouth. He groans and tangles a hand in your hair at your scalp, silently asking for more.

You suck harder, bob your head a little faster for him as one hand moves to cup his balls.

He sucks air in through his teeth when you do so, causing the grip on your hair to tighten momentarily. You moan around him and it makes his hips buck, pushing further into your mouth than you expected. You gag and he groans, trying to hold still. “Dank farrik. Sorry.” He apologizes quickly.

You pull off. “It’s okay.” You smirk up at him, maintaining eye contact with his visor as you take a long lick up the bottom of his shaft.

He shivers, hand that was in your hair moving to spread over the back of your head and push your mouth back down onto him.

“Tell me to stop if you want me to stop. Tap my leg or something.” He says sweetly.

You nod, moaning an “mhm” around him. He sighs with pleasure, legs spreading further. You rest your hands on his inner thighs as he begins to use your mouth.

Your eyes close and you focus on your breathing as you suck his cock, his hand guiding your head to bob up and down.

He starts to push your limits, testing the waters. Each down-thrust he gets deeper and deeper in your mouth.

You dig your nails into his thighs as you gag on him once… twice. But, Maker, you love it.

Your eyes start to tear up from it all and his hips are rolling up, he’s fucking your mouth quickly and earnestly.

His movements into your mouth are fast but shallow until; “Gonna f- fucking cum.” Din cursed.

You keep your mouth on him and he does as he promised. He cums straight down your throat, his last thrust up being a deep one.

You moan around him, feeling his cum shoot against the back of your throat before you swallow the whole load.

“Ah-“ he nearly whines, relaxing back into the chair as you slowly pull your mouth off of him.

You wipe the spit off your chin that had dribbled down, looking up at him from your place on the floor.

“Did so good, pretty girl.” He cups your jaw with a hand.

You smile at him, wondering if he was smiling too.

[treespen]

I have not read them yet, but so far there have been two novels based on the Demeter section of the book that I know of:

Dracula's Demeter by Doug Lamoreux: The story of Trevor Harrington, a British scholar and fugitive. Of Swales, the old Scot cook, who deceives their commander, but knows a good deal "aboon grims and boh-ghosts". Of Ekaterina Gabor, a beautiful Romanian who follows her lover to sea by stowing away. Of Captain Nikilov, fighting for his ship and crew while something evil, more virulent than the black plague, decimates their number. Of Demeter herself, named for the Greek goddess of renewal, lost and tossed on an unforgiving sea. And of Count Dracula, at rest in Demeter's dark hold until the unintended actions of her crew resurrect the vampire and his unquenchable bloodlust.

The Route of Ice and Salt by José Luis Zárate: It’s an ordinary assignment, nothing more. The cargo? Fifty boxes filled with Transylvanian soil. The route? From Varna to Whitby. The Demeter has made many trips like this. The captain has handled dozens of crews. He dreams familiar dreams: to taste the salt on the skin of his men, to run his hands across their chests. He longs for the warmth of a lover he cannot have, fantasizes about flesh and frenzied embraces. All this he’s done before, it’s routine, a constant, like the tides. Yet there’s something different, something wrong. There are odd nightmares, unsettling omens and fear. For there is something in the air, something in the night, someone stalking the ship.

#dracula #dracula daily #the captain of the demeter #queer fiction #lgbtq

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

We return once more to the Meddling Mar au, in which Jak’s childhood self and the Explorer uncle messed with the time map and got back to Haven after only 5 years had passed. Now we move from the end of Jak 2 to the beginning of Jak 3

Jak didn’t struggle when they came to arrest him.

He didn't fight back when he was handcuffed and dragged into an air train, even though he could have slaughtered every one of them in a second.

He didn't even protest. He was in shock.

Everything he'd been through, everything this city had subjected him to, and now they were throwing him away.

He'd been taken from whatever poor fools brought him into this world, kept under Samos’s thumb as their weapon in training. Handed over to Errol to be tortured into their perfect monster. Sent into battle before he was even physically mature. And now that Kor was dead and the Precursor Stone was beyond their reach, Jak had outlived his usefulness. Even Samos seemed to think so, keeping silent during the sham trial.

Of course, Jak had also wondered if that was retribution for his defiance of the old man.

How long he stood in the hold, glazed over and shell-shocked, he couldn't guess. What finally broke him free of his trance was a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. Discreetly, Jak shifted his stance to give him a better look. That couldn't have been who he thought he'd seen!

In the very back of the hold, near the hatch to the cockpit, two crates full of emergency supplies were kept locked to the floor. Most air trains had them -- one in case of a water landing, one in case of crashes. A small, round face peeped out from behind the crates, locked eyes with Jak, and ducked down again.

It took every ounce of Jak’s self-control to keep from stiffening.

Mar?!

[[MORE]]

What could have possessed him to stow away?!

Wherever they were going, Jak hoped there would be a place for Mar to escape-

The ramp lowered, and Jak's heart sank.

The sun was rising over a dusty expanse of nothing. This was dry desert, with barely a hint of life outside the perversely vibrant cactus dotting the horizon. Already heat shimmered between uneven towers of rock, like a portal between sweeping dunes and hard scrublands. Jak stared into this gateway to hell and understood then why they'd pulled him from his hammock in the middle of the night. This wasn't actually a banishment. This was an execution.

Ashelin shot him a worried look as he was dragged from the ship into the rising heat, but she said nothing. Jak locked eyes with her, ignoring Count Veger's smug reading of his "sentence".

Please- he tried his hardest to convey without a sound, Don't let him do this.

"This is a death sentence and you know it," Ashelin spat, "At least have the guts to admit to that."

"Your protests were overruled!" Veger looked far too smug. "This dark eco filled...thing is far too dangerous to run free."

He flapped a hand at the guards holding Jak.

"Drop the cargo!"

"Overruled by who?!" Daxter demanded, interrupting what promised to be an overly verbose protest from Pecker. "We want a recount!"

The count turned with a sneer. "Oh? I see you wish to join him?"

Predictably, Pecker immediately backpedaled. Jak tuned out his patronizing suggestion to "drink lots of water" -- did the birdbrain see any water around here?! -- and made urgent eye contact with Daxter.

"Go back to the city, Dax," he said sharply.

Don't die out here with me. I've gotten you into enough trouble. Don't leave Mar alone.

Ashelin wouldn't meet his eyes as she released the handcuffs.

"I'm sorry," she said half-heartedly, "The council is far too powerful. There's nothing I-"

She looked away, clearly embarrassed by her own meager apology.

"I know," Jak answered dully.

Can't overrule an entire city if they all want me dead.

He blinked and looked down as something was pressed into his hand. It was a beacon of some kind, already activated and flashing. What was-?

She's...trying to help me?

"You just stay alive," Ashelin said brusquely, "That's an order. Someone will find you, I promise."

She took a step back, then reluctantly turned back to the shuttle.

"Oh, and don't worry about the poor little Heir you've been dragging around," Veger purred, looking down his short nose at Jak.

"Freed from your deplorable influence, he'll be able to meet his full potential under my tutelage."

Jak tensed.

That's what this was about.

It wasn’t about him!

Well, it was. The other him.

Veger was after Mar.

Mar wouldn't be safe in the city if he went back.

Jak’s eyes flicked from Veger to Ashelin to Mar, and then to Daxter. He saw understanding in his best friend's eyes. Daxter understood the risks too. The ottsel was going to have to be ready to fight the instant they made it back to Haven.

Keeping his hands low, and his movements small, Jak spelled out take the kid to Sig. Stay safe.

The ramp began to rise up as the engines roared to life, and Jak pulled his scarf up to block the plumes of dust raised by the turbines. He heard a cry, then several more shouts; surprise, indignation, or anger, he couldn't tell. A small hand slipped into his own, and then he was being pulled towards the rock turrets.

"Don't look back!" Daxter's voice rang shrilly in his ear as a familiar weight landed on Jak’s shoulder. "Junior jumped out before I could stop him! Run! Run before Velcro turns that ship around!"

"This is madness!" The unwelcome voice of Pecker grated on Jak’s ears. "What are you doing?!"

Relief was overpowered by anger in that moment. That stupid kid! If he'd just kept his head down and stayed hidden, he and Daxter could've had a chance to escape! Now all four of them were going to die if they didn't find water and shelter!

Jak darted through the space between the rocks -- the one he'd thought of as the gateway to hell -- and pulled Mar to the side with him.

Mirages shimmered across an expanse of rocky soil and cactus plants-

"Ay! I told you not to touch that, my love! Look at your finger-"

Jak blinked, and the memory dissipated like smoke. Where had he heard that before? There weren't plants like this in Haven. And while there were plenty of thorny growths in Sandover, the phrasing didn't sound like anyone Jak had known.

Beside him, Mar held up a hand, fingers splayed, and squinted at it as if trying to read it. He tilted his head, then frowned and dropped his hand.

"Can't see the lighthouse," he said with a dejected look.

"Lighthouse? What lighthouse?" Daxter asked.

The little boy shrugged expressively. "Don't know. I know there's a lighthouse in the Wasteland that's supposed to save travelers, but I don’t know where it is."

Well, a lighthouse meant a lighthouse keeper, and that meant shelter. It was better than wandering aimlessly under an unforgiving sun until their legs gave out, anyway.

The boys picked their way between haphazard piles of red rock and scrubby bushes, seeking shade. Now and then, Daxter stopped to try to scrape dew off the leaves, but it was barely enough to wet their tongues.

All the while, the hum of the air train grew louder.

They needed to hide.

Jak scanned the rocks with gritted teeth, silently praying that one would have a cave or recess. There wasn't enough dark eco in his body to transform: if he had to make a hole in the rocks, he'd have to do it under his regular power. But not here. They were too close to the air train.

"Pecker," he said sharply, "Fly up."

"And let them -- raaawk! -- spot me? No thank you!" the moncaw snapped.

Jak picked up the bird hybrid and bodily tossed him into the air.

"Fly. Up." He glared at him. "Look for shelter, or anything that looks like people live there. If the air train is far enough away, we'll run for the next rock tower."

Daxter frowned. "We won't be able to do that for long," he warned. "Remember how tired we got just crossing the magma gorge back in Sandover? I got a feeling this heat is gonna really take it out of us."

Already sweat rolled down their necks, taking precious moisture from their bodies. Jak slipped his goggles down around his neck and unwrapped his scarf. Every fiber of his body told him that he was going to regret this decision, but what choice did he have? When the full length of the cloth had been shaken out -- some two feet in all -- he draped it unceremoniously over Mar's head.

"Cover up. That's about the only shade you're going to get out here."

Mar wound the scarf around his neck and face twice, but the excess still fluttered down over his chest. Just as well. That was more of him to be slightly shielded from the sun. Mar wrinkled his nose and gagged behind the scarf.

"Smells gross," he complained.

Jak ignored him and set about tying his hair up into a makeshift knot on top of his skull. If he could keep it off his neck, his body might be able to cool off a little more efficiently, but he couldn’t guarantee it. When finished, he set his goggles back in place and scanned the horizon with them.

We're on our own, now.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #free day thursday #jak and daxter mar #jak and daxter au #meddling mar au #jak 3 #jak 3 rewrite #their introduction to Spargus goes a lot more smoothly this time. Mar's presence makes it obvious to Damas that these are a bunch of kids #Damas: 'oh dang. haven threw away some perfectly good kids! Welp. Not enough of these in Spargus anyway. Ours now.'

[sjsmith56]

On the Run, Chapter 4 - Eyes of the Father

Summary: Bucky successfully eludes ship’s security on the cargo ship he stowed away on. After sneaking into Greece he gets help from two elderly ladies, sisters in different villages, and a British truck driver who recognizes him.

Length: 4.7 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, two Greek OFC (sisters, grandmothers), British OMC (truck driver).

Warnings: elder abuse

Author notes: Greek words mostly from Google Translate: yiayia - grandmother, argótera - later, arketá - pretty, toualéta - toilet, patéra - father, na proséhis - take care

<<Chapter 3

🏡 🚛

It had been almost two weeks since Bucky stowed away on a container ship in a Baltimore shipyard.   During that time he played a cat and mouse game with the ship's security who knew he was on the ship but hadn't been able to find him.  They did find the other three people who were already hiding on the ship when he snuck onto it.  Alternating between staying in an empty passenger cabin and a shipping container that he was able to break into he had so far succeeded in keeping hidden.  He even managed to find food, enough to keep him functional.  Whenever he could he would look at Lacey's book, reading and re-reading it.  He had also taken a picture of her from a photo album, using it as a bookmark since no one should dog ear the pages of a book. 

He wished he'd had the time to properly say goodbye to her, giving her more than that kiss in the bedroom to remember but he was damn sure he wasn't going to do anything more within earshot of the mobster trash that were trussed up in her living room.  Even though he had only known Lacey for a day and a night Bucky had been touched by her kindness and generosity to him, not to mention her trust when she allowed him into her bed.  He thought about their lovemaking, remembering how she raised herself into him as she came.  She was the first woman he had slept with since his escape from HYDRA and he couldn't stop thinking about her face in the throes of passion.  He thought of sending her a postcard once he landed in Europe but remembered he told her it was better and safer if she moved.  If she was smart she wouldn't have a forwarding address.  It was better for both of them to accept it couldn't continue, as he had hinted on the origami heart he made her.  Still, he couldn't keep the thought of his time with her out of his mind.

An alarm sounded on the ship and the captain announced over the PA system that they were performing a rescue of a small craft that had lost power.  Bucky put the book and picture back into the plastic bag he had to protect them, then packed them into his back pack.  Holding his ear to the door he didn't hear anyone approaching and opened it a crack to make sure before leaving the empty cabin.  If they were rescuing someone those people would likely be put into an empty cabin and he wasn't going to risk being found in this one.  Quickly he moved down the hallway, always checking around corners before moving on.  From there he went down a gangway and out onto the deck.  Bucky could hear some of the crew talking just ahead so he ducked into an alcove, waiting for their voices to fade away before he moved on.  As he got closer to the shipping container he had broken into he could hear more voices and realized they found the broken lock.  Security was being called to check the inside of the container and he grimaced, trying to find a way out of the maze of metal sea cans.  In desperation he jumped up and wedged himself between two containers that had a narrow gap between them.  It actually gave him a good view in two directions and he could hear everything that was said for some distance.  Staying in that narrow space he listened to everyone walking nearby, hearing the crew discuss the stowaway they were still looking for.  That was when he heard the ship would be picking up a pilot soon, providing him his exit strategy.  If he could get on that pilot boat he could disable the boat captain and any other crew then take control of the pilot boat until the nearest landfall.  It would be risky but he would have more control over where he landed. 

The rescue itself took about an hour and the ship was soon on its way.  As the early evening turned dark he took the chance of going to the railing looking for the pilot boat approaching the cargo ship.  He finally spotted it and watched it intently as it pulled up next to a hatch opening in the side of the cargo ship just above the water line.  He watched as the pilot stepped off the smaller craft and into the hatch.  The captain of the pilot boat then started to pull away and Bucky leaped over the railing, landing and rolling on the much smaller boat's deck.  A deck hand looked at him in amazement at the height he had jumped from then ran inside to tell the captain.  Bucky followed him, pulling the radio out before they could report a problem.  He recognized they were speaking Greek and asked them haltingly in what Greek he could muster to take him to land.  The captain looked at him coolly.

"Are you taking my boat?" he asked in English.

"I just need to get to land," said Bucky.  "I'm sorry about the radio and I promise I won't hurt you if you drop me off and forget you saw me."  The captain kept looking at him.  In desperation Bucky said a proverb that he had heard once.  "It's sweet to view the sea when one is standing on the shore.  I just have to get to land, please."

The captain laughed a hearty laugh.  "Alright American," he said. "I will drop you off away from the authorities and then you are on your own.  Have a seat."  Bucky nodded and sat where the captain indicated.  The deckhand kept talking and the captain looked back at him.  "Is it true you jumped from the cargo deck down to my boat?"

Bucky nodded.  "I know how to do it without injury," he explained.  "Security had discovered my hiding place on the ship and I was desperate to get off when I was so close to my destination.  Don't ask where that is as I don't want you to tell the police when they come looking for me."

The captain smiled.  "I would have liked to have seen that jump," he quipped.

Bucky smiled nervously and continued to watch both men as they approached land.  The captain beckoned to him and pointed out a rocky shoreline.

"There is a path on top of the rock where the lighthouse is," he said as he pointed out the lighthouse in the distance.  "I can't get too close but if you could do a jump from a cargo deck you should be able to jump from this boat to the rock below the lighthouse.  It's an automated lighthouse so there won't be anyone there.  Follow the path past the village.  It's rocky country but there are many small villages.  With your smile and blue eyes you may be able to convince an old yiayia to feed you.  Good luck, American."

"Thank you," said Bucky, sincerely, extending his hand which the captain shook.

As he deftly maneuvered the boat closer to the lighthouse the captain yelled at Bucky that he was as close as he could get.  Bucky backed up to one side of the hull then put all of his energy into the three strides he took before launching himself up in the air.  He landed cleanly on a large rock and turned back to salute the captain before scrambling over the other rocks towards the lighthouse.  The path was right where the captain said it was and Bucky followed it towards the small village that was still active as people were eating their dinner.  When the path split, he took the one that led away from the village and into the mountainous region beyond.  Bucky settled into an easy pace as he ran on the path in the light of the full moon.  He would run for as long as he could then find a place to hide and sleep before sunrise.  Once he was rested he would try to find food.

➿ ➿ ➿

It didn't take long for Bucky to find one of those grandmothers the captain told him about.  Two days after he jumped off the pilot boat he hid in a garden shed behind a small house to sleep.  He had gone without food the entire time and was almost at the point where he was considering breaking into a house to steal food.  As he rested in the increasing warmth of the shed interior he could hear an argument outside and roused himself to peek out the door as he opened it a crack.  A young man was pushing an old woman around, yelling at her.  She was defending herself as best she could but when the man slapped her and brought tears to her face Bucky had enough.  Quietly he stepped out and approached the pair.  The old woman saw him but said nothing after Bucky put his fore finger to his lip indicating she should stay quiet.  Tapping the man on his shoulder to make him turn around Bucky hit him, knocking him out.  In the best Greek he could remember Bucky asked if she was okay.  She nodded and began to speak rapidly.  He didn't understand most of what she was saying but figured out the man was her grandson and he wanted money.  She spat on the young man as he lay on the ground then looked at Bucky and gestured to him to tie up her grandson then follow her.  Leading him into her small house he could smell food cooking and commented how good it smelled.  Smiling broadly, she patted a chair for him and proceeded to dish out some of the food which he devoured quickly.  The more he ate the more she cooked until he finally put his hands up in submission having reached his limit.  He smiled his thanks and she patted his cheeks.  Then she looked seriously at him.

"You ... in trouble?" she asked in halting English.

"Yes," he answered.  "Police are looking for me."

"You good boy," she said, smiling.  "I help you."

"You've already helped," he replied, patting his stomach.  "Good food."

"You sleep," she said, opening the door to her bedroom.  "You wake ... argótera." 

She pointed at an hour on the clock and Bucky nodded his head.  He was still very tired and her feast made him drowsy.  Standing up and towering over her he bowed his head to get through the door.  She kept telling him to sleep as he sat on the bed, pulling his boots off.  When he laid down on top of the bed she put a blanket on him.

"Good boy, arketá," she smiled, then patted him on the cheek and closed the door.

Bucky was asleep in minutes.  He woke later with a start, at first not remembering where he was.  It was still light out but the sun was low and he figured it would set soon.  Sitting up he pulled his boots on and listened at the door before opening it.  The old woman was cooking and she smile at him as he came out of her bedroom.

"Good, you up," she said.  "Toualéta outside."

He understood that and found the outside toilet relieving himself then washing in the basin that was on a table beside it.  Looking around he didn't see her grandson and he entered her kitchen asking about him.  She smirked.

"I tell my son, his patéra," she explained.  "Dimitri in big trouble for hitting yiayia."

She cackled then gestured to Bucky to sit.   Once again she fed him a feast until he couldn't eat any more.  Some of the leftovers were wrapped up in a bag that she gave them him to take.  It was almost dark and Bucky stood up.

"I have to go," he said.

Her eyes filled with tears but she nodded then grasped his face with both hands and pulled him down, kissing him on both cheeks.  She pulled out an atlas and opened it showing him where he was on the map.  He looked intently at it committing it to memory.   She pointed to another village a considerable distance away.

"My sister," she said.  "She help you.  Maria Stavros my name.  Eleni Drakos her name.  You find her.  You good boy."

"Okay," he nodded.  "I find Eleni Drakos."

"You good boy," she whispered again.  "Na proséhis."

"Thank you yiayia," replied Bucky, sincerely.

He lowered his head and stepped out the door, taking in the twilight.  Maria followed him and watched him leave then wiped the tears from her eyes.  If only her grandson could be like the blue-eyed man she could die a happy woman.  Out on the path that led away from the village Bucky was feeling good.  His sleep had re-energized him and the food had restored his stamina.  He began running on the path and thought about the atlas that Maria had shown him, helping him decide his final destination.  It was going to take a while to get there, especially on foot but it would be worth it.  He could go to Bucharest, in Romania.  There were some abandoned HYDRA safe houses there where he could live.  He spoke the language fluently and could likely pick up enough odd jobs to make a living.  It would give him time to organize his memories and keep him hidden from the authorities.  At least it was a plan.

It took Bucky another two days to get to the village where Eleni Drakos lived.  As soon as he saw her he knew it was her as she looked exactly like her sister.  Also a widow, she lived in the smallest house on the edge of the town.  She had a small but abundant garden and she was working in it when Bucky approached the house.

"Eleni Drakos?" he said hesitantly, watching her intently as she stood up.  "You speak English?"

"Little," she replied.  "What you want?"

"Your sister, Maria Stavros, said you would help me," he began. 

"You have trouble?" she asked.

"Yes," he nodded.  "Police look for me."

"How you know Maria?" she asked, still suspicious.

"I hit her grandson Dimitri after he hit her and made her cry," replied Bucky.  "He wanted money."

Eleni swore a blue streak in Greek, surprising Bucky with her vehemence.  "Dimitri bad boy," she spat.  "What your name?"

"Iakobos," he replied, knowing his name in Greek.  "I'm American."

"Okay," she replied.  "You help me and I help you.  You hungry?"

He nodded and she motioned for him to follow her into the small house.  She pulled some cheese and bread out of a cupboard, cutting him thick slices of each and slathering butter over the bread.  From her small refrigerator she pulled out a chunk of cured meat and cut slabs off of it.  Putting it all on a plate she laid it in front of him then poured him a big mug of tea.

"You eat," she said.  "Then I feed you later, big food.  You need sleep?"  He nodded, his mouth full of the fresh bread and a slice of cheese.  "Okay, you sleep then you do work for me, yes?"

"Yes," agreed Bucky.  "Thank you."

"You good boy," she said, patting him on the cheek just like Maria had.  "Nice blue eyes."

Bucky smiled, somewhat embarrassed but the pilot boat captain had said he could probably get fed by the older grandmothers because of his eyes and he wasn't going to complain about it.  He ate everything she laid out for him and drank his tea as she watched him.  Then she showed him a ladder and he went up finding a bedroom in the attic.  She stood at the bottom, watching as he went up.

"You sleep," she said, motioning with her hand.  "You safe."

Slipping his boots and jacket off he laid down on the bed and pulled a blanket over his shoulders.  Within minutes he was asleep.  When he awakened some time later he could hear Eleni talking to someone in her kitchen, a man by the sound of the voice.  He couldn't quite make out what she was saying but heard his name mentioned several times.  At first he was concerned that she had turned him in but it didn't sound like she was asking the man to arrest him.  Slowly, he came down the ladder and stood before Eleni and the middle aged man.

"Jesus, you're a big one," said the man, who had an English accent.  "Eleni said you're in trouble and you need transportation.  I'm Jerry, a truck driver and I stay with her when I come through Greece.  You were sleeping in my bed."

"I'm sorry," said Bucky.  "She didn't tell me."

"It's okay," said the Englishman.  "She has a heart of gold and you've obviously touched her.  What kind of trouble are you in, son?"

"I'd rather not say all of it," said Bucky nervously.  "I did some terrible things for some bad people until I got away from them.  They're still looking for me and will force me back to working for them if they catch me.  If they find you they might force you to tell them where I am."

Jerry looked at him.  "That sounds like the mob," he said.  "Nasty bunch.  I'm headed back to the UK and have to stop in Pristina, Kosovo for a shipment.  I can take you that far.  You have no ID, do you?"  Bucky shook his head.  "Shouldn't be a problem unless they set up check stops if they're looking for you.  Then you would have to jump out of the truck and head out on your own."

"I'm okay with that," said Bucky.  "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Son, I fought in Afghanistan," he replied.  "I was captured by the Taliban and beaten to within an inch of my life but an older woman, much like Eleni, helped me when I escaped.  I don't judge a book by its cover.  You're soft spoken, polite and you've been as truthful with me as you can be.  Eleni said you helped her sister with that little bastard grandson of hers and that counts.  So yes, I'm sure I want to help you."

Bucky felt a lump of emotion in his throat and it must have shown because Eleni suddenly put her hand on his arm and smiled kindly at him.

"Eleni said she had some work for me to do," said Bucky.  "Can you find out what it is so I can get it done?"

Jerry spoke to Eleni in Greek and listened patiently then he turned to Bucky.  "She wants to enlarge the size of her garden but there are some big rocks that have to be moved," he repeated.  "She wants us both to move them to the side.  I know which ones she's talking about it as she's asked me about them before."

He led Bucky out to the garden where several large boulders were.  Jerry figured they could undermine one side of them and roll them over wooden logs to a place where they would be out of the way.  Bucky looked at them intently then kneeled down before the first one pushing it to get an idea of its weight.  Carefully he placed his titanium hand under it and with great effort lifted it up, cradling it close to his body.  Both Jerry and Eleni looked at him with amazement as he slowly walked it over to where she indicated.  When he dropped it the force cracked it into two pieces.

"Sorry," he said to the others.  "I hope she didn't want to keep it intact."

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Jerry.  "How strong are you?  That must have weighed several hundred kilos."

Bucky shrugged then went over to the second boulder.  It wasn't as heavy and he was able to carry it easily to where the first one was.  He went back for the third and easily transported it to its new location.  When he was done he looked at Eleni.

"More?" he asked.

"No," she smiled.  "You good boy, Iakobos."

She went back inside and began to make dinner for them all.  Bucky sat on one of the boulders, looking steadily at Jerry who was trying not to make eye contact with him as he considered what he had just witnessed.

"You're in no danger from me," said Bucky, calmly.  "I don't kill anymore, not for them, not for anyone."

"What did they do to you?" asked Jerry.  "Really, how did they make you become ... him?"

Bucky sighed.  "They tortured me, injected me with super soldier serum, and wiped the memories of my past then created a personality that could be controlled to do whatever they wanted," he said.  "Originally they had to use a machine to do it then they found a way to use verbal commands.  If they catch me they can still use the commands so I can't allow myself to be caught.  There are some places I can hide and get my memories sorted out.  I just have to get there first.  Some of the things they programmed me to do have come in handy; languages, stealth skills, staying under the radar.  But my physical presence is too noticeable.  I think you began to realize it was me when you saw me lift that heavy boulder."

Jerry nodded.  "I heard of the Taliban trying to brainwash captured POWs," he said.  "Saw some of them when they were repatriated.  They were broken men.  How do you stand it?"

"Sometimes I don't," replied Bucky.  "I have nightmares of the kills.  They made sure I remembered them.  Everyone I ever cared about from my past is dead, except for one person and I almost killed him.  I know he wants to help me but I'm afraid I'll succeed the next time I see him because the command is still there.  Are you going to turn me in?"

"Hell no," declared Jerry emphatically.  "I was a POW.  They keep after you and at some point you just want to give up, stop the pain, stop the assault on your senses.  If Miriam hadn't helped me I would have been one of those broken men.  Bucky, that's your real name, right?  I'll still take you to Kosovo.  Don't tell me where you're headed to after.  If I don't know I can't tell them, right?"

"Thank you," said Bucky gratefully.  "Do me a favour.  Don't tell Eleni who I am.  I kind of like being called a good boy."

Jerry agreed and the two men were called into dinner by the old woman.  Just like Maria had done she had cooked up a feast, pushing dish after dish on them until they both raised their hands in submission.  After a quiet evening where Bucky re-read Lacey's book, Jerry did paperwork and Eleni did mending it came time to go to bed.  Bucky said he would sleep on the floor as he was used to it.  Eleni put up a fuss but he insisted and she finally provided him with several blankets.  She went to her room while Jerry climbed the ladder to his attic room.  Sleep finally came and he slept until Eleni woke him from a nightmare that he couldn't remember.

"Iakobos," she said softly, touching his forehead.  "Wake, bad dream."

He sat up breathing heavily, looking straight ahead as he got his bearings, then he turned to Eleni.  "Sorry," he said.  "I did bad things before and I remember them."

She nodded in understanding and touched his left hand which had lost its glove.  "You not him any more," she said softly.  "You good boy."  He almost cried when she said that, knowing she had recognized him.  "Sleep in my bed, you safe here."

She helped him up and led him to her bed, leaving him there while she went back into the living area where she curled up on an armchair.  He slept until the morning when he heard her as she began preparing breakfast.  As they ate she made a lunch for both men to take on the road.  Before Bucky got into Jerry's truck she pulled a gold necklace out of her pocket and said something to Jerry.

"This was a necklace that was her brother's," he translated.  "She wants you to wear it for good luck."

Bucky protested when he saw it was a Greek Orthodox cross.  "I'm not religious," he said.  "It's gold, much too valuable to waste on me."

"Take it, mate," said Jerry.  "She likes you and this is her way of wishing good luck on you."

He consented and she made him lower his head as she undid the clasp and fastened it around his neck.  Standing in front if him she kissed both of Bucky's cheeks. 

"You good boy," she said, in the same voice as her sister. 

She said a prayer in Greek then crossed herself.  Jerry shrugged and told Bucky she had prayed for his safety.  He smiled then kissed her on both cheeks before saying thank you.  She stood outside her fence and watched as Jerry pulled away.  Bucky settled back in the passenger side, grateful for the ride.  Even though it took less than 8 hours by truck to Kosovo it would shave days off of Bucky's travel time.  When they arrived in Pristina, Jerry bought Bucky a meal then gave him some Euros at the warehouse where his next shipment was being loaded. 

"I wish it was more," he said.  "But you'll be able to keep yourself fed for a few days.  Good luck in getting your memories back.  Don't let them catch you."

"I'll do my best," replied Bucky, shaking Jerry's hand then he started walking east. 

Jerry was distracted by the loading dock supervisor and when he looked back Bucky was gone.  Shaking his head he returned his attention back to his truck and was soon on his way back to the UK.  Once Jerry turned away, Bucky ran to another truck stop and asked drivers there in English if any of them were driving to Bulgaria.  One of them said he was going to Sofia, agreeing to giving him a ride for money.  Bucky gave him some of the Euros to pay for it, reasoning that he could always steal food if he had to plus he still had the lunch that Eleni had given him which he could stretch out for several days.  Four and a half hours later the driver pulled into Sofia and although Bucky couldn't pick up a ride to Bucharest from another driver he was told the bus was cheap.  He went to the bus station, being careful to keep his face lowered wherever there was a security camera.  The bus ride was for the next day and he asked if there was a hostel nearby.  He spent the last of his money to stay at the hostel, sleeping poorly, while keeping his back pack close.  When he arrived at the bus station there were police but after observing them for a while he reasoned it was a normal presence and they weren't looking for him.  Acting like he belonged there he boarded the bus.  When it finally pulled out of the station he began to breathe normally again.  It was an 8 hour bus ride to Bucharest that passed uneventfully.  Once he arrived he sought out one of the abandoned safe houses, watching it for several hours before picking the lock and entering it.  His lips curled in distaste at the smell in the small flat.  It hadn't been used in a long time and food had spoiled in the fridge.  He wanted to clean it but he had been going for well over 24 hours and was exhausted.  After eating the last of the food that Eleni gave him he opened a window to air the place out, barricaded the door and stretched out on the mattress that passed for a bed.  As he fell asleep from exhaustion the thought crossed his mind that this would be his home for the foreseeable future.  Tomorrow he would look for work.

Chapter 5>>

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #buckyontherun #kindness of strangers #james buchanan barnes fanfiction

[marganuniverse]

Holofilter fun ~\(≧▽≦)/~

Was thinking about filters and saw a star wars gif with Obi-Wan and then had the brainworm of "what if star wars had the equivelent of beauty filters?"

Warning for Order 66

He hadn't realised until he was far far away, stowed safely away in the middle of a cargo ship deep in hyperspace, cradling a cargo far too delicate for the Hutt-infested scumhole he was delivering him to, and happened to have a spare bit of time to sort out his belongings.

Yoda and he had scavenged the Temple before they left. The stash of ready-to-go packs were severely depleted by this stage of the war – not enough Jedi padawans to keep even this small necessity stocked. Obi-Wan had managed to compress several packs into one, forgoing most of the clothes in favour of supplies; water, ready meals, credits, and a travelling Jedi's best possession: warm large cloaks.

It served him well now, hiding his face in one such cloak. Another wrapping baby Luke, who was sleeping very soundly now.

The ready-meals could sustain Obi-Wan, but not a baby. To be fair to the Obi-Wan who packed the kit, babies were not even in the same parsec of thought he was accounting for when going to confront a Sith after realising that the Republic had turned - very lethally - against the Jedi. He'd thought that they might need to go on the run, yes, but Yoda and his search of the Temple had not found any living younglings in the devastation of the creche. And they hadn't dared linger long, constantly trying to evade the patrols of men invading the Temple.

They had made their way out, scrounging along the way, trying not to cry even as they pick up pieces of equipment from the dead bodies of their fellows. And it was the comm of one of the padawans he had used to record a message - Obi-Wan recalled vividly the little tactile stickers on the side opposite the unlock button of their comm, and another character sticker taking up most of the back he wiped a smear of blood from as he propped it up against a small ledge to record his message.

"This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi…" he had started, feeling the faint stickiness of his family's blood on his hands as he reported the demise of the Jedi and the Republic to anyone else still living. Tucking his hands into the sleeves so that the camera wouldn't pick it up.

Watching it over now, Obi-Wan couldn't help but chuckle. He hadn't checked the settings of the camera before he started to record, and didn't know that he needn't have worried about the smear of blood.

It was pretty common amongst the younger Jedi to personalise their comms and its settings - one of the common modifications was what was colloquially known as a beauty filter. It smoothened out embarrassing blemishes, particularly important for those going through puberty, and made any pictures taken with it look slightly sparkly.

The effects of this filter was thankfully subtle – in his time Obi-Wan had gladly taken the filters to the extreme to generate some hilariously glamorously unsettling holos of his friends – but in the dingy hold he was currently squatting in, he couldn't help but notice how the filter had changed him.

The poreless skin, not yet unsettling but looking very much like he had a layer of makeup on to smooth out his complexion and remove the blotchiness of crying and stress and dishevelment from being hunted where he grew up. The slight added sparkle to his eyes, as though there was still hope when he could see in the corner of his eye as he spoke where a padawan lay, braid unravelled where they had fallen protecting the three smaller bodies behind them.

The smoothness of his hair, concealing the grime of the war he had hurried back from, the slight singes he gotten when his men shot at him. The filter had even taken away the wrinkles in his robes, from where he had to push and shove at the rubble that blocked the entrance to the nursery, only to uncover more devastation they were too late to prevent.

This was the image that was memorialised: a put-together Jedi Master, giving assurance to other Jedi. Strong and confident, giving hope to others. Would they notice the filter? The work of one bored Jedi decades ago, that had spread across the Temple and been built upon for generations after, giving the façade of composure to the Jedi announcing their family's demise just because Obi-Wan hadn't checked to see if there was a filter commonly used by tweens for entertainment enabled on the comm he had picked up.

Perhaps he should have felt a surge of anger - the fact that he had to pick up a random comm to use since his own was damaged when he fell off a cliff when he was shot. The fact that the previous owner should have been able to happily take holo pictures or videos with their filter and dance to stupid trends on the holonet instead of having to defend themselves from the government that should have protected them. The fact that Obi-Wan was on the run with a child that should have both parents and his sibling, that the babies' birth be celebrated instead of hidden, that Luke's father should have embraced his wife and not choked her how could you ANAKIN-

But all that Obi-Wan could feel was a deep black hole yawning in his chest, sucking up every emotion in him. It wasn't healthy, but it was keeping him moving for now so he let it take the confusion, the sadness, the anger -

And all that was left was the absurdity. If the war had gone a different way, could Obi-Wan also have been captured by the same filter? Perhaps doing some dance that was popular with tweens, having fun with the younglings in the creche, or simply because someone had asked and Obi-Wan had the time to do so, having fun in the safety of his home.

So Obi-Wan laughed, alone but for a sleeping babe destined for a different family. So far from his home and his family, Obi-Wan laughed.

Because the alternative was crying, and if he started he didn't know if he could stop.

#star wars #margan writes star wars

[listlessdionysian]

Short fiction, fantasy: Broehain (BFS Horizons, 2020)

And here's the second (you can find the other one on my blog). This piece was a palate cleanser after finishing the novel that formed the bulk of my PhD. I'll probably share some chapters and extracts from that at some point.

Broehain was a minor character who showed up around the halfway point. He has a boat and rows two of the central characters out to an island to speak to a group of sages. But there was something about him - his little allusions to a sad, hard life - that kept bringing me back. I've always loved the Death of the Wild-West story structure, people living by violence to be later undone by it, and always thought it worked well in a fantasy setting. At the time my head was also full of the stories and accounts in David Stannard's "American Holocaust" and I found myself then, as I still am now, haunted by the poem 'Broken Spears'. These two things combined into a short tragic piece set a little while after his brief appearance in the novel.

It has its flaws. There are parts of the story that are underdeveloped, but I like the character. I like his daughters too - and I've a feeling they're still rattling around the world, preparing to have stories of their own. This is set in the same world that On Well-Wishers was an early glimpse of. Here, things are a bit more settled. I know which big bits go where. Still figuring the rest out. I'll shut up now.

Broehain

Broehain looked to the east, at the waves, and the winds that drove them, and the shrouded mounds of the archipelago in the distance. It had been four days since he’d sailed out there, with a storyteller and Aos Sí royalty to consult the sages that lived on the island. The winds had been high. Almost storming. Filling the boat, and their eyes and mouths, with briny spray. When he had collected them, after their meeting, they had not told him what the sages had said.

Broehain had not asked.

He had been eager to get away. To get home to his daughters, to see if today was the day when the soldiers and traders from Pyllwic decided to push him out of his home.

As they neared, he saw cookfires and lanterns burning in the windows of his disorderly cluster of shacks. The worried, dark face of Mairead, his eldest, peering out of the window at him. Deflating a little with a relieved sigh, before drawing deeper into the shack to see to her younger sister - Rhona.

When they disembarked, hauling the boat over the pebbles and hard sand, scraping and grating as they went, the storyteller and the queen went to their people and left. Broehain didn’t watch them go.

Mairead and Rhona were already tucked up in their bedrolls, closest to the hearth. Mairead curled around her sister. Knees drawn up under Rhona’s bare and grubby feet. Standing in the doorway, looking at them, Broehain felt something in him tremble, threatening to break. He turned away from them and stepped out into the night.

He took his bow and quiver, climbed the small rise behind his home, and hunkered down in the dry, sparse grass with his pipe. Broehain watched the curve of the road, in the distance. The mountains high above, lit up in silver and blue by the light of the moon.

Even in the dark he saw a few caravans and wagons. A slow procession of horses and humanity, ferrying their worldly goods to Pyllwic, to sell or to stow in the holds of their fat bottomed ships. Broehain watched those ungainly vessels bob past his home, some days, and wondered how they didn’t capsize. Weighed down in the water by the sheer quantity of their cargo.

He heard their voices. His ears twitching at the sound. Saw a few heads turn his way. They wouldn’t be able to see him, not in this dark. Their eyes were dim, where his were keen. He cupped his hand around the bowl of his pipe, masking the glow. Those watching eyes slipped away from him, returning to the road ahead.

Not today, then.

But soon.

He felt it on the wind.

‘Father,’ Mairead said.

Broehain jerked his head up from the netting he was fixing. Her bright eyes were looking over his shoulder, at something coming down from the road. Rhona, beside her, stood up. Eyes bright, always keen for some new adventure, some strange thing to happen.

He stood and turned.

Riders peeled off the road. Four of them. The one in the fore was all dressed up in furs and fine fabrics. A bronze chain around his throat, almost lost in the fat, sunburned folds of his neck. The man had a smile on his face. A smile that filled Broehain’s belly with ice and bile. Behind him were warriors. Armed. Missing teeth, or bits of ear, or strips of flesh from their faces.

‘Take your sister inside,’ he said.

He heard Rhona take in a sudden lungful, prepared to scream and shriek and stamp her feet in the sand. Mairead clamped a hand over her sister’s mouth and lifted her, before scuttling indoors. Broehain looked back at the nets, half mended, behind him.

There’d be no work today.

No work. No food.

Shit.

The thought gave him just enough anger to hold him firm. Keep him upright. He’d be having some words, soon. Words that could see him and his girls dead in the water or tossed out into the night to wander and starve.

The sun flashed on the fat man’s chain, in time with the rise and fall of his horse’s gait.

‘Help you?’ Broehain called.

The riders came to a halt. Their mounts, frustrated with the sudden stop, tramped and stamped and wheeled while their riders fought to control them. All save the fat man. He had the money for a good horse. Meek and mild. It stopped when it was asked, and he sat on it like you’d sit in a plush and comfortable chair.

‘Perhaps you can, my good sir, perhaps you can,’ the fat man said.

Broehain hated him already.

The fat man’s escort had taken charge of their horses and sat leering and staring at him. Gap-toothed sneers promising violence. Broehain cursed himself for not keeping weapons to hand. First time in a long time.

‘My name is-’ the fat man began.

‘Don’t want your name. What do you want?’

The fat man’s left eye twitched. But he masked it with a smile.

‘Charming place you have here,’ the fat man said.

‘It’s mine.’

‘Wonderful views of the sea.’

‘It’s mine.’

‘Really?’ the fat man’s smile spreading like oil on water, ‘I thought you Aos Sí didn’t believe in property.’

‘This one does. We done?’

The gap-toothed bastard on the left leaned forward in his saddle and said, ‘You’d best listen to the boss man.’

‘Really, Gib,’ the fat man shook his head, ‘There’s no need. No need at all.’

Gib didn’t blink. Kept on staring at Broehain. Broehain stared back.

‘I’ve come with a proposition,’ the fat man said. ‘Perhaps we could speak, in doors?’

‘Don’t care for propositions, and I like you just where you are.’

Again, the eye twitch. A slight twitching at the lips.

‘There’s no need to be so hostile,’ the fat man sighed. ‘We’re here as friends.’

‘Humans always come as friends,’ Broehain said. ‘Then they stay as conquerors.’

‘The old ways-’ the fat man began, shaking his head.

‘The always. Take your flunkeys and go.’

All the friendliness and charm vanished. The fat man gave him a hard stare. Broehain hadn’t marked the darkness in his eyes until that moment. Seeing it made him wish for his bow. The fat man sat, unblinking, before shrugging and turning his horse.

Gib gave him a last, long look. Smiling. Then he turned and followed the others.

Broehain watched them go. Four riders fading into a dust cloud, to join a larger caravan that waited, watching, on the road. Had to be another eight out there. Armed, as shifty as the rest of them. He watched them mount up and set off down the road, some looking back at him and talking to each other. Heard a few laugh.

He watched them go with his fists shaking at his sides.

For the next few days and nights, Broehain took to going about his day and his work with his bow and quiver with him. He made no trips out onto the water. Focused, instead, on whittling and forming the oddments and trinkets the townsfolk liked to barter for and cultivating what few crops they could grow on the harsh sands and dry earth.

Mairead watched him, watching the road. Starting and rising at every little noise out there. Rhona carried on as always. Half-attentive to her task. Often distracted by birds, or the sounds of the waves, or the glinting of the sun on the water. It did nothing to help Broehain’s mood when he looked around for her and found her missing. Only to then later discover her rolling down sand dunes. The golden granules sifting through her hair.

But they didn’t come.

Each hour they did not come, the tension and the sickness in his belly tightened and grew heavier. It wore him down. Put a twitch and a shake in his long fingers. Robbed of their usual intelligence, he fumbled at his task until he gave up altogether. He took to sitting and watching the road, chewing at his pipe without lighting it.

‘Father,’ Mairead said.

Broehain twitched, near bit clean through his pipe. He took it from his mouth and grunted, still watching the road. It was empty.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Dunno. Nothing good.’

‘What did those men want?’

‘Everything.’

‘Everything?’

‘The houses, the land, the jetty. All of it. Mostly, I think they want us gone.’

‘Why?’

‘We’re an eyesore. People see us from the road, on their way to town, and they forget the lie they’ve been swallowing. The lie that Pyllwic was built by human hands. They look at us and they remember that town is built on a graveyard. They look at us and remember what it cost the Aos Sí, for humanity to gain access to the sea.’

‘They going to hurt us?’

Broehain said nothing to this. Took arrows from his quiver and planted them, point first, in the sand and drew his bow across his knee. The wind stirred. Tousled his long hair, throwing it across his face. Mairead looked at him for a time, chewing her lower lip.

‘If they come, I’ll take Rhona. I’ll take Rhona and run.’

‘Run where?’ Broehain said, ‘There’s nowhere left for us.’

‘I could go to Fréimhe.’

‘Fréimhe didn’t help when they threw the Aos Sí into the bay. They didn’t help when those bastards did for your mother. No. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. If they come, we die here.’

Mairead couldn’t look at him. She turned her eyes to the road, found it hateful, and looked to the mountains beyond. She heard him stir, beside her. The ruffle of his clothing as he turned in his seat to look up at her.

‘Mairead,’ he said.

She wouldn’t look at him.

‘If they come, I will kill every last one of them. But they’ll send more. They’ll send soldiers, Mairead. They’ll take me in irons or hang me by the roadside there. They’ll take the land anyway.’

‘Then why don’t we leave? We can start again, somewhere else.’

Broehain said nothing. Said nothing for a long time. The wind stirred the sands about him, and it stung Mairead’s eyes to be there with him. So she left. Trudged back to the house, to see to Rhona. Broehain didn’t leave his perch until the sun slipped behind the mountains, but he didn’t put his bow down.

He couldn’t.

Not yet.

When he was on watch, Broehain saw a wagon crack an axle. The road was poor in places. Uneven. Its surface giving way to sudden dips and rises. He saw the wagon dip suddenly with a crash. Its driver gave a cry. A few crates spilled out, to split and splinter on the hard ground. The horses screamed at the sudden shift in weight.

Broehain didn’t move.

He lit his pipe when the drive jumped down and stood, hands clawing at his hair, as he stared at the devastation. It was still a good fifteen miles into town. If they tried to walk it, when they returned the wagon would be picked clean. The horses either stolen or butchered for their meat.

Broehain saw the same thoughts pass through the driver’s mind as they looked up the road, and then back to their wagon. Even at a distance he could hear them mutter and curse.

‘What’s the man doing?’ Rhona said, beside him. She plonked down on the sand, knocking up a small cloud. Broehain cupped his hand over the bowl of his pipe to shield it from the sand.

‘He’s broken his wagon, child.’

‘Poor man.’

‘Hrm,’ Broehain stuck the pipe back between his teeth. 

‘You going to help him?’

‘No. I don’t think I will.’

‘But dad, you always say to help those that need helping.’

‘I always say, do I?’

‘Well. Sometimes. Not lately.’

‘What’ve I been saying lately?’

‘Nothing,’ Rhona kicked her feet and gouged deep hollows in the sands with her heels. She said nothing for a time. Then, ‘Those men, are they coming back?’

‘Probably.’

‘You going to hurt them?’

‘If I have to.’

‘Do you feel bad about it, when you hurt them?’

Broehain clicked his tongue, held the pipe clear of his mouth, and frowned. He’d never really thought about it.

‘Sometimes,’ he said.

‘Like?’

‘Like when people are just being stupid. They make me hurt them. I feel bad about that.’

‘What about the other times?’

‘The other times, I do what I have to. It keeps us in that house, with this land. No one can make us go.’

‘I feel bad when you hurt them.’

‘You’re still little. You haven’t had time to work it all out yet.’

‘I feel bad about that man.’

‘What man?’

‘The one with the wagon,’ she said. Then, without warning, she flung her arms around his neck, kissed his brow, and then lurched to her feet and skipped off back towards the house.

Broehain watched her go, mouth hanging open, wondering just what the hell had happened. But then he looked over at the road, at the wagon driver who crouched beside the sundered axle. The driver had folded his arms over his knees and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Broehain imagined he was crying. The driver probably had his whole life in that wagon. Everything he had to sell.

Broehain stuck his tongue in his cheek and shook his head. When the thought of going over to help didn’t clear, he shook it again. It didn’t change anything.

‘Fuck it,’ he said, jamming the pipe in his belt pouch and taking up his bow and quiver.

‘Alright there?’ Broehain called from across the sand. He’d crossed three-quarters of the distance, and when the driver lifted his head from his arm, he could see the red puffiness of the driver’s eyes.

The driver saw his bow first, then his face. He stood up, lurched back against the side of the wagon hard enough to tip it a little.

‘Oh fuck,’ the driver said, ‘One of you.’

‘One of me?’

‘Aos Sí. Please, I don’t have much. Please just leave me be.’

Broehain stopped, stuck his tongue in his cheek, and thought about turning around and leaving him there with a broken axle. But then he remembered Rhona, and the way she’d sounded a few minutes before. He shook his head.

‘I’m not looking to rob you. I came to help.’

The driver’s eyes narrowed. Then they flitted, left and right. Taking in the full width and breadth of the road. Looking for others.

‘It’s just me,’ Broehain said.

‘You say that. Everyone knows how you lot hide and sneak about.’

‘Fuck this,’ Broehain sighed through his nose, ‘I came to help fix your wagon. Fix it yourself.’

‘Wait.’

‘No.’

‘Please. I’m- sorry.’

Broehain looked at him for a time, thought of Rhona, then shrugged and said, ‘Let’s take a look at her then.’

While he was crouched and probing at the splintered and bent axle, the driver took to talking.

‘You one of them fellers? Like whossname from Lammersby?’

‘Like who?’

‘I forget.’

‘Then no.’

‘I thought you could like, talk to it. The wood. Make it better.’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’

‘Lost the knack.’

‘Oh.’

‘Mhm.’

Broehain didn’t know why he lied. True, he had not spoken to wood for some time. Nor stone or metal, or any of it. He worked with his hands. Like the humans. So far from his own kind, it left him feeling lesser. More- weighty. Something dense and inert that shuffled about on the ground, when he should be taking to the air. Light as anything.

Still, he wrapped his handles around the axle and made a show of inspecting it up close. But he spoke to it, quietly. The wood trembled at his touch. Quivered. Each vibration spoke of aches and suffering. Of long days and nights trundling along broken roads. He’d forgotten what it was like. It brought tears to his ears.

Its suffering was his suffering. Its pain was his pain. He shut his eyes. Could barely hear the driver wittering at his ankles.

But the wood knit together. It unbent. It still quivered and shook, but less so. Stilling and quietening little by little.

Broehain fought to control his breathing. Blinked back tears.

Then said, ‘I think that’ll get her a little ways,’ before crawling back out from underneath the wagon. He palmed the dust and dirt on his trousers and sat there, gasping a little.

‘Thank you,’ the driver said, ‘I never met an Aos Sí before. I shouldn’t have said all that.’

‘You said what you said,’ Broehain sighed, ‘But you still needed help. Look, the patch job won’t last you till town. But I live a little ways, over by the water. How about we take her there, and I’ll fix her up something proper?’

The driver stared at him for a moment. Turned to look across the sand, licked his lips. Broehain could see the struggle in him. His instinctive fear of the Aos Sí. Suspicion about betrayal. Fear of being led into an ambush. 

But at the same time, Broehain had helped him for nothing.

The driver took a deep breath, then nodded.

‘Hop on up, I’ll drive,’ he said.

The wagon struggled through the sand, but the horses that pulled it were strong and confident and sure-footed. They picked their way carefully across the sand, and through sheer determination hauled the wheels over the unlikely terrain.

Rhona took to the stranger immediately.

Silent as a shadow, she came running across the sand and slipped aboard the wagon. She crawled across the remaining crates and sacks and bundles, to crouch behind the driver’s seat.

‘I’ve never seen a wagon before,’ she said.

The driver about died. He screamed and dropped the reins, but the horses knew what they were about and forged on without direction or encouragement. Broehain laughed.

‘Child, you know better.’

‘I’ve never seen a wagon before.’

‘Well now you have.’

The driver stared at her, eyes wide, mouth open. Not making a noise, save a subtle sucking and blowing of air that whistled through his open lips.

‘Is he okay?’ Rhona said, ‘Did he fall and hit his head?’

‘He’s fine, you just scared him a little.’

‘I’m really sorry,’ Rhona said. ‘Dad says I shouldn’t come sneaking up on people that don’t expect it. But I’ve never seen a wagon before. It’s really pretty. Are those your horses? I like horses. I want to have a horse of my own one day, but dad says it’s wrong to keep horses. Says they were strong and noble things once, but now they’re stupid and don’t know anything anymore. Why do you own horses?’

The driver stared at her, opened mouthed, nodding along to the rhythm of her words but not taking in an ounce of meaning. Broehain shook his head and gave her a nudge.

‘Leave him be.’

Rhona dropped back amongst the driver’s goods and set about singing and humming to herself. The driver took up his reins again, but sat shaking his head, not looking at anyone. They drew up among the shacks, at the foot of the jetty. Mairead came to meet them.

She looked at the driver once, then at Broehain.

Broehain shrugged.

‘Axle’s broke. I said he could come by for a bit,’ he said. 

‘Father-’

Broehain held up a hand, and she fell silent.

‘It’s alright Mair. Take him inside, fix him a cup, and I’ll see to the wagon.’

The driver looked at him. Eyes about bulging out of his sockets. Aos Si children are rare. Each new generation arriving with every growth of the Great Oak above the city of Freimhe, a limit borne of the Aos Si’s fear of expanding beyond their means. The Oak grew slow, only advancing far enough for a new generation once every seventy years or so. For a human to see a single Aos Si child was a once-in-a-lifetime event.

To see two- that was something else. 

The driver didn’t know that Mair and Rhona had been born and raised above ground. Broehain himself had been born out of season. He and his parents had been invited to leave, with no hope of ever returning. The years of solitude and isolation flickered behind Broehain’s eyes as he studied the driver’s reaction.

Broehain smiled and clapped the driver on the shoulder.

‘It’s fine. Go in.’

The driver nodded, scooted down from his seat, and followed Mairead indoors. When the door shut, he heard Mairead speaking to the driver softly. As if to a frightened and startled animal that she had to coax into safety. Broehain watched and listened for a little while before shaking his head.

‘Are they all that strange?’ Rhona said, behind him. Chin propped up on the backrest of the driver’s seat.

Broehain twisted to look at her. Put a hand to her head and kissed her brow.

‘Most of them. Yeah.’

Then he clucked to the horses and steered the wagon closer to the storage shed.

The axle was fine. He’d fixed it on the road but didn’t want word that an Aos Sí craftsman was living on the shore. Broehain didn’t want the attention, so he made a show of taking nails and tack and all sorts and lying under the wagon for a bit. Banging a hammer. He didn’t see the driver until sunset.

The driver came out of the shack with a steaming cup of hot cider. He stood by Broehain’s feet for a while, just looking at him, then looking out to sea.

‘Those your daughters, in there?’ the driver said.

‘Yup.’

‘Where’s their mother?’

Broehain stopped, then drew himself out from under the wagon. The driver staggered back, probably afraid Broehain was about to hit him. But Broehain just sat, one wrist dangling over his knee while he watched the waves.

‘She died.’

‘Oh.’

‘Some folk came one night, few years back. Tried to steal anything that weren’t nailed down. I did for two of them with my bow, but one of them got ahold of her. Dragged her out across the sands. I followed them, for three days. Then I found her. Throat cut. He just left her there.’

‘Shit.’

‘I found him, an hour or two later. Cut him up so bad he looked like something the wolves got at. I was so out of my head with anger- I hated him. Hated him more than I hated anything else. But I left her there, behind me. With no one to say kind words, to cry over her. I just left her there on the sand, I was so fixed on killing him. When I went back her body was gone. Reckon the tide took it.’

The driver nodded and said nothing. The crashing of the waves filled the gulf of silence between them. He offered his mug of hot cider, and Broehain took it. Drank deep and sighed.

‘Got a wife and two daughters of my own, back home,’ the driver said, ‘A little place over by Hoddershill. It’s not much but it’s ours, you know?’

Broehain nodded.

‘One of my girls is sick. Sick to dying. And we don’t have anything that can help her, but there’s a healer in Hodderton. Trouble is I can’t afford him. So, I packed up whatever we had to sell, and I was taking it to Pyllwic.’

Broehain nodded. But the driver didn’t say anything more. After a few moments, Broehain looked up and saw the driver was crying. Eyes closed, chin tucked to his chest, hands by his side just shaking and shaking and shaking.

The driver took a great whooping breath and said, ‘I got word they died. All of them. Whatever sickness were in my girl, it got into all of them. A neighbour wrote to me, while I stopped off in Aurora. They’re all dead, and I just keep going and going and going to Pyllwic. Because if I stop, then I remember. And if I remember I get to thinking I should go home.’

Broehain offered the mug back, but the driver wasn’t looking at him.

‘If I go home, I have to bury them. If I have to bury them, I have to see that they’re dead. I have to tell myself that they’re dead. And then what do I do after? Do I sit there, in our place, with nothing and no one? Just me and the silence. Just me and the places where they should be.’

The driver sniffed. Palmed tears and snot from his face and shook his head, laughing a little.

‘I’m sorry. You and your girls have been good to me, and I’ve not spoken to anyone for a long time.’

‘It’s fine,’ Broehain said.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine.’

The driver nodded. Fresh tears ran free and dripped from his chin. Then he gasped and looked out to sea, blinking and coughing to clear his throat.

‘Your girl, Mairead?’

Broehain nodded.

‘She said you’ve got some trouble. Please don’t be angry with her, she wanted to know if I could do anything.’

Broehain looked at him, then took his own turn to sigh and shake his head.

‘We’ve always got trouble, out here. This is no different than before. Some rich fuck wants my land, and is prepared to kill me and my girls for it.’

‘Is there nothing you can do?’

‘I can kill them. But then more will come, with more arms, more violence. I don’t have arrows for them all.’

The driver nodded, then licked his lips.

‘Look. You don’t know me from anybody. But you’ve helped me, helped me after I said all that awful shit. I want to help. I’m not much good with a bow. Never held a sword, or nothing my whole life. But I want to help.’

Broehain met his eye. Met his eye and thought about telling him no. But he thought of his girls, in doors, trying to sleep but plagued by nightmares. Every night since the fat man had come, he’d heard them whimper and twitch in their blankets. He’d give anything to make that stop.

‘Okay. But on one condition.’

‘Name it.’

‘Something happens to me, you take those girls, and you take them home. You look after them like they’re your own.’

‘That’s a lot to ask-’

‘I’m not asking,’ Broehain said. ‘I’m not going to be here much longer. This world it – there’s nothing for me here. And I have nothing for it. It’ll chew me up and spit me out into the water there, and those girls will have nothing. Do you know how much Aos Sí girls go for?’

The driver didn’t say anything. Didn’t even blink. But Broehain saw the darkness creep into his face.

‘Yeah,’ Broehain said. ‘They’ll take them. Won’t kill them outright. They’ll just ship them elsewhere, to whoever’s got a taste for it. That’s worse than death. Worse than anything, ‘cause they’ll break them apart. Separate them and then hurt them and use them then kill them when they’re all used up. So you take them with you. You take them and you run and you give them a good life.’

‘I don’t even know your name.’

‘Do you need it?’

‘I’d like to hear it.’

Broehain snorted and shook his head, then offered his hand.

‘Broehain.’

‘Barrett.’

‘Well then, Barrett. Promise me.’

‘I promise.’

‘Alright then.’ Broehain nodded, then dropped onto his back and closed his eyes with a sigh. ‘I’d recommend getting some sleep. Won’t be long till they come back.’

Barrett watched him for a bit. Watched him until Broehain started snoring softly. Then he took his mug and went inside.

The fat man didn’t show, but Gib and six others did. All strewn over the backs of their saddles like they were half asleep or bored already. Wearing filthy leathers and dented ring mail showing rust. Some had axes, others had swords. There wasn’t a bow between them, and Broehain was glad.

It gave him an edge.

Mairead and Rhona tried to leave the house, but he shooed them back in. Took his bow and quiver and strapped a short sword around his waist.

‘Stay here. Stay with Barrett. If anything happens, if anything goes wrong, he’ll take care of you.’

‘Dad-’ Mairead began.

‘No. Listen to me now and remember me like I was.’

Broehain kissed them each on the brow. Then opened the door. The sun was high and bright, and the sea blazed and burned before him. Glinting and flashing gold and blinding. He nodded to himself, stepped around the house and back up the rise to where he could see the riders.

‘Good afternoon,’ Gib shouted through cupped hands, ‘Must say I’m disappointed to see you.’

Broehain dropped his quiver. Took the arrows out in a fistful and planted them headfirst into the sand. He put one to the string and looked out across the sand at them. The riders kept coming. Some of them smiling. Others grim and hungry for blood.

‘Where’s your boss?’ Broehain shouted.

Gib shrugged.

‘He thought it’d be best if it were just us. Reckoned we could come to an understanding.’

Broehain pursed his lips and nodded. He glanced to the road. Saw a few more riders, stood watching. Maybe four, maybe five. Thought he saw a glint, there, when the wind picked up. A bronze glint.

‘That him on the road?’

Gib glanced back, horse still plodding along, then looked back and shrugged.

‘Could be,’ he called.

Broehain nodded.

He aimed high, drew the fletching to his ear, and let the arrow loose.

It disappeared into the open blue sky. Its iron head flashed once, twice, then gone. The riders stopped. Twisted in their saddles to watch it go. Glib smiled, started to shake his head.

But Broehain had seen that bronze glint, and his aim had never failed him.

One of the riders on the road twisted. A strangled scream on the air. They listed to one side, clawing at the rains, and then thudded headfirst to the road. Their attendants jumped down from their horses and ran to the body.

When Gib looked back at him, his mouth was wide open. He was missing more than a few teeth. The gums black and rotting.

Broehain smiled, took up another arrow.

Gib drew steel and kicked his horse into a charge. A heartbeat later, the rest followed. Axes and swords in hand, they rushed him. Whooping and screaming and roaring. Behind him, Broehain heard the shack door bang open, followed by a flurry of footfalls headed to the wagon by the tool shed.

He nodded to himself. Took a deep, shaking breath.

Fletching to ear.

Arrow to sky.

A rider twisted to the right as the arrow caught him in the throat. A thin arc of blood flecking the sand. They slipped a little from their saddle, but their foot snagged in the stirrup. They dangled, helmeted head bashing and banging on the sand. The horse peeled off from the middle of the group, sowing chaos among the other riders who wrestled and yanked on their own reins.

But Gib kept coming for him.

Broehain fired a couple of arrows straight at him, but nothing seemed to land right. Gib ducked and weaved in his saddle.

They were getting too close.

Switching targets, he took up three arrows. Held two between his teeth and fired one. Hit a rider flush in the eye. They fell straight back, bent at the waist, flat along the horse’s back before falling and thumping to the sand. A moment later he’d fired another, knocked another rider down.

He heard the clopping of hooves behind him, scuffing the sand, as the wagon pulled away from the shed. Thought he heard Rhona call his name but couldn’t let himself think about it. Broehain only had eyes for the riders.

Arrow after arrow.

The riders tumbled from their saddles. But Gib kept coming. Gib kept coming. He got so close, Broehain thought he could smell the rancid man’s breath. Could feel it’s hot, reeking touch on his face.

Gib’s shadow fell over him. Broehain lifted his bow, lengthways. Gib’s sword split the bow and its string down the middle. The tip traced a thin line of fire up the middle of Broehain’s brow and he fell flat on his back.

Gib rode past. Whirled. Made to charge again.

Broehain shook his head, palmed the blood out of his eyes. Drew his short sword but held it low and tight against his body. When the horse came close, he stepped clear of it and Gib’s swing. He cut the saddle straps as the horse swept past, and Gib slipped over and fell to the sand.

Broehain charged him, but Gib was already up. Gib threw a fistful of sand in his face, then drove his shoulder into Broehain’s midriff. The blow knocked him clear off his feet and down hard on his back. His wind left him in a wheezing rush. His lungs spasmed in his chest. Broehain had enough strength to roll clear of Gib’s downward thrust, but when he tried to get up on his feet again, the sand slipped out from under him.

He lost his footing, and fell into an awkward, backwards roll that jammed his chin against his chest and clicked his teeth together.

Gib came after him. Sword wheeling and flashing in the sun. The other riders were gone. Scattered or dead, but neither of them cared. 

Broehain deflected the first swing from a crouch, but the follow-up punch knocked him down again. Gib put a knee to his back, gathered up a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. Broehain hissed at the searing pain in his scalp. Felt the cold edge of the blade kiss his exposed throat.

But he saw, for a moment, the wagon disappearing in a cloud of sand and dust, headed south. He didn’t know if Gib saw it yet, but he wasn’t about to give him a chance. 

Broehain bent at the waist. The blade bit into his throat, bit deep, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. It pulled Gib off balance. Broehain lashed out with his elbow, struck Gib in the side of his knee, and dropped him to the ground.

Blood ran free from the wound in his throat. The cut was deeper than he thought. He could feel it all draining out of his head. His vision swam. The beach bucked and heaved before him, the lights flaring and dimming. But Gib was on the ground, dazed.

So Broehain fell on him. Fell on him and put his calloused hands around the bastard’s throat. Squeezed the rank hot air out of his throat. Stared into his open, choking, toothless mouth and smiled.

His own blood ran fat and heavy and giddy, dripping and pooling on Gib’s chest.

The world dimmed again. Broehain had a brief panic, thinking he’d die right there before finishing the job. Gib kicked and clawed under him. Choking and wheezing. Face purpling, eyes bulging, the whites growing pinker, then redder as the vessels in them burst under the strain.

Broehain bore down, put all of his weight into his hands. His face was close enough to Gib’s that the dying man’s chokes rushed into his ears. Drowned everything else out. There was just him, his hands, and Gib’s throat and the sound of Gib dying under his hands. He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, until Gib stopped fighting. Until the choking stopped.

Then Broehain fell forward, toppling over. He stared out across the water, set to burning by the light of the sun.

He would never see it set again.

But that was alright.

That was alright.

Because he’d got to see it rise.

#fantasy writing #writeblr #writer stuff #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writing #writerslife #writer things #fantasy #short stories #short story #short fiction #fiction writing #fiction #high fantasy #fantasy fiction #fantasy short story #indie author #original fiction #original fantasy

[daughter-of-melpomene]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐊 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐀 𝐃𝐔𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐈

❝ Layla Dupreti had been a ghost since she was only a small child - her family’s own little shadow girl, her father used to joke, always walking around their little house with perfectly silent steps since she was able to take steps at all. It wasn’t something she had ever consciously tried to do, though she found her skill did improve when she focused; she had just been born that way, sure-footed as a cat and with feet just as padded and quiet.

And this was a skill that certainly came in handy, with Layla and her family living the way they did. Part of a human settlement on a backwater planet too small and inconsequential for the United Federation of Planets to care about, the Dupretis grew up, and raised their children, in fear of the violent gangs that ran rampant through the settlement’s various villages and cities, grabbing power wherever they could get it and showing no mercy for anyone who stood in their way. Often whichever gang was in control of her small village at the moment would hoard goods and supplies for themselves, forcing the villagers to pay large amounts of money simply for the things they needed to survive, but with Layla’s gift for silent sneaking, she was usually able to snatch enough supplies to keep her and her family afloat, all without anyone dangerous ever discovering her thieving.

So it was not retribution for her stealing that left Layla an orphan at the tender age of fourteen. No, the way in which the young girl lost her parents was much more pointless than that - during a siege of power over the village from a larger gang, with a fearsome reputation for cruelty, the little home that Layla had lived in all her life was burnt down, her parents both slaughtered while trying to run away from the fire. She had returned home from school that day to the burnt remains of the only home she’d ever known, forced to bury her parents by herself in shallow, unmarked graves, before going straight to the nearest starship port and stowing away on it, leaving the world full of violence behind her.

From there, Layla began to advertise herself as the perfect spy and thief, renting out her skills to whomever had the funds to pay for them - often working for rival organizations at the same time, spending the majority of her days crouched in the shadows with her face obscured and her trusty twin knifes, the payment for one of her first ever jobs, strapped to her sides. Though she concealed her true name and identity very carefully - referring to herself solely as the Shadow, an agonizing reminder to herself of her father’s nickname and the pain she had run from years ago - she quickly gained a reputation as the most talented thief in the galaxy, and eventually began to be approached by bigger and more powerful organizations. Those groups paid better than any “employers” Layla had had prior to them… but they were also more dangerous, the implications of what would happen if Layla refused the work they offered more severe.

This was how Layla eventually finds herself with perhaps the least desirable job of her career: stowing away on the USS Enterprise and making off with the cargo they were carrying, which happens to be medicine the ship is ferrying to a planet like the one Layla had used to call home, tiny and poor and in desperate need of it. Layla wants perhaps nothing less than to do what has been requested of her, but the crime syndicate who makes the job offer makes it very clear what will happen if the Shadow refuses. So she grits her teeth, takes half her payment in advance, and sneaks into the Enterprise’s cargo hold when they stop to pick up the object of her thievery.

And then she gets caught.

Found and pulled from the shadows on a job for the first time in her life, Layla fully expects to be kept prisoner on the starship and hauled before a judge. She doesn’t expect James Kirk, the Enterprise’s captain, to take pity on her, and to make her an offer: she will not be reported as a thief to the Starfleet authorities, as long as she agrees to stay aboard the Enterprise and serve as a yeoman. Having spent so much of her life hidden in dark corners, Layla doesn’t exactly adore the idea of spending every day around so many people, but faced with a choice between agreeing to this deal or going to prison for the rest of her life, she would - and does - choose the former without hesitation.

Now serving as a yeoman on the ship she had previously intended to burgle, Layla finds that she has never been in an environment such as this… and she can’t quite decide if that’s a good thing or not. With the exception of the ship’s doctor, a man whose cantankerous attitude she can appreciate, and half-Vulcan first officer, everyone on the ship is so cheerful and friendly, seeming to completely forgive Layla’s past attempted offence and seek to be friends with her - especially the Enterprise’s navigation officer, who continues to throw flirtatious comments at Layla no matter how often she puts one of her knives to his throat.

Layla isn’t quite sure what to make of the direction her life has taken. But she has gone from being a nameless lost soul of a thief who spends her time crouched in the darkness to having friends who genuinely want to know the person behind her inner walls, a found family full of sun-bright souls, and potentially, a boyfriend (if Sulu can ever man up enough to ask her out properly), so she supposes it’s more positive than negative.

It would, however, be a lot better if Kirk and Spock’s escapades wouldn’t threaten them all with death every other week. ❞

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#my ocs #introducing my ocs #ch: layla dupreti #oc: layla dupreti #queerocs #fyeahocsofcolor #ocapp #ocappreciation #ochub #allaboutocs #fyeahstartrekocs #star trek oc #fic: peace

[demonicusetrigan]

Grooming an Emperor

Waking up on a cargo ship was confusing, to say the least. Jason wasn't sure how it was he'd ended up there, he had been on a forest planet, keeping to himself when some smugglers were trying to find some species to feed their slave trade. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in the hold of one of their ships while they were unloading. They must have snuck up behind him and caught him off guard. Chained up and prodded out of the cargo bay and onto the loading dock, he was naturally incensed. There was no way that he would let them take him somewhere without giving some sort of voice to his opinion. A muttered word and a few flexed muscles had the chains disintegrating off of his wrists, ankles, and around his neck. He let out an animalistic roar as he conjured fire from his hands and summoned swords through them, swords that were forged from hellfire itself; the smugglers didn't stand a chance.

Moments later, the loading bay on Coruscant was coated in a layer of blood and bodies littered the floor. Not knowing where he was left him disoriented; he stowed a sword on his back and dispelled one, keeping himself ready to battle at any given moment. He'd already met some unsavory characters, so it only made sense that there would be more nearby. This was a new environment and he would adapt; he always did. He just needed to stay cautious, but continually looking over his shoulder only kept him angry, even as he looted the bodies of the smugglers for weapons and credits, along with any ideas of where they'd taken him, and then turned to disappear into the city.

Better armed and more prepared, he muttered a spell as he ducked down alleyways to clean off the blood that spattered all over him. He had to focus on blending in until he could get his bearings and form a plan.

#siiinfully

[shalebridgecradle]

TESFest, Day 4

TESFest, Day 4 - mortal / sanctuary - @tes-summer-fest summary: 2,082 words; PG. Home is where you hide your Elder Scroll. No content warnings. housekeeping note: based off a pipe dream I once had of rewriting the plot of Dawnguard because...well... *gestures broadly*...you know. This fic assumes Serana wouldn't want to bring an Elder Scroll back to Castle Volkihar and the waiting arms of her probably-still-prophecy-obsessed father.

Serana regards the weatherworn chest before her with open suspicion. With the tip of her index finger she lifts the lid. Hinges creak. Wood shifts. She doesn’t even examine the contents before letting the lid slam shut again in a whumpf of dust.

She whirls on the two adventurers behind her, arms folded across her chest, brow furrowed. “This is the most absurd idea I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s…unorthodox,” Eira - on her left - concedes. Her teeth worry over her lower lip as she thinks. “But I suppose it could work.”

“It will work.” Erik gestures to the chest as if inviting Serana to take another look. “This is the safest spot in Skyrim. I promise,” he adds, puffing faintly with pride.

“Because a stripling couldn’t understand how to work a lock growing up?” Serana scoffs, heedless of the way Erik’s smile fades. She rolls her shoulders, shifting her cargo around into her arms. “We’ll look for somewhere in Solitude. A…they do still have vaults, right?”

“Well, yes, but–”

Heavy footsteps overhead interrupt the debate. Three sets of eyes dart towards the floorboards up above. Dust falls in a steady line headed right toward the basement steps. 

Erik winces. “I thought he was asleep.”

A moment later and Mralki’s broad, bare feet appear on the top few steps, followed shortly by the rest of him. He tugs at his nightshirt with one hand, the other hand holding a lantern aloft. “Try and keep your voices down. Erik, you know Sissel’s a light sleeper.” Then his gaze falls on the aging chest they’ve arrayed themselves around, and then on Serana and the oversized, ornamented scroll cradled in her arms.

Mralki considers them a long moment before he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “You found another–of course you did. What have I told you about bringing priceless artifacts under this roof?”

“It won’t be staying,” Serana answers, at the same time as Erik, looking down at his boots, mumbles something about intending to tell him in the morning.

“You want to hide an Elder Scroll in my basement, and you thought telling me could wait until morning? What else have you hid down here? Ysmir’s beard?” Mralki lifts the lantern higher as if to look. 

It’s Eira who stops him, with a gentle smile that makes wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. “You’re right; we should have told you. It’s only that we need a place to stow it for a few days, safe from Serana’s family.”

“And that isn’t here,” is Serana’s grumbled retort. Mralki nods his agreement.

Eira’s hands rest on her hips. “I’m not convinced a bank vault is any better,” she murmurs, setting off a fresh round of debate between herself and Serana.

“Listen,” Erik interrupts, motioning to the chest. “If you were looking for an Elder Scroll, where would you go?”

Serana’s retort is dry and immediate: “Where I know where to find one.”

Eira’s palm bounces in the air as if weighing the question before she speaks. “I’d start with the Imperial Library, I suppose. Or the College.”

“Or an ancient ruin, lost to the ages.” Erik almost bounces on his toes as he concludes, “But would you look in an innkeeper’s basement?”

“Does the innkeeper get a say in this at all?”

Erik’s eyes dart to his father, wide and pleading. “It’d only be for a few days. And my point is that no one would think to look for it here. Would they? Serana?”

“My father suspected I took the scroll when I was…sent away. If he’s still…” She shakes her head; stops the thoughts there. “He could try to retrace my steps, looking for it.”

“That sounds like a long line of ifs, to me.” Eira’s shoulder to shoulder with Erik now, or as close as their differing heights will allow. Shoulder to elbow. “This is still better than delivering it into his hands.”

“Is it? How can I trust him?” She points a pale, slender finger in Mralki’s direction. The innkeeper draws back, eyebrow arched, despite the distance between them. “Better yet, how can I trust you?” 

Erik stammers over the first words of a reply. It’s Mralki who cuts him short. “The same way I’m going to have to trust that you won’t hurt my son or Eira, whatever it is you’re mixed up in.”

Serana’s lips narrow to a thin line. She and Mralki stare at one another, arms folded in near-identical poses of defiance. Some things, it seems, translate well enough across the millennia. 

“I see.” She hugs the scroll closer to her chest. Her yellow eyes narrow, a faint gleam in the swirling candlelight.

Then a sigh. She turns, fast enough to swirl her long dark cloak behind her,  and lifts the lid of the chest once more. Aging armor clanks and shifts as she moves it about to settle the scroll in place. By the time she’s done, only a hint of a handle peeks out, a glimmer in the dim light. 

“I’ll be back to claim it, once I’m sure my father–once it’s safe.” Hinges creak again as she eases the lid shut. The rusty padlock - temporarily set aside on a dusty barrel - follows shortly after. 

“That’s a Legion-issue lock,” Mralki warns. “Any thief worth their salt will have it open in a heartbeat.”

Eira’s lips curve upwards in a wry smile. “Perhaps, but first they’d have to get past you.”

“Again, I’d ask you if I get a say in this.” Mralki sighs. “But Divines preserve us, I already know the answer.” He turns to go, his voice drifting back to them as he climbs the uneven steps. “Not a word of this to another soul, and you’d best not even think of leaving it here for more than a fortnight. Julianos knows how I’m going to keep the girls out of the basement until then.”

They tromp up the stairs one after the other, Serana leading the way. Only a few glances back to the basement, the chest lost in dust and darkness now that they’ve carried the candles up with them. 

Mralki waits at the top step, arms folded. “Where is it you’re bound after this?”

Serana’s foot hesitates just as she reaches the top step. “North,” she answers, before amending, with a touch more reluctance, “home.”

Mralki’s brow furrows as if trying to imagine, for a moment, what that word means to a vampire. “Well.” He’s talking over her shoulder now, to his son’s thudding, familiar steps as he makes his way up the stairs behind her. “Erik, try and make sure you’re back here before Sundas. The last of Lemkil’s potato crop needs digging up, and the children and I can’t manage it all by ourselves.”

***

It rains the night they return to Rorikstead. Before the last dark clouds have rolled away east, Serana slips out the inn door. She comes to a stop on the inn’s bottom step, away from the dripping eave. A few belated drops of rain pattern against the hood of her cloak.

The sky clears into a delicate web of stars before the inn’s door ever opens again. She glances back just in time to see Mralki step outside.

“Ah, there you are.”

Behind him, as the inn’s door swings closed, she can just make out Eira and Erik at one of the tables. Their heads are both bent over a map of Skyrim, their voices a susurrus half lost to the wind and the crackle of the hearth. 

It’s like there's no space for air between you two, Serana had told Eira during the sea crossing to Castle Volkihar. Erik remained on the shore pacing, grumbling, the only one of them who couldn't water walk.

We’re not used to working alone or in threes. That gentle smile, again, so patient and courtly it made Serana’s jaw clench.

Had there ever been a time when Serana hadn’t had to guard her own back? She doesn’t remember. If those two are what it’s like, having someone you trust at your side, she’d rather lock herself right back in Dimhollow Crypt.

A hen pecks the dirt near her boots, on a late-night hunt for worms turned up by the rain. Its beak strikes alarmingly close to one of her toes. Serana quirks a brow down at it, her expression a good match for the storm clouds receding on the horizon.

The chicken carries on regardless.

Mralki shoos it away with a firm hand and a few muttered words, back toward the henhouse. It complies with a faint bwok that sounds for all the world like a curse. “You should be back inside, nearer the fire.”

For a moment, Serana thinks he’s talking to the chicken. “Afraid I’ll catch my death?”

“Your kind doesn’t feel the cold?”

“Volkihar don’t.” And even if they did, she’s still relishing being under a night sky again. Even if the stars themselves are different from what she remembers. 

Mralki takes another step down, closer to her. His breath frosts light in the air. “Well. All the same, it’s a poor host who lets an honored guest stay out in the cold and damp.”

Serana’s laugh is soft as a chime, and all the more bitter for it. “It’s a foolish host who lets the wolf in.”

“True enough, but you’re no wolf.” 

She snaps her head around to stare at him, narrow-eyed. Her lips curl upwards in something half a smile, half a snarl. Just enough to bare a hint of fang. Mralki doesn’t visibly flinch–but the wooden step creaks as he shifts his weight away from her.

“Alright,” he murmurs, “you’ve made your point. And my point is that my son trusts you.”

She scoffs, turning her attention back to the constellations overhead. “Your son trusts everyone.”

Mralki demurs with a shake of his head. “Erik sees the best in everyone, but that doesn’t mean he trusts them. And Eira isn’t in the habit of bringing trouble to my door. Certain scrolls notwithstanding, mind.”

“There’s been more than one?”

Mralki nods. “Last spring. Something about an ancient city under all our feet.” He wards off her next question with a preemptive wave. “There’s only so much I care to know. They came back safe; that’s all that matters.”

Serana regards him out of the corner of her eye. “Would that things were always so simple,” she murmurs, tone half rueful.

“I’m not sure simple is the word I’d use.” He cups his hands to his mouth; blows on them to ward off the chill. “Come inside. You might not feel the cold, but you’ll feel the next storm when it comes in.”

She can smell it on the wind already. Still, she dawdles, her boot tracing a line through the muddy dirt. Mralki descends the last step to stand beside her. “You brought them back safe. You might not believe it, but you’ve earned the guest right under this roof.”

“My father told Eira the same. She was right not to believe him.”

“Not every father’s a monster, Serana, literal or otherwise.” Her eyes dart toward him again, narrow with alarm. “Eira told Erik, of course,” he explains, one hand raised. “And my son never neglects an opportunity to turn my hair gray.”

He turns to go back inside, pausing on the first step. “I won’t press the matter, and you may not believe it, but the offer stands. You’ve nothing to fear under this roof.”

She can hear his footsteps receding up the steps and across the narrow porch, though they pause at the door. Serana turns sideways, looking at the cobblestone road out of town rather than him. “You…mentioned something about potatoes, the last time we were here.”

The small snort of surprise is out before Mralki can stop it. “You were listening when I said that?” She shrugs. He watches her for a moment, considering–and then gestures across the road to a field lost in shadows. “The man across the road, he’s passed - trust me when I say it was for the best - but his last plantings won’t harvest themselves.”

Serana considers him for a moment, then the field. Her lips curve into a smile, though still pressed tight, to hide her teeth. “My mother used to keep a garden. If you need an extra set of hands, I…think I’d like to help.”

He matches her smile with one of his own, motioning her back inside.

#tesfest23 #skyrim #serana #erik the slayer #mralki #dawnguard #oc: eira temura #prompt: sanctuary #my stupid fanfics #tfw your son and his bestie bring home a millennia-old vampire so you just sigh and adopt her too

[440mxs-wife]

Treasure Quest, Chapter 1: The Stowaway

Pairing: Captain Dean x Rhaya Payton (OFC, eventual) Other Characters: Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Balthazar, Gabriel. Governor Darius Payton, Ashton Kane, Damon Sharpe (OMC’s). Carissa, Darcy (OFC’s)

Word Count: 4427

Warnings: Arranged marriage, overbearing stepmother, allusions to/mention of parent death, running away, scheming fiancé, search for buried treasure.

Summary: Rhaya Payton is the daughter of the governor of Ochana. She grew up listening to her father tell her stories of pirates and treasure maps. At a gala one night, her stepmother, Carissa, announces Rhaya’s engagement to Ashton Kane, a wealthy nobleman. Only problem is, no one checked with Rhaya first. After overhearing plans made by her fiancé, Rhaya decides to go on the run and stows away on Captain Dean’s ship. What will happen when he finds her?

A/N: Soooo, this has been rattling around in my head for some time, so I decided to (finally) send it out into the world. Not sure how many parts there will be, as it depends on where the story takes me. Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tags for this. Enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Captain Dean Winchester stood on the dock as he watched the cargo being loaded onto his ship, The Black Diamond. His crew was known as "The Devil's Foxes", mostly due to their crafty, yet highly successful, battle techniques. The crew was made up of men from all different ages, levels of expertise and backgrounds. Although Captain Dean was in charge on the ship, he often allowed his crew to offer their perspective, based on their life experience. He trusted his brother and ship's First Mate, Sam, to help him filter through the input and ultimately reach a decision.

From where he was standing, Captain Dean could see Governor Darius Payton's residence, a sprawling estate on top of a hill overlooking the harbor. The captain had stopped in Ochana many times for food and other supplies and had always found the locals to be friendly and helpful. They spoke highly of the governor and generally approved of how he ran things in Ochana.

Of course, Dean had also heard on more than one occasion about the governor's beautiful daughter, Rhaya. People spoke of her kind and generous heart, her willingness to help others at a moment's notice, and also mentioned her fiery spirit. Someone who was not afraid to speak out against an injustice, whether real or perceived, or however small it may appear. Rhaya was said to be a frequent visitor to the daily markets, as well as a silent supporter of the less fortunate.

To Captain Dean, Rhaya sounded too good to be true. In Dean's experience, the daughter of a wealthy elected official was likely to be a spoiled little princess. The ladies he'd met tended to hold minimal regard for anyone but themselves, especially the one from the last port stop. On one visit, Captain Dean had made the mistake of vocalizing such an opinion about Rhaya to a merchant in Ochana's marketplace. It was an error he was not keen on repeating anytime in the future.

The vendor nearly denied Captain Dean the opportunity to purchase an apple pie from his stall. Furthermore, he would've refused service to any Black Diamond crew member who tried to buy a pie on behalf of his captain. Dean apologized for his assumption and was grudgingly allowed to purchase not one but two pies. Though Dean's apology was accepted, when he was sent on his way, it was not without a scathing sideways glare from the merchant.

Captain Dean's attention to the cargo loading was briefly stolen by the sound of fireworks being set off over the governor's mansion. First Mate Sam walked up behind his brother and peered over his shoulder at the cargo manifest. "Everything about wrapped up? The crew was wanting to hit the pubs in town and celebrate," Sam mentioned.

"Yeah, almost done here. Send the crew out but warn them that anyone getting into trouble with the local authorities here will be left behind to sit in jail until we return," Dean replied. His eyes were still focused on the list before him until a thought suddenly struck him. "Wait, what are they celebrating?" he wondered.

"Word around town is, the governor's daughter, Rhaya, is engaged to be married," Sam answered. "Some rich, pretentious jerk named Ashton Kane, whose family owns a considerable chunk of land around here," he shrugged. "You gonna join us for a drink in the pubs?"

"I suppose I could be persuaded to have a drink or two. Sure, let's go," Dean grinned. "Need to get an early start tomorrow, though, at first light. I have a feeling we're really close to figuring out where 'The Shadow Pirate' hid his treasure," he explained as he and Sam walked towards the nearest pub.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rhaya Payton stared out of her bedroom window with her arms crossed over her chest. Her soft pink lips were pressed together in a thin line in an attempt to control her growing anger. Of all the things her stepmother could have done, this, by far, was the worst. Rhaya's head whipped around at the sound of a knock at her door. "Go away, Carissa, I have no interest in speaking with you for the time being," Rhaya snapped. "Or ever again, if I had my way," she muttered under her breath.

Despite the warning, the heavy oak door to Rhaya's room creaked open. Instead of her stepmother, it was her father who poked his head into the room. Rhaya's shoulders sagged in relief, then she ran towards her father's outstretched arms. She threw her arms around his midsection as he enveloped her in his warm embrace. "Shh, everything will be all right, darling," he soothed.

At the gala, her stepmother, Carissa, had just announced Rhaya's engagement to Ashton Kane. He was from one of the older and wealthier families residing in Ochana, one with considerable land assets. Ashton stood next to Rhaya with a smug look on his face, like the cat that ate the canary. At the same time, Rhaya's face showed a look of utter shock. The shock turned to anger as Rhaya spun on her heel and stormed out, headed for the safety of her bedroom.

Rhaya vehemently shook her head against her father's chest, unconvinced that anything would be all right ever again. "She announced my engagement, Papa. Without consulting me," Rhaya scowled. She lifted her tear-stained face to look her father in the eye. "How could she do that? I don't want to marry Ashton, not now, and not ever! He's rude, cocky, self-centered, and he has a quick temper. Not to mention he's arrogant," Rhaya ranted. "You have to tell Carissa that I refuse to be shackled for the rest of my life to that--that--imbecile!"

Darius placed his hands on Rhaya's shoulders to try and calm her down. One hand reached up to cup his daughter's cheek. She resembled her mother so much with her long, wavy, strawberry blond hair and deep chocolate-brown eyes. It was sometimes painful for Darius to be holding his daughter and see so much of his wife. Rhaya's mother had disappeared when Rhaya was only eight years old and was presumed dead.

"Rhaya, I understand your feelings about Ashton. But dearest, I'm not going to be around forever, and I want to make sure you're taken care of when I'm gone. And Ashton, despite your.... well.... misgivings about him, has the means to ensure that you will have a comfortable life," Darius implored.

"Papa, please!" Rhaya exclaimed. "There has to be a way out of this. Will you.... will you please talk to Carissa and see if she'll agree to reconsider and end this unthinkable arrangement?" she begged.

Darius gazed lovingly at his daughter. His hand brushed the hair away from her face, his fingers tucking the stray locks behind her delicate ears. "I'll see what I can do, sweet pea. If Carissa won't end it outright, perhaps she'll agree to an extra-long engagement period," he grinned conspiratorially.

Rhaya fell back into her father's warm and safe embrace. "Thank you, Papa. I know that whatever happens, you will have done your best," she murmured.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the Governor's study

"How dare she embarrass me like that!" Carissa seethed. "Does Rhaya realize what kind of a fool she made out of me by running out after you proposed to her??" she snapped.

"It certainly didn't do wonders for my reputation either to be rejected like that, especially in public," Ashton retorted, hot on Carissa's heels. "I am considered to be one of, if not, the most eligible bachelors in Ochana," he pointed out.

"Yes, well, regardless of that, your agreement was with me first," Carissa reminded him. "And I will do everything in my power to make sure that Rhaya follows through on this arrangement," she vowed.

"Excellent. I must say, Rhaya is quite the spitfire, though I'm sure that in time, I'll find a way to cure her of that," Ashton smirked. "She will make a lovely hostess for our home," he replied smugly. "However, I can see that my first task will be to tame her wild nature," Ashton added.

"Good luck with that," Carissa muttered. "If you'll excuse me, I have guests to attend to and some damage control to do. I assume you know your way around here and won't need an escort?" she questioned.

"Of course, Lady Carissa," Ashton responded. He bowed as Carissa swept past him in a swish of the full skirt of her ball gown. As soon as she left, Damon Sharpe entered the study and walked over to where his employer was standing.

"Quite the situation you're in, Sir," Damon remarked.

Ashton waved his hand dismissively. "Pay no attention to Lady Carissa's squawking. Marriage to Rhaya is a means to an end. Lord Darius is in possession of a very valuable piece of parchment that will yield untold riches and power for us," he began.

"How exactly does this 'piece of parchment' do that?" Damon asked.

"My sources say it's a map to locate the treasure of Ridley 'The Shadow Pirate' Carlton. I have no idea how Lord Darius came to be in possession of such a valuable item, but I will have it," Ashton growled.

"What's your plan? You certainly can't come out and ask him for it," Damon reasoned.

Damon listened as Ashton explained his plan for obtaining the treasure map after the wedding. He mentioned his plans for securing the treasure, and what he was going to do about his "spirited" wife. Ashton concluded by saying that sometime after he returns from his honeymoon, he would force Lord Darius to resign as Governor.

"Once I have the treasure and I am named the new Governor, then I will rule all of Ochana. At that point, no one will be able to stop me," Ashton vowed, while Damon nodded in agreement. "Shall we return to the party?" he asked. Damon clacked together the heels of his boots, bowed, and strode out the door behind Ashton, then closed the door to the study behind him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Little did Ashton and Damon realize, but Rhaya overheard their entire conversation. She was on her way to confront Carissa for announcing her engagement without prior notice. When Rhaya saw Carissa leaving and Damon taking her place in the study, she decided to eavesdrop. Damon Sharpe was Ashton's most trusted advisor, and if the two of them were together, they had to be up to something.

Rhaya listened in horror as Ashton revealed his plot to Damon, which included her death under the guise of an 'accident at sea'. She knew at that moment that she could not spend one more night in this place because it no longer felt safe. Plus, Rhaya didn't trust Carissa not to try and rush the wedding preparations and force her into an expedited ceremony to Ashton.

Once Ashton and Damon had left the study, Rhaya slipped inside and walked over to her father's desk. She knew about the map that Ashton wanted to steal from her father. Darius had shown it to her many times over the years, as he wove his many tales of pirates and adventures at sea. Until a few moments ago, Rhaya had thought that it was some old prop to illustrate her father's stories. After what she'd just heard, she knew the map was real, and there was no way she was going to let Ashton get his hands on it.

Rhaya moved her father's chair out of the way and ran her hand along the underside of the drawer. Her fingers brushed against the cold metal of the key, and she dislodged it from its hiding place. She slipped the key into the middle left desk drawer and turned it slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Once the lock clicked open, Rhaya carefully slid the drawer open and removed the rolled-up parchment that she recognized as the map. She closed the drawer, locked it, and returned the key to its original place, sliding the chair back under the desk. Rhaya slowly opened the door and when she poked her head out into the hallway, she saw no one in the area. She rushed to the safety of her bedroom and bolted the door, intent on planning her escape.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As soon as Rhaya got to her room, she stashed the rolled-up parchment in one of her trunks for the moment. She had just closed the lid and re-engaged the lock when there was a knock at her door. "Who is it?" she asked quickly.

"It's me, Darcy," she answered through the door. "Is everything all right, my lady? You haven't returned to the party, and your stepmother is becoming concerned."

Rhaya snorted under her breath before responding to her lady's maid. "I am a bit tired, you know, with all of the excitement from her announcement," Rhaya mentioned with a roll of her eyes. "Will you please let Carissa know that I have turned in for the evening?"

"Certainly, my lady. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave?" Darcy asked.

Rhaya thought for a moment. "If you could come in and help me out of this gown, I would greatly appreciate it," she requested. Wherever Rhaya was planning on going, there would be no need for such elaborate garments that required assistance to put on and take off. Rhaya opened the door and allowed Darcy to enter the room.

Darcy got to work unfastening the buttons on Rhaya's gown, then moved to unlace the corset underneath. She grabbed Rhaya's nightgown from her closet and handed it to her. Rhaya finished her nighttime routine then slipped her nightgown over her head. Darcy picked up Rhaya's evening gown and hung it in the closet. "Will there be anything else, my lady?" she asked.

Rhaya took a quick glance around the room, then turned to face Darcy, her eyes shimmering in unshed tears. Rhaya was going to miss Darcy, who was more than just a lady's maid, she was Rhaya's friend and closest confidante. She only wished she could tell Darcy of her plans to leave Ochana. "No thank you, that will be all for this evening, Darcy," she murmured.

"You're welcome, my lady," Darcy replied, then paused halfway to the door. "Are you sure you're all right, Rhaya?" she wondered softly. At seeing the first tear rolling down Rhaya's cheek, Darcy rushed to her side and gathered Rhaya in her embrace. "Shh, 'twill be all right, sweetheart," she soothed as she rubbed circles on Rhaya's back. "I'll let Lady Carissa know that you have turned in for the evening and you are not to be disturbed," Darcy affirmed.

"Thank you so much, Darcy. For everything," she whispered. The two women stepped back from their embrace, with Rhaya wiping the tears from her eyes. Darcy gave Rhaya's hands a quick squeeze and then pecked her cheek before walking out, closing the door softly behind her.

As soon as Darcy was out of the room, Rhaya changed out of her nightgown and into a pair of trousers. She pulled on a white button-down shirt, then slipped her arms through the straps of a black leather, front-lacing corset. Rhaya grabbed a canvas bag from under her bed and hurriedly stuffed it with more clothes. In a smaller bag, she placed her toiletries, along with her comb, toothbrush, and hairbrush.

Rhaya stood in front of the mirror and gazed at her long hair, wondering if she should cut it now or stuff it under a hat. She decided to leave it as is for the moment, but quickly wove it into a braid. Rhaya thought it best to keep her options open regarding her hair in case she needed to change her appearance to escape detection.

After carefully placing the map in her bag, Rhaya secured the straps to close it, then took a longing look around her room. She hated the idea of leaving her father behind to deal with such vultures as Carissa and Ashton on his own. However, the fate that Ashton planned for Rhaya was far worse than her father having to put up with anyone's scheming ways. Once the treasure was found, Rhaya fully planned on returning to Ochana and banishing Carissa and Ashton from it. Forever. With her bag slung over her shoulder, Rhaya slipped out of her room and into the secret passageway that would lead down to the docks.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

While Sam was at the counter getting their drinks, Dean took the time to scan the pub for his crew members. For the most part, they all looked to be having a good time, generally behaving themselves. A few were sharing stories of past exploits, a couple of them each had a lady in his lap, no doubt bragging about something. They were a good group of men, hard workers that Dean was proud to serve with and have as part of his crew.

Sam returned to the table with two tankards of ale in his hand and a bowl of peanuts. "Here's to Ochana and the governor's daughter's engagement," Sam remarked.

Dean held up his drink in salute to Rhaya's engagement and took a healthy gulp of his ale. Tomorrow, he would resume the search for The Shadow Pirate's treasure, and he couldn't help but feel he was closing in on it. It was a quest he'd inherited from his father and former captain, John Winchester, one he was determined to see through to the end.

Sam didn't exactly agree with Dean's decision to continue the crusade their father had started, but he supported his captain. Sam wanted to get home to the wife he had waiting for him in Alcaria, who was pregnant with their first child. The happiness Sam felt at just thinking about his wife and unborn child was something he wanted for his brother. Unfortunately, there was yet to be a woman found who could understand and appreciate Dean's temperament and thirst for adventure.

"Dean, how long are you going to keep after this treasure? I mean, Dad crisscrossed the oceans for over twenty years, and still never found it. After Mom passed, he had the chance to settle down with that woman, Ellen, and happily live out the rest of his days with her. But no, he left her to go back out after the treasure, and she married someone else. Is that what you want? You still have time to find someone and the chance to have a family," Sam pointed out.

"C'mon, Sammy, you and I both know that I'm not cut out for a life like that. You are, and that's so great, but I'm not. Whoever I choose to settle down with will have to understand that I belong on the water, whether in this boat or any other. I have yet to meet a woman who can put up with me long enough to march my ass down the aisle," Dean remarked. "I'm beginning to think she doesn't exist," he muttered.

Sam rolled his eyes, still of the belief that there was someone for everyone in the universe. It just sometimes it takes a little longer to find them, but they're out there. "You never know, Dean. Your soulmate may appear when you least expect it," Sam replied with a mischievous grin on his face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rhaya crouched behind a tree near the docks, scanning the area for ships with no crew visible. Three ships were currently in port, one appropriately named The Dark Soul, which belonged to Ashton. There was also The Moon Raider, helmed by a visiting merchant, then a third ship. "Hmm, The Black Diamond," she read aloud after leaving her hiding place to stare up at the ship. She'd heard of the ship's captain, Dean Winchester, and that he was a fair and well-respected man. Realizing she might not have much time, Rhaya climbed aboard the ship with her bag and started looking for a place to hide.

She decided her best option was to hide in one of the lifeboats. Rhaya lifted the canvas cover and threw her gear into the small craft, then climbed in herself. She pulled out a blanket from her bag, then positioned the bag to use it as a pillow and curled up on the bottom of the boat. Rhaya drew the blanket around her shoulders and tucked it under her feet, then breathed a sigh of relief.

Rhaya thought about the events that led to her becoming a stowaway on The Black Diamond. Her day started with an unwelcome marriage proposal and ended with an escape from her home. She stared up at the canvas roof over her head, wondering what her father would say when her disappearance was discovered in the morning. She prayed he will understand and that he will remain safe while she's gone. By the time she doesn't show up for breakfast, Rhaya will already be at sea, far and away from her scheming stepmother and jackass fiancé.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As he had planned, Captain Dean was on deck at first light, calling out orders to his crew to begin the process of leaving port. Men scrambled around making sure everything was in place for them to begin their voyage. Heavy ropes that tethered the ship to the dock were unfastened and thrown into the water, then pulled up and stored onboard. Finally, the anchor was brought aboard, and The Black Diamond was launched back out to sea.

Captain Dean stood near the rail, one foot on top of a wooden crate as he gazed out over the open water. He took a deep breath of the salty sea air and exhaled with a smile. Captain Dean was never more at home than when he was on the ocean with his brother and their crew. He'd spent most of his life on a ship, chasing after the treasure of Ridley "The Shadow Pirate" Carlton.

"Smell that fresh air, Sammy," Captain Dean grinned. "Today's going to be a good day, I think. Clear skies, plenty of wind in our sails, calm seas.... can't get much better than that, I reckon," he mused.

"CAPTAIN DEAN!!" someone yelled from across the ship.

Sam gave his brother an amused sideways glance. "You were saying, Dean?" He watched as Dean started walking towards the shouting crewmember.

Dean turned around and pinned his brother to the rail with a glare. "Shut up, Sam," he muttered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rhaya had been sleeping soundly in the bottom of the lifeboat, completely tuning out the noise that is usually present when a ship leaves port. Her warm blanket around her and the rocking of the ship as it bobbed up and down on the waves kept her from waking up. At least that was true until she heard a couple of crew members talking just outside of her makeshift bunk.

The men were talking about the events that occurred on their last night in port at Ochana. They competed with each other over how many pints of ale they drank, and how many ladies they danced with. There were even a few comments about her upcoming nuptials, and how nice it was, because it gave them all the more reason to drink. Rhaya rolled her eyes at that comment, thinking sarcastically how glad she was to have provided them an opportunity to get drunk.

Rhaya was so caught up in her own thoughts that she missed the sound of a match being struck by one of the men to light his pipe. It took a few seconds for the smoke to appear, but when it did, it seemed to head straight for Rhaya's hiding place. Her father used to have a pipe, but he'd had to give it up, because whenever she caught the smallest whiff of smoke, she sneezed. Rhaya knew that with one sneeze, her cover would be blown, and she would be discovered.

Unfortunately, luck was not on Rhaya's side, and the smoke slipped under the canvas. Rhaya felt her nose twitching, and the more she tried not to sneeze, the more her eyes watered with the effort. Finally, she could hold it in no longer, and she let loose with a set of three successive sneezes. All of a sudden, the canvas was ripped off the lifeboat and two burly-looking men were peering down at her over the edge of the boat.

"CAPTAIN DEAN!!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dean strode over to where the two men stood by the lifeboat, trying to imagine what could be so important as to yell for him across the ship. "Gabriel, Balthazar, what seems to be the problem over here?" Dean asked, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"We have a stowaway, Cap'n Dean," Balthazar announced.

"A right pretty one, too," Gabriel added, waggling his eyebrows.

"What are you two idjits talking about?" Dean muttered, marching over to his men. A young woman cowering in the bottom of his lifeboat was the last thing he expected when he peered over the edge. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Get her out of there and bring her to my quarters," he commanded.

"Your quarters, Captain? Are ya sure, because if not, I'd be willing to share my quarters with her. You know, a simple case of ‘finders, keepers’," Gabriel smirked.

Dean did an about-face and was quickly nose-to-nose with Gabriel. "I'm the captain, she's a stowaway on my boat. I'm going to get some answers, and after that, I'll decide what happens to her. Is that clear?" Dean responded in an eerily calm voice.

"Crystal, Captain," Gabriel replied.

Dean turned back to resume his path to his quarters, where he was determined to get to the bottom of this matter. He wanted to know who she was and what the hell she was doing on his ship. Although, he had to admit, he had no idea yet what he was going to do with her. S'pose it depends on what she tells me, he thought. He figured whatever it was, it had to be pretty serious for her to risk her life stowing away on his ship. Beautiful woman like that, no telling what she was running away from, he mused.

By this time, Sam and Bobby had been brought up to speed on the situation. They arrived just in time to see Balthazar assisting Rhaya in climbing out of the boat. Once she was out and standing on the deck, Gabriel took one arm, while Balthazar took the other. Another crew member, Jack, picked up her bag, and they all headed for Captain Dean's quarters.

"Wait a minute, where are you taking her?" Bobby called as they walked past him.

"Captain's orders, he wants to talk with her in his quarters," Gabriel answered over his shoulder.

"Bobby, what's going on? Do you know her?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, I think I do, and if she is who I think she is, things just got a whole lot more complicated around here," Bobby grumbled.

Part 2 here!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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#pirate!dean x ofc #pirate!dean au #treasure quest

[tigirl-and-co]

rough drafts for the characters (so i don't forget)

Derebak 'Rabies' Johnson: it/its, astrogator and second in command of the Tyger' Tyger. Works for a tourist company. hates it, wants to fling itself off into space. Great schemer, great with people who listen to it but has some difficulty giving out discipline.

Witloof: he/him, saiyan who just kind of wants to try new things. mid class power level, knows he's just kind of an attack dog with nothing to do and thus eventually greatly respects the humans for treating him as an equal and not just dumb muscle. Likes getting up to trouble, isn't especially bright even by saiyan standards

Jackson 'Cussword' Scunthorpe: he/him, looks like a boyband member. younger engineer on the space station Poetry, and already developing the attitude of one. Constant teasing and ribbing, but doesn't mean anything by it. His wife left him for a high ranking government official, taking his young daughter. Only a very select few call him Cussword. They used to call him something else, but management didn't like it.

Merida Breen: She/Her, reserved in public but kind of insane in private. nevertheless she is a valuable member of their group for her many out-of-pocket skills. before trying to find an expert, they first ask if Merida can do it. Claimed to be a tourist, she actually stowed away on a cruiser, having dumped the contents of some poor sack's suitcase and spending most of the jump in the cargo hold. Now lives on Poetry

Illuse Valge: They/them, easygoing but hard to get to know on a real level. works as an attendant for a rival company from Derebak's, but they both hate their jobs. has 'lost' luggage by tossing it into their ship's matter converter at least once. Incredibly people-smart, but therefore has a bit of trouble with Saiyans

#titi talks #space monkeys

[musings-from-mars]

Valet of a Ticket Machine

An original sci-fi story

Part 1

~~~

2

For the next few days, I continue on assisting Multen however he sees fit. And for the next few nights, I'm talking to Tixxy, trying to figure out how else I can help.

"I'm sorry, but I can't leave Severen."

Tixxy prints out a page in reply (I've since managed to acquire some paper that better suits its hardware):

Why can you not leave Severen?

"Well..." I look around at my room, my tiny sanctuary, the little bit of the universe that I can feel in control of. "I just can't."

Is Severen your home?

I grit my teeth and shrug. "It's where I live, and I can't exactly afford to leave."

How much money do you have?

I laugh. "None."

I can acquire money.

I pause and stare at the segment of paper sticking out of Tixxy. "How can a ticket machine acquire money?"

Tixxy takes longer than usual to respond, by at least three seconds. I soon realize why as a long segment of paper prints:

I am equipped to interface with transactional systems to render tickets for payment. I am familiar with many systems that govern digital currency and can therefore manipulate them to redirect currency to your possession. If connected via a bank machine or a market kiosk, I can manipulate ledgers to reroute funds to your account.

I read the whole thing before taking a breath. So, Tixxy has a mischievous streak then? Even with the level of sentience it has, I figure its programming should include a familiarity with common law. "Uh, Tix... That is very illegal."

It is. You will not face consequence if you are not caught.

Well, it isn’t wrong, but this printer is missing the crucial fact that I likely am not going to be good at not getting caught. "Are there other options?"

We could stow away on a cargo ship.

"Legal options?" I reiterate.

Tixxy takes a moment to think.

You acquire money through legal means.

"Not easy to do around here," I say. I refuse to slave away in smithshops and quarries for a pittance, I'm more than happy just living here.

Severen seems like a depressing place. Why do you want to stay?

"Because I'm scared," I blurt out the moment I read the words, and then stop. I grip the sheets of my bed and look at what else I had on my desk. Manuals, odds and ends, bits and bobs, and my Soulore fragment, a valuable bit of rare ore that I just stumbled upon one day. I always figured I'd sell it in a time of urgency...

I pick up the Soulore. It's pitch black, unless moved—then colors spring to life from within and fade once static again. It's roughly in the shape of a pyramid, just a chip off of what likely ended up being a much bigger find. But even a small piece like this could be enough to possibly...

But no. I can't, not now, not for a printer. I like Tixxy, but I can't uproot my whole life just to try to get her back to some cruise ship.

I look away from the Soulore and glance at Tixxy. It had printed a reply that I was just now seeing:

I am also scared.

I close my eyes and sigh. "How are you so sentient? You're a printer. How can you feel scared?"

I just am.

I grit my teeth. This isn't possible. How could the smartest printer in the galaxy just end up here where I would find it and listen to it to beg me to help? Why couldn't have someone else have found it, someone else who could help? Someone else who felt capable of helping?

More paper printed.

The Soulore you are holding weighs 532.59 units, it would have a market value of 12,450G

I freeze. Does Tixxy have visual input as well? And... "How do you know how much it weighs?"

I am equipped to detect precise Soulore deposits and their exact mass.

"Tixxy. You are a printer."

I am a printer that is equipped to detect precise Soulore deposits and their exact mass.

I stare at a wall for a moment, then laugh. I gasp, then laugh some more. I bury my face in my hand and keep laughing until I feel tears on my cheeks.

What are you laughing about?

I steady myself and let out a shaky sigh. This was all so…uncanny. Detecting Soulore? And I thought that was impossible, Soulore is valuable because it’s nearly impossible to find, other than by just digging and praying. "I'm just...surprised. You are not a normal printer."

I am not.

I set the Soulore fragment down and close my eyes. I picture space, stars. "Okay. So what if I do help you. I sell my Soulore and get you to wherever you need to go. Then what? What do I get out of it?"

You get to leave Severen.

"But then where do I go?"

Anywhere you choose.

The air in my lungs stalls as I stare at Tixxy's words, the thin text and blocky font. I feel myself doubting it, but... Tixxy has seemed very honest ever since I found her, I will give her that.

Do I want to leave Severen? Of course I do. I’ve always wanted to leave. But the problem with leaving is, there has to be some place to leave for. Some place to land after taking off. “What if I can’t choose?” I ask Tixxy. “What if there’s nowhere else I can go?”

There are thousands of Severen-sized planets in the galaxy.

I chuckle. “Right. But how do I know which one to live on?”

You could visit them.

I stare at its words. Several meters of paper is piling up beneath my desk, all with Tixxy’s words printed on it. For some reason, I don’t want to tear it.

More paper, more words print out unprompted:

You could visit them on our way to Xenet.

I hang my head forward and let out a sigh. “Tixxy, I can’t take you to Xenet. I can’t take you anywhere.”

Why not sell your Soulore?

“Because what if I need to save it for something in the future?”

Such as?

Such a snarky printer…

I lean back in my seat and stare up at the ceiling, a single light hanging from a cable leaving spots in my vision. If I had kept track, I’ve probably spent a lot of cumulative time staring at this lightbulb, feeling too lazy to get out of my bed to switch it off, having no reason to not stare at it. Sometimes I woke up the next morning with it still on.

And now I’m suddenly realizing that I haven’t seen daylight in weeks, not since the last time Multen sent me out to run errands.

Tixxy was asking a good question. What did I expect to need money for? All I do is live here rent-free, Multen feeds me, all in exchange for my assistance. Well, recently I’ve been assisting a lot less, because Multen has been acting increasingly fickle and disinterested about his work.

Maybe that was it then. Multen could just decide to move on from his scrapworking job that he was slowly growing to hate, find some other way to make money, one that wouldn’t involve me. And if I don’t work for him, he no longer has a reason to give me food, or this room…

Maybe I should just get a jump on figuring out my future before he forces me to. And if I did have to find some other place to live, I would love for it to be somewhere other than Severen.

I look back down at Tixxy. At least it’s patient; no new paper had printed out yet. “Okay. So, if I do sell my Soulore, that should get me enough money to leave Severen. How far could we go with that, with the…” I look back on Tixxy’s long roll of printed paper to check the valuation for earlier, “12,450 grains it would fetch. Wait—” I check that number again. “Twelve thousand grains?”

It would be more than enough to get us to Xenet, if we took base intersystem transport.

“How can this tiny piece of Soulore be worth that much?” I ask. I hadn’t been this struck before by the value because I was too caught up about a printer’s ability to weigh something that I was holding.

The market value has increased greatly in recent months.

“Is Soulore becoming that scarce? Also, how do you know that? Are you connected to CenCom somehow?”

Soulore is incredibly scarce due to over-mining and miner strikes. And yes, I am connected to Central Communication.

I should not be so surprised by that. Tixxy has proven how weird it is in multiple ways already. And now I’m realizing that I actually could leave. With that kind of money, I could travel to the other side of the galaxy and still have enough left over to find a new place to live, maybe find a job with the scrapworking experience I’ve gotten while working with Multen. For the first time it actually feels possible, even doable…

But the thought of actually doing it terrifies me. Just having that much money…would I even be able to make it off Severen before someone caught wind of some kid turning up with a piece of Soulore? It’s not like my options for selling it are very reputable, not here. Even the legal places to sell off ores and gadgets were just fronts for other types of business. I’d have a target on my back.

If I could somehow get somewhere else, find a way to a more secure planet, and sell it there…

But without money, the only way I could do that was…

“About stowing away…” I mutter.

Stowing away, preferably on a large freight vessel, would be the safest inexpensive option.

“It would also be the easiest way to get myself arrested, or killed,” I say, both to Tixxy, and to myself. It’s like I’m trying to talk myself out of it.

I could assist you.

“How?”

It would be simpler if I had audio capabilities. Then I could direct your every move to assure you board the ship and hide away undetected, without needing to print instructions.

“How would you be able to do that?” I just don’t get it. How can a printer be capable of so much?

I can use my ability to interface with various CenCom-connected systems to help you move undetected, and to warn you of threats.

“So it’s not just stealing money, you can also hack security cameras?”

If they are connected to CenCom, which they likely are.

I put a hand to my face. “Ugh…I’d rather avoid doing anything illegal.” But the alternative was selling the Soulore on Severen. I would also like to avoid being mugged.

The only unlawful thing you would be doing is stowing away.

I laugh. “Right. I’ll leave the rest of the unlawful things to you.”

Precisely.

I just kind of smile incredulously at Tixxy. I wonder if it can see me. It had shown no sign of any such ability, but I wouldn’t doubt it. “I just…I don’t know.”

Do you feel you can trust me?

I’m floored by that question, and it takes a while for me to answer. “I mean, you want to go home, right? I guess…” I sigh, “I guess you wouldn’t want to risk doing this if you didn’t feel confident in your abilities.”

I know how to get home. I just need a valet.

“I guess that’s me, then.” I rest my elbows on my desk, staring at Tixxy. I feel myself laughing again. “I can’t believe I’m going to just…leave. Leave and never come back, for a printer.”

It is for your own good as well, Ander.

That response empties my lungs of air like a gut punch. It really does suck here. I’m not happy here. I’m content and surviving, but not happy. Maybe Tixxy’s right, maybe I should leave, and find some place where I can be happy. Some place where I can see and feel the bright warmth of a star without needing to watch my back. Some place where I can meet people who aren’t either miserable, a member of some criminal ring, or both. I could See The Galaxy, like those starliner ads say.

My mind is made up. I’m leaving soon. When and how, I don’t know. But at least I know why.

“Okay, Tixxy.” I nod. “Let’s do it.”

Thank you, Ander.

“Thank you, too.” I look to the side, at a small box of wires and connectors, inputs and outputs. “So, audio capabilities, huh?”

Preferably formatted in such a way that only you will be able to hear me.

I get up from my chair and take Tixxy as I crouch by the box and start rummaging through it. Maybe there was a tiny speaker in here, something I could fashion into an earpiece. “I wonder what you sound like.”

So do I.

I read those three words over and over and over, and then sit down on the concrete floor. “Tixxy,” I mutter. “I don’t know what you are, or how you ended up here, but…I’m glad you did.”

I am a TIXbot. And I do not know how I ended up here. But am glad you found me, and that you will help me.

“You’re more than just a TIXbot,” I tell it as I start looking through the box again. I find a small communicator. The speaker inside it ought to be perfect.

I suppose I am also soon to become a radio.

I laugh and nod. “Yep. I just need to figure out a way to fit you with an audio input, which…might require taking you apart to some extent.”

I can give you schematics and diagrams regarding my construction, but they might look odd when printed on such narrow paper.

“If you can give me that, that would make it a million times easier.”

Very well. I will print them now.

Tixxy wasn’t kidding. The instructions did look odd printed on a long, narrow piece of paper like this. It just ended up being the same few illustrations of its insides, but repeated over and over with different annotations marked on each. But I understood them, the same way I could understand someone even if they only spoke two words every ten seconds.

It had been a long time since I had a project like this. And this one was far more exciting than anything Multen had given me. After looking over all the instructions Tixxy had given me, I figured out a plan and got to work. Sleep be damned.

“Okay.” Using the speaker from the communicator, some scraps of rubber, and a cord and audio connector, I had fashioned myself an earpiece. “I need to open you up now. Do you want to power off?”

You will reassemble me correctly, Ander?

I smile and nod. “I promise, I know what I’m doing.”

OK. I trust you.

I stare at the paper, then close my eyes. It’s just plain text, but the feeling of knowing that I mean something to this little device, being relied on like this…

“I look forward to hearing you talk to me, Tixxy,” I tell it, trying to make them feel more optimistic.

Thank you, Ander.

And then it’s blue light goes out. I sit and listen to the silence for a moment. With it powered off, it feels like Tixxy isn’t here. I feel alone, and for once, I hate it.

I get to work on outfitting Tixxy with this new cable. But first, I hold it with one hand and grab the paper with the other. In one motion, I tear the paper away, letting it all accumulate under my desk. I then sit there, staring at paperless Tixxy.

I have to lean to the side to pick up the paper again, just to see its words again. OK, I trust you. Thank you, Ander.

I close my eyes and take a shaky breath. I resist the urge to work fast; I need to do a quality job. The sooner I do it right, the sooner I can power Tixxy back on.

As I work, I find the silence is bothering me. I used to be accustomed to it, but now for some reason…

So instead, I quietly sing Tixxy’s song to myself. Much like the words it had printed out, the melody that my brain had conjured to go with the lyrics had been stuck in my head since the night I had found it. Except now, I wasn’t singing it in my head while trying to go to sleep. Now I was quietly singing it out loud to keep myself focused.

“Tixxy Tixxy Tixxy, I love my little Tixxy, Tixxy Tixxy Tixxy, I love my Tixxy bot…”

I wonder if that’s how the song actually goes. Maybe Tixxy will sing it for me once I’m finished.

#writing #fiction #original story #science fiction #sci fi story #sci fi fiction #robot tag #fanfic update #valet of a ticket machine

[starbound-aria]

Been a while since this captain has sent an update, huh? Between doing base management to get materials for my ship, and making sure the base I have is suitable to live in even after I leave, don't have a lot exciting to report. So how about another story of my training days?

The training mission was simple, more of a glorified field trip really, travel to a few colonies here and there, see what they were growing and how, specifically how they were growing things thier plants shouldn't have the support for, and sometimes eveb with out green houses. Simple stuff really.

While we are leaving one colony and getting ready to head towards the next one, we get a message form them, they are predicting a drought and wanted to know if we could bring them a shipment of water, the captain agrees and we make a detour to a uninhabited fresh water planet, a quick make shift pumping station and a couple hours later our cargo hold is full and we are ready to leave again. During FTL travel we hear something go "thunk" in the cargo hold, captain makes an emergency stop and some of the crew to check it out. One of the barrels of water is busted open. And thus a lot of freaking out on the ship.

Now for some spoilers, this is where I learned not to send students alone to check things. The barrel was not a water barrel, it was a healing water barrel that we have to mix our own to treat minor cuts, burn, etc. It was also busted into, not out of. Like the students thought.

While the captain and the trained protectorates on board were trying to get everything under control with everyone on the bridge, someone peaks over at the ship logs and notices doors are being opened else where on the ship, and everyone is on the bridge at this point so they shouldn't be.

I was one of the few who had any sort of weapons on them, so me and a few of the proper crew go to see what's going. Last door opened was to a hydroponic chamber, one growing pussplums and boneaboos, so we head there.

Once we were in the hall leading to the chamber we hear the sound of metal being torn apart, from the hydroponics chamber, and notice it looks like something has pried the door open, before it opened it self. Once inside some of the plants are destroyed and a vent cover is broken, and what looks like blood (aka boneaboo juice) is all over the floor. At this point everyone is rightfully on edge.

Thankfully hydroponics due need specific air controls so it's vent system isn't part of the rest of the ship, and after tracking it through which doors its opening we finally corner the mysterious creature causing a bunch of chaos and noise.

It's a floran stow away got snuck in with the lander when we went to go water. Apprently they got separated from thier hunting party, and thought they got left by mistake, and then noticed us landing, and mistook us for minikong, which thier hreenfingered warned them about, thus the hiding. And when they broke open the barrel of height water, they assumed it was something dangerous, and decided they lived in the vents now.

Luckily for them, while they offer almost nonthing, the boneaboos and pussplums they snatched aren't the worse thing for a floran to eat, and we had other carnivores on ship.

We brought them with us and eventually got in touch with thier tribe and returned them safely.

If you are ever stranded, please don't just stow away on a random ship, some ships don't keep all of thier bays safe for living things during FTL to cut costs, so you don't know where is safe. And, unless they are having thier own issues, a protectorate ship will help you

#starbound #roleplay blog #starbound mod #starbound aria #Starbound roleplay