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Yo ho ho...; New one - no idea where it's going!
Topic Started: July 5, 2007, 9:08 am (6,136 Views)
Raedoll
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Poor Twisted Me
[ * ]
AHHHH. Oh my god, you've slaughtered him! SHAYI YOU CAN'T! I'm caught up with everything and I can't express things fast enough!! Okay here we go list.
One, I LOVE your pirates.
Two: The Ymir is FREE. YAY.
Three: Hetfield and Hammett locked in battle. OH NOES.
Four: YOU'RE A CROOK! You're driving me nuts the way you're wounding the characters and everything ;_;
Five: Happy Mustaine's dead and Ellefson was smart enough to stay well 'way from the Lady and Revenge. Poor Mustaine though...he just loved his Rum.

AGH. I wonder what the dudes would think if they read this :3. It'd be a nice little Epic. AND the dudes could get into Pirate clothes for pictures in the book...bwaaahhahh it'd be brilliant.

Eagerly waiting for more. Keep up the excellent work.
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*MiAnA*
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Blackened
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EEEK!
This story is, and I repeat it for the 100th time, getting better and better. I love it! The Ymir is finally free :)

I was once again sad when you killed Lars. And even more sad when you killed Rob (I think), but then I remembered you bought Lars back and got happy again. It has to be Lars right?
The battle scene was very well written and once again, got me glued to the screen.
I just can't wait for more :P
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Shayi
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Bring me that horizon
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*G* Thank you!

Rae: Yeah I'm sorry about the bits and bobs I've done.... but still, all stories can't be happy ;) And yes, I would absolutely love to see Metallica done up as pirates - hah! Entertaining! Anyhoo thank you again for catching up and sticking with this bad boy!

Miana: Thank you, thank you again :) I was pleased for the Ymir too - I feel rather affectionate towards her and her crew. They deserve good things.

Onwards ever onwards. This one is a rather long update. Simply because this is the final update!



Hammett half-saw what had happened as he parried a thrust from Hetfield. A startled, strangled sound escaped his lips and he stumbled to one knee, slipping in the blood on the deck when his concentration dipped. He pulled himself together before Hetfield could gain any real advantage. Seeing Trujillo hit the deck with a blade sticking horribly from his body had made something within Hammett snap. The rigid control that he constantly held over himself was gone, his face no longer the cold, cruel mask it had been. His eyes flashed with anger, a snarl on his lips and hatred in his expression. Seeing it, Hetfield inwardly shuddered, feeling his life slipping through his fingers.

Trujillo held his hands to the blade, feeling the blood well thick under his fingers, hot and dark. He swallowed hard as waves of pain washed through him. He knew that to pull out the blade would only hasten his end. He was dying, that much was certain. Damned if he was going to die before he watched Hammett kill Hetfield. He took another shallow breath, falling to the deck, lying on his side with his hand held tightly to the base of the blade that pierced him. He turned his head, dark pain filled eyes riveted to the ongoing battle.

Some of the members of Newsted’s Viking crew had restrained the other men who had thought to influence the battle between the two Captains. There would be no interference brooked by any of them. At the back of the crowd Ulrich stood, still with a dull trickle of blood running down from the ugly wound on his head, a strange expression on his face. He may have missed Hammett, but he had certainly managed to put him off his guard by killing Trujillo. He was vaguely regretful, Trujillo had been a good adversary when they had fought on the beach. And Hammett had once been a good friend to him. But in battle, sacrifices had to be made and his true loyalty ever lay with Hetfield. He felt all too keenly the loss of the Viking crew, but in the end it had still come down to Hetfield and Hammett as it should have done. No, he would need no balm for his soul. His conscience would not worry him.

Hetfield could feel himself weakening, Hammett beginning to break through. Determination was the only thing keeping him on his feet but it was enough. He burned to see Hammett dead at his feet. The feeling that had run through him when he broke Hammett’s guard long enough to put a thin slice through his flesh, just glancing off his shoulder had told him of the ecstacy that he would feel when he felt his sword bite deep into Hammett’s flesh, letting him die screaming. The thought buoyed him and he grinned, an almost demonic look as his eyes burned with a feverish light.

Hammett could feel that he had to bring the encounter to a conclusion. He had seen Trujillo hit the floor and had no idea whether he was dead or alive. Hammett took a deep breath, summoning his final reserves of strength and dexterity as he drove home an attack. He took a gamble, knowing that he could easily be the one to die if things did not go his way. He grabbed Hetfield’s free arm, pulling him close, catching him off balance while dodging the bigger man’s blade, driving his own deep into Hetfield, feeling the blade slice through flesh and muscle. Hetfield fell back a pace, face draining of colour, his hands instinctively clawing at the sword that Hammett twisted in him, making him let out a gasp of agony. Hammett stared into the blue eyes, reading the incomprehension at what had happened. Many times Hammett had thought of the moment that he was currently experiencing, had thought of the many things that he would say to Hetfield, but when it came to it, there was no longer anything that he needed to say. He drew a knife with his other hand and brought it up to Hetfield’s face.

Slowly he dragged the knife down the side of Hetfield’s cheek and jaw in a sickening parody of a caress. Hetfield swallowed hard, tasting the coppery tang of blood in his mouth, feeling horror course through him. Hammett looked at him with a sneer of disgust, nothing but contempt in his eyes and triumph in his expression. With agonising slowness he pressed the knife into Hetfield’s skin, just below his ear, watching the blood well up beneath the blade. With painstaking care he pushed it deeper, drawing it slowly across Hetfield’s throat, laughing as gouts of bright blood flooded over his hands. Hetfield let out a gurgling sound, hands still feebly working at the blade in his body, his death fogged brain still not quite able to comprehend that he had lost, that Hammett had beaten him at the last.

Hammett ripped his sword free, shoving the dying Hetfield away from him, ignoring him as he bled out the last of his life on the deck of his own ship. Hammett sheathed his weapons, turning to Newsted as he wiped his bloodied hands off on his shirt, ignoring the stunned faces of Hetfield’s crew. “Newsted, take command for a few moments. Tie up the remainder of Hetfield’s crew, I shall deal with them later.” He said, voice cold and steady, viciously schooling himself into his usual seemingly emotionless state. Newsted nodded, understanding in his expression, reflected in his dark blue eyes as he motioned for the Vikings to tie up the shocked and unprotesting crew of the Revenge.

As they did so, Hammett dropped to his knees beside his First Mate while his crew went to assist those of the Ymir, maintaining a respectful silence as they did. Hammett could feel his rigid control leave him once more as he looked down into the ashen face of his lover. Trujillo gave him a crooked smile and Hammett swallowed hard, taking Robert’s hand in his, feeling it sticky with blood, refusing to look at the spreading dark stain on Trujillo’s shirt around the edges of the blade, plainly visible in the dawn light. “Thank you.” He said softly, voice shaking slightly as he spoke.

“Don’t. Yer killed Hetfield an’ so ye ‘ave yer peace.” Murmured Trujillo, trying not to let the tension show in his face, even as he felt his life slowly ebbing away. Hammett shook his head, lightly running his hand down the side of Robert’s face, pushing a few strands of dark hair away from his lover’s eyes.

“Not without you.” He whispered, only for Trujillo to hear. Robert smiled, the expression warm and familiar.

“I love ye, Kirk.” He stated, voice barely audible, the words filled with emotion that Hammett caught and vowed to keep stored within his memories until the end of his days.

“As I love you Robert.” He replied simply, all guard over his emotions gone as he bent his head, pressing a gentle, tender kiss on his lover’s lips. A final gesture that would have to last them into eternity. Robert smiled again, dark eyes focused solely on Hammett, wanting his face to be the last thing on earth that he saw. He felt a great lethargy taking away the pain that he was in, stealing softly through his body, letting him know that the end was not far away.

“Far thee well, Kirk.” He said quietly, dark eyes meeting Kirk’s for a brief, poignant moment and Kirk nodded, clasping Robert’s hand in his own once again, feeling the slight pressure against his.

“And you, Robert, and you,” he said, voice soft, barely above a whisper. There were no more words to be said between them and so they sat in silence, quietly waiting out the end. Robert’s breathing slowed and he relaxed further, knowing that death was coming to him. He felt no fear, only a growing sense of peace and an overwhelming regret that he needs must leave Hammett behind. As the darkness slowly closed in around him his last vision was of his gently smiling lover.

Hammett felt the last breath leave Robert’s body, saw the light dim in the dark brown eyes and felt the hand held in his go limp. Slowly, deliberately he placed the hand that he had been holding by Trujillo’s side, wrapping the still warm fingers around the hilt of his sword before gently closing those dark eyes forever. That done he tilted his head back, face to the sky, letting out a long, keening cry of loss and pain. Even his victory against Hetfield turned to ashes for him. He was a man who had lost the other half of his soul. It felt as though something within him had shattered and there was no way to pick up the pieces and put them back together again. The pain of his loss threatened to tear him apart.

For a while he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak or think. His world had been torn apart and he could no longer hold it together. He stayed, head bowed beside Trujillo’s body, slowly pulling the blade free, determined that nothing would taint his lover’s body in death. At the back of his mind he knew who had killed him, knew that the only one who had that kind of skill with throwing swords and knives was Lars. He took a deep breath. He would not let tears come, to do so would be to give in to the kind of melancholy that Trujillo would never have allowed from him. For a few seconds he battled to hold them back. He had lost his friend, his lover, his partner and his only confidant, all within a very few minutes. He could not show weakness however, not before the rest of his crew. His tangled thoughts were called back to reality at the sensation of a firm hand gripping his shoulder.

Swallowing hard Hammett raised his head and looked into the calm face of Newsted, a man who had never done him wrong in all the years that they had known each other. “Jason,” he murmured, for once using his given name. Newsted nodded, compassion and understanding in his face as he looked between Kirk and Robert.

“Kirk,” he replied quietly, not letting the rest of the crews hear him use the Captain’s given name, knowing the Hammett would never truly allow it. “I feel fer ye in yer sorrow, but we ‘ave three crews that need ter be dealt wi’, an’ all the dead ter dispose of.” He stated, words matter of fact, the tone of voice gentle.

Hammett nodded, shaking his head for a second as if to clear it slightly before taking Jason’s proffered hand, letting the other man help him to his feet. His grief and exhaustion weighed him down until he felt as though he would never be able to bear it. He took a deep breath and raised his head to look at the assembled crew on deck as Newsted let him take command once more. Looking at him, Newsted could see that the only thing holding him together was his sense of command, the knowledge that he had these men to lead and that he would have to do so, no matter his own personal feelings. He walked with slow, measured strides over to where all three crews were stood, those from the Revenge bound with Ragnar and his men standing over them, his own crew a short distance from them. The crew of the Revenge and the Vikings were silent while his crew spoke in low voices.

“The battle is done.” He began, voice as steady as he could make it, growing stronger as he spoke. No, he would not show emotion before these men. It was not seemly or right. “Crew of the Revenge? Your Captain has been defeated. Do not think for so much as a second that I have forgotten the things that so many of you inflicted upon me years ago. That shall be remembered when I choose to have you disposed of. Men from my crew, you will have the task of disposing of the bodies. Do with them as you will. All save the body of Mr Trujillo, which I will deal with myself.” He broke off for a second, looking round at the assembled men before continuing. “Men of my own crew, please begin your task, distasteful though I know it is. Captain Newsted?”

“Aye?” Replied Newsted, admiration for the man before him plain in his expression. He wondered whether he would have had the fortitude to stand so calmly before so many men giving orders, acting as though it was nothing more than an ordinary day if he had been through what Hammett had. He thought that he probably wouldn’t.

“Your men will dispose of the crew of the Revenge as you see fit. They are as nothing to me. All I wish to know is that they are dead.” He said, words suddenly harsh, grating on the soft cool air of the morning.

“All of ‘em?” Enquired Newsted, raising one eyebrow. Hammett looked at the men, catching the anguished eye of Lars and smirked.

“All of them.” He confirmed, turning away, staring out to the horizon, confident that his orders would be carried out as they always had been. He would feel no sorrow at the deaths of Hetfield’s men. Many of them had joined in his torture many years before. He looked across the deck, surveying the carnage that had taken place. He had a broken crew, bloodied and bowed, stripping their crew mates of anything of value, some murmuring a few words over the bodies before weighting their feet with anything that they could find and pitching them over the side of the boat. There was nothing else that they could do. Hammett looked to where Trujillo’s body lay, untouched by any hand but his. Yes, that was one that he would take care over. He deserved that much and so much more that Hammett would never be able to do for him.

Newsted and Ragnar stood side by side at the stern of the ship, looking at the bound men before them. “An’ so we’ll be killing them.” Said Ragnar with an unholy smile on his face as he looked at Lars. An idea had been slowly forming in his mind, one that he was loath to put before Newsted, having no intention of distressing him, or being discouraged from his goal.

“Aye, we will.” Replied Newsted. He looked at Ragnar for a few seconds, weighing him up. There was something behind the serious expression on the bigger man’s face, something that he was not sure if he wanted to question, or whether he would ever get an answer if he did say anything. “Ragnar, ye’ve been a good man ter sail wi’.” He stated, deciding that it was the moment to walk away, to let Ragnar do whatever it was that he was planning on. The Viking smiled, a rare, friendly expression that reached his eyes.

“As have you, Jason.” Replied Ragnar, clasping his forearm, bowing his head in a brief gesture of respect. Newsted smiled and nodded. They had made their own form of peace and farewell. Whatever it was that Ragnar had in his mind, Newsted would be satisfied. Newsted turned abruptly and walked away, going to assist the rest of Hammett’s men with the grim task that they were undertaking.

Ragnar turned once again to the captives and then looked briefly to his either side at the men he had sailed with for over a millennium. Finally he glanced back at the Ymir, riding proudly in the water alongside the Revenge. He went to the men, untying Lars with swift, rough movements. Lars snarled, just as soon as his hands were freed, reaching for his knife which he plunged through the amulet and into Ragnar’s chest. The big Viking did nothing to defend himself, simply let Ulrich kill him. He straightened, staggering back a pace from the smaller man, hands raised to the long knife that had killed him. There was a pause, where the air grew still, as tense and still as the air before a big storm. A wind got up from nowhere, flapping the sails, dragging clouds across the horizon where before it had been bidding fair to be another hot, beautiful Caribbean day. A sound like a thunderclap rent the air, making all the men who could do so cover their ears.

The Viking crew all stood entirely still, eyes skywards at the sound as though they were hearing something after it that no other man could quite comprehend, couldn’t quite reach. Each of the Vikings felt something passing through them, something that was half pain, tempered with exquisite pleasure so fierce that it was almost a torment. Before the eyes of all the men on the ship who had started to stare at them they seemed to age, the years piling on so fast it seemed as though they were in a state of constant change. No man could find the words to say at that moment and stayed staring in silent stupefaction. And still the Viking men stood there. Ulrich stood transfixed before Ragnar who had still not fallen in death but was stood as the others were. As they aged their flesh began to dry, skin becoming almost as paper, moisture leaving them as dry and shrivelled as autumn leaves. Whatever it was that had been holding them there relinquished its hold and as one the statue-like figures that had made up the crew of the Ymir fell to the deck, dead.

Ulrich was shaking as he moved away from them and suddenly found men from Hetfield’s crew binding his wrists again. He didn’t care. What he had just seen was burned into his memory and would be there fore eternity. Nothing could ever make him forget what he had just seen before him. Newsted had moved a few paces closer, then finally walked over swiftly, looking at the dead men. He crossed himself and smiled slightly. “Well, yer now at peace. I hope that ye’ll enjoy Valhalla.” He said quietly. He knew why Ragnar had let Ulrich do what he did. The Vikings had not died during the battles, so he let them all be attacked by Ulrich, guaranteeing their place in the afterlife that they had so craved. He looked at the Ymir for a few seconds then swallowed hard, feeling a deep pain and mourning within him for the men that he had sailed with, for Ragnar who had been the only relief he had aboard the Ymir, the only point of conversation and the one who had kept him from the toils of insanity. The one who had given him hope.

He turned away, walking slowly over to Hammett to request some of his men to effect the deaths of the Revenge’s crew. Without question Hammett just waved a few of his men towards the crew of the Revenge, knowing that they would deal with them as requested. Newsted approached Hammett with a solemn expression on his face. “Cap’n, may I request the bodies o’ the men o’ the Ymir be placed aboard their ship agin an’ be burned there. ‘Tis accordin’ ter their customs.”

Hammett nodded. “Do with them as you will.” He said quietly, “take as many of my crew as you need for this task. It is a long day today.” He stated, turning as if to go before looking once again at Newsted. “Jason, we have long been friends have we not?”

“Aye, we ‘ave, Kirk. What is it ye be thinkin’?” He asked, curiosity showing in his face and his voice, too numbed with the deaths of the day to allow any grief or sorrow to come to the fore. Tomorrow, tomorrow he would feel sorrow, tomorrow he would deal with regret. For this day, he would stay composed and get what needed to be done out of the way.

“You will keep the Revenge. She is yours. I have no wish for her or the memories that are burned into this wood for me.” He stated, looking across the ship, every memory flooding back over him as he did. “You cannot sail her alone so you will take my crew. We will speak no more on this head. You of all people know better than to question me. It is my will and I am certain you do not wish to deny me that?”

“No, I’ll do as ye say.” Replied Newsted quietly with a slight nod before moving away. The words of the Captain lay heavy on his heart and he wasn’t certain what they meant but it was not something to be dwelled upon. He would receive the answer when Hammett was ready or not at all. However, he had a ship. He was free and he had a ship and an entire ocean to sail. He had the ultimate freedom. A sudden rush of elation overbore all other emotion and he smiled, a genuine expression as he went to assist with the task of clearing his ship.

It was coming into evening before all the dead had been removed, the decks freed from blood and the ship looking once more as though she was ready to sail. They had made makeshift repairs to the holes in her side where the cannonballs of the Lady had caused so much damage that would hold easily until they next made port. The sky was still overcast from earlier that day, and Hammett knelt quietly by the last body to be removed from the ship. He had sheathed Trujillo’s swords and had refused to let any man take anything of value from him. He had not put any shroud around his lover, preferring the thought that he would be in close contact for all eternity with the sea that he loved so much, but had weighted his feet with cannonballs. “Fare thee well Robert, for you were more to me than you could ever know. I wish you well on the other side.” He murmured before gesturing for Newsted to assist him.

Together they took the body to the side of the ship and let him slide down into the water. As he disappeared below the deep blue green of the water Hammett felt as though yet another part of his soul had been torn away. It took a large amount of his self-restraint not to follow after him and he turned away looking instead to the Ymir, waiting with her cargo of dead to sail into the next world.

Newsted took one look at Hammett and decided not to speak to him. Instead he went to the rail, receiving from one of Hammett’s men a lit torch, the flames blazing against the darkening sky. He smiled as he leaned over, throwing it down onto the Ymir. All aboard had been soaked in alcohol and so there was an instant where it appeared that nothing would happen before the flames ran up and down the length of the ship, devouring the corpses as the Ymir burned. The Revenge would not be danger of catching light, she would be able to move before that was an option with the wind up as it was. Newsted bowed his head, letting the memories flood over him as the boat that had been his home for so long and the crew who had been his companions burned in the age-old tradition that they had wished for. He hoped that they had found their peace. The flames reflected from the proud dragon figure-head of the longboat, the flickering light giving the graven wooden image life, turning the ship into a living, breathing creature as it stood there on its last journey into the other world. He stayed watching as she burned with the majority of Hammett’s crew ranged along the rail of the ship before finally turning away. He looked for Hammett but could not see him in the evening light. He frowned, eyes searching the deck of the ship for the familiar figure of the Captain but could not see him.

Hammett had disappeared as the torch had been thrown onto the Ymir, going back on board the Lady once more. He went below decks, looking at the damage that had been done to her by the light of a single lantern. He needed nothing more. He had noticed earlier that she had been riding lower in the water, obviously holed below the waterline. Before that had caused him some consternation, but now it was more a cause to rejoice. He went into the lower decks, seeing that the bilges were already entirely flooded, the water slowly but surely creeping up. With a strength dredged from some reserve deep within him he ignored the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him and began levering apart planks of wood, hacking into them, holing his own ship, watching with satisfaction as holes he had made let the salty water come flooding in. Finally when he was satisfied by what he had done, and the water was up to his knees, he went back up on deck. He swiftly scaled the rigging, unfurling the sails as best he could single handed. It was not perfect, it could never be that, but it was enough to let some of the canvas catch the wind, driving the ship far enough forward that no man from the Revenge would reach the floundering vessel.

Even as the Ymir burned to the water, so the Death’s Lady was sinking. Slowly at first, but as the water forced more of the planks apart she began to go down faster. Hammett went to the wheel, feeling a measure of peace, knowing that what he was doing would bring him the end that he craved. He had taken more from the world than any man ever should and there was nothing left for him there but regret and torment. Far better to let it end on his own terms. He lashed himself to the wheel, making sure that the knots were tight. There would be no mistakes. He let himself have a final glance up to the Revenge, silhouetted by the flames of the Ymir and could make out Newsted stood at the rail, watching him. Yes, he would understand. And he had a crew, a ship, everything had been settled as he wanted it to be. There was nothing more for him to do in the world. A slight smile touched his lips as he stood there, feeling the waters begin to rise up around his ankles. His hands gripped the familiar wood of his ship, the one constant in his life, aside from the sea as he let the memories flood over him. Things could have turned out so differently, had Trujillo lived, but as it was, there was no point in dwelling upon it, he had made his choice and there was no turning back from it. Agonisingly slowly and yet as though no time had passed at all he felt the cool waters creeping up his body, to his waist, then shoulders until only his head was above. He looked briefly at the parts of the ship still visible before him, every piece of wood familiar and loved, before looking out towards the horizon, taking his last look at the world he was about to leave.

As the waters closed over his head he opened his eyes into a dark, silent world as the Lady plunged deeper below the waves. He could feel a thundering in his ears and knew that it was his own heart beating. His chest felt as though it would explode and he slowly let out the breath from his body, the air leaving him in a soft stream of silver bubbles. He had expected to want to struggle, but as he gave himself up to the ocean, all he could feel was a warm darkness taking his senses. Finally he closed his eyes, limp body still held to the wheel of his ship, fingers loosely clasping it as the Death’s Lady went to her final resting place in the sand at the bottom of the sea.

Hammett felt a touch on his cheek and slowly opened his eyes to look into a familiar pair of dark brown ones, set in a smiling face. He returned the smile, joy flooding through him as he raised his head to look up at a bright dawn staining the sky, as he stood with Trujillo aboard the deck of the Lady, sailing into eternity.

The End.
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Raedoll
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Poor Twisted Me
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No thanks are Needed for sticking with this particular fiction. Really.

"And Sigh, what a wonderful, charicature of, intimacy"...What a lovely ending. This m'lady was quite the epic. You've got skill and excellent description, along with endurance. Congratulations on a story well done, and a very bitter-sweet ending. Numerous twists I didn't expect happened, but there was one I did figure. Well, m'lady. Pray tell what adventures you're going to cook up next?
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*MiAnA*
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Blackened
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So this is the end huh?
I loved this story so much I don't even think you'd believe me if I told you.
The descriptions and characters were great, and the stotyline itself was very original :) And even though all my four favourite characters die, assuming Lars was killed later, the last pharagraph cheered me up instantly.
I'm sad it's over though. What am I going to wait all day to read now? Either way, you're a great writer.
I'm definitly reading anything else you may post next :P
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Shayi
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Bring me that horizon
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Rae: Thank you so much :) I'm glad that you enjoyed it, and the little twists along the way, even if you did manage to get one of 'em! As to what adventures am I cooking up next, well for the rest of October I'm toying around with a random fic that I'll be posting here with no idea where it's going once again.... then in November, well it's onto Nanowrimo, and I think that I'll be doing a prequel to Yo Ho Ho.... we'll see :)

Miana: Thank you so much, you make me feel so good about my writing you really do. And I'm glad that you could be cheered up at the end - sorry about killing everyone but still nevermind eh? :) I'm really pleased that you want to read more of my writing - hopefully it won't disappoint!
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Ktulu
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Poor Twisted Me
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OMG! This was awesome. Once I started reading it I couldn't stop!
Thank you for writing such a beautiful fiction; it was so touching, so awesomely writen. And the ending was so sad :( , though I'm glad that at least Jason survives.
Your stories rock!! :horns2 :horns2
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Shayi
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Bring me that horizon
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Thanks Ktulu :)
I'm so so glad that you read and enjoyed it - so thank you!!

If you are interested there is a prequel where you see where they all come from. And I know that everyone did die, buuuuut... well there is another part... it's a trilogy and things aren't always what they seem :) So if you do want to read 'em - they are on here somewhere!
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Ktulu
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Hey, you're very welcome!
Actually I did read them all and let me tell you: the prologue was fantastic and so was the sequel! These pirate stories remain my favorite Metallica fan fictions so far :biggrin

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