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hiddendreamer67 · 3 years

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Giant Mers are Good Mers

That's right, it's MerMay baby! Introducing my new bois. Caspian is a giant siren with influences of Mediterranean monk seals and leopard seals. Beckett is a lil' human who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. This piece is a completed oneshot, but I've got a couple ideas for more oneshots with this pairing, including a few ideas for alternate universes (especially after seeing all the fun @ibis-gt seems to be having with AUs of their bois).

Word count: 6,001

Initial prompt idea: human was taken by a giant siren but then let go (on a whim / siren got bored) but human doesn’t know why they were spared so they come back to thank the siren. The siren doesn’t even remember doing that because it was such an insignificant event to them, but now it’s interesting because humans never came on their own.

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Beckett had always been a simple fellow. He grew up in WhiteBridge, on a small town farm with his three older sisters picking on him ceaselessly. While he loved WhiteBridge and its quaint charms, Beck found his true passion in books, and studied at Oxford for several years before scouring the globe for his passion. In his quest for knowledge, Beckett chose to join a month-long excursion out at sea, and found himself regretting that decision a few weeks later.

“Steady on there.” One of the sailors, Michelle, handed him a pair of earplugs. “You’ll need these where we’re going.”

Beckett eyed the little pieces of foam dubiously. “And just where might that be?”

“Siren territory.”

Beck hardly believed in such fairy tales, but to calm the sailor’s superstitions he inserted the plugs as instructed. Siren tales aside, Beckett found himself growing as twitchy as the sailors. The coastline hadn’t been visible for ages due to a large amount of fog accumulation. The stormy skies were foreboding as well, indicating that proper precautions would need to be taken. This far north, the weather reports often indicated rocky waves far beyond what should be normal.

Would Beckett sink, out here in the middle of nowhere? Was that to be his fate? The young man began to fret, hastening to make himself useful as the first rolls of thunder sounded off and the waves grew steadily higher.

And then, he heard it. Beckett paused, arms slack on the rope as he attempted to hear that haunting melody. Was the weather playing tricks on him, or was someone calling out to him.

“BECK! EARS!”

Beckett blinked, stunned to find himself standing on the slippery railing. When did he get up here? Beck hastened to climb down, noticing the rest of the crew had their hands firmly clasped over their ears, even with the ear plugs inserted.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. Even with the double protection, the voice grew in volume, its booming voice penetrating into their heads. Every single person on board fell victim to its call, the ship’s captain turning the wheel to head towards the beckoning beast. Beckett climbed back up to the railing, plunging overboard into the crashing waves.

With a sputter, Beckett fought to keep his breath, legs kicking desperately against the current. Even in his desperate survival state, the voice called to him, and instinctively Beckett swam in the right direction to answer its call.

Every time the voice paused to take a breath, Beck would regain control for only a moment, his heart pounding as his fate flashed before his eyes with nothing to be done about it. Between one blink and the next, the sky grew darker, a looming shape breaching in the distance. Another blink, and Beckett’s face lost all complexion staring up at his demise.

A great sea serpent, half man half beast, towered with its human half over the pitiful human. With a single shift of its body, the beast created waves that threatened to pull Beck under. Those sharp features and piercing blue eyes were unforgettable, and subconsciously Beck realized this was the last face he would ever see.

Another blink. This time, when the serpent let out a hum, Beckett remained conscious but still out of his own control. His body was lax but his mind manic. The siren reached for him, slimy claws surrounding his form and making Beck shudder as he was raised 50 feet in the air in seconds. Beckett whimpered, coughing out sea water as his gaze was drawn down to the siren’s lips. The creature grinned and revealed its razor-sharp fangs. Taking a deep breath in, the siren revealed the cavernous depths beyond as it prepared to inhale its next meal.

Beckett pleaded nonsense pitifully, tears pouring down his cheeks as the haunting nothingness washed over his mind yet again. Would he even wake once more? Was the beast merciful enough to let Beckett go in his sleep?

When Beckett woke up, he thought he was dead.

He squinted, the sun too bright for his eyes. The sun? What happened to the storm? Stranger yet, the water that had soaked him to the bone was no more. Beck was dry, wrapped in blankets in a stranger’s bed.

“You’re awake.”

Beckett turned his head, his sore muscles protesting the movement. Beside him sat an older looking fellow, hair greying with age. “Who’re you?”

“The name’s Seymour.” Seymour introduced himself. “And who’re you?”

“Beck.” Beckett’s voice felt like he hadn’t spoken in days. “Am I dead?”

“No, but you tried awful hard.” Seymour assured him. “Found you passed out on the shore two days ago. Guessin’ you were part of some shipwreck? Though there wasn’t much wreckage to be found. Awfully impressive for you to have swam that far.”

Is that what happened? Beck frowned, trying to parse out the details. His body ached something terrible. He did remember swimming for a great distance. Had the siren all been a strange vision of his adrenaline-infused thoughts?

“...huh.” Beck settled back into the pillows, looking up at the ceiling. “I… didn’t know I could do that.”

“Well that, or an angel saved you.” Seymour chuckled. “You’re one lucky soul.”

Beck squinted in thought. If that’s what angels looked like, he could understand why all biblical depictions had humans cowering in fear.

(...was it an angel?)

Beckett spent some of the most confusing weeks of his life recovering from the shipwreck. Even as his physical form healed, Beck couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the events that transpired that night. He couldn’t get the notion out of his head that the giant sea serpent was real. It had all felt so lifelike, the claws and the fish breath and the dark melodious tones that haunted his dreams…

Seymour was kind enough to open his home to Beck, offering the traumatized lad a position maintaining his lighthouse while Beckett still fought to gather his wits. “Yer’ not the first.” Seymour assured him with a chuckle. “It’s no water off my back if you want to keep me company while you figure things out.”

You’re not the first. Beckett had cleared his throat, wanting to address that thought. “The other people who wash up on shore… did they ever… see anything?”

Seymour raised a patient eyebrow. “What do you mean, seen? Figure you lot have all seen a lot, what with the wreckage.”

“No, I mean, out at sea.” Beck felt foolish, twiddling his thumbs a bit. “Like a… like a merman.”

To his credit, Seymour did nothing more than a slow blink. “A merman.” He repeated.

“But, not a regular merman.” Beck winced at his own words. Just what was a regular merman? “A big one, like a hundred feet long, and pale white skin, and white locks of hair, and piercing blue eyes-”

“Kid.” Seymour cut him off. “I’ll tell it to ya straight. No, I ain’t ever heard nothing like that.”

Today, Beckett found himself on the cliffside, safely back from the edge as he watched the distant waves. His knees were tucked up to his chest, chin atop them as Beck sat lost in thought. Somewhere out there, Beckett’s giant captor- and later savior- was out there.

Why did the beast let him go? Even further than that, the siren had gone out of its way to give Beck a chance at life. There’s no way Beckett could have made it all the way to the shore on his own, disoriented as he had been.

Despite his better judgement, Beckett had to know the truth. With this foolish notion in mind, Beck set out a few months later, having rented a boat from one of the local fishermen. It took a lot of practice for Beckett to learn how to guide such a vessel, as every crest of a wave made the poor lad jump.

Seymour must think he was mad. Often the kind old man reminded Beckett that he didn’t have to conquer his fear of the waves directly, but Beck had just shook his head. Seymour couldn’t understand the debt Beck felt to the creature that had saved his life, and his curiosity kept him captive. Beckett wouldn’t be free until he had answers.

Of course, once he was out on the waters, Beck realized how foolish of a plan this truly was- he knew nothing about aquatic navigation. Every part of the ocean looked the same to him. Even worse, his memories of the last sea journey were extremely muddled. How on earth was he going to find the same location?

And even as Beck drifted in waters that may or may not be similar, the human realized he had no surefire way of gaining the siren’s attention. He settled for calling out often, hoping his carrying voice would be enough. Did the beast understand english? It was deceptively human-looking.

Beckett’s throat grew parched, and Beck sat down a moment to take careful sips of water from his dwindling bottle. The sky was growing darker, and a familiar fog had begun to roll in. An eerie chill began to creep up the back of Beckett’s neck. Suddenly, this plan wasn’t feeling so wise.

That’s when he heard it. The familiar song of his dreams was echoing across the water. Beck had forgotten the feeling, his limbs stiffening against his will like a marionette pulled taunt.

Blink. A gigantic fish tail, just the tip cresting the waves. Blink. Beckett found himself in the waves, gasping as he kicked frantically to keep his head above water. Blink. All too soon, Beck found himself clasped between those claws, water dripping from his locks as he stared at those terrifying chompers.

Oh god. This was a terrible idea. What should he do? What was there to do? All the blood left Beckett’s face, watching the siren lick its lips. It raised Beck higher, dangling the human by the back of his shirt above a now gaping maw. Beckett let out an unholy screech, realizing he had made a terrible mistake.

Beckett squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the words out of his lungs before he never got the chance again. “WHY DID YOU SPARE ME?!”

To Beck’s great relief, he didn’t find himself lowered onto the beast’s tongue. Instead, after the longest pause of Beckett’s life, he opened his eyes to see the siren’s mouth had gone slack.

“What?”

Beck’s eyebrows shot up into his scalp, shocked to hear the siren actually speak. Guess that meant it understood english, too. Beckett cautiously raised his gaze, meeting the siren’s eyes instead of its teeth. The creature looked confused, to say the least.

“You-” Beck cleared his throat, knowing he had to keep the siren’s attention lest he become a meal. “You spared me.” The siren’s brow furrowed further. Beckett frowned. “You… you saved my life? I mean, first you threatened it, but… 3 months ago? You- our ship, and the song, and… I woke up on the shore…”

Unfortunately, despite being the most momentous occasion of Beckett’s life, the giant sea serpent didn’t seem to have given the night a second thought. Beck couldn’t stop the sinking feel in his chest, knowing this whole journey was pointless after all.

The siren slowly shook his head. “That sounds unlike me.”

“It’s true!” Beckett insisted, especially because his life seemed to be on the line. “I was baffled too, but for some reason you spared me, and-and I don’t know why either! It’s been driving me insane. Why else would I sail all the way out here trying to find you?”

“You came looking for me?” This, at least, caused the siren to raise an interested eyebrow. “That would be a first.”

Beck nodded quickly. “Yes! I’ve been shouting for you all day. And before that I’ve been training for weeks, saving up for a downpayment to borrow Ben’s boat, which I’ll probably be losing now that I have no idea where that ended up…” Beckett grimaced, once again meeting the siren’s gaze. “Sorry, I’ve been told I have a tendency to sidetrack conversations in uncomfortable situations. Boat’s not important. Please don’t eat me.”

To both of their surprise, the siren let out an amused snort, the hot fishy air rustling Beck’s hair.

“I apologize for that.” The creature had the decency to look sheepish, even as its words curdled Beckett’s blood. “It’s nothing personal.”

“Wait, what?!” Beckett immediately began screeching, attempting to squirm out of the claws still holding him captive.

“Stop!” The siren hissed, his grip tightening painfully around Beck’s ribs. “You will fall with that behavior.”

Beck winced, continuing to struggle against the crushing appendages. “That was kind of the idea. I choose waves over teeth.”

“Waves over…?” The siren shook his head. “No, you misunderstand. I will not eat you.”

Beck found that hard to believe. He squinted, judging the gigantic face before him even as the pressure stayed tight around his chest. “So, you were going to?”

“Yes.”

“But now you’re not.”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Because you’re quite interesting, little human.” The siren admitted. “Your question confuses me. Do you want to be eaten?”

Beck chose wisely to avoid that question. “My name’s Beckett.” He said instead. “Beck, for short. Not little human, or anything.”

The siren blinked. It must be strange putting a name to your not-food. “My name is Caspian.”

Caspian. For some reason, Beck hadn’t actually pictured the siren having a name. Or talking. Or generally possessing much humanity at all… the self-reflection made him feel a bit guilty.

“It’s nice to meet you, Caspian.” Beck greeted. He glanced around, realizing the sun had finished setting. “Can we circle back to the boat issue? I mean, I’m glad this hasn’t ended fatally, but it is getting late.”

“Hold on.” Caspian frowned. “You spent all that effort to reach me, only to leave? Little Beck, your story has holes.”

“No, no no no.” Beck quickly shut that down, hastily trying to avoid any possibility of a vengeful siren. “No that’s not it at all. It’s just, your time must be very valuable, and I don’t want to intrude. And also, contrary to popular belief, I'm not a great swimmer. Hence the boat.”

“Hmm.” Caspian seemed to consider this for several moments. The giant seemed to reach a conclusion, but Beck was uncertain what it was as he was raised up above Caspian’s head. “Climb on.”

“Climb on?” Beck repeated, confused.

“And hold on tight.” Caspian advised, opening his palm and tilting it so that Beck slid off with a yelp. “I was under the impression you need air to survive?”

“YES! Yes, that is- yes, I need that.” Beckett confirmed, quickly grabbing onto Caspian’s hair as best he could. Not the easiest task in the world with how everything, including himself, was soaked. Nevertheless, Beck was wise enough to prepare himself for whatever a massive sea serpent might have planned.

Without further warning, Caspian lowered himself into the water, only keeping the top of his head above the waves for Beck’s benefit. Beck hastily lowered himself onto his stomach, not wanting to slide off Caspian’s head as the mer began to swim through the ocean faster than a speedboat.

“Where are you going!” Beck shouted above the wind whipping at his face. He squinted, trying to see where the siren was headed but having no luck. Were they swimming to the boat? Had Beck really gotten so far away from it?

Unfortunately, the siren himself offered no answers. The night sky and fog did not help Beck’s visibility. In these conditions, he was practically blind.

After several minutes of this less-than-ideal water travel, Caspian came to an abrupt stop. Beck frowned, finding himself staring at a rocky cliffside shore. Was Caspian trying to return him to the lighthouse again? But none of this looked familiar…

Caspian raised his head above the waves, sending Beck scrambling to keep his hold. It didn’t matter, as those familiar claws came up and plucked the human from Caspian’s hair.

“Hold your breath.” Caspian advised. This was Beck’s only warning as he was cupped between Caspian’s hands, the mer diving beneath the surface.

Thankfully, Beckett was intelligent enough to take the warning to heart. He held his breath, eyes squeezed tightly shut to avoid getting saltwater in them. The pressure became quite intense as Caspian dove several dozen meters down with ease. It made Beck feel like his head would pop at any moment. Was Caspian trying to drown him? But why go through all the effort of telling Beck to hold his breath, if only to drag it out?

Just as Beck could take it no longer and felt on the verge of passing out, Caspian breached the surface. Immediately Beck began to suck in large gulps of air, snorting to get the water that got stuck unpleasantly up his nose.

Despite being above the surface, Beck couldn’t see anything. He tried not to panic, heart racing thanks to all the uncertainties of the situation. “Where- where are we?”

“Home.”

Caspian’s answer only brought on further questions. Home? What kind of home did a gigantic merman have, anyway? Slowly his human eyes began to adjust to the darkness, noticing that bioluminescent moss seemed to give the space just enough light to see the outlines of shapes. It appeared they were in some sort of underground cavern, the water lapping against a craggy water-worn shore.

“Ah, yes. Of Course. Home.” Beck tried not to think about the several deadly reasons a wild animal might welcome him into its living space. But thankfully, Caspian wasn’t just an animal. He could talk, he seemed half human- that had to amount to something, right?

Of course, Caspian had still planned to eat him. So. There’s that.

“You’re still not gonna eat me, right?” Beck asked, not about to leave something so important to chance.

“Right.” Caspian sighed, as if the question were a mild annoyance and not tied to Beckett’s entire livelihood. “But you have disturbed my hunting time. I’m hungry.”

“Not sure that’s entirely my fault…” Beckett murmured to himself.

Caspian lowered his cupped palms to the rocky shore, setting Beck down away from the water’s edge. “Stay here.”

“Wha-? Stay here?” Beck became alarmed, taking a few nervous steps to catch his footing on the slippery slope. “Where are you going?”

“Do not worry.” Caspian assured Beck, easing himself back into the water. “I’ll bring you back something to eat as well.” With that, Caspian dove back into the water, leaving Beck alone in this dark murky cave.

Beckett blinked, shocked to find himself alone in this enclosure. “I don’t think he knows what humans eat.” Beck grimaced, not eager to see just what Caspian would be bringing back for him. Would it be wriggling? Slimy? Would it be human? The thought made Beck want to throw up.

Beckett shivered, feeling chilly now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. He found himself in an unknown underwater cave off the coastline somewhere, still soaked to the bone in his wet rags. The icy temperature in here was freezing, and the water wasn’t any warmer. Was Beck going to die of frostbite here? How long was Caspian planning on keeping him prisoner?

Beckett walked up and down the shore, looking for any driftwood or materials to make a fire. He had no luck, of course, but even if he had Beck didn’t know the first thing about starting a fire. So with nothing to warm himself, what should Beck do? Beckett knew from all the books he’d read on environmental conditions that staying in his wet clothing was one of the worst strategies for survival, but standing around naked in the freezing cave didn’t sound any more appealing. Not to mention, Beck had no way of drying his clothes even if they left his person. He would just have to put the soaking wet rags back on eventually.

Making a foolish decision, Beck kept his clothes on in the hopes that his own body temperature would help dry them eventually. Coming from the man who went out to sea to search for his would-be murderer all day, perhaps Beck shouldn’t be treating himself as a good source for advice.

“What was I thinking?” Beck murmured, pacing back and forth to try and keep the blood flowing to his extremities. His fingertips were growing numb, and Beck shoved them in his armpits to try and keep them warm.

Should he try and escape? Beckett guessed there must be some underwater entrance to this cavern, but there was no way of knowing how deep he would have to dive to reach it, how long the tunnel itself was, nor how high he’d have to swim to reach the surface on the other side. Beckett wasn’t known to be a particularly decent swimmer. Even just the idea of getting in the water right now made Beck shudder, not eager to get soaking wet once more.

Beckett let out a yawn, the excitement of the day catching up to him. He was cold, and tired. Nothing sounded better than stripping off these clothes and lying down in a warm, dry bed back at Seymour’s.

Oh gosh, Seymour. What was the old man gonna think when Beck didn’t return home like he claimed? He knew Seymour had little faith in Beck’s sailing abilities, but Beckett had foolishly promised to be careful. Would Seymour mourn him? Worse yet, would Seymour try to send out a rescue? What if Caspian found him and wasn’t so merciful?

Beckett was dead on his feet by the time the water began to shift. Beck slapped himself out of his stupor, standing to attention in his semi-dry clothes as the giant merman emerged.

Caspian pulled himself partially up onto the shore, holding out one hand to Beck. As expected, none of this looked edible in its current form. There was a live octopus, still wriggling around, a half dozen oysters, a few slimy eels, and a few other squirming entities Beckett wasn’t certain how to classify.

“Oh, thanks.” Beck tried to keep the disgust off his facial features. Even with not eating all day, Beck didn’t have much of an appetite. But would Caspian be mad if Beck didn’t eat it? It’s not like Beckett asked for it in the first place...

“I was uncertain what you would like.” Caspian admitted, a soft frown gracing his features as he nudged the human with his fingertips, encouraging Beck to eat. “Will this be good for you? Do not be shy, I ate my fill already.”

Beck cleared his throat. “Well, uh, some of this is what humans can eat, but we don’t eat it… raw. Or alive, usually.”

“Hmm.” Caspian considered this for a moment, taking one of the eels between his claws. Caspian raised the creature to his lips. In one swift motion, Caspian used his fangs to tear off the eel’s head, sending a small spurt of blood spattering down.

Beck cried out, quickly covering his head with his arms to try and avoid getting caught in the rain. “COOKED! IT NEEDS TO BE COOKED!” Beck hastily corrected, turning a bit green as Caspian tried to once again offer him the bloody corpse. “It needs to be prepared right, too, I don’t think I’m supposed to eat a lot of stuff found in live fish, they usually gut ‘em and stuff, and I’ve never been one for sushi in the first place.”

Caspian licked his lips, clearing away the blood stains as he tilted his head like a pup. “What do you mean, ‘cooked’?”

Beck slowly uncovered his head, thankful Caspian seemed to have backed off for a moment. “Right, cooked.” Beck nodded to himself. “Guess you wouldn’t know what that is, living in the ocean and all. Um, do you know what fire is?” It was Caspian’s turn to nod. “Wait, you do? How?”

“Fire chokes out life.” Caspian explained. “It creates the smoke and the ash that destroys the shores.”

“Well… yeah, I guess it does do that, sometimes.” Beckett admitted. “But we use it in smaller, healthy doses. You use it to cook your food, usually heating it up and changing it to be healthy.”

Caspian seemed more confused the further this conversation went on.

“Unfortunately, there’s no fuel here anyways.” Beck gestured to their surroundings. “And I don’t know how to make a fire anyways, so-”

“No fire.” Caspian said sternly. He sounded more like a stern parent, banning experimentation with firecrackers in the house.

“No fire.” Beck confirmed. He glanced at the ceiling. “Probably wouldn’t have been the best idea anyways, all enclosed like this. But anyways, no. I can’t accept your fish. Thank you, it was very kind of you, I’ll be forever grateful, but if I eat that I will be sick.”

“...hmm.” Caspian looked- disappointed? Frustrated? It was hard to tell the mer’s emotions, but Caspian at the very least seemed to understand Beck’s meaning, as he pulled his handful of fish back to himself. With a thoughtful expression, giving Beck one last option to protest, Caspian tilted the whole mixture into his mouth, chewing it into a paste and swallowing with ease.

Gross. Beck kept this thought to himself, grateful he was not on the other side of Caspian’s abs himself as the pleased merman gave his stomach a few pats.

“Then what will you eat?” Caspain asked, laying down to be more at eye level with the little man.

“Well, uh, I suppose I can always eat after I get home.” Beckett chose his words carefully, still uncertain what Caspian’s intentions were. “My friend would usually make meals with me. Stew, most of the time.”

Caspian’s eyebrows furrowed. “I can make stew with you.”

“No, you can’t.” Beck corrected. Gently. “No fire, remember? Fire’s needed for stew, too. And we don’t have any of the other ingredients. Vegetables, seasonings, broth, cooked meat… stuff like that. And any we got in here would be soaked with sea water, and that’s not great for humans either.”

The giant siren seemed displeased with this answer, obviously intent on keeping the human alive. This, at least, was one positive note in a storm of negativity for the evening.

With a displeased hum, Caspian reached out his hand towards Beckett. Instinctively Beck flinched away, worried the siren had gotten bored and wanted to do away with him, but all that happened was a giant digit began carefully stroking the top of Beck’s head and down the length of his back.

“Uh...what are you doing?” Beck asked, still stiff as a board.

Caspian didn’t seem inclined to answer. Instead he tilted his head, curious blue eyes intently studying Beckett. “Can you sing?”

Beckett blinked. “Can I what?”

“Can you sing?” Caspian repeated, and after Beck gave a nod: “sing for me.”

“Oh, well, I can sing, but not very well, mind you.” Beck admitted, looking a bit sheepish. The stage had always been his sister’s forte. “Certainly not to your caliber. I don’t think you want to hear me sing at all, actually.”

“Yes I do.” Caspian insisted gently. “Sing.”

Beck let out a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for such a task. What song does one even use to serenade a siren? After careful consideration, Beckett selected an old nursery rhyme from his childhood, both for its brief length and easy melody.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star-” Beckett began, his voice shaking. He cleared his throat, trying to project a bit more even as Caspian leaned in to hear. “How I wonder what you are. Like a diamond in the sky, up above the world so high…”

Beckett had shut his eyes, trying to forget about any pressures to perform. A nice benefit to this impromptu concert is that Caspian had paused his petting to allow Beck to focus. “Twinkle twinkle, little star… how… er, ...up… ah…y’know what? I’ve forgotten the last line, actually.”

Beck grimaced, opening his eyes. Caspian was as difficult to read as ever, the siren’s face passive as Beckett awaited any sort of review.

“That was it?” Caspian clarified.

“Yeah, not a very long song.” Beckett agreed. “Meant for children, y’know? Just to… well I don’t know the point of it, actually, I guess it’s just something to sing.”

“Ah.” Caspian drummed his fingers along the rocks. “It was…”

Beckett waited not so patiently. “Well?” He spoke up. “I told you I’m a lousy singer.”

Considering the siren made no effort to disagree, Caspian held the same opinion, yet he wore a pained expression. Perhaps Caspian had held out hope for Beck after all? But then again, even if he were a renowned opera singer, how could a human voice ever possibly appeal to a siren?

“I thought everyone could sing.” Caspian admitted quietly.

For some reason, this bashful admission is what finally set Beck roaring with laughter. Beck clutched at his sides, doubled over with mirth as a concerned siren watched. Caspian let out a noise of concern, reaching out his hand to prod Beck in the side.

“No- I’m good!” Beck hastily assured him, pushing away the finger as if he had any chance of telling the siren what to do. “It’s just- ah, fuck. What a day, you know?” And with that, tears began to pour down Beckett’s cheeks, the poor exhausted boy helpless to stop them as he alternated between laughing and sobbing.

Now Caspian let out a whine, the trill noise echoing across the cavern walls as Caspian scooped the human up into his hands. Beck gasped, momentarily without air as he was forced against Caspian’s chest. “Shh, shhh.” Caspian hushed him, patting his back like he was a child.

Well, what did it matter? Beck felt like a child. He was tired, and hungry, and cold, and he just wanted to go home. Unable to work on any of those things, Beckett tried instead to take the comfort that was given to him, so overwhelmed by the day that this might as well happen.

Beck hiccupped, his tears still coming but too exhausted to keep wailing. Beckett leaned into Caspian’s chest, the smooth seal texture feeling surprisingly warm and dry for a creature that spent most of its life in the ocean. If he focused, Beck could hear a rhythmic thumping. It was Caspian’s heart, just on the other side of this ribcage.

“I wanna go home.” Beck murmured, more to himself than the siren who wouldn’t listen. “I just wanna go home.”

A rumbling sensation filled Beck’s ears, which he slowly recognized as Caspian’s singing. Beck closed his eyes, allowing himself to succumb to the call.

…

“...Beck?”

---

“-OI! Wake UP!”

Beck coughed, startled awake as he found himself once again doused in sea water. He blinked, disoriented to feel the surface beneath him was rocking like a boat. Before Beck could ponder that out, a bright light shined directly in his eyes, making him squint.

“Blimey, you look half dead.” Seymour whistled, taking stock of Beck’s appearance.

“I...what?” Beck frowned, looking around. They were on a boat. What happened? Last thing he remembered, Caspian had been coddling him like a wounded babe. “Where’s Caspian?”

“Who?” Seymour didn’t have a clue.

“Caspian! I- the giant siren!” Beck looked around, trying to spot anything in the darkness of night.

“Boy, I think you swallowed too much seawater.” Seymour shook his head, easing Beck back down. “Take it easy, you’re lucky to be alive.” Seymour pulled out an emergency orange blanket, wrapping it firmly around Beck’s shoulders. It was only then that Beck came to the startling conclusion he was naked, stripped of his wet clothes entirely. At least he could see them lying on the deck as well.

“The voice.” Beck insisted, staying down only because his head felt dizzy. “You must have heard him singing? He was singing. What’d I miss this time?”

Seymour had no answers, as far as giant sirens went. Instead, he explained his side of things. “When you didn’t come back yesterday, I came out to look for ya.” Seymour explained. “You must have a guardian angel after all. Caught you in my sights only by change with the spotlight, adrift in the waves. No idea how the hell you’ve got a speck of life in you, jumping in without a liferaft or lifejacket or nothin’. Holy hell son, ya got a death wish, there’s easier ways of going out.”

“I- what?” Beck frowned. “No, that… that’s not what happened.”

“Hypothermia can cause hallucinations.” Seymour swore under his breath. “Shit, you’re in a worse state than I thought. Never should have let you come out here alone in the first place, nevermind with Ben’s boat. He’s gonna kill ya, y’know, if you do manage to survive the night.”

“Didn’t mean to lose the boat.” Beckett rubbed at his eyes. “Got left behind on the way to the caverns.”

“To the caverns, he says.” Seymour rolled his eyes, handing Beck a warm thermos. “Drink. Sit. And don’t fall asleep.” With these last instructions, Seymour moved over to the captain’s chair, starting the motor and steering the boat back towards shore.

Beck stared at the waves passing by, sipping gently at the contents of the thermos. Tasted like hot lemon tea. Beck would have preferred hot chocolate, if shipwreck survivors were allowed to have preferences.

Was it a shipwreck? Did he jump in? No… no it was Caspian, wasn’t it? Dumb seal’s fault for it all. That, Beck was certain. Too bad he couldn’t charge the siren for Ben’s boat.

Before, Beck had barely escaped with his life, lost and confused about his potential giant savior. Now, he knew so much more than he had before. Caspian was real. Caspian’s name was Caspian. Caspian had intended to eat him, didn’t, and then let him go. Caspian had forgotten him.

Would Caspian forget him again? Why did that notion make Beck feel so uneasy?

It wasn’t like Beck owed Caspian anything, truly. The guy had saved his life twice now, but only after endangering it in the first place. But why did Caspian let him go this time? It seemed as if Caspian was intent on keeping him around like some sort of amusing lil’ pet. What had changed?

Beck’s mind was too tired to process through such things. He sipped more of the tea, growing drowsy.

“No sleeping!” Seymour yelled.

“Yes sir!” Beck jolted upright, regretting it when his head pounded. The sound of the waves had changed. Beck could hear them crashing against the shore, indicating they were almost to the dock.

Seymour expertly steered the ship into the harbor, a feat which took a good deal of skill in the middle of the night. Once securely fastened, Seymour offered Beck a hand, hauling the boy to his feet and keeping Beck steady all the way up to the lighthouse.

“Alright, in you get.” Seymour instructed, easing Beck into bed. He piled more blankets onto Beckett, disappearing briefly to grab a warm compress which he placed on Beckett’s forehead.

“I really did see him.” Beckett murmured, closing his eyes as the warmth lulled him into a deep slumber.

Seymour let out a low sigh. “I’m sure you did.” Seymour murmured, patting Beck’s arm.

#g/t #giant/tiny #giant mermaid #giant mers #giant siren #OCs #Caspian #Beckett #giant!siren!caspian #human!beckett

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devnny · 4 years

Text

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

AT LONG LAST!! my hiatus is broken! i’m very happy to present ch14... after months of failed attempts to finish ;-; thank you for all the kind messages in between 🖤🖤🖤 i hope you enjoy! :]c it's time for artist things, and bad memories!

[•/•/•• :

That one guy that paid me for that BIG ASS project, apparently, really liked it, and wants to see more of my paintings. Talked about exhibiting some of my shit in one of his galleries, if he likes any of ‘em. Neat.

…

And me and Johnny… had a… moment, or whatever. Whatever.]

Johnny sat wide-legged on the floor with a large crate settled between his knees, thumbing through the different paintings standing inside the box like records. His tongue stuck out the side of his mouth while he inspected each one with intrigue – Devi’s work was always so fascinating.

“Why are you even looking through that old shit?” Devi asked from across the room, smiling slightly as she spoke.

“It isn’t shit, I think they’re… cool.” His lips stuck out in a soundless ‘ooh’ as he lifted up a small painting of a retching face. He bared his teeth at the agonizing expression like a mimicking chimp, then set it back down to sift through more artwork.

With the news that she may have another chance to exhibit her paintings in a gallery, Devi had started the tedious process of scrutinizing her available pieces to slap together a decent portfolio, which was fairly difficult, seeing as she was her own worst critic.

“Well ‘cool’ or not, that’s all over a year old. The likelihood I’d want to stick any of them in a portfolio is very slim.” Devi turned to look at him as she finished, but stopped with a sharp inhale when she saw which painting Johnny was holding now.

Johnny was fixated with the canvas in his hands, finding such familiarity with the large eyes and long, devilish smile of the demonic looking subject on it. The paint was very rough in texture, and made the whole piece look rather fleshy. He brought up a finger to poke at the lumpy marks while he thought.

“Is this… me?” Johnny asked absentmindedly. Devi felt a cold sweat prickle on the back of her neck, but waved off any shame she felt with a swat of her hand.

“Yeah.” She answered honestly. Her attention focused on the painting, and she tried as best she could to not feel the deep-seated anger and disappointment that resonated within her at the time she created it. “It was a vent art I did, some time after the whole… attempted-murder, thing.”

“Ah.” Johnny nodded in acknowledgment, his mouth settling into a slight frown. “Is this how you saw me? With all the blood and tentacles coming out of my head?”

Devi’s lips slanted uncomfortably. She leaned her weight onto one of the bigger canvases she had on hand, and sighed.

“No, not really.” Her eyes wandered away from Johnny as she thought. “I just kind of, went wild with it, I guess. Added gore and sharp lines and splatters wherever I felt like. It was supposed to represent a feeling, not really… a person. I mean, it is you, but it was more like the energy you gave off, not how you looked.”

Johnny nodded, his teeth poking out again as his smile returned.

“Neat…” He commented and turned the canvas sideways to inspect it further. Devi blinked in surprise at his response, then snorted after a minute.

“—‘Neat’!?” She asked with a laugh. “That’s what you think that is?”

“It is!” Johnny’s attention jumped to her again. “I don’t have any pictures of myself really, and definitely no paintings. It’s cool that it’s… symbolic. Not of a particularly great time in my life, or spurred on by any particularly great choices on my part, but still cool. I like seeing how your brains perceived me in such an inventive manner.”

“HAH! You are truly the weirdest guy I’ve ever known, Nny.” She chuckled, and returned to the pieces beside her. As she started to sort again, Devi paused, and began picking at the chipped paint on one of her canvases thoughtlessly.

“You know, um,” She turned her head ever-so-slightly in Johnny’s direction. “—originally, it was just a normal portrait of you. I’d started it before our uh, date, then altered it later…”

Her cheeks blushed faintly at the admission; it was so embarrassing to confess that she’d taken him as her muse before she’d ever even asked him out. Part of her still felt, with little room for argument, that Johnny didn’t need to know that, but in light of recent events, it also seemed stupid to hide things pertaining to her ‘feelings’ from him at this point.

Johnny’s head popped up, his neck and back straightened fully, as he turned to stare at her. Devi wasn’t looking at him, but he could tell by her meaningless fidgeting with the canvas in her hands that her attention was still on him. It brought a giddy smile to his face.

“Oh.” He hummed contently, returning his staring to the portrait. He wondered what it looked like before she riddled its face with globs of resentful paint. With a content sigh, he answered his thoughts; “I bet it looked nice.”

“Tch!” Devi held her laugh inside her throat. “I’m sure I gave you too much credit.”

“HAHAHA!” Johnny sneered a wider smile. His brain immediately imagined an overly-handsome depiction of himself, even though he knew Devi had better taste than that. So funny. He reviewed the portrait one more time, then set it off to the side.

“Hahh… I like it a lot.” He sighed, and laid down flat on the floor, legs still sprawled. “I like all your stuff a lot. Why are you so critical about your paintings?”

Devi cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Are you going to try and tell me you’re not critical of your own artwork, Nny?” Her words jabbed playfully in his direction, and he puffed his cheeks out in response.

“WELL…” Johnny huffed, making Devi laugh again. “Maybe the stuff I do now, but all my old paintings, all the stuff I don’t remember even making… no. But I guess it’s hard to be self-critical of something you don’t have any recollection of creating.”

He brought his one leg up high to lob over the crate in his lap as he rolled onto his side to face her. Devi greeted him with a look of pity, but with a degree of immense curiosity to it.

“Shit.” Devi thought a moment. “I don’t think I ever really saw your old stuff, actually.”

Johnny had described to her vaguely last year, and in much more depth this year, his style of painting that had long-since depleted into noncomplex stick figure comics. He explained it as being rough and gritty, with themes of decay, agony, and horror, and his subjects most often being flesh-like nonsense, or close-ups of distorted human faces. The oldest of the surviving pieces would dip into dark landscapes and actual silhouettes, but that was the extent of it.

“Man,” Devi sighed as she thought. “I’d love to see ‘em.”

The comment surprised him, and Johnny laid still on the floor as he watched her with large eyes. He rolled into a seat position after a moment, and moved his staring to the carpet.

“W… would you, really?” He asked tentatively. “A lot of them are still in okay-condition, they’re just… buried in my house...”

Devi replied with a few confused blinks, mostly in regard to Johnny’s sudden change in demeanor. After a moment of thought, she was delightfully suspicious that his timidness now was because of her absolute refusal to enter his house the day she assisted him with ‘moving out’. The concern he had for making her uncomfortable was as unfortunately endearing as ever.

“You wanna go pick some up?” Devi asked with a smile, and Johnny cricked his chin up to stare at her with redoubled surprise.

“Really?” He asked in disbelief as he scuttled to stand. “I mean, I don’t want to impose.”

Devi laughed at him and balanced the canvas she held against the wall.

“Yeah. I need a fucking break from looking at my own paintings.” She explained with a pop of her back. “Who knows, maybe you’ll inspire me.”

She shrugged the last of her sentence at him as she walked past, and Johnny pivoted to watch her leave the room. He always found her teasing to be so disarming, never knowing what to do when she threw the ball into his court. It was fun, in a way, but he was always nervous to banter back besides mock cynicism. It made his heart flutter all the same.

“If you’d like.” He called after her as he walked. “I just meant—you know, if you don’t want to go inside, and all.”

Johnny stopped in the living room when he caught sight of Devi at her bedroom door, already straightening a newly pulled on t-shirt.

“Your concern is appreciated.” She smiled at him, then reached around the door and grabbed one of her shorter jackets—it was just too balls-hot to be wearing her trench coat at this hour. Stupid summer weather.

Johnny grinned, though his smile melted into an awkward squiggle as Devi approached him with that accursed collar in hand. He’d grown accustomed to wearing it on outings, but he still loathed it. He would be happy to chop it up and burn the pieces, one day.

His malicious thoughts were short-lived, as Devi roped the accessory around his neck. She paid much less mind to not touching him these days, and the caressing of her fingers made him feel like his insides might liquify from the heat. She smirked coolly as she clicked the collar shut.

“Why don’t you drive?” She suggested, and Johnny was taken off-guard again. He hadn’t driven at all since he’d come to live here, what with Devi preferring to have control over just about everything. He raised an eyebrow, cautiously inspecting her expression, but was unable to determine if this was representative of anything.

“I don’t feel like navigating the suburbs to get to your place.” Devi provided for explanation as she moved to the front door, but Johnny remained unsure. Still, he went to fetch his keys from one of the art room drawers without prodding any further.

NOW ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN:

Devi had not been to Johnny’s neighborhood more than twice, and only once during daylight hours, yet she still managed to recognize some landmarks that signaled that they were getting close. One neighbor a few streets down had an absolutely obnoxious amount of pink flamingos in their yard, and another surely teetered the worth of their fragile masculinity on the pure number of beat-up looking muscle cars that lined their curb.

The car jerked as Johnny took a sharp turn onto a different street, and Devi sucked in a breath while she watched the addresses get closer in number to ‘777’. She stubbornly refused to let the sight of the ramshackle house bring her too much anxiety, but as they slowed beside it, and then turned up the slope of the driveway, the familiar shiver of distrust climbed up her spine. Johnny spared her a nervous glance.

“You don’t have to come inside if you don’t want’a…” He reiterated, in an effort to comfort her, but Devi only scoffed and started to exit the vehicle.

“NOPE.” She replied with a quick slam of the door. “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine.”

Johnny stepped meekly out of the driver’s side, and watched Devi glare at his ‘former’ place of residence. Guilt gnawed away at his stomach, well-aware of the traumatic memories of that evening that were still sealed away inside his house.

He’d lived with them long after their infamous date; tromping over the wooden floors that had served as her route of escape, or laying like a limp sock across the couch that would have been where they shared their first kiss. When he paused to dwell on those sorts of facts, remorse filled him each time, but certainly not to the extent that it used to. It wasn’t the soul-splitting agony that those first days had brought – it didn’t drive him into hysterics to catch sight of his bedroom mirror, nor did the thought of sitting on the right-hand side of his sofa.

But, of course, Devi hadn’t.

She didn’t muddle through that house for months, learning to accept the space beyond those fleeting, horrible memories. She hadn’t had to wander through the atmospheric fog of departed, romantic dreams, with its lingering tethers warping around her person like ghostly fingers, searching for what was lost. She didn’t find herself stepping on glass fragments even weeks afterwards, and having to force herself to accept, with tearful blinking, that there was no changing this; that this was her house, and there was no escaping what happened here.

Johnny frowned to himself, and started toward the front door, fretting all the way about what Devi’s response would be.

Devi gathered herself as she followed him up the pathway, and as Johnny fiddled with the lock, she spared a moment for a little flower that was poking out from the cracks of the cement. Symbolic, or ironic, she couldn’t decide.

The sound of the worn lock’s mechanics moving in sync with the key that Johnny jammed into it brought her attention up from the ground, and she steeled herself as he pushed the door open with a throw of his fingers. He remained on the front step with her, half-way shielding her from the innards of his home, as she peeked beyond the doorframe.

Even with her expectations low, she couldn’t help but blink her eyes wide in shock.

“Did you… throw out everything?” Devi questioned as she tried to peer past him and into the living room. The décor wasn’t particularly abundant the last time she had been there, but there was more on the wall than a weird little poster that said “I WUV YOU”, and certainly a decent amount of worn furniture. Johnny shot her a confused look, and waited a beat before allowing himself to relax into a smile.

“Oh, no.” He sniffed a laugh and took a few steps inside, loosely raising his arm to gesture to the far side of the room. “The TV n’ shit is just over here now.”

Devi poked her head past the threshold to see, and slanted her mouth uneasily at the sight of the stained sofa a few steps away. It looked even more beat up than the last time she saw it, but it was definitely still the same one. She smothered a scowl under her pursed lips, and fully passed the door’s threshold with a swing of her leg. It was just a stupid, dilapidated couch, she reminded herself—nothing to be wary of!

“My house got kinda wrecked after the wall-thing sent it careening through a tear in the dimension or, something like that.” Johnny continued. “Shit got tossed around everywhere, so I just pushed it all into one of the rooms… Pulled the couch and stuff back out after I came home a couple months ago.”

“That’s…” She cocked an eyebrow. “—I mean, at this point, sure, why not.”

Johnny snickered a little at her incredulous response, and continued further into the house, explaining in greater detail his decision making for what furniture he had rearranged and where. Devi paid little mind to his babbling as she gradually trailed his steps, taking in the house’s atmosphere with as little bias as she could. It was just as dingey as she remembered, and it did help her sore memories that it was basically gutted, aside from the worn couch and beat-up television. It barely looked like a house the way it was, instead looking more like a large shed. It definitely didn’t look like the place she remembered, and that was a very good thing.

“—I don’t spend much time in my bedroom, but I still thought it was important enough to leave it usable, so I just jammed everything in here.” Johnny finished, flinging open the door to his former ‘studio’. A few random objects fell and rolled out from the mass of clutter that loomed all the way to the top of the doorframe.

“Holy Hell.” Devi said loudly, aghast at the sight of the mounds of dusty debris and overturned furniture. There appeared to be parts of doors and chunks of ceiling plaster mixed in with the heaps of furniture and belongings, giving the entire mass the look of a true junkyard.

Johnny bend his leg up and reared it back as far as he could, before springing his heel out straight, sending most of the blockade crashing backwards inside of the room with one demanding kick. With the first heap out of the way, Devi could see more clearly that there was actually quite a bit of bare space inside. Enough floorspace to walk in, at least.

Johnny led the way, and sent a chunk of splintered wood clattering with a lazy punt of his boot. Devi watched it kick up dust as it fumbled along, then fall still near a pile of damaged Christmas decorations. The room was musty, and the only light granted inside the space was from the poorly boarded up windows that failed to stop the sun’s glow outside. She looked up to the ceiling for a light, but the only spot for one had a shattered bulb still twisted into the fixture.

“My drafting table was in here.” He mentioned offhandedly as he inspected a box.

“Ah,” Devi nodded in understanding. “so that’s why it took you so damn long to drag the thing out.”

“Well, yes, and the fact that it’s heavy as fuck.” Johnny snorted and peeled back the remains of an ironing board from its resting spot against the wall. It make a cracking sound, like bark being torn from a tree, then gave way in a small flood of junk to reveal some paintings hidden in the area behind.

“AH-HAH.” He cried in triumph, and moved proudly to the side to allow Devi the opportunity to inspect them first. Devi looked at him with an unsure expression, but decided to humor him and approach the pile as invited. As she stepped toward the stack, the twisting paint gathered her full attention, and she reached a hand out for it like a gleeful child.

She gripped the corner of the first canvas, and hoisted it up from the stack with a smooth pull of her arm. The rolling swirls of brushstrokes that greeted her brought a tantalized smile to her lips, and she had to extend the artwork out with both arms to continue her appreciation of it.

It was about three-feet in height—a fairly average sized painting—and was smeared with meticulous bends and curls of dark paint that made the two grim subjects look as though they were positively radiating in fear.

Gorgeous, she thought.

Devi gleamed, and set the painting to the side, eagerly reaching for the next one in the pile. Johnny watched her with uncertain, but very delighted, eyes. A timid smile bent his mouth as Devi reviewed his art. It was a lot different than her critiquing his current work, since these could actually be on par with what Devi herself might create. He desperately wanted her to be impressed, even though he could barely take credit as the artist anymore.

The painting Devi pulled out next was too large to properly view while holding, so she set it on the floor, tilted at an angle against a box, and stepped back a few feet to study it. Her lips parted with a curious exhale at the detailed eye in the center of the canvas, surrounded by flesh-like tethers and threads that seemed to keep it upright, like a spider’s web.

“Oh,” She breathed, and squatted down to see it more clearly in the wispy light. “I love this.”

The last of her apprehension of being inside the house flittered away as she absorbed herself in Johnny’s art, appreciating fully all of the effort put into the fine lines and details of this piece in particular. This one was definitely coming back home with her—she could already see it replacing that outdated movie poster in the living room.

Devi’s reaction surprised Johnny, and he dropped his neatly folded arms out from behind his back. He felt breathless, like he often did when Devi praised him, but to a much higher degree than usual. He watched her with a look of awe—she was completely captivated by one of his creations. One of the stupid paintings he almost loathed, simply because it was a symbol of the self he lost—because it was meaningless to him; no memory behind what drove him to paint it, or how he was feeling at the time, not even an approximate date as to when he made it.

But with the way Devi reviewed his work with such adoration… now, he felt pride. Real pride in his former abilities, and a deep, desperate desire to create something now that would make her react like this. Her expression could drive him mad; looking so brilliant and excited, with that bright smile, and eyes that shimmered just as brightly. His shoulders raised up to his ears in an attempt to quell is elation.

“Do you have more like this?” She turned her attention up to him with a grin, and Johnny held in a shiver.

“Oh—yes!” He nodded, happy to offer her more of what was currently invigorating her. “I do… but most of them are very large. Like, full-wall-size large, so they’re down in the basement… Perhaps another time?”

A nervous laugh accompanied his suggestion, and Devi nodded without argument, though a soft smile remained. She already knew what horrors he’d committed down there, and wasn’t keen on venturing down into what was formerly a demon’s torture den. Maybe next time, if there was a next time, she would have the bravura to follow him into the fucking abyss.

For now, though, she would remain satisfied with her newly excavated treasures—she could already feel her own inspiration spinning in her head in response to such fantastically morbid art. Something like these but the size of a mural? Now that she wanted to see!

They continued rooting through Johnny’s amassed garbage for a couple more hours, spearheaded by Devi’s eagerness to rescue as many paintings as she could from the bones of the decrepit prison that had stolen their creator away from them in the first place. By the time they were packing away all of the works that Devi wanted to bring back to the apartment, it was nightfall.

“Safe travels.” Devi commented with a smile to the stack of canvases tucked away in the back of Johnny’s car, then heaved the trunk lid closed.

Johnny stood off to the side nearby, surveying the night sky with a lofty smile. It had been a very long time since he stood in this driveway, watching the clouds drift over the starlit darkness in wispy smears. It was almost surreal how strangely foreign it felt now, but after the months of his nightly backdrop being the city’s lousy view, most often from Devi’s apartment windows, he had forgotten one of the few benefits to living in an unlit, ‘quiet’ suburb.

“What a lovely evening.” He hummed absentmindedly, and Devi turned to him with a questioning look, before moving her focus up above them.

“Yeah.” She breathed with a matching smile, and crossed her arms over her chest while she took in the view.

“On nights like this—when I lived alone—I’d always like to go up to the Hill.” Johnny said, eyes still trained on the glittering sky. Devi looked to him curiously again, and whether he felt her stare, or realized the significance of that spot between the two of them, he quickly turned to meet her with wide eyes. Devi snorted a short laugh, never taking her eyes off of him.

“Do you… want to go?” She asked him with dubious smile. Johnny stiffened at the question, grimacing at his carelessness.

“Oh—no, no, not at all! I’d never! That’s not what I—” He stopped, registering her tone only after he started his denials. “Um, well… I mean I would but, I’m not saying… I guess; do you want to go?”

Devi’s smile crinkled upwards more, teasingly, then she readjusted her arms while she looked off in thought.

She had already dredged through Johnny’s shitty little house of horrors, was she really prepared to delve even further into her freshly revived emotions tonight? It wasn’t like the hilltop was particularly connected to anything bad that happened that night, but it was still connected to said night, intricately-so. She drummed her fingers on her bicep as she debated.

She was very happy to be out of residence 777, but being there had brought her a little bit of peace. It wasn’t much, but a few hours’ worth of sifting through artwork was now the most time she had spent there, and it made the fading memories of Johnny’s Pillsbury-Doughboy-influenced attempt on her life a little less predominant. It wasn’t like she had any intention of spending more time there, but Devi did not like having any lingering fear for a dirty, eldritch-demon-housing shack, and the fact she could bear even a second inside with her head held high made her very proud.

So if she could handle such vicious, lingering resentment, surely she could handle a quick visit to a place coated with softer, waxy memories, accompanied by the individual that had made them so bitter.

“Sure.” Devi said finally, prompting a surprised half-smile from her companion. “The clouds are clearing, even.”

Johnny grinned fully, and took note of the brilliant moon starting to peer out from behind the thin clouds. He tried to quell his excitement as he urged Devi to the car, and quickly hopped into the driver’s side to begin the trip farther out of town.

A FEW HUNDRED FEET ABOVE THE CITY:

Johnny was already regretting his request to visit his cliffside spot.

The drive out had been as casual as all their drives were now, with idle chatter about plans for the coming days and mockery over whichever handful of bad movies they’d ingested recently. The only real difference was that it was Johnny driving tonight, and with that being the case, the music droning beneath their conversation was marginally quieter.

But, as the vehicle climbed the dirt road to the top of the hill, Johnny had become more engrossed with the details that were so comfortable and pleasant.

Things were too pleasant. The mood was too kind and light, with the crunching gravel below the car’s tires, and Devi’s tittering laughter over something dumb he’d said. It reminded him far too intimately of the atmosphere that surrounded them that night, on that damned date. How stupid, he thought as the car came to a gentle stop at the peak of the mountain’s height, that it would be such airy, nice sentiments that tore and ripped the edges of his comfort zone.

After taking a moment to walk the measly fence that skirted the edge of the cliff, he and Devi both plopped down on the end of the car’s hood. Devi sat loosely, head tilted upwards as she enjoyed the first breeze the summer season had bothered to offer her. Johnny’s posture closed in tighter the longer he watched Devi relaxing.

She was so beautiful, wonderful—the same way she was before, maybe even more so. He could hardly stand to look at her, with her skin almost iridescent under the yellowing moonlight, and her sharp, blade-like hair cutting across the stars, almost dark enough to fool the eye into thinking someone had carved two pointed shapes from the shimmering sky itself. Johnny turned his gaze to the crusty earth below, and tried to steady his mind.

“Haven’t seen a view like this in a while.” Devi murmured, eyes transfixed on the flashing of some neon signs in the downtown area. Johnny only hummed in reply.

“I was actually up in the mountains maybe… half a year ago now? But it was waaay over… there.” She pointed to an adjacent set of hills further south. Johnny lifted his head and focused on the area she was pointing to with a curious look.

“I think it was that one.” Devi said half-committally, followed by a laugh. “That was the night that plane hit my apartments—y’know, the one I told you about, with the psychic fat lady downstairs and all?”

“Ah.” He replied with a nod of comprehension. “I’m sure that was quite a sight.”

“It was. Tenna and I sat up there for like an hour before the fire finally died down. A morbidly magnificent sight—even if the burnt fat lady smell permeated all the way up here.” Devi punctuated the comment with a mean laugh, and Johnny couldn’t help but join in her cackling. Dark humor was so delightful.

As their laughter quieted, Devi set her palms flat behind her and leaned back a ways to sigh out her last chuckles. Johnny watched her with a warm smile, as captivated as always by her every move.

He loved her laugh, and being the spark that set it off always filled him with immense pride and glee. He was fortunate that her sense of humor had consistently been on the same frequency as his own, and that she was sharp enough to match, and even outrun him, in verbal banter. It made it rather fun to back-and-forth, and send each other into hysterics. They did so quite frequently at the bookstore, though if Devi wasn’t on a break, they had to muffle themselves to an extent, lest a customer complain.

A gentle push of wind across his face reminded Johnny where he was, and intertwined that knowledge with his current train of thought. His heart pulsed with sinking remorse as he remembered the events that followed their first visit to the Hill.

“I wish I’d declined.” He said suddenly, voice low.

“Huh?” Devi turned to look at him, but Johnny remained slouched forward, elbows balanced on his knees.

“When you asked me to the movies,” he clarified. “I wish I had declined.”

Devi was taken off-guard by that, but shortly scoffed, rolling back into her leaning position with a slight smile.

“Why’s that?”

Johnny finally raised his head with a look of vaguely-annoyed disbelief.

“What d’you mean ‘why’s that’?” He grunted, and Devi breathed a quick laugh at his persnickety tone. He couldn’t help but smile too, though it fell away nearly as fast as it appeared.

“Because I could have spared you… all of this.” Johnny continued. “…I’d wanted to—to say ‘no’, I mean… out of habit. But I couldn’t because I just… really wanted to go. It sounded like so much fun, I thought it would be… fun.”

He hugged himself, staring out into the darkness of the road as his thoughts led him into a myriad of ‘what if’s. Devi observed his shape with a small frown; she was very much accustomed to Johnny’s habit of allowing his emotions to swallow him up, but at this point, she felt it was pointless for him to wallow in his regrets to such a pitiful degree. Their relationship had turned pretty big, fucking corner, recently, after all.

“Was it fun?” She asked him finally, smiling like she already knew. Johnny pouted at her.

“…Well, yes.” He sighed again. “If you don’t count the attempted murder, or the immense ass-beating you gave me after.”

Devi spat out another laugh at that, and looked down to Johnny with a tired smile when he tilted his head backwards to frown about it.

“—or the fact I got you infected with lose-your-creativity-and-kill-people disease!” He snarled, and laid back fully on the car’s hood to sulk. “I just—wouldn’t that have been better? If I just said ‘no, thank you’, and we kept being friends, and maybe you had found some nice person to date that wouldn’t try to kill you?”

“And you could’ve just gone on murdering for that wall-thing forever?” Devi asked him smugly. His eyes went wide at that, and he stopped to consider the idea.

He wanted to argue that no, the creature probably would have had him die at some point—he long suspected that it was the wall-thing’s desire to regain control over it’s doughy minions that had allowed him to die in the first place—but he couldn’t know that. It was very possible that he might have gone on for his whole life, or at least long enough to allow Mr. Fuck the autonomy that he so desperately desired, and who knows how detrimental to the world that could have been.

Devi observed Johnny’s uneasy, sad expression with a shake of her head.

“Look Nny, the thing is, if there’s an eldritch fucklord that births mental parasites, that target artists and-the-like, to gorge itself on until their victim is reduced to a worthless meat-husk, I want to know about it.” She gave him nod before looking off. “I don’t have to like it, but considering that it exists and it’s happening, I’m not going wish for blissful ignorance, blabbering spittle onto my bib like a fucking infant about bullshit that doesn’t matter. And if you just learned of a plague like that, wouldn’t you want the same?”

Johnny stared at her from his spot on the hood, surprised by her response. He couldn’t believe how easily her blunt take on things still sideswiped him from time to time; he really should be used to this by now.

“Heh… yeah, I guess so.” He looked off with a hesitant smile. Devi smirked with another roll of her head.

“And as absolutely horrible as it is, my… involvement meant that you died before things really got ugly… I’m still not happy about it, but I guess if you couldn’t truly ‘die’ no matter what, it’s not so bad, especially seeing as you’re free now.” She paused. “Well, mostly free.”

“GEE, THANKS.” Johnny laughed, and Devi arched into another laugh too. The pair giggled over their horrid luck for a few minutes, before Johnny’s mind settled on an old memory.

“Hey, do you remember that joke you said, after you told me you liked me?” His smile stretched wide enough to give a mischievous squint to his eyes. “About how you’d kill me?”

Devi blinked at him, mouth drawn low, before breaking into laughter again. She redoubled into hysterics when Johnny joined her, and she held her face in her hands while he gave the metal beneath them a few slaps amidst his cackling.

“WELL, YOU DID.” He reiterated the point, and Devi gave him a shove.

“Shut UP, Nny!” She laughed, and turned away from him to try and quiet herself, with limited success.

OFF TO A NEARBY 24/7:

Johnny winced his left eye shut as he gave the straw of his Brain-Freezy one more voracious suck, hoping to gather the last of the watery remains of sugar from the air bubbles at the bottom of his cup, but only really achieved making a repeating, cacophonous sound. Devi smacked him with the back of her hand, in a wordless way of saying ‘knock that off’.

They had stopped at the first 24/7 they saw, one on a normally unventured side of town, to pick up some snacks before returning home. The large advertisement in the window featuring disgusting gas station nachos had reminded them both that they hadn’t eaten since early that afternoon, and the lure of 2-for-1 deals on just about everything was hard to pass up.

“I think you got it all.” Devi said, flicking a crumb of tortilla chip off the corner of her mouth with her thumb. Johnny pouted at her before flinging the empty cup cleanly into the nearby garbage can.

“I’m trying not to be wasteful!” He defended himself as he started the walk back to the car. The rub of material against his neck reminded him of the goddamn collar he wore, and how the leash Devi had insisted on putting on him before they entered the store was, in fact, on him. She needed to have a little more faith! Just because they were in an even shittier part of town than normal, didn’t mean he would run off on a murderous rampage at the drop of a hat!

“Oh, you’re so frugal, my wallet thanks you.” Devi replied with a sarcastic smile, matching his stride as they made their way to the side of the building, where Johnny had parked.

Just when they thought they’d escaped humanity unscathed, a quick whistle hit their ears, and both eyerolled in the direction of God, to ask him with mixed expressions ‘why’. Devi and Johnny both turned toward the source of the sound, Devi looking somewhere between bored and irritated, and Johnny glowering just past her shoulder. She was unsurprised to see the group of men chatting idly on the other side of the small parking lot gesture in her direction.

“Heyyy, that’s kinda kinky—WOAH.” One of the men called, then stopped suddenly. He pushed himself off of the side of a car and started to approach them. “—No way!”

Just as both Devi and Johnny’s fight-or-flight responses had reached their peaks, the man spoke again.

“DEVI?” He said loudly, with an obnoxious smile. Devi blanched. The man had very few features she would find memorable; patchy dyed hair, brown eyes, tall and thin—could have been any number of guys she’d hung out with before… except for the eyepatch.

“Eddie!?” Devi replied with a horrified expression, and Johnny’s irises snapped to her, shocked that she actually knew this person. Eddie’s lip perked up further on one side, and he slapped a hand over his cheek with a laugh.

“WOW, it’s been forever, huh?” He gleamed. “But I knew it was you, cause of your face.”

Devi only stared at him with vague disgust, still too shocked to fully absorb the situation. She hadn’t hardly thought about this particular idiot since high school, the recent retelling of their failed date withstanding. Johnny scowled at their uninvited guest, but did his best to hold back the volatile feelings he already had churning in his gut.

“Who’s this little guy you’re with? Your boyfriend?” Eddie asked casually, without a braincell to stop him. He set the side of his hand against his mouth, and leaned further in Johnny’s direction, as if to whisper, only to say at a completely normal volume; “Don’t count on getting too much outta her—she’s hot, but she’s a total prude.”

Johnny stared at him with incensed disbelief at the comment, as did Devi. With thin pupils, Johnny jutted forward, still crouched, to rebuke the remark.

“NEVER speak about Devi in such a repugnant way—in fact, never speak about her at ALL, you cycloptic knuckle-dragger!” He hissed. Devi could only cringe as her mouth twitched into an uncomfortable scowl.

“Hey, don’t blame me for warning you dude, it’s true!” Eddie defended himself. “I took her out, paid for everything, and she wouldn’t even kiss me. I had to be dying before she agreed to at least sit on my face.”

“I NEVER SAT ON YOUR FACE, YOU DUMBASS.” Devi snapped, face hot. “That was the AIRBAG.”

“—See! That’s even worse. My dying wish, and she’d sooner just let me die empty-handed.”

“SHUT UP!” Johnny seethed, bowing out his stance. “Shut you fucking mouth—I’ll cut your dirty GODDAMN THROAT! You don’t deserve the privilege of speaking, you boorish ogre—I’d be doing the world a damn FAVOR redirecting your vocal chords into your ear canals! Maybe then you could hear the UNBRIDLED FILTH THAT EXPECTORATES OFF YOUR TONGUE!! I—”

While he ranted, Devi stood beside him, vibrating in insult. Eddie was her first ‘real’ date, and he was horrible one at that—she would have gladly never seen his dumb ass again. In fact, she had kind of hoped he had died in different sexually-motivated car wreck in the years since she last saw him, but obviously she had no such luck. The smarmy fucker, acting like he knew her, acting like he had any comprehension of who she was, or what drove her physically. BASTARD! Ugly, horrible bastard!

Devi bared her teeth; she wanted retribution! Her body ached, with pulsating, twitching fists, to obliterate Eddie where he stood. Her mind floated away from level-headedness, her anger coaxing her ever-closer to violence, tantalizing her with the beautiful release of emotion she’d be granted with a few kicks to his head. But, as her trembling hand squeeze the handle of Johnny’s leash, her cracking logic had a quick, hateful idea. She didn’t give herself time to reconsider, she just wanted out of this situation.

With wide, angry eyes, Devi stared at Eddie, then released her hold on Johnny and retreated to the car.

Johnny felt the tether around his neck go slack, and swiveled his head around in surprise to watch Devi’s withdrawing form.

“Aren’t you going to stop me!?” He yelled to her. Devi opened the car door and turned back to him with a glare.

“Stop you from what?” She said with a biting tone, then dipped into the car with a loud SLAM! of the door.

Johnny stared at where she had just stood, dumbfounded, then moved his attention to the loose leash dangling from his neck. After a few moments of consideration, a grim smile spread across his face. He was rather certain that Devi was, quite literally, turning a cheek to this exchange—and if she was leaving it up to him, Eddie would not be leaving unscathed for those repulsive comments.

He raised his head, and his posture, with dark shadows swallowing up his grinning face. Eddie cocked an uncertain eyebrow when he heard the creak of the vehicle’s trunk, and only looked more confused when met with the sight of the tire iron that appeared from behind Johnny’s back.

Johnny stepped closer, happy that the exchange had garnered the attention of the rest of Eddie’s little group; he hoped they would intervene, they were all just as shitty in his eyes! A set of eerily slow laughs emitted from his throat, that slowly hiccupped into something maniacal, as he brought up his weapon up above his head.

“That was baaad, Devi.” Johnny sung in a teasing tone while he drove, blood still smattered on his face and hands. Devi sulked in the passenger seat, glaring at the street signs as they passed them.

“Whatever.” She grumbled. Johnny giggled in reply; he rather liked when she was feeling vindictive.

“NOT TO WORRY,” He boasted earnestly. “I didn’t kill any of them—I knew you wouldn’t like that, so I only gave them all a some blunt-force trauma, just a bit of facial bludgeoning, promise!”

Devi looked to him with a grouchy frown, but rolled her eyes away after a moment, face falling into mock-boredom.

“Thank you, Nny.” She sighed. At least someone had some self-control tonight. She could only hope that her choice to let Johnny dish out the ass whooping that her wrath had so desperately craved had no adverse effects on his self-restraint—they’d both worked too hard to ruin it over Eddie of all things.

“You are ever-so welcome, Devi.” Johnny smiled, happy to exact some vengeance in the name of his dearest friend.

“Who was that moron, anyhow?” He asked casually. Devi huffed.

“Just some dick I dated in high school.” Another eyeroll. “He was the first guy to ever ask me out—I told you how it went, didn’t I? The date was bland and meaningless, but he thought it went well. The genius tried to convince me to screw him while he was driving, and when I said ‘no’ he tried to push the point and crashed the fucking car into a tree. Dumbass.”

Devi sneered at the memory, but was quickly shaken out of her thoughts when the car took a violent turn, leaving her to yelp and grasp onto the center console for balance. She snapped her head in Johnny’s direction as he drove at an increasingly fast speed.

“Nny, what the Hell!” She shouted at him, but Johnny was too focused on the road.

“WELL YOU DIDN’T SAY THAT!” He replied aggressively. “I’M GOING TO FINISH KILLING HIM.”

“NO, NNY.” Devi yelled, drastically grabbing for him, or the wheel, or both. Johnny shrugged her away, doing what he could to use his shoulder to keep her from interfering with his burning desire to murder. “Johnny!!”

(He turned back around, don’t worry.)

NEXT...

#FINALLYYYY WEEE #chapter #jthm #devnny #jtrm #mine #im v happy.. to have this done #7.5k words!! AT LONG LAST

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deathandrenegades · 4 years

Text

Bruised (Bucky x reader) - One Shot

Summary: Just another self-hating agent, trying to save everyone the trouble of getting close to him.

Word Count: 3783

A/N: Angst. Angst angst angst. Mentions of blood and death. This is right up my ally for my usual depict of Bucky, and I will always have a soft spot for him. Sue me. 5.8.2020

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There was a million and one things you wanted to say to him. But you knew you couldn’t. You watched him punch the bag, over and over again. Usually he’d work without gloves because he liked the blood, but for now they stayed on. You cracked your neck and shook your hands out before you jumped rope for a bit, getting your cardio in. Carefully stealing glances at him, trying not to be obvious. Finally his hands lowered to his sides, giving you your shot.

“Barnes, hey,” you jogged over to him. He halted briefly, his grey shirt lined with rings of sweat. He gave you a once over before raising a brow at you, signaling you to talk. “Just wondering if you were going out with all of us tonight.” You bounced on the balls of your feet, shifting your weight, clearly anxious about being face to face with the man who’s always remained a mystery. He usually stayed home, secluded, trying to rebuild his life. He shrugged.

“Maybe, I guess.” It wasn’t anything but you smiled hopefully anyways.

You were the laziest out of the friend group, or least caring at least. Natasha was in full glam, Wanda was dressed to the nines and you could nearly pass for rolling out of bed. You sighed, looking in the mirror. It’s not like you had to impress anyone, you were single and not looking. Or so you said.

———————-

“Just let me do your makeup.” Nat whined. You rolled your eyes at her.

“Maybe another night.”

“I bet if a certain someone was there you’d let me.” She wiggled her brows, joining Wanda in for a laugh and you scowled at them.

“Oh, you mean George Clooney?” You threw a shoe at her, she ducked in time.

“I told you that in confidence!” She cackled and you all fell into a fit of laughter.

You met up with the rest of them at your favorite dive bar that was practically next door. They all greeted you with a smile, Steve and Sam looking especially handsome.

“Where’s Tony?” You asked, sliding into the booth with Nat and Wanda.

“He has a big meeting early tomorrow morning I think.” Steve sipped his drink. You scanned the room briefly, hoping to see Buck but he wasn’t here.

“No Barnes tonight either?” You frowned slightly.

“You know how he is.” Steve shrugged, understanding his best friend's need for privacy.

“Such a hermit.” Muttered Sam in a disapproving tone, rolling his eyes and slamming the rest of his drink down.

Wanda delved into a story about her latest experiment with her powers as you stirred your drink, trying to pay attention but failing. Bucky has been around for about a year now, but he had about as much progression with you as a feral cat. You couldn’t wrap your head around what it was that seemed to be driving him away from you, when you just wanted to be friendly with your coworker, like how you were with everyone else. It never failed that whenever you came around, Bucky became so shut in, sometimes even leaving altogether. You couldn’t help but to feel ostracized, even though Steve and Nat have assured you countless times it’s not you. He just needs time to adjust to people.

News broke at the compound and you all gathered in for the debriefing on the latest suspect. You and Bucky were both put on detail, trailing the suspect and finding information. Usually the two of you worked decent together, except the only thing you’d talk about is work. As soon as there was nothing left to say, he’d leave, or barely speak. It felt like hitting a wall every time.

————————

You sat across from each other at a coffee table, Bucky was clearly not focused. His knee kept bouncing erratically as his eyes darted to the window as people continuously passed by on the street.

“Why did you choose this place?” He muttered.

“Um, I don’t know, I wanted a coffee?” His question caught you off guard.

“I hate crowded areas.” He sighed, rubbing his face and squeezing his eyes shut. His knuckles were cut up and bruised, which should’ve concerned you but it didn’t.

“We can leave.” You offered. He shook his head, opening the manila folder. You devised a plan, who’s going to get close and who’s going to overlook from a far incase any threats appeared. It seemed to almost always be you getting close to the target.

“Why can’t I stay back and watch while you get to know him?” You retorted.

“Because I will kill him without hesitation.” Bucky blinked, as if it were obvious.

You gulped, “We’re supposed to watch him. Gain intel.” Your brow furrowed together and he shrugged. “Is it just easy for you to take a life like that?” You asked sarcastically, sipping your coffee.

“I just don’t care.” He said it so nonchalantly, it hovered in the air between you two. He shrugged again, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He wouldn’t look at you, and instead looked out the window, watching people walk by. His expression appeared stoic but his eyes were burning. Liar.

“I’m sure.” You remained unconvinced and didn’t bother to hide it in your tone, especially because of the stories between him and Steve and the countless times Bucky practically threw himself in front of him in the field which usually resulted in injuries. Not to mention his incredulous nightmares that seemed to wake up the entire compound at times. That was before he moved out.

He ignored you, instead turning back to work.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” You rolled your eyes. He nodded his head curtly and got up to leave.

---------------

Bucky continued to punch the bag with equal force repeatedly. He seemed to never get tired and today, his gloves were off. His wounds were almost healed, which was the perfect time to be gloveless. Finally he stopped, panting.

“Why no gloves?” You asked from behind him and he turned around, his locks twisted in a bun.

“Feels better.” He said simply. You frowned slightly.

————————

You sat across from each other again at a restaurant, both of your trained eyes on the target, spotted with multiple henchmen. Getting to know his inner circle was a must if you were going to get close to him.

“No girlfriends?” Your question seemed a lot more casual in your head, out loud it nearly startled him.

“Not since I thawed out.” He smirked.

“How come?”

“I don’t do relationships.” He muttered in disgust.

—————-

“Are you ready for tonight?” Nat grinned, proud of her masterpiece. Finally, you let her put makeup on you and give you a slimming dress to wear. It was black, midthigh length and hugged your curves in the right places. In all honesty you looked amazing, you couldn’t deny that.

You walked in with Nat and Wanda flanking you, going to your usual booth. Bucky sat with Steve and Sam, trying to appear relaxed but it was obvious he wanted to leave as his eyes kept darting around the room, like a bomb might suddenly explode. Why was he here?

All of their eyes seemed to land on you at once and suddenly you felt timid under their prying eyes, like you wanted to throw a hoodie on.

“Jesus.” Steve muttered under his breath and you didn’t miss the look Bucky shot at him in response, quickly looking away.

“Man, came to show out tonight huh?” Sam smiled, standing to pull you in for a hug. You sighed with relief, gaining your confidence back. You could feel Bucky's eyes pierce through you as you embraced Sam and sure enough, when you snapped your head in his direction your eyes briefly locked, and what you saw could only be described as one thing: jealousy.

“I’m gonna get a drink, does anyone want anything?” You offered before turning away to order at the bar for you and Nat.

“Damn Natasha, what did you do?!” Steve hissed as soon as you were out of earshot.

“I’ve been begging her for months to let me do this.” She squealed. Her magic seemed to work, already someone was trying to buy you a drink. You politely declined, and just as soon as he left another came in. He was much more handsome and likeable from the start. His hand grazed your thigh and that’s when you felt a hand on your shoulder with a grip so hard you wanted to shriek.

“I think you’re in my spot.” Bucky's gruff voice came from behind you, the guy shot you a look. You remained silent and the guy rolled his eyes, getting off the bar stool and leaving, deciding it wasn’t worth the fight. Bucky's brute size was enough to intimidate anyone. He sat down next to you ordering a whiskey, you sipped on your rum and coke. He rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, your eyes traveled down to his black slacks. He looked good outside of the apparel you usually saw him in.

“Thought you didn’t drink?”

“Tonight’s different.”

———

Today was the day you were essentially going to meet your target, who became more and more dangerous day by day. Bucky shifted nervously as you gathered your things. He was dressed in his tactical suit, all black, he’d be watching from a rooftop as you attended the mayors dinner.

“Do you have your gun?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“And your knife?”

“In my purse.”

“And your ear piece?”

You squinted at him, he looked away, rubbing the back of his head nervously.

“I’m gonna be fine, Buck.” You reassured.

“I know. We both just didn’t realize how dangerous this could be.”

You gave him a raised eyebrow, putting on your earrings.

“What?”

“I thought you didn’t care?” You huffed. He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t. I just don’t want to risk being seen.” He said quickly.

“Well I’ll try not to make it obvious where you are.” You replied hotly.

You entered with Steve calmly, breaking away to grab a drink, conveniently next to your target. Bucky stiffened as he watched you get closer to him through the scope.

What the fuck is wrong with me, he sighed, shaking his head and trying to focus on the mission at hand. Steve came up behind you and placed a hand slightly lower than your waist and you smiled at him, Bucky however felt his blood boil.

“You look great by the way.” Steve whispered into your ear.

You blushed, thanking him. Bucky rolled his eyes, having heard him. Steve walked away, giving your target an opportunity to approach you, you hoped. His eyes landed on you and you gave an inviting smile, his gaze traveling down your torso to the slit in your dress.

“Igor,” he smiled hesitantly introducing himself as he walked up to you, “And who might you be?” He grinned, sipping his scotch. His suit was clearly custom and he radiated wealth and danger.

“For you?” Your voice sultry, sending a shiver through Bucky's spine when your voice rang through his ear. “Anyone you want me to be.” Bucky huffed, static ringing through your earpiece and you tried to ignore it. Briefly you looked out through the window, barely spotting Bucky. He looked like a shadow to the untrained eye.

“He just put something in your drink.” Bucky nearly growled.

“What?” Steve hissed. You froze.

“Mmmmm, let’s make a toast.” Igor grinned. Your brain nearly stopped altogether, your arm raising slightly. His eyes were taunting you. He knew.

“Steve, get in there.” Bucky hissed and Steve turned around, walking back in your direction immediately.

“To new friends.” He finished, clinking his glass with yours. Your eyes darted around. “What’s the matter?”

“I-uh, just don’t want this drink anymore.” You tried to laugh but it came out strained.

“Are you kidding me,” Bucky fumed in your ear, “That’s the best you can come up with?”

Steve was still making his way toward you, trying not to cause attention as he set a brisk pace.

“Drink it.” Igor challenged, stepping closer to you, looming over you. You could see the gun inside his suit jacket.

“Steve, you have two seconds otherwise I’m killing him.”

Slowly he reached in his jacket, “Drink.” He repeated and leaned in closer, “or I’ll blow your fucking brains out, after I fu-.”

“That’s it.” Bucky huffed, positioning his finger on the trigger.

“Bucky, don’t, I’m two seconds away.” Steve breathed, his pace quickening. He could see you now, not caring about all the people watching him anymore, he jogged up to you.

“Steve-“ Your voice was an octave higher than usual and you breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of him.

“Hey, honey.” He grinned, pulling you to him. “Ready to go?” He was smiling but his eyes held so much concern, you were so relieved to be in his arms. You shot a look back at the target who was gone already.

“He’s gone.” You and Bucky collectively sighed.

—————-

“I can handle it!” You yelled.

“The last time you were close to him he almost killed you!” Bucky yelled back, “it’s not safe, I’ll go.”

You shook your head. “Bucky, anyone that looks at you will know you're an assassin.”

“I should’ve just killed him when I had the chance.” He snarled. You rolled your eyes. He was being completely childish and unreasonable, for no reason. Obviously you wouldn’t let it get anywhere near what it did last time. You looked between Bucky and Steve, waiting for Steve to back you up but he met your eyes with a small shake of his head and you left the room, fuming.

“What’s going on with you, Buck?” Steve asked once he knew you were gone, well out of ear shot. Bucky sighed. “I don’t know.” He put his face in his hands, he knew he was being ridiculous.

“If you like her-“

“I don’t,” Bucky cut him off briskly. Steve raised an eyebrow, knowing him better. “Even if I did, it’s not like it matters Steve, and you know that.” He shook his head. “I’m not meant to be in a relationship.”

———————-

You and Bucky were in a motel as you waited for Steve, your knee bouncing up and down. His hand rested on your knee, stilling you. You looked up at him.

“Stop doing that, you’re driving me nuts.” His hand lingered for a second before he removed it and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“Tonight could be the last night I’m alive, theoretically.” You stared at the floor. The words settled between you two uncomfortably.

“Technically you could die at any time.” He offered weakly.

“But tomorrow's odds are greater than any other day.” You whispered. He remained silent next to you on the couch.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He found himself saying. He stared at his hands in his lap and you looked over to him, he was clean shaven and his hair chopped off so he could go to the event with you, to protect you better. Carefully you stroked your thumb down his cheek.

“I miss the long hair.” You said softly. He looked at you and half smiled.

“Why’s that?”

“I like having something to pull on.” You grinned devilishly. Hell, if you were going to die tomorrow you may as well shoot your shot now. He gave a breathy laugh and looked away, rubbing his knuckles.

“Bucky-“

“Don’t.” He shook his head. “Don’t say it.” He said softly.

“I want you.” You whispered, letting the words sink in. He closed his eyes, sighing. You slid closer to him until your thigh was pressed against his.

“No.” He muttered. “You shouldn’t.”

“Well I do.” You retorted.

He stared at you, frozen, he grimaced at you so unguarded in front of him like never before. You leaned in closer to him, slowly, like trying to coax a stray animal into your arms.

“Kiss me.” You whispered, your eyes traveling down to the plush of his lips. Quickly his tongue darted out, licking his lips nervously.

“Why?”

“Could be my last night on earth.” You gave a lascivious wink and his adam’s apple bobbed. Slowly he brought his hands to your neck, thumbs caressing your cheeks and he stared into your eyes momentarily before his lips slowly pressed onto yours. You inhaled sharply as you melted into the kiss, leaning into him and snaking your arms through his, your hands reaching up to his face and raking through his short hair. He pulled away from you, much too soon and you opened your eyes to look at him in silent protest. He stroked your hair in thought briefly before you watched the life flood out of his eyes, his voice lower than usual.

“Don’t ask me to do that again.”

The door opened and closed softly and Steve took in the both of you, sitting much too close to each other but judging by the shocked look on your face like Bucky had just slapped you, it wasn’t good.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not escorting her. I want scope.” Bucky didn’t meet Steve’s eyes. Your stomach flipped at his words. You were so close.

“Is there a reason why?”

“She’s right, I’ll blow her cover. Plus he’s seen you two together before at least it’ll make mild sense.”

Steve nodded.

“Is that okay with you?” He asked you.

“Perfect.” You got up, shutting the bathroom door behind you.

————————-

“Can you smile please?” Steve whispered to you as you stared into your drink. Bucky felt his heart wrench hearing Steve’s words, knowing he’s the cause. He watched you through the scope, you looked amazing in a red dress. You gave a weak smile to Steve, clinging to his side.

Someone approached the two of you, presumably someone in office.

“Is this your girlfriend, Steve?”

“Oh, uh-“

“Yes.” You said breathlessly, offering a smile and placing a hand on Steve’s chest. Steve forced an awkward smile on his face.

“She’s magnificent.” He beamed, you blushed at his words. Bucky tried to keep his cool but he was seething as he listened through the ear piece. His girlfriend? HIS girlfriend?

You said your goodbyes and continued to stroll through the room, looking for the target. You recognized his henchmen all over but didn’t see him. Carefully you looked out the window to Bucky. Something wasn’t right you could feel it.

“Bucky, check your six, he’s not here but everyone else is. Something isn’t right.” You hushed into your earpiece. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure he’s just fashionably late.”

Sure enough there he was as if on cue, striding through the curtains into the large room.

“Is that-“

“Blood?” Bucky finished for you, honing in on him through the scope of his sniper rifle. “Yup. Right on the collar”.

“If I distract him you can go in that room he came out of.” You offered without thinking.

“Definitely not.” Bucky's curt voice cut through.

“I don’t need your permission.” You snapped.

“It might work.” Whispered Steve.

“What?!” Bucky hissed. “You’re kidding, he knows who she is.”

“What is he gonna do, kill me out in the open? I’ll watch my drink this time.” You rolled your eyes, annoyed.

“It’ll take five minutes.” Steve assured. You nodded. Bucky huffed in your ear.

“I cannot believe this.”

Briskly you walked up to the target, tapping him on the shoulder. Your gaze was met with cold eyes.

“Surely you can’t be that stupid.” Igor laughed, Bucky snorted in your ear in agreeance. You rolled your eyes at both of them, Bucky’s finger hovering over the trigger just in case.

“I’m just gonna kill him.” Bucky grunted.

“Give me five minutes.” Steve replied.

“No.”

“4?”

You took your ear piece out, fed up with Bucky's tantrum, plopping it in his drink.

“Thank you for ruining my drink.” He irritatedly set it down on the bar, ordering a new one.

“Well, maybe I wanted to have a conversation with you. Privately” You smiled.

“About?”

“Whatever it is you’re up to.”

He laughed, “like I would tell you.”

“What were you doing in Russia?”

“How do you know about that?” Igor kept his voice low, gripping your elbow and steering you away from the bar, away from the people and around the corner into a deserted hallway towards the kitchens. This was the opposite of what you wanted. He stopped abruptly and you followed his gaze. Bucky was standing a few feet away, fuming, his gun raised. Igor hesitated briefly before reaching for his gun, but Bucky shot him before he got the chance, you stifled a scream as his body fell away from you and crumpled onto the floor.

Steve jogged up towards you two and looked at the dead man on the floor, furious.

“What happened?”

“He was going to kill her. Besides, you got what you needed right?” Bucky huffed.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose briefly.

————-

“I thought you didn’t care.” You murmured, squeezing your wet hair with a towel.

“Just doing my job.” Bucky grunted in response. You sighed, throwing your towel at him in frustration.

“When will you just admit it?!”

“Admit what?” Bucky scoffed.

“That you have feelings for me, and you’re scared!” He stood off the couch, backing you up into a wall.

“I already told you-“

“I’m not buying it.” You huffed. His blue eyes bore into yours, you had never been this close before, his scent practically inviting you in. You reached to touch his face but he slammed your wrists against the wall on either side of your face, holding them there.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Touch me.”

“Why?” You taunted. “What’re you so scared of?”

“Nothing.” He snarled.

“Scared of human touch? Affection?”

“No.”

“Love?”

He stared at you, lips parted. He clenched his jaw and shook his head.

“Prove it.”

“What?” He breathed.

“Show me. That you aren’t scared to be close to someone.” He stared at you, confused.

“I don’t want to be close to someone. To anyone.” Finally he let your arms go, backing away from you.

“But why?” You stepped towards him. He turned towards you, rage bubbling at the tip of his tongue.

“Do you have any idea who I am? I have hurt people, innocent people!” You winced at his voice and backed away. “Anyone who gets close just winds up getting hurt.” He lowered his voice finally, face sullen. You stepped towards him again, your heart bleeding for him.

He backed away, shaking his head.

“Don’t.”

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sugar-petals · 5 years

Text

; sublime (m) ║ reader ✕ merman!jjk

↳ summary: only you can save him.

8k words | smut, action, fantasy

⚠️ angst, themes of persecution & violence, unprotected sex, graphic.

a/n | Needed to reupload, it’s been in an ask format. Second chapter included. request: “Would u be willing to do a merman jk x reader smut?” (rosewell-love)

There’s a dead body on your private beach.

Or so you think. You’ve spotted it going out for your early morning walk with a bottle of water and light trainers. Busan’s late summer has been merciful with the weather so far, so you wanted to tick your two-mile goal on the schedule again.

From afar you already knew that whatever laid there in the silt was nothing of the regular. The colors that struck you against the mellow rising sun seemed blueish, strangely vivid. If it was a water corpse, sure it could be decaying like this. You dare to tread closer, crossing into muddier seafloor now.

Normally, you preferred to stay where the sand was dry and solid to walk on. There is no foul smell as you approach, or scraps of cloth, anything like that. Just algae all around. A few feet away, you begin to understand: This is not a human body.

You’ve heard about sightings of stranded mermen in the news. Authorities were quick to dismiss rumors of violent interventions. They assured that the police would take care of the situation professionally without citizen being able to watch.

The senior locals thought of merpeople as threats or oddities of nature, too peculiar to interact with. There were stories about women who interacted closely getting abducted, bitten, or strangled to death by such creatures. It was treated like a myth while the tabloids and fisherman’s accounts said otherwise.

Mermen were usually described with distorted complexions, crooked bones, and blood-shot eyes. They stink abominably, one reporter said. The universal instruction by the mayor had been equally hideous: Kill, or run. The latter being less preferred because they had to be chased, exploited, and wiped out collectively when you read between the lines.

Last year, there had been gossip about a group of men - designated hunters - sawing off a living merman’s tail and selling it on the black market. Any chopped off hair would bring half a million, too. A million with the scalp attached. The mayor propagated the extermination of these “slimy beasts” when an issue surfaced, all while keeping a trophy fin in his living room, that you were sure of.

But the motionless boy right below you does not appear monstrous at all. His features are almost resemblant to what can be considered human despite that he came from the sea. The upper body, at least. Who knows what kind of world is out there. The contrived stories made you mad, they had been all lies.

Even if your trainers are now completely sunk in, you close the distance entirely.

You look at him with concern. Why is he here, like this, so close to the coast? Your eyes roam up and down, up and down. The cerulean little scales splattered all over his large tail, the sapphire beads around his neck, next to coral lobster claws.

His beauty erases everything in your mind. The teal and silver mane that falls in soft waves and purple braids. They are really, really long and gleaming with an enigma that you fail to grasp. How could anyone be cruel enough to maim him. Everything about this boy had to stay wherever it was.

You inspect his body closer to look for injuries, but there are none. He plainly seems drained, but impossibly beautiful at the same time. His chest is still moving, but both eyes remained closed. You don’t know if mermen can get unconscious.

Perhaps he is just asleep. So ethereal. It all proved the envious locals very dirty liars. They’re conspiring because they know very well how alluring they look like. Since only mermen have been spotted, all efforts to deter every woman in town from getting just one glimpse were rampant.

No human male could quite compare. Except maybe your gay friend and neighbor Taehyung who might just drop dead if he were here. If your female friends saw this boy, the ones who were married would file for divorce. The truly despicable vermin were the conservative men of this town.

Certainly, there are different rules of anatomy and physics that apply to mermen that nobody has ever talked about on shore. You only see that the gills at the sides of his torso flutter hectically. It takes some time until you put two and two together. The falling tide that’s now miles away, it must have left him here. Maybe he lost a sense of direction and got caught by surprise. What an odyssey.

He needs water, desperately. Of course he looks drained, and that’s more urgent than you assumed. You have to hurry up and do something not to see him fade away in front of your eyes. But, where to get it. It would have been straightforward if you hadn’t forgotten carrying a water bottle all along.

You’re hesitant to touch him, but eventually get yourself to rub the sides of his torso, pouring water bit by bit. His skin is so delicate that you don’t dare to apply pressure. His eyes flutter once, and you think he can see what you are doing.

But you did not bring enough water to sustain this moment. At least you know there’s still a chance.

There’s no other option, then. You sprint back to your house, pulse working overtime until you find the long-ignored supply closet key.

An old plastic cover splattered with color comes into sight. It has been formerly used by Taehyung who asked to depict the scenery at your beach. He’s a painter, but too much of a literal fine artist to leave anything sturdy at your house. You keep searching.

At the back, there’s a soiled, but still functional sailcloth with rope running through its eyelets. Hauling that to the beach would not be possible if you weren’t pumped with adrenaline and sheer panic. It has been a huge risk having him left alone out there. This all takes too damn long.

The relief finding him untouched gives you more assurance. The sail sticks to the ground in no time spreading it out next to him. An attempt to roll him onto there using a shove of two hands fails. Only a rope tied around his waist gives everything a decent impetus. Once he’s in place, you pull the canvas tight with the rope and start dragging. But oh my, is he heavy. It’s the colossal tail that probably weighs the most, gravity has no mercy on your arms today.

It takes a few painstaking feet until the cloth starts to run smoothly on the wet ground. Through the dewy lawn of your property, it works much better until your trainers go on a strike. Next time you’ll go to the beach with heavy boots. It’s better with bare feet then, though you encounter another problem. The grass isn’t particularly even, so you have to maneuver around a bump or two. The 10 x 20 feet swimming pool comes into sight quite tardily.

He slumps into the water with a dull splash. You made it by the skin of your teeth and everything hurts. It’s a miracle. The water is uncomfortably icy as you enter, grabbing hold of his shoulders. You have to remind yourself to be careful, washing away all remnants of sand and dirt. The filtration system will take care of it. Again you note how silky the texture of his skin and scales is, clearly not made for life ashore. Before the water starts to paralyze you more with its frostiness, you decide to submerge him completely at the bottom of the pool. Different laws of physics, you remind yourself. For a human, air would basically be like water for him. His own weight sustains him down there well as of now. Begrudgingly, you leave to change clothes.

It’s good that your backyard is surrounded by copious palisades. You do hope nobody observed anything, thinking you transported some carcass or worse, and check back just three minutes later. The garden gate is firmly locked already but doesn’t do much to pacify your feelings of imminent paranoia. So the balcony is a good place to stay where you can sit with your laptop to catch up with pressing work. Any concentration is still out the window though, and any noise snaps you out of typing in emails.

The pool water rouses after the nearby church bell strikes 11 am. You return to the gazebo next to the pool to look if you’re not hallucinating, met with huge, dark eyes. They’re Prussian blue and almost doe-like. He’s leaning at the edge, two arms propped up.

“Thank you, madam. You didn’t have to do this,” he dabbles quite gently, stirring the water with his tail to cause ripples. His voice is very pleasant and friendly, youthful. Never did you think he would be able to speak your language. Everything comes unexpected today.

“Nevermind,” you respond, trying not to show both incredulousness and unease. There is no way in making this sound like a proper conversation, but you try. He called you madam, after all.

”I came to pry for shells and lost my sense of time. It’s my bad.”

You squat down at the edge of the pool at some distance. This seems all too much at once. Yet you have to gather words to let him know.

“Don’t, don’t say that. I can’t let you die out there. To see you become food in a tin can if a hunter or the police come along.”

It strikes a chord with him, and you instantly regret saying it.

“I know who they are. Their prejudice has killed one of my brothers not long ago.” He’s downcast now, impossibly sad. You know who this brother was. A little glistening tear makes its way down his cheek, he picks it up with thumb and index finger. It has turned into a small pearl. “You’re not like them. I can be glad you picked me up without fear or reporting it.”

You enclose the shiny gift with two palms as he passes over the bead. When you tuck it away, it rests in the breast pocket of your blouse. The merman looks very relieved to see you accept it.

“It’s not over yet. But I guess I did the right things so far. You’re alive. I hope I can drag you back at high tide. Or do you need more time?”

“My body regenerated. But my mind, I feel very strange and dizzy, still. Tomorrow.”

“Shit… it’s the chlorine in the water. I don’t think that’s good for you.”

“Chlorine?”

You wonder why he speaks your language perfectly but doesn’t know this.

“To disinfect bacteria dangerous to humans. For you, it might just be nauseating. Maybe because you’re not used to it, or sensitive. Wait, I’ll use the pool filter. I have one.”

While you take care of the pump and also clean away some debris, the curious merman lingers closely.

“Did I tell you my name yet? I’m Jungkook. I have a question, actually. It might sound weird.”

You look up from your task. Jungkook. It’s fitting.

“Just go ahead. I’m Y/N.”

“Why do you have a pool next to the sea?”

He’s a bright guy. You understand where the query is coming from, too.

“I do love the sea like you. But the waves are too high. It’s dangerous to bathe there without a vigilant eye. You’ve seen what happened. I prefer to swim here, especially when it’s warmer.”

“Oh, I forgot,” he marvels at you, “humans can’t swim that well in the cold.”

“It’s true. We have trouble moving around mermen as well,” you chuckle, glad your work at the pump is completed. You stand up to return to Jungkook. His presence is soothing, almost familiar.

In that very moment, hasty knocks and rattles resound from the garden gate.

Jungkook immerses himself in water within a split second. He’s diving down faster than you can say anything, in fact. The pool’s surrounding bushes have saved you from being seen with him, thankfully, but your feeling tells you to hurry to the gate as soon as you can. But you have to stop yourself from being in a rush not to be suspicious. It’s painfully obvious who it is from a distance already. You’re in trouble.

It’s Taehyung.

“Oh hey, hey! I rang the doorbell — nobody responded. Figured you’re here! How ya doin’?”

A hurricane as usual. You keep the gate locked. He’s looking at you through the metal bars with inquisitive eyes.

“What do you want, Kim… I’m busy.”

“Sorry, just looking for my painting cover. Do you still have it? Am gone in a minute.”

“Sure.”

You spin around and race inside without further ado. Taehyung must think you have gone completely mad now, but knowing Jungkook is likely having a heart attack down there you would waste no second. You return breathless, red blotches all over the face. He rolls his eyes.

“Slow down, slow down, Noona. It’s Sunday. God, heterosexual people. Always caught in such a fuss.”

“They are. Now, here. Take it. Just, buzz off now, Kim. Got things to do.”

And again, you spin around on your heel and hear him trot away sulking, but clenching his long-lost cover tight. He said he’s gone in a minute, then he has to deal with it. You’ll have to come up with something very intricate to appease him next time when he mocks you for it. And you are sure he will, because Taehyung notices when something’s off. Telling him the truth would be like being Taylor Swift’s boyfriend, he would just broadcast everything.

You dash back and lean over the pool for Jungkook to recognize you. But nothing moves. He’s right about staying where he is. If the police coerced you to be their decoy, luring him out, he’d be dead. Jungkook, that is indisputable to you, continues to prove being very sharp save being aware of tides. The media never talked about merpeople being this people-conscious and easily intimidated. They’re just drawing them as evil to get hunting permission. Vicious pigs.

You want to make them fall.

There’s something else that strikes you, watching for activity in the pool. There must be a way that merpeople gather excessive knowledge about humans. Or it might be a contact person. But you don’t want to know, it might be a way to trace them back. Such a secret must never be revealed, you know you’ll take all this to your grave to protect him. It would be good to tell your story to everyone so they would change their mind. But the police was hawk-eyed and knew how to press for information.

They’d be hellbent and relentless to slit his throat as soon as they could. Officials and hunters had methods to find him if it was not too far out in the ocean. Or they would just wait until he came back to you sooner or later. You are sure that he will. He’s feeling indebted. And attached. You’re too. You dread the day, and tomorrow’s goodbye if it actually comes.

You have to admit it: This propelled you into a gigantic mess. You already felt your heart burst when Taehyung knocked. You have to guard Jungkook from a greater fuck-up, come what may.

With the entire government of Busan or even Seoul against you when your secret ever goes public. Because they want to keep it on the low, too, and would stop at nothing. You did not go against the law but social customs and conservative morale, and those are by far more powerful.

You rip off your blouse and pants and toss them on the balcony. Your tank top is hardly suitable for the temperature, but the pool water is slightly warmer as you get in slowly. The chlorine has faded. The first good news for today.

Diving down, Jungkook appears curled up in the deepest, darkest corner, holding his hair together so it won’t float up and betray him. Most of the fright on his face dissolves when you give an intent thumbs up. These mermen understand so much about your culture. You cannot let go of this thought. How could he know?

Swimming closer, you seize him by the hands, nodding your head toward the surface. He pulls you up with ease, fast and agile. Emerging, you have to draw several breaths. He looks around frantically. You hope this didn’t traumatize him.

“It was my neighbour friend asking for art supplies. He left and didn’t see anything. Nobody else around. We’re good. Jungkook, it’s alright. It was just a friend.”

It’s Sunday, thankfully.

“I was so afraid… There was a vision, I was bleeding!”

“It’s okay now. There’s no blood. I protect you, nothing will happen.”

It’s of no use. He can’t stop looking around. Jungkook needs something to ground him.

A little kiss on the forehead.

It makes his cheeks turn cobalt blue. You feel how his tail sways back and forth a bit quicker. You part your legs wider so they won’t crush his fin in between.

“I will handle it. If I can pull you out of the mud, then I can subdue them when they ever show up. You just have to hide. Jungkook.”

It’s self-persuasion and hoping for a self-fulfilling prophecy. But you’re beaming at him, and his smile grows just as large.

“Y/N, you’re very strong. I wouldn’t know where I’d be without your help. You hardly knew me, just my kin.”

“So did you. But you didn’t freak out when you were awake.”

He nods emphatically.

“I felt your hands on my gills. It was very nice. Like waves. I knew you were benevolent, you resemble the sea when you move. No bad person does this. Can you… again? Only if you want, I—”

What he said stuns you for seconds. Your hands move to his upper body on autopilot.

“Like, like this?”

Jungkook sighs a mellowed yes when you start to stimulate his sides. His gills are much more relaxed than at the beach. After some strokes, you’re leaning in so much that his arms virtually just have to close an inch around you for an embrace.

He clings to you in a tight hug, your lips coming up to meet his. Whatever magic or trick he is using, they feel curiously sparkling and slightly saline after a while. It’s magnificent. Meanwhile, your breasts are squeezed flat against his chest, feeling how Jungkook’s heartbeat accelerates. Much like his fin that’s bringing more of his tail between your legs. You pull them upwards a bit, but inevitably he brushes against your pubes. You thought it would be awkward. But something about his body infatuates your skin like an ancient charm.

“Apologies Y/N, I didn’t mean to!”

“Don’t be sorry. Just, fuck… do it again. Feels awesome. You can be yourself with me.”

He understands, bringing his tail stark forward this time. Shit. Your clit says yes to that. So does your face judging by how he reacts, a lot keener than before.

“Jungkook, I have a weird question, too,” you brush back against him, “Is it possible, I mean. Can you penetrate me somehow, or…?”

He’s blushing a second time.

“I can peel the scales apart at the front.”

And he does it.

Oh wow.

He has the most gorgeous shaft you’ve ever seen. Clad in lustrous, thin scales sprouts forth a splendid length tinted in jade. It sojourns hard and upright, poking heavy at your clit and entrance only separated by your underwear.

“You can’t impregnate me, right?”

“I can’t. Human egg cells are too small and not receptive.”

That has you wondering, and quite amused how he said that. It means something big is coming. Sounds like fun.

“Can I ride you then?”

“You can do anything, really.”

It can’t get any hotter. Thankfully, you’re half undressed already. The panties you had left on soon float elsewhere just below the surface, and you’re shoving up the hem of your tank top. His chest feels ten times as invigorating when you’re naked against it. There’s hesitation when you reach for his cock. You don’t want to do anything wrong to hurt him. But Jungkook is encouraging the initiative. And the way he’s dipping at you flicks a plethora of switches. So it’s easy. You slip him in and start to move your hips. Soon you realize it’s a bit difficult to go down further.

“Can I use a spell? It helps.” he exhales. You knew it, he has those abilities.

“Mh, love to see it.”

There he goes. You catch Jungkook whispering a convoluted spell to himself before your walls pop open without further trial. He’s dipping in first, then going half the way already. That’s not normal at all. He knows what he’s doing, though. It’s so, so damn good.

Jungkook is completely ecstatic.

Your experience so far has been that sex in water generally… doesn’t go well. No lubrication, no fucking. But no, this has to be the best exception. The practically seamless scales, they’re really doing the trick. The plunge is slick and exciting, going in clean with every bounce. And there’s a quite a stunning lot to slide up and down on, that you get to welcome soon. He’s getting confident to echo the thrust with eyes fixated on yours.

“Give me more of that,” you insist, leaving both legs wrapped around his wavering tail. It’s almost too slippery to hold on to. But good to sink down smoothly while squeezing deeper inside. You’re pushed upwards the more he fucks into you. His tip is broad enough to anchor you, not letting you glide off easily. But you’re dangerous close to it. So you’re letting yourself drop down on him with more momentum which he has to cushion first, causing your belly to bulge out considerably. You’re obsessed.

“Lift my legs more, Jungkook!”

Like that, the insides of your thighs graze at his gills, abrasive and brisk. To your surprise, it eventuates in sharper thrusts going for your sweetest spots. The depth that he pursues now starts to stretch you hard and wide on the glossy scales. Jungkook keeps murmuring spells. If this goes on for any longer, that’s a cock riding that would send not only you but Taehyung and the entire neighborhood to the gates of heaven and higher.

You keep shoving him straight up to dent out your abdomen, and he’s making it so salacious with his little moans. When you’re grabbing for hold at his shoulders, Jungkook warns you about his precum. Indeed it’s not to underestimate when you feel it, making everything two times as sleek. You slump down completely now, surprised not to feel any trace of balls against your ass.

Different anatomy.

Normal men need cooling for their sperm outside of their body, otherwise they would not survive. Jungkook? He’s got something else going on. Busan’s sea is not notoriously warm.

“Intertwine your fingers in my hair, Y/N—”

“What? Can I really do that?”

It sounds like heresy to your ears.

“It’ll stimulate you, do it quickly,” he persists, and your fingers seek a place in his silky mane. And Christ, he’s right. There’s a rapid sedation of the anxious thoughts at the back of your mind. Instead, you’re feeling an immense euphoria descend from your spine down to your loins. Jungkook whimpers while you’re drilling him deeper with all your power. Slowly but surely, you lose yourself in his dazzling ocean hair. You’re so happy now. Nothing matters. Just you together within the blur of everything else.

Fuck society. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.

Jungkook’s moans have grown incomprehensible. Both of your hands soak up more of the sky blue energy. And once you grab the strands tighter, an overwhelming current verberates in your back until you’re ready and cumming. The world is so elated, nothing can bring your hands away from his hair. It’s pushing you to the limit incessantly. Better than any drug trip, better than the feeling after you ran your second marathon. You’re climaxing so vigorously on him that twenty seconds in, something effervescent and tingly begins to pour into your womb like a bursting well. His unearthly groaning gives you an idea of how much it shatters and empties him. You get filled to the brim and it won’t stop. Of course, he’s significantly larger than the average human — much semen to store then, by your logic at least. You do get a glimpse of the proportions as Jungkook keeps cramming loads and loads past your cervix while your orgasm keeps electrifying even the last corner of your body.

The well won’t cease. He keeps moving until you’re entirely pumped full with an all creamy, tickling substance. You try to keep everything in not to leak it into the water. But it’s too much. With each of his last thrusts, the bulk of it just comes spilling out. A shimmering, dark cyan liquid rises to the surface in gradient plumes, mixed with streaks of your cum. It looks like fluid shapes of orchids showing as a supple iridescent foam.

And it turns golden.

The scent gives you a feeling of the hours after rain in spring. Jungkook picks up a decent bit of the foam with two fingers, slipping them into his mouth. He leans in to kiss you again as you reach the aftermath of your peak that threatens to leave you bland. But what happens now makes you tighten around his dick once again, seizing out more to splutter inside.

On your tongue unfold an explosion of jasmine blended with peppermint, thyme, fresh raspberries, wild honey, and even something like caramel. There was no way you would have been prepared for this. You had expected something like a sea breeze, but this beats all that you could imagine. Because beyond approximation, you can’t really describe what it is like.

You swallow fast and retreat one hand from his hair to pick up something yourself. This is the best thing you’ve ever tasted. It can’t be called an actual thing, in fact, it’s more than that. It has to be an artifact. A magic potion that you want to bottle up and drink all day, sweet and glowing.

It’s like alchemy.

And you’re so deliciously stuffed with that now.

Before you pull him out, all the negative pressure culminates. Then, the rest of his seed bubbles up placidly. The gaping feels like you just jammed a baseball bat inside of yourself, reckless abandon with a Himalaya of premium coke up your nose. Complete inebriation.

Water streams in and flushes out the final strands of cyan when his following spells seal you tight. Jungkook holds you firm until you detangle his hair with your remaining hand, then place it on his cheek. If there were mermaids out there, they’d be the luckiest women on the entire planet.

“Kook”, you whisper with an unwinding tremble, “you’re amazing.”

Anchoring an old khaki tent next to the pool takes some time, but you remember something about the manual. This goes here, that goes there, and this is how you zip up a sleeping bag. Jungkook giggles along. You can’t afford to sleep inside tonight. You only move your blouse to the safety of your wardrobe and get a snack, switch on the lights of the balcony to illuminate the garden for the rest of the evening. He’s singing for you.

The next day is grueling because you have to go to work. But before leaving, you relocate Jungkook to the bathtub as fast as possible, leaving him your phone with a short explanation so he can call you and vice versa. The anxiety comes back.

He gets lighthearted leisure magazines and books to spend the time, and devours them. History, art, fashion, beauty, celebrities, health, sports, food, philosophy, fantasy, comedy. He also asks for a globe and celestial map, saying his uncle vaguely told him about it. Maybe it’s good that he knows a bit more about the mainland when he returns. You don’t want to let him go with the same ideas he had before, give him a bit of faith in the good things you had here. The other side of the coin, even if it was just a glimpse of hope.

Though you didn’t expect him to return to your mansion in any way. Humanity is already terrifying enough. Especially after his loss. This should not happen again. You decide to leave him your trusted chef knife and a word of caution. He doesn’t know how to use it so you teach him the technique. He says he wouldn’t be any better than his attackers if there were some. You try to clarify that it’s the way humans act sometimes. Tit for tat. And he has all the right and responsibility to defend himself under threat, otherwise, he would never be able to see the stars again.

At 10 am you give him a short call. He’s fine, quite mesmerized how the phone works, and just a bit hungry. You decide not to spend lunchtime in the city, but speed your car to a local supermarket and deli, looking for seaweed. Returning home Jungkook is still in his place, having managed to drop Terry Pratchett and J. K. Rowling into the water. But all else is as before. In the afternoon, you call him twice. He talks about the invention of the lightbulb, pasta salad, Kant, and how nicely Tolkien writes about Hobbits. Work passes torturously slow, the keyboard in front of you blurs each time your mind drifts away. You go home early, leaving your subordinates Jimin and Seokjin a bit puzzled at a shallow excuse. If only they knew.

It’s way after dawn when you move him out of the bathroom. Jungkook gets the idea that you could just use a wheelbarrow this time, knowing you own one after having had enough hours to glance around your garden already. You fill a bit of water into it and pick boots with a sturdy profile. And it works, the leverage is much better on the arms. You arrive at the beach laughing and joking together how silly of a duo you must look like. Jungkook has already given his word to come back in two days around the same time.

The tide is close enough for you to take him to the water. He parts reluctantly with five, six, seven sublime kisses. You hope he wasn’t missed by his family. Busan’s nocturnal skyline radiates from afar when you watch him swim east ever so elegantly.

It’s hard to find any sleep later. Your arms still ache like hell from dragging him. And so many things are going through your head. You end up outside in the tent after taking a quick shower, pretending he’s still there. Jungkook has last started a chapter from the Chronicles of Narnia, and you put yourself in a tired daze finishing it. Work tomorrow is going to be so hard.

Jimin asks if you’re okay while he organizes some files, but doesn’t comment anything further. You resume typing with the feeling that you are now leading a double life. Taehyung’s words come back: Slow down, slow down. And you do. Wednesday you will see him at the bay, everything is alright. Who knows what you will do afterwards, how often you will meet. Maybe it’s good not to make him cross into dangerous territory regularly, or at least you should look for more hidden places. You’ll make it.

Two days after, you receive an early mail. You’re drowsy but startled, Taehyung and Jin haven’t sent anything for months. It has to be one of them.

It’s only a red envelope and some strangely filled paper bag. You peel open the red letter first.

It was made with a typewriter.

“A million and you get the fish back whole. He has a nice buzzcut already. Friday 1 pm, quay. Pull up with the money or you’ll see him on the news. Tell anybody and we will do the same to you.”

Below, the paper is embossed with a saw and hook symbol.

You drop the bag as soon as you open it.

There are hundreds of tiny pearls on the floor.

chapter two ║ i’m no angel (m)

↳ summary | who do you have to become to get him back?

⚠️ graphic violence, threat of drowning, car accident, aftermath of torture.

There’s an old cage.

Bars bent and crooked.

Not abandoned, just empty since this very day. You know he must have been inside, nothing else makes sense. The lingering smell around here, it belongs to him. The air is spiked with thyme, the scent of grass after it rained. It’s familiar. It’s so painful. You go on searching every corner of the hangar in a fever. It looks like a warehouse from the inside, stuffed with tools and other miscellaneous equipment.

Some wood, nails. Discarded tires. You’ve seen some of them on the SUV you followed to Busan city limits. You try to memorize the letters and numbers on them. AZ1-5986. Whatever that means. It could be of help later since you don’t know the SUV’s license plate.

As you remember that it’d be straightforward to just photograph the tires with your phone, a faint knocking sets your world on fire. It keeps repeating, they are fast and erratic knocks. Not mechanical ones. Not calm ones.

You hurry into the direction where you suspect they are coming from. There’s no doubt in your mind that you should not go. It’s the only sign of life, or whatever it is in this building. Somewhere, somewhere at the back behind two parked up seaplanes, timeworn and half deconstructed, there you locate it. A moss-covered fish tank is jammed between a humongous workbench and a freezer. A tail rests and winds grazing tight against the glass inside. Oh my god.

Yes, it’s him. You unbolt the lid, bring it down crashing on the freezer. Jungkook spins around inside the tank until his face comes to the surface. Pale grey eyes. Charcoal hair, cropped short. Pursed lips and a tapered chin. An Ingenue look. He’s agitated.

“I’ve heard you calling for him, you’re the one Jungkook’s talked about!”

No. It’s not Jungkook. Not his voice, not his face. Too lean, not sturdy at all. It’s definitely not him. His scent is much different, too. Sweet chestnuts, basil. It’s not familiar.

“Who are you, where is he?”

“Yoongi,” the merman blinks, “I’m his friend. They got us both at once at the beach.”

That’s what you feared. Jungkook’s friends and family getting dragged into this. You wish you had just sent him out as far away as possible where the hunters wouldn’t get him.

“I’m his—”

You don’t know what you are to him. A girlfriend? Hardly. An affair? More than that. It sounds weird anyway. Affairs are not that serious.

“He loves you.”

There it is. Jungkook told him. Lovers might be what describes you best.

“Where is he?”

“They’ve taken him to another place from here this morning. This is just the decoy. They told you to follow the car and fetch him here after paying.”

“They did. And now?”

“These are not the headquarters,” Yoongi props himself up at the edge of the tank. “The shipyard is. You have to go there!”

Of course. This hangar is as good as useless for a permanent stay. It’s just for the dirty work.

“And what happens with you? I won’t leave you here like that. But I can’t transport you in my car, there’s nothing like this tank.”

“It takes half an hour until I can’t go without any water. If you drop me at the sea it’s fine.”

“So I can take you with me?”

“I’ll be grateful forever. Jungkook didn’t lie about how you treat us.”

You steer your car into the hangar backwards, get out again with the engine on, rip the trunk open. The size has to be enough.

The high walls of the fish tank don’t permit you to lift Yoongi out of it. He tries to push himself up with the help of his fin several times, but he’s too large, the glass to slippery, and the tank too narrow. As a last resort, you grab a sledgehammer from the workbench to impact and shatter the glass. The handle is long, maybe 17 or 18 inches, allowing you to step back and lunge quite far. The glass doesn’t break right away. You are not used to wielding something like this. It takes three more strikes until you demolish the front wall. You have to be careful not to hit where Yoongi’s tail squeezes against the glass.

The gush of water Yoongi pushes you back, everything goes into splinters with fragments of glass bursting to the sides, then floating everywhere on the ground. Yoongi cuts himself several times at the arms and lower back before you can pick him up. His chest is flat and cold against yours, his body heavy and close to glide far from your grasp. Less so than Jungkook, but still it feels like the weight is tearing off your arms. His skin is like you’re touching soap.

There’s no sailing cloth or Taehyung’s art supplies this time. You try to heave him up as much as possible so his fin won’t touch the ground, glass cracking under your boots until you reach the car. Yoongi howls with pain when you try to tuck him in. His wounds scratch hard at the trunk’s plastic inlet. You show him how to open and close the tailgate from the inside, then shut it and set off.

It takes ten minutes to the bay.

The boatyard towers over the cranes and docks of the harbor. You speed in order to drive around. And there it is. AZ1-5986. They didn’t park the car inside, no. It stands blazen at the rear entrance. And they met you at 1 PM in the middle of the day. You’ve been tricked by absolute amateurs.

Or not.

There’s a scream coming from the inside. Sharp, heartbreaking.

No time to bring Yoongi to the sea.

You seize the sledgehammer from the passenger seat. And go.

You recognize them at one glance. It’s the small man and red-head woman you saw driving the SUV, the woman being the one you gave the ransom to. She gave cold instructions. The man is currently wearing large gloves, dripping with water. To your surprise, they seem to be alone. The vast silence of the dockyard seems too large to house them here. The woman sneers at you, patting the front of her black leather jacket.

“Your envelope’s still right here, Miss.”

“It will be here soon,” you point towards your own jeans pocket at the front.

She only tugs at her necklace in return. It’s made of colorful hair. Gold, turquoise. Teal and silver. You realized something. Only one thing drives them: cash. And since the government still wants the monopoly in the equation, that will be their eternal aim. Hunters are only tolerated for doing the messy jobs. The profiteer is elsewhere. And with the sums that they trade the mermen, your ransom money is only a temporary achievement, gone tomorrow. It’s not what Jungkook is worth to you anyways. Money can’t measure Jungkook. If only you could hold him.

What your instinct tells you at the sight of the hair is: Killing. No matter if it would alert authorities sooner or later, or bring a gang to your garden. But Jungkook’s words are still at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’d be ready to be just as bad as they are. Maybe you’re no angel in all of this. You’ve infringed on the circle of life the minute you decided to pour water on Jungkook’s body at the beach. But there’s no way back. You have to be as bad, even worse. For him.

Because there he lies, in a giant tank with another merman with orange tail and skin. It’s close enough to see what’s inside. Pearls are piling up at the ground, and well from his eyes when they lock on you. His hair looks auburn, the long vivid strands are gone. They picked a lot of scales off his tail, too, leaving bloody spots. All the jewelry is nowhere to be seen. Instead, a heavy chain is wound secure around him several times, weighing his body to the ground. The other merman doesn’t have a chain. His scales and hair are removed entirely. They sawed one of his arms off, too. If you can judge by his face, the decaying process has already started. He’s been here for longer.

Your anger is boiling up. The woman’s shallow smile pushes you over the edge at last. She pulls out a soiled drop point knife. You hate her so much. This place has to be wiped out. Erased, cauterized. The entire gang if you have to. You charge gripping the hammer at the top with the right hand, at the bottom with your heft. Before you reach her, the man is wrapping his hands around your neck from behind, pulling you back from her.

One foot, two feet, three. You can’t breathe, panic. The feeling of his gloves is terrifying on your skin, in your mind. But the thought of Jungkook burns inside. Again you focus all energy in your arms. Finally. He takes your elbow to the stomach, cries out, and topples down. Before the man catches himself, you follow your impulse. It’s good that he dragged you away. This is the only chance. You withdraw your right hand from the handle and take a long swing back with all the might in your left arm. You hurl the hammer forward and send it flying towards her legs. The spin knocks her over right away. This tree got cut down. If you could, you’d make wood briquettes. But not now.

He’s coming at you again. Now that she’s unconscious, your job is easy even if your hammer is gone. Men have more frontal weak spots to hit.

He has his gloved fists up. Going towards you slowly. First he tries to suffocate you, now he’s playing fair, doesn’t he. You’ll floor him faster than her. Suits him, he’s the minion. The prick probably sawed apart Jungkook’s brother.

You wait until he comes close enough, put your fists up in return. Shit, shit, shit. Your arms hurt so much. You play the game despite the ache, dancing from foot to foot as he comes in. Then boot nasty fucker in the groin aimed from below, explosive and direct. He stumbles backward with a yell, falling agonized and twitching. You dive after him, leg extended to land a second kick under his chin. His head snaps back. That beats him senseless for once.

But you worry about Yoongi. The trunk. He’s still in there. Since twenty minutes or more. And even if he knows how to get out of there, it’s of no use. He can’t go anywhere. This has to be fast. At the other end of the scene, you pull the envelope from the woman’s jacket, along with a metal key and her necklace. She doesn’t deserve it.

You hurry to Jungkook, hammer all too heavy in your hands again. At one point, your arms are going to fall off your torso. But now you know better. You dash the tank to pieces in one final hurl towards the right spot, entirely graceless but effective. The water swipes you off your feet in a large outpour. Exhaustion is coming.

The splinters are much larger this time and the float glass appears to almost detonate under the pressure released. Jungkook is too heavy to get carried off by the surge. He lands just feet away next to you crying, repeating your name until you manage to stand up leaving the hammer behind.

“I missed you, Jungkook, what—”

“You, you came,” he winces, “are you fine?”

“Don’t ask about me,” you fumble at the lock of his chain, “we’ll get this off, talk is for later.”

“It hurts.”

He’s looking at you from dulled eyes. They might have put him into water, but the life is still drained out of him. You don’t want to imagine what happened. They bound the chain around him so tight that it left purple traces. After it’s off, you already know what to do with it. Jungkook picks an orange scale from his dead friend in the debris, whispering a last goodbye.

The thirty minutes are long over. The trunk is closed when you come out of the backdoor with Jungkook.

You open to a smiling Yoongi the second he sees you and Jungkook in your arms.

“Yoongi, you okay? Left you waiting.”

“Sure, but you?” he ruffles his hair a bit. You blink twice, seeing that it has grown a bit longer and darker since you saw it in the hangar. You noticed that with Jungkook as well, but didn’t put two and two together, or actually believed your own eyes. It must be magic at work. Or different physics.

At a second glance, there’s a decent layer of water in the trunk.

“Yes, they’re in chains. Where does the water come from?”

“You had several bottles of sparkling water in the corner. I like how it tingles, we don’t have that out there. My wounds... it seems they regenerate.”

Of course! The water. You bought it when getting groceries for Jungkook.

“And what do we do with the two?”

“We could take them out with us. But they’re affiliates, they all know about each other.”

“I’ll decide later by myself,” you guide Jungkook onto the rear bench seat. “We need to go...”

You kickstart the car, turn to head for the one-way lane to the docks. As close as your car permits, you maneuver toward the edge where water towers high. The tide is in favor. But there’s commotion at the end of the street where you came from. It’s a truck.

“Hurry!” Jungkook cries, “That’s the rest of them!”

You can’t drive away with them now. If you’re able to drop both off, then you’re already lucky. You drive closer to the water, preparing to unlock the car with your electric key so Yoongi gets the sign to open the trunk. But you soon feel that the car gets out of balance. You look into the rear-view mirror, estimating how much you could still drive backward, or forward. But it’s futile.

The weight in the back drags the car over the edge. You’re screaming. Jungkook tries to counterbalance. The car tips over anyways. It enters the water.

The door won’t open. Water keeps rising. The signal of the keys won’t unlock the car no matter how many times you press the button. Jungkook can’t manage to open the doors either, his strength has faded. The water level has almost reached the ceiling when he stops trying. You’re so far down and out of air, even if you managed to escape now diving upward would make you run out of air already. Maybe a few seconds left and you can say goodbye to this life. You can’t tell Jungkook how much you love him. It’s all too late. Everything, absolutely everything went wrong. Only failure remains. Fucked up from start to finish. Four lives ruined, two dead. You feel a thumping at the back of your head.

Jungkook intertwines his fingers with your hair from behind, whispering something between bubbles before you can’t hear anymore. An immense heat glues your legs together in an instant, melting the fabric of your jeans. A rousing bolt darts through your scalp, your feet stop moving. It feels like your body is bloating everywhere, soaking up water. Webbing springs forth between your fingers, fiery scales around your hips. Your hair starts growing out scarlet and thick, curling large before your eyes. The sides of your upper body start to open up wide, then close again. A burst of air expands in your lungs.

Now you know why Jungkook knew so much about civilized life.

Merpeople used to be human.

⁕ sequel: dauntless (m) | m.list in bio

2K notes · View notes

ellaofoakhill · 3 years

Text

Oak and Stone, Part Three

“I’m sorry.”

Ella glanced at Meline. For the first time that night, she seemed downcast. “Whatever for?”

Meline glanced up at her. “Tonight was supposed to be a lovely time for you. And you had to remember something horrible from your past.”

Ella gave Meline’s elbow a squeeze. “You couldn’t have known I’d encountered a dragon. They don’t wander onto Fey often.”

“Still…” Meline’s head flopped against Ella’s shoulder. Ella took one finger, poked the side of Meline’s head, and propped it up. When it started to fall over again, Ella leaned with it, so they both almost fell over. A weak smile turned up the corners of Meline’s mouth.

“You’ve shown me a world I never knew existed,” Ella said. As they stood there, music started playing down the street. Ella swept her arm up and around, and offered a hand to Meline. “Care to dance?” Some colour returned to Meline’s cheeks. She took the offered hand, and Ella settled her other on Meline’s waist.

In the warm night air, as fey and drakles and creatures strolled by, they danced. Ella was confident Meline could dance better than her, by the way her feet pranced over the cobbles.

A few others joined in, and then a few more. Soon the whole street was full of dancing and laughing. The light of the stars and fireflies glittered in the jewels in Meline’s hair.

The music eventually ended. The crowd clapped and cheered, and tossed coins and shells to the band. Ella and Meline both made sure a few found their way into the hat of the drakle who had so skillfully played the lute.

“There’s one last place I’d like to show you,” Meline said. The spark was back in her eye.

“Lead on,” Ella said.

The path they took turned and twisted through the streets. They were back along the waterfront. There were fewer ships and more boats here. Taverns and pubs crowded the way, as did their boisterous patrons. Sea shanties floated over the water.

“Are we going to a bar?”

Meline gave her a baffled look. “Oh. No, my favourite bookshop’s just up the way. It has some books I thought you might like.”

“It’s in the middle of all this?”

“The shop was here long before the taverns.”

“Does it have any history books?”

“Of course.”

Ella raised her eyebrows. “Geography?”

“At least one whole shelf of atlases.”

Ella hardly dared to hope. “Any p… poetry?”

“It wouldn’t be a bookshop if it didn’t.”

Ella suppressed a squeal. “Let’s go!”

There was indeed a shop of blue-grey stone with a slate roof a block from the water. Ella suspected the architect of a certain quirkiness, as the building was in the shape of a tower with four floors.

Every single window was dark.

Meline snapped her fingers. “Mr. Oldview’s usually grabbing lunch about now! He’s usually at… the Wobbly Swallow? It’s back the way we came, let’s go grab him.”

Ella was having a hard time keeping up with her. “Should we bother him while he’s eating?”

“He’s never minded before,” Meline said. “For a fellow bookworm, he’d honk the Fey Queen’s nose.” Ella could not imagine the motivation that would compel her to honk said nose.

They arrived outside a tavern with a sign depicting a swallow flying maneuvers that could generously be described as loops. It was one of the louder establishments on the waterfront.

“Would you like to wait out here?” Meline said. “I should only be a minute.”

“I’ll be along the wharf.” As Meline stepped inside Ella walked out onto the docks. A four-masted ship was anchored at the end of the pier.

The harbour was actually a strait, separating one seamount from the other. Ella found the two moons in the sky just then—one blue, one red—different, and there was more purple in the sky than she was used to. But the seashore night had the same hush, and the waves were comforting as they buffeted against stone. Even the shanties added to the quiet, rising and falling on the tide.

“Can we help ya dere, b’ye?” Ella turned around. A quartet of sailors were rolling up the dock toward her.

“Just taking the night air,” Ella said.

“Ah, well, noo,” the speaker, a squat hedgehog with a red vest and a headband tying back his spines, “This ‘ere’s our ship, an’ we don’ take kindly t’ any old fool gittin’ too near ’n’ dear wi’ her, see?” His fellow sailors, a drakle, a squirrel, and a rat, were all chuckles.

Ella raised her hands. “Shall I find another pier, then?”

“Aye, be off wi’ ye,” the hedgehog said, swaggering more with every word for no particular reason. Ella was almost past them when the squirrel spoke. “Wait.”

Ella stopped, and turned around. “Do you need something?”

“Fer all we know, you coulda been aboard aready and swiped awr swag.” She puffed up. “We just made port, see, and haven’t unloaded at market yet.”

“Do you not lock up your hold?” Ella looked from one to another. “Or keep a sentry on the boat to guard your valuables?”

They went a bit slack-jawed as Ella posed these complicated questions. The drakle spoke in a violent-sounding tongue.

“I think Cap’n does lock the lower hold when we tuck in. Yer right, Scrafty,” the rat said. She sounded the soberest of the four.

“I’ll tell you what, then,” Ella said, taking a seat on a coil of rope. “How about I sit here with three of you, and the fourth checks the hold and makes sure nothing’s been taken?”

“Oi’ll go,” the hedgehog said, fixing Ella with a beady black eye. He swaggered up the gangplank. There was a click, and a thunk of wood on wood, a muffled curse, and the sound of claws clicking on stairs fading into the ship.

“How long have you all been sailing together?” Ella asked.

“’Bout six months, now,” the rat said. Ella was fairly sure the caution in her manner was due more to Ella being a stranger than anything.

“Shh!” the squirrel said. “This ‘un might be a thief, Shara. She is a metal fairy, after all.”

Ella decided not to take offense. “Do we have a reputation?”

The squirrel shrugged. “Metal fairies like metal. ‘m I wrong?”

“We do,” Ella said. “We usually like to work metal, though.” She looked at Scrafty. “Do you know Arthur Bronzemonger? I just met him tonight, and I dare say he might be better than I am.”

“You know Bronzemonger?” the rat, Shara, said. The respect in her voice bordered on reverence.

“As does half of Nidd,” the squirrel said, “You’ll have to do better than—”

“Kelly, yer lamp!” the hedgehog thundered down the gangplank, almost falling as he came. “Yer lamp’s nicked!”

Ella sighed under her breath. She gathered her legs under her ever so slightly as the group turned to her.

“That lamp,” Kelly said, running a hand through her bushy tail, “was willed me by my late great aunt. It was bronze with a gorgeous niello and onyx inlay, and I dare say would fetch a fine price.”

“You may search my things to your heart’s content,” Ella said, “but you won’t find your lamp on me.”

“Lads,” Shara said, “when was the last time you heard of anyone callin’ a fairy a thief and things goin’ well for ‘em?”

“Shut it!” the hedgehog said, smacking one fist into the other. “Oi been spoilin fer a jaw-knocker all night, an Oi ain’ afraid ah no greedy fairy!”

No knives, Ella thought to herself as she rose. At least not yet. She raised her hands, and decided kicking the coil of rope at them and running might be her best move.

“What is going on here?” The dock suddenly grew much brighter. Ella lifted her eyes, and thought she saw a dozen fireflies clustered together. They sounded an awful lot like Meline.

As she came closer, the bright orange lights turned out to be the gems in her hair. There was also one in her hand. The four sailors stepped out from between the two fairies.

“Ah, Ella,” she said, relief plain on her face. “I wondered where you’d gotten to.”

“Just enjoying the night, Meline. Did you find—”

“M-Me-Me-Meline?” The hedgehog’s voice rose a few octaves.

“Of Wild Rose, yes,” Meline said. Was her voice a shade sweeter than normal?

“Oh! How about that, lads!” Shara had a foot on the gangplank, “the Wild Rose!”

Ella believed, under their fur and scales, they’d all blanched. The hedgehog, all too eager to get as far from Ella as he could, backpedalled and flopped over the coil of ropes. Two things happened at that moment. First, Meline’s gems flashed like lightning. Then, as he thumped against the ropes, there was a second thump as something flew out of the hedgehog’s vest.

Meline stepped forward. No one else moved; none of the sailors so much as breathed. Meline walked past the hedgehog, and picked up the fallen object. She stood, regarding it for a moment. Then she turned around.

“This is a beautiful lamp,” she said. Her voice was definitely sweeter. “The niello stands out so vividly against the bronze, and… is this onyx?”

Four heads, Ella’s included, looked at the lamp, and then the hedgehog. He looked like he wanted to gulp, but just couldn’t summon the courage.

She set the lamp in the hedgehog’s hand. “You should take better care of your things. This deserves a special place in your cabin, not a dirty pocket. Wouldn’t you say?”

The hedgehog nodded so vigorously his neck cracked.

“I was just going to finish a quiet evening with my guest,” she patted him on the shoulder, “so if you’ll excuse us, we must be going.” She got up, curtsied more prettily than Ella had yet seen, and walked back up the pier. She stopped, offering Ella her arm, and a most coquette smile.

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” Meline said as they passed the door to the Wobbly Swallow. The last of the glow was fading from her gems. “Mr. Oldview’s at the shop opening up for us.”

“Oh, that was nice of him.” A moment’s pause. “Meline—”

“Stories get blown out of proportion sometimes.” She grinned. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Ella laughed.

It had been a while since Ella had bought so many books. Two atlases of Nidd, a bestiary, and volumes 1, 2, and 3 of a Fey translation of Coalheap’s Compendium of Niddling Poetics. She was unapologetically skipping back up the mountain.

“So,” Meline said as they crested the slope—she had a several volumes of storied drawings— “did you enjoy yourself?”

“Immensely,” Ella replied. “I shall have to visit Art a few times. Maybe trade secrets with him.”

Meline chuckled. “Glad I could make that connection.”

Ella sensed a different quality to the quiet between them as they passed through the undergrowth.

“Enjoy your visit?” Jasper said as they approached the stone. Meline nodded.

“It’s a whole new world out there,” Ella said with a smile.

“Never heard that one before,” Jasper said. The fly tied to his wrist buzzed about them, then settled back down. “Seems all’s in order. If you’ll step on the platform.”

Once again Jasper tapped the platform with his staff, the platform blazed with light, Ella felt weightless, and then she was back on the ground.

The air smelled of long grass and earth. There was no salt in the air. And the sky was its familiar blue.

“We’re home.” Meline sounded almost disappointed.

Ella fell in step beside her. “Are you alright?” she asked as they walked out from among the cairns.

“Oh. Yeah,” Meline looked toward her house, and then to the yard. “I suppose we’re even now.” She curtsied; even that was lacklustre.

Ella thought a moment. “You know, I don’t believe ‘even’ is the right word.” Meline looked up. “I think we’re friends.”

Ella hadn’t stopped to watch a flower bloom in a thousand years.

“Shall I send Coarser around sometime, and give you a proper tour of Oakhill?” The words were out before Ella realized she’d said them. She did not regret it.

Meline’s cheeks darkened. “Y-yes.” She curtsied again, a lively thing. “Of course. That’d be nice. Well,” she fidgeted with one of her gems, “until we meet again.”

Ella was about to step forward, but Meline already had her hand, and kissed it. “Until we meet again,” Ella said, a bit stupefied.

As she walked home, Ella said to herself, “I shall have to clean the hall.”

#the fairy tales of ella and meline #tftem #oak and stone part 3 #chapter 8 #my original work #fantasy #lgbtq+#fairies #iyashikei #healing #fairy tales #romance #all ages #fey #fae #magic #family #strong female protagonists #backyard fantasy

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shewhowantsmouseears · 7 years

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The Son Of Scheherazade, 1

Notes: As always, big thanks to my wonderful editors Drucilla and Blueshifted - who helped with Pete's evil motivations and taught me the word Sultana!

This is a project I've held on dearly for years,so I hope you all enjoy it! Like all my previous works where Mickey has folks, his parents are made up characters, so imagine away! Do you think you know the story of Scheherazade? Not to mention all the other mysteries I'm going to pepper throughout this sandy tale...

For the curious, the Sultan's name means "Heart-broken" , Pete's last name means "Cat", and the Kingdom's name is "Mouse" in Arabic! Thank you, google translations!

Story Summary: In another Disney AU twist of tales, Prince Mickey is the son of the most famous storyteller in the world. But when his beloved parents are kidnapped by dark forces, he'll learn that not all fables are falsehoods, and it's time to begin his own story!

Chapter Summary: There was once a young prince who had more riches than he knew what to do with. But he did know he'd never be anything more than a reflection of his mother. Was there no one in the world who could see him for who, not what, he was?

Once upon a time – that's an odd way to start a story, isn't it? How do you decide where “once” took place? Is it when the action bursts forth? Is it when love enters the scene? That brings forth another question – if you're talking about someone else's story, where in their life do you pick up? Maybe it's just when their normal life was disrupted and the changes began. Yes, perhaps this will do. But who am I to define such qualifications?

Maybe you've heard of me. Maybe you haven't. It doesn't matter. The important thing is this is a story about a boy who took hold of his own destiny. I'd like to think sharing his epic journey will help those seeking their own place in life... or at the very least, bring entertainment to those who desire it. Isn't that the job of all good stories?

But in order to properly tell you this tale, it might be best if I start over. Let's skip that 'once upon a time' nonsense, and I promise to keep all bias out. This story begins one day before the boy's eighteenth birthday. That boy is prince Mickey of the Rao Kingdom.

~*~

On that morning, the day before he was to become an “official man”, as his father insisted, Mickey was awake before the sun was up. He wasn't feeling particularly lazy, but he was in no hurry to get up either. He stared at his ceiling, which was a large mural depicting several stories that his mother had told. He faintly remembered being a young child and being asked what stories he wanted shown up on the ceiling, and he had shouted “Sinbad, Sinbad, I wanna see Sinbad!”

So there was Sinbad, the famous sailor and hero fighting an array of villains – a monstrous kraken, undead creatures of the night, and rival pirates trying to steal his bounty. Treasure laid at his feet, and he was apparently saving some beautiful women from utmost disaster, his sword thrust out in his hand, a winning grin across his face. Every night before Mickey went to bed, his mother would come and tell him more stories of the sensational Sinbad, and Mickey would stare up at the ceiling, imagining that the painting was coming to life and acting out his mother's words. Tonight she'd do the same thing, and this made Mickey frown.

He was almost an official man, and official men didn't have their mommies telling them bedtime stories. It was time to grow up and leave the world of fairy tales behind. Mickey wasn't exactly sure how one did that, however – how you just snapped your fingers and went from being a child to a man. He didn't feel any different than he did a year ago or the year before that, and he doubted he would feel changed tomorrow. The only idea he could come up with was leaving the childish fantasies back in the past where they belonged. Maybe he could order the councilor, Pete Qut, to paint over it in white – no, black, black was the color of grown-ups! Sure, he would miss the painting, but he'd get over it, surely.

Maybe then Pete would show him actual respect – not the respect to a prince or the son of the world's most famous storyteller, but because he was Mickey. Just Mickey.

Traces of sunlight began to filter into the room, and Mickey slid out of bed. He needed to bathe and change before he could have breakfast with his parents, but first, as with many mornings, he went to the balcony and pushed aside the billowing curtains. From his room, he could see the furthest reaches of Rao, and spotted specks that he knew to be villagers ready to start their day.

He smiled as he watched them, enjoying the scene of a passing stranger assisting an elderly woman with her wagon. Children were running about before their elders would yank them to their classes. Warm greetings floated on the soft wind. Mickey loved the people here, and he loved all of Rao very deeply. It was often why he ran away from home to be among them, as he planned to do after breakfast.

After he bathed and put on his freshest robes, he walked out into the hallway, passing servants who bowed once they saw him.

“Good morning, son of Scheherazade.”

“Highest of blessings unto you, son of Scheherazade.”

“May tomorrow bring you nothing but joy, son of Scheherazade.”

“Good morning,” Mickey replied each time, his once strong smile weakening with every greeting. They meant no harm, but gosh that got annoying over seventeen years. Living in a gigantic palace that had almost ten servants to every room meant that every hour on the hour Mickey was constantly reminded of who he was and why he was so important to them – as if he needed to be reminded! There were days he nearly forgot his own name, he heard it so little.

With an inward sigh, he approached the dining hall, knocking on the big blue doors twice before walking inside. “Morning, everyone...” He braced himself, biting his lower lip.

“Good morning, son of Scheherazade!” A choir of no less than twenty servants replied, as well as the councilor. His parents had already started eating, and Pete was between them, going over notes on a flaky scroll. Mickey quickly walked to his chair, and as he passed each servant they continued to tell him the same things he'd heard year after year after year -

“Your new robes shall be finished by tomorrow, son of Scheherazade!”

“Shall we replace your linens? Yes, excellent, wise choice, son of Scheherazade!”

“We've prepared nothing but the best for your meals today, son of Scheherazade!”

Mickey was tempted to stick his fingers in his ears to try and drown it all out. He managed to climb into his chair and bowed his head respectfully to his parents. “So, uh,” he began a little nervously, unsure how to approach the subject in his head. “Tomorrow's the big day, is it?”

“Tomorrow?” his father mused, Sultan Muhtim Algalb of Rao – often shortened to just Al – stroking his long black beard. He was a tall man, tall in everything – long arms and legs, a long neck with a long face, and even his beard was long, reaching all the way down to his stomach. Mickey was the exact opposite – short in everything, with short arms and legs, short neck, short face, and any attempts to grow a beard were short-lived. “What's so special about tomorrow?” the Sultan joked, rapping his fingers on the table and turning to his wife. “Most beloved, can you think of anything that occurs tomorrow?”

“Nothing comes to mind, my sweetest,” Sultana Scheherazade was beautiful, with dark eyes that drew in all that looked at her, and wavy night-dark hair that rolled past her shoulders. Her every move was elegance, her every word a poem. Mickey remembered his mother once saying she had a face for stories – that her hair was like a curtain, pulling back for a stage, and her lips were the actors. The play today was “Teasing Our Boy”. “I wonder whatever he could be talking about, my sun on the brightest day.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, hoping this teasing wouldn't go on for too long – or the flirting. “Are you two ever going to stop acting like newlyweds?”

“It's easy to criticize when you don't understand!” Al laughed, reaching over to ruffle his head between Mickey's ears. Mickey was fond of the gesture but put on a pout – official men shouldn't enjoy snuggles from daddy. “One day, you'll find your special someone, and you'll moon over her the same way I moon over your mother!” Mickey doubted this, he hoped he'd sooner step in camel dung. Him giving lovey-dovey petnames to some woman – that'd be the day! But such comments would sound childish and he kept his mouth shut, allowing Al to laugh again and then slap Pete on the back. “Say, Pete! Would perhaps you know what's so special about tomorrow?”

Pete wasn't enjoying this back-and-forth any more than Mickey, although he had his own reasons. 'Councilor' was really only a title – no one needed to advise the wise Sultana, and the Sultan always took his advice from the Sultana, so in reality Pete was more of a bookkeeper and babysitter. He didn't want to be roped into the game, so he grumbled and checked something off his list. “It's the kid's birthday tomorrow, last time I checked. Now, as I was saying about these farmers-”

“I'm not a kid,” Mickey interrupted with a glare, but then fumbled. “I mean, I won't be, tomorrow! Tomorrow I'll be eighteen. Why, I'll be an adult!” He put his hands on his hips, hoping to instill some authority between him and Pete, but Pete just snorted.

“Your birthday!” Al threw his hands up with joy, smacking Pete in the face and ignoring the “OW!” that came with it.. “My son, my one and only son, now he's becoming a man!” Without any warning, he shoved his hands under Mickey's arm and lifted him up, and the Sultan danced around the long wooden table. “My son, the man! The Prince of Rao, one day soon to be Sultan of Rao!”

“Pa, put me down!” Adult men who were to one day be Sultans shouldn't be so easy to lift like rag dolls! “Ma, make him stop!”

Scheherazade had taken up a napkin and was dabbing the corners of her eyes. “No, it can't be already! Why, just yesterday you were in your swaddling clothes... and now, eighteen? I refuse to believe it!”

“Believe it, lady,” Pete growled quietly, rubbing his sore nose. “About these farmers-”

“But it's not just any birthday!” Al went on, putting Mickey down so that his son was standing on the table. “It is the birthday of the son of Scheherazade! This must be celebrated throughout the land! We will have a party that lasts all day and all night!”

“Ma... Please...” Mickey groaned, sitting down on the table, hoping to get some sense into this oddball conversation.

Scheherazade allowed herself a few more sniffles before standing up and lightly touching her husband on the shoulder. “Perhaps we should reel back, dearest. We can't throw an impromptu party whenever we feel like it... Our people need to work, they would all be quite upset if their busy days were suddenly interrupted.”

Al clicked his tongue to his cheek before nodding, reaching over to squeeze the hand on his shoulder. “As always, you see through the dark clouds of my foolishness. Whatever would I do without you, my earth and air, my life and wife?”

“You shall never know, my other half and reason to be.”

His lovesick parents were just about to kiss and Mickey was just about to gag when Pete thrust his scroll in between the smooch. “DO YOU MIND LISTENIN' FOR A COUPLE OF SECONDS?!” he bellowed, his anger bouncing off the walls. He was one of the very few people who didn't bend over backwards to praise the royal family, mostly because he didn't see anything praiseworthy about them. He yanked the scroll back, pointing hard at his lines. “You gave the farmers twice the land they asked for! That's going to double the amount of money they'll need from our – er, your treasury!”

Scheherazade took the scroll from Pete to read it over before giving it an affirmative nod. “Yes, we did. It was to make up for the terrible loss in crops last year. It's hardly their fault we had such awful growth. Besides, we have more money than we know what to do with. The best way to spend it is on our people.”

Pete huffed, crossing his arms. “Aw, who cares about a bunch of peasants? If they were so great, they'd have their own treasury! The more you give them, the more comes out of my salary!”

“Which is still more than what 5 villagers combined make in a year,” Mickey quipped, having grabbed his bowl and begun eating his breakfast.

Pete easily turned on Mickey, close to snarling. “And how do you know how much a peasant villager makes?”

“... Uh... ” Mickey paused, food in his mouth, eyes going anywhere for a better answer than the truth. “...Lucky guess?”

Al sighed deeply, crossing his arms as he faced his son. “Have you been sneaking out into the kingdom again? How many times have I warned you against that? It's more than I have hairs in my beard! It's too dangerous out there for a prince!”

“It is not!” Mickey insisted, putting the half empty bowl in his lap. “I like being out there! It's fun! You never let me do anything, you always tell me that son of Scheherazade should need for nothing!” His mother looked guilty, her eyes darting away for a moment. “Well, what about what I want? That's different than a need!”

His parents exchanged silent looks, and for a time Mickey was distracted with envy. Though he certainly didn't want a sappy romance, he did wish he could have a relationship with someone where they could understand each other merely through eye contact. If he wanted a lady love – and this was a pretty big if – he wanted someone who knew him better than anyone else did. But that would mean someone would want him for being something else than the son of Scheherazade, and there was nothing else. Mickey had no amazing stories or dashing adventures to speak of. He was a plain, boring prince.

Al exhaled heavily, waving a hand in an attempt to dismiss Pete. The Councilor only went so far as the doorway, wanting to complain some more about the money he felt the villagers didn't deserve. “All right then,” the Sultan started up again. “What is it that you want? You name it, and you shall have it! You are our son, you can have anything you desire!”

Mickey hesitated. “How is that different than any other day?” Every day he was given the best clothes, the best food, the best toys, the best books, the best of everything. He didn't even have to ask for it, his parents showered him with gifts all the time. It had instilled guilt within Mickey as he had felt he'd done nothing to earn these treasures. His was a story with no words on the pages. He'd never done anything exciting, anything worthy to be hailed over, and the closest he'd ever come to having anything remarkable in his life was...

… was something he didn't care to think about. He rubbed the scar on his neck, one that was hidden by his fur, a habit whenever he was nervous. “What I want is to be treated like an official man. I want to be a real adult. So the only thing I'm asking for on my birthday is...” He drew a breath, still reluctant about the idea but knowing he had to go through with it, “... is to get rid of the mural on my ceiling.”

“Of Sinbad?” His mother balked, a hand to her heart. “Are you serious? You love his stories! You said you wanted to be just like him when you grew up!”

“Well, I'm grown-up now. Or I will be, tomorrow.” Putting the bowl aside, Mickey hopped off the table. “And it's time I put these made-up stories away. I can't go on believing in magic and pirates and bad guys that want to take over the world.” He looked back and forth between his parents, mustering up a stern look he had practiced in his bedroom mirror. “Starting tomorrow, no more stories, and no more Sinbad. That is all I want for my birthday. Understand?”

He expected his mother to look heartbroken, and perhaps for his father to be angry. It wasn't easy for their parents to have their children thrust the demands of adulthood in their faces. Yet these weren't the faces of disappointment. Al was sucking onside of his check, his fingers knotting together nervously. Scheherazade was chewing on her lower lip, and she had a hand to her chin, as if mentally debating a serious matter. Pensive, that was the word Mickey decided on, even though he couldn't understand why they'd be like that over this simple matter.

Whatever was in their heads wasn't in Pete's, he was bored by the entire talk. He didn't care if Mickey was treated as an adult or a child, because in the end he'd still get the royal treatment. The constant adoration in the family aggravated him to no end. The brat got everything for doing nothing, whereas Pete had to work for every single scrap of food he'd ever eaten. It was Pete's bad fortune to have poor parents. Now here he was, a combination of difficult effort and pity, living the high life in the palace while these lovebirds frittered away their coins on people who clearly never worked as hard as Pete did. Not that Pete ever checked such matters – his worldview consisted of “me, myself, and I.” Now that he had his, he didn't care if anyone got theirs.

The Sultana came to a decision, a thumb to her lip, trying to resist the urge to bite her decorated nail. “Tomorrow... yes, lots of things will happen tomorrow. If you still want your wish granted by the end of that day, then it shall be so. If that is what will make you happy... and you know that is what we desire most of all.”

At this Mickey finally relaxed, and his little smile returned. He hadn't thought either of them would say no to his wish, and he bowed graciously. “Thank you.”

Al cleared his throat then, suddenly uncomfortable. “Tomorrow is tomorrow, today is today, and today you need to go to your lessons. Councilor, escort the prince.”

“But what about my money? … Your money?” Pete tried again, but the Sultan held up a flat hand, signaling the end of the discussion. He grumbled in his throat, opening the door for Mickey to confidently walk through. “Yeah, yeah, gods forbid we keep our treasure in the treasury, let's just hand it out to every dirty hand that reaches out...” he continued to mutter even when he left the room.

Once they were alone, Scheherazade picked up Mickey's bowl, silently staring into it. Al approached her, his arms out. “You don't have to tell him tomorrow... why, you never have to tell him at all! No one need ever know the truth about your stories!”

“No,” she lightly protested, putting the bowl back down. “It's time he knew... It's time the entire kingdom knew. Even if it means my cherished son thinks differently, he deserves the truth. And tomorrow, he will know everything.”

Al's gentle arms came around his wife's waist. “No matter what, he will always be our son. He will always love you, no matter what you tell him.”

She smiled and leaned on his chest, closing her eyes to take in his warmth. She didn't want to expose her secrets – until she met the Sultan, she had thought she would carry them to her grave. But like any good story, there had been twists and turns that made her rethink her values. When she married her one true love, she wanted him to have all of her, including the things she'd hidden. When Mickey was born, she felt another sense of love wash over her, and she wanted to tell him when he was old enough to understand. Eighteen... an official man... There would be no better time.

Al rubbed her shoulders, trying to perk the conversation back up. “Come. Let's work on our gifts. There's plenty more to do.” He took her by the wrist and pulled her along, trying to delay the uncomfortable business as long as possible. His wife obliged – yes, if there was an option to concentrate on more joyful things, of course she'd jump at it.

The Sultan and his wife loved each other very much, and they loved their son just as deeply, and they loved their idyllic family life – if only things could stay that way forever.

~*~

Mickey had no intention of going to his lessons, and Pete knew this. The cat was checking around for windows and doors that Mickey could run through, any curtains that could be used as ropes, any stairs Pete could be made to trip over. He was used to Mickey's tricks, and Mickey could feel Pete's eyes on his back with a hard, intense glare. Mickey wasn't really sure what he'd done to deserve such hate – surely a few sneak away tricks wouldn't cause such deep dislike! But then Pete was always grouchy for one reason or another. He supposed that was why his mother picked Pete as the Councilor, like a pet project, a man she could reform, the same way she had reformed the Sultan.

Mickey then decided if he was an official man-to-be, it would be best if he took charge. In the middle of their walk, Mickey turned around, hands on his hips, puffing out what little he had of a chest . “You know, Pete,” he began, trying to make himself as tall as possible. “You really need to listen to my parents! The treasury is meant to be used however we see fit, and if you've got a problem with our spending, it has to be a bigger problem than us helping people!” Yes, good, that sounded very man-like, full of self-assurance and dignity!

Yet it fell completely flat on Pete, who blinked down at Mickey as if he was nothing more than a bothersome gnat that kept hovering around the same meal. “Maybe it's high-time you learned that helping people helps no one! They'll just depend on you forever for every problem! Do you want to spend the rest of your life helping people?”

“...Yes?” What kind of a silly question was that?

Pete, he of a dark mind and selfish heart, hadn't expected that response. “I don't get you people at all,” he huffed, poking his stubby finger into Mickeys big black nose. “You have all the riches in the world, all the power, but you waste it on every crybaby you pass by! It's a dog-eat-dog world out there! If I was the Sultan, you'd never see me throwing good money to anybody who just asked for it!” Pete would spend it wisely - Fancy clothes, fancy food, fancy girls, it'd be nothing but fanciness for the rest of his life, and who cared what happened outside of the palace? If they didn't work hard enough to be that rich, that was their own fault. Nobody helped him, so why should he help anyone else? In the end, everyone only cared about themselves. Anyone who thought otherwise was a pushover that deserved to be pushed. Maybe he could build a big wall to block everyone else out. He'd dreamed about this scenario far too many times.

Mickey roughly shoved Pete's hand away from his face. “Good thing you're not Sultan, in that case!”

Then came a second surprise. Mickey expected Pete to sneer and huff and puff and whine all about how unfair it was that the royal family was so nice, and indeed, Pete was slowly moving his jaw around, looking ready to go into his standard spiel about poor people deserved to be poor and other nonsense. But instead of going into the tirade, Pete began to smile – not a friendly one, not one that understood the all encompassing love that the royals had, but it was still a happy smile. Like he was imagining some far off fantasy and what happened now didn't truly matter. It sent a chill up Mickey's spine.

“No,” Pete finally said, nodding once. “No, you're right, I ain't the Sultan. And a'course, you're not the Sultan either. Even if you are the big one-eight tomorrow, you're still just the prince. Why not spend the last day of your youth goin' out into the kingdom and having fun?”

“...Huh?” Mickey wasn't sure he heard right. It almost sounded like Pete was encouraging him to run off.

“Come on, skedaddle, while the sun's still out!” Pete waved his hands, chuckling merrily. “Think of it as an early birthday present, from me to you!”

The prince considered that perhaps this was a joke or a prank, but Pete couldn't master subtlety like that. He scratched his head, still puzzled, yet tempted to take up the offer. “Gee...you really mean it?”

“I absolutely mean it!” He then shrugged with one shoulder. “I'll just tell your tutor you got lost, or were busy doing something else... Don't worry about it! You go enjoy your last day being seventeen. Everyone deserves being happy on that day!” He clapped again and again, stepping forward, as if using his body to encourage Mickey to get going.

Mickey was not one to look gift horses in the mouth, nor really consider the consequences of his actions. Perhaps his mother's work was finally getting through to old Pete. A smile began to form, a laugh followed it, and Mickey turned on his tail. “O-Okay!” he shouted through pleased laughter. “Thanks a million, Pete! You're not such a bad guy after! I'll see you later!” Not wanting to risk his luck a second further, Mickey bolted down the hall to the nearest door, kicking his heels in glee.

Pete kept up his lively applause until he could no longer see the young prince. “Yep, that's right, I'm not the Sultan...” Then came that wicked smile of his once more, the one that knew of things that even the so-called wise Sultana was ignorant about. Let the boy have one more day of fun before his life came crumbling down. “...Not yet.”

~*~

Mickey rarely had a plan in mind whenever he flew away to the kingdom outside, save for one place and one person he made sure to visit every single time. He decided to start his day there, and with that he made a beeline for the butcher. He could already hear trouble brewing – a dog was barking, a man was yelling, there was clanking and clamoring. Mickey grinned – his only friend in the world was in trouble again.

He slowed down as he approached the shop, almost missing the blur that dashed out and sped into the nearest alleyway. The butcher came out next, smashing his teeth and waving his knife in the air. “That lousy pain in the butt!” he howled, unaware of who was watching him. “When I catch him, I'll make him into mincemeat! That mangy no good rotten-” His cavalcade of insults stopped abruptly when his eyes fell upon the prince. The butcher faltered, and then bowed deeply, one arm under his chest. “Oh sacred son of Scheherazade! You honor me with your presence!”

Unfortunately that annoying nickname followed Mickey wherever he went. He put his arms behind his back, the picture of innocence. “Is somethin' the matter, old pal?”

That lit the butcher's anger again, and he raised his fists in the air. “It's that thief again! I'll tan his hide and make six sandwiches out of his fat belly!” He exhaled hard, and then eyed his visitor. “Have you seen him?”

Mickey knew exactly where the culprit was. “Nope, can't say that I have.” He lied easily – small fibs were simple if you thought of them as stories. “But if I do, I know right where to send him!” Nowhere near the butcher, that was for sure.

“Of course, of course, you're a very good boy.” The butcher sighed, acknowledging his defeat. “But... it's not a total loss. I have the son of Scheherazade at my doorstep, this must be a sign of luck from the gods.”

“Let's not go nuts here,” Mickey muttered under his breath.

“Here, I'll give you my finest work today!” Not having heard Mickey's remark, the butcher speedily returned to his shop to pull out a gigantic steak. Once it was securely wrapped up, he proudly strode up to Mickey and placed it in his hands. “Please enjoy! Nothing would make me happier than to have my meat be the reason you grow up healthy and strong!”

Mickey began to smile, and sincerely hoped the butcher would leave it at that. “Thanks a lot! Your place is always the best!”

But the butcher didn't leave it at that, no one ever did. “Please give your divine mother my blessings! And I would be overjoyed to see you here again, son of Scheherazade! Your presence always brings cheer to all!”

Mickey's lips still held an upward curve but there was coldness underneath. Any kindness bestowed upon Mickey, be it gifts or idle flattery, was always because of his mother. Mickey didn't bring cheer to anyone. His mother did, and he was nothing more than a reflection of her, a reminder of the amazing things she'd done. That wouldn't end no matter how old he turned. “Yeah... thanks.” His enthusiasm died out, and he made sure to turn away before his face fell. “I'll tell her.”

He heard the butcher wish him well and fondest goodbyes, and once he heard him go back into his shop, Mickey ran to the alleyway, hearing a familiar voice pant heavily. Now Mickey could smile a genuine smile, for this was someone who was always genuine with him. “I told you to stop stealing, you nutjob! I always get something nice for you. You gotta learn some patience, that's what you gotta do!”

His companion walked on all fours out of the shadows, unable to respond – not that any dog could, although Mickey liked to imagine those fervent pants sounded like “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”, always agreeing with what Mickey said. This was a mutt true and true, no purity to its blood, its mangy fur perhaps once proudly gold but now a dusty yellow. His thin black tail wagged with excitement to see his friend, and ignoring the stolen sausage he'd nabbed minutes ago, he jumped onto Mickey and covered him with slobbery kisses.

Mickey collapsed with laughter, hugging the dog tightly. “I missed you too, Pluto!” The first time Mickey had run away, he'd found a little puppy shivering all by its lonesome, hidden under rags that grannies had thrown away. It didn't belong to anyone, or to put it more accurately, no one wanted it. Mickey had instantly taken pity on this creature so much smaller than himself, and after politely asking around in the marketplace for leftover scraps – and instead was given giant baskets of food, being a certain son and all – he had let the pup eat until it could eat no more. The puppy instantly rewarded Mickey with wet licks to his cheek, and in that moment Mickey understood that here was someone who liked him without knowing or understanding where he came from.

He had taken the puppy into his arms and ran straight home, begging his parents to let him keep it – look, he already named it, after one of those lessons from his tutor, please please pretty please- but they had declined. It could be carrying vermin and disease, and they simply couldn't take risks anymore, not after the day he'd gotten that scar. Mickey had no choice but to let the dog return to the village – but he would visit again, and again, and again, and here they were now, rolling around in the dirt with so much cheer they felt their chests would burst.

Mickey finally managed to push Pluto off, scratching his ears affectionately. “When I become Sultan, you're going to live in the palace! I'll get you a nice collar and your own pillows and everything!” Pluto yapped, nodding its head. “A-huh, and we're gunna play fetch every day! You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Mickey kissed Pluto on the head, giving him a few more adoring scratches before getting to his feet. “Well,” he clicked his tongue, pretending to be haughty, “since you've already gotten yourself a pretty big treat, I'm giving this steak to someone else! Someone who really needs it! Maybe next time you'll wait for me, and then you'll get your big, fat, juicy steak, huh?”

Pluto smiled sheepishly, picking up the links of sausage and dutifully nibbling. Mickey didn't know much about dogs, but he liked to think Pluto was smarter than most. He whistled, and Pluto obediently stepped up to Mickey's side. They walked out into the sunlight, Pluto still chewing on his victory and Mickey whistling a merry tune. Just like inside the palace, anyone who saw Mickey greeted him with that atrocious name, but at least out here they didn't ramble on about it constantly, as they had lives that didn't revolve around him. Mickey would often stop by a shop or a school to peek inside and make sure all was well. If all wasn't well – if a rowdy ne'er-do-well was harassing a shopkeeper or a crying toddler couldn't find their mommy – then he would make it well. But he didn't see anything grand or spectacular about this. It was just what a good person did, and the world was filled with good, boring, ordinary people.

It was well past noon when he found a sizable stick and gave it a toss for Pluto to chase. He wondered if he'd have the time for these walks when he was the Sultan. His parents never did, yet they ran the kingdom perfectly, so maybe they never needed to. Then again they weren't searching for someone like Mickey was. They weren't looking for someone to acknowledge who he was, even if there was nothing to acknowledge. After the third toss, Mickey yelped as Pluto nearly ran down a small child, a boy with messy hair. “Easy there!” Mickey shouted as he ran over, but the boy seemed to be more confused than injured. “Aw gee, I'm sorry about that! Pluto can be a bit too eager sometimes, can't you, Pluto? You apologize now.”

Pluto whined and lowered his head. The child smiled, reaching over to pet the dog with both hands. “Is this your dog, mister?”

“Kinda. Sorta. Maybe. Ish.” Mickey debated on the right word to use – until it hit him what this child had said. “...What did you call me?”

The child blinked up at him with glassy eyes. “Mister?” There was no recognition here.

Mickey froze. True, it was impossible for him to have met every single person in this vast kingdom, and it was possible that many of the younger generation weren't familiar with him just yet. Here was an opportunity Mickey had wanted and failed to prepare for. He stuttered, fumbling and almost dropping the steak under his arm. “N-No, that's fine! It's more than fine! It's...” He shoved the steak into the child's hands, cleared his throat, and then put a hand to his heart. If he was going to do this, he was going to do this right. Who knew when the next chance would come, if ever? “My name... My name is-”

“The son of Scheherazade!” came an elderly voice from behind.

Mickey had to bite down on his lower lip in order not to let several colorful expletives fly, as unknowingly learned from his father. His neck craned to see who had blurted it out. It was a very old woman, and she hobbled over on her walking stick. The child hugged her good leg. “Granny!”

“I was looking for you everywhere, silly boy,” The grandmother cooed, tenderly stroking the boy's hair. “Don't ever scare me like that again!” She faced Mickey, he of many face twitches and suppressed tempers. “How can I ever thank you for finding my grandchild, oh wondrous son of Scheherazade?”

“It... it was just a coincidence,” Mickey mumbled, and Pluto pushed his head into Mickey's open palm in an effort to support him.

The child tilted his head. “Sch... Scheh... who is that?”

“That is our Sultana.” The grandmother pointed towards the shining palace with a long, bony finger. “Have I not told you this tale?” The boy shook his head, and Mickey sighed sadly. “Long, long ago, a very evil woman broke the Sultan's heart. And her evilness spread to his soul...he wanted to make the whole world feel as awful as he did. So he commanded a bride be brought before him – so he could kill her that night, as revenge! But the brave and amazing Scheherazade volunteered to be his wife. He planned to murder her that night, but before he could try, she wove a story so deep, so complex, so thrilling... yet she didn't finish it. She said she would continue the story the next night. The Sultan was so enthralled by the story, he decided he'd delay her death until the next night. But the next night she wove an even more amazing story... and the night after, and the night after, for one thousand and one nights, until the Sultan's heart was cured of its evil by Scheherazade's stories and her love.”

The child looked over to see who the son was of such an astounding hero, but Mickey was already walking away, his head hung. “And that's her son? “Oh yes, that is the son of Scheherazade. Is he not a most fortunate boy?”

Of course Mickey knew the story – and Mickey knew that also wasn't the full story. It was the child friendly version. The child wasn't ready to hear of the real story, of betrayal and blood and agony. A fortunate boy? Him? He touched the scar on his neck, and for a few seconds, he was in the past.

IT'S NOT FAIR! HOW DARE YOU LIVE?! WHY DO YOU DESERVE TO LIVE?!

“I still don't know,” he whispered to a memory that had stayed with him for years and would never leave. Why did he deserve to live? What was the purpose of his life, the point of it? He felt tears come and pressed his arm to his eyes, trying to make it stop.

Wasn't there someone, anyone, out in this great big world who would love him for Mickey? Could such a person exist, and give meaning to his existence? Here in this great and glorious kingdom that numbered thousands, he felt all alone. What he wouldn't give for someone to take him into their arms and tell him they loved him as Mickey, and not as the son of Scheherazade?

No... surely that person was as imaginary as his mother's stories.

Mickey made the decision to go home, with Pluto following his every step. At the palace gates, he turned and knelt down. “Time to say goodbye, Pluto,” he said gently, slowly petting his pet. “One day you'll come in these gates with me.” But he knew if he tried today, the burly guards that stood left and right of him would kick the mutt back out. “Just gotta be patient... you can be patient, right?” It broke Mickey's heart to pull away, and Pluto left one last lick on Mickey's cheek. Mickey managed to tear himself away from his friend and walked back into the palace.

As soon as Mickey couldn't see or hear the pup anymore, the dog was abruptly snatched by the guards – but not to kick him out. No, there were other plans for this confused dog.

~*~

Night came and Mickey laid in his bed, staring up at the mural of Sinbad the sailor. It would be the last night he stared up at this picture, so he tried to memorize every last detail. When he heard the door creak open, he knew who it was without even looking. “Hello, Ma.”

Scheherazade walked in slowly, careful to hold her burning lamp with both hands. Mickey never took good care of his own lamp, and it was often dusty and dirty and wouldn't light. So his mother would bring in her own, often using its illumination to dramatize her tales. She knelt by his bed. “Hello, my sweet son. I know tomorrow, you want that mural painted over... which means you no longer want my stories either.”

Mickey sat up in bed, hugging his knees. “I gotta stop being a child, Ma, even if you still see me as one. Magic's not real, Sinbad's not real, I can't go on listening to stories. Real men doesn't listen to stories.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Your father likes my stories.”

“Pa drools every time you open your mouth.” He got his ear pinched for that. “Okay, okay! But I meant it, it's time I started living like a man!”

The Queen placed the flickering lamp on a nearby table, her hands in her lap. “Tomorrow will bring a great change in all of us...but that is tomorrow. This is tonight. Tonight, you are not a man.” She smiled, and glanced up at the mural. “So that means I still get to tell you one more story.”

Mickey wound up smiling, and he laid back down, his hands on his chest. “Fine, fine, fine. Just one more story... but it's gotta be about Sinbad.”

Scheherazade laughed. “Yes, of course! Sinbad and his magical flying ship! And his rowdy team – the killer couple, the harm with charm, the gunslinger singer....where should we go today? Shall Sinbad meet his bride on the moon? What about taking on the living dead from the depths? Or a swim through the pool of eternity, only to dry off on a flying carpet?”

As Scheherazade listed her options, readying herself for her greatest story ever, Mickey took one last look at the mural. He'd enjoy this story, and then never hear one again. Tonight would be the last night - he was done with make-believe magic.

Little did he know magic wasn't done with him.

#disney #fanfic #the son of scheherazade #mickey mouse #peg leg pete

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saotome-michi · 7 years

Text

Top 10 Manhwa of 2016-17

I used to rarely read manhwa, maybe just one or two a year, but then I discovered Lezhin and Spottoon - online platforms that host Korean webcomics with English translations available. The first few chapters are usually free but after that you have to pay to read, which actually appeals to me because I like being able to support writers and artists. And even if you find the prices unaffordable, reading the free chapters still helps because you’re increasing the view count and their popularity. The only complaint I have is that the quality of the translations can differ greatly between series, especially on Spottoon. Sometimes it’s pretty good and sometimes it’s really bad.

Anyway, I’ve read so many manhwa this past year that I thought it’d be nice to make a manhwa rec list! Except for a few exceptions, I tried to only recommend series that have a good number of chapters out or that are already completed. These are my personal top 10. Enjoy!

10. Reversi (양극의 소년) by Eun Song

In the year 2016, a never before seen virus decimates 20% of the world population. Moreover, survivors of this virus either transform into man-eating creatures called “worms” or into super-humans with tremendous physical abilities called “heteros”. Over the years, heteros start the ISO, an agency that protects people from worms. Haru, our protagonist, is a young hetero who wants to join the ISO, but it may not be that easy or straightforward…

Once in a while I find a scifi-action comic that manages to capture my interest, despite me being rather tired of the genre as a whole. This manhwa is on this list more for its potential than anything else- there are only 37 chapters out and the story’s still in its beginning stages, but I think there’s a lot of good material that, in the right hands, can make for a really interesting and entertaining story.

Despite the impression the synopsis may give you, the story starts out in a peaceful privileged high school setting and you don’t get to the nerve-wracking parts until around chapter 25. But the beginning achieves its purpose. It sets the scene with its conflicts: the segregation of those infected with the virus and those uninfected, the mixed treatment of heteros, and the still-existing class privilege. It also sets up the main characters; impulsive but sincere Haru and his best friend, level-headed and determined Leo; the other heteros in their school year; and members of the ISO. We don’t know much about them, but again they’re intriguing and the rest can come later. It’ll probably take another 30 chapters or so before we can see whether this manhwa fulfills its potential or not, but take this as a heads up - this one just might be a winner. At the very least, the beginning’s pretty engaging. And with clean art that’s easy on the eyes, it’s definitely no chore to scroll through.

Warning: Blood, death, murder, violence, body horror

Available on: Lezhin (first 24 chapters are free). Not on scanlation sites yet.

9. The House Cat (상상고양이) by Kim Kyoung

(Also known as: The Imaginary Cat, Cat’s Imagination)

Cat lovers rejoice! Here’s another comic for you to read for your daily dose of cat shenanigans. “The House Cat” looks at Webcomic Artist Jong Hyun and his cat Bok-Gil (Jill in the english translation) - or as Jill would tell you, Cat Jil and her human who she allows to live with her. Like so, the comic presents their different viewpoints of their life together, with Hyun’s viewpoint on the left in red and Jill’s viewpoint on the right in green. The intersection between their viewpoints is cleverly done and will often leave you smiling one way or another. Cat owners will probably find many of their interactions familiar. On the other hand if you’re like me, you’ll start realizing that you are basically Jill and should’ve been born as a house cat instead of as a human. All in all, “The House Cat” is a pleasure to read and certainly not a bad way to pass the time.

Warning: Alcohol mention, brief depiction of pet abuse and neglect

Available on : Spottoon (first 4 chapters free). Was adapted into a kdrama called “The Imaginary Cat”

8. Peak (피크) by Hong Sung-Soo and Lim Gang-Hyuk

If “mountain rescue manhwa” stirs any interest in you, this may be the manhwa for you. “Peak” centers around Ryu Yeon-Seong, who’s been stationed on Mt. Bukhan to be a Rescue Ranger for his military service, along with four other men. The story follows his experiences as he learns what being a rescue ranger entails.

I initially didn’t have high expectations for this manhwa, but the realistic and suspenseful storytelling ended up impressing me. I always like it when manhwa go into the specifics of the particular subject they’re covering and “Peak” does that extensively - from what’s covered in training exercises to the challenges of navigating throughout the mountain in subpar weather to how to conduct oneself when administering first aid to fatal injuries. And except for a few brief respites, the pace is remarkably fast from start to finish, emulating the break-neck speed the rangers have to move to save lives. It would not be an exaggeration to say that I’m constantly sitting at the edge of my seat when reading this manhwa. The rescue missions themselves are no joke; from an accident in the middle of the pouring rain to a helicopter crash, this manhwa is constantly upping the stakes.

Personally, the art isn’t my favorite but it excels in two areas: conveying the physical exertion of being a ranger and the harshness of the mountain landscape. And when the story is all about survival, that’s really all that matters.

Warnings: Blood, fatal injuries, death, murder

Available on: Spottoon (First 30 chapters are free). 92 Chapters can be found on mangago.

7. The Sock Monster (양말도깨비) by Manmulsang

(Also known as: Socks Goblin)

Is it too much if I said “The Sock Monster” would rock your socks off? Ehehe :P

But actually, this is possibly the cutest manhwa I’ve ever read. From the art, which resembles something you’d find in a children’s storybook with its crayon lines and oil pastel backgrounds, to the story itself, a young girl making her way in a wintery town, “The Sock Monster” radiates a quirky fairytale sort of charm. It’s slow to start but when it finds its rhythm, it strolls off, as our plucky protagonist, Park Sujin, learns the ropes at BigFoot Bank, finds the Sock Monster living in her room, and befriends Mr. Lara, her cat-man neighbor whose dream is to explore the deep ocean. Despite its lighthearted tone, the manhwa ends up covering some surprisingly heavy topics from the tension between Big Foots and Humans to animal experimentation (in a world where animals are more like humans). But it does so in a tender sort of way, never losing heart or the hint of wisdom that comes with classical storytelling.

What the manhwa excels at especially is taking advantage of its fantasy world to sculpt all sorts of interesting plotlines for the characters. There is no limit to the creativity displayed. If children’s books and fairytales appeal to you, then you’ll probably appreciate the charm of “The Sock Monster”. Who knows, it might just become your favorite bedtime read. And you’ll probably end up cooing over how cute the sock monsters are.

Warning: Child neglect and abuse, animal cruelty, death

Available on: Spottoon (first 19 chapters are free)

6. Myojin Tales (묘진전) by Jelly Bean

A smallpox goddess steals an eye from a celestial god to help her sightless baby. A young boy wonders why his father doesn’t love him. A girl who’s lived a miserable life curses her capturer with her last breath. The celestial god, the father, the capturer - all of these titles refer to the same being: Myojin, a god who has been sentenced to forever live among humans as punishment for his crimes, forbidden to ever return to his former post as a zodiac deity. This is a compilation of the stories surrounding him and the people whose lives he’s touched.

This manhwa caught my attention with its art alone. Each panel is meticulously rendered in a style resembling traditional ink paintings, fitting for a story drawn from Korean mythology. Although the style is usually semi-realistic, like the panel above, when it comes to frightening and visceral scenes it leans towards abstraction. There is one particular chapter near the beginning that I could not read with the lights turned off. However, the story itself is also fascinating and from beginning to end, it reads like a folktale told from centuries ago.

Let’s get this out of the way - Myojin is not a likable person in any aspect really. But he, like everyone else, is both victim and perpetrator of unfair systems, and has the capability for both good and evil. Therein itself lies the core of this manhwa and “Myojin Tales” is ultimately a story of recognition and redemption, where there is no moral absolutes, but only the choices one makes in certain circumstances. If you’re a fan of mangas like Mushishi, this could be your next favorite.

Warning: child neglect, abuse, body horror, blood, murder, death

Available on: Spottoon. Normally only the first 10 chapters are free, but this week (March 18, 2017) the first 17 are all free!

5. Hwaja (화자) by Hong Jac-Ga

At 9 years old, Ryu explores “the Haunted House” in his neighborhood and meets Hwaja, a girl who looks a few years older than him. Hwaja never leaves the haunted house, except to sit on the rooftop, and spends most of her time drawing. Visitors, she says, have to bring her something, like food. Eventually, Ryu introduces his best friend Jay to Hwaja. She doesn’t seem like a ghost, but there is something is strange about her and the house…

At 19 years old, Ryu, who moved away and hasn’t been in the neighborhood for years, is struck with the news of Jay’s death. His last text message from him reads, “Don’t ever come back.” But Ryu does come back and sees Hwaja again…

As you can infer from the synopsis, there’s a 10 year time skip in the manhwa. Personally I didn’t find myself that interested in “Hwaja” until after the time skip (in Ch. 8), where the art style changes and things get a lot more intriguing. The art goes from crisp line-art colored in bright blues and greens to blocks of color in murky purples, browns, and blues, conveying the suspicion and suspense as Jay learns more and more about the truth behind Hwaja’s existence. The story ended up going places that I didn’t expect it to go and the ending was surprisingly heartfelt and touching. If you like ghost stories or just stories about the interaction between the supernatural and humans, give “Hwaja” a go.

Warning: Violence, child abuse, sexual abuse, rape, murder, kidnapping, death

Available on: Tapastic (Only the prologue is free). It can be found complete on scanlation sites on mangago. But if you end up liking it, support the author!

4. Hongdo (홍도) by snowy owl

In a world of shamans, gods, ghosts and other mystical creatures, the illegitimate son of a prominent general, Hong-do Lee grows up to be a powerful exorcist. When he decides to abandon his job, he becomes the target of bounty hunters and stumbles upon a plot that threatens his life and the fate of the world.

So begins Hongdo, a swashbuckling fantasy adventure that has gorgeous art and gives me Fullmetal Alchemist vibes if only because Hong-do is incredibly similar to Edward Elric, minus the insecurities about his height. That’s not to say that Hong-do is an Edward copy; he’s clearly his own unique character, but the style of humor is similar and the situations he gets into resembles the beginning of FMA, where Ed and Alphonse traveled around Amestris looking for strange happenings possibly caused by a Philosopher’s Stone- only in Hong-do’s case, he’s looking for a mysterious man named Crow. What for? Well, you have to read it to find out.

But although elements of the story are reminiscent of FMA, the exorcist practices and the setting that make up the backbone of the story is clearly based on Ancient Korean and Chinese mythology and history. Architecture, clothing, the gods and spirits, all are richly and beautifully illustrated. I have at least a dozen screenshots saved in my phone and my current iphone lock screen is a panel from Hongdo. The worldbuilding is fascinating to say the least and the story just gets more and more interesting as you go along. In short, don’t miss this gem of a manhwa.

Warning: Violence, murder, some body horror-ish stuff

Available on: Spottoon (first 9 chapters are free). Chapter 1-34 are on mangapark.

3. Dark Heaven (다크 헤븐) by JUNS

In the US, same-sex marriage has been legalized but racist and homophobic hate crimes still regularly occur. Connor is Korean-American, and together with his friend and lover Simon, they have a band called “Dark Heaven”. But things can’t stay this good forever. Fast-forward to the future and the band has split up. Simon is pursuing a solo career and Connor’s working as a writer in a news agency. What went wrong and can they be together again?

This manhwa pushes all of my buttons, so it’s no surprise that it’s on this list even though I’m only 15 chapters in. I mean, come on, a Korean-American protagonist? Check. Angsty Band Premise? Check. True love between two boys who care about each other so much, they find life lonely without having the other by their side? Check. And to top all of that, really good art? Check. Check. Check.

I think what’s so refreshing about this manhwa is that it looks at racism and homophobia and actually does a good job going about it. When Connor finds himself in love with Simon, he not only faces opposition from the outside, but also from the inside. Internalized racism and homophobia can be a bitch and the author does a good job depicting that with Connor’s struggles. And the love that Connor and Simon have for each other is just so touching, you can only fervently hope that they find their way back to each other again.

Warning: Homophobia, racism, racist and homophobic slurs, hate crimes, prostitution, child abuse, violence

Available on: Lezhin (first chapter is free). Scanlation sites only have up to chapter 5-6 I think.

2. Annarasumanara (안나라수마나라) by Ha Il-Kwon

Yoon Ah-ee struggles to keep her and her little sister fed, clothed, and sheltered, but that’s easier said than done, especially with her father’s debts weighing down on her shoulders. Her only hope is to keep her grades up so that she can go to a good college and then get a good job and become a good adult. But when she meets a mysterious magician in the abandoned amusement park, she’s reminded of her childhood dream to learn magic…

This has been on my “to read” list for years, but I’ve finally read it and I can only hit myself on the head for not reading it sooner. Annarasumanara is a story for those who have had that moment when, verging at the brink of adulthood, you’ve wondered “what is happiness”? Will going on this road that everyone has predetermined for me, “study hard, go to a good college, get a good job,” make me happy?

What happens if that’s not what I want?

The art here is unique to say the least. The author goes for a mixed media approach of combining drawings with photographs, which is not uncommon in Korean webcomics. What is uncommon is for it to be done well, creating stark, unforgettable imagery that, at times, blurs the lines between reality and construed reality. Which is exactly what this manhwa needs; after all it’s a story about finding real magic in what seems like a miserable reality.

Warning: Suicide Attempt, Violence, Sexual Harassment, Blood

Available on: Line Webtoon (All chapters are free!)

1. Vengeance (벤전스) by Aji

Have you ever really wanted a noir mystery about a female police detective trying to solve the case of her girlfriend’s murder? I did, I just didn’t know that I did until I started reading this and then I thanked the gods above for delivering my unconscious wishes.

Hyun Seol-ah is an experienced police officer who’s known for her cool head and rational approach in dangerous situations - but all that cool headedness goes flying out the window when she arrives at a murder scene and realizes that the victim is her girlfriend, Hwan Hara. From then on, she is focused on only one thing: finding the monster who killed her and then exacting revenge.

I know what you’re thinking… another sad lesbian story? Yes, it’s sad, but the relationship between Seol-ah and Hara is depicted so profoundly, you can feel how much Seol-ah loved Hara and how much Hara loved her in return. As Seol-ah chases down the murderer, we see flashback after flashback of their relationships, from the fights to the cuddles to the declarations of love. What makes this even more heartbreaking is that their relationship was a secret, and so Seol-ah must solve Hara’s murder while hiding that they were lovers.

But also, the art is fantastic. I could go on and on about it, but I think the panel above speaks for itself. Solid blocks of color used to great dramatic effect that mimics the atmosphere of noir films. Seriously, do not let this pass you by.

Warning: Murder, blood, body horror, homophobia

Available at: Lezhin (first chapter is free). You can also read the whole thing on mangago and then buy some chapters later on Lezhin to support the author.

#manhwa #comics #manga recs #manga #this has been sitting in my drafts for a loooong time #spottoon #lezhin

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ehentha · 7 years

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The Male' City Swimming Track

I am floating on my back with my eyes closed. The sun is beating down on my face from above. The rumbling monster of the city is silenced and for a moment I forget about the stress that brought me here. The fresh morning air is tainted with the smell of diesel. I exhale and sink further down under the water’s surface.

The smell disappears. The water feels cold on my face and I feel goosebumps rise along my arms. My heartbeat steadily quickens as my body craves oxygen. I rise from the illusion and the endless noise of the city once again swarms my consciousness.

“Pretty cold today huh,” I remark to my friend while feeling the bumps along my arm. She’s sitting in waist deep water on the shallow side towards the tripod rocks.

“I bet you’re gonna miss this once you’re gone,” she said laughing.

She was right. I haven’t been out for a proper swim ever since I’d moved to Tasmania. My heart aches for the ocean. It is so close, yet it is so cold and unforgiving that its existence might as well be a mirage. My brief forays have been anything but enjoyable. A shivering overtakes the body and you feel your core begin to tighten up. It becomes difficult to breath and an icy panic begins to set in. Things seem different for those that learnt how to swim here. I see them dive effortlessly off their private yachts from where they swim sometimes great distances to the shore. Perhaps one day I will get used to it as well.

When I tell people that I am Maldivian their first reaction is one of barely concealed envy. “Wow! What a beautiful place! You must be so lucky!”. I am quick to correct them that no, I am not from the Maldives as much as I am from Male’ City.

Male’ City is a very different place from the rest of the Maldives. It has no natural beaches, and when I was very young the Track was the only place that people went swimming regularly. I, like many other residents of Male’ city, learnt how to swim there. “Track ah’ hingaa dhaan! (let’s go to the Track!)”, is a phrase that is familiar to young and old alike.

By the time that I was a teenager the government had created what they called the “Artificial Beach” on the East side of the island, but the fact that it was crowded, incredibly shallow and usually smelled even worse than the Track made it a less popular option. You could also of course try your luck in the Raalhugandu area, but the chaotic surf makes this unpleasant, and the shallower side is far too shallow with too many rocks to actually go swimming.

The current Yameen administration has made a second artificial beach on the West side of the island that seems larger and a lot nicer, but I cannot speak about it as I have not been back to the Maldives since its creation a few years ago. All the photographs included in this essay are thus taken between 2006 and 2009. It was a time before GoPros and other action cams had become mainstream. Most of the photographs were therefore taken by using compact cameras in waterproof plastic cases and then later a hard case once I had purchased myself a Canon G10 in mid-2009. There are also a few photographs that were taken using an expired disposable underwater camera from Tropicolour.

The area you could swim in used to be much longer and when I was a child the boats were limited to the very edge. As a result the water used to be a lot clearer and less polluted. This also meant that the Track was a lot more accessible to the public and thus less crowded.

One of my earliest memories is going swimming there with my Father and some cousins. I was a child and barely knew how to swim so I clung to his back as he swam across the divide. Two thirds of the way there he spotted an abandoned suitcase on the bottom. He tells me to wait as he dives down below. I nervously tread water and open my eyes underwater to watch his descent. He glides down and picks it up off the bottom. A cloud of dust surrounds him. He resurfaces and shakes his head. I grab onto his shoulders and we continue our journey across to the tripod rocks. It is my first memory of swimming by myself.

Along the island facing side there used to be moored many barges, or “bandu” (literally: stomach or belly). Off these rusting Goliath's young people used to ride their bikes straight into the water. Sometimes they’d do a flourish in the air, sometimes they’d just tumble in, but they all remembered to kick the bikes away lest it hit them on the way down.

With great effort they would then pull up the sunken bikes so that they and their friends can have another go. Too young to have my own bike and too shy to talk to them, I used to just watch in awe. “One day I’m going to ride my bike off a bandu!” I’d think to myself, fantasising about all the cool aerial manoeuvres I’d pull off.

Back then instead of the swimming practises being restricted to the floating constructions in the middle of the track, they used to be conducted perpendicular to the sea wall. Our laps would almost always consist of swimming from the road side to the tripod rocks and back. “Do 20 laps!”, our instructor would say, seemingly oblivious to the fact that a lack of proper markings meant that each consecutive lap would be shorter from the far side.

Despite it still being cleaner than what it is like now, it was still far from the pristine waters depicted in tourist propaganda. Everyone would always have some itch or rash that they were suffering from; probably in no small part due to a mysterious blue pipe that was constantly pumping out a warm toxic cloud of god knows what. Ironically that pipe was how most of us got out of the track. There were no ladders so it provided firm enough ground from which you could grab onto the edge and pull yourself up. You could try to grip and push off the side of the wall itself, but this usually resulted in cut feet from the barnacles or worse - breaking off the brittle spines of a sea urchin; which was almost impossible to remove from your feet.

Trying to edge it out with a needle, as you would do with a splinter, only makes the situation worse as the delicate spine begins to disintegrate. One local remedy, which I have been subjected to multiple times, is to lather the foot in rihaakuru (fish paste from tuna) and to then hover them over a burning fire. The rihaakru heats up, which in turn heats up the embedded spine which then allegedly begins to melt off. I am still suspicious about the efficacy of this treatment, and whether the intense pain was worth it, as it never seemed to remove all of the spines.

By far the best thing about those practices was the sense of community it fostered. Each parent would bring something different for the long weekend sessions; favourites being chilled Milo with sweetened condensed milk instead of sugar and oranges coated in pure glucose powder. Even though the energy drink craze was many decades away we were never lacking in a source of incredibly unhealthy energy.

A highlight for me was taking part in the 2-kilometre race which was swum parallel from one end of the harbour to the track and back again. I came in last, but at least I managed to finish it. I was also, if I recall correctly, about 12 years old at the time; and thus at a considerable size disadvantage compared to most of the other participants to say the least.

For a lot of people, the Track was the closest you could get to escaping the claustrophobic heat of the inner city short of leaving the island itself. Many people would sit around the shallow side in waist high water, submerged up to their necks, chatting about current events. Others would sit on or cling to the outer side of the swimming platform - the inner usually being occupied by the swimming practices of various schools.

Another favourite activity was to dive into the water from the road side. Some people would even start from the opposite pavement. They would wait patiently for traffic to cease, after which they would dash across; spring boarding into the water from the concrete at the last possible moment.

I loved the rush of that split second before contact when you are suspended in the air. People would really try to push their luck, sometimes coming within inches of scraping themselves on the rocks which were lined up against the wall of that area of the track. The most impressive jump I’ve ever seen was from this man who flew so far that he managed to land inside the floating swim area, his feet just barely making it past the buoys.

The swimming platforms themselves had gone through various iterations before finally settling on the ones made from seemingly indestructible orange and blue plastic buoys that are there today. If I remember correctly they used empty barrels to keep the old wooden platforms afloat. Swimming lanes would be created by ropes that would extend between buoys. As a result these older versions were much less rigid and were prone to drift around in the current.

One of the greatest pleasures in life is to go for a swim when its raining on a hot day. Oh how I miss that feeling. The rain pounds down from above, an onslaught of tepid fat drops that instantly soaks you to the bone. When you make your way into the water, the relative cool of the air makes the water feel extra warm; almost as if it is heated.

The sound of the rain against the water drowns out the noise of the city. The sound is hypnotic. Meditative. The complete opposite of what one is used to hearing. No more rumbling machinery. No more buzzing drills and slamming hammers. The roads, normally packed with motorcycles, clear out. The rain also creates the illusion of privacy. One feels safe within the storm, and emboldened by this torrential veil, couples hold each other closer than they would have in the sun.

Your Track experience really isn’t complete unless you’ve been smacked across the face with a used condom at least once. Conservative attitudes and cramped quarters means that people don’t have much room to breathe; and if you don’t have space to talk in private with a loved one, just imagine how little space there is to have sex. Couples embrace along the floating barriers and sometimes even inside the crevices formed by the tripod rocks.

The tripod rocks themselves could be the basis of its own essay. In a similar manner to how the Track forms a barrier against the bustle of the city, the tripod rocks form a refuge from the Track itself. When I was in primary school I’d listen wide eyed to the tall tales of my cool friend who’d tell me all about his older brother who would go there to smoke cigars in secret. When I was older my friends who smoked cigarettes would continue the tradition by carrying their packs and lighters wrapped up in plastic bags. They would climb to the top of the rocks, unpack their bounty, light up and breathe deeply while staring off into the expanse of the ocean beyond the horizon.

When you are looking away from the island in that direction for a few brief moments it is as if the city behind you doesn’t exist. The ocean breeze feels fresh and untainted and the sound of the waves constantly crashing down on the rocks drowns out all but the most obnoxious of motorists. Many lovers have sat there, holding hands and staring off into the distance, wondering what the future holds.

Unlike a regular swimming pool, sterile and barren, the Track is full of marine life. In many ways it is its own ecosystem, with new arrivals constantly swimming in through the gaps of the tripod rocks. A dead dolphin even made an appearance at one of the practice sessions and caused quite the commotion.

It is a common sight to see small specimens of different kinds of filolhu (a type of fish from the Lethrinidae family - commonly known as emperors) cruising along the sandy bottom. Sometimes this bottom is covered with a certain jellyfish that has the appearance of a cake covered in many little candles.

A lot of young people, myself included, would sometimes try to catch a type of pipefish (a relative of the seahorse) with our hands as it often rested along the rocky shallows. Chasing them around provided a fun challenge; although it does seem cruel and unnecessary in retrospect.

The tripod rocks are always covered with several types of sea snails and a type of crab. The crabs would sit around in groups picking off bits of moss with their claws. When it was time for them to moult, they would climb up onto higher ground and discard their shells. People would often collect these perfectly preserved carapaces as souvenirs.

The state of life in the Track seems to be on the decline. When I was young I’d go with my mother and hunt for raakani, a kind of shellfish that is delicious when barbecued. We’d find them along the bottom and along the shallower parts of the ocean facing side. We kept it up for a few months until we stopped finding them. Perhaps others were doing the same and we were all actively hurting the ecosystem.

Similarly, when I was a teenager I used to accompany some friends who would go hunting in the track for lion fish and other exotic species for their marine tank. These adventures followed a similar pattern. A time of abundance followed by a slow decline until eventually we were barely catching anything at all.

One thing that was never in short supply is trash. All kinds of trash. You name it, it’s there. Bottles, cooking utensils, chairs, entire beds, all manner of plastic and food wrappers, cigarette butts, pens, pencils, cans, clothing, national flags, motor parts; if it was something that someone in Male’ city had used it at some point, then it was almost a certainty that you'd find it at the track.

Other than various sporadic efforts to clean up the place by youths and various other organisations, there isn’t really a system in place to manage the trash.

Maldivian’s have an extremely nonchalant attitude towards waste disposal. A clue is in our word for beach - “gondudhoh”; which literally translates to by the (dhoh) trash dump (gondu). In islands that still have beaches, the tradition is maintained by turning one side of the island into a complete ecological disaster. Many islands I’ve visited have had this side completely inaccessible as the bottom is covered with dangerous trash such as broken glass and hundreds of little cans of tomato paste. Another historical use of the beach was to defecate - the method being to dig a small hole in the sand which one would cover afterwards. This was even the case in Male’ for when my parents’ generation was young as back then the island still had some of its beaches intact. They would tell us stories to gross us out, about how bad the place smelled, and how they would occasionally step on someone else’s business accidentally.

The current residents of Male’ City are no longer so lucky, so perhaps in a strange way, dumping endless amounts of trash into one of the few places they can still go for a swim is their way of having a gondudhoh of their own.

#Maldives #photography #photo-essay #male' city

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karkatvantasistrans · 7 years

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Uhhh BIG trigger warning on this one for depictions of mental illness mainly really shitty hopeless internal monologue stuff. And slightly less big ones for alcohol, alcoholism, casual ableist language, internalized misogyny. I mean it’s a fic about alcoholism so tread lightly I guess

Be Rose, 14 Hours ago

You seek out the murderclown.

This might be, had you ever grazed a text about addiction, something that might be called a bottom. Maybe not rock bottom, but enough of a sacrifice to your general set of sensibilities and morals that a particularly sensitive person could begin to see a problem with their lifestyle. Enough of a shock to be a wakeup call for someone still invested in their own life. You might be aware of the concept if, freshly thrust into the world of double-digit ages, you watched your mother's ability to care for you decline and began searching for ways to understand her. To care for her, potentially, if you had to see her decline beneath her own standards. If the "functioning" ever dropped off from before the rest of her descriptors. If you were wide-eyed, optimisitic and trusting enough to believe alcoholic adult men you'd never met to understand your mother better than you could.

But, of course, none of that could be the case. You know yourself as someone who would never allow herself to be that vulnerable, so that couldn't have happened.

So you seek out the murderclown.

Walking here, you'd followed trails of vents in overwhelmingly complicated articulations as they escaped the confines of the rooms' walls, and after a certain point most of the landscape around you became twisted vent shafts, curling around each other in the space between metal wall fragments. The connecting metal box greeting all these vents shifts down until it becomes a room, and this room spans out to meet you in the form of a hallway, shadows cast in such a way as to obscure the actual length of the hall with a blanket of black air.

He shifts out of the darkness very deliberately, and you can appreciate the drama he invites. Green light bounces off one eye right before his gray skin starts painting itself into the air. He looks, soft. Not in a necessarily pleasant way, but his face lacks some of the more pronounced knotting and ridges of the trolls’ usual textured skin. Maybe it’s just the light, or the liquor, but he looks like he’s painted himself into the scene in front of you. There’s something inherently liminal about him. You admit it's somewhat distressing how little it feels like he’s actually occupying any space around you, and something is skittering around in your brain stem, scrambling frantically at the juncture of your neck. You can’t help but picture a gerbil trying to claw its way out, but you’re the cage, and you’re the table on which the cage is sat, and you’re the house in which the table is placed. So you’re not going anywhere.

“Gamzee,” You offer. He tilts his head.

A voice in the back of your head tells you this is a bit far to take your girlhood fascination with the macabre. You call it sexist. Men get to have real amitions and goals with their interests: why not you?

“Rose,” he hits back, and it’s the sureness that bugs you.

You uncaptalogue the bottle of wine.

He doesn’t flinch.

You’re already walking past him by the time he’s caught it in his hands.

“Come on.”

Be Rose, 11 Hours ago

You are leaning against the cold steel wall, your hair in a bunch above your head. It’s hooked on a screwhead, you think, or maybe it isn’t. You’ll figure out one way or the other inevitably. Gamzee is grinning, slick eyes narrowing more and more the more you talk. You are chatting, but you can’t hear yourself, about wine and the distilling process and the alchemy involved, and he is nodding every so slightly as light dances over his split pupils. They’re goatlike, you think, and watching orbs of light bounce off of them as they remain subbornly out of focus, they look unreal. You wonder if he’s taking information in with them or if they’re just there for display: two haunting, bewitching stones in his head as he watches you through his incizors. He feels like a ghoul; like a very ancient consort. You’re getting on amicably and he tells you about his religion; completely absurd but woven together with such a rich lore you’re almost convinced. You offer and interpretation and you swear the lights on his eyes all sync together. He’s enthralled, leaning over one knee and left hand’s claws flying through the air, gesticulating in time with every relevation he delivers. Excited, his wild hair and his horns meet in a soft circle, bouncing around his head as he expounds on the importance of different saints and jugglers, or saint-jugglers, you can’t actually keep straight what he’s talking about, and you find yourself home again. You’re comfortable; you’re invested in the kind of person you need him to be for you to survive. You, leaning against a third wall, watching the two of you conversing and understanding: you need this to survive. The both of you are strung together on a rope of liqour and the feelings of isolation have dug deep, deep into both your pores and if you had the chance to have this with the people who try to care about you you’re not sure if you even would. Your life and your girlfriend and your friends have too many artificial moments, stapled together and hanging on the reliance that Things Will Get Better and Feel Normal and you don’t know how to explain to anyone that it feels better to die with a stranger than to love them. Something churns deep, deep inside you as your girlfriend burns into your mind, her shadow on the walls of your skull as the ghost of her has to feel what you feel and your waking mind rushes back, angrily, and it’s fighting with you to feel w

you wake up in bed.

You are cold. Your clothes feel damp. You realize, with frustration, that it's because you were in the middle of pouring yourself a drink. You put down the cup, and the bottle, and lie down. You stare at the ceiling.

You feel like the ceiling stares into you more than you're able to stare into it. It's gray, it's unwelcoming, it's hostile. If it had the chance to, it would probably kill you.

Maybe it's trying.

You think about your girlfriend and you're, sad. You're so, fucking sad and you can't even be eloquent about it or put into words why you feel that way. You can't explain to yourself what the words and the feelings you have inside yourself are even supposed to mean. You can't even arrange them into something coherent. You heave.

You're holding your hands on your face and crying. Like you're a fucking teenage girl, like an idiot. You picture her and you think about yourself and you just fucking cry. You guess, you feel like you're failing her. So, there's a way to explain it. To organize the emotions, to give them a label. But it doesn't fucking help. It's not productive. It doesn't tell you anything new, it doesn't inspire meaning, it doesn't move you from point a to point b, it just stays the same. Moves you backwards into yourself.

You keep coming back here, because this is you. You're tired of it. And when you wake up you're going to have to be her again and you fucking hate her. She thinks anything can ever be better and that she can solve any of these problems like what’s fundamentally wrong with you isn’t etched into the core of your being and that if you just keep trying you would make some real progress when you know you keep coming back here for a reason and it’s n

You wake up in bed.

Which is fine; that's always a good place to wake up, and it's certainly a reasonable activit

Be Rose, 21 minutes ago.

You call Kanaya.

You realize as she’s picking up: it’s conspicuous, it’s insincere, it’s overly formal and it invites questions: why call when you can just pester her like usual? Your throat clicks as she inhales on the other end and you feel her question you moments into the future. She’s going to ask what’s happening. What’s different.

But her voice pours out the other end, soprano with surprise, delighted and chatty and just the gentle rhythm of her speech click click clicking in your left ear. You’re pacified in the most mundane sense, soothed and calmed and curling yourself around your phone and onto the wall as she rambles out the speaker into the air. Lingering guilt and questions and blank memories swim in your mind but you’re too deep under the surface to bother. And somewhere beyond the shore of the lake in your mind you have an image of you shoving your own head into the water, anxieties and critiques bubbling up as your last breaths as emotion takes over and your life escaping your lips is the last disturbance in the still waters.

Be Rose Lalonde.

You think you might stop drinking for a while.

You tell Kanaya you’re coming over.

You are still Rose Lalonde.

You are in your girlfriend’s room.

You paint her nails.

#alcoholism #moms #scribbles

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ramblinganthropologist · 6 years

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Inktober Day 28 - Gift

Summary: Ayame has a gift to help Ray and Vaughan do proper idol activities. It’s hard to get your own Aikatsu pass when you’re indy.

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Monday; even in Japan, it was the worst day of the week.

“Stand! Bow!”

From her seat in the back of the room, Ray's back threatened to crack in two. She still wasn't too sure about this whole bowing thing – it seemed dumb to her. But it was Japan, and she wasn't a total asshole. When the class rep barked orders at the end of class, even she listened.

Class was over for the day inside the general education wing of Star Harmony Academy. Girls in green dresses with blue collars filtered out of their classrooms, heading to club activities or other obligations. Class 1-3 was no different. Once they were free to go, out they went.

Ray was the last among them. She took her time gathering up her books, grimacing at the day's attempt. Between her awkward hiragana – kanji was beyond her still – and doodles when she had lost focus, not a whole lot was going on there.

“Guess I might need to look at Mei's notes again.” The girl in front of her was no doubt being polite to the dumb ass foreigner, but her notes were a godsend. It wasn't as if she wanted to rely on them, but it was just so damn hard to pay attention in class, especially in her heavy uniform as spring warmed up around them. It be a miracle if she stayed awake at all come summer.

Really, though, she was stalling. The last thing Ray wanted right then was to go out into the hallway and expose herself to the girls of the general track. After what had happened on Saturday... she winced at the thought. No thanks.

That had been beyond a shit show.

Sighing, she eventually threw her backpack over her shoulders and left the classroom, entering the corridor that would lead her outside the school gates. Maybe it was just her imagination, but a few of the students whispered as she passed.

If it wasn't them, it was her goddamn teacher asking if she was going to transfer. No.

“Ray.”

It wasn't the voice that drew her attention. Rather, the person speaking hadn't tacked anything onto it. That was rare, especially at school. So, Ray broke out of her mini pity party and looked in the direction it was coming from.

Ok, clearly the whispers weren't for her at all. Good to know.

“I think you're on the wrong side of school, Ayame.”

Her stepsister's school shoes and the bright pink bow made that more than obvious. She stuck out like a sore thumb on this side of the campus. Among her idol classmates no one would have batted an eye but this was an entirely different country practically. One with more practical shoes, for that matter.

Then again what did Ray know about that, her street shoes were combat boots.

Ayame had been standing by the classroom door, no doubt creating quite a scene. Really, it was a wonder Ray hadn't noticed her. Maybe it was the warm weather. Either way, her stepsister wasn't in the practice room, and that was weird.

She normally didn't leave that on school days til practically 7 unless she had a job in town. What gives?

“I needed to talk to you about something. Could you come with me?”

Oh... shit.

If this was about transferring, Ray didn't want to hear it. Still, she fell in line behind Ayame as the older girl started walking. Together, the pair went from the general education side of the school towards where the idols had their classes. There was no official line in the sand to mark them off, but even so. It felt different.

It kind of felt like she was invading as she crossed over.

“How was class today?” Ayame's tone was polite as they walked through the corridors of the idol section. As Ray looked in the door, she saw girls in track suits practicing their moves or going through other lessons in the practice areas. There was nothing like that on her side of the school – they didn't really need it. “Is it getting easier to write in hiragana?”

“Yeah... kanji's still kind of hard though. I don't get stroke order for shit.” She looked around frowning. “Ayame, if this is about transferring classes, I already said I wasn't interested. Besides, I'd break my neck in those shoes.”

Seriously, who made heels part of a school uniform? It had to be idol hazing – everyone else got nice, normal shoes that slid on easy. Those looked like torture devices, especially since the idols had to wear them all day. Forget about it.

Her stepsister didn't break stride as they kept walking. “First off, you'd be surprised how quickly you can adapt to them if you wear them all the time.”

She would rather not.

Ayame wasn't finished though. “Wait here, I'll be right out.”

They stopped not at some administrator's office, but at a small room that Ayame entered after briefly making herself known. It was hard to hear what she was talking about through the thick wood, but the glass gave a pretty good view. She was talking with some adult who was at a whiteboard covered in multicolored writing. Something about Sakura Sensation maybe?

“Guess that's her manager.” Ray had never met the woman, though she had heard about her over dinner. She was pretty sure that was Suzuki, but it wasn't like she was being introduced to her or anything. “Wonder what's up?”

She froze briefly when the woman looked straight at her through the glass, back snapping ramrod straight with such a ferocity she swore they'd be able to hear it crack all the way back in Amarillo. Luckily, nothing was broken – just her pride was a bit bruised.

Ayame came out a few moments after that, closing the door behind her. From the looks of things, they weren't stopping to chat. That was fine by Ray as she fell in step behind her stepsister – introductions could lead to other things, like pink bows and heeled school shoes. Besides, she had once been told she had a problem with authority.

No idea where they got that from.

“Something up?” Ray asked when they got away from the production room. They had stopped at the small outside area where the fountain could be accessed by both classes. There was a free bench, so that's where they wound up. Much to her surprise, she swore she could feel a tension in the air.

Her stepsister didn't answer at first – she was too busy sorting through small cards, dividing them up into two neat piles to her right. Whatever she was working with, it was like she handling some holy book. There was love in her touch, almost outright devotion.

… Well, shit. What the fuck had she done now?

Ray had never been good at waiting for things. Twitchy, her grade school teacher had said when they were being polite. Outright asshole was what the less polite ones had gone for. She wasn't a patient person, and it was showing now. It took everything in her not to get up and look, and even as she remained seated the urge was there. But somewhere a teacher got its wings as she stayed in her seat and for once in her goddamn life, didn't open her mouth.

Wouldn't her mother be proud?

When Ayame had finished, she scooped up one of the piles and sorted it again. Then she turned to face Ray. Finally, she handed the small stack over, a smile flitting across her face. The second pile she kept in her hands, probably for safe keeping against the wind.

“What's this?” Ray glanced down and blinked in surprise. At the top of the pile was a shiny pink card with a diamond to the left and her name in katakana to the right. It was held in a little pink carrier, much like the one Ayame kept on her schoolbag. “Wait, this looks like your-”

Aikatsu Pass. It was an Aikatsu Pass – hers.

Wordlessly, Ray put the pass and holder aside. Underneath were four cards, each of them depicting an article of clothing. Unlike Ayame's, they weren't branded with anything other than a spade for the cool type, but she didn't need that. After all, she had worn the exact same outfit on stage, give or take a few modifications by whoever had seen fit to make it.

Seeing her stepsister's face, Ayame filled in the details. “Suzuki-san helped me make the coord cards and fill out the information for your pass. Vaughan's stuff is over here. I hope he doesn't mind his pass is pink – we only have that kind here.”

She kept on, still smiling. “You have the Aikatsu app on your phone, right? If you scan the QR code you can put your coord in there so you can keep your cards in a binder.”

“Uh... yeah.” Ray swallowed hard, suddenly finding it a little hard to do so. Allergies, maybe? “I mean... thanks. You didn't have to do this.”

With her own pass and cards, she technically had all she needed to be an official idol. Unlike the last time, now she and her partner could access the Aikatsu system and the illusion stage. There would be no more standing in front of a blank screen in front of an audience used to that sort of thing. If they chose to, they could work the system the same as any other idol.

Because... well... they were technically idols now, weren't they?

Ayame shook her head at the gratitude. “I did, really. You two didn't stand half a chance against Pure Palette without passes or coords. It's amazing you scored as well as you did.”

She handed Ray Vaughan's pass and cards and the two shared a gaze. For the first time, Ayame didn't look annoyed with her. Rather, there was something almost like pride. Was she proud of her? That wasn't exactly something the younger girl was used to, and she quickly averted her eyes as her face heated up. So much for being a tough guy.

“Yeah, I know it was a shit show. You don't have to bring it up.”

Her stepsister giggled at the reaction. “Sorry, didn't mean to bring up any bad feelings. You'll get them next time.”

She stood, looking towards the practice room. “I have to get back to my lessons, but I'll see you tonight at home. Tomorrow I'll show you and Vaughan how to use the system.”

Great, because it made no fucking sense to Ray – bunch of buttons and weird light shit that popped up out of nowhere. If someone who understood it was willing to show them the ropes, they'd take it. Besides, they had practice at her school tomorrow anyway.

Before she left, Ayame ha one last remark. “Put them away before you lose them.”

“Yes, mom.” Ray's voice was thick was sarcasm as she slid both the cards and one of the passes into the front pocket of her schoolbag, zipping it tight. “They're in my front pocket.”

Well, that fuzzy moment was over – her sister disappeared, leaving her alone with her thoughts and pass. In her hands, it looked so small. Yet as it reflected the light and showed her name spelled out so neatly in katakana -neater than she could ever write it – a funny feeling took her over.

Instead of shoving it into the pocket of her backpack, Ray threaded it through the zipper. Then it was on her back as she headed not for home, but for her partner's school. They had practice planned for that afternoon, though it was scheduled to be more of a performance overview.

Maybe the cards would brighten their moods. After all, it wasn't every day you got a gift like that.

#ramblinganthropologist's writing #Sunburst idol unit #Ray Jones Sunburst Idol Unit #Ayame Kimura Sunburst Idol Unit

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kahnac · 7 years

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Kind of out of Order here since THIS was made before the Kaiju villains list. But don’t worry, it shouldn’t be too big a deal. Just be sure to enjoy what’s down below.:)

Greetings, and hello, everybody. Today, i have something pretty different from what i normally do. This time, with the enormous help of my friend japanesegodzilla1954 , i have conducted a list of my Top 20 favorite kaiju together. Now, when i say "major help", i mean as in HE created the list above while i just told him what kaiju, and in which order. He actually came to me, and asked if i had a list like this i wanted to make. I told him yes, but also that i didn't know how to edit something like this. So he offered his services, and i gladly accepted. And i can easily tell you that i am pretty grateful to japanesegodzilla1954 for making this for me. It really was a great thing to do for a person. But now, let's get to the kaiju themselves, and explain why i like them so: #20. Titanosaurus: Now, as alot of people know: dinosaurs are awesome. And Titanosaurus is no exception. Part of a long lost ancient race of aquatic Dinosaurs, Titanosaurus was enslaved by an alien race, and made to fight alongside Mechagodzilla 1. And boy, was he a force to be reckoned with: he basically beat Godzilla to a pulp, and buried him in a mountain. Yet his only real flaw is his wasted potential. It was stated that he is a shy, timid creature who only acted vicious because of the mind control. Yet we never got the chance to see that. Even after his demise. Yet, he still was a very cool, and interesting kaiju who should definitely be admired. #19. Orga: Here, we have another example of how imitation is often the highest form of death. In this case, it's in the form of a kaiju formed from an alien known as the millenian. It crashed on earth millions of years ago before being awakened in 1999. It immediately sensed Godzilla, his G-cells, and the means of creating a physical form. In time, it conducted the plan, and it succeeded. Except for the radioactive part of the G-Cells mutating it into Orga. Now Orga is an interesting kaiju. He basically looks like a big brute who's probably as strong as Rhino, or Juggernaut if they were kaiju. And it's said because of his mutation, he acts like it, too. But personally, maybe like KaijuSamurai , he is actually smart with his millenian knowledge, but he can sometimes lose himself in G-cell induced rages. That's usually why i like depicting him as something similar to Shockwave from both IDW, and TFP. And idea which has often struck me as being: "logical". #18. Megaguirus: an often horrible creature who basically embodies what a nasty bug is like. She is the queen of an ancient race of insects from centuries ago in earth's prehistory. And is one of the most fearsome, and territorial creatures in existence which is an eternal enemy of Rodan. As they say. Long story short, Japan creates a weapon which opens a wormhole to that point in time, a meganula comes through, lays an egg, kid dumps in tokyo sewers, swarm emerges, absorbs Godzilla's energy, brings it to their queen, and thus Megaguirus is born. And just looking at her brings the idea of what an actual Dragon Fly might look like. She is absolutely vicious, brutal, and she likes playing dirty. She also seems to have a sadistic nature to her, too, which makes her all the more devious. And her speed: oh gosh, her speed is incredible. If anything, she had Godzilla on the ropes thanks to that impossible speed she was using, combined with her ability to absorb Godzilla's power. Now, if things wen't a bit differently, and Godzilla was an ordinary fighter, she would have killed him in no time. But as we've all learned, Godzilla is no ordinary fighter by any means. A lesson which eventually bit her hard, and fast. #17. Rodan: Now, we get to one of the biggest figureheads of Godzilla kaiju. Or specifically, toho. After the movie, "Godzilla Raids Again", toho decided that they would begin making a series of kaiju films before eventually bringing back the big g himself. One of those was Rodan. Basically a prehistoric kaiju akin to the likes of Megaguirus, Anguirus, or Baragon, Rodan was actually one of two who had awakened in the 60's of Japan. Both supposedly died, until the film "Ghidrah, the 3 headed monster" saw his initial return. Now, what makes him interesting is the fact that not only is he a great flier, but also a fierce fighter. And also strong enough to fight Godzilla for the majority of the film until Mothra convinced the two to work together against Ghidorah. Since then, he's appeared in numerous films as Godzilla's ally, and has even been featured in all three Godzilla generations. Though it seems his strength, and abilities vary in each one. But nevertheless, Rodan is a great kaiju that can often stand with the best of them. And no matter what, ya can't keep a good Rodan down for long. Just ask SMGII. #16. Zilla: *sigh* Poor, unfortunate Zilla. The kaiju who apparently very nearly ruined Godzilla's career for being an inferior version of him that could supposedly never hold a candle to the name. Hence why Toho made him into his own kaiju after buying the rights to, just so they can kill him off in an "I'm better than you" fashion. But if i'm to be honest, i don't hate Zilla in the slightest. In fact, i kinda think he's an alright kinda kaiju. But to be honest, most of this outlook comes from my love for his son, Zilla Jr, from the animated series. Which did well to pay more respect to the Godzilla name. And if i actually considered it, he would be on this list instead. But if i did, then he would probably be number one, so i went with regular Zilla. But either way, i owe this Zilla for the second Zilla's existence, and he did awesome in "Rulers of Earth". So, as they say, Credit is where credit's due. #15. DesGhidorah: So here we have the first Ghidorah on the list. But definitely not the only one. Anyway, this one is a real interesting creature. Millions of years ago, he wiped out the planet Mars. In a similar manner as King Ghidorah did to Venus' civilization. He then traveled to earth to do the same, but the Elias, alongside the Mothra race, sealed him away into the earth to hopefully never return. But since when has that ever been a permanent solution? Anyway, cut to a million years later, an evil elias named Belvera mind controls the head of a construction company, and breaks the seal holding DesGhidorah, breaking him free from his prison. All so she can basically "save the earth from humanity". Idiot. Anyway, DesGhidorah picks up where he left off, and begins bleeding the Earth dry of its life force as he burns, and blasts everything in sight. The current Mothra tries to stop him, but she was too weak after giving birth to Leo. Even he can't save her, and she dies. Now, DesGhidorah is a very cool Ghidorah by many ways. His black scaly skin, and bloodred wings give him a perfectly demonic appearance. His quadrupedal appearance also gives the felling of a traditional western dragon to his appearance. And also how ruthless, and powerful he is. So much so that he forces Leo to go to the Tree of Life itself to give him the power to transcend beyond what any normal Mothra is capable of. He then reaches what i can assume is Godzilla, and Gamera levels, and promptly beats Desghidorah back into the earth he crawled out of. But whether he died, or not, is left up to debate. Either way, he certainly lives up to the title of "The Death Ghidorah". #14. Anguirus: Yep. The ever-loving, best buddy to Godzilla himself is here, too. And why not? Especially since, ironically, he was the very first enemy Godzilla ever fought, and beat. After that, he seemed to become friends with Godzilla. In fact, you could say they were pretty close, too. What i like about him is just how great his bond with Godzilla has been depicted. There are plenty of times where he will fight beside Godzilla against any kaiju. He'll often be hanging out with Goji, just relaxing, and probably chatting. And he'll even go as far as to do what he can to cheer him up out of any kind of funk he's in. And because he's one of the most stubborn, and determined fighters around, he will often risk his own neck to help out Godzilla, or anyone else he considers a friend. The respect, and acknowledgement he has for Godzilla is one to truly be admired. It's just a shame we never got to see much of it in the films. But i have heard that there have been indications of it in the showa films, so it is acknowledged. And he's appeared in about as many films as Rodan. So it's safe to say that no matter where Godzilla goes, or in what generation, Anguirus will always be right behind. #13. Jet Jaguar: JET JAGGA! JET JAGGA! PUNCH PUNCH PUNCH! Yes, that's right. It's every-bodies favorite super fighting robot from "Godzilla vs Megalon". There are alot of things people like about this guy. And even i have a certain liking to him. Especially considering my exposure to him in the "Rulers of Earth" series. Where he has scored as much kaiju wins, if not more than, Godzilla himself. He can use his size changing ability in very creative, and helpful ways. Like giving Orga a bad case of indigaestion, or surviving Destoroyah's attacks, and to dish out a few of his own. He even stood up to Godzilla's nuke breath with ease before giving him a single KO punch. Not alot of kaiju, or mechs, who can say that they knocked him out with one punch, i can promise you that.. And he's also great at strategy, as he knew that the best way to beat Destoroyah was to freeze him. Hence why he shrunk to human size, flew into Kiryu's cockpit, and fired AZ cannon at Destoroyah, completely obliterating him. And he also has a great rivalry with Gigan, as well. Something the comics played with a bit after GvsM. Either way, this is one sentai tribute who will give you the thumbs up for a heroic job well done. #12: King Caesar: Possibly the first King of the Monsters before Godzilla himself, King Caesar is a great, and awesome addition to the roster First of all, he is a kaiju of a somewhat supernatural persuasion, as he is by all accounts a living statue. Hence why he was the best chance the AMF had against the Trilopods: no blood to absorb, and thereby assimilate. When he first appeared, it was to fight against the first Mechagodzilla. An enemy even Godzilla couldn't stand against on his own. Yet inspite of his abilities, which also includes reflecting beams back into enemies, even he couldn't atand against the mecha. At least until Godzilla showed up, and they double teamed the robot. Though what is important to note is that his strength is possibly the kind which even rival's Godzilla's own. Especially considering he's more than strong enough to rip Trilopods in half, or just pull apart piece by piece. Yet what makes him stand out amongst kaiju is how he is actually dedicated to protecting humans. He will actually risk his own life to keep humans safe, and if any is harmed, then let's just say you don't want to fight him, as he will get REALLY angry. Some believe this is because somewhere inside of him there is some kind of spirit which compels him to be a protector of not only the earth, but also the humans who live on it. But whatever his origins, he is a brave, and noble kaiju who has even earned Godzilla's respect. And has proven to be more than worthy of being a Guardian of the Earth. #11. Kiryu: One of the greatest mech's ever created for being certainly one of the most unique: because inside of Kiryu's metal body is the skeleton of Gojira, the 1954 Godzilla. When Godzilla returned years prior to his creation, the JSDF decided to create a bio robot as a weapon to fight him. One of the components was Gojira's skeleton. Unfortunately, nobody counted on Gojira's soul waking up, and actually taking control of the mech to go on a rampage, thanks to Godzilla. But he was brought back under control. And thanks to his interaction with humans, and one Akane Yoshiro, it seemed like he was actually starting to let go of his hate filled ways, and become more of a heroic force for good. Though he would be considered a tragic hero, since in order to end the cycle of death, and hate, he took Godzilla, and himself, back to the sea, to be laid to rest for good. Heck, he even went so far as to save Chujo from going down with him, as well as give him a farewell message. With speed, and strength capable of matching Godzilla himself, and an Absolute Zero weapon, Kiryu is another great example of how you either die the hero, or live to see yourself become the villain. #10. Biollante: Speaking of tragedy, i don't think any come as close to that of Biollante. Save for Nemesis, that is. Before she became a kaiju, Biollante was actually a human girl named Ericka Shiragami. During an attack by terrorists, she was killed in the event. So, driven by grief, her father tried to bring her back by the only thing he could use: Science. Taking her DNA, and crossing it with that of her favorite rose, as well as adding G-Cells, Shiragami sought to at least preserve her spirit in some way, or another. What actually came about was a case of "be careful what you wish for". after a short while, she basically changed into a gigantic flower creature, confused, and with no idea of what was happening. Her presence actually drew Godzilla to her, and he destroyed her body in a fight. But a few hours later, she came back. More monstrous than ever before. Because of what he did, Biollante was allowed to mutate even further into a beast which began to more closely resemble Godzilla. The two fought to a stalemate, and she turned into space pollen as she drifted up into space, and seemingly giving Ericka peace. A story which i could imagine was the inspiration for the creation of Project Nemesis" which had a similar story with it's titular kaiju. Either way, Biollante is an enormous, but also sad character that makes us wonder if a rose by any other name would really still smell as sweet. #9. Megalon: A prime example of why people like the Showa era: a silly, completely ridiculous kaiju design which still manages to keep the story interesting. Which is basically what Megalon is. He was originally the God of Seatopia, and was intended to destroy humanity. Before Jet Jaguar came along, and beat him into submission. Even with Gigan's help, though the both of them seem to be good buddies. But either way, let's just say Megalon is a weapon without the safety lock on. Cause without somebody like Gigan to tell him what to do, he'll basically just stay in one spot, and go crazy. He's basically like an overgrown child. But one who happens to be a super strong demolisher, and likes blowing stuff up. Though personally, i kinda prefer when he isn't played like an idiot, and is more like a black knight who serves the evil cause for his own purposes. But there is an irresistible charm to Megalon which keeps me from hating the guy, and gives him a small, but special place in my heart. *8. Mechagodzilla 1: And now we have the very first, and possibly worst, Mechagodzilla ever created. As the first evil doppelganger to Godzilla, MG1 left quite an impression. In fact, the first thing he did was impersonate Godzilla, go on a "rampage", and then break Anguirus' jaw. Poor guy. And when he first revealed himself, it was when he basically beat Godzilla to a pulp. Though not without his own systems overheating first. All thanks to the enormous arsenal he has at his disposal, including an invincible shield, and being made out of Space Titanium, which is the strongest metal in the toho universe so far. Even with the help of King Caesar, Godzilla was barely able to beat MG1 until he made himself into a magnet, and then tore off his mechanized head. But as his creators must've learned: if at first you don't succeed, try try again. They rebuilt him stronger than ever, and then teamed him up with Titanosaurus. No doubt inspired by Godzilla's own team up from last time. Either way, the duo made short work of Godzilla, and proved how fearsome they are. Until Titanosaurus was taken care of, then it was more even. But tearing of MG1's head wasn't enough, and Godzilla had to use everything he had to destroy him. While a bit outdated in design, MG1 is an enemy who will live on in the hearts of Godzilla fans for ages to come. #7. Hedorah: Ooooh, great. If people thought MG1 was the toughest, then Hedorah is that, and the most disgusting thing toho ever made. Basically, Hedorah is a being comprised entirely out of toxic sludge, and radioactive waste. He has no organic properties, and is there fore a gelatinous mass. Godzilla himself was no match for the slimy beast, as his attacks were pretty much useless against him, and touching him was dangerous because of his body being completely acidic. He's kinda like Majin Buu with his durability, and his invincibility. In fact, the only way he could be killed was by dehydrating his body, then atomizing his compound. Simply put, if humanity didn't help, this abomination would have killed Godzilla in probably the most unpleasant manners possible. Though i can admit, his concept, and design are intriguing, and something that can make me appreciate the blob of a kaiju. Either way, if slime's beneath him, or slime's up above, you will NOT wanna love his "Toxic Love" anytime soon. Trust me, you will regret it. #6. Mothra & Battra: Now we have what is possibly the most interesting kaiju you could have around. Mothra, in case you don't know, is the guardian of humanity, and the Goddess of Peace. Battra is Guardian of the Earth, and God of Vengeance. Centuries ago, the two fought against each other because of humanity, and Mothra was forced to seal her brother away for centuries. And yes, i consider them siblings. Now Mothra is by far the most influential kaiju in the Toho universe. In fact, she has been in more movies than any other recurring kaiju aside from Godzilla himself. You could even say that she is his foil: the peaceful, loving guardian who exists to protect the world through peaceful means, while Godzilla is an often vengeful, hate filled destroyer who exists to maintain order on Earth. Such is why both have often fought against each other before. But in spite of the conflicts they've had, they have often worked together more. First, against King Ghidorah, and then in a few other instances. Alot of people have taken up the idea that, in certain universes, Mothra can see the potential for good in Godzilla, and she will often try to guide him on the right path. And in spite of his rough exterior, he is willing to accept her guidance, and can even consider her his friend. Though the same could not be said for Battra. He has more often than not been an enemy to both Godzilla, AND Mothra because of his often vengeful nature. But when his sister convinces him of a greater threat to the Earth, he will drop his vendetta, and help her to do his duty. This was mainly against Godzilla, and resulted in his death. But he has since returned in the IDW comics, and has played the prominent role in the series as the yang to Mothra's Yin: not evil, but still greatly misguided. Nevertheless, both are essential guardians of the earth, and will continue to fight until the end of their days to keep their world safe from any danger. #5. Gigan: Introducing the first ally to King Ghidorah himself, and one of the most popular recurring villains in kaiju lore. And considering he's also the first cyborg ever introduced, that is saying something. On his first appearance, he teamed up with King Ghidorah to take down Godzilla, and Anguirus. And very nearly succeeded. His fighting style was formidable, and his blades actually managed to cut through Godzilla's body like butter. Another feat few kaiju can ever say they accomplished. And let's just say that when Godzilla caught his second wind: that's when things got bad for him. After his initial beatdown, he got out of there as fast as possible. Ditching King Ghidorah as quickly as possible. This showed that as good a fighter as he is, he's also a coward. But he is also a sadistic one, too. He brutishly beat the scrap out of JJ with Megalon, and even used him as a ball for catching. Even going so far as to threaten to off him if Godzilla got any closer. But luckily, Jet got the last laugh as he broke Gigan's arm, and then forced him to make a hasty retreat. Once again, ditching his "friend" to save himself. Though when he got updated for the millennium series, he was severely upgraded in a big sense: his hooks got turned into scythes, his body was given a red and black cybernetic appearance to emphasize his cyborg heritage, and he was clearly given an extreme workout in his years of absence. Because he is quite fit for a guy probably in his forties. Sadly, in spite of his great, new design, he was beaten a bit easily by Godzilla. Guess it was just to show how strong he was compared to before. But Gigan wasn't taken out so easily, cause he got his neck braced, and loaded with chainsaws! Funny enough, it was Mothra who finally put him down, since in the story, the both of them were ancient rivals who fought long ago. And though she killed him, she ended going up with him. But nevertheless, he made a great comeback in "Rulers of Earth", as a secondary villain who is just as formidable as ever before. And who also might have had his rivalry with Jet Jaguar revived as well. Either way you slice it, Gigan is an amazing kaiju who can make the cut of any list. And if you strike him down, he shall only become more powerful than you can possibly imagine. #4. Destoroyah: Ah. Now we're getting into the big leagues. And who better to start off with than the Oxygen Destroyer incarnate? Long story short, Destoroyah was once a microscopic, precambrian crustacean until the Oxygen Destroyer killed Gojira. It then began mutating over the past forty ears before micro oxygen was made, and gave it the ability to exist on land. He then became a number of aggregates which eventually merged together to form him. He has several forms for several purposes, which makes him cool. And from what i've seen: his only purpose is to destroy everything he sees. He also seems to be vengeful as well, because when he achieved his final form, he basically killed Junior for beating him in his second form. But then he learned the hard way what happens when you get Godzilla mad by screwing with his family. Yet even when Godzilla was in his strongest state, which was ironic considering he was dying, Destoroyah proved to be a real Juggernaut, and withstood mostly everything Godzilla threw at him. Up until Godzilla reached his full power, and unleashed all of his flaming vengeance upon Destoroyah. Mutilating his body, and causing him to flee only for G-Force to basically freeze him in midair, and thus kill him. Now, i will say right now, Destoroyah is one of the coolest kaiju around with one of the best designs you could ever ask for. Like the AVGN once said: "HE LOOKS LIKE THE GODDAMN DEVIL!" Which is true, to be honest. But sadly, he was kinda underutilized in Rulers of Earth. Be that as it may, that doesn't stop him from being one of the most badass kaiju to ever grace the big screen. And it certainly won't be the last time we see him. #3. Grand King Ghidorah: If anyone was to ask me what my favorite Ghidorah would be, it would definitely have to be this one. Where i felt Showa Ghidorah was wasted potential, and Heisei wasn't even a real Ghidorah, imagine how excited i was when i learned about this guy. Grand King Ghidorah is a beast among monsters. In fact, he gives full meaning to the word. As it happens, he has destroyed countless worlds through out his existence, much like his showa counterpart. And he even caused the extinction of the dinosaurs. That alone should give an idea of just how dangerous he is. But it isn't. It's when he arrives on earth that his evil is truly displayed. Upon emerging from his meteor transport, he begins destroying Japan's cities, one by one. Not only that, but he actually has the ability to trap people, or in this case children, and contain them inside an alien dome comprised of his own essence. Others can enter, but none can leave. UltraGWRzilla had an idea as for why else he did this: not only was he going to feed on the children's lifeforce-but also the despair, and misery of the human parents who were worried for his young. Giving in to his "King of Terror" title, it is possible that he actually feeds on fear as well-the fear of people losing those they truly love, and couldn't stand to lose. An act of true evil unlike may others. And a notion i'm inclined to agree with. Especially with how he seems to enjoy his work, too. Worst of all, he is leagues above Mothra Leo, who had grown considerably stronger by that point. In fact, i still think he was in Godzilla's league by this point. But either way, Grand King Ghidorah brushed off all of his attacks, and completely devastated the young moth. And thus made him so desperate that he went back in time to the day GKing Ghidorah came to earth, and destroy him while he was weaker. Thus erasing him from the present. The plan worked, of course, though Leo was stranded in the past. But unfortunately, he didn't know that Grand King Ghidorah could apparently regenerate from even a single piece of his body. So in the end, he still came to Earth-just later than he did before- and picked up where he left off. Thankfully, Leo spent his centuries in a cocoon, soaking up earth;s mana to evolve into an armored form. One which finally surpassed Ghidorah, and finally destroyed him. So, as i said, Grand King Ghidorah is another awesome, and incredible kaiju who makes a perfect villain for Toho. Now i just wish he could be featured in IDW comics. Either way, he has proven to be a true horror that brings true meaning to the name "King of Terror". #2. Spacegodzilla: You want to talk evil kaiju? Well, look no further than Godzilla's evil clone, Spacegodzilla. Now, where do i begin? He destroys a nasa space station with everyone on board, trashes Moguera, torments, and terrorizes Little Godzilla so that he can draw out Godzilla, proceeds to beat Godzilla, locks his son in a crystal cage, baits Godzilla into following him, transforms Fukuoka into his own crystal domain, and the proceeds to fight Godzilla, and Moguera in a fight that lasts what could probably be considered longer than any previous kaiju fight i have ever seen. What's interesting about him is that he has no specific origin. We don't know anything about where he came from, or exactly how he was created. The only thing we can assume is that he was born from G-Cells in space. In fact, plenty of people have given him some kind of origin: from G-Cells bonding to a crystal organism in space, being crystal organism that came to earth and copied Jr's DNA, to being a clone engineered by aliens, to being from an entirely alternate universe. The list is somewhat long. But as the Joker once said: "If i'm going to have an origin, i'd prefer it to be multiple choice". This only helps to exemplify how bad he is. The rest goes for his actions, and how he carries them out. For starters, he's out to kill Godzilla so that he can conquer the Earth for himself. The only time we've ever had an alien kaiju trying to conquer earth, it was for some other alien race mind controlling them. But Spacegodzilla is nobodies puppet. He is out to conquer, and rule of his own volition. And he will go to any lengths to do it. Which includes attacking an innocent, helpless young Gojiran so that he can call Godzilla, and then lock up the kid so that he'll have no choice but to fight Spacegodzilla in order to rescue him. And Spacegodzilla will not tolerate anyone who tries to interfere with his conquest in anyway. Ask the mafia who tried to mind control Godzilla beforehand. Then, he transformed Fukuoka into his personal fortress so that he could be at full power when he fights Godzilla. Showing how he uses strategy in his methods. And when he does fight, he is plenty powerful enough to tear Godzilla apart. It was only when his shoulder crystals got blown up that he was eventually beaten. But like any good villain, he never stays down for long. And as stated, he will use any method to get what he wants. Which includes teaming up with an alien race in Save The Earth, and a band of aliens in Ongoing. He still lost on both accounts, of course. But it gave him the idea that he's better of as a solo act. Hence why he returned in "Rulers of Earth" he fought against his former ally, Gigan, and promptly kicked his ass with relative ease. Then the Trilopods came along, and he was actually forced to team up with Godzilla to fight a group of them. One of them having assimilated him. They seemed focused on him though, since they could probably tell he was the bigger threat. Though it didn't matter what they did. When the two "siblings" combined their power, no Trilopod was left standing. And after Godzilla ended up unconscious after he killed one? Spacegodzilla attempted to kill him on the spot, basically pulling a Megatron us. But he sensed the incoming Trilopod hive, and promised to settle things later in kaiju-speak. Though honestly, i feel like his greatest achievement was when he caused the Crystal Incursion. He had the entire world in his hands after he covered the globe in his crystals. Though he obviously didn't know other kaiju could use power surge crystals like that. Oh well. In the end, Spacegodzilla has proven to be the most cunning, ruthless, intelligent, powerful, and sadistic monster created by toho. A true symbol of what it means to be a force for pure evil. And #1 is: #1. Bagan: As i'm sure many of you know: i absolutely love this guy. I'm pretty sure i explained why, but let me recap by explaining who he is. Bagan is essentially a scrapped kaiju who is ironically the most popular of them, too. He was planned to appear in several films, but due to circumstances, he never got a chance. In hindsight, this may seem like a bad thing. But with a kaiju who is basically a blank slate, this is a good thing. While Toho has never created a specific backstory for him, others have done their greatest to give him the best there is. Though he does have a few backgrounds for when he was intended to be used. The kind other people have used, too. He was originally a guardian of earth, who protected the region of china. But due to some unforeseen reasoning, he was either sealed away, or he ended up trapped in an iceberg, or something. Either way, he breaks free centuries later, senses the changes mankind has made to the earth, gets angry, and begins destroying them. Another story was in the NES game "Super Godzilla", where he is basically the super-powered combination of Godzilla, and King Ghidorah. Something which makes him nearly impossible to beat. Some people have incorporated these backstories into their own stories, while some created their own. As far as anybody is concerned, it's another matter of an origin being multiple choice. As for me, personally, there is a certain version of Bagan i find the most enjoyable. And is easily my favorite kind of Bagan. One where he was indeed a guardian of Earth, and the most powerful. But under mysterious circumstances, he saw life as something that needed to end for certain reasons. So he turned against all living things, and sought to destroy all. Only thanks to the combined efforts of the earth's guardians is he sealed away for centuries. Until centuries later his prison come undone, and he is free once again. That is the main idea for the devil figure Bagan. And people like UltraGWRzilla have done this as well. But i feel like tarbano is someone who can do this kinda theme correctly. As he has created a depiction of satanic origins with the mannerisms of Unicron, and the mindset of Deathwing. Though in my opinion: these qualities are also the kind shared by another satanic figure who was once an agent of good before he betrayed his fellow guardians, and became a force of pure evil: Makuta Teridax. One of my absolute favorite villains in fictional history, i find that Makuta serves as a perfect character influence for Bagan, and is one i will often find myself using for his character in my stories. Which works well, because i consider Bagan to be the devil of Toho universe if he s handled right. Whether he is a destructive force of nature, or a force of ultimate evil, Bagan is otherwise a being who will remind others that while powerful, they are still mere mortals: and he is a god. And those were my Top 20 favorite kaiju. Do you agree with my choices? Have other kaiju you may like? Have any thoughts you'd like to share? Then feel free to share, and leave in the comments below. Until then, i hope you enjoy reading this, and i'll see you all next time. Goodbye!

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sugar-petals · 6 years

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Hi , would you be willing to do a merman jungkook x reader smut ?

Sublime (M)

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