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darkwalk · 4 years

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Trading Stories

Hey guys. Writing for the Together AU has been hard recently, mostly because there’s a lot of violence in the story (a lot of riots at one point) and it’s pretty hard to write that when there are riots going on in real life. I’m not sure if it’s disrespectful to write about them when they’re happening for real. I also don’t want people to have the impression that I’m encouraging the violence.

At the moment, I’m on the third chapter of the second draft (and wow, my writing is so much better with another draft.) and thought I’d share a part of the rough draft - it’s a conversation I wrote nearly a month ago that will get changed later.

This seemed a bit relevant for the present time. Warning: Long post, a dead body, and references to violence/class differences.

Trading looks, the adults sighed but surprisingly, didn't seem upset with Orion. Even the Glitch Mob mech just shook him helm tiredly. Something of Orion's thought process or apprehension must have shown on his face as an older femme chuckled at him. “Aw, don't be like that mech. We ain't gonna bite chou 'cause yer runnin' with Jazz's crews. We already knew yah were with 'em anyway. Yer symbol ain't exactly hidden.”

“I wasn't sure if you would be upset that Jazz hasn't solved all this yet or not. The other gangs seem to be laying all the blame at his pedes.” He admitted, having forgotten the symbol on his shoulder. To be fair, the glow paint barely showed under the dust and grime coating his frame.

A couple people actually snorted at his admission. One gestured broadly, a little wobbly and out of sorts. “They don't get to- get to throw blame when they ain't doin' no better. Honestly, what they gonna do? Only so much you can fight when they're sendin' so many enforcers down here.”

“Could be worse.” Someone added solemnly, making a gesture over their spark.

Several others copied the gesture to ward off bad luck. Another settled morosely against a broken crate piped up. “It ain't ever been this bad before though, has it? They never got down this far.”

“How often do riots like this happen?” Ironhide asked.

Orion glanced at him. He'd have thought the mech would stay quiet to avoid notice but the Ironhide appeared calm. The locals didn't seem to care that he wasn't one of them either. Perhaps being with a mech under Edgerunner protection gained him some leniency. Or the fact that he'd helped save them.

A shaky old mech, unassuming as could be, straightened in the creaky chair he'd snagged and took on a storyteller's voice. “Not as often as you'd think. The worst ones were a real long time ago, back when the Darklight didn't even have a name an' was a lot smaller. The lawmechs didn't like how many of us there were an' how we were growin' so they'd march in to make sure we weren't breakin' the law none. An' if folks got dead or disappeared during that time, well, who were we gonna tell about it?”

Ironhide face shifted, turning from exhaustion to quietly concealed rage as some of the younglings scooted closer to listen in and the old mech continued. “That's why we started buildin' down instead of up. They don't like when they can see how many of us there are. Not that any of us here were around then, ah don't think.”

He looked around the group with a smirk. A few people chuckled and some of the younglings exaggeratedly shook their helms 'no'. Orion stifled a grin.

“They've only tried barging in a few times, since the beginning.” Sitting with her back to a pole, a larger femme stroked the unconscious face of a mech settled in her lap. Surprisingly, Orion could see wings on her back. They were big enough that she could have been a shuttle and he couldn't help but wonder how a flight frame came to live down here where mostly cargo and racer frames roamed. “I don't think they ever got further than the second level.” She looked at the old mech for confirmation. Grimly, he shook his helm.

“No. They never have.”

“You were in the last one?” The youngling with the missing arm piped up, looking at the big femme. “Mah creator was but he didn't tell meh much an' he's dead now.”

“Hmm,” She shifted to get more comfortable and nodded, “Last one was a good hundred vorns ago or something. Don't rightly remember. But it was way before your time. It was bad but not bad like this 'cause they only did the surface. I know a couple patrols tried coming down here but they didn't make it back up.”

“Anybody remember that goodie shop, on the corner of Hololite Square by Fracture's shop?” Asked the old mech.

A number of sighs answer him. Someone hummed, “Daybreak an' Cinnabar's place?”

“Oooh, I remember them.” The Glitch Mob mech smiles, “They had the best oil cakes around. Even better than anythin’ in Polyhelix.”

A youngling asks,“They're dead?” The little frames had steadily and sneakily gotten closer to the group as the adults talked. Orion noted most had cuts or cracked plating, faces lean and hungry looking. But at the moment, they were distracted by the old stories.

“Yeah, surface level during the last riot.”

“Didn't even fight none.” Growled the flier femme. “Everybody knew those two didn't get involved in no street fights or gangs or nothin'! Weren't their fault they didn't have the creds to get a shop in Polyhelix proper!”

The conversation almost stalled as no one had anything to say to that, so Orion brought up something he'd been wondering. “Is Fracture's place really that popular? A lot of people seem to know him.”

That sent a wave of chuckles around the room. The lounging mech outright laughed, high and sharp. “Darlin', everybody knows Fracture! He's the reason we got crystals growin' outta ever crack, hole in the wall, and even our own platin’ if we don't watch 'im close enough! That mech keeps plantin' seed crystals everywhere.” Orion startled, unsure if the mech was exaggerating or not.

“It's like he's tryin' tah turn this place into a fraggin' garden!” Another moaned.

The old mech snorted. “At least some are edible. Free snacks right there.”

“Yeah, he puts tags by those so folks know if they can eat 'em.” A mech nodded in agreement. “Primus, I love the hematite shavings in plain energon. That's good stuff right there.”

“Reverie.” A younger mech whispered, looking at the old one in the chair. They glanced back at the mech on the floor and the group fell silent as everyone took in the deactivation gray plating. Reverie slowly got out of his chair, joints creaking as he crouched to lay his helm against the downed mech's chest plates. After a moment of waiting, he straightened and shook his helm.

“Yah did a good dance youngling. Safe journeys.” He murmured to the body.

Everyone shifted, mouths thinned back to grim lines. The Glitch Mob mech pursed his lips. “We don't got a name, do we?” When several mechs shook their helms, he added, “Whose got claim to his subspace then?”

Ironhide jerked, turning to stare wide opticked at the mech. All the others around them frowned and looked at Reverie for guidance. It seemed surviving long enough to become old in the Darklight earned one quite a bit of respect, even if they couldn't fight anymore.

Although Orion wouldn't have bet that the old mech couldn't fight. Out of everyone in the room, he was the only one with out any injuries. Everyone from Ironhide to the younglings sported at least minor wounds. Reverie ignored the energon staining his legs as he reached into the dead mech's subspace and started pulling out supplies; mainly normal items like knives, a few guns, a couple cubes of energon, credits and some random shinies.

After a long moment to look it over, he turned to the smallest frames in the room. “Younglings, come 'ere.”

They did not 'come here'. In fact, a few near the edges started inching away, as the entire lot of them scowled mightily and flicked their optics around the room like they’d been setup. Reverie's mouth ticked up in amusement but he gestured again, and moved back a little from the body and the loot. “Come 'ere. You bigger one there, get the guns, Armless gets first dibs on a knife,” Orion tried not to make a sound at the terrible nickname, “an' ya'll share the rest. Especially that energon. 'kay?”

No one seemed to disagree with Reverie's decision, even if a few adults frowned sadly at the energon. They all knew none of them really had a claim to the supplies. So they shifted back out of the way and let the wary younglings inch forward. After grabbing the loot, they skittered back behind the props and eyed the adults while they examined their new treasures.

Reverie chuckled sadly and nodded at one of the other adults and the body. “Help me move him to the side a bit, yeah?”

None of this was out of the ordinary for Darklight folks, as far as Orion was concerned. He'd seen much the same when a few of Tumult's crew had fallen in a shootout during that gang war with the Crowncutters. Supplies couldn't be wasted so they went to whoever the deceased was closest to. In the Edgerunner's case, most had gone back to the gang's general supplies and the personal items to the dead mechs’ friends. He'd gotten the impression though, that this might not be the way people in other places did things, especially from the way Ironhide had startled.

A quick look at the mech gave Orion a sudden feeling of relief. He looked thoughtful, instead of offended and about to say something about it. Perhaps he was learning one couldn't just snap at Darklight people demanding answers to their weird behavior.

He didn't expect the question that came out of the Iaconian's mouth. “You don't consider yerself Polyhexian, do yah?”

The group glanced at each other, surprisingly mellow about the question. Perhaps they'd had enough fighting for the day. Smiling grimly, the shuttle femme answered, “No. Polyhelix don't want us, and never has. Even if they claim this area as part of their city. Why should we call ourselves what we ain't?”

“At least Darklight knows Darklight.” The lounging mech sighed softly. “Even if some of us don't have the accent an' some of us don't have the neon an' glow on our plating.”

“Remember...remember that time, that they tried tah tax us?” The possibly drunk but probably concussed mech snickered.

Someone snorted. “If they wanted tah tax us like Polyhexians they shoulda treated us like Polyhexians. Instead, they built a Primus-damned wall.”

“They actually tried to tax the Darklight?” Orion gaped. “Seriously?!”

One of the femmes laughed, “Yep! It didn't work at all-.”

#writing #snippet #tgau #together au #lighting fires #transformers #orion pax #ironhide #darklight #darklight culture #riots

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samuelguthric · 4 years

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WHO: Sam Guthrie, Josiah Guthrie, Scott Summers ( @firstxman )

WORD COUNT: 5,825

WHAT: Sam comes home from doing some grocery shopping with his son to find the police waiting outside their apartment with an Anti-Mutant agenda. Sam isn’t sure what to do and decides to call Scott for some help.

TRIGGERS: Gun, Murder, Violence, Death, Trauma, Taunting, Gore ( brief ), Anxiety

SAM: It all seemed to happen to fast, but isn’t that how it always does? Sam was heading home from the grocery store with a paper bag in one arm that was full of produce and other snacks Josiah has been obsessed with lately. His son was running ahead of him around the corner, which makes him start to walk faster in an effort to keep up with the three year old. It brought some sort of amusement like this was a game. “Ah need you ta slow down, Josiah!” Sam can hear that giggling, but it stops suddenly which makes him more concerned.

The blonde finally catches up, seeing his son standing in front of three cops. His expression turning to something sour as he approaches, quickly standing in front of the toddler who looks to be scared. “Ah don’t appreciate you scarin’ my son.” There was something in the way these officers were looking at the two of them.

“We have been receiving complaints from your neighbors in the building.” Sam notices the fact they’re armed, hands lingering on their hips as they speak to him. He doesn’t know what to think, but just wants to get Josiah inside the apartment. “Ah’m absolutely sure we haven’t done anything wrong.” Moves closer to his door, keeping his son at a distance away from them as he unlocks the door. He puts the bag of groceries down on a table near the front door, and brings Josiah inside. The cops don’t leave, lingering in the doorway as Sam does as well to keep them from his boy. Which was his own concern.

“We have reports of dangerous Mutants living here, you want to tell us anything about that?” One of them steps forward, and Sam feels his hand start to shake behind his back. “Excuse me? We haven’t done anythin’ wrong.” Which doesn’t seem to be an answer that makes the police officers happy. They look impatient, and Sam has seen looks like that before. “You need to come with us. You’re putting other lives at risk.”

The door is closed in their face, but they keep yelling from the other side of the door. Their various voices are heard, and doesn’t understand why they’d think Josiah is dangerous just for being able to do what he can. He doesn’t even blast off that often, and it only happens outside. Sam looks to see his son standing there, who doesn’t understand, yet looks upset by it all. Which makes him pick up the phone to call the first one he thought of — Scott.

“Ah’m sorry for callin’, ah know you’re busy. There’s some cops at my apartment tryin’ ta get in. Mah neighbors reported us as bein’ dangerous mutants? Ah don’t understand why they did that, we’re so careful. They talked about taking us somewhere, and ah’m not sure how much Josiah understands, but he’s scared. Ah don’t know what ta do, Scott. They won’t leave.” The sound of them shouting can be heard in the background.

SCOTT: The Phoenix Force, Scott had learned, was a thousand things at once. It was rage, cold and quiet, washing over him in waves. It was grief, sharp and painful, pulling him beneath the surface. It was apathy, harsh and uncertain, drowning him beneath it all. More than anything, he’d found, it was unspent energy. His body trembled with it, his form shook with all those feelings he had no idea what to do with.

Tonight, all he was doing with that energy was pacing. Back and forth around the Brotherhood safehouse they were staying in, hands clasped behind his back as plans ran rampant through his head. There were so many things to do, so many battles to fight, and Scott wanted to do them all. He wanted to fight them all. Every battle out there was his, every fight a personal one. Before Central Park, the mere thought of it had been exhausting. Now, it was exhilarating. It served as a reminder, a whisper that echoed through his mind with every beat of his heart. Alive, alive, alive.

(He was terrified of what might happen should those whispers cease.)

The phone rang. Scott thought he might have known it was going to before the sound pierced his thoughts, but he couldn’t be sure. How much power did the Phoenix really grant him and how much was the same paranoia that had plagued him since childhood ramped up to eleven with his senses in overdrive? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He wanted something to focus on, and the ringing of the phone gave him that.

“Sam,” Scott said, recognizing his voice the moment he spoke. “I’m never too busy for you.” Every mutant was his responsibility, but Sam? Sam was one Scott took a personal interest in. He had all the makings of a great leader, with the right encouragement. (Scott would not, he thought, give Sam the kind of encouragement he had been given. He would not place the weight of the world on Sam’s shoulders. All anyone could ever do with that was collapse. Scott knew better than most.)

Listening to Sam’s dilemma, Scott tensed. He heard the commotion in the background, heard the chaos. For a moment, he wasn’t in a Brotherhood safehouse with a phone clutched in his hand --- he was in Central Park, enforcers screaming and children trembling and anger coursing through his veins. (Had the enforcers won that day, or had Scott? And why couldn’t he tell the difference?)

“Stay where you are,” Scott said firmly. “Don’t let them in. I’ll be there in five minutes.” He was already out the door as he spoke, already closing it behind him. He didn’t speak to anyone as he left, didn’t explain where he was going. As long as Sam needed his help, there was no time for anyone else.

SAM: There was no doubt Sam always looked up to Scott growing up, all of his friends could see it. The blonde remembers seeing him for the first time with his own eyes, deciding that this was the kind of person he wanted to be — in his mind Cyclops was an amazing leader. If he could ever be even half the Mutant that he is that would make him feel as if a difference was being made. Sam was just sixteen when meeting Scott for the first time. He was still with the New Mutants at the time, and remembers standing near his idol with his friend Dani just being in complete awe. He remembers looking at his best friend and whispering ‘so that’s cyclops’ while listening to the speech that was being given. Perhaps that moment was what really defined his future.

Sam ended up joining X-Force some time after that, finding another to admire in Cable. However, thinking about everything Scott has done for Mutants stayed with him. He remembers every word, holding onto the speeches because it was like advice from the heart. He used it especially when taking leadership of the team when Cable left. It took a lot of responsibility to be a leader. He wasn’t perfect, but he does want to improve for the next chance a role like that falls into his lap. Sam would very much like the chance.

The fact Sam has formed a relationship with Scott over the years, and could call him to ask for help despite everything? It proves that he picked the right Mutant to look up to.

He feels bad bringing his problems onto other people, but doesn’t know how to handle this situation. His hand not holding the phone was shaking, the vibrations forming some sparks around the air — wanting to just let a blast go through the door to stop the yelling. His son never understands the words being said, just seeing how upset it makes his father usually. It was different this time — they’re louder than Humans usually are, and maybe his good luck ran out. Sam thought his neighbors were different, but was their kindness all a lie? He feels betrayed, and unsure what will happen after this. They’ll have to move, but where? He almost forgets to breath, but then calms himself down so his arm isn’t vibrating anymore. Instead leans down, to reach out so Josiah can hold onto his hand for the moment since it’s what he seems to want — being close.

“Ah’m glad ta hear that. Ah felt like it was right t’ contact you first.” Sam starts out, trying to ignore the demands coming from the other side of the door. He knows that Josiah can’t control his Mutant powers yet, but he was just a toddler. What does the world expect from him? He has even been good about not blasting off indoors too, all he does was fly around — and that’s dangerous somehow? How was any of this fair?

“Thank you. Ah won’t go anywhere. We’ll be waitin’ here for you. There was only three of ‘em when ah got home, but more could have come ta help since they think we’re too dangerous. Ah’m not sure. Ah really appreciate you helpin’ us.” After the phone call ends, all Sam could do is wait for those five minutes. He keeps the phone in his pocket, and picks up his son to take him to start quickly packing a bag. Fortunately there was already a diaper bag for some essentials, but he puts the blonde child down to start quickly tossing some clothes and a few toys in a large duffel bag for his son. This feels like a valid use of his time spent waiting.

He has three bags by the front of the apartment by the time the five minutes are up. The diaper bag was a no brainer. Another full of clothes, a few of Josiah’s favorite toys, and some snacks that were just bought. The last bag with just some random clothes for himself, and sentimental objects such as photos of his family. He could always come back for the rest of their stuff, but at least would have everything important if something happens before he could do that. All the extra clothes and furniture could be replaced.

“He’s not coming out, so we’ll have to force the door open. The sooner we get them out of here the better.” One of the cops says to the other officers out in the hall. Which makes Sam nervous, and just focuses on zipping up Josiah’s coat, even with the child saying he didn’t want it on, but doesn’t fight it too much.

Now they just wait.

SCOTT: Scott had never considered himself to be a role model. He’d never earned the title, not really. He was a mess at the best of times, barely clinging to control himself. When he first met the New Mutants, young and wide-eyed, he remembered wondering why anyone would ever trust him around teenagers. They all looked at him like he was a legend, all eyed him with such naive admiration that it tied his stomach up in knots. Sam was probably the most intense of them, eyes never leaving Scott when he gave a speech or an order. There was a weight that came with that, a heavy burden that Scott had never been sure how to carry. It wasn’t a burden he was sure he hated, though. It was nice, having someone look at him like he was worth looking at. It was nice being admired.

It was nicer coming from someone like Sam. He was more worthy of admiration than Scott had ever been, fell into leadership far easier than Scott had. Sam managed people like Tabitha Smith and Julio Richter with practiced ease, knew when to trust them and when to kick their asses. Sam deserved good things, deserved a good life.

And instead he got this.

The anger that burned through him in Central Park was back now, and this time there were no bullets to cut it short. Scott was angry, hands shaking and eyes glowing behind his visor as he made his way to Sam’s apartment in a near sprint. Sam was right --- just because there had been three officers in the beginning didn’t mean they wouldn’t call for backup. And just because Sam was unarmed and Josiah was a child didn’t mean they wouldn’t shoot if they felt threatened.

(Or if they could claim they felt threatened. Police officers had a bad habit of doing that, of claiming they thought a cell phone or a wallet or a candy bar was a gun, of killing first and asking questions never, of asking neither permission nor forgiveness as they tore people’s lives apart. Scott had seen it a thousand times before. It had happened to him. He wasn’t going to let it happen to Sam or his son.)

No one stopped him as he entered the complex, no one stood in his way as he marched up to Sam’s apartment. He heard a few whispers, low and terrified. That’s Cyclops, someone murmured. I thought he was dead, someone else replied. He’s back now. Don’t you read the Bugle? He’s starting a war. Scott wanted to laugh at that. The war had started a long time ago. The only thing he was doing was fighting in it. Scott Summers had always been a soldier, even before he knew it. It was the only thing he’d ever be good for.

The sound of angry knocking and yelling would have told him the situation even if Sam hadn’t filled him in over the phone. Scott didn’t bother speaking as he approached. Before Central Park, perhaps, he would have tried to talk them down, but now? He was a different man now. His hand went to his visor, flipping it open and allowing the optic blast to exit. He aimed it at the men’s feet. He wasn’t going to kill them… not unless they made him.

“Sam?” Scott didn’t stop the blast, using it to keep the officers back as he approached the door. The wood was damaged, dented. Clearly, they’d already tried kicking it in a time or two before Scott arrived. “Are you okay? I’m here.”

SAM: Leadership was something Sam always found himself easily slipping into the role. Even before his powers manifested his family looked to him as being the man of the house after his father died. He was fifteen, but having to figure out what it meant for him providing for all of his siblings. Sam dropped out of school to find a job, having mouths to feed — and maybe this was Sam’s first experience with being a leader. His ten younger siblings always looked up to him, but this was different. He would be the reason they got to eat every night, but or course it all went wrong on his first day.

While Sam got older being a leader continued to come naturally to him. He was able to make leading X-Force look easy, but maybe there was something about him that made it personal. He really got to know Julio and Tabitha for example, and why the two of them would do the reckless things they did. Sam didn’t always approve, but he was able to hold it together with grace. He believes in the good of people, and maybe that’s how he ended up in this predicament.

Sam believed that the people in the building actually cared about them, but oh, how quickly they stabbed him in the back.

Josiah pouts while looking at his coat, tugging on the sleeves a little, and then looking back at Sam — as if the discomfort of his jacket was easier to focus on than all of the yelling. He didn’t understand what was going on. “Don’t want to wear it.” Which actually makes Sam smile for a moment, leaning in to kiss the top of the boy’s head. “Ah know, but you have ta until we get out of here, okay?” This seems like an acceptable answer, and after that the familiar sound fills his ears.

Scott was here.

The yelling stops for a moment, hearing the optic blasts aimed at something the blonde can’t see right now. It makes him feel safe, and he stands up with Josiah in his arms. He doesn’t know if they’ll let them go quietly. They would have his name, both of their names. Sam was a good man. He pays his taxes, and was just trying to give his son some normalcy. How will anyone ever rent an apartment to him again after this? If they put the word out? Sam can worry about that later, but all the important belongings are in three heavy bags by the door. It’s what his life has come down to. His uniform stuffed into one of them as well, maybe he’ll be needing that more now. Sam doesn’t know what his future looks like now, but one day at a time.

“Scott? Ah’m okay. We’re both okay. Josiah is scared, but we aren’t hurt.” Sam says from his side of the door, so relieved that the older Mutant is here. “Ah‘m scared too.” He finally admits, his voice cracking a little which doesn’t happen often, but it’s different when this happens with a little one in the picture.

“UNCLE SCOTTIE!” The toddler shouts out at the familiar voice, able to recognize it even if there was a closed door here.

One of the cops gets braves and steps forward. ”I’m not scared of you Muties. We’re here to take those two troublemakers in, but I guess we’re going to have to take you in too. Cyclops isn’t it?” There was a hand pulling out a gun that was on his belt, maybe it made him feel like the situation could still be in their control. “This was a nice neighborhood before those freaks moved in.”

SCOTT: There’d been a time where Scott thought he saw himself in Sam. A young mutant forced to grow up too soon, a leader who had never asked for the position he’d been given, a man with destructive powers and no real desire to destroy… The similarities were certainly similar but, as time went on, Scott was forced to accept the truth for what it was. When he looked at Sam, he didn’t see himself. He saw what he wished he could be. It was what he saw when he looked at Charles, at Jean, at Warren or Bobby or Logan. He saw the parts of himself he’d lost a long time ago, the parts of himself that were no longer a part of him. Sam Guthrie was a good man. Scott Summers was no longer sure the same could be said for him.

And maybe that was okay. The world needed bad people sometimes, needed men who were willing to do what was necessary so that others could live to do what was right. It took Scott a long time to realize that, took him time to understand. He didn’t know if it was his death or the Phoenix that brought him the clarity he’d longed for his whole life. Maybe it was both. Maybe the two mixed together. Maybe death and fire were all he was now. If that would help Sam get out of this mess the police had gotten him in now… Scott could live with that.

Scott released a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Sam spoke from behind the door, relieved at the revelation that he was okay. (Relieved that he didn’t have to find out what he might have done if he wasn’t.) “Don’t be scared, Sam,” he called back, voice much softer than it had been when he’d addressed the officers.

Josiah’s voice broke through, and Scott smiled faintly at the child’s words. Uncle Scottie. What he’d done to earn that level of enthusiasm from the toddler he didn’t know, but he intended to keep it. He intended to protect Josiah from anything and everything that might seek to do him harm… starting with these officers.

Scott’s jaw clenched as one of the officers spoke. Stupidity that the man was trying to sell as bravery, no doubt. “You should be,” he said lowly. “You should be scared.” The man’s hand went to his gun, and Scott’s brows shot up behind his visor. “Are you going to shoot me, officer? It didn’t work out very well for the last guy.”

Before Central Park, there would have been some attempt at a peaceful resolution. Scott would have tried to talk things through, would have had a conversation. He would have gotten shot all over again, would have choked on his blood in the hallway outside Sam’s apartment instead of in the grass at Central Park. But Scott was a different man now. He had a fire burning in his chest, and it wasn’t all the Phoenix. Some of that anger was his. It always had been.

Bringing a hand up to the side of his head, Scott opened his visor and let another blast out, hitting the ‘brave’ officer square in the chest. The time for peace was over. They were at war now.

SAM: This wasn’t the first time that the Mutant has felt scared. He remembers feeling this way when he was a child realizing that his powers were finally coming into bloom. He was afraid of what society would say about him, knowing of the hatred that filled their hearts for what was different. He told his mother all about these feelings — not wanting to keep it to himself. Sam knew that the world hated special boys like him, and doesn’t know what would happen since he was different from all of the other children. His mother allowed him to attend the institute — somewhere that taught him not only how to control his Mutant abilities, but to have hope.

The blonde has ten siblings — half of them are also Mutants. All of their powers are different, but with one similarity. They can all fly with what they can do in some form. Some call the Guthrie family as being a strong Mutant family as well. None of them know which side it comes from, but Sam is always thankful for his mother being open to learning. They were both scared after his mining accident, but his mother was never scared of him. She was more worried of the world being cruel to her children. The Guthrie children are lucky to come from a loving home, not many Mutants with Human parents can say the same thing.

When his siblings powers manifested as they too got older, Sam felt scared in those moments too. He has experienced the hatred from society more than anyone deserved to — remembering just trying to go shopping at the local mall with the rest of the New Mutants just for Sentinels to attack. He was surrounded by three of them by himself — following him through the air. What did Sam do to deserve that? All he wanted to do was hang out with other people his age, and try to be normal. The world was never going to be kind, and Sam knew that the day William Stryker cut off his baby brother’s feathered wings. He knew that the day his baby brother was then found shot dead by the very same man weeks later. He knew that the day he found out Stryker told his baby brother to give his wings up as a sacrifice to God. Sam could never forgive for the pain his family went through with losing Joshua.

Sometimes being scared comes along with being brave. He was thankful for having so many Mutants on his side, wanting to help protect the bundle of joy. Josiah was a true one in a million chance — not many Mutants are born with access to their abilities. He doesn’t know what’s going on, just wishing these loud officers would leave his father and uncle alone. “Ah’ll try not to be. Ah always feel safer with ya here. Ah got all our important belongings thrown into these three large bags. We’re ready ta go when it’s okay.”

“The only place you’re going is a holding cell so neither of you can be a danger to the rest of us.” The police officer shouts about Sam and Josiah, raising the gun to point it at Scott as if trying to prove that he would be able to do this. The other two men standing here don’t look like they know what they want to do, but keep a hand by their own weapons just in case this got ugly. They were probably wondering what they got themselves into? The gun doesn’t get fired, the weapon dropping to the floor as the optic blast hits him right in the chest. No protective gear could have prepared him for that, falling to the ground as the heat was more than enough to KILL him. The other two officers don’t know what they want to do, but while they may hate Mutants too — they were smart enough to know that they aren’t prepared for this. One of them is kneeling down to the fallen officer, calling in that they’d lost one of their own and need backup. The other looks at Scott for a minute, wanting to just take his own gun out to get some revenge for his partner of many years. “You can take your Mutie friends, but this won’t be the last you see of us. We will come after them with the proper gear next time to take all of you in.”

This makes Sam nervous hearing it because what if it was a trick? They could shoot them in the back while they try to leave, and get their guards down. “Ah don’t trust their word on just lettin’ us go, Scott. What if they pull their guns out when we turn our backs?” The blonde shouts from behind the door.

SCOTT: Sam was afraid. Scott could feel it, the Phoenix making the emotion poignant even though it wasn’t his own. Sam was afraid and Scott, in spite of everything, couldn’t blame him for that fear. When it came down to it, Sam Guthrie was more powerful than any police officer who would ever dare point a gun at him. He was invulnerable, untouchable, but he wasn’t. Because no matter what Sam did here, no matter how he reacted, it would be painted as wrong. Any move he made would be used as an excuse, anything he did stacked up as evidence against him. Even if no shots were fired, the world had changed. These officers had taken a place where Sam felt safe, a place he trusted with his son and tainted it. No one was untouchable, because no place was untouchable. Even if these officers did nothing towards Sam in any physical sense, they’d still stolen his home from him. They’d still taken his sense of security, still reminded him what kind of a place this world was.

Sam deserved better than that, and so did his son. They were decent people, good people, and the world had knocked them to their knees. The world had pulled the rug from beneath their feet. And you could put the rug back, you could straighten out the wrinkles and stand flat against the carpet, but you could never take back that moment of freefall gripping your gut when the ground beneath your feet became unsteady. You could never take away that fear. It was a part of Sam now, just as it had become a part of Scott in Central Park. He wasn’t sure anything had ever made him angrier.

Scott’s hands clenched into fists at his side, nails digging into the palms of his hands. He wasn’t sure if the desire to blast this entire building to atoms came from him or the Phoenix. He was no longer sure there was a difference between the two. “Get everything you’ll need,” he told Sam, voice quiet. “I don’t think we’ll be back.” His tone was apologetic and, more than anything, Scott wished he had something to offer his people other than apologies. He could fight for them, he could go to war for them, he could die for them, but what did it matter? If Sam continued having to raise his son in a world that would hate him simply for existing, what did it matter how hard Scott fought?

A lot of things happened at once. The officer was yelling, guns were being waved, fear colored the air with a bitter tang. And Scott let loose. Scott fired a blast that was fatal, and he should have hated himself for that. He should have collapsed, should have melted into a puddle of grief and guilt just like he had when Jack Winters exploded into atoms under his optic blast, should have added that moment to the list of reasons he hated himself, should have done a thousand things that he didn’t do. He killed a man, and it was euphoric. It felt like justice.

Scott’s jaw tightened as the other officer spoke, and the men were distracted by their fallen comrade but Sam was right. There was no guarantee they wouldn’t shoot them in the back. There was no guarantee they wouldn’t follow them, no sure-fire way to ensure they didn’t track them back to wherever they wound up and come after them with reinforcements.

No way but one.

“You’re wrong,” Scott said quietly. “This is the last we’ll see of you. This is the last anyone will see of you. And I plan to take a good, long look.” And then, after making sure Sam and Josiah were behind him, he reached up to his face, tilting his visor up and nearly removing it entirely to allow the brunt of his optic blasts to be unleashed on the remaining officers.

(He’d never felt so alive.)

SAM: I don’t think we’ll be back. The words repeat in Sam’s head which mean returning to the apartment isn’t going to happen. All the furniture can be replaced, so that doesn’t really bother him, but he kneels down to look at his son for a moment. “Ah need you ta stay right here for daddy, alright? Ah’m goin’ t’ be back in a few minutes.” His hand pulls out his phone to pull up one of those cartoons Josiah likes, handing the device over to those little hands. It would be an appropriate distraction while he was literally running around the apartment. All the photographs are already in one of the bags, but maybe he should take the opportunity to throw more of their clothes into whatever else could be found. He manages to find another, having acquired many of these bags over the years from various adventures. He was able to fit the rest of his son’s clothes, more of his own, and the necessities from the bathroom. This would have to do, he can’t possibly bring anything else. The last item grabbed was the blanket on Josiah’s bed because it was a gift from his mother when she actually managed to come visit from her space adventures.

He returns only to set down two more duffel bags to the pile growing by the door. It was strange to have all of your belongings forced into five large bags. Sam felt like there was a lot in the apartment, but most of it was just materialistic things. Which could be replaced, but all that mattered right now was being able to feel safe again. Sam can’t do that here, not surrounded by Humans pretending to tolerate him. He kneels down to take his phone back from Josiah, smoothing out the blonde hair on his head. How could anyone look at this bundle of joy and think that he was dangerous? Josiah just cares for flying around right now, not blasting off like his father. What was so dangerous about floating around? Sam can understand wanting to take him in, being an adult and in full control over what he could do, but this was a child. One who doesn’t know any better.

The sound of more optic blasts fills his ears, not needing to see what was going on to know that all the officers harassing them are dead. He should feel thankful for a Rictor teaching Josiah to stay away from the police because if he got answer closer after running ahead they could have gotten hold of him so easily. Sam will reach out to properly thank his friend later, but right now focuses on slowly opening the door. He sees the bodies immediately, blasted through any protective armor they were wearing. You would think they’d have upgraded their gear coming after someone like him. Sam could have blasted them through any of the walls, but didn’t. His priority was keeping his child safe, and not witnessing it.

Josiah catches sight of Scott and doesn’t even look at the men on the ground. He just floats off the ground over into his arms because even during a time of hardship was a beam of light in the dark. “Scottie!” He says loudly while the small hands attempt to grab the older man’s cheeks for a minute before just settling on resting his hands against the fabric of his suit. Sam walks out carrying the numerous bags, and nudging the extra ones with his feet. It was a relief knowing that the cops wouldn’t be following them, but backup was ordered so sticking around for long probably wasn’t a good idea?

“Thank you — ah don’t know how ta ever repay ya. Ah don’t know what we’re goin’ t’do. Ah really believed that they cared about us, but look how wrong ah was.“ Sam doesn’t know what the future has planned for any of them, not after losing their home, but following Scott always felt like the right thing to do. He trusts that wherever the other Mutant would take them would be a safe place. It’s all he wants is to be able to feel like they don’t have to sleep with one eye open anymore. If anything this makes Sam look up to Scott that much more. He didn’t need to come protect him by killing these cops, but Scott did do all of that. He can’t deny the overwhelming feelings filling his heart right now. While being scared was one of them, there was something new. Some new sense of security in having someone to look after him, because just maybe Scott and Sam could be family after this. “Ah’ll follow you anywhere.”

#ᴀʜ'ʟʟ ɢɪᴠᴇ 'ᴇᴍ ᴀ sʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ'ʟʟ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ғᴏʀɢᴇᴛ. [ MUSE ]#ᴀʜ'ʟʟ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ. [ SCOTT SUMMERS ]#[ DISCORDS ]#CONVO // SCOTT #002 // SCOTT #murder mention //#trauma mention //#gun mention //#violence mention //#anxiety mention //#taunting mention //#gore mention //#this one is brief !#death mention //

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thepilotanon · 6 years

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springbeauty ii

{masterlist}

Everyone was so sweet in sending comments about the first chapter and I’m...so happy and blushy just thinking about it. Thank you all so much for sending so much love, and hope you will continue to follow! Hope you enjoy!

warning: joe bang almost revealing his alter ego

The Logan brothers found themselves inside Joe Bang’s home, sitting on the loveseat in what was assumed to be a makeshift living room. It also had a small coffee table, cluttered with empty beer cans, hand tools and some half-filled jars with unknown powder and liquids with scribbles written in Sharpie on the glass. There was an old box TV on the other side, and a rocking chair but other than that, it just seemed to fit the lifestyle one would think Joe Bang would live in.

“Yer lucky I didn’t go all James Bond on yer ass,” Joe Bang grumbled as he came from the kitchen with a frozen bag of peas, throwing it at Clyde who was holding crumpled paper towels to his nose. “Trust me, I’ve watched those movies and memorized all his moves, I could’a gotten you good.”

Removing the paper towel from his nose, Clyde sniffed softly before pressing the frozen veggies against his face, scrunching his brows at the sting. His nose stopped bleeding as soon as Joe Bang calmed down...after Jimmy jumped on him and put him in a headlock. The older man eventually called uncle and realized that Clyde indeed was gushing blood between his fingers as he held his face. Although Clyde was expecting Joe Bang to yell at him for his unannounced request, he certainly wasn’t expecting a direct punch to the face. Despite being a soldier, having gone through hell and back of training and taught how to defend himself from many dangers, Clyde honestly couldn’t bring himself to keep up with Joe Bang’s attack.

As the ex-convict eventually sat down on the rocking chair across from the brothers, Joe Bang looked between them with narrowed eyes before speaking.

“I would...like to properly apologize for hittin’ ya on the face,” he started slowly, hands on his knees. “As someone who considers you...a friend, of sorts, it was very wrong of me.”

Clyde didn’t respond, instead waited patiently for him to continue. “But, lil Rosabelle comes first before any friend o’mine, that’s just how Joe Bang does it. So, hearing you say you want my blessing, I only assumed the worst.”

Jimmy crossed his arms, still mad about his brother’s injured nose. “Now what the hell would you assume to be the worst in Clyde askin’ to marry Belle?”

Scratching his shaved head, Joe Bang tried to keep his temper down. “Well, I didn’t want to know ya wantin’ to marry her because you knocked her up.”

“WHAT!” both brother shouted, and Clyde hissed at the pressure on his nose while Joe Bang gave them a look.

“Listen, not like it’s the first time a situation like that were to happen, and I ain’t judgin’!” he claimed strongly. “And frankly, I don’t even wanna hear ya say ya been busy with Rosabelle in a naughty way like that - protection or not!”

Jimmy groaned when Clyde remained silent, holding the bag on his face to hide his red cheeks. Joe Bang decided to ignore the younger brother’s lack of response. “What I’m tryin’ to say is, I don’t want lil Rosabelle to end up like her own mother, alright? She tried hitchin’ up with Rosabelle’s daddy when she found herself knocked up, and that’s how the kid ended up with her grandparents: abandoned, ‘cause her folks took off and didn’t look back! God only knows what happen to those bums.”

“Her folks up and left her?” Jimmy raised a brow and looked to Clyde.

“She don’t like talkin’ ‘bout ‘em,” Clyde bit out to his brother about his girl’s difficult past. “All she said was they didn’t want her, so her grandparents took her in. Never pushed her to tell me anythin’ more.”

“Nevermind that,” Joe Bang waved it off. “What made ya think to ask me for her hand anyway? Ain’t that like some junk ya see in old movies?”

Ignoring how Jimmy gestured obviously to Joe Bang, Clyde slowly removed the frozen peas. His nose had dried blood peppered under his nostrils and mustache, and he had no doubt how bruised he looked by the numbing feeling up the bridge to under his left eye. “Reason why I’m askin’ ya for a blessin’ is ‘cause you’re the only family she got. Her grandparents are long gone, and I know how you care for Belle like she was yer own...probably better than yer own brothers, if ya ask me.”

Joe Bang nodded in agreement. “Yer not wrong there. As much as my own flesh and blood got their own charm, I admit that lil Rosabelle is like my own lil baby.”

Clyde nodded. “I know Belle cares for you, too, so it’s why I’m takin’ to consideration that it would be best to treat you as Belle’s family. Not to mention we’ve probably been through extreme bonding, on account you did suck my arm off and I forgave you.”

“Hey!” Joe Bang frowned. “I said I was sorry!”

“And I said I forgave you!”

“See, ya already actin’ like family, Belle would be so happy.” Jimmy rolled his eyes and leaned back on the couch in defeat. “So what you thinkin’ Joe, can ya give Clyde an answer so we can go? Smells like ya tryin’ to make a cake outta dirt.”

“You don’t say nothin’ to the neighbors ‘bout the smell,” Joe warned Jimmy with a pointed finger, only to be gestured to the other Logan to get on with the original conversation. Making an irritated noise, Joe Bang crossed his leg with his knee and stared at Clyde. “Listen here, boy, do you really want to marry lil Rosabelle? You think this over enough or just goin’ on a whim…”

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for over a year,” Clyde confessed sourly, inhaled sharply to try and breathe properly. “Got a ring safe in storage already.”

“Why you wanna marry lil Rosabelle huh? ‘Cause she’s pretty and makes you feel special?” Joe Bang demanded. Clyde knew that this was his own way of getting deep with Clyde, to try and pressure him to say something wrong that will reveal the truth of why he shouldn’t allow him to purpose. “Think she will be yer lil housewife and all that? ‘Cause she ain’t ‘bout that kinda life for ya, robo-boy.”

Dropping the frozen bag of peas to his lap, Clyde made direct eye contact and stared at Joe Bang with no hint of fear or worry. “Belle’s the first girl who actually treats me normal, not some sorry sap with one hand and runnin’ a bar,” he said seriously. “She ain’t my maid or leverage, but my backbone and reminder that I am still a man; Belle makes my life feel worth it, unlike any other gal who’s tried to date me and all… Belle’s one of a kind angel, and I don’t want to let her go. I’d drop everythin’ I have right now so long as I can stay by her side.”

“You promise t’ make her happy?” Joe Bang asked next.

“Whatever it takes,” Clyde answered.

“Let her be her own person and don’t tie her down?”

“I’d want the best for Belle.”

“And if ya make her cry or divorce her for stupid shit?”

“I’ll let you skin me and bury me in yer backyard.”

Joe Bang clapped his hands. “Then, I guess ya got my blessin’, but don’t expect me to treat ya any nicer jus’ ‘cause I know my lil Rosabelle fancies you,” he warned seriously. “I been in that gal’s life since she was born, and only hell can try t’ stop me from makin’ sure she’s safe. I’ll wait ‘til yer twenty-fifth anniversary before I’ll start acceptin’ ya.”

A swell of joy flowed through Clyde, an irresistible grin on his face as he suddenly jumped at the pain from his nose and cheekbone. Smushing the bag against his face, Clyde used his left arm to attempt a hand shake with Joe Bang. “Thank you, thank you so much, Joe Bang,” Clyde sighed in relief, happy/pained tears tickling the corner of his eyes.

“Yeah yeah,” Joe Bang only lightly shook the metal prosthetic. “Sorry ‘gain ‘bout yer face...but can you two get outta my house now? I got stuff I’m workin’ on.”

“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir!” Clyde jumped a bit, acting like a kid at Christmas with the approval of his proposal. He was about to run to the door, suddenly remembering something. Turning around, Clyde dropped the bag of peas on the ex-convict’s lap. “Here ya peas.”

“Wait, ya little shit!” Jimmy hurried after him, leaving Joe Bang watching as Jimmy caught him in the yard to complain about his nose. Casually getting out of the rocking chair, the older man closed his front door and locked the deadbolt to ensure a bit of an extra safety to prevent the older Logan from kicking his ass for hitting his brother.

Back in the truck, Clyde was the happiest man, smiling through his pain as he waited for Jimmy to pull into the road. His brother, however, was more realistic at the moment. “Yer forgettin’ that yer nose is bleedin’ and ya gettin’ a nice shiner…”

“But I’m happy,” Clyde shrugged, unconsciously touching the bridge of his nose to feel the numbing pain. “...It ain’t twisted, is it?”

“Don’t look like it, but I’m takin’ ya to Syl to have her check…”

“What the hell happened to your face!” Belle yelled in shock as soon as she saw Clyde’s patched nose and black eye forming under his eye.

Sylvia had been the bearer of good news to Jimmy that Clyde’s nose wasn’t broken, but definitely will be swollen and very sensitive for a good week - if not obtain some headaches, which she gave him some painkillers. Sylvia did question her boyfriend as to why his younger brother had his tiny smile the whole time during the inspection, only for Jimmy to say that he’s just losing his mind. Once the happy train deported from Clyde’s head, the realization of his current facial injury returned and now he could feel his nose having its own heartbeat. Still, after getting checked by Sylvia and was in the clear, Clyde asked to join Jimmy in picking up Sadie at Belle’s work, where Mellie was watching her. Despite the pain, all Clyde wanted to do was to see Belle after achieving the first step in his cauliflower plan.

Now, seeing his lovely girl’s eyes full of worry as she hurried to him in her apron, leaving Sadie to look from her painting project to the approaching men, Clyde felt himself wanting to shrink.

“Well?”

Both brothers noticing the tone in Belle’s voice, they panicked.

“Box fell and -!” Clyde said with a hiccup.

“Door busted!” Jimmy yelped.

Both of them looked to each other as Belle stared at them with crossed arms, Mellie standing behind the counter with Sadie watching with an absolute confused expression. As soon Jimmy caught sight of Belle’s tapping fingers on her arm, he cleared his throat and adjusted his hat. Lightly smacking Clyde behind the shoulder before using his brother as a shield from the woman, refusing to look Belle in the eye while Mellie gesture wildly behind her best friend.

Clyde took a deep breath through his lips, feeling the throb in the middle of his face. “While I was labelin’ some boxes in the back, there was a stack behind a door near the garage office that I didn’t think to keep open. One of Jimmy’s employees came through, kickin’ the door, and knocked the stack I had...and a box dropped on me.”

“Jesus,” Belle sighed worriedly before snapping her eyes to the other Logan brother. “Jimmy!”

“Why ya yellin’ at me? I didn’t do nothin’!” Jimmy defended with both hands up. “Dammit Belle, when I saw what happened, I brought him to Sylvia and she looked him over. I was being a good brother this time, see? Nothin’ is broken!”

“I’m fine, Darlin’, really,” Clyde stepped between them and brought his right hand up to stroke his thumb along Belle’s jaw in comfort. Watching her raise a brow at him, he gave her a soft smile. “Actually think this might be a good look for me. What ya think, baby, a bartender with a busted nose? People’ll say Clyde Logan kicked some guy’s ass just with his thumb, and they should see the other guy.”

Belle rolled her eye, unable to resist a smile. “Save that for the books, handsome. You’re not going to start wearing leather jackets and calling yourself a badass that easily,” she told him amusedly while he shrugged. “I’m glad it’s nothing serious, but still…”

“M’fine, Darlin’,” Clyde reassured her. “Syl was nice enough to give me some meds for the pain and said I’ll be good as new in no time.”

Belle shook her head before looking over Jimmy still keeping his distance from her temper. “Thank you for taking him to Sylvia, and please tell her I’m very grateful for her help, too.” She offered him a smile when he eventually dared to glance her way, hoping to come off more friendly. “You took care of Clyde, like a good brother and I’m very thankful for that.”

“So long as we know who’s the smarter Logan brother,” Jimmy glanced to Clyde while Belle snorted while hugging her man in comfort. “Maybe then we won’t have any more accidents from here on out.”

“Aunt Belle,” Sadie called out while she set down her paintbrush next to the pot she was decorating, “can you show me the flowers you want me to grow in this one, please? I wanna know which flowers to paint.”

“Sure, sweetie,” Belle said before excusing herself from Clyde’s side. “They’re outside, out this way.” She held Sadie’s hand as she brought her through the small doorway, and the three siblings waited to hear the clang of the wooden door that led to the back garden for safety.

“What did you two idiots do?” Mellie whispered sharply to her brothers. “I thought you two were suppose to go talk to Joe!”

“We did, but he thought Clyde was bein’ sketchy,” Jimmy told her just as dramatic in his whispering, going nose-to-nose with Mellie. They wanted to yell, Clyde knew that very well, but didn’t want to risk Belle overhearing.

“Sketchy? Sketchy ‘bout what?” Mellie threw her hands up.

“Somethin’ about rockin’ a few too many on Belle, the stupid junk.”

Mellie’s face went blank as she stared between the two men. “Joe Bang...throwin’ punches because of he thought this was a shotgun wedding.” Thinking it over, the blonde woman sighed and pinched her nose. “On second thought, from the stories Belle’s told me ‘bout Joe Bang...I can see it. Sorta. So, I’m going to assume that you got the okay from him, then, right? That shiner wasn’t all for nothin’?”

“I got it,” Clyde answered.

“Good, then it’s time for the next step in cauliflower?” Jimmy groaned.

Walking in the familiar pathway of the neighborhood, Clyde kept his eyes down to the dirt road as Belle gently held onto his metal prosthetic as he guided her appropriately. Keeping her on the side off the road, Clyde’s robotic appendages held on to her fingertips in a sort of clamp as they neared closer to their home, his other hand holding on to the small bag that held the take-out food he ordered and picked up.

Belle glanced up to eye her man’s face carefully. “Does it hurt?”

“Not much, just kinda numb right now,” he spoke softly as a truck passed by the two. “Box filled with heavy bolts and all, didn’t really feel much until Sylvia started poking.”

Belle sighed and Clyde couldn’t resist a small smile. “Don’t worry, Darlin’, it’s not all that bad,” he said looking over to see her cute pout and puffed cheeks. Seeing her sigh again, Clyde’s gaze softened as she looped her arm around his and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I’m just happy you’re not seriously hurt.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind being babied jus’ a bit for a bruise,” Clyde teased that brought a bright smile to her face, making his own heart skip a beat as she looked up to him.

“I think that can be arranged,” Belle mused, rubbing her fingers into his biceps.

Arriving home just before the sun had set, the couple ate their dinner together while conversing about their day; Clyde going into detail about what he was labeling and answering her questions about what it was like trying to label specific things in Jimmy Code, as she put it. Clyde laughed when she imitated his brother’s accent and buff build, reaching to hold her while she finished with her fruit mix, resting his chin on her shoulder before she tied the plastic bag filled with their garbage. The younger Logan brother fell to the temptation of following after her while she threw the bag in the outside trash, startling her once she turned around to find him so close.

“What’s wrong?” she asked with a smile as he just stared at her with a sort of puppy-love look in his eyes. “You’re just being needy tonight.”

All day he had Joe Bang’s blessing on repeat in his mind, over and over did he hear the approval. Every time he thought of it, he got his uncommon giddiness he rarely showed in public. But now, being home with his darling Belle within his grasp, he couldn’t resist being happy with what was to come in the coming days; he just wanted to spoil her with love until then, and then after for the rest of their lives…

His right hand coming to stroke her cheek and tuck a lock behind her ear, he held her face as his smile grew stronger. “Yer so beautiful, Darlin’.”

“Next to the trash cans and working in dirt all day...I suppose,” Belle rolled her eyes with amusement before taking his hand. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head with the box, Clyde?”

“I just love ya,” he shrugged and knelt down to kiss her lips, only to accidentally bump his bruised nose against her soft cheek. Pulling back and making a face, Clyde did his best not to whine in pain as Belle watched him.

“My poor handsome man,” she cooed and scratched his scruff with her fingers. Pressing a little peck to his jaw, she took his hand and began pulling him back inside and guide him through the trailer as he kept his head back to avoid letting her to see him in pain. “Come on, let me take care of you, silly.”

That was how Clyde Logan found himself sharing a bath with his Belle, warm water relaxing his tense back muscles while Belle sat behind him, shampooing his black hair in a soothing massage. The tub wasn’t all that big to fit the both of them with elbow room, but they make it work when they take turns on who is washed first. As of now, Belle was farthest back while Clyde leaned down for her to reach his hair to wash. The way her fingers scrubbed his scalp brought him into a trance that he began mumbling, his voice deeper as he continued to praise Belle. She only giggled at his compliments and brushed bubbles from his cheek when he leaned his head back on her shoulder, spreading the suds to her naked shoulder. He was so happy to see her smile as her fingers continued to rub his hairline next and her lips press lightly to kiss his brow.

“Yer so beautiful,” he sighed in pure bliss.

“More than standing by the trash cans?” Belle teased and he resisted to laugh through his nose. “Or is it just because I’m naked with you in the tub…”

“Yer beautiful anytime and anywhere, Darlin’,” Clyde corrected.

“Why, thank you,” Belle hummed and kissed his forehead. “I think you’re very beautiful, too, handsome.”

Making a noise, Clyde was about to list all the reasons why he wasn’t when Belle pinched his cheeks. “Rinse your head, honey. Your hair is all done,” she instructed him softly, and he only nodded and did as he was told and taking the shower head to rinse.

While using the shower head to rinse all the shampoo bubbles from his hair, Clyde was careful to miss his nose before bringing his head back up. Wiping the water from his honey-colored eyes, Clyde felt Belle’s small hands grasp his chin and carefully turned him around in the warm water. Opening his eyes, Clyde was surprised when Belle leant up and angled her head to avoid his bruised nose to press a proper kiss to his lips. Realizing the intent, Clyde grinned and wrapped his stumped arm around her naked back, returning the kiss with enthusiasm. Leaning them over, Clyde dipped Belle a bit while using his other arm to balance properly by gripping the edge of the tub. He held on to her and gave her a movie-worthy kiss.

“Because you had that look in your eye when you couldn’t give me a kiss,” Belle laughed against his lips when he didn’t let up. “Are you feeling that deprived right now? Am I not giving you enough kisses, Clyde?”

“I just love ya,” he responded before kissing her again, being so happy that he couldn’t hurt his nose in this position. Pressing his body closer to hers, feeling her wet skin against his spread a warmth in his blood that sped his heart up. “I just love ma sweet, darlin’ Belle. I love, love ya lots.”

Belle laughed when he switched to her exposed neck, only to jump when Clyde yelped when his nose pressed against her. When he didn’t stop trying to nip her skin with love bites, the woman quickly splashed him. “Clyde, be careful! I don’t want you to get hurt any more!”

“Don’t take me lovin’ ma girl away! Jus’ a little, baby, please,” Clyde begged, unable to stop himself from laughing through the pain as Belle’s shoulders shook with her silent giggles. The rest of their bath time last for an hour of Clyde trying to convince Belle to let him love her when he was so happy. Unknown to her, he was dreaming of sharing a bath with her and a special ring on her finger.

Fun fact: Clyde totally hurt his nose by trying to love Belle, so Belle gave him an ice pack after their bath. His hair was blow-dried though, so he was floofy.

taglist: @ayatimascd

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#pilotanonwrites #clyde logan x reader #oc/reader insert #reader insert #springbeautyclydefic

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