#on top of all the other work shes expected to do hauling sand WITH YOU can we talk about that that's way more interesting!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cinebration · 3 years

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Give Me Peace (Geralt of Rivia x Reader) [Request]

I always had a vision of the witcher where reader is a siren (alternative, land walking type that can still enthrall ppl with her beauty) and her and Geralt always bump into each other over the years. Ppl are always hunting her since sirens are worth a lot of money so he decides to help her. Geralt refuses to admit his feelings are real for her until he figures out that witchers are immune to siren songs. Basically, lots of angst but a fluffy ending! — Requested by anon

I know this was supposed to have a fluffy ending, but it turned into something else, and I couldn’t bear to change it.

Tagged: @bichibibi

Warnings: death

Gif Source: august-walker

Over the span of five decades, you and Geralt crossed paths more times than he had ever crossed anyone’s, Jaskier and Yennefer included. The hand of destiny seemed to be at work, nudging you both into each other’s path every ten years or so.

It started first by the ocean. You had spent much time there in that first decade, drawn to the sea and your marine cousins, the sirens of the water. You were a siren of the land, beautiful beyond measure but lacking the enchanting voice of your sea cousins. You did not call men to their deaths as they did. Instead, your beauty drove men to madness.

Perhaps you were the more dangerous breed.

For the first few years, your beauty kept you safe, as no man who laid eyes on you and met your gaze was safe from your spell. You could topple kingdoms if you so felt with that kind of power.

But there came men and women who coveted the prize of a slain siren, especially one poisoning the minds and hearts of their very best.

Thus came your first encounter with the witcher, Geralt. Hired by the townsfolk, he sought you out on the shores of the sea, where you sat on the rocks in low tide and gazed out over the choppy waters. Careful to avoid your gaze, he drew near, armed not with his sword but with his wits, ready to be enthralled.

Hearing his step on the sand, you glanced at him and paused, stricken by his rugged beauty. Never had you seen a man whose looks could entice you as you enticed others. Though he averted his eyes, you saw their vivid yellow irises glinting in the setting sun.

“Witcher,” you called, “have you come for me?”

He grunted.

“You would kill me for something I have no power over?”

“You’re driving the town mad.”

“They are driven mad by their own desire. I can’t hide myself.”

“They don’t see it that way.”

“How do you see it?”

He cleared his throat, glanced over his shoulder to see if any of the townsfolk had followed him.

Slipping down off the rock, you approached him. He took a step back, shifting into a defensive stance. You ceased, bare feet digging into the cooling sand.

“If I paid you more than they did to protect me, would you?”

The muscle in his jaw flexed. “Only if you leave.”

With a sigh, you looked back over the ocean. You would miss it, but forests and mountains were your home; to them you would return.

The following decade, Geralt heard news of a beautiful woman bewitching men near Brokilon. At first he thought she belonged to the druids that populated the dangerous forest, but as he heard report after report of men driven to madness, raving of beauty and unearthly eyes, he knew the woman to be a siren.

He knew it had to be you.

The villagers sent him forth to kill you. Traveling through the forest on the outskirts of Brokilon, careful not to trespass, he found a small hut near the road, partially obscured by the trees but by no means invisible.

Through a half-shuttered window, he glimpsed you brushing your hair. In the light from the fire burning within the hearth, he glimpsed the faint lines of sealed gills. He had heard that land sirens had come from the sea centuries before, but nothing had offered so much proof as the vestigial, malformed organs on your neck.

“Witcher,” you called, seeing him through the window, “have you come for me?”

He grunted.

“You would kill me for something I have no power over?”

“The villagers don’t see it that way.”

“What am I to do? I can’t hide myself.”

“You could do a better job.”

“Come into my home, witcher, and warm yourself.”

Shaking his head, he unsheathed his sword.

“If I pay you double what the villagers are paying, will you spare me again?”

He considered for a long moment. You stared at his face, but he refused to meet your gaze. Out of his peripherals, he saw something of your beauty. It was stellar, he would agree, but it stirred nothing more within him than he expected when seeing a beautiful woman.

It almost made him want to meet your enchanting gaze.

Discipline and strength won out, but not entirely.

“Yes,” he answered. “Just leave.”

Sighing, you put out the fire and gathered your things, amounting to nothing more than a small sack over one shoulder.

“Witcher,” you called, “I have been attacked twice now.”

He nearly met your eyes, so sharply did he turn back to you.

“Men shot arrows through my window, tried to set fire to my home.”

“You are a monster to them.”

“So are you, but you are allowed some peace.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Few men think they can kill you. Every man thinks they can kill me. There is peace in the former.”

Shouldering your sack, you struck off down the road, fixing your gaze on the mountains.

Geralt watched you go until even his enhanced vision no longer saw your figure, your words echoing in his mind.

In the third decade, Geralt came upon you by chance. He passed a hunting party made of hardscrabble men practically frothing at the mouth with anticipation. They rained arrows down into the ravine from their position on the mountain face, arrows with fire burning at the ends. Geralt would have walked on if one of them had not cried, “Burn, enchantress!”

Geralt paused to look down into the ravine. A small shack leaned against the wall, situated by a thin stream. You stood in stark relief among the basalt, knocking away the arrows with a poor shield. One arrow caught in your thatch roof, caught fire.

Geralt hauled the nearest archer off his feet, slamming him against the cliff face. The other men spun, glimpsed his white hair and murderous glare. They fled, screaming obscenities in your direction.

“Witcher,” you called, “have you come for me?”

He didn’t answer, unsure how to.

Running into the burning shack, you stumbled out with your bag and watched the rest of your ramshackle home burn. By the time it had been reduced to a pile of ash and cinders, Geralt had made his way down into the ravine. He avoided your gaze but stared at the curve of your neck.

“They grow bolder every year,” you informed him. “See?” Slipping off the shoulder of your tunic, you presented a livid scar not many months old. “They will be the death of me—and I have not driven any of them mad.”

“Sirens have gone up in price.”

“I have no money to pay you, witcher, to spare me.”

He grunted. “I wasn’t hired to kill you. This time.”

“Until next time, then.”

“Wait.”

You obliged, dropping your gaze slightly so he could look on your face. Wary, he only glimpsed it before averting his eyes.

“They’ll keep coming,” he said.

“Yes.”

“What…will you do?”

“Nothing. We all die at the hands of men.”

Geralt felt something strange constrict his chest. “You can go to the Edge of the World.”

“The elves have no love for my kind. We are as dangerous to them as we are to humans. But thank you for the advice.”

Geralt watched you follow the river through the ravine and wondered why he wanted to tell you to stay.

The fourth decade, he was hired yet again—by you. You tracked him for miles, following instructions given to you by a man in the town. No one had been bewitched therein, for you had bound your eyes with cloth, preventing them from being enthralled.

Only as you navigated the unused road did you remove the cloth. After a day of unceasing travel by foot, you approached Geralt’s campsite. Roach whinnied as you drew near, but she did not rear or cry out in alarm. Geralt sprang to his feet.

Having blinded yourself again with the cloth, you stood at the edge of his campsite.

“Witcher,” you called, “I have come for you.”

“Why?”

“I am being pursued.”

“By?”

“A group of armed men. They seek me out especially, not solely because I am a siren, but because I am the siren.”

Looking on your face, he saw weariness and fear lining your features. The tops of your eyebrows were drawn together, indicative of your distress.

“I have no coin,” you told him.

“You have to pay me.”

“I feared as much.” Pulling tight your threadbare coat, you asked, “May I at least share your fire? I have a penny to pay you for some food.”

Geralt hesitated. As much as he wished to help, felt compelled to—a feeling that worried him—he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a trap. A slip of his guard would be all you needed for you to enthrall him and make him do as you wished.

“I will wear the blindfold,” you assured him. “You won’t be afflicted.”

Grunting reluctantly, he tossed you a hank of meat from the spit roasting over the fire. You ate ravenously with less grace than he expected. Only then did he notice how frail you seemed beneath your coat, how few plentiful days you had seen since he last crossed your path.

A surge of feeling coursed through him, one he identified with an urge to protect. Protection wasn’t strictly in his purview, as he was more of an offensive weapon than a defensive one. Yet the urge remained as he watched you warm yourself in front of the fire, eerie with the blindfold covering nearly half your face.

“Have you found your peace?” you asked in the quiet.

“No.”

“A pity. But neither have I.”

“You don’t actually expect to find peace.”

You smiled thinly. “Surely I do. In death.”

Geralt nodded.

“There is a madness in driving men mad,” you said. “I can find no solace among people, and so, living alone in the most terrible of ways—among others—I know what it feels like to be driven mad.”

Geralt watched you as you spoke. The firelight flickered shadows across your beautiful face.

“Few sirens know it themselves. They live free in their youth, reveling in their power. Few make it beyond that. But those that do begin to run, and that marks their end.” You shook your head. “None of us choose this.”

Geralt tried to quell the emotions rising within him. He hadn’t chosen his path either, his life. Destiny had worked hard to bring him here, with all of life’s misery and suffering multiplied tenfold for his status as a witcher. If only the rumors of the elixirs and Grasses were true, that they could make him an emotionless monster.

Instead, he silently suffered beside a land siren who knew suffering intimately.

You disappeared by morning. The band of men pursuing you crossed paths with Geralt a few hours later. Choice words and a rough scuffle sent them back home.

In the fifth decade, Geralt felt drawn to the sea. There was no work there by the ocean, but he drifted there anyway, away from the turmoil of the interior. Two miles away from a fishing port, the beach was unblemished, free of humans.

Only you were there, seated upon a rock at low tide, overlooking the serene waters.

“Witcher,” you called, “have you come for me?”

“I have.”

Geralt mounted the rock beside you, sat down on the rough and slimy surface. You stared out at the horizon, knees held against your chest.

He dutifully avoided your gaze.

“Witcher,” you said, “you shouldn’t fear me.”

He grunted.

“I do not affect your kind.”

Frowning, he glanced up, found himself staring directly into your eyes. They were gorgeous, truly enthralling—but though his heart rate spiked at being exposed to your naked gaze, he felt no different than he had upon arriving at the beach: pained and joyous. He couldn’t believe it.

“See? You are unaffected.”

“I…why didn’t you tell me?”

“What good would it have done? You needed something to fear to still consider me a monster.”

He cleared his throat. “You’re not a monster.”

“Neither are you.”

He wanted to say otherwise, but you were staring at him again. Fighting the feelings in his chest, he reached up and brushed away the hair from your eyes, curling the strands around your ear. The faint gills on your neck revealed themselves.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against yours. You kissed him back gently. You tasted salty, much to his surprise.

When he pulled back, he discovered it was because of the tears streaming down your face. He brushed them away, but you shook your head, holding his hand.

“Give me peace,” you whispered, “and return me to the sea. I was never meant for the land.”

Geralt avoided the ocean for five decades after, but the salty taste of your kiss never left him.

#Geralt of Rivia x Reader #Geralt of Rivia #Geralt of Rivia imagine #Geralt x Reader #Geralt #Geralt imagine #Witcher imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #The Witcher #requests

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samstree · 3 years

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splash of the waves, and the sand castle crumbles (1/?)

Geraskier, Prince!Jaskier, fairy tale elements but with a twist, fluff and angst, 6.9k, rated T

Read on AO3

Geralt finds himself drawn to the prince despite himself. As he and Jaskier grow closer, war also looms on the horizon. It's the stuff of fairy tales, but can a witcher find his happily ever after in the time of heartbreaks and deaths?

“Ma?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened next?”

“The farm girl became a princess and married the prince. They lived happily ever after,” she smiled, her eyes so warm in the candlelight.

“But what next?”

“Happily ever after, sweetie. It means there will only be happiness for the rest of their lives.”

She places a kiss on the top of his head and blows out the candle. Her hands are soft and gentle when she tucks him in.

“Ma?”

“Yes?”

“Will we live happily ever after?”

She pauses in the darkness.

“Of course, my darling. Now you need to close your eyes—”

“Like the prince and the girl?”

“Even better.”

“But she married the prince. How can it be better?”

She sighs. The warmth of her palm brushes across his forehead, making his eyelids droop heavily.

“Your future holds much more, my sweet boy. You will find out tomorrow when you wake up.”

Sleep overcomes him. Indeed, he dreams of fairy tales and royal balls, magic spells and grand weddings.

The next morning, he wakes up believing in those happy ever afters.

Sometimes, when stones are thrown and pitchforks raised, Geralt regrets ever doing so.

The crown prince of Aedirn is a beautiful thing.

His pale blue doublet shines under the bright morning sun, the silvery embroidery sparkling in the light. A big smile —that ever-so-friendly smile that Prince Julian is known for— spreads across his face as a man with blond hair riding next to him speaks. Windswept brown hair brushes over his eyes, obscuring his youthful features.

Everything about him screams royalty. Privilege.

Even his horse is the most nicely-groomed white stallion Geralt has ever laid eyes on.

Prince Charming needs the whole get-up. The witcher snorts behind the bush, observing the royal convoy. It’s too small and moving way too slowly. They must have let down their guard because of the proximity to the castle. If Geralt were to assassinate a royal, he would choose to do it here as well.

It doesn’t take long for the first one to approach from the side of the road, hiding behind the shrub just like Geralt. The man in black works silently and quickly, but not as quickly as a witcher.

Geralt strangles him from behind, gripping tightly until the man passes out. A crossbow falls to the ground. The convoy travels ahead, unaware of the witcher disposing of a deadly threat to their prince’s life.

The swoosh of an arrow pierces the air.

“Protect the prince!”

Two dozen assassins in the same black suit appear out of thin air, charging into the royal guards’ formation. In an instant, the heap of pale-blue is tackled to the ground. Swords clash as more men start yelling.

“Fuck.”

Dodging a stray arrow, the witcher rushes into the chaos. The small convoy being overwhelmed by the incoming force, they hardly notice one of the assassins circling around the battle and moving directly to the prince. With a few long strides, Geralt stops the man with a clean strike.

“What—” the prince scrambles back at the sight of blood, looking at the witcher’s towering form with disbelief.

“You need to come with me,” Geralt says, before hauling him up by the collar of his doublet.

He half drags the prince to the hide-out. It’s only a cave where he left Roach earlier, but it should be enough. The young man slumps down against the wall, breathing heavily.

“Why are you—”

“Shh.” The witcher quickly crouches on the ground and presses his palm over the prince’s mouth. Distant footsteps disappear in another direction, before he slowly lets go. “We should be safe for now.”

In the quiet of the cave, he can hear the prince’s pounding heart, his eyes blown wide like a startled deer. Specks of blood smear across his cheeks, making him appear even younger.

“My men?”

“These are hired assassins. They will disperse once you are gone.” Geralt is surprised at how gentle his voice comes out. “Are you all right?”

“I—” the prince swallows, and looks down to his bicep where the flesh is grazed by an arrow. The wound is shallow and slowly seeping blood into the torn fabric. Geralt reckons that it should be fine left alone. “I’m fine. I—I’m…fine, yes. I’m alive.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, both in shock and relief. The prince tries to appear unaffected but the overwhelming panic in his scent betrays his seemingly neutral expression.

“You are lucky it didn’t go through your heart.” The witcher leaves him to check on Roach. Sensing the danger in the air, the mare has stayed quiet this whole time. He pats her mane in thanks. “Didn’t think the prince of Aedirn was this careless.”

“I didn’t think witchers got themselves involved in political squabbles either.” Cornflower blues meet Geralt piercingly, despite his shakiness. “I know who you are,” he chuckles tightly. “The witcher, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt grunts.

“I didn’t get involved.”

The prince only gestures to himself, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve saved your ass. Now you can return to your castle and pretend we’ve never met, your highness.”

“Please, call me Jaskier.” The prince stands, patting the blue silk to get off the dirt and wincing when the movement tugs at his arm. “Aren’t you curious as to how I learned about you? Your fame precedes you, witcher.”

The young man meets his gaze assuredly. There’s no trace of fear in his scent.

People usually learn about Geralt one way—his moniker is not something to be escaped. But the prince doesn’t act like everyone else who meets the Butcher. Or at least, he hides it well.

“Are you not scared for your life, prince?”

“It’s Jaskier. And no, I’m not scared by the Butcher, if that’s what you mean.” There’s a knowing glint in his eyes. “I know you from a… mutual acquaintance, let’s say.”

“Oh?”

“Filavandrel mentioned you.”

“The elf king who hides in the mountains?” Geralt frowns. “I never really knew him. Not for more than a day.”

“No? He spoke of a white-haired witcher who was paid to hunt his people. Only that witcher left his own coin purse to them upon finding out about their circumstances. It showed compassion that no human had ever shown them, witcher. From his description, I thought the elven king and you shared a moment that day, or rather, an understanding.”

“Only of men.” He pauses. “Haven’t you come to the same understanding? Or why else would the prince of Aedirn make a target of himself by providing shelter to elven refugees?”

Geralt remembers his encounter with the elf king vividly, his anger and despair. The path took him back to Lower Posada years after that day. His curiosity drove him back to Dol Blathanna, only to find a much larger settlement and an exploding population of elves and other non-humans. Not only that, everyone there spoke of the kindness of the prince, who gave equal status to all sentient creatures on Aedirn soil.

“I see someone did homework on me.”

“People here sing your praises on the street day and night. It seems half the country has fallen in love with you,” Great admits begrudgingly.

“And the other half dislikes that I’m giving land away. Land that could have been providing for humans. The other half of my country believes I’m crazy just like all the other kings and queens in the north.”

The prince steps into Geralt’s space.

“You see, Geralt of Rivia, I cannot change the war that others deem just. I cannot stop the Lioness of Cintra from slaughtering elves and non-humans alike on the other side of the Yaruga. All I have is a piece of land in the Blue Mountains and, perhaps, I can provide them the means to rebuild. Those settlements are only a start.”

“It sounds like a noble cause, prince, but I’m not sure how much you can achieve.”

“Sometimes,” the prince’s attention shifts to Roach. “I wonder the same thing. The continent won’t change overnight just because one kingdom decides to show them a little bit of decency. The same decency that we humans are treated with all along.”

The young prince falls silent, his hand reaching out to touch Roach’s mane but retreats when she snorts anxiously. Geralt shushes the mare with a carrot from the pack.

“And I think, my friend,” the young prince continues. “Despite your claim of neutrality, you are on my side.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“No? But I wish to become yours. After all, you just saved my life so selflessly and gallantly,” he proclaims dramatically. “You should have seen yourself, Geralt. So brave with a sword, like a knight from the stories! If we were in a fairy tale, this is where I offer myself to you in eternal gratitude.”

“Are all princes this cheeky?”

“I don’t know. Are all witchers this heroic and beautiful?” Blue eyes roam up and down the witcher’s body, before meeting his gaze with clear interest.

Geralt grunts, ducking away from direct eye contact with the prince. Suddenly the air in the cave feels too warm. He clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Are you being shy, Geralt the witcher?”

The teasing comes so naturally for the prince. Gods, is that why all the maidens out there are so enamored with him? With those easy smiles and dreamy blue eyes, as soon as he throws in some flirtatious words, any inexperienced country girl would swoon upon meeting with him.

What fools they all are.

“We are not in a fairy tale,” Geralt says, palming his face. “Don’t expect a happy ending from this, my prince.”

“Jaskier,” the prince repeats insistently. “Although I do like the way you call me ‘my prince’. I’d certainly like it more if we were in a… different situation.”

He raises an eyebrow suggestively, and Geralt wonders if he can un-save this ridiculous man’s life.

“Fine then. Jaskier.”

The prince, who insists his name is a flower, smiles smugly for having gotten his way.

“But why?” he then faces Geralt head-on, his voice steady. “Why help me? If you don’t seek the favor of a prince, and the conflict never concerns you?”

Geralt blinks.

He’s not sure what drove him to the decision. The only emotion he had upon hearing about a price on the head of the crown prince was unease. The witcher has seen the war and how all the non-humans were killed with little reason, their corpses a feast for ghouls. The prince of Aedirn made himself an enemy to many realms by taking in all the refugees.

It wouldn’t sit right to let him die.

“I was in Cintra a month ago,” Geralt answers.

Jaskier tilts his head.

“So was I. I went to negotiate the relocation of the defeated elves with Queen Calanthe.” Something dawns on him. “You heard something, didn’t you? Was this assassination ordered by her? The negotiation ended up a complete waste of time, but never have I thought she could resort to such a dishonorable way of killing. No matter how much she must want to get rid of me permanently… Oh, I—I never thought…”

The prince—Jaskier trails off, his face drained of blood.

“I only learned about the bounty on your head,” Geralt explains, confused by the prince’s sudden show of weakness. “Hired swords get quite loose-lipped after a few drinks. As to where the order came from—"

“Wait, I…"

A pained grunt escapes the prince’s throat. He sways on his feet ever so slightly, but steadies himself with a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. They both look down to where the wound is still trickling slowly, soaking his sleeve with a patch of dark crimson.

“Wait, I thought…” Geralt reaches out to hold Jaskier’s arm. His palm comes away covered in blood. “Shit, it shouldn’t be bleeding this much.”

“You followed all the way from Cintra, just to stop them from killing m—" Jaskier breaks off for air as Geralt rummages through his pack for bandages. The prince clenches the fabric over his chest, as if something is hurting him from within. “So much for… n—not getting involved.”

“Shut up, prince.” Geralt’s fingers reach the bandage. “Or Jaskier, or whatever flower you prefer.”

A strained smile contorts into a grimace on the prince’s face, his knees buckling.

“Shit.” The witcher barely manages to catch his limp body before his head hits the ground. Blue eyes become unfocused as his head sags against Geralt’s shoulder. “Jaskier? Prince? Can you hear me?”

Geralt inspects the wound on his arm closely for the first time, and that’s when his witcher senses pick up on the faint trail of bitterness.

“It’s poison,” he mutters and curses under his breath.

Jaskier whimpers weakly upon hearing the words, his eyes filled with full-blown panic. For the first time that day, the witcher senses potent fear in the prince’s scent.

Or is it his own?

Geralt can’t tell.

Roach is almost at her limits. The weight of two grown men puts a lot of tires her way too quickly, but Geralt doesn’t dare to slow down, not until he can see the castle walls.

“Don’t die now,” the witcher murmurs into the prince’s ear, who is slumped against his chest, half-delirious and slurring nonsense. The make-shift tourniquet on his arm is soaked through with specks of blood.

The poison is attacking his heart, Geralt notices. It’s also speeding it up, disrupting its rhythm. It’s the vicious kind, one that is designed to make the victim suffer before they die.

Jaskier’s face is white as a sheet, and his lips are turning a sickening purple. The trembling comes and goes, making it harder to keep him in place. His blue eyes roll back, and for a moment, Geralt thinks he’s lost him.

“We are here, prince. Do you hear me?” The gate opens when the guards realize that their prince is brought back injured. A lot of people are shouting but it’s all a blur when Geralt carries the prince down from the mare’s back. “Just hang on, Jaskier.”

Jaskier clings, his heartbeat fluttering dangerously.

They take Jaskier away with force, his limp hand slipping from Geralt’s grip. Someone kicks the witcher behind the knees, sending him to the ground. Weapons suddenly appear at his throat, stopping him from going any further.

“G’ralt…” Jaskier protests, his hands grabbing blindly.

“He needs a healer!” he shouts at those guards who only seem to be interested in restraining him.

Cornflower blues are fixed on golden yellow. The prince’s skin is covered in sweat, his lips quivering, struggling to form words. It takes a second for the witcher to realize that he’s talking to the guards.

“He saved my life. Don’t… He saved…me,” Jaskier chokes out a breath, and Geralt feels those guards release him.

The witcher is left kneeling as more men surround the prince and rush him inside. They’re either fussing over Jaskier or calling for help. His faint heartbeat gets lost in the commotion.

“Wait, is he going to—"

The gate shuts in his face. The last thing he sees is Jaskier collapsing in someone’s arms.

No word about the prince comes out for months. Not about the assassination. Not about his poisoning.

Rumor says that he was gravely injured during the attack, and that he has been bed-ridden since returning from Cintra. Some even suspect that he’s already dead.

“…I opened the envelope and it was an invitation from the prince!”

“It was magical, wasn’t it? He doesn’t show up for ages and suddenly we are all invited to a ball! In his castle! A royal ball where anyone can attend, no less! I heard he will choose one to marry tonight.”

“Although I heard he’s sick for quite some time…”

Geralt ducks his head while listening in on the two women’s conversation. They are each dressed in a luxurious ball gown, their faces powered and lips painted. Like everyone else in the room, they are trying to impress the prince at his first outing in months.

But that is not why he is here.

Geralt has been lingering in Aedirn since that day, when he sent Jaskier back to the castle with poison coursing through his veins, not knowing what would become of him. Months of dead silence only make his stomach sink further.

A chance presented itself when news came out that the prince will hold a ball to the public.

It only makes sense that he should go and check, just to make sure Jaskier is all right. After all, he doesn’t want to put in all the effort to save someone only to never know if he will end up fine.

He will see for himself that Jaskier is well, and then he will leave.

He will not get involved.

Of course not.

Geralt takes another sip of the wine, surprised at the buzz it gives to his temporarily human body. When the mage sold him the potion that could hide all visible witcher traits, she did not mention it would also slow his metabolism to an ordinary human’s.

“The disguise will expire at midnight, when the bell strikes twelve.” Luckily she didn’t forget about this.

What a cliché.

It seems that no mage can resist a touch of dramatics.

For now, he looks like another random lord with dark hair and brown eyes. She also threw in a spell to turn his clothes into a silky ensemble in a muted black color.

“His royal highness, Prince Julian!” someone announces.

The crowd turns their eyes to the top of the stairs, where the heavy wooden doors open in everyone’s anticipation. One of the two women lets out an audible gasp as the prince steps out.

And there he is, Jaskier.

Those blue eyes are bright as the sky, those cheeks rosy-pink. He’s a picture of health compared to the last time Geralt held him in his arms. The witcher lets out a relieved sigh he never knew he was holding.

A smile spreads across the prince’s face. Suddenly the wine isn’t the only thing making Geralt all warm and fuzzy inside.

The prince descends the stairs with such elegance, his doublet a pristine ivory color under the chandelier’s sparkling light. The clothes sit perfectly on his frame, but with a heavy heart, Geralt realizes that he’s also lost weight.

It’s minuscule, and the puffy sleeves hide it well, but it’s there. Bed-ridden for a long time, they say. The witcher swallows the lump in his throat.

The crowd parts for the prince, retreating to the edge of the dance floor. No one dares to breathe as they await his invitation to the first dance. Once the dancing starts, the music will be too loud and the people too busy, giving the witcher a window to easily disappear into the night. But Jaskier continues to search through the crowd as if he has a specific someone to look for.

Before Geralt can even react, blue eyes have locked with his. The piercing blue makes him instinctively want to hide, but the witcher is frozen to the spot. The prince walks directly towards him, the grin spreading even wider if that is possible.

“May I have the first dance?” Jaskier reaches out, his palm facing up.

Countless eyes fall on Geralt, making his skin prickle, but he pays no mind. All he can focus on is the prince’s expectant look. Even now, without his witcher hearing to know Jaskier’s heartbeat, he can see the tentative hope in the way Jaskier seems to hold his breath.

Geralt takes his hand.

The royal garden is quiet under the night sky. The cool breeze is nice on Geralt’s skin, the faint hum of cicadas a soothing balm to his ear after hours of music and dance.

“Apologies. I was getting a little… uncomfortable in there.” The prince leads the witcher to a bench. His hand rubs at his heart like it’s bothering him.

“Are you well, my prince?” Geralt helps him sit down.

“Please, call me Jaskier.”

Geralt pauses. Does Jaskier tell his preferred name to anyone? Even a stranger he just met at a ball?

“Why Jaskier?”

“It’s the person I dream to be,” he answers wistfully but adds nothing to explain. Geralt wonders why a prince could possibly dream to be another person.

“I see.” He nods. “Are you feeling alright, Jaskier?”

The prince’s eyes soften as he reaches out to tuck a lock of curly brown hair out of Geralt’s face. The movement is so gentle that the witcher can’t help but catch his hand, holding those slender fingers in his palm.

They are way too slender, he thinks. Repressed worry bubbles up in his throat again.

“I’m fine now.” Jaskier squeezes his hand reassuringly. “Although I haven’t been for a few months, as you already know.”

“Uh…yes.” Geralt splutters. This closeness, combined with the touch of skin, seems to be slowing his brain. “There are rumors, from outside the castle. It was an attack, wasn’t it? At least that’s what I heard.”

“It was. They used poison, no less. The healers told me that it weakened my heart, even stopped it for a few seconds.” He chuckles sadly, threading their fingers together and pressing both their hands over his chest. “The pain still comes and goes these days, but I cope.”

The thumping underneath Geralt’s hand is rhythmic. Calming. It feels so fragile, especially now that he knows how little it takes to stop it. To snuff out the light in those cornflower-blue eyes along with it. And yet, this heart keeps beating.

“I’m glad you survived, Jaskier.”

The name comes out reverent, like a prayer.

“So am I, my friend.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

Moonlight frames Jaskier’s fond expression, giving it a soft glow. Long lashes cast a shadow on his faint blush. A grin spreads across the prince’s face when he answers.

“I hope? Or maybe I can hope for more. After all, this ball is held so I can find my future intended in the crowd.”

The implication makes Geralt’s breath hitch. He blinks.

“You don’t even know my name.”

Jaskier’s eyes darken as he leans in. His hand comes up to cradle Geralt’s chin. “Somehow, I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

The crisp night air is mixed with the fresh smell of grass, but on top of it is a floral scent that reminds him of spring and hope. Geralt lets his senses be overwhelmed by the prince, by his soft breaths ghosting over his skin and those enchanting lips well within reach.

Not getting involved, the back of his mind screams.

Despite himself, Geralt meets Jaskier halfway, their lips a hair’s breadth away when—

The bell strikes. Once, twice…

The noise is the loudest wake-up call, turning Geralt’s blood to ice. What is he doing? Is it midnight already? Fuck… he needs to get out of here before the magic expires.

“I need to go,” Geralt blurts out. “I have to leave right now. Ah… I’m so sorry.”

Jaskier’s brows knit together in confusion. “What is wrong? I thought you—”

“I came here to make sure you are all right, Prince Julian. Nothing more. It was never my intention to let you believe there could be anything else.”

The prince’s face dims at his apology. The dejection on his face tugs at something in Geralt’s chest. It leaves him wanting, but there’s no time. The bell counts down his sentence.

He takes Jaskier’s hand and places a simple kiss there, and turns to leave, only to be halted by the prince’s tightening hold.

“Wait, you don’t have to go."

“You don’t understand,” Geralt’s voice quivers with urgency. “It’s important that I leave.”

Those gentle fingers wrap around Geralt’s steadily, Jaskier’s skin cool against his. The prince continues to ignore his plea. If anything, he steps closer.

“Stay. Please.” Jaskier whispers, and it’s all it takes.

The witcher can break free easily, but for some reason he is unable. For some reason, he feels the weakest he has ever been under the intensity of Jaskier’s pleading gaze.

To his horror, the magic fades. Geralt can feel his hair change and grow longer, his teeth sharpening. The flow of chaos stings his eyes that are certainly turning back to yellow. His face crumbles.

And yet, Jaskier never wavers.

If anything, the adoration in those stormy blues only grows, ever so beautifully, as the swirl of magic circles around Geralt, revealing plain clothes instead of silk.

The bell strikes twelve.

The sound still echoes in the air. Slowly, with the utmost determination, Jaskier’s fingers thread through what is now silver-white hair. Tears glisten in his eyes.

“You told me we were not in a fairy tale, and yet, you try to leave me at midnight. You tried to leave me here under the stars. Alone and heartbroken.” The prince lets out a wet chuckle. “Because you think I wouldn’t recognize the man who saved my life. You think I wouldn’t know the witcher who’s risking everything right now just to see that I am well. I’d know you anywhere, Geralt of Rivia.”

Jaskier’s feather-light touch continues to trace the shell of Geralt’s ear, the tiny scar under his eye, and then finally, the corner of his mouth. It’s not often, in his long life, that Geralt gets his breath taken away, least of all by a prince.

“How?”

“I suspected,” Jaskier whispers. “Or rather I hoped when I saw you in the ballroom. I prayed. That it’s you.”

“You danced with me because—”

“Because I wanted to thank you properly. We were kind of in a hurry last time.” The prince teases, his palm tilting Geralt’s chin. “May I?”

He nods.

As if in a dream, soft lips press against his, tasting of salt and moonlight. Geralt lets out a tiny gasp as Jaskier opens him up patiently and draws it out like they have all the time in the world. Like he’s something to be treated with gentleness. Something to be treasured.

He pulls away panting, only to realize that tears are rolling down Jaskier’s cheeks freely, so he catches them with the pad of his thumb.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Geralt shushes him, but Jaskier sniffles with a smile.

“I’m not upset. Trust me when I say these are tears of joy.” Red-rimmed eyes sparkle like the stars. “But Geralt…”

“Yes?”

“Will I see you again?”

Geralt blinks. He only sneaked into a royal court with one goal. Now that he has achieved it and more, there’s nothing that should bring him back to Jaskier again. His heart twists painfully at the idea, and words tumble out of his mouth. The last of his sanity screams against it, and yet his heart has made the decision.

“I hope, Jaskier. I can only hope to see you again.”

Jaskier beams as he presses another kiss to Geralt’s wrist.

“That is enough for me.”

“Your longing eyes grieve what is lost

But naught can change this parting harsh…”

Jaskier’s voice echoes hauntingly. In front of him, the elven family sits huddled together, listening intently. The two children are concentrating so hard that they are almost falling off their parents’ laps. Finally, as the soft strumming of the lute comes to an end, they start clapping with passion.

From a distance, Geralt can only see the prince from behind, but somehow he can sense the big smile Jaskier returns to those excited children. The wind in the Blue Mountains ruffles his brown hair. Jaskier continues to take off the strap and carefully hands the lute to the elven woman.

The witcher approaches quietly.

“…thank you so much! It is such a beautiful instrument.” Jaskier’s voice is warm and welcoming. She’s certainly charmed when they keep talking about music and folk songs.

Geralt stands there and lets Jaskier’s presence wash over him. In the end, it’s the other woman who notices him and gestures in his direction.

Jaskier turns his head and beams.

“Geralt! What brings you here?”

With a few long strides, the prince rushes over and slams their bodies into a bear hug. Anyone who’s not a witcher might have been knocked over by the force, but Geralt catches Jaskier steadily.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you!” Jaskier exclaims as he presses a chaste pack to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “I haven’t seen you since the manticore hunt.”

“It was still weird that you would want to come with me on hunts.”

“What is life if not to see your favorite witcher in action?” Jaskier waves it off as if a prince getting monster gut all over himself is a common occurrence. He checks Geralt all over. “Anyway, how’s the path treating you, my dear? Any injuries? Exciting stories?”

“The path is fine.” His excitement is too contagious that Geralt feels his lips tug upwards. “And it hasn’t been long. Two months at most.”

“Nonsense. Any amount of time not seeing you feels like ages.”

The parents lead their children away, the girl still humming the song from Jaskier’s private performance.

“I didn’t know the prince could play the lute. Or sing,” he teases.

“Ha! I’m full of surprises, you shall see! Besides, I always thought—” Jaskier cuts himself off, ducks his head before continuing. “I always thought that in another life, I would have been a bard.”

“Would you?”

“Mm-hmm. I would travel the continent, write songs about heroes and adventures. With a lute on my back, I could go to the edge of the world and beyond. Maybe even meet some interesting people, find my muse, or… fall in love.”

He winks at Geralt cheekily when the witcher realizes something.

“So is Jaskier the stage name you picked? For this bard life?”

“Why yes.” Jaskier sounds so surprised. “How do you know? Oh, my dear witcher, you do understand me like no one else! Not even Valdo is a match to you, no matter how well he claims to know me.”

The mention of Valdo Marx’s name sends a pang of bitterness through Geralt, though he has learned long ago that it’s irrational. The prince’s life-long friend, now an important right-hand man, is the most devoted advisor in Jaskier’s council. He’s supported Jaskier in everything throughout his life, having done nothing wrong by the prince, and yet, Geralt can’t bring himself to like the man.

Maybe it’s because of his too-shiny blonde hair. It gives him a headache if he stares at it for too long. Maybe it’s his all-knowing eyes that tend to judge the witcher silently every time they meet. The distrust is too typical for politicians such as him.

Or maybe, it’s because anyone with eyes can see how Valdo is desperately in love with Jaskier, but apparently, it’s not that obvious to the prince himself.

“I know because only you will have a tacky name like Buttercup for your professional career.” The words come out more sour than Geralt expected.

Jaskier squawks with rightful indignation, and Geralt can’t help but snort out a laugh. It’s truly too easy to rile him up.

“It’s just hard to picture.” The witcher continues, while taking Jaskier’s hand. “Someone like you, with soft hands like these. It would take a lot of hard work if you want to make it as a musician. I’m not sure if my prince is up for that job.”

Jaskier slaps him on the arm offendedly. “I’ll have you know, Geralt of Rivia! I am perfectly capable of enduring hardship for the right cause! Now that was truly rude of you to assume that I am spoiled just because I’m a prince! Really, it’s very unbecoming of you!”

“Hmm.” Geralt tilts his head, amused. “And what is a right cause in your book?”

All jokes dissipate after that question.

The prince looks around to the new camps and make-shift houses, everything illuminated by the setting sun. Bonfires are lit where families are gathered after dinner, laughing and dancing together, despite the hardship that brought them here.

“I want everyone on my land to live happily, no matter how they came to Aedirn. I wish they could all see it as a home,” Jaskier says sadly. “That is the most important cause in my life, Geralt. Although I’m not sure if that’s just a fantasy.”

Geralt squeezes the prince’s hands gently. They are exceedingly soft, and cold to the touch. The witcher used to assume that Jaskier just runs a little colder than the average person. But later, to his dismay, he found out that it’s yet another result of the poisoning.

He never wants to see Jaskier’s chest pain flare up again. He never wants to see Jaskier bend over in agony, his hands turning into blocks of ice from the lack of blood flow, his face skin covered in sweat in an instant. Just witnessing it happen almost gives Geralt phantom pain. What’s worse is that there’s nothing he can do but wait it out, holding Jaskier close and rocking him back and forth slowly.

At least he’s now feeling contrite. Teasing Jaskier about not being strong enough was a low blow, when in fact, the young prince is the furthest from deserving such an accusation.

He doesn’t need swords or muscles to be strong.

Jaskier is strong for his stubbornness and his unwavering faith. The elven settlement around them is the best testament. He carried on despite being hated by all other kingdoms, despite the attempt on his life, one that was nearly fatal. One that still hurts him in the quiet of the night.

“Fantasy or not,” Geralt’s insides melt at the way Jaskier looks at him expectantly. “I’d like to see it through with you, if you allow me to.”

Blue eyes suddenly sparkle with renewed excitement.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Geralt?” Jaskier asks carefully as if he could spook the witcher. “Are you finally saying yes to my proposal?”

“I’m considering it.”

“You’ve been considering it since the first time I asked!”

“You asked on our third ever meeting, Jaskier.” Geralt chuckles in exasperation. “And you’ve been asking every time we see each other.”

“And you’ve been giving me the same response every time.” His pout is too adorable Geralt wants to kiss it away. “One might suggest it’s rude to string a prince along like this.”

Geralt hums while cupping Jaskier’s jaw in his palm, tilting it so their gazes meet.

“One might also suggest that our beloved Prince Julian is too good for a witcher like me.”

Ho only means to joke but the smile on Jaskier’s face falls, hurt immediately replacing the earlier chirpiness.

“Shit, Jask… Forget I said that.” Geralt closes his eyes, regretting having ruined the moment.

“Darling, we talked about this.”

“No, you’re right. Of course…”

Jaskier takes the witcher’s hand and places a kiss in his palm. “I won’t allow terrible things to be said about the man I love, and that includes you, my dear. I’d hate it if you joined those senseless folk who can’t see you for the good man you are.” He bites into his lower lip. “Now, I understand if you have reservations about us. I mean, what I am… or what I do, is a lot. I won’t rush you into a decision anymore. I never meant to pressure you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Jaskier.” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. “We are from completely different worlds. Anyone who has eyes will tell you we’re not compatible.”

“Did Valdo say something to you again? Or is that truly what you believe?” Jaskier takes a step back. “Do you wish to end things with me? I—I’ll understand if you want to—"

“No, Jask.”

“—I know how much I’m keeping you in Aedirn, and maybe you wish to be free of court rules and politics and—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt interjects, and cornflower blues meet him in earnest. He knows too well how the prince could spiral out of control, dredging up all the terrible scenarios hidden in the dark corner of his mind. Jaskier looks so lost right now and all Geralt wants to do is make it better, so he does it with action, as always.

He kisses Jaskier with a bruising force. It’s too rushed, too clumsy compared to the gentle caress they normally share, but it conveys everything Geralt cannot promise yet. Not out loud. Not right now.

Geralt threads his fingers into the hair at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, playing with the soft locks. He lets Jaskier lean against his shoulder when they break off the kiss.

“I’m yours, my prince,” he whispers.

“Have I told you how much I love it when you call me that.”

Geralt hides his amusement in soft brown hair.

“Many times, my prince,” he indulges Jaskier. “And yet I cannot help but worry. I fear that things will not work because of our differences. I am a witcher. I am the Butcher of Blaviken, no matter how noble you believe me to be. I will never become someone else. Not like in fairy tales, where a farm girl can transform into a princess and suddenly become worthy of her prince. I fear you’ll make too many compromises because of who I am, bear too many scrutinies, and you will end up resenting me.”

Jaskier shakes his head at those words, his hair ticking Geralt’s ear.

“You speak of my sacrifices, but what about you?” His hand rests between Geralt’s shoulder blades. “You’ve walked the continent for so long. Will you resent me for caging you in a castle because of who I am?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathes the name solemnly. “You promised to never trap me in the drudgery of court life. You promised that no matter what we become, I can always return to my path when my heart desires. I trust you on that.”

“And I trust you in return, that you won’t dishonor me. Not in ways that matter.”

They pull away. The sun is hanging just on the horizon, drawing a golden line around Jaskier’s hair.

“I will ask one thing of you, my prince,” Geralt says. “Allow me more time to be sure. Of myself and of our future.”

Jaskier’s eyes crinkle at the corners, taking the witcher’s hand and presses it over his heart, where the doublet is left wide open. The warmth of his skin seeps through the thin chemise and into Geralt’s calloused palm.

“Don’t you see, my darling? I’d give you the stars if you asked. What is a little more time?” His chest rises and falls. “Although I need you to promise something as well.”

“What is it?”

The last of the sunlight fades, darkening Jaskier’s eyes like a stormy night.

“Don’t break my heart in the meantime.”

The plea comes out desperate, vulnerable. Under his palm, Geralt feels the soft thumping that he knows to be fragile.

“I won’t,” he breathes the words reverently. “I promise.”

Jaskier’s heart is so full of the world and its sufferings, so full that there’s hardly room left for himself. So full that the witcher should build a shrine for whatever gods out there that it gives him any attention. To think that he has any power over it, that he can hurt it easily, makes his stomach turn.

He’d live out his life fulfilling that promise if allowed.

The witcher walks the path just like he’s done for the past decades. Temeria’s wind is as freezing as ever, and its secrets even more so.

Another dangerous contract is nothing new, and yet, something in him shifts. Somehow, the days ahead are no longer painted with monotonous black and white, but an unpredictable mixture of colors—orange like the setting sun on Jaskier’s long lashes, or rosy-pink like the too-easy blush that dusts over his cheeks when he’s pretending to be unaffected by Geralt’s attention.

More often than not, he sees in his future the blue of Jaskier’s eyes, deep and vast like the sea.

The same blue is what flashes across Geralt’s eyes as the striga’s teeth bury into his neck. With the crypt cold and hard against his back, the witcher would laugh at the irony of it if not for the blood choking in his throat.

Funny how the moment of revelation does not come in a whirlwind of poetry, one that is befitting to Jaskier. The moment Geralt realizes that he is finally ready to take Jaskier’s hand might just be his last moment.

He drifts into bottomless darkness and wakes to cool fingers on his forehead.

And here Jaskier is, sitting by his bedside, his frame so lonely in the Temple of Melitele. A relieved sigh by his lips and tired bruises under his eyes. Gone is his composed regality. Jaskier looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like he just rode all the way here with wind still in the tousled mess of his hair.

“Yes,” Geralt croaks.

The prince rushes forward to fuss over his bandages and splints, cooing with the most distressed frown. “What do you need, my dear?”

“Yes.” Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand, caressing those cool fingers. The stitches in his neck tug uncomfortably.

“Yes, I’ll marry you, my prince.”

---

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @theultimatenerdd

Are the tags working? Anyway feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #prince!jaskier #fairy tale elements #hurt/comfort #i can't believe this became a full story #hurt jaskier #jaskier whump #geralt doesn't see himself as a heroic knight #and jaskier is hardly a traditional prince charming #knight and prince dynamic with a twist

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evening-starlight · 3 years

Text

Warm Beers

Taglist is OPEN! DM or comment to be added

Posting schedule: Monday, Wednesday, Friday

This story takes place before season 1

All Works Master List

Warm Beers Master List

Word Count: 1165

A lit cigarette hangs from McKenzie's lips as she leans over the propped-up surfboard. Sweat was already beading on her forehead before she had done any work on the board. After weeks of surfing with her friends, the gripping wax had melted beyond her comfort zone. The music plays over the outdoor system, and she sings along, swaying her hips in time.

Kenzie was alone for the morning. Her friends didn't get up before noon most days, and her dad was in the office. Sk8er Boi by Avril Lavigne blares across her backyard, drowning out the distinctive sound of the Twinkie and three doors closing.

The old, gray wax slides off her board like butter as Kenzie sings her heart out, not hearing her friends walk up the gravel driveway to her backyard. She continues to sing loudly, swinging her hips side to side as her friends muffle their laughs. They watch on in hushed tones.

JJ snickers when she trips over her own feet, trying to do a spin. Kenzie may be coordinated, but she was the clumsiest person he knew. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees four pairs of shoes as she regains balance.

With a yelp, Kenzie throws the scrapper at the intruders, not expecting her friends to be at her house this early. The scrapper hits next to JJ's head and would have hit him if he hadn't ducked. "Jesus fucking Christ, guys. You should know not to sneak up on a deputy's daughter," Kenzie berates, clutching her chest as she calms herself down.

"Well, if you were on your phone like you usually are, you'd know that we were coming over," JJ says. He walks over to her and takes the cigarette out of her hand. Kenzie shakes her head and smacks JJ's arm.

"We wanted to see if you wanted to catch some early morning waves with us?" John B. asks. "But seeing as you're working on your shortboard, I guess that's out of the question."

"I have my dad's I can steal for the day. Just let me finish this here, and I'll meet you guys down there?" Kenzie asks, taking the cigarette back from JJ. The gang agrees quickly, ready to hit some waves. Pope tosses her the wax comb and follows his friends back to the Twinkie.

JJ opts to stay behind, wanting to spend more time with Kenzie. "You don't have to stay, you know?" Kenzie states as she goes back to cleaning the board of its old wax. JJ starts on the other side with a spare scrapper he found on the floor.

"I know. I just like spending time with you. Is that a crime, Ken?" JJ asks in a sassy tone. Kenzie laughs and shakes her head.

"Yes. A crime punishable by life in prison," Kenzie retorts, focusing back to her board. JJ laughs with her before finishing off the wax on his side.

The friends dance and sing together to the songs that play over her sound system while they wax. Granted, there was more fooling around than working between the two. Kenzie squeals as JJ lifts her off the ground, throwing her over his shoulder when she tried to finish waxing her shortboard. "JJ," She yells, slapping his back playfully.

"I'm bored of waxing, Ken. Let's go surf," JJ whines, already carrying her inside of her house. Kenzie giggles and flops against JJ, making carrying her harder. She yelps again as JJ tosses her onto her bed.

She rolls off of the other side when JJ tries to lay on top of her. "Didn't you just say you wanted to go surfing, Maybank?" He groans in response and settles his hands behind his head while Kenzie finds a bikini from her drawers. "Are you just going to sit there like a pervert while I change?" Kenzie asks, eyeing the boy suspiciously.

JJ shrugs, not breaking eye contact. "You've changed in front of me before, so what's different now?" He asks. Kenzie doesn't have enough energy to fight him on this, so she turns her back, peeling her shirt off. Nothing was different, obviously. But it still felt tense taking off her clothes.

Her back flexes as she pulls the halter top on. Kezie's perfectly tanned, flawless back. If she turned just a little, JJ could see her perfect breasts. JJ shakes his head to try to clear the thoughts, but when her shorts hit the floor, JJ gets the perfect view of her ass. Absolutely flawless, he thinks to himself.

McKenzie turns back around and smiles at JJ. "Ready to go?" She asks as she pulls on the clothes she wore earlier back on. JJ, once again speechless by the beauty that is his best friend, nods.

John B. cheers when he sees the duo walk down the beach, carrying their boards under their arms. "About damn time, assholes." He yells up to them. Kenzie and JJ flip him off in unison before running down the sand to where the water meets the sand.

The group spends hours surfing the morning tide. Pope and Kenzie share a board at one point, unsuccessfully trying couple's tricks. The only one they got close was when Kenzie was on Pope's shoulders. Kenzie had made it onto his shoulders easily, but when a wave caught them, both fell into the water in a fit of giggles.

Pope hauls the bucket of water up to their sandcastle, smiling brightly as they almost finished the moat. The castle stood tall and proud, a small leaf on the top as their Pouge flag. As Pope fills up the trench, JJ sits next to Kenzie on the hot sand. "What's this?"

"A jail," Kenzie sasses, rolling her head to the side to look at JJ. "A fucking castle. What does it look like, genius?" JJ scoffs and rolls his eyes. "It's the castle of Queen Bitch and King Dumbass. They rule Pougelandia," Kenzie informs. JJ laughs with an approving nod.

"I like your story, Ken. Let me guess, I'm King Dumbass?" Kenzie shakes her head.

"Nope. John B. is King Dumbass. You're Princess Asshole."

"I thought it was Queen Bitch?" JJ asks, smirking at Kenzie. He loved how intricate her little stories would become when she made sandcastles. Kenzie sighs dramatically.

"No, you're Princess Asshole, Pope is Queen Bitch, and Kiara is Prince Charming," Kenzie jokes, leaning her head on JJ's shoulder. "I'm obviously the royal jester. Considering I'm the funniest fucker you will ever know."

Pope scoffs with a shake of his head. "So I'm married to John B., and you get to live life happily making jokes for everyone to laugh at?"

John B. soon joins them and plays along with Kenzie's story, making kissing faces at an uncomfortable Pope. Kenzie laughs at her friends' antics, teasing and mocking each other like usual teens do. Some part of Kenzie is touching JJ at all times, enjoying the physical contact she got with him.

Taglist: @gwenlovesharrystyles @x-lulu @gviosca @cognacdelights @queenofallhobos

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thefallendivine · 3 years

Text

Ma’an-riss Q’iras: Bittersweet

NOTE: This is the short for the second Guardian. If you don’t want to be spoiled about the character, then you are free to skip this post.

---

An ear-splitting screech pierces the air as Tien stabs the wyvern right at the inflicted wound in its chest, bypassing its shell to tear right through its muscle straight into its heart. The wyvern’s last breath blasts her right in the face, smelling like a Dwarven coal mine: sulfuric, earthy, and comes with a burning sting that clings to the back of the throat. Even with the winged lizard’s lashing tongue and bared fangs, Tien is not at all fazed, having grown used to the sights and smells of these Draconic descendants.

Pressing one foot on the wyvern’s chest, Tien establishes footing as she twists her blade around its heart until the wyvern’s thrashing stops and it slumps lifelessly, just like all the others.

“That should be the last of them,” calls a familiar voice from behind Tien. Pulling out her curved sword before turning to face the approaching Human man. With a big grin on his face, Kimber looks around, “We hit the jackpot, didn’t we, boss?”

Tien casts her gaze all over the ruins, so does her companion, a Dragon Hunter just like her who has worked for the hunting party she leads for many years now. Someone she considers her brother.

It is the strangest feeling, having been raised to view Humans with indifference at best, Tien now considers several of them as family. Fifty years ago she would have shuddered at the mere thought of entrusting her unguarded back to an incompetent race, but she has seen past that. Most times she wonders if the Elves are the problem, rather than the Humans.

But that in itself is the beauty of being a Dragon Hunter. No matter what shape or size a person is, they are welcomed with open arms in the quest of slaying terrorizing monsters. Most of them are already disowned by their respective nations, that is why they find no more reason to begin quarrels with one another. It may be a difficult job, but not any more difficult than any other job for a warrior.

“The only problem is: how are we going to transport all these guys?”

The question has Tien looking back to Kimber. “We don’t. Not yet.” Tien turns to the others, her voice then rings deep and loud as she instructs her party, “Wrap them up with the cloth we brought. Be thorough. When you’re done, load up half of the wagons with wyverns. Bury what’s left in the sand with the drakes and the wurms. Those of you whose mind and blade are still sharp, gather around.”

As their party moves to fulfill their leader’s orders, Kimber turns to Tien. “Those weird cloth that took up half the space in our storage. Don’t tell me they’re from ‘nishil-norey’.”

Tien stifles a smile after Kimber butchered the name of the Elven city. But from the proud undercurrent of Kimber’s expression, presumably from displaying his knowledge of the overlooked origin of an uncommon product in front of an Elf, Tien lets the Human have his moment of triumph. “Yes, they are.”

Nyshlenorreian fabric are used by Dragon Hunters to preserve their kills so the value does not depreciate as they are transported through changing humidity and temperature. Elves use them for preservation of harvests, especially those reserved for offerings, and are mostly used within Elven territories. Smuggling these fabrics out of the woodlands is a difficult undertaking and always costs a fortune.

“Holy shit, boss. You’re really serious about this haul, aren’t you?”

Tien raises a brow. “When am I never serious?”

Kimber nods. “Fair point. But why would we load up only half of the wagons?”

Tien turns to the center point of the ruins: an abandoned graystone fortress, its walls still standing strong despite the thousands of years of history that shows on its surface. “Because I need to somehow make up the investment I made. By, perhaps, about ten times?”

Following Tien’s gaze, Kimber whistles. “You mean to say there’s gold inside?”

Tien shrugs. “Gold, ancient relics, unhatched eggs, they always guard something. And that something is always worth a whole lot than a weyr of freshly killed Dragonkins.”

The response Tien is expecting does not come, and she looks to Kimber who now has faraway look on his face. “So you really were serious when you said that this might be the last hunt we’ll ever have. Our kills alone are enough to drown ourselves in fine wine for the next twenty years. But if you’re right about the treasures inside, then we don’t have to do all this anymore.”

Like Kimber, Tien does not reply, having mixed emotions about it all.

Thankfully for the Elf, the Human breaks the moment. “It’s bittersweet… but mostly sweet.”

Tien nods, a soft smile gracing her lips. “Mostly.”

Kimber smiles back before facing the other hunters who have now gathered, raising his sword as he shouts, “You hear that, fellas? One more dive into some musty ruins and we can finally pay back the boss with all the thousand year cognac she wants! No more of that filthy ale she forces down her throat to make us happy!”

The other hunters shout back their own cheer, inducing a fond shake of the head from Tien.

The raucous elation is then disturbed by a shriek echoing from inside the ruins. As the cheers come to a halt, a wyvern shoots out of the fortress’ cracked surface.

The laughter comes a moment later.

“Look at the little guy cheering with us,” Kimber says along with the jeers of the others.

Tien ignores her party in favor of watching the wyvern fly up high towards the sky. Wyverns are hostile on sight even if they are outnumbered, but the one that came out is not. And the shriek it let out is not one of fear; hunters are well aware of how a scared wyvern sounds. Tien has never heard that kind of emotion from a wyvern’s call.

How strange, she thinks to herself.

Just as Tien’s gaze settles back on the fortress, the ground they are standing on begins to shake. A clap of thunder that is usually heard from above reaches the hunters ears. It reverberates below their feet, and aside from just hearing it, they feel it as well. The tremors creep up from the earth onto their feet, quivering its way up their bodies until their balance breaks, pulling them down to the ground on their hands and knees.

Now kneeling and unable to regain stability, the hunters as one welcome the great Dragonkin that bursts out of the fortress with forced reverence.

Tien watches in both horror and awe as the fortress that withstood time is now shattered like glass to make way for what appears to be a giant wyvern— using the leading edge of its wings as a forearm, it lands on the solid ground of the desert.

Assessing the monster, Tien’s gaze moves over its golden carapace up to the crown of horns on its head. Just like any other Dragonkin, penetrating the scales would be difficult, which only leaves the underside. It will be the same as any other wyvern, except the one in front of them is ten times larger than the ones they fought in the area, which only means that it would be impossible for such a wyvern to fly. While it can still move around with leaps and bounds, it still is a wyvern on the ground. And as far as Tien’s experience goes, a grounded wyvern is a dead wyvern.

Tien nods to herself.

“Stand your ground!” She shouts as she gets back to her feet, sword placed in front of her. ”We cannot outrun a wyvern this large! So we kill it, like all the others!”

Just as Tien says the words, the “wyvern’s” wings detach from its front legs, before spreading outward in a glorious display— Tien has never seen a wyvern do such a thing. But before she can think further on it, the monster roars, and along with it, the earth quakes in perfect harmony.

Tien frowns, hearing something beyond the sonorous cry. An unrecognizable pattern of sound yet with distinct and clear succession of structured noise, one with an undertone of expression.

Tien’s eyes widen. Did it speak?

The Elf almost cannot believe the conclusion she came up with, but once more, the wyvern roars.

“Orrtid irayagnan onna...”

Tien’s breath catches. “Impossible...” she breathes out.

“Hey, boss! Are we gonna do this or not?”

To Kimber’s question, Tien can only respond with a vacant look.

Unfocused, her quiet words do not quite reach her companions, “Is this what the Dragonkin are guarding? A real Dragon…”

The golden titan roars again, louder and angrier, “Orrtid irayagnan onna!”

This time, Tien does reply. Not to the Dragon, but to her party. “Run! Run for your lives!”

Confusion spread throughout the Dragon Hunters at the sudden change of instruction. But seeing the frantic look on their leader’s face, they all follow with infected horror.

Ma’an watches as the mortal Humans, ordinary and odd, scatter across the sandy terrain, weaving their way through her dead Dragonkin servants. Anger surges from inside her, hot and pulsing like the world’s core. She takes to the skies, looking down on the mortals who dared disturb her slumber on top of murdering her servants.

She lets her wrath free, spewing out the heat that comes from her own core onto the fleeing mortals.

Once they were the masters Ma’an served, but no Human can ever make her bow down again. Setting herself down on the ground, she shouts a vicious cry: a proclamation of her awakening in the present age.

#main companions #guardians

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cellard0ors · 3 years

Text

Ficlet: Beneath The Blue

Mermay isn't over and people enjoyed Part 1, so here's some more...

Rhett has a bit of a gambling problem.

No, that's not quite right. More like a gaming problem. He likes games. He likes the rush of winning and it's not so much about money as the thrill of nailing a dart on a bullseye or getting a hole in one or - well - being right.

He really loves that one. Trivia, guessing games, riddles - lucking out on the right answer or just knowing it, always makes him feel fantastic. He's had marginal luck in his life. With basketball, with singing, and now - with his new current career - fishing, but games?

Rhett's always mastered those, rarely ever a loser. But the thing is, to do those things, he tends to have to use cash as an entry to play, thus - a sort-of-not-really gambling problem.

And winning in those kind of situations is also a problem, because, after some time - it tends to attract...attention. And usually the bad kind. Recently it was very much the bad kind, because he was at The 101, engaging in his normal play only to be snatched up by some very rough looking characters.

Ones who took him into a backroom and decided to skip right over the 'broken knuckles' threat and jump right into the 'you're going to go sleep with the fishes' threat.

To be fair, they probably went quickly into the decision once he started fighting back. Rhett's not much of a brawler, but he's a big guy and that in and of itself can create...issues. Especially if his temper is up.

Long story short - Rhett's bit of a gambling problem led him to being clonked over the head (more than once, matter of fact) and taken out to sea. His last real memory before hitting the water was that he'd been amazed at the boulder they'd found to attach him to - where had they gotten such a huge rock from? A landfill?

Not that it mattered - rock, rope, and Rhett all went overboard and into the deep. Rhett tried not to hold his breath, to struggle enough just to get loose, but, in the end - he'd been lost.

Except he hadn't been.

He'd awoken to find the setting sun bathing him in golden light and, above him, an angel. Because only an angel could have such eyes. Eyes as blue and deep and mysterious as the sea he was supposed to have died in.

His throat ached from damn near drowning but he'd still managed to ask the angel for his name. And he'd gotten it.

Link.

But then the angel had turned, vanished, and Rhett had seen that - while he was right about his mythical savior - he was not at all right about what kind.

Because Link had a tail.

A fish tail.

One as sparkling blue and captivating as his eyes and he'd disappeared into the surf so fast, Rhett began to question his sanity.

Had he imagined it all? The entire experience had been traumatic as heck - maybe it was just a coping mechanism for his mind? But then, far out, he'd seen a head appear above the waters.

Seen it and a shy wave and he'd waved back, because what else could he do? He wasn't dead and he wasn't crazy. He'd been saved. Saved...by a mermaid (merman?) named Link.

Which leads to now and his camping out full time on this small rocky stretch of lonely beach. Rhett made sure to check in with the local marina, see if it was okay for him to dock his tiny fishing boat, The Bluegrass, nearby. And 'nearby' was about a mile or so away, because this bit of land is pretty unoccupied and small.

...the perfect place for a merman (mermaid?) to drop off someone they saved. And, hopefully, return to? Rhett's not sure - honestly, this whole thing might be a fool's errand, but either way - he has a tent pitched and is waiting.

Waiting to see if Link returns.

Night after night seems like a failure. Still, Rhett doesn't mind. He can be patient. His last haul (fish-wise, not gambling-wise) earned him a considerable amount, so there's no harm in waiting.

Still, as he sits here now, the sky a lovely lilac as the sun dips low beneath the horizon, he can't help but feel like time's running out. Honestly, what did he expect? For Link to return and want to...what? Be best friends?

The person...creature...per-creature? Did what he could and Rhett should just be grateful and move on. But there was something about him...and those eyes...and that voice...

Rhett cracks open another can of soda, takes a deep sip when he hears it. The water's waves have become almost a white noise at this point, so consistent, but this...this is different. Just a little splish. Or splash. Or whatever.

And it's close. He puts the can down and quickly surges to his feet, looking out intently over the water and then he sees it. Just the top of someone's head. His head. Dark wet hair and blue eyes behind...are those glasses? And Rhett can't see his nose or anything else, but he can see enough to cry out, "Hey!"

The head rears back, sinks some, and Rhett feels a surge of panic, not wanting to lose this opportunity, "No! Wait, wait! Link! I-!"

The head stops, goes still. Rhett continues on, desperate for this to continue, "Please...don't go."

He doesn't.

Bolstered, Rhett continues, hoping he's heard, understood, "I...I just-? You saved me."

Link simply blinks.

"Thank you."

There's a bobbing in the water around him and Rhett's pretty sure Link nodded. Rhett edges just that little bit closer, "I...I'd hoped you'd come back. Not only so I could thank you, but so...um...maybe-? Maybe we could-? Could talk-?"

Link sinks a little more again, but Rhett can still see his eyes and, as long as he can see those, he feels okay, "I mean...you-you came back. Right? So-so maybe you'd-? You'd like to talk too?"

Link's head disappears.

Rhett feels his heart break. But then he notices that the water is moving. There's a rippling, the kind he sees when fish swim close to the surface. As if to punctuate that thought, the broad tip of a blue tail rises up and out, pushing against the waves.

He's swimming closer!

Rhett resists the urge to hoot in delight, to pumping his arms in victory, as Link pushes forward and, on the next movement of water, he surges upwards - his whole head visible now.

Link's entire face is nice.

A strong jaw, a good nose, a very fine mouth and yeaaaah, Rhett doesn't want Link to swim off, so he's going to do his very best not to focus on that mouth too much as he says, "I'm-I'm Rhett."

Link licks his lips, dips his head shyly, "I'm Link."

"Y-Yeah, you-you said..."

They both just sort of eyeball one another, both clearly unsure of what to make of the other. Of how to proceed. Eventually Rhett does, "So, ah, you're-? You're a mermaid?"

Link's eyebrows rise.

"Merman?"

"Just Mer," Link clarifies, "Our kind doesn't really attach those bits on the end there."

"Really?"

Link nods, "Humans came up with that one."

"Oh? We-we did?"

Another nod, "Back when we first used to come across one another."

"...take it that doesn't really happen now?"

"Not really. No."

Another awkward silence falls. Rhett scratches at one cheek, struggling for something else to say when Link blurts, "You're hairy."

Rhett lowers his hand and - much to his own surprise - he bursts out laughing. Link colors some and he gives a bashful smile and okay, Rhett said he wasn't going to pay too much attention to that mouth, but it's hard when it's so danged cute, "Yeah, yeah I am, brother."

"Bro-ther?" Link repeats and it's clearly a word he's unfamiliar with. Rhett beams, "'Brother'. We use it for family members. Y'know, the boys born from the same Momma and such. Can be a term of endearment too."

"Oh..." Link seems pleased with this and Rhett grins, "You got one?"

Link's eyebrows knit together and Rhett explains, "A brother? Or-or some other family or-?"

"I was spawned from another Mer. She came to shore to give birth to me."

Rhett's eyes grow wide, "You-? You were born on land?"

Link nods, "Most of us are. Mers walk between both worlds more often than not."

Rhett lets that one wash over him even as Link comes closer. Rhett can see his tail better now. It's amazing. Glossy and sparkling blue, the scales tightly knit. Rhett's first reaction is wanting to touch it but he quickly shutters that idea - recognizing it as beyond rude. They've just started talking to one another, for goodness sake!

Still, seeing it rest against the wet sand of the shoreline is tempting and seeing it move, more so. It slides and slithers, but in such an enticing way. Rhett moves a little closer, foam teasing at his toes as Link looks up (and up) at him, "Hard to talk at this level..."

Rhett realizes he probably looks like a giant at Link's angle, the Mer practically lying at his feet, so he lowers himself down until his butt hits the sand, crossing his legs at the ankles, "Better?"

Link nods and Rhett does a bit of a wiggle backward to avoid getting his khaki cargo shorts wet. There's an amused smirk around Link that says he recognizes that action. But of course he does - Mers, apparently, can traverse between land and sea.

So, Link is probably aware of how clothing works. Has he ever worn clothing? Come to the shore? Rhett wants to ask so many questions, but isn't sure what's appropriate and what isn't, but Link beats him to the questioning, "Are you a fisherman?"

Rhett lets out a strained 'Ah-?' as he immediately realizes that the true answer will no doubt insult his new acquaintance, but, again, Link beats him to the punch, "You've got the attire for it. Flannel shirt, baseball cap..."

Rhett frowns, "You think fisherman have a particular attire?"

"To my recollection..." The remark makes Rhett chuckle again, unable to help himself, "'Recollection' - you sound so danged southern. Just like me. I was born and raised in North Carolina."

Link beams, "That's where I was spawned! My sire came from the same location. Not all Mers are from the sea. Some reside in lakes, rivers - any water deep enough to conceal us, but a lot of us return to the ocean, considering its the biggest body of water."

Rhett lets that sink in even as Link again asks, "So, you are a fisherman, right?"

"Um-?"

"It's okay if you are," Link assures him, folding his arms and resting his chin there, "It's not really a proud profession amongst my kind, but it's understandable."

Rhett's lips twitch from side to side, "So I'm not, like, catching up your friends or something?"

Link snorts, "What - you think we talk to them?"

"Heck, man - I don't know how it works," Rhett lets out a peal of nervous giggles, getting the idea that Link is teasing him. Link returns the laugh and Rhett relaxes as a realization settles in.

Whether or not Rhett wants to admit it, he did want Link to return. He wanted him to return and be his friend and it appears that that is indeed what is happening.

It's happening and Rhett couldn't be any happier.

#rhink #mermay #mermaid!au #my writing #randl

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

For the prompt fill, number 3 for Indruck seems pretty fitting!

Here you go! Prompt 3 was “sweet” , Indrid’s design is based on a barracuda and I went with SFW on this one.

“Duck, can you do me a favor when you lock up?” Leo dumps orange taffy into a glass jar.

“Sure, what d’you need?”

“Got some locks for the garbage cans; put ‘em on after you set the alarm out back. Somethin’s been getting into our trash every damn night for the last week. It makes a god-awful mess and I’m worried we’re gonna get a fine for littering.”

Duck nods, turns his attention back to the flock of tourists approaching the window. The afternoon is swallowed up in a pit of sugar-sticky air and blasts of welcome cold from the freezer. There are worse places for a summer job than Tarkesian’s Sweets--he’s right by the water, can watch the wildlife on his lunch break, and Leo is low-maintenance boss--but after eight hours on his feet getting splashed with soda or burned on the popcorn machine, he’s ready to head home. The trash locks have other ideas.

It takes ten minutes of cursing and fumbling to get the first bin secured. He doesn’t even know how the damn things are getting overturned; they seem too heavy for a raccoon or seagull to knock to the ground.

A tiny splash behind him, probably a fish jumping.

Then a crooked, shiny pole slowly enters his periphery. In dim yellow of the streetlight, he can tell the end of it is curved. It pokes inelegantly at the wall, then the locked can, then the wall once again, and then Duck’s leg.

The hook pulls back, pauses, then pokes him again.

“The fuck?” He grabs it when it goes for another jab, pulls up only for his arms to be wrenched towards the water. Not to be outdone, he tugs harder. His opponent retaliates with enough force that he almost tumbles off the pier. He growls, braces his foot on the railing, and hauls the hook and its owner up onto worn wood with him.

It’s a guy about his age, angular face framed by a mess of silver hair and pierced ears. Figures it’s some sort of artsy punk swimming around poking people in the leg. That explains why he’s shirtless too.

It does not, however, explain why he has a tail.

“Rude.” The guy sits up on his hands, silver and black tail flicking droplets of saltwater everywhere, “I don’t go around stopping you from eating.”

“Look man, I just wanted you to stop jabbin me and knockin the trash over.” Maybe if he doesn’t mention the tail it will go away.

“How else am I supposed to get at those odd, pulpy tubs full of ‘cookies and cream’ or ‘bubblegum’?”

“The fuck--wait, you were tryin’ to get the ice cream containers out of the trash?”

“Yes? I also want more of the caramel apples” he pronounces the last word “applees” causing Duck to giggle in spite of himself.

“Look, I have to piece words together from the signs on your store. And you obviously know what I meant or you would not be laughing, so do you have any in the cans or not?”

“Nope” Duck gets his laughter under control, “sold out of caramel apples today.”

“Drat” the visitor starts scooting across the pier towards the unlocked trashcan, “I’ll see what else I can find.”

“Wait don’t fuckin knock that over, Leo’ll be pissed at me if he comes back to a mess, and I don’t feel like pickin up trash because you want a snack!”

“But I’m starving!” The merman, because at this point there’s no way he can deny that’s what’s been rooting through the garbage, whacks at Duck with his tail.

“I know for a damn fact there’s food down there.” He points at the bay.

“Only if you can catch it, and only if it is not in another mer’s territory. Which much of this area is; I am new here, young, and thus have no claim to any patch of sea.”

“You ain’t got any family?” Something pings in his chest. It’s the part of his heart that made him pick out the runt of litter when his mom let him get a cat on his thirteenth birthday, that means he always splits his lunch with Juno because she’s running track and needs it more than he does, that makes him tear up when he thinks about everything a sapling has to survive to become a tree.

“Merfolk leave home at sixteen.” The merman shrugs.

Duck sighs, grabbing his keys, “If I bring you somethin to eat, will you leave the trash alone?”

“Yes.”

He shuts off the alarm, grabs a cone and fills it with bright blue ice cream. The merman is back in the water when he returns, arms resting on the pier.

“Oooh, my favorite!” He takes the ice cream, biting huge chunks out of it as Duck re-arms the door.

Crunch

“...The container is edible!!”

He sits next to the merman’s arms, “Guess you wouldn’t have had an ice cream cone before, huh.”

“No, but it is lovely. I wish humans threw these away more often.” He polishes off the treat, licks his fingers clean with moans Duck hears in his dreams later, and smiles, “thank you for the meal. Goodnight.”

There’s a final flash of silvery tail, and then Duck’s alone in the breezy night air.

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

“That’s a sandwich, correct?”

“AHfuck” Duck knocks over his water bottle in surprise. He’s eating behind the candy store like usual and not expecting an aquatic dining companion.

“Apologies. I have seen you eating here before and thought you may like some company.” He sets a sea urchin on the ground and proceeds to bang on it with a rock.

“Found some lunch?”

“I followed some otters; I was mainly trying to draw them, but they led me to a kelp bed no one else was in.”

“...Wait how do you draw underwater?”

“Let me finish cracking this open and I will show you.”

Duck spends the rest of his lunch break on his belly, the merman showing him a sketchbook and enchanted pen that conjures whatever colors the illustrator envisions. The mer is genuinely excited to talk to him. He assumes the nuzzling is due to him smelling like cotton candy; he doesn’t mind, the mer’s skin is cool and he makes cute little noises whenever he touches Duck.

Before the stands, Duck asks, “You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“Duck.”

Indrid’s eyes flick to the nearby estuary.

“Yeah, like the bird. It’s a nickname.”

“I like it.” Indrid smiles, dives, and flaps his tail once in farewell.

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

“Cutting school again?” Indrid’s voice bubbles up by his feet.

“Yep.” Duck watches the spring clouds roll by from his favorite spot on the beach. It’s secluded and far from town, meaning no one will give him shit for skipping class and nobody will see Indrid.

He worked at Leo’s until this past summer, only quitting at the start of his senior year of high school when Indrid pointed out that much of Kepler was surrounded by water and that, if Duck wanted to see him, he did not have to keep working at the candy store in order to do so.

“Not that I mind the free food.” Indrid winks.

“Just gonna bring you bulk ice cream from Safeway; no way am I missin out on that chirpin you do when you eat it.”

Duck slides the grocery bag towards the surf, “not like KCC is gonna rescind my offer. Ain’t a fuckin Ivy League or some shit.”

“And you will be happy there?”

“Yeah. They got a decent work-study program with the park, so I can still get a job as a ranger if I want to.”

“Oh. Good.”

Indrid sounds sad, and Duck sits up on his elbows. His friend’s torso is fully on land, his tail fidgeting in the foam.

“What’s up?

“I...Barclay told me his human is going to a school further inland, and I know there are many places you could got to learn. You...you did not choose to stay in Kepler because you feel the need to look after me, did you?”

“Course not.” Duck is sitting up now, aching to stroke Indrid’s hair, “I mean, I’m glad we’re still gonna be able to see each other, and I really hopin I can get a room near the beach so it’s easy to come talk. But this is the right choice for me; if I really want to, I can transfer to a different school in a few years, and I can learn a lot here without takin on a shit-ton of debt. Besides, ain’t like I think you’re helpless; I love bringin you stuff and rubbin your fin when it’s sore, but that’s because you’re my friend. Don’t think you’re helpless. I never have.”

“Not even when I was stealing trash?”

“Thought you were a fuckin nuisance, not helpless.” He playfully nudges his shoulder with his toes.

Indrid turns his head and nips his calf, “How’s that for a nuisance?”

“Not much, felt kinda nice. Uh, I mean, uh, fuck, so, where’d that worry about my stayin come from?”

The mer crawls and wiggles until they’re shoulder to shoulder, “I think my future sight is finally developing; my fathers arrived around the time he turned eighteen, so it makes sense mine would arrive at a similar point. The trouble is, I am having a hard time telling the futures from my own imaginings and worries.”

“That fuckin sucks.”

“I’ll manage. All seers struggle at the beginning. I just wish I was quicker at learning whether certain timelines are really more likely or if they are just ones that I want to be likely.”

“Like what?”

Indrid glances at him, opens his mouth, then shuts it and faces the sea.

Duck smirks, “‘Drid, there somethin you wanna ask me?”

“No. Yes. Maybe? I, I just don’t want to pressure youOOOHhhh that’s not fair” he flops on his back with a groan as Duck scritches his upper tail, “you know I’ll do anything when you touch me like this.”

“Damn right I do. And what I want is for you to tell me the truth.”

Indrid whines, covers his face with his hands.

“Do it or I’ll stop.”

“Rude” Indrid lowers his hands enough that his red eyes peer over the top, “is that any way to treat a mer who wants to kiss you?”

Duck gives his answer by pouncing on his friend, pinning narrow shoulders into the sand as he devours his mouth in kisses.

“You like that treatment better?”

“Goodness, yes.” Indrid pulls him back down, slipping his tongue between his lips and nibbling his neck when he finally stops to breathe. Then his hand flails sideways, grabbing the plastic bag and chucking it further up the beach.

“The, the tide is coming in and I, ah, foresee us working up quite the appetite.” He tugs Duck’s collar down with his teeth, nuzzling and licking across his skin with little hums of pleasure, “so I want to save those for afterwards. Who knows” he grins, “maybe we’ll need energy for round two as well.”

Duck cups his cheek, inhales the scent of the sea and the sight of his future, “I like the way you think, sweet thing.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #mermay fills

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aria-i-adagio · 3 years

Text

Fandom: Dragon Age

Ship: Dorian x m!Trevelyan

Rating: T

read on A03 or below

(title from REM, 'Imitation of Life')

Meanwhile, in Haven.

Rhys has a list of sights he does not want to see as he’s dying. At the top (and a recent addition) are hurlocks - those are some ugly motherfuckers, and he suspects that they enjoy making death hurt. Most varieties of demons; although, perhaps a desire demon might not be too bad. Granted, he doesn’t know if the illusions they cast last up to the point of death, or if those are only good while being possessed. That might change the calculus a bit. One of the red lyrium crystal monsters the Templars were turning themselves into. A bear. He definitely does not want to see a bear while he’s dying.

As final sights go, the implosion of the Breach as the thing in his hand stitches the Veil back together isn’t a bad one. The outer edges turn magenta, then blue-violet. The cooler colors rush to the center, swirl together, drawing inward until there’s just a speck of black, more liquid than the darkest night. Then bright, morning sunlight pulses like a heartbeat from that center.

Rhys lets go of the breath he was holding. He thinks it worked, thinks the Breach is closed. It feels powerful enough - a wave of magic like fire and lightning pouring through him, in and out, like breathing in harsh, herbal smoke that messes with his head and makes the world swim, and at least, in his case, despite many promises to the contrary never makes him as sleepy as it just makes him keyed up and in want a good fuck.

The shockwave following the pulse of white light picks him up off his feet and sends him hurtling through the air and slamming him like a ragdoll into rocks and ice around Haven.

Still, the light is damned pretty. Until it fades.

He hears Dorian's voice through the ringing in his ears. “Rhys! Thank the Maker.”

Rhys hopes that he isn’t dead because if he is that implies that Dorian is dead too, and that would rather sad. The world needs Dorian smiling and making catty jokes. There’s been too much melancholy and death over the past few months. Rhys is getting tired of all the omens of doom and gloom.

There’s another little gap in time before his head recovers enough to remember how to open his eyes. When he does, Cassandra’s upside-down face greets him. Dorian's would have been a prettier sight, but there's something comfortingly familiar about seeing Cassie first thing after realizing that - despite there being every reason for him to be - he is not, in fact, dead.

Rhys's vision still spins, and his left arm feels like it’s burning from the inside out. Yes, he’s been here before. Best just to let go, disconnect from it, float a little bit. “Are you going to yell at me again?”

“What?” Cassie’s dark brows pull low over her eyes. “No!”

“Too bad. You’re kinda attractive when you look like you’re about to commit murder.”

“Herald!”

Cassie sounds scandalized. Rhys manages a grin. Not that scandalizing Cassie actually takes that much effort. Makes her easy to tease. Something to distract him from how much he’s hurting at the moment because pretending that the waves of pain radiating from his arm are the ocean doesn’t actually work very well. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been in the ocean since he was a small child. The memory of floating in warm waves until they send you tumbling into rough sand isn’t fresh enough.

“Keep talking like that, Lucky, and you might yet manage to die tonight.”

“Hey, Varric.” Rhys tries to lift his head and the bastard offspring of fire and electricity shoots from his shoulder to neck and then down his spine. The muscles in his back spasm and his head hits the ground beneath him, blacking out his vision for another moment and sending the ringing in his ears a pitch higher. “Did it work?” he asks groggily.

“You did good, kid.”

“So it -”

“The Breach is sealed, Rhys.” Solas’s calm voice is reassuring to hear. “Try not to move, this will hurt more before it hurts less.”

“That story -” He means to say ‘again,’ but Cassandra grabs his shoulders very firmly and maybe he shouldn't waste breath on quips.

“Dorian, be ready.” Solas does something, and that something rips the fire out of his left arm, which is - as promised - worse than just letting it settle in like some magical, fatal addition to the marrow.

“Motherfucking, son of a bitch, what in the name of Andraste's flaming arse -”

“Language.” Cassie lets go of his shoulders and reprimands him with a light cuff on the side of his head. “Oh let the kid blaspheme a bit, Seeker. He's earned it.”

Rhys sits up and rubs his hand. Above him, the sky is still marked by a line of bright green, but it’s a seam in the darkness, not a whirling, pulsating storm. His arm doesn't hurt now, but there's the same fuzzy numb wrongness in his wrist and palm that he's gotten used to over the past few months. That's on a good day.

Solas arches his eyebrows and looks amused. “You know I do very little in the name of Andraste's arse, flaming or not.”

“Whatever your reason -” Rhys experimentally stretches out his left arm and reaches across his chest to rub his shoulder. It’s still aching, but just the banal ache of falling a bit too hard. “Thank you."

Nearby Dorian finishes casting with an elegant - and probably unnecessary - flourish of his elegant hands. One of the trees beside the Chantry behind to glow with the green of a Veil Rift, then warming to a color closer to chartreuse.

“What is that?”

“You absorbed a lot of energy while closing the Breach. I siphoned off what I could at the time. But still, far more than a human body is supposed can contain and remain alive.”

“Right.” Movement of energy had been his theory for some time. Massive amounts of magic were required to open or close a rift in the Veil, and something had to serve as a conduit. Whatever happened at the Conclave had left him as that conduit, but each time he felt the power come closer to burning through the bonds that held him together, made him human. Which was precisely why there was a stack of farewell letters sitting on the desk in Rhys's quarters. He hadn’t expected to live through whatever it took to close the Breach.

“Dorian and I pulled off some of what remained and redirected it. It's a rather beautiful effect, albeit transient.”

The tree turns to a brilliant brilliant gold and then quivers and collapses into a pile of shimmering dust. Rhys swallows hard. Not expecting to live isn’t quite the same as getting a glimpse of how you would have died. Or maybe a human body was messier than a tree. Typically were less graceful than plants. “I see.”

“Right then. Let's get you freshened up and then get some liquor in you.” Dorian grabs his forearms and hauls him to his feet. Face to face with the other mage, Rhys feels transparent. Like a plane of glass that can't hide fears and flaws. It's terrifying. Electrifying. “Everyone else has already started the party.”

Even nearly nose to nose with Dorian, Rhys still can't tame the small voice in the back of his head that says he's reading Dorian all wrong, that the man is just friendly, that there's certainly no way someone so beautiful and refined would be interested in a mudlark.

He hopes that voice is just being stupid.

Dorian slips him a flask of brandy as they walk away. Rhys flips the cap off and sips gratefully from it. His legs feel loose, off-balance, like he’s drunk already, and he suspects he would be staggering but for Dorian’s arm around his waist. The linen undergarments beneath his leather coat and woolen sweater are soaked with sweat and chilly even beneath the layers; he’s content enough to let Dorian drag him to the small cabin he’d been given. Really, actually, it is too much for a single person, much bigger than the room he had at Ostwick. And frankly, far too cold with only a single person’s body heat in the space at night.

He stumbles past the partition to the room in the back, trying to decide if he’d rather fall face-first onto the bed, or dig out a new base layer and go enjoy the party he can hear the rest of the Inquisition beginning outside. Leliana and Josephine will probably show up if he chooses the latter and drag him back out with a lecture on keeping up appearances and rallying the people. They might even be right.

Maker, he hopes his part in all this is over. Let Cassandra and Leliana continue trying to remake all of Thedas. He just wants to go home. If he has a home to go to.

“Oh look at this!” Dorian exclaims from the front. “Antivan red. And a halfway decent vintage. You’ve been holding out on me, Rhys.”

“Talk to Josie.” Rhys undoes the buttons down the front of his coat. Too many buttons, especially with hands that are stiff from the cold and shaking from an overdose of magic. He tosses it over the foot of the bed and takes off his sweater. He’s rather fond of the sweater actually, it’s nice and warm and the good kind of scratchy. The kind that kept you in the present place and time. “She’s not lying about her family connections.”

“Not sure she likes me. Yet. She’ll come around.”

“I’m sure she will.” Rhys smiles a little and cautiously - sometimes he has to recalibrate just how much magic to use after closing a Rift - casts a spell to melt the ice on the pitcher of water. Closing the Breach hadn’t done anything to improve Haven’s climate. Maker, why do people choose to live here? He splashes still chilly water over his face and leans his hands against the table, trying not to yawn so hard that his jaw cracks off.

His linen shirt is soaked to his skin; he has to virtually peel it off. It gets tossed to the floor, something that can be dealt with later and by someone else. He soaks a bit of toweling at rubs it over his chest and shoulders, glancing behind him, at least somewhat hoping that Dorian is surreptitiously peering around the partition.

He isn't. He’s turned away from the opening in the partition - polite, Rhys supposes - holding the stack of letters in his hands and shuffling through them. “Rhys. What are these?”

“Just... I need to burn those. They were just in case, well, you know, this wasn't exactly the guaranteed outcome.” He didn’t even know if half the people he had addressed them to were still alive, much less where to find them, but he assumed that Leliana would be able to figure that out if she needed to.

“How late were you up writing them?”

All night. “A while.”

“You were sitting here last night, by yourself, writing these because you thought you might die - Rhys, why didn't you say anything? You didn't have to sit in here drinking and contemplating death alone.”

“I thought the chance closing the Breach would kill was generally understood.” Just the kind of thing that no one talks about in polite society. Rhys combs his fingers through his hair and tries to put it into something akin to order and not just hanging unattractively lank around his face. Kind. Dorian might have a vicious tongue in his head, but he’s also kind when he wants to be. “Open the bottle if you want. If I was saving it for a special occasion, I think this qualifies.”

Rhys sits on the edge of the bed and undoes the buckles down the sides of his boots, tugging them off and rolling down the first of three pairs of socks. The other two are tucked under his trousers. Clean socks will be nice. He gets his trousers off - tight leather is really annoying. Decent armor. A good look on him too - even he can recognize that. But annoying to get on and off.

He finishes washing up quickly and dresses again, listening as Dorian pops the cork out of the bottle and the sound of wine being poured. Hopefully, it’s a decent vintage. He’d hate to disappoint.

Dorian is sitting in one of the chairs with his feet propped up on the desk. Rhys does it all the time himself; it’s a bizarrely satisfying act of delayed rebellion against the librarians who scolded him for doing the same thing in the Circle. The letters have been set aside in a much tidier stack than the one in which he had left them. He pulls the second chair out from the desk, sits down, and picks up the wine glass that Dorian isn’t twirling in his elegant hands.

Dorian stops him as he raises the glass to his lips. “Don’t drink it yet, silly. A red needs to breathe.”

“Right. Yes. Anyway, thanks. For saving my life back there. What is that, like the fiftieth time.”

Dorian raises his eyebrows, smiling over the cup in his hand. “Bad form to let someone die. Especially someone you rather -”

Bells begin clanging outside, interrupting whatever Dorian was about to say. He swings his feet from the desk to the floor and sets the cup violently down on the table. “Oh, Andraste’s quaking quim, what now?”

Rhys grins. “You’re getting as bad as a Ferelden.” Even if the bells are unlikely to signify anything good, he can enjoy a little humor.

“Worse, I think.” Dorian throws back the cup of wine as he gets up from the table, and Rhys follows suit. Yes. It is a more than decent vintage even without enough time to breathe, and he grabs the bottle as Dorian pushes the door open because whatever is about to happen will probably merit alcohol. Cullen is standing outside, still in full armor and fur and with the grim expression that Haven seems to have frozen on his features.

“We’re under attack. Grab your staves. Meet me at the gate.”

“Void take it.” Dorian takes the bottle from him and drinks. “Come on, Rhys. Looks like fate hasn’t given up fucking with us yet.”

Well, fuck.

#dragon age inquisition #dorian x trevelyan #dorian pavus #dragon age fanfiction #trevelyan #pavelyan

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danjo-ao3 · 4 years

Text

Betwixt pt. 1

Din Djarin x Paz Viszla x fem!Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Reader-Insert, Threesome - F/M/M, Hurt/Comfort, Dom/sub Undertones, Top!Paz, bottom!Din, Bottom!Reader, Paz is kind of a dick but not really, Din is ever the gentleman, Violence, mentions of an abusive relationship

Summary: AU – Din and Paz are working together to capture their newest quarry: you

Part 1 / 2

__________________________

You are running. Running through back streets and alleys, trying to find a hiding spot–without luck. As if it isn’t dangerous enough on Tatooine, you now have some bounty hunters chasing you down while the suns are setting no less. Soon you won’t see shit.

Two sets of feet are very close behind and you yelp in fear. They can’t catch you, if they do you’ll be back with… him and you will never let that happen.

Around a corner you stop for a second, examining a door in front of you. It looks sturdy, but most of all closed and any pulling or pushing doesn’t get you any farther. Quickly, you whirl around and come face to face with one of the bounty hunters who raises his right arm at you, ready to fire his blaster. His shiny metal armor and helmet almost give you a heart attack.

“Shit,” you exclaim. “A Mandalorian?”

You weren’t able to get a good look at your pursuers yet, you were too busy running away.

Layn really sent a kriffing Mandalorian after you. You know the man has credits, but that much? He really wants you back, huh?

Heart hammering in your chest, you look around to try and find a way out. To your left is a low wooden fence you just might be able to climb. But as you stare at it, another armor clad hunter appears directly behind it, blaster raised, effectively cutting off your last chance at escape.

So it’s two kriffing Mandalorians. Your day can’t get any worse.

You plaster yourself against the durasteel door behind you, feeling along it to find some kind of hatch, but no luck.

“Easy,” the Mandalorian in front of you speaks up, his voice muted and altered through the vocoder in his helmet, his blaster pointing right at you.

Slowly, you raise your hands in surrender, your eyes darting between the two men.

“Alright,” you answer. “But lower your weapon. I’m unarmed.”

And to your surprise, he does. With a flick of his wrist the blaster is back in its holster and he steps towards you with slow, measured steps while pulling out a pair of cuffs.

As your eyes fall to the restraining device your fight or flight response kicks in. Just as he gets close enough to bind you, you drop to the side and dodge him as he tries to grab you. You hear him connecting with the metal door as you dash forward to the exit of the alley, only to fall face first into the dirt, splitting your lip in the process.

Something snuck around your leg and brought you to the ground. As you turn over you see a thin wire connecting your ankle to the Mandalorian’s vambrace. He grabs fistfuls of the wire and starts to haul you in towards himself. With a yell you try to hold on to your surroundings, reaching for random stuff lying about, but nothing is substantial enough to help you.

Before you know it, you're lying at the man’s feet, dirt clinging to you everywhere, you spit out the blood and sand in your mouth. You want to lash out at him, but again a blaster in your face halts you. The other Mando is also standing over you now, his shoulders slightly shaking in laughter.

“She got you good, Din,” he chuckles through his vocoder. This one is built differently, bulkier and he has blue paint chipping away from his armor.

“Shut up,” the one called Din grumbles at the other, bending down to finally put the cuffs around your wrists. He is doing it with harsh movements, obviously upset at your escape attempt. The sound of them clicking closed and sealing your fate makes you nauseous.

“Please, don’t.” You say, testing the cuffs. “I can’t go back to him. He will kill me.”

But there is no pause as he grabs your forearm to hurl you from the ground and then pushes you forward, leading you towards the streets.

“Try anything funny again and I’ll carbo-freeze you,” Din says and that immediately shuts you up.

“Now I understand why the guy spends so much to find her,” the other one says to his comrade, trying but unsucceeding in lowering his voice enough to not be overheard, before taking you over and walking in front to lead the way.

You wonder what he means by that, but then he turns his head, pointedly looking at your face and when he sees you peering back at him, his visor tilts down toward the rest of your body, effectively checking you out.

What the hell?

“We will deliver her as quickly as possible, Paz.” The Mando currently pushing you along answers in clipped tones.

“Just saying,” the one called Paz replies and leaves it at that for the rest of the way.

Now that it is night, the temperature dropped considerably and you shiver in your thin silk tunic. Before you, the ramp to a ship is lowering, the inside illuminated and welcoming. It just isn’t to you. You don’t want to get on that ship, you want to be free.

“Please, you have to let me go,” you try again to reason with Din who just pushes you away from him to signal you to board the ship. Still standing on the ramp, Paz reaches out and grabs your arm, leading you inside.

“No can do, princess,” Paz answers and waits for Din to come on board before pushing the button that closes the ramp. It shuts with a dull thump, your heart in your throat now.

“I’m not a princess,” you can’t help but retort defiantly, angered at the man's attitude towards you.

“You certainly look like one,” he answers and pulls you along.

The fine silk clothes you’re wearing probably were the reason everyone immediately identified you as not belonging on Tatooine. You aren’t even wearing them voluntarily…

Hot tears are gathering in your eyes, but you manage to sniff them away when you’re being led deeper into the ship. Lights flicker around you in many different colors as you’re approaching a metal ladder leading upwards. Din comes up behind you and Paz, gesturing for Paz to climb up first, but the man just pulls you to the side and motions for Din to go first.

The silver Mando shakes his head briefly, then he is climbing the ladder in swift movements. You watch him disappear from view, when you feel Paz draw closer.

“After you, princess,” he says, then nudges you forward. Uncertainly, you glance at the cuffs around your wrists and wonder how you’re supposed to get up. But you actually manage to climb, counting on your reflexes when having to let go of a bar and grabbing the next. When you reach the top you have to lean against the wall for a moment, that was straining. Especially with that other Mando watching your every move…

Just as you finish that thought Paz’ helmet emerges from the hatch. The bulky man barely fits through the small opening, but he manages with a certain amount of grace.

There is a door in the front that reveals the ship’s cockpit and a view of nighttime Tatooine. A silver helmet gleams in the dull light of the cockpit’s numerous small lamps where Din sits in the pilot’s seat, already pressing buttons and flicking switches as the ship is coming to life around you.

“Have a seat,” Paz mumbles from behind and pushes you into one of the two spare seats behind the pilot’s. You land in it with an oomph, casting a glare in Paz’ direction for manhandling you like that. He doesn’t react to it at all, though. Instead, he moves towards Din.

“You think we can make it before sunrise?”

“I am certain of it,” Din answers confidently, almost done with prepping the ship.

They talk quietly amongst themselves as you stare ahead, unseeing. Thoughts swarm in your head. What will Layn do when you get back? You ran for a reason, you got betrothed to him because of pure greed. The man is one of the most influential businessmen on Coruscant, and your family owns the last independent trading company. Your father was all too eager to make a deal with him and thus you were promised to marry Layn D’urano. Nobody asked you of course.

The first time you met him he made clear what he expects of a wife. Complete obedience and devotion, of course you instantly hated him. When you told him that you would not be treated like that he actually almost strangled you. So you seized the first opportunity and fled, ending up on Tatooine with the nice clothes your mother had chosen for you to wear.

And now here you are, not gone for a week and already captured again. You hold your head in your bound hands, uncaring if the Mandalorians see you, as the ship takes off into space.

When you look up again later and wipe at your face you see that Paz slid into the other seat and is watching you.

Quickly, you avert your eyes again, unsure what the man’s interest in you is.

“Come here,” he suddenly says when you least expect it. Why would he want you to go to him? You shift in your seat, wringing your hands in front of you. There is something about the Mando that makes you uneasy.

“Don’t be shy,” he teases and you can’t help a small blush form on your cheeks. Flirting of any kind always makes you turn to mush inside, you never were able to be suave or cool about it. But these are different circumstances, you need to be on high alert, try to flee at any given moment.

“Why?” You ask in a small voice, eyes shifting from Paz to Din and back, the silver Mando apparently uncaring about what his friend is doing.

Paz produces a small bacta vaporizer and shows it to you. “That cut looks nasty, you should treat it.”

Oh. How thoughtful?

“Um, thanks.” You lift from the seat and reach for the vaporizer, but Paz doesn’t let go of it. Instead, he pulls you out of the seat completely so you stumble towards him.

“Let me,” he murmurs as he lifts an arm and cups your face in his gloved hand, his thumb brushes over your chin and then your bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from the sting of your wound. “Hm yes, quite nasty,” he comments as he lets go of you again and instead pats his thigh.

Does he expect you to sit in his lap?

You want to protest, but he just dangles the vaporizer in front of your face, making it clear that you will not get the bacta without him. For a second you consider just going back to your seat, but now that he reopened the cut it started to bleed and sting again. What a dick.

In the corner of your eye you see the slightest shift in Din as his helmet swivels toward you, but before you can stall any longer, Paz pulls you down and you land sitting across his lap. It’s not warm and soft as laps should be, but rather hard and cold from the armor the man is wearing. It’s pretty uncomfortable.

“There, now hold still.”

Paz gently holds your chin in his left hand again while bringing the bacta vaporizer up and toward your mouth. You watch warily as he does it, then flinch a little as the bacta spray hits your cut. It stings at first, but then it warms against your skin very quickly, you can already feel its effect. You sigh through your nose at the relief.

Paz is still watching you through the dark T of his visor, laying down the vaporizer in a small nook in the wall. He is also still holding your chin, and as you become aware of it, you stiffen against him.

“Good girl,” he coos at you then, and the blush you had before returns full force, the stiffness in your body turning into slight tremors instead. Why is he doing this?

His free hand lands on your knee, the leather strangely warm through your leggings. Again you gasp as it travels higher up to rest on your thigh.

“W–wait,” you breathe, bringing your bound hands up against his chest.

His thumb is brushing over your lip again, but this time it doesn’t sting; the bacta worked its magic.

“Such a pretty thing,” Paz murmurs and pulls you closer to him, your arms feel like jelly where they’re still pressed against him.

“Paz,” Din suddenly speaks up in a warning tone.

Paz chuckles as he regards you through the visor, his voice crackling. “He’s jealous,” he tells you, and even though you can’t see his face you somehow know that he winks at you.

“What are you doing?” You half whisper, now eager to get off the man’s lap again.

“Yeah, what are you doing? Need I remind you that she’s our quarry ?” Din sounds pissed as he flips switches behind you.

“Come on, Din. I haven’t had a pretty girl in my lap in weeks. Cut me some slack, promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Cut it out, Vizsla. I’m not telling you again.”

That makes Paz look up at Din, something calculating about the way his helmet tilts.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll carbo-freeze the girl.”

“No!” You exclaim and start to struggle to get off of Paz’ lap. Being frozen would make any attempt at fleeing impossible, plus you really don’t want to find out what it is like to be suspended in carbonite while still being conscious but unable to move. That’s the stuff of nightmares.

“I’m not going to hurt her.” Paz isn’t letting up, he easily outmaneuvers your feeble attempts at escaping his strong arms.

You cry out when you’re suddenly grabbed from behind by a very upset Din who drags you down the hatch into the belly of the ship. As you near the many slates of their bounties frozen in carbonite you start begging.

“No, please don’t freeze me!” Tears are burning your eyes, you absolutely don’t want this to happen.

But Din pushes you into the open chamber and is ready to push the button, when he hesitates. You stare at him wide-eyed and with wet cheeks when he shakes his head and pulls you out again so you land against his beskar clad chest.

“It’s not your fault,” he sighs, observing you through the black visor. “Paz has a problem with keeping it in his pants. Just stay down here and out of his sight. There is a ‘fresher nearby if you want to get cleaned up.” He releases you then and you can’t actually believe that he didn’t freeze you after all.

“Thank you,” you sniffle, and seeing Din in such a forgiving mood makes you wonder how far you may be able to push it. “The man who pays you to fetch me, he’s going to–”

“No,” Din cuts you short and pushes you out of the way. “Enough of that. You’ll do as I say or end up frozen. Make up your mind.”

You swallow around a painful lump in your throat but step down. The silver Mando’s cape swishes at his feet as he walks away, then he’s climbing up the ladder into the cockpit once more.

Feeling small and wrung out you go to the ‘fresher and clean yourself with semi warm water that leaves you freezing.

After beating the dust out of your clothes and putting them back on you open the door to a small cranny that consists of a small dresser and a cot where you sit on and sniffle back tears, wondering what Layn will do once you’re back in his clutches.

***

“Finally,” Layn hisses when his eyes fall on you, as you stand small and depressed, shackled between the two Mandalorians. Hurried steps move toward you, the way he comes at you makes you take a step back in fear.

Paz’ hand on your shoulder stops you though, it’s grounding in its heaviness. Final.

A dry sob escapes you when Layn comes to a stop, he’s already reaching out towards you, but Din’s outstretched arm stops him short.

“Payment first,” he says curtly.

Layn squints at the silver Mando with a look of distaste on his face. “Right,” he sneers and snaps his fingers. A brass colored protocol droid in a far corner comes forward, bearing a tray with five calamari flan. Wow, no wonder they were so keen to collect you. “Here, just as promised.”

Paz steps forward and takes the gel like discs from the droid with one hand before they disappear in one of his pockets.

“Now, if you would be so kind,” Layn says with a sickly sweet, false smile and points at the cuffs on your wrists. Din presses a button on his vambrace and the cuffs click open for him to remove from your person. You should be relieved about their absence, but all you feel is emptiness.

Then Layn’s hand curls around your upper arm, digging in painfully and drags you away from between the two bounty hunters, pushing you with force toward a side exit while you try not to stumble.

You give Din and Paz a final pleading look, but it’s impossible to tell what the Mandos might think under their helmets and armor. So you glare at them instead before they disappear from view entirely and you’re being dragged along a hallway towards the sleeping chambers.

Layn smashes the door closed behind you two after you enter a beautifully decorated room. No two seconds later he backhands you so hard you fall to the floor and the world is spinning.

“You kriffing whore , I should have you killed for running away. Nobody runs from Layn D’urano.” He yells at you while you turn to him, holding your throbbing cheek.

“Good, I’d rather die than marry you!”

Eyes bulging at your insubordination, his hand already draws back to strike you again, but then there are blaster shots to be heard from outside the door, halting him mid swing.

The door comes crashing down, Paz simply kicked it down and is now standing on the ruined piece of wood, blaster smoking as he raises it towards Layn.

“What is the meaning of this?” Layn froths at the mouth, fumbling for his own hidden blaster behind his back. But before he can so much as draw it, Din whirls around the corner of the door frame and shoots him in the head.

Layn falls to the ground like a puppet whose strings got cut, right next to you. You crawl away from his body, too shocked for words and look back up at Din as he comes inside the room, hand outstretched towards you in invitation.

You take it without hesitation, still unbelieving of what is happening. Paz is walking past you as Din nears the exit with you. The bulky Mando reaches into his pockets and takes out the calamari flan to throw them at Layn’s corpse.

Together, you three make your way out of the estate, a few security droids hot on your heels. Din and Paz are firing at them while you all run towards their ship. One blaster shot grazes your calf and you scream at the burning sensation as you drop to the ground. Paz’ strong arms gather you up and carry you the rest of the way while you desperately cling to him.

The ship’s ramp is lowering just as you reach it, Din in the front giving Paz and you cover as the big Mando carries you into the ship.

Once inside, Paz brings you further into the ship to where you crashed on their cot and sets you down gently as you can already hear and feel the ship getting ready to take off.

“You alright?” He asks as he squats in front of you and takes a good look at your injured leg.

“Hurts,” you hiss through gritted teeth, and Paz is already up and gone for just a quick second before he returns with a bacta injector.

“This might sting a bit,” he murmurs before injecting the bacta into the muscle of your calf. You manage not to cry out at the pain, not wanting to appear weak in front of Paz.

“That should do the trick,” he says as he places the empty bacta injector aside.

“Thank you,” you sigh and fall back against the wall, now pain-free and suddenly very tired.

“Think you can manage, princess?” His nickname for you makes you smile dazedly, you let yourself fall to the side and rest your head against the thin pillow.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

A rough blanket is being pulled over you, then gloved fingers push some of the hair away from your face before they grab your chin softly. You’re barely able to keep your eyes open as you stare at Paz under your lashes, sleep trying to claim you any second now.

“Bastard had it coming,” Paz comments as his eyes must fall on the imprint Layn’s hand left on your cheek.

“I’m glad he’s dead.”

Paz chuckles at your sleepy admission.

“So am I,” he says and pats your head once before turning away and disappearing from your field of vision entirely.

__________________________

A/N: Omg lmfao I tried to post this and then it didn’t and then it did and now I’m confused.

Anyway, part two is already finished, thanks for anyone who was kind enough to read, like and reblog haha!

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x paz viszla #din djarin x paz viszla x reader #reader insert #the mandalorian #fanfiction

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ao3bronte · 4 years

Text

To Live Without Loving (is not really to live)

Also on AO3

Et vivre sans aimer n'est pas proprement vivre. - Molière

“Marinette!”

With a start, Marinette shoves her mobile phone beneath her pillow and grabs the novel beside her, opening it at random, “Oui, Maman?”

“It’s nearly 23:00,” Sabine announces, hoisting the apartment's trapdoor open and peeking inside, “Why are your lights still on?”

Marinette grimaces, “I have to finish this book by tomorrow and I’m still not done!”

Raising an eyebrow, Sabine climbs up the steps and gently pads towards Marinette’s bedside, “You’ve been at it for hours and you’re telling me that you’re still not finished?”

Marinette knows a lost cause when she sees one, “I may have gotten…distracted.”

“Hmm,” Sabine crosses her arms across her chest, “You have ten minutes, then it’s lights out.”

“But Maman…”

“Hush. Your brevet is coming up soon and I expect you to excel, as you always do. You need your sleep.”

Marinette groans, “Oui, Maman.”

“Doux rêves, mon coeur.”

Marinette returns the sentiment and watches as Sabine closes the trapdoor behind her. She listens, holding her breath as her mother’s footsteps carry down the stairs, leading into the bedroom. After a moment or two of quiet chatter, her parent’s bedroom door opens and squeaks shut with a click.

“Finally.” Exhaling, Marinette snatches her vibrating phone out from under her pillow and slides her thumb against it, illuminating the screen. An image of the infamous cabaret Le Chat Noir casts a shadow across her bedroom, “Allo?”

“M’Lady! I thought you had fallen asleep on me.”

Marinette rolls her eyes, “I got distracted.”

“Not distracted enough to leave me hanging, are you?”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Until then, mon amour.”

Quickly, Marinette taps the end call button against her fingertips and slips from beneath her covers, eager to sneak out before it gets too late in the evening. She tugs on a pair of pyjama pants and crawls outside, crossing over to the potted plants hanging from the wrought iron railings enclosing her balcony.

“Ready to go?” Tikki asks, rising from the fronds. Marinette nods and fastens the zip of her sweater before allowing Tikki to merge with her Miraculous, bathing the balcony in scarlet light. Mask safely affixed to her skin, she slips out into the evening breeze and leaps across the rooftops, eventually plopping down onto their favourite meeting spot along the city-spanning river, the Seine.

“Bonsoir, ma chérie!”

Ladybug turns towards the source of the racket as Chat Noir drops onto the quai from above, landing in a crouch beside her. The lattice of the bench she’s sitting on trembles as he digs his claws into the metal, steadying his balance, “Hey Chat. How’s my favourite stray?”

Chat spreads his arms dramatically, “La vie est belle!”

“You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Ladybug smiles, relaxing against the backrest.

“My day improves exponentially each time I get to see you.”

“Really?” Ladybug is pretty sure that if she rolled her eyes any harder, they might just get stuck there, “It’s been, what, two days since we last crossed paths?”

“An eternity,” Chat replies, holding his hand over his chest, “It wounds me to be so close, and yet so far.”

Ladybug can’t help but snort, “I can’t say that I’ve missed your melodrama.”

“Forgive me M’Lady, but I’ve been forced into reading Molière for the past week and I feel it may be rubbing off on me.”

Ladybug hesitates before responding, having just left L'École des femmes sitting on her duvet not twenty minutes ago, “Let’s just get down to business, shall we?”

Chat smiles and opens his palm to the horizon, “Après vous.”

“Chat!”

Ladybug screeches to a halt and uses her momentum to launch herself against the buildings lining the boulevard, pulling a hard 180° turn. She flings her yoyo and it wraps around the base of a satellite dish, sending her flying back to Chat’s location, “Are you okay?!”

He’s lying in the base of a crater, the akuma having body slammed him into the concrete, “Never better!”

Ladybug drags her eyes from Chat’s prone body and focuses on the akuma instead. Its body is huge, not unlike the rock monster they encountered on their very first adventure together. However, this particular akuma is far more calculating and intelligent that she had initially assumed.

“Hey! Bonehead!” Ladybug hollers to distract the monster from squashing Chat again. She can tell from his wheezing that whatever the akuma did to him while she wasn’t looking, he would need a minute or two to recuperate, “Look over here!”

Using her yoyo, Ladybug swings back and forth, drawing the hulking mass of a monster towards her. She reaches the other side of the boulevard and runs down the length of it, leaping off of a bench and vaulting back up into the sky. The akuma lumbers towards her, its hands flailing wildly in her general direction, and Ladybug does all that she can to keep one eye on potential tools for a plan and the other on Chat.

“Alright akuma,” she mutters, “Let’s get this over with.”

Ladybug raises her hand above her head with a flourish, summoning her Lucky Charm. It’s a sledge and it doesn’t take long for her to figure out what to do with it. With the help of her yoyo, a cement truck parked up the way, a tandem bicycle and a clothesline, Ladybug effectively smashes the monster to bits and releases the black akuma hiding inside its abdomen. Ladybug reaches up to capture it, purifying its soul, and releases it to the mercy of the winds.

“Bravo!”

Ladybug is already halfway over when Chat starts pulling himself out of his Chat sized crater. He droops over the chunks of concrete, wincing when the hole corrects itself under Ladybug’s restorative magic, and rolls over onto his back instead.

“Are you alright?”

Chat blinks up at Ladybug, “My Lady, il le faut avouer, l'amour est un grand Maître.”

“Ugh,” she groans, running her gloved hand over her face as her Miraculous begins to beep at her, “If you’re well enough to recite love poems to me, then you’re well enough to get up.”

She offers him her hand and he takes it, brushing himself off as she hauls him up easily, “Excuse me for being well versed in the classics, M’Lady. I am a cultured cat.”

“You have a test tomorrow on Molière, don’t you?”

Caught, Chat glares at her sidelong, “It’s an in-class essay, I’ll have you know.”

“Well, don’t let me Horace you any longer.”

Chat gapes at her suddenly, his eyes wide, “Did you…did you just…?”

“Make a pun? Maybe, maybe not,” she smirks, batting him on the nose, “Now, it’s time to get going. You need your beauty sleep.”

“But—”

“Off with you,” she grins, gesturing at him to leave with a flick of her wrist, “À plus!”

It isn’t a particularly long walk to school the next morning, but Marinette spends most of it thinking about her in-class essay. It’s one of the very last assignments that will count towards her brevet at the end of the year; it’s also the third time since the beginning of the semester that Chat has mentioned having to work on a school assignment.

The same school assignment as her.

It’s been niggling at her thoughts for some time now, the fact that Chat may very well be a student in her grade. First, it was the same unit test in maths that had come up in their conversation and between the binomials and trinomials clogging her brain, Marinette hadn’t thought anything of it. But a few months later, it happened again and Chat was waxing poetic about a particular stream of science and the experiment he was completing in class…

...which was the exact same experiment that had blown up in her face that afternoon.

Armed with the sheer determination to ignore any and all comparisons between her life and his, Marinette stuck her head in the proverbial sand and promptly tuned him out whenever school came up in their conversations. That is, until last night.

Marinette tugs at her ponytails and racks her brain for clues. There are only two 3ème classes in Collège Françoise Dupont and she shares her age with only five other blond boys, one of which is shorter than her. There’s the twins in Mlle Mendeleiev’s class, but they both have much bigger noses than Chat. Then there’s Christien, and that would be impossible given his fairly distinctive Belgian accent which leaves the only other option as…

...Adrien Agreste.

She watches him duck into his locker from the other side of the room and wince as he holds his ribs gingerly, grimacing at another one of Nino’s terrible dad jokes. He’s quoting Molière again, favouring his left arm as he waves it around theatrically, making Nino roll his eyes in response.

Oh.

When she sits down, lined paper in hand and essay prompt at the top, she’s never been so sure of something in her life.

She’s going to fail this essay spectacularly.

And, Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir.

#miraculous ladybug #ladynoir #adrinette #ml fanfic #ml fic

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

Text

Barbecue

This story is @godsliltippy ‘s fault. It was spawned in an Animal Crossing game, apparently, and she mentioned the concept to me and immediately sparked an idea. I feel what resulted isn’t quite what she had in mind, but I’m not in control here, sorry :D In fact, the whole thing turned into a weird ramble about Tracys really rather than a cohesive story.

I posted the beginning of this a while back when my muse took a hit and refused to write anymore. As it was never planned to be anything but one chapter, I have posted it as a whole now that it is finished. So you might find that you’ve already read the first bit. Sorry. Skip to the origami scene, dinner being served and you’ll find the new stuff.

Thank you to @scribbles97 for the read through and support :D

I hope you enjoy this mostly Tracy fluff :D

-o-o-o-

It wasn’t often that the Tracys got together as a family. Sure, they lived on an island together, saw each other every day and even worked together. But there was a big difference between sharing a room versus sharing an event.

This time around, it wasn’t a special day or anything in particular, but Gordon had decided that the family needed some down time, had sweet talked Grandma who had the power to make it happen and International Rescue had been shut down for an evening.

John was dragged down from orbit a few days earlier so he could actually walk without his gravity assistance. When he complained, Grandma tore him a new one.

He didn’t comment after that, though Gordon swore he heard Eos laughing at him at one point.

Gordon thought it would be somewhat scary to have an AI laughing at you, but John just rolled his eyes and glared laser beams at his fish brother when he realised he was watching.

Johnny was such a soft target, but his revenge was lethal.

Gordon decided on a hasty retreat.

It was a simple barbecue on the beach down by one of the huts. A chance to laze on the sand, chat and just be family.

Now that Dad was home, their family was almost whole.

There would be no daring, to-the-ends-of-the-solar-system rescue for their mother. It just wasn’t something they could fix, so technically they would never be entirely whole again, but things were what they were and Gordon preferred to think positive.

The alternative sucked.

So, barbecue on the beach. Barbecue usually meant Virgil was cooking, but Two had been called out on a rescue just after lunch and that was following the one before lunch and the one after breakfast.

Scott had gone with Virg earlier and Gordon even earlier, but the second eldest waved him away on the third. It was a simple one. He would be back in time to turn the burgers.

He wasn’t.

It was left to John to fend off both Scott and Grandma, as neither were allowed near the barbecue. And while John was a bit more of a connoisseur than Virgil with his burgers perfected rather than barbecued, he still managed a great steak.

Whereas Scott would burn it.

Alan wasn’t allowed near the food otherwise no one else would get any.

Gordon did the salads. He was one to do things to carrots that no one else would think of. Even Virgil admired his radish roses and the salad dressings he created. Kayo sometimes helped him and today was one of those days.

Scott was usually tasked with furniture set up, but today he was hovering in the comms room keeping an eye on Virgil.

After all, three rescues in one day was a hefty workload.

And Dad? Well, Scott got his worry wart genes from somewhere.

“Is he on his way back?” Gordon strode into the comms room to find his father seated at his desk and Scott hovering like a lost soul, both staring at the holoprojector and a hologram of what was obviously Two’s external camera. Virgil was wearing his exo-suit and hauling several large containers onto his ‘bird.

He looked tired.

Gordon frowned. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, Gordon. Packing up now.” It was still weird when Dad answered a question like that and not Scott.

Especially when there was a furrow on his eldest brother’s forehead.

Dad noticed Gordon’s gaze and looked over at Scott. “He’s fine, son. You worry too much.” Their father swiped at a secondary hologram on the desk, pushed his chair back and stood up. His cane rattled against the chair as he grabbed it to make his way over to Scott.

Who was still frowning. “Sorry, Dad. Just three in a row. He’s supposed to be home.”

“It’s the nature of the business.”

Scott looked at his father as if to say ‘Really?’

Dad cleared his throat. “Hmm, you have a point.” He straightened. “But we have to trust Virgil when he says he is okay.”

Scott’s grunt was non-committal.

Dad dropped a hand onto Scott’s shoulder. “He’s coming home and he’s staying home.”

Scott continued to stare at the hologram of his brother in the centre of the room. It was obvious Scott obviously wanted to skip all that and just have Virgil safe on the Island.

Scott wasn’t very good at waiting.

“Hey, Scotty, can you help Alan with the table?” At least it would have his brother doing something for a few minutes. By then Virgil would be in the air and on his way home.

“Sure.” But it was distracted and those eyes still hadn’t left the hologram.

As if on cue there was the sound of breaking glass and a number of rather offensive words from the kitchen.

As Scott moved almost as fast as his ‘bird, Gordon bit his lip and secretly applauded Kayo’s back up plan.

It worked. By the time Scott felt secure enough to let Kayo loose in the kitchen by herself again – Gordon swore she play acted the scene, any other time a brother would be dead for questioning her capabilities – Thunderbird Two could be heard on approach and all that was left to do was for Scott to run down to the hangars to check on his brother in person.

It was worth the milk jug and the clean-up.

As expected, Virgil was fine. A little tired, yes, but functional and looking forward to the evening on the beach.

He cleaned himself up, donned his flannel civvies and wandered down to the beach.

There was much discussion between John and the tired engineer about burgers until Gordon rounded up Virgil and set him doing fancy things with paper napkins.

If they ended up with fifty swans, twenty parakeets and forty-odd doves, he didn’t care. It was obvious Virgil was beat, running on a post rescue high and just needed something to do. The fact he was somewhat of an origami addict just worked in Gordon’s favour.

It also helped that Grandma sat with Virgil to keep him company.

Dinner was cooked and served. There was a bounty of food. If Gordon knew one thing it was that the key to a good get together was food and lots of it.

John’s steaks and burgers were divine as always, though lacking the char Virgil usually gave them. Gordon had a second helping, regardless.

Scott was still keeping an eye on Virgil, but their engineer brother seemed fine, stuffing food in his face at his usual muscle building rate.

Gordon kept an eye on Scott, noting that the eldest couldn’t seem to drop his concern.

Gordon toyed with the idea of asking Grandma to stall IR for the next day as well. The eldest two could do with a day off, obviously.

He’d talk to her later.

Dessert was an ice cream concoction with just enough alcohol and fruit in it to tickle the senses, topped with a crisp meringue. Basically, it was enough sugar to fuel a Thunderbird.

Which it did. All five brothers definitely appeared brighter after the meal and it was Scott of all people who suggested they go for a swim.

Gordon could never say no to that.

Private islands had their uses and the beach hut had change rooms and supplies for exactly this reason. Hiking all the way up the hill to the villa was not needed. Even Grandma had her own stash of swimwear down here and it was with some vivacity that the family descended on the hut and shed their clothing.

Except for Gordon who had come fully prepared because he was Gordon and there was a beach involved. So, it was with some amusement that he volunteered to tidy up the table while everyone changed clothes.

Scott stared at him for a full ten seconds obviously wondering if he needed to fetch a medical scanner.

Gordon just poked out his tongue and started collecting plates.

Their father had spent a great deal of time in the water since he had returned. Gordon actually enjoyed that fact. It gave him the opportunity to spend time with a man who had not only been missing for eight years, but prior to that had been mostly too busy to take a swim with his son.

There had been talks. Lots of talks. Even a few fragile moments.

The water gave his dad physical support that was sorely needed. John was known to take to the pool or the ocean for the same reason. Alan not so much. The baby of the family was not a water one. He enjoyed it, but his preferred environment involved rocket fuel and orbital stats.

Ultimately all the Tracys liked a fun dip in their private lagoon. Though, if he was honest, Gordon wondered if his brothers would be so eager to stick their toes in the water if they knew of the visitors the caldera sometimes received. He smirked to himself as Alan emerged from the hut, ran yelling down the slope, and barrelled into the water.

Gordon grinned. They weren’t dumb, but the aquanaut had installed certain sensors in the lagoon for a reason. It was his job to protect his family in the ocean, after all.

Scott wandered down the slope at an easier pace. He was wearing blue board shorts and displaying far more tanned skin than most of them.

John didn’t even bother and left his t-shirt on. Obviously taking no chances even though the sun was almost setting. His arms and legs still glowed and Gordon was hard put not to poke fun.

His astronaut brother must have picked up the vibes because he glared as he stalked past.

Grandma stepped down lightly beside their father, both wearing shirts. Dad had unspoken issues about the condition of his body and Grandma claimed that she couldn’t compete with the GQ covers surrounding her.

As far as he was concerned, Gordon was just happy they were there and having fun.

Because they were.

Grandma helped their dad onto the beach and then took a running jump into the water, her strong stroke chasing the eldest out into the lagoon.

It was Kayo who stopped at the edge with their father. Beaches were notorious for transmitting sound and, as he gathered dishes, Gordon could hear her soft voice even at this distance.

She was speaking Malay ever so quietly.

His father replied in the same.

Surprised Gordon couldn’t help glancing in their direction. She was looking up at his father with an expression of such gentleness, her hand on his arm. Gordon’s heart swelled and he looked away. He knew his sister had always been close with their father, but she was usually far from demonstrative. Tin’s early life had done so much to shape who she was today.

Gordon had a hate for her uncle that reached far beyond his own personal injury.

He finished stacking the picnic crockery and cutlery to the tune of the playful sounds in the bay. A quick wash of his hands in rainwater and he turned to face the lagoon.

His father was floating beside Tin and they were obviously having a private conversation. Scott, Alan, John and Grandma were apparently having a race. Gordon stared at that activity for a full moment, noting stroke strength and style. As always, Grandma was the most efficient, but the two older brothers outpaced her simply on strength and youth. Alan’s heart didn’t seem to be in it at all, but then Allie was secretly a softie when it came to Grandma and was probably losing on purpose.

He shared that with Virgil but for entirely different reasons. Virgil looked after Grandma. Grandma looked after Allie and was really the only maternal parent his little brother knew.

Not that he would ever admit any of it. Virgil was obvious. Alan was still far too teenager to admit to anything.

Gordon frowned. Speaking of Virgil, where the hell was the big softie?

Gordon’s eyes tracked over the water. What the hell? There was no sign of him.

He had come down, hadn’t he?

Gordon spun on the spot, hackles rising, eyes scanning the beach, the trail and the hut.

He thumbed his collar. “Eos, do you have a location on Virgil?”

“Hello, Gordon. Virgil is in Beach Hut Number Seven. His comms have been removed from his body and hence security-disabled. I really wish you and your brothers wouldn’t do that. It is disconcerting.”

Gordon didn’t acknowledge the AI, instead darting up the path to the hut.

As with everything on Tracy Island, the rustic little structure was more than it seemed. Security sensors recognised him as he touched the door and allowed him entrance. He swung it open and entered what equated to a mixture of storage facility and functional outpost. From here, any member of the family could get to the hangars fast via a hidden monorail system underground. It was one of several collection points dotted around the Island for sudden callouts.

But it also doubled as short-term shelter and basically a place to stash stuff. From swimwear to water sports equipment to art materials, the not so little huts held all sorts of things.

But the one thing Gordon was looking for was a heavy lifting brother.

He poked through the change cubicles. “Virgil?” It was quiet except for the sounds of the breeze and the ocean in the distance echoing through the still open door.

And the soft sound of snoring.

Really?

He found the last cubicle locked and had to jimmy the door to get it open.

Each change cubicle contained a bench and that is where his found his big brother.

Virgil had somehow managed to curl up on the far too small ledge and was fast asleep.

Gordon let out a sigh of relief suddenly realising exactly how worried he had actually been at his brother’s sudden absence.

The sigh fast turned into a fond smile as the worry slipped away. Not only was Virgil asleep in an odd spot, but he appeared to have fallen into slumber while undressing. His boots lay discarded to one side and his flannel shirt hung from a hook along with his grey t-shirt. But his jeans were still half on, down around his knees. It was almost as if he had sat down to remove them and tipped sideways on the bench, curling up against the wall half naked.

Gordon’s smile turned into a frown.

It would have been prime humour material involving photographs and eternal ribbing if it wasn’t for one factor.

Bruises.

His brother had a number of them down one side. What the hell?

Gordon stepped closer. None looked serious by themselves, but there were enough to suggest Virgil had taken a fall of some kind earlier in the day. An unreported fall. Gordon bit his lip. Unless…

A clatter of wet feet and Scott was suddenly there beside him, dripping on the floor. “What happened?”

Gordon shrugged. “Looks like he fell asleep while getting undressed.” He eyed his brother. “Did he report a fall?”

Scott took a step closer, staring at the bruises on Virgil’s torso. “Yes, but none of this.” A frustrated breath. “Hell, Virg.”

As if responding to his name, Virgil snorted in his sleep and tried to roll over.

And promptly fell off the bench.

Both Scott and Gordon lunged in to catch him, awkwardly scooping up limbs and important body parts, desperate to stop him from hitting the concrete. The man did not need any more contusions.

All three ended up on the floor. And while Virgil hadn’t acquired any more bruising, Gordon’s knees certainly had and there was a definite elbow to his collar bone that was likely to sprout something a little purple at least.

“Virg, wake up.” Scott’s voice was definitely in commander mode, but still soft with that brotherly worry that seemed to be ingrained in his personality.

Another snort and dopey brown eyes opened. There was little behind them for a full moment as they stared up at Scott who was still holding his brother against his chest.

Virgil blinked as water dripped on him. “Wha-?”

“You fell asleep, bro. In your underwear.”

“Wha’ the hell? Ugh, you’re all wet.” Virgil struggled to sit up. Both Scott and Gordon sat back and let their brother right himself.

Sitting up, Virgil let his back fall against the bench and sighed. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit, sorry.”

Gordon could hear the creak of his eldest brother’s frown beside him. “And so you should be. What is this?” Scott pointed at the bruises decorating Virgil’s right side.

The engineer blinked and looked down at himself. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Why weren’t they reported?”

An arched eyebrow as Virgil looked back up at his brother. “They’re just bruises. It was a busy day.” Those brown eyes latched onto Scott. “I’m okay.”

“You fell asleep while changing your clothes.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m a little tired.” But then his eyes turned to Gordon. “I just didn’t want to miss out on the party.”

Gordon’s heart twitched at the honesty in those eyes. “You idiot. We could have done it tomorrow.”

Virgil looked down at his feet. “Probably would have been called out again.”

Gordon huffed. “No, Virgil, because tomorrow is a day off.”

It was Gordon’s turn to be frowned at by Scott, but the aquanaut was having none of it. He held up a hand. “No, Scott, was thinking it would be a good idea earlier and now it is certain. I’m speaking to Grandma.” He pursed his lips. “Or I can skip that step and just convince you here and now while dopey here has his purple decorations on display.”

“Hey!” Virgil got his frown on, but Gordon ignored him, keeping his own determination targeted on Scott.

Defiant blue flared for all of a second before looking down. Scott hated taking International Rescue offline. Gordon understood why and agreed, but there were limits.

Gordon reached out and gripped his big brother’s arm gently. “You need the time off, bro. You’re exhausted as much as dopey here.”

Blue eyes caught his for a moment and Gordon could see the decision being made behind them.

Quiet. “Okay.”

Gordon smiled just a little and squeezed that arm.

“What are you guys doing?” Alan, followed by John poked their heads in the door. “Kayo beat John by a – whoa, Virg, what the hell happened to you?”

Virgil didn’t quite roll his eyes, but he did push himself to his feet. “Work, okay?”

Several sets of eyes landed on Scott expecting a follow up on that statement.

The commander sighed and stood up. “John, can you please notify the GDF that International Rescue will be unavailable for another day at least.”

The space monitor nodded as sharply as usual, despite the fact his hair had obviously been hurriedly scrubbed with a towel and was sticking up in all directions. “FAB.” He slipped out of the room.

Alan was still staring at Virgil.

Another sigh. “Guys, can I finish getting dressed?”

Scott pointed at his brother. “You are going back to the villa to get some shuteye.”

“No, I’d like to go for a swim first and cool down.”

For a moment there, Gordon’s two eldest brothers glared at each other, neither willing to give in.

Virgil’s frown looked to crawl off his face and throttle Scott. “It’s only bruises. A swim, a shower and bed, I promise.”

Scott sighed. “Fine.” His lips twitched a little smugly. “Good luck explaining that lot to Dad and Grandma.” He turned and stalked out of the cubicle, herding Alan with him.

Virgil sagged and sat down with a groan.

He looked so dejected, Gordon felt sorry for him. “Hey, bro. Wear a t-shirt and they will never know.”

His brother grunted and started pulling off his jeans. A sigh. “Thanks, Gords.”

“Not a problem. Gotta look after my wingman after all.” He furnished that statement with a grin.

Virgil arched an eyebrow up at him, but Gordon could see the smile building behind his eyes.

“Go. Get. Let me get dressed.”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“Get out.”

Gordon cackled and waltzed out of the cubicle.

He didn’t go far. He stopped just outside the beach hut and waited for his brother to finish up. The sun was fast approaching the horizon and everything was a wonderful gold colour.

Down on the beach, Scott was speaking with their father, no doubt reporting the situation. Gordon held back a sigh. Virg was likely in for it despite the t-shirt.

There was more than one way to give a guy a break, for goodness sake.

Dad looked up the hill at Gordon and caught his eyes.

Gordon gave him a mock salute.

If he had to run interference for Virgil, so be it. After all, he meant it when he said he had to look after his ‘wingman’.

Gordon rolled his shoulders and grinned at Scott as his brother looked up frowning.

His wingman needed a break.

So, Gordon would give him one.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy

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princess-peregrine · 3 years

Note

Another Storm Hawks writing prompt: Mermaid AU

Okay so I wasn't expecting to get much out of this but wouldn't you know it, writing when sleep deprived makes you type so much more without thinking about it. It's much longer than I had intended to write.

genuinely this was really fun to write although I don't know anything about sea creatures, or any creatures for that matter. I'm not exactly an animal person.

Prompts are still open for anyone who wants to send them to me. I'm really looking forward to doing more of these.

Mermaid AU, 2.6K words, inaccuracies of pretty much everything, I don't know anything about underwater stuff or ships.

Summary, Piper wants to wear something.

Our ship the Condor, a lovely vessel made from the finest wood made to never age or decay from the rough waves of the ocean. The greatest ship ever built, made to last forever no matter how many times it needed repair. And among it's inhabitants, none were human. Originally crafted ages ago by the finest craftsmen below the waves it was designed for non humans in mind. The design taken from fallen vessels and recreated to be better than anything the humans could make.

With the right disguises, most of us could pass as humans for resources. Be that selling, trading, or stealing when needed. Only Finn and Junko could consistently leave the waters for supplies. Stork was our eye in the sky, hanging at the top of the mast and blending in. An amphibian was a useful thing to have on a ship, able to leap from one side of the ship to the other. Finn was the resident squid, he could walk and talk just like a human. His hands needed work, he could still only wear mittens but he was certain that he would figure out how to wear gloves. Junko the turtle, passing was easy for him as his defining feature was the shell on his back, easily covered by a sack or a suit. Aerrow and I were the least human of the crew. Aerrow was a lobster, his top half resembling a human torso above where his large pincers protruded.

They're all the lucky ones, Piper would think. Out of all of them Piper was the only one incapable of speaking human tongue. And her large size that stretched nearly half of the ship certainly didn't help her appear human. She was smaller than she was supposed to be and she was grateful for that. It would only be a matter of years before her hand would be as large as an adult human, now a human only lasted the length of her fingers to her shoulder. When she came above the water and rested with her arms crossed on the side of the boat meant for her the ship barely reacted. Only a testament to the quality of the ship. Her brown scales appearing a dim purple above water. Thankfully no one naturally spoke human tongue on the ship. All of them understood her chips and followed her advice. She was grateful for that, being unafraid of her and doing what she said because she was the smartest one.

Whenever Finn and Junko went out onto land she always asked for them to bring something shiny back, or anything really. Humans seemed to have it so good on land. Trees were something she envied, and she wanted so badly to one day climb a mountain and see the sun from the highest peak. The sun underwater was never a pretty sight. But on cloudy days, when the sun dimmed and set it made colors so serene. Colors that if she didn't know better she would think the sky attacking her.

Today there was a raid of a ship. Not a human ship but one of selios. Half sea lions controlled By Cyclonis of the deep. Away from the ship floated rations and human drinks. Stork claimed them for himself claiming that the rest of them couldn't handle what the humans drank, they believed him. Finn and Junko took the cannons and clothes. And Aerrow took the weapons and books. Aerrow shared the books with Piper when he was finished with them. Piper was saddened on days when she couldn't focus her eyes on the words. She could read quite well and understood human tongue and writings, it was her eyes that were the problem. Underwater she could read them quite well but the books never lasted. She had been growing too fast for her liking.

Jewelery and ores were Pipers. She had been compared to a dragon, but those were myths. Today there was a lovely blue dress that Finn had taken onto the ship, that Piper had asked for. She had never asked for any cloth before so although he was confused by the request he handed it to her. She pinched the dress and slipped off the ship and dove deep underwater. She often retreated like this to sleep or be alone for a while. They knew she wouldn't be gone longer than maybe two days. Action for them was rare as the ocean was wide, weeks could go by with no fighting. And a fight today meant that they might not see another for a while.

Piper dove deep, deep, deeper, until the light of the sun had dimmed to a speck only illuminating the water above her. Chips echoed from her mouth as she made her way quickly along the trenches until she found her cave. Weaving through currents and rocky tunnels, squeezing herself through holes a fourth the size of her body she had reached it. A large illuminated area came into view. She crawled her way onto the land and rested with the very end of her fin lapping at the water. She didn't know how the air in here got here but she appreciated it. This room never filled with water and the air never moved. The entrance too low for the air ever to get, and since she couldn't breathe air she never used any up. Her treasury was a mess of colors. Human jewelery littered the space, statues and toys lined the walls. Her gold and silver however neatly arranged. She understood the value humans gave these objects and treated them the same, hoping to understand their value as well. She dropped the haul from todays fight into a pile near the water and began sifting through her jewelery, the blue dress in hand. She eventually found what she was looking for, a bright blue ore half the size of her fingernail that matched the dresses color exactly. She took a rope and hung it just above the ground so that it stood upright where she believed a human would wear it at. She took the largest mirror she had and adjusted it in front of the dress and backed away. She was in the water now, facing the dress and mirror. She slowly backed up, farther and farther until her back hit the wall of the cave and lowered herself. Despite her best efforts, it didn't work. The cave was too small for her to get far enough away, she couldn't get the dress to fit. The neckline of the dress still being the width of her torso.

Defeated, Piper chirped in defeat and detached the dress. And laid it amongst the jewelery. She lied down on her back and floated until she drifted into sleep.

She wasn't sure how long she slept but it didn't matter. Sleep was different for her than her crew mates. It was possible they hadn't even slept yet, heck she was half asleep when she just swam around. Piper wasn't ready to head back up yet, even though it was disappointing her experiment didn't work. If she had some magic crystal then it might work. Her throat hummed as she put her hands over her eyes. If she had some magic crystals then she might be able to wear it for real. She had tried wearing fabric before, she could barely breath. The clothes humans wore would cover most of her gills that were all over her body. Large blankets wrapped around her strained her enough to make her thrash. She could wear fabric as gloves, tough as it was over the gills on her hand. It wasn't that she wanted to be human, far from it. She was just jealous of the way they could live and the things they could see and the calmness they were allowed. Many creatures surrounding her outside this cave were things that would kill her if they could. Everything was violent where the water wasn't lit. Her crew mates couldn't understand as they weren't trapped below the waves and couldn't escape to safer places.

A few years back she had seen a dog for the first time on a leash. She had seen them before beside humans but she didn't understand what a pet was. And after learning she immediately tried to tie a net around an eel, then a shark, then a crab, then a whale, and her last attempt was on a moose. The moose was the easiest one of them to get on a leash but it died within a day of putting it around one. She had assumed that moose stayed underwater and burrowed under the sand like she had seen many other creatures do, and since she had seen plenty underwater for long enough times she had thought they could breath underwater.

There weren't many others that stayed underwater like her. And there were no mermaids around either, which was why she had come here in the first place. There was only one other person who stayed underwater and didn't attack on instinct, and luckily she was also the person to get magic crystals from.

Piper grabbed both the blue dress and ore from their pile and dove back underwater. She traversed the underwater tunnels and swam straight into the trenches current. She could relax here, no one was foolish enough to attack someone traveling in the current for fear of being flung away. The water carried her effortlessly until she had traveled far enough. Piper craned her head and arched her back. The water flowed against her body opening and flinging her like an arrow into the open water.

After regaining her bearings Piper kept quiet, intentionally stopping her chirping. She could feel it faintly, the large number of half sea lions far away. They wouldn't harm her, only attacking humans and those above water by their masters orders. Piper swam lower until she grabbed the sea floor just a mile away from the trenches mouth. She let out one loud chirp and felt it flow along the ground. From behind her the flow was stopped and overshadowed by a much stronger noise until the ground she held settled. The sirens song was one of the strongest sounds in the ocean. And they never left the side of their master once they chose one.

Piper followed the source for a long time until perhaps a day had passed. Piper had finally came upon where she was headed this whole time, making her breath a sigh of relief that she hadn't gone the wrong way by accident. That she hadn't picked up some other sirens song. In front of her was a flat black crater that seemed to move just like the ocean did on the surface.

'HELLO! IT'S ME AGAIN' Piper chirped in glee. It had been too long since she had seen Cyclonis. Although they were fighting on opposite sides Cyclonis had a soft spot for mermaids. And seeing as Piper was the only one she had ever met, she practically cherished Piper. At least that's how Piper interpreted it, as Cyclonis had never spoken a word to her, only stared at her with her large eyes wide.

The black mass lifted in a sphere around the center and revealed large pulsing yellow lines extending out from the center. Her torso rose from the center creating a majestic view as her hair flowed above her from the momentum. Cyclonis was a giant sea spider, as far as Piper knew she was the only one to ever exist. Her arms drifted along the floor and quickly came up beneath Piper.

Piper couldn't help but be a little nervous as Cyclonis cupped her hands beneath her. Cyclonis leaned her torso forward and brought her hands and Piper closer to her face. Piper struggled against the water that pelted her back into the fingers of Cyclonis' hands. Opening her eyes she saw Cyclonis wide eyed and staring at her once again. She couldn't help but feel special in her hands. Cyclonis was so much larger than even the largest mermaids she had seen. She didn't understand her size but figured it must be because she was magic.

She stayed silent for at least an hour, allowing Cyclonis to get an eyeful of her. Piper waited patiently as Cyclonis slowly craned her head around from left to right making sure to get a good look in. Piper slowly started to move around, not trying to leave but doing the same thing Cyclonis had done and got a good look in from all angles. It was spooky how fast Cyclonis could move, especially with how large she was. Piper would swim around the side of Cyclonis' head and just when she couldn't track Piper with her eyes anymore she would spin around instantly and keep Piper in her sights.

When this strange ritual was done Piper floated closer to Cyclonis' face and unclenched her fist, revealing the dress and the ore. Piper found it hard to tell how close she really was, barely as tall as Cyclonis' eye even getting so close. 'I'd like to wear this.' Piper chirped. 'I can't breath with fabric, but I'd like to wear this.' She watched as Cyclonis' eyes furrowed at the dress. Human made, Cyclonis hated humans and wanted them all gone. Piper didn't understand why but was worried that this might anger her.

After moment of waiting Piper was about to pull the dress back to herself and forget she had even asked. Cyclonis shocked her when she started pulsing. The hair on Cyclonis' legs standing upright as her many legs began to softly hum with purples and reds. Piper watched as the center of Cyclonis' body began moving wildly, expanding and retracting as smoke poured out from below her. Piper watched in awe as a large mass suddenly took form in the belly of Cyclonis and slowly made it's way higher. Cyclonis pulled her hands up and began to nearly claw at her throat as the sphere moved higher and into her ribs. The mass made it's way into her throat, expanding it to a terrifying degree. Cyclonis leaned forward over Piper as the mass went into Cyclonis head. She opened her mouth and colorful sand seeming like heavy smoke fell around Piper. The dust was sucked into Pipers gills and she could feel the change happening. Her innards twisting and being crushed and remade within minutes. Cyclonis watched same as she had been as Piper convulsed with the pain of her insides changing.

Cyclonis snatched the dress and ore away from Piper as she watched, keeping her eyes on Piper the whole time. She clenched the dress and stone together and forced a change to happen same as she had caused to Piper.

Piper awoke to the giant eyes of Cyclonis watching her from far away. Cyclonis had her arms crossed as she watched Piper wake. She was placed far away on the edge of the crater that Cyclonis chose as her home. There was a smile planted on Cyclonis' face as Piper took in her surroundings. The biggest change being herself. Outwardly unchanged but internally feeling much different. She hadn't noticed it before but she was wearing the same blue dress. Piper was afraid at first that the change that had happened was that she had gotten smaller. But looking at Cyclonis and how she was only as big as ever confirmed that she had made the dress larger to fit her. Her gills no longer closing against the fabric of the dress, no longer trying to suck it inside. Piper chirped in joy as she twirled and swam around spontaneously. She thanked Cyclonis and waved herself away with a smile on her face. She couldn't wait to see the faces of everyone on the Condor.

#Storm Hawks #piper #cyclonis #master cyclonis #writing prompts

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ill-skillsgard · 3 years

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Bred For Blood - Part 17 - The White Flag

Title: Bred For Blood

Warning: 18+ - sex/mature language & themes/gun violence/substance abuse etc. *mentions of blood/injuries/death/weapons/coma/unconsciousness in this part*

Characters: AU Axel Cluney, AU Ivar Lothbrok, AU Valter x OC

Description: A bright, young survivor meets an acid-gun slinging headhunter with a knack for melting faces and connections to a prodigal Utopia embedded in the heart of a deadly forest. Violence and passion incite a battle of fealty while betrayal nips at Zed’s heels.

Note: This one’s for Team Cluney. I really hope you guys enjoy reading! This part was very exciting for me to write for many reasons. Please reblog/like/comment if you like my work and want to give me a virtual pat on the head. I would really appreciate it, please and thank you!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

The doctor stomped over the rocky terrain, muttering and snickering to himself as the sun cast blistering rays on their backs. The heat never bothered him, only tanned his skin to a deep brown shine. It was the walking that made his knees burn. He'd long since shed his white coat to cover the bulk of the man draped over Rudie's wiry-haired hump, trudging along at leisure. The unconscious hunter he'd found needed all the protection available from the vicious star reaching its highest point in the sky.

The doctor halted his gangly steed every hour to force a measure of water down the burnt man's ululating throat. He often succeeded, and the hunter swallowed without issue, but sometimes, the water came back up as white foam, trickling down the sides of his face and down his neck. The onset of heatstroke turned his skin apple-red, and the doctor sprayed him down with water and gusts of hot air produced by a tattered paper fan he carried with him to ward off flies. Rudie attracted the pests who made a chariot out of the man on the camel's back. They fled their caravan whenever the doctor stopped to check on his patient and settled back in for the ride after he threw the stained coat back over the hunter's burnt shoulders. This went on until nightfall when the dry land showed signs of mercy, and water and shale gave way to the soil.

Rudie let out a guttural complaint when they reached a crop of tall, spindly trees. The diamond-shaped leaves provided shade. The doctor tethered the bleating animal, pressing his finger to his lips for a silence that would not come. Upon unsaddling the groaning man, Rudie threw his hump and sent Axel slumping to the ground, his deadweight at odds with a lengthy fall. His head cracked on a root, and a dusting of earth dried his palette, clinging to everything pink in his mouth. The camel clopped away from the whining mass who'd hitched a ride on his back, and in his wobbling dance, mashed the smallest of Axel's fingers into the soil.

"Rudie! You bumbling old idiot! You gaffer! Shoo!"

The beast side-stepped, snorting and sputtering, indifferent to the further damage done to the man. He shook his proud head, throwing ropes of spit that webbed his lashes. The doctor punished the creature by re-wrapping Axel's hand after a stern disinfecting, withholding the proverbial oats until the animal wandered away to dine on low-hanging leaves. Rudie chuffed whenever the doctor came to retrieve supplies from the riding satchel.

"That wasn't very nice, Rude. This man is our patient! We don't trample the patients. You've no idea the level of harm you caused! He'll be lucky if we don't have to amputate, and you don't have thumbs, so you're even more useless!"

Rudie wrapped his leathery lips around a clutch of grass and ripped it free, chewing and turning away from his master and the unconscious fellow. The camel minded his business and relieved himself on a nearby rock, huffing and chomping any strand of green he sniffed.

Axel vomited throughout the night. The doctor gave up his rest to make sure the man lying comatic didn't swallow his tongue. Then came the shivering and sickly shade of purple flaking his lips. Flaps of the doctor's paper fan spread droplets over his inflamed skin, another courtesy at the behest of his sore arm. Still, Axel moaned and scratched at the earth beneath him in bloody heat and delirium.

"If you can hang on until tomorrow, son, perhaps we'll find some proper shade and build a hut. Hm? How's that sound? Shade and water. For now, just rest, and don't die on me."

When the sun came up, the doctor cleaned Axel using the rest of the clean water from his reserve and stitched the open flesh splitting his eyebrow in two.

"That'll leave a nasty scar. Not that you need any more ruggedness in your act. You're just a lost soldier, sonny. But maybe one day you'll make a brilliant assistant. Better than Rudie, I hope. He hasn't even apologized for breaking your finger. Lookit him over there, shitting all over the camp, the scoundrel. But I'm the one with the oats; therefore, I make the rules!"

"M-muh... muuuh."

"Ah, in the worst of times, we still call our mothers."

"Mmph. Muh—"

"I wonder what's on the other side of those trees," the doctor said, shading his eyes with his hand, peering to the West. "You look well-travelled, sonny. Any ideas? Hate to run into any of those yawners, not knowing when your last shot was. But I suppose I shouldn't expect any valuable input from a man who can't look me in the eye."

After patching him up, the man hauled Axel to a stand and hoisted him onto the camel's back using a tree for leverage and a series of ropes to fasten him down. Once secured to Rudie's hump, the doctor took a few minutes to catch his breath. "Dunno how many more times I can get you up there, son. You must learn how to walk soon. Or I'll build you a sleigh. But that might take some time."

Far off above the foggy treeline, a sheet of ashy cloud broke to reveal bright blue sky. The doctor liked the look of cerulean and the absence of sand, so the begrimed trio lumbering through thick bush where dew still clung to the undersides of the leaves. The doctor went ahead, collecting globules before they evaporated. Rudie answered the doctor's constant rhetoric with wild groans that muffled Axel's whimpering, and they led their procession over uncertain ground.

"I reckon there's nothing but more trees over that ridge, Mr. Soldier. Maybe some mountains we can find a crevice to hide out in. Just until you get your strength back. The only thing I worry about is those damn yawners. Rudie and I will be safe, but you... I'll scout ahead to make sure it's clear. It'll rack up daylight, but you'll thank me when you're not a bubbling pile of soldier juice. Don't worry, sonny. They didn't immunize me for no reason! I count myself among the elites, but that doesn't mean I fancy myself better than you or more deserving of life. We're all in this, you see. Brights and Uns... We're still together, despite it all. They may have tried to kill you, but look at you now! Alive and well. Isn't that a slap in the face? They send you out to war and hope you never come back. They don't even have the decency to immunize you. What a world we live in."

Rudie let out a gaseous bellow. The doctor whipped around and pointed his walking stick at the quadruped. "Don't interrupt, you vile sow. Nobody needs a camel's opinion."

"Ma... Ma."

"We'll look for your mama after we get you looking presentable. Hang on tight, we're going uphill!"

As the ridge climbed, the trees grew denser. The doctor had to guide his camel through a maze of mossy trunks. Thin, whip-like branches prodded at Axel's tender skin. What leafy arms brushed Rudie's head bent back and snapped against the hunter's raw shoulders. Axel didn't notice, lost in the chimeric slurry of recent injuries. They maneuvered over stones and wove between crumbling stumps, avoiding the deadfalls. The steepled ground sloped upward like a great brown ramp of torn earth. Through the thickness, they muttered, minding their footwork, up and up, stopping here and there so the doctor could take in a few wheezing breaths. The camel—finally wary of obstacles—blew wind and groaned, hesitant on the incline.

"Boy, there had better be some more forgiving land over this ledge. I don't think it's workable to keep climbing. We might have to turn back, depending on what I see at the top. Fingers crossed for a lake. A bath would do me good," said the doctor, fanning his underarms and thighs with the paper fan.

"What do you say, Mr. Soldier? Should we keep going? See if there's anything worthwhile over that lip?"

"Muh."

"That's what I thought. You may not be the finest soldier I've ever met, but you're persistent, and that's key. Come on, fellas. Let's pray for water, and up we go! Can't be worse than the blasted desert."

~*~

Ivar's mood reflected his recent successes in bed. When Trinity brought his meal, he thanked her, even asking about her morning and if she was sleeping all right and eating properly. Trinity laughed nervously, sensing a test, and answered with a practiced air of casualty. Did he know of the plan they'd executed to get Zed in to see him? Was his toothy smile a front? Despite her unease, she humoured the leader and left when he dug into his stew and fresh bread. Trinity also noted Zed's absence, and with the King in lively spirits, assumed everything had gone well with the plan.

Ivar inhaled his late breakfast and dressed for comfort to walk the courtyard. With a bounce in his step, he traversed the throat of the Chrysalis, emerging on the other side to a nest bereft of activity. The morning stalls had cleared out, their occupants and merchants returned to their hovels. Even the young ones—usually at play in the courtyard by now—were nowhere in sight.

Ivar passed by the last remaining group gathered around a low podium, whispering over their berry reductions and leafy salads. Like a cluster of threatened barnacles, each mouth clamped as Ivar strode past. He held his head forward, flexing his palette to clear his airways. None of them made a sound until he was far enough away. Their chattering was undiscernible as distant chirping birds. He stopped at the incline of a foothill, spinning to catch them staring at the back of his head. They snatched their eyes away and made like they weren't gawking.

That wasn't the only peculiar thing that happened to Ivar that morning. Since his prolonged absence, the people seemed to have grown used to keeping to themselves. There was no merriment in the air, only sterile drafts pouring in from the filtration system. Ivar shivered from the brisk air, stopping to consider paying Zed a visit at her apartment. A morbid urge pulled him along, and he continued his walk. Ivar waited until somebody approached him—whether it a man or child—to greet him with customary courtesy. Still, nobody shuffled forward to ask him about his day or to offer him a portion of their recent gardening.

Ivar reached the frosted glass doors to the lab and stood still, thick hands hovering next to his narrow hips. Frozen in place, Ivar bit the tip of his tongue. Something told him Zed was inside the lab, and if he wished to see her, he had to set foot beyond the parameters of his expertise. The lab always put him in a bitter mood. It was the only place in the village that wasn't for him. Though he could visit any corner of Kinderfeld he wanted, he'd never felt welcome in the laboratory. The floors and surfaces' sterility made him cower from touching anything, and the lifeless stares he received from the few staff only reminded him of the responsibilities he'd shunned in favour of hedonism. None of them ever begrudged him his appetites, but he was confident they whispered of his ineptitude behind his back.

He wondered if Zed ever talked about him or if she'd ever vocalized displeasures regarding his leadership. Her request from the day before echoed in the corners of his mind, festering and swelling each hour they were apart. There was a bitter drop of ulterior motive in Zed's visit, and he let it slide down the back of his throat when she asked him to open the gate. But they'd made love, and that was more than Ivar expected. In his heart of hearts, he'd feared Zed would demand more; to let her fly the nest in search of Axel, but she'd taken his refusal graciously and kissed him all the same. Still, a nagging suspicion remained. Something was circulating in the air, whipping about the courts and apartments, squeezing under doorways and filling the citizens with doubts.

A stranger on his own land, Ivar lowered his eyes to the ground and turned away from the lab before he recognized any more scrutinizing glances. He powered along, ignoring the guards, their dutiful nods, cutting over the knolls as fast as his muscular thighs could take him without breaking into a run. The loneliness chased him back to his palace, and even its mouth gaped in question.

Ivar noticed Sheraya nearby, spreading dark red petals, a gained cigar of smoking sage held between her fingers. He craved nicotine the moment the fumes peppered his nostrils. Tears coursed down her round cheeks, though she made no sobs, no whimpers. There was only gentle muttering under her breath and more tears. The king stood waiting for her to acknowledge him and then realized she had no intention of breaking her prayer mantra.

Shunned, Ivar turned away, retreating to his house of lush fabric and solitude where he should never have left.

~*~

Vee insisted Zed stay put while he fetched them dinner. Their setting was the top floor of the greenhouse where he'd played cards and got drunk with his brother some nights. Nobody ever bothered them up there. Zed sat in waiting, enjoying the greenery, the twisting vines and canary yellow zucchini blooms. She stretched an arm out to pluck a flower and nibble its petals. Her stomach gurgled for heavier fare, so she ate another. Vee didn't keep her waiting long after, showing up with a basket of seed-crusted bread and a bowl of sliced potatoes slathered in basil paste and cooked to a crisp. For dessert, he brought dried fruit and freshly harvested cashews.

Moonlight vaulted through the trees, defusing over the glass and casting milky shadows on the greenhouse floor. The air was moist with freshly irrigated soil. Baked in the dimness, Zed couldn't take her eyes off the man sitting in front of her. He'd brought with him the game from their youth, but neither of them suggested opening the box. They smiled as they ate, breathing in the deep aromas and savouring their food together. And in the balmy atmosphere decked in silver light, Zed swore Vee was his brother's twin. Her heart shuddered in remembrance. It was what brought them together; the shared sense of guilt and the strengthening suspicion they'd both lost someone, both failed and scorned by the people who'd invested too much faith in their competence. Zed felt at peace beside him.

The scientist was still a welcome member of the village, hence his aptitude for finding rarer delicacies like wine and ripe figs. They split the skins and scooped out the sweet innards, indulging their tongues on the fruit as if it was the richest of luxuries.

"You know what I would absolutely love to eat again?" Zed asked, sucking seeds from between her teeth.

"Popsicles," Vee answered.

"Close, but no. Chocolate ice cream. I'd kill for some chocolate ice cream right now. "

Vee shook his head. "No way. Strawberry all the way."

"A hot fudge sundae with peanuts and a big maraschino cherry."

"Peanut butter sauce."

"Oh, my God. Don't say that," Zed groaned.

"It's so good. I can't remember the last time I had ice cream. Remember when you could walk a couple blocks in the Summer and buy an ice cream cone?"

Zed smiled, but the thought pricked her memory. "The last time I got ice cream was with my Dad. I got the biggest chocolate sundae, with peanut butter cups and chocolate sprinkles. He told me there was a full day-and-a-half's worth of calories in it, but I didn't care. It was after a soccer game. I didn't like soccer, but if I went to practice every week and scored at least one goal, he'd take me out for ice cream. Two goals meant I got ice cream and five dollars."

Zed sighed, continuing, "I hate thinking about the last times. Like at one point, you did something for the very last time. The last trip for ice cream. The last time you told someone you loved them."

"If you hate thinking about last times, then why are you doing it right now?" Vee asked, eyes blank as discs.

She grimaced, reaching out to touch the toe of her shoe to his, then softening her face. "I can't help it sometimes. Don't tell me you've never thought about how it used to be. You don't have to look at everything so logically."

"I don't," Vee said. "I just rather not think about those times."

"I'm sorry. Is it?—Never mind."

"My fiancé and my kid? Yes. It's always them."

Zed set her dish aside and scooted beside Vee, pressing her back against the wooden barrier of the melon patch, mirroring his position, her mouth just as dead grim as his.

"You seem to handle it well enough. But I understand. I think everyone lost something important to them," Zed offered.

Vee sighed, turning his face to the floor, cutting off the glistening whites of his eyes from view. "Found out she was pregnant the night before I left to work for the army."

"The army?"

"Yes. I had a knack for inventing. You've seen the ammunition I designed for Axel. And it takes a special gun to fire something that lethal without complication. They wanted that kind of technology and offered me a nauseating amount of money to oversee mass production. The only smart thing I ever did was refuse to sell myself. It cost me my family, but I can say with certainty Axel is the only person besides me who's fired one of them. Could you imagine what the world would be like if those had gotten into the wrong hands?"

Zed bottled talk of acid and bloodshed with a shiver and a firm hand on Vee's wrist. "Enough of that. Please. Tell me about her—your fiancé. Let's just... Remember them fondly. I don't want to think about the bullshit out there."

"You'd rather stay inside these bubbles, ignoring a second societal collapse in the making?"

"Yes. I'd rather enjoy my time here with you, listening to nicer stories. This is all that's left. I don't want to think about where we went wrong or right. Let's just talk about what made us happy."

Vee nudged her shoulder. "Why can't we talk about what makes us happy now?"

She giggled and rested her temple on his shoulder. Vee curled his wrist around her knee, and their fingers intertwined. He leaned his head on hers like they had in his apartment before Lora caught them, this time with his heart pumping in double-time.

"What makes you happy now?" Zed asked him.

"Not talking about dead relatives."

"Okay, true. Let's not. So... What are you content with?"

"You," Vee blurted.

Zed's chest tightened. Vee let go of her hand and angled his torso toward her. "I'm sorry. It's difficult for me not to... Stick to you. If I'm honest... You look like her, Lea. I really hate how much you remind me of her. And I don't want to use you to fill the void. It's wrong, but I can't help it. Everywhere I look, I'm reminded of how much I lost. And you're so understanding. You don't have all these expectations."

"Vee—"

"I don't want you to think I'm coming onto you. You don't owe me anything. All I'm saying is, I'd be happy to stick together."

"We will! I want to stick with you, too."

Vee combed his blond hair back, pinching his brows together. "Lea... I want you to tell me no, right now."

"No? What do you mean?" Zed asked.

"Tell me there's no chance in Hell we'll ever get together. If I have it planted in my mind, then that's that. But if you don't, and we continue hanging out like this, getting closer... I might... Think there's a way."

"Valter..."

"Axe knew what he was doing when he brought you here...when he introduced us. Yes, he wanted protection for you, but he also wanted you and me to hit it off. I could tell. He'd never admit it, but I know him. You're perfect for me, but I've seen how others treat you, and I refuse to do the same. I don't want to perform tricks to impress you into sleeping with me like Ivar, but I don't want to stifle my feelings like... Axel. So you need to shut me down, right now. If there's a firm barrier, my mind will reroute, avoiding any possibility—"

"Stop," Zed said. "Please, just stop."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought any of that up."

"No, it's good to speak your mind. I appreciate the honesty, even if it took months to hear."

"It would have been inappropriate if I brought it up. When we had research and pressing issues, it was easy to ignore how familiar you seemed. Now I'm at a stalemate, and you're still here, and Axel's gone. I can't pretend like I don't want to spend my time with you. But I'll stay off your heels, I swear. Just friends."

"I'm not telling you no," Zed murmured. "Maybe at some point, I wanted to fall in love, but now I know that's foolish. Love can't exist in this world anymore. Not without great suffering, and I don't want to suffer anymore. Truthfully, I don't even want to get close to you, Valter, because I'm afraid someone or something will take it away."

"Nothing will take me away."

Zed shook her head, knocking a tear loose. "Don't say that. You can't make that promise. I don't want any more broken promises."

The scientist nodded while a cloud of vapour seethed from the sprinkler heads above the raised garden beds, thickening the air and clinging to their skin. A long silence pervaded, and Zed held her breath until Vee shuffled away to retrieve Wayfare of Austea. He dropped the box before her feet and grinned widely.

"Come on then, let's play. No more doom and gloom for a while."

~*~

Ivar spent the same evening pacing in his room. He went to the private alcove he assigned to the woman on his mind. Zed was fickle, and he didn't want to dash his chances with her by smothering, but something in his stomach wouldn't settle. He'd even dismissed his guard, encouraging another visit, yet she hadn't shown. Ivar buckled under the suspicion that she was angry with him, and her absence was his punishment.

Never the man to deny himself, he made for the Hives. If Zed was alone, surely she'd welcome his company. She'd said it herself: she wasn't one to sleep with just anyone, and he was far from just anyone. He was King, and this was his realm.

Despite his self-reassurance, Ivar carried doubts that manifested on his face. He passed a few citizens, drawing eyes with his acidic mug and ignored them all the way to Zed's door.

She didn't answer the door after he knocked. He reasoned she might be asleep, though it was shy of nine o'clock—early for most but not an unusual time to sleep. Before he turned away, he twisted the handle and cracked the door open an inch, letting out the dark.

"Lea? Are you in here?"

Stagnant silence answered, and he shut the door before anyone saw him. Ivar went to the door on the left and found that one locked. He grimaced, turned from the apartments and left for the lab.

On his way through the courtyard, Ivar saw Nalani and Trinity walking arm-in-arm, engaged in private discussion. Their frantic doe-eyes widened to see him.

"Have you seen Lea?" Ivar asked.

"She should be home, I think," said Trinity.

Nalani shrugged her bare shoulders, still clutching her friend's hand. "I thought she'd be with you, Ivar."

He sneered at the women. "No curtsy? No formality? Has everyone forgotten who's in charge around here?"

The two pressed their arms together, quietly apologizing and stepping aside for Ivar. He stalked toward the lab, holding his breath while throwing open the doors and turning the corner to find the rooms gutted of materials. The refrigerator hummed, and the overhead light flickered, barren and reeking of sterilization.

Ivar examined the dustless surfaces, curious but not enough to go digging through desk drawers. He went down the hall and stopped in front of Vee's door, clearing his airways again to sharpen his ears. There were no voices. Ivar knocked and went unanswered.

He turned in time to see the first door in the hall open and Lora's head poking out. She wore the same displeasure on her face, adjusting her reading glasses while her body caught up with her neck.

"If you're looking for Vee, he's hiding away with that woman everyone is up in arms about," Lora said.

"Hiding away? With Lea?"

"Yeah, whatever her name is. They haven't been here since I caught them getting up close and personal in Vee's room."

Ivar's stomach flipped, his head buzzed. Lora took great pleasure in the snagging of his mouth. She had been fuming by herself, finding specks of dust to brush away to keep her mind off her superior who'd run away with the girl she'd grown to distrust. Lora was a woman of insecurity, easily threatened by others but quick to bite back when given a chance. After she'd found Vee shoulder-to-shoulder with Zed in his apartment, Lora waited for any opportunity to drive a wedge between her beloved head scientist and the newcomer from the desert. Now was the perfect opportunity to damage Zed.

"What do you mean?" Ivar asked.

"You know what I mean, sir. They were practically on top of each other."

Ivar had no reason to discount Lora's claim. She'd proven herself a trusted and valuable member of the village long ago and never caused a ripple of dispute. The folding of her face and iron-clad seriousness was all the King needed to believe what she told him.

"Where are they?"

"I assume—if they're smart—hiding in one of the greenhouses. I wouldn't be surprised if you caught them naked in the strawberry bushes."

Ivar scoffed and rushed away. Lora watched until he disappeared, then went back inside the incubation room and put on a pair of gloves. There was an electric cooler housing blood samples, one from each member of the village. Lora selected a sample from the bottom tray and shuffled to the sink, turning on the tap while reading the label. Popping the top off the vial, she upended the sample and drained the blood away.

Ivar did better than storming the greenhouses in search of Zed. There were slinkier things on his mind. If he caught her in the act with the scientist, only then would he justify blowing up. For now, he snuck through the grounds with his focus tuned and his breath steady.

"What's next for me? I've tried to convince him to let someone go, but he refuses. Do we just exist here now, with no way to move forward? Forever trapped in this moon unit."

"He'll come to his senses," Vee said with meagre hopefulness. "Ivar's full of himself, but he's not stupid."

"Well, let's count on those senses coming soon," Zed snorted.

"Speaking of Ivar... Do you think he's wondering where you are? You did just... You know. If that happened to me, I'd be thinking about it for a while. Wondering after you. Well, not you—'cause we never... Heh. Ah, shit. You get my meaning, right?"

"Mr. Cluney, are you flustered? I don't think I've ever heard you fumble your words before."

"I don't mean to be coarse."

"Don't worry. We'll get through this. Ivar has to see reason… We need to tell him about the ones who died."

"I'll tell him. It should be me," Vee said, stacking the playing cards back in the plastic tray lining of the frayed box.

Zed helped by gathering pieces, separating them into their individual quadrants next to the cards. She set her eyes dead on the floor after they finished packing the game away, sighing in contemplation.

"Who will go?"

Vee frowned. They shared a strained minute of silence interrupted by another burst of spray in the air. Their shirts stuck to their backs, legs aching from crossing and uncrossing. Zed handed the box to Vee.

"Maybe it should be me," she said.

"Absolutely not. You can't leave. It's too dangerous out there, and you don't have to put your life on the line. There's only two people who should go. Me or Ivar."

"You're too important to lose, Vee. That's what Axel wants. I know if he had a dying wish for me, it would be to look out for you. For us to do everything we can to survive."

"Within capability. I'm not a killer, Zed. I'm not like Axel."

Zed smirked, the merciless flames dancing in her belly again, the same ones she'd felt when she screamed at Lora. She'd harboured the noxious warmth before. It was a friend to her.

"But I am...I'm a killer."

Vee set his jaw firmly, scoffing, unable to disagree. "Listen, Rambo. Even armed to the teeth, you're still not going out there alone."

"And neither are you if you go."

"You think Ivar will leave his precious cocoon? I don't think so. He'll probably send one of his guys out to never come back."

Zed shook her head, tired of the speculation. "This is ridiculous. Anyone should be able to come and go as they please. It's tyranny to tell them they can't leave if they want to. I thought this was a place of free will? What happened to the promised land?"

"Same thing that always happens when one person is left in charge."

"On that, we agree."

They left the greenhouse with much to think about, hugged goodbye in the courtyard and separated—Zed toward the Hives and Vee following the path to his room.

The next morning Zed awoke to guards butting on all the doors, yelling for everyone to get to the courtyard. The racket came after a long night of tossing and turning. Her eyes were tight with unrest, her head throbbing, but she put on jeans and a plain white t-shirt with a single breast pocket, similar to the ones Ivar wore.

The citizens filed from the Hives, murmuring and looking around worriedly. Guards stood by to direct the traffic to the medical tent-turned-backdrop. The booth topped the steepest hill in the plaza, out of use for the past few weeks. They pooled around the base of the hill in collective confusion, looking up as Ivar took advantage of the blank vinyl behind him.

Ivar cast a proud smile over the congregation. He summoned everyone from their hiding spots without having to lift a finger and brought them into the light spilling through the checkered dome on high. He waited until he spotted Zed and Vee coming in from their separate tubes, relaxing a bare inch when they didn't arrive together. They cut their ways to the front of the throng and noticed each other right away. Ivar saw the troubled looks they exchanged and sneered.

"Is this everyone?" Ivar called to the head of his guard.

An armed man standing off to the East with a few others gave Ivar a thumbs up. The King nodded, then proceeded, his expression toward his people fresh with tenacity.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Kinderfeld. I've asked you all here to bring you some news. It has taken me a long time to come to this decision, and for my delay, I apologize. I don't take this lightly... We've lost members of our family, and my heart is broken. I've spent too long trying to think of a way to bring trade back to our village. We need supplies, yes, and medics. I understand these things because I've survived before. All of us must exist as a unit, each one pledged to the survival of our crew."

The people looked on with widening eyes. Hearts that once sang for Ivar's monologues found their tune. All of them but Azalea and the other Cluney brother. Ivar burned them with ocular venom, hoisting his smile into a morbid curve. Zed let shoulders and legs swallow her back into the crowd, but not deep enough to block her view of the head scientist glaring back at the leader.

"I forbid travel for your protection. There are dangers outside of our walls. People whose only purpose is to hunt and kill. I don't have to remind you of the horrors we've suffered or the love we've cultivated here in our home. You were all there. Some of you longer than others. They built these walls to protect us—the ones who choose love instead of hate."

Ivar clasped his hands behind his back and took splinted steps back and forth on his makeshift stage. He fashioned himself contemplative, but his eyes shone with intent.

"With that being said... We cannot wait for luck to come to us. This planet is evolving each day. Nature is reclaiming the land, and it will swallow us in its majesty. We will be lost if we don't take action."

"What do we do?" Someone called from the center of the gathering. The fiery-haired father who'd earned his keep cooking and training his son stood out as the shouter. Ivar didn't smile at him so much as he cast his grace upon the redheaded man clutching the freckled boy by the shoulders.

"I'm glad you asked, sir... We are a unity. A tribe of people who want to live in harmony, am I wrong?"

Several shook their heads, others muttered together, a dull drone of tired voices.

"Then we should vote. Does anyone care to nominate themselves or another?"

The apprehension pivoted and picked up with a few gasps. Heads swivelled in search of somebody bold enough to champion themselves for exploration. Vee continued glaring at Ivar. The king returned the glower.

"I'll go!"

Zed gasped after the words left Vee's mouth. He stepped forth, unbreaking under Ivar's challenging eyes.

"So we have one volunteer. Our beloved head of research and weapons development. A very noble gesture! Does anyone else wish to nominate themselves?" Ivar asked. He opened his arms, beseeching a reply with postured hope.

"Nobody should go alone!" Zed shouted.

"Yeah, we need a team!"

Ivar motioned for the crowd to quiet down. Once they simmered, looking on with palpable anticipation, he inhaled deeply for the next addressing.

"We're running low on men to keep our hold. The brunt of the firepower needs to remain here in case of attack," Ivar reasoned.

"I'll go alone. I don't care. We can't stand around any longer!" Vee said, his chest puffed, much to the surprise of the people who knew him.

Ivar barked a few dry laughs, disguising his pleasure to everyone but Zed and the man who'd volunteered to brave the elements. "I suppose if nobody has any objections...Vee will be the one to go. As badly as it tears me to say so... You are the perfect man for the job. Brother, I wish you all the luck."

Zed broke away from the gather and hammered her legs up the incline toward Vee and Ivar, pumping her fists until she reached them.

"Ivar, you can't do this! We can't send people out alone. At least let me go with him!"

"No!" Ivar and Vee shouted at once.

"What are you going to do to stop me? After your decree about peace and harmony, what will you do to keep me from leaving Kinderfeld?"

Ivar adopted her heated expression. "Azalea, stay out of this."

"No. I won't! Not after what happened to Axel. We have to assemble a team! Don't tell me to stay out when neither of you has seen the carnage!"

"Of course you want to go, Lea. All you care about is finding Axel. You used me and hoped I wouldn't figure out you're trying to leave. You never cared about me. You try to act like you're so innocent and respectful, but you're just like everyone else."

"Because I don't want people to die? Ivar, I understand you're trying to protect everyone, but sending men out for slaughter won't help our cause. Please," Zed whimpered. "Set aside our personal issues and try to see the bigger picture."

Ivar cooled suddenly. He patronized Zed with a frantic nod and a forced grin. "All right, Azalea. Consider our personal issues permanently set aside. You got your way. One of the guards will go with Vee. Now, go. I have heard your voice."

The guards gathered around Ivar and Vee, their conversation clipped and sheltered from the citizens by a lineup of broad-shouldered men carrying weapons of varying levels of brutality. Zed stepped away, cowering under the firm looks she received from Ivar's men. Though she bowed out of the political bubble, she stayed close by, watching Vee's sour face muttering umbrage at the King. The other citizens broke off into smaller clusters, chosen families and cliques gathering to discuss the ruling.

A hand slid over Zed's shoulder, and she whirled to find Sheraya bowing her head. "You've done what you can."

"No, I haven't!" Zed nipped. "I should go with him. I'm not afraid of the outside anymore."

"You don't have to be the hero, Azalea. You must survive."

"I have survived. I'm good at it."

"You're needed here. The young ones have to learn from the women."

"Sheraya... I can't let Vee go. I can't."

The elder took hold of Zed's clammy palm, pressing the lines with her thumb. Zed buckled as tears sprung from the corners of her eyes. "He's all I have, Sheraya."

"The only one you ever truly have is yourself. Think about that before you take your heart's path and not your brain's. Look hard into the future."

"I'm trying," Zed sobbed.

"Azalea, I mean it. Your future is important."

Sheraya left her with a warm peck on the cheek and a growing sense of bewilderment. Zed looked around at the people, the hills and the courtyard beyond, the flatland where they set up their booths and entertained each other. Envisioning life beyond the safety of their walls overcame Zed with grief. She'd won, but the conditions were too heavy for her to bear. Now her last friend prepared for expulsion.

Vee took his charge seriously. Zed saw his raw determination as they hashed out a plan. Several times, she stopped herself from storming their parley, anchoring herself to the ground with locked knees and her arms folded over her breasts.

For a long time, the conversation went on, and most of the villagers went about their morning routines, gathering to cook and gossip of the turbulent state of politics. Zed stayed close enough to catch Vee when they finally broke for action, but the men showed no signs of agreement. Ivar had to hush some more uproarious guards, leashing them down with an assuring hand on the shoulder to stop them from infecting the others with their rancour.

Zed spotted a guard sprinting from the warehouse limits. The desperate look on his face alerted her, and she stepped out of sight around the corner of the medical tent, still close enough to listen.

The man approached, panting and calling for Ivar's attention. Zed snuck a peek and saw the group retire from their conference, distracted by their comrade.

"Jackson, what's the matter?"

"It's Zee. It's him! One of the guys found some doctor dragging him through the forest."

"A doctor?" Ivar repeated. "How do you know?"

"He says so. Says his name is Simpson... Or was it Samson?"

"Samson!" Zed yelled, running from her cover toward the reporting guard. "Did you say the doctor's name is Samson?"

"Yeah, Samson," the man huffed, stunned by the woman's sudden appearance.

"Bring him in! Right now. Go get them and bring him to me!" Zed demanded.

"Now, wait a minute," Ivar said. "How do we know we can trust this guy?"

"If it's the Samson I know, we can trust him. Ivar, please. I'll vouch for him if it's who I think it is."

"Who gives a shit, he's got my brother!"

Zed vaulted after Vee, tailed by the guards and Ivar. The march heralded interest from the citizens, and soon, onlookers roved toward the warehouse. Vee turned to the guard who'd brought the news and slapped him on the shoulder. "Go tell them to let Axel and the doctor inside."

"Sir," the guard nodded, jogging ahead to the entrance where two other men stood, baffled and conflicted without orders.

"Let them in!" Zed cried out.

They waited with bursting lungs. It seemed an hour crawled by before a shadowed heap of arms appeared at the mouth of the entrance. Flanked by two guards holding him upright, they carried Axel inside, his head of matted brown hair dangling lifelessly between his shoulders, limp tattooed arms slung around their necks. Zed ran to him and propped his chin up in her hand, heart palpitating, head rushing.

"Axel! Oh my God. You're alive!"

"Now, now, miss. Don't waste too much breath speaking to him. He can't understand you."

Zed turned toward the familiar voice. Samson hobbled in next to a guard who'd taken on his load—a heavy satchel, a duffel bag and two tweed suitcases. Filth and the briny stink of body odour and piss wafted through the tunnel with them. Most recoiled from the stench.

"Doctor Samson, do you remember me? From the bloodbank."

"Ah, yes, of course, I remember you, Zed! You used to zip around on your motorbike, looking for scrap metal and something to eat."

"Yes, yes! I didn't think I'd see you again."

"The chances of us meeting were rather slim, I agree, and I have to say it's lovely to find you in this magnificent bubble here. You can see this splendid little valley from the North. We were hoping for water, but this is much better. Um, speaking of water, where might I find some? Mr. Soldier and I are rather parched. Oh, and I left my camel parked outside. Do you validate?" Samson said with a jolt of wild laughter.

Zed didn't mean to be rude, but turning away from Samson was far too easy when Axel hung before her like a damp towel on a clothesline. She wanted to hold him, to join in as support to get him a surface to lie upon, but she resisted.

Ivar butt in and directed the escort to take Axel to the laboratory, then turned to Zed, scorning the tears in her eyes.

"Looks like you got your wish, Lea. Axel's back. Your life can go back to normal," Ivar said as the rest of them rushed away with the hunter and the doctor in tow.

It was only them, facing off on the hill. Zed quelled the wildfire in her belly with a painful swallow. A debate with Ivar served no purpose, so she turned from him, solemn and absolute.

"You've given me a lot, Ivar. I thank you for that. Hopefully soon, you and I will see eye to eye again, and we can live peacefully, as you said."

She angled down the hill, hurrying toward the laboratory.

Nobody stopped her from entering the stand-in hospital room. Vee had been worrying over his brother, grimacing at his crudely wrapped hand, violet dark and lame at his side. They'd already stripped him naked and laid a blanket over his lower extremities, so the bruises spraying his ribs screamed in the whiteness. His skin was bright red and glossy, shoulders scabbed with burns. With all his muscles slackened, Axel spilled over the bed, deadweight and loose-jawed.

"What happened?" Zed asked, turning to the doctor propped up in a gurney, sipping from a jug of water.

"I can't say for sure," said Samson. "He was comatose when I found him baking in the desert. That's one lucky man, right there. Lucky he crawled his sorry ass to where he did. Otherwise, I might have missed him by a mile."

"What should we do, Samson? How do I make him come out of it?"

"Oh, we can never be sure. It could be a few days, weeks... Months. My suggestion is to regulate his body temperature, treat his wounds and burns, and hope for the best."

Zed turned back to the unconscious man. She spotted the clumps of dirt in his hair, the scrapes on his elbows and mud-caked fingernails and her panic increased.

"Somebody bring me washcloths, soap and water right now!"

"I'd be mighty careful cleaning those burns, Zed. He's got some good blisters forming. And mind his hand."

"I will, I will," Zed nodded. "Just tell me what to do."

"Can I bother someone for a snack?" Asked Samson.

The guards who'd toted them into the lab stuck around until no longer needed. Zed refused help from anyone except Vee after Trinity brought them a bucket of warmed water, and Lora provided antiseptic. They started cleaning Axel gently, beginning with the grime under his nails. Samson ate from a bowl of mixed fruits, humming in delight from the nectar sliding down his throat.

Zed moved Axel's injured arm with great care and washed away the smears of dirt marring his tattoos, applying disinfectant to the cuts. Vee worked on the opposite side of the bed, combing out the chunks in his hair. Once in awhile, Zed met Vee's eyes, and he'd nod or give her a forced grin.

Axel's unconsciousness only registered later in the night after they'd cleaned him and swapped a few words of astonishment. Zed stayed nearby, wishing his eyes open, but every hopeful breath gave way to disappointment. Lost in the blankness of his mind, Axel floated.

Even Lora surrendered to the sobering tension, making herself available to Vee only. Zed didn't concern herself with the woman. Her mind was awash with relief and worry for the friend who'd found his miraculous way back home. Nothing else mattered but the battered man lying in slumber on the hospital bed.

Samson fell asleep, and Vee left after long, touching Zed's shoulder before excusing himself. He promised to come back as soon as he'd had some rest. Zed nodded, squeezing his hand for a lingering moment, then releasing him. Sleep had no chance of overtaking her, so she stayed next to Axel, balling herself up in one of the office chairs, listening to his wheezing and sticking her fingers under his scruffy jaw to check his pulse every time he went silent.

When it was only her, Axel, and Samson sleeping in the room, she leaned over the bed and brushed her palm over Axel's scaly forehead. She avoided his singed nose, the curving laceration above his left eye and the peeling skin on the crests of his cheeks, touching his jaw and stroking his hair a few times.

"Don't worry, everything's okay now. You're back where you're safe."

The woman slumped into the chair, propping her heavy head on her elbow. She watched his chest rise and fall for a few minutes, plates of seared skin stretching tight over his ribcage, and fought off the urge to doze alongside him.

"Mmph-uh... Muh."

Zed's eyes snapped open. "Axel? Did you speak?"

"Hmm," he thrummed.

"Can you hear me, Axel? It's me, Zed. Azalea. Do you recognize my voice?"

Axel's throat went quiet, the enfeebled notes fading back to obscurity. Zed tried to get him mumbling again, but the hunter remained still.

"It's okay. I promise, I'll make you better. You're home now, and I'm not going anywhere until you’re better, okay, Axel? Don’t worry. You’re at home with me."

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c-rose2081 · 3 years

Text

Chiffon & Steel

(or how Jeff Tracy and Penelope Creighton-Ward first met)

—

Summer was in full swing on Tracy Island, yet somehow in the midst of oil fires, asteroids and hurricanes, they still found time to be together for a monthly barbecue. With Alan home for the long haul, it was ruckus as usual, the boys splashing about in the pool trying to dunk one another. Tin-Tin (growing up nicely, one could note) had found a spot to take in a bit of sun, while Kyrano and Ohana worked the grill. The Island had visitors today in the form of Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward and Aloysius Parker. The lady’s chauffeur had found himself a nice lawn chair and was reading the paper, while Lady Penelope sat with Jeff Tracy, overlooking the scene before them.

“I don’t know how you do it, Jefferson. Truly, I don’t.” Penelope mused, staring at the chessboard which was spread between them, “so much boyish fuss.

“Ah, but that’s the best part.” Jeff mumbled, still caught between moves. Sliding a pawn across the board, he grunted slightly in displeasure, “you always were better at chess then me.”

“Fathers doing I’m afraid,” Penelope sighed, taking said pawn with her knight, “Such a stuffy game, chess.”

“I still don’t know why you put up with that empty old house of yours. You really shouldn’t box yourself up so much.”

Jeff moved another pawn to try and counter Penelope’s impending check, and succeeded as the woman chuckled and tipped her head.

“You know this life isn’t for me, Jeff. The excitement of it all. My father would throw a fit if he ever found out what I’d been up to before we met. And can you imagine what the tabloids would say? The scandal.”

Moving her rook, Jeff once again grumbled and held his chin.

“Yes, I suppose he would. But you were so young then, Penny. You’re still so young.”

“I found my first gateway wrinkle the other day Jeff,” Penelope mused, kicking over one of Jeff’s pawns, “check.”

But the man wasn’t focused on the game anymore, rather the caged woman sitting before him.

“Penny, I remember those days before International Rescue like they were yesterday.” He insisted, causing sapphire eyes to glance up in surprise as the man half rose from his seat, “We chased stolen weapons through the Venetian canals and hunted for smuggled gold in Peru,”

“Jeff…” Penelope breathed, a flush of red coming

to her cheeks as the man continued, his hands waving in the air as his tone grew wistful.

“We jumped trains to avoid traffickers in India, sunk the boat of marine poachers in Argentina, and crossed borders in Mexico for crime lords. Don’t you ever miss those times?”

“Not particularly, no,” Penelope insisted, gasping as Jeff hauled her up from the chair. Having an audience didn’t seem to matter as he spun her dramatically on the concrete, causing a giggle to leave her throat.

“Come on, Pen. We danced salsa by firelight in Cuba. You remember,”

“Yes I do.” Swinging into Jeff’s chest as he wrapped his arms around her, Penelope rolled her eyes dramatically, “you held me just like this while you were madly in love with another woman, and with a son already on the way.”

The man giving a hearty chuckle as Penny shook him off, she straightened out her dress and folded her arms defiantly, “I hardly recall any of those moments being remotely good. Running for my life to avoid getting captured, tortured, or shot at isn’t necessarily a dream vacation. You haven’t forgotten the day we met, have you?”

“Of course not,” Jeff insisted, puffing out his chest with pride, “the boys at poker love to see the scar.”

Before the banter could continue between the pair, a harsh cough caught their attention. All eyes were on them, even Parker, who was watching from behind his paper.

“Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds,” Gordon mocked, sitting on the end of the diving board, “but are you going to let the rest of us in on this little song and dance, or do we have to guess?”

“It’s nothing,” Penny insisted, placing her hands on her hips, “just a reminding your father why I stay in my stuffy old manor,”

“Hardly. That day was the beginning of the beginning,” Jeff insisted, “you wouldn’t believe it boys, but when I first met Penelope, she shot me.”

The ‘what’s!’ That chorused across the pool deck made the commander of International Rescue grin in victory as Penelope held a hand to her forehead, blushing madly with embarrassment.

“You shot our dad, Lady P?” Alan accused, “why?”

“I wish I could say it was simply a lucky break on my end,” She admitted, “but it was your father who walked right into the middle of a war zone.”

“I didn’t walk into anything. I was in front of my hotel.” Jeff complained, “you were the one holding the rifle.”

“It was a .47 Phantom Striker. Top of the line back then.” Penelope insisted, waving a finger in Jeff’s face before jabbing him in the chest with a manicured nail, “and I still have it in the boot of FAB 1 if you want another something to show to your poker friends.”

“Alright, that’s enough. Break it up you two, this isn’t the place for a lovers tiff.”

It was Virgil who came between them, forcing the two adults into their separate chairs as Penelope steamed and Jeff continued to chuckle, “since you’ve made a scene already, you,” pointing at Penelope, “need to tell us how you managed to shoot dad.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” the woman complained, “I was 18 years old, I’d only just learned how to shoot.”

“That's a bluff and you know it,” Jeff insisted, still grinning as Penelope sat back into the wicker seat with a nose huff of indignance, “I don’t know what they taught you at that finishing school, Pen, but it wasn’t how to hold a tea cup. Kyrano!”

Leaning over his shoulder to summon the man from the grill, he came over with a smile, spatula still in hand.

“Yes, Mr. Tracy?”

“Could you fetch a photograph from inside my office? The one inside the bottom drawer.”

“Yes of course, right away.”

“You didn’t keep that blasted thing did you, Jeff?” Penelope whined, “Oh please tell me you didn’t keep it!”

“Of course I kept it, Pen. It’s one of my fondest memories of you.” Jeff chuckled, taking the paper which Kyrano handed to him only a few moments later, “take a look boys.”

Crowding around the table still in their swimsuits, the photo itself was old and had worn edges and corners. The two figures in the photo sat in the back of a military jeep, surrounded by a landscape yellowed with dust. A younger looking Jeff Tracy sat on one side of the bed, his arm in a cloth sling and a youthful smile hidden under a dirty fedora. Penelope — still on the brink of adulthood in the picture — sat on the other side, leaning her weight on a long muzzled rifle. She too was smiling, but smaller, like the sun and sand had been physically beat into her.

“I’d been sleeping on the ground for a week when this was taken,” Penelope mused, shaking her head slightly as the image was passed from person to person, “it was my first solo assignment. It was supposed to be intelligence only, cut and dry. But a move had been made which my...hem, supervisors, weren’t expecting. So the plan changed unexpectedly.”

“If that’s the word you want to use for it, Penny.” Jeff chided, causing the woman to roll her eyes as the boys looked between one another.

“Well now you have to tell us the whole story,” Scott complained, “right guys?”

The group made noises of agreement as Penelope once again found herself blushing, watching the group gather around the base of the table like a primary school reading circle. Even Tin-Tin had caught ear of the conversation, and dragged her lawn chair across the pool deck as to be closer.

“Come on Penny, it’s a great story,” Jeff insisted, “and I know you tell it better then I do.”

“Oh...very well. I do love a captive audience.” Penelope insisted wistfully, “The year was 2047 I believe, and I had been in the small county of Asafar just North of Iran for almost two weeks…”

—

For those of you who saw the gif and thought I was stealing, that was 100% NOT my intention. So I took it off and am adding some stills instead. Thanks to the one who reached out and let me know so I could make the adjustment.

A/N: Thunderbirds 2004 has a very special place in my heart. I love Sophia Myles as Penelope, and I adore the flirty combo of Penny and Jeff portrayed in the film. This was written with that dynamic in mind ❤️

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds 2004 #lady penelpe creighton ward #jeff tracy #FanFiction #oneshot #film

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

Thunderstorms

Thanks to @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles for letting me run away with this idea. It’s not quite what we discussed but we all know I’m a soft ass bitch.

Michael’s definitely the dad that got his quirks. He’s chill about somethings and apprehensive about others. And though a beach day turns in early, it’s a good reminder Michael’s always there for his family.

Reader Insert. No specific race.

Enjoy my masterlist.

You can support me on kofi.

__________________________

It’s a bit of a gamble, attempting to head east during the summer. But it has been a while since you saw your family and the kids are dying to see their GrandPops and Gma as your parents were affectionately dubbed. Both you and Michael figured it is safer to go early in the summer months, the chances of storms or hurricanes wasn’t zero, but it is significantly lower than waiting until August or so. So that leads you here, in late June that holds just on the horizon cookouts and BBQ’s that are famous in your family.

Until a strong breeze comes through, bringing with it dark clouds. You look out to the sea, the breeze whipping sand up and the edges of your towel are fluttering too. “We should get home,” you warn Michael quietly.

He’s sitting next to you, arms folded behind his head as he lounges in the foldable chair You decided to help the baby, Orion, put the last touches on her sandcastle. It’s not much of a castle at all, but it makes her content and there’s no way you’re going to fight that. Michael doesn’t respond, chest still rising and falling.

You turn your gaze back to the kids. Orion latches onto Treyvon’s arm, attempting to get him over to look at her castle. He packs down the sand in his own bucket. “I’m coming, Ri,” he returns. Treyvon’s the oldest at 8 and Orion’s just behind him at 6. They trot back over to you and you turn back to Michael, tapping at his calf. “Michael, baby,” you say a bit louder to wake him.

He groans, head snapping over to you. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Even though he’s wearing sunglasses, you see how tired he is. Last week he had some trouble sleeping and then Orion was sick. While Michael and Treyvon were thick as thieves, there is a soft spot in Michael’s heart for his little girl. There is nothing that she can’t get from Michael. All she has to blink her eyelashes and candy, toys, clothes, extra helpings of ice cream, first dibs on which section of the cornbread she wants is all hers.

Michael spent most of the nights up nursing Orion, checking that her fever broke, that she drank plenty of fluids, nursing the tummy aches, giving her the extra snuggles that eased her into slumber. You were tempted to rebook the airline tickets for later. Orion didn’t get sick often, so you figured it had to be something serious. However by about Tuesday night, she was on the up and up. Though Michael kept a close eye on her throughout the rest of the week.

You rub your hand over his knee, nodding out to the sea. More families are packing up from the beach. “Storm’s coming in.”

Michael looks over the water and sees the dark clouds on the horizon too. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Don’t know. I’ve been in the hardhat zone over here for a while,” you tease. Michael chuckles, falling back into the scratchy material of the seat. “You’re going to get the tour next.”

It’s a quiet warning and no sooner than it leaves your mouth, Orion comes kicking up sand, hand reaching out for Michael’s. “Look, Papa,” she grins. Though she’s dropped the “Bear” right now, you know the grin that takes over Michael’s face.

You started the trend, calling him Papa Bear when the kids were young, even before then. With Treyvon, you’d tease to Michael that he was a cuddly bear and therefore a Papa Bear, like in the book “Hop on Pop.” However, Michael demanded that no one actually hop on him. The demand was short lived once the babies got big enough to jump on the beds. Occasionally a spleen would take a foot coming down in all the excitement.

Michael groans as he pushes up from the chair and follows Orion over to her two part sandcastle. You’re sure to snap a photo as Michael settles into the sand, listening intently as she explains the shells as windows and the twig on top as the flag. “It’s truly a masterpiece, sweetpea,” he offers, pulling her into a hug and kissing her temple. “So who’s the queen of this castle? You?”

“Mama!” Orion smiles up at you. “She’s the queen. One day I will too.”

“That’s right,” you and Michael echo. Orion’s greeted with a kiss on the forehead from you and a kiss on the cheek from Michael. Her giggles are soft. She’s a bit shy like Michael, would rather not be the center of attention except if it’s her birthday or if she’s with Michael. Then all bets are off.

“We gotta head back to GrandPops and Gma’s,” Michael announces, throwing a glance over his shoulder to spy Treyvon turning over a bucket of dense sand. “You’re too far buddy. Stay closer to us.”

“But my castle, Dad.”

“I know. But you’re still too far from me. Just making sure you’re safe, bud.”

Trey’s pout is evident and you stop packing the bag. “I’ll stay with him if you finish packing the bag. I’ll snap a photo of it once you’re done too, Trey. But then we gotta head back. Storm’s coming in fast.”

Trey nods eagerly, running back down the shore and you follow behind with Orion’s spare bucket with her permission. She sticks close to Michael, but offers the left over of her shells for Trey’s castle too. You and Trey make quick work to fill the buckets. “What’s that?” Trey asks, taking his shovel and poking at something in the sand.

It takes a moment for you to spy it in the wet sand, but when Trey pokes it again, it jiggles slightly. The clear body camouflaging itself in the sand. “Jellyfish,” you say, taking hold of his wrist to pull him back. “Those stings hurt. Be careful.”

“It looks dead, Mama.”

“Doesn’t mean it is dead, though. Come on my side and finish filling your bucket, okay?”

“Ma,” Trey groans but when he sees the stern gaze and hard set lines he nods and takes your spot. It does look dead. But you can already see the sight if Trey gets stung. Your parents will have a fit. Michael will panic and wil not sleep for the rest of the vacation, worried about his little man. You get it, to be honest. You’ll be right up with Michael. But if you can avoid that, you will. You will do whatever it takes to avoid that.

It’s only another minute or so before Trey’s finished and the two of you come back with more sand, packed in tightly. ON the count, you flip them over, but only after getting Treyvon’s specific instructions. He’s particular and neat. Won’t leave anything a mess. Once the pieces are mostly standing, he hands you some shells and you decorate the tiny dumes you’ve created. Michael already had most of the beach gear packed up.

“What do you think?” you ask Trey taking a step back to admire the four tower castle.

“Wish I had time for like the moat, but it looks pretty good.” You make sure to take a picture, Trey standing behind the masterpiece and quickly finish up packing away the tools. The rinse off is quick, mostly brushing over the kids with the spare towels and making sure all sand is gone from toes, legs and backs.

“What’s for dinner?” Trey asks from the backseat.

You stop at the redlight, still peering up into the skies. “I think Gma is insisting on a taco night.”

“Tacos sound good,” Orion interjects. “I like tacos.”

“Can I put hot sauce on mine?” Trey asks. He’s taken a strong liking to spicy food and though Michael’s always worried that something bad will happen, you always sneak in a few daps of spicy sauces when you can.

“I don’t know, bub. Could mess up your stomach,” Michael responds, turning in the passenger seat to look to his son.

Trey knows the secret though. He looks into the mirror in the middle of the car and you catch his eye with a wink. “Okay, maybe next time.”

“I hear some stinky monsters,” your dad jokes, peeking his head out from the kitchen at the sound of you opening the door.

The kids charge down the hallway, varying degrees of volume to their roar or scream. You know your mother’s going to drop them a little snack but they can’t go too much longer without a bath. South and Moose click their paws on the hardwood floors racing their way to you guys. Your parents dognapped them to take them out and you were halfway expecting Moose to have too much energy and your parents calling that they’ll be dropping her off with you guys at the beach. Even though she had gotten older over the years, she still had her spirit of her puppyhood. But that fear never came to fruition.

South climbs into Michael’s arms, curling up into the familiar embrace. “Oh, it wasn’t that bad, was it Southy?”

As the dogs settle back down, you know the kids should be done with their snack. So you’re quick to corral them. “Up the stairs. There we go. Up and attem. We shall not be stinky monsters any more.”

“I quite like being stinky,” Trey returns. His ascent is paused to deliver the line and Michael is quick to haul him up and over his shoulder. Trey laughs. “I take it back. I don’t like being stinky.”

“Oh, no, no, no, too late now.” Their laughter echoes long after Michael draws the bath for Trey in the guest bathroom and you take Orion into your parents bathroom.

“Can I wear my owl pj’s?” Orion asks wrapped in her towel. “I like the owls better.”

“You can wear them, sure.” After you unearth them from the suitcase, you lay them out of the bed and shut the door for her to get dressed. She takes great pride in doing it herself, though sometimes you have to catch the backwards t-shirt before she waltz outside the house.

“Uh oh, looks like you’re locked out for a few minutes bud.” Michael’s holding the mass of Trey’s swimming trunks and towel. Trey’s dressed already which is good. But if he wanted to grab anything, like a book, or a toy, he is out of luck for a bit.

“That’s okay. I’m gonna go help Gma.” Trey’s descendant down to the main floor is more nosey that you would normally like, but there’s not too much to say.

“I started a pile in my parent’s bathroom, which I’ll have to get up soon, if you just wanted to dump those for now and then shower yourself,” you offer, hands out for the dirty clothes.

“All my stuff is still in the bedroom. So, I’m locked out too. But I’ll grab her stuff and start a load of laundry.”

“If you want, but we still have our clothes and towels too.”

“Good thing laundry is free,” he teases, disappearing down the hallway. When he returns, he has Orion’s bathing suit and towel as well.

Over the years, coming back home feels like never leaving. Your mother is all too happy to be loads of laundry though, she refuses to fold a damn thing. That’s the job for everyone else and no one complains. Food is always plentiful, though you do sneak cash into your mother’s purse to cover the extra expense in grocery. Your father always has to the one to say he put it there so no fights ensue. Though, you know your mother knows it’s you. But visiting wouldn’t be the same if the cycle didn’t occur.

Visiting your parents isn’t always ideal, though it had its perks. Specifically because of the sleeping situation and only because of the sleeping situation. There’s one only one spare room fit for housing guests The second bedroom was converted into a study, where you can remember spending too many nights up and staring out of the windows, or sneaking out of them.

The guest room was originally your old room, but your mother couldn’t stop her decorative itch once you moved out. The room worked, even when there was only a limited number of bathrooms as well. The bed was big enough that the kids could sleep on it even with the way Orion fitfully slept. Michael always told you to sleep on the bed with the kids. He could fit on the mattress, that wasn’t a problem, but he knew that it was cramped sometimes. So Michael sleeps on the floor at the foot of the bed. It never lasted long that he was there by himself because you always slinked down from the bed.

At first you’d lay with your head at the foot of the bed, with one arm dangling and he always reaches up to capture your fingers with his. And then you ask him to join you on the bed. Sometimes he gives in. Sometimes he doesn’t. And when he doesn’t you crawl down, thankful for the carpet that your parents hadn’t ripped up yet. The beauty of it all is that you made it work. And you hoped maybe they kids would always remember that it might’ve been a little cramped at times but you always made it work.

The door creaks open and Orion smiles before taking her more quiet escape back downstairs. “Aha, there’s my daughter. I went looking for you,” Michael laughs.

“Ya found me! Now shower, Papa Bear. You stink too.”

“On it,” he giggles with a salute and continues on up the stairs. There’s a rumble, as Michael pulls out his clothes. His ears pick up on the distant but not too far away rumble of thunder. He didn’t think the storm was that close. But when you mentioned getting back to your parents back, he knew he shouldn’t wait on it.

The steam’s already billowing when Michael cracks open the door. Your pile of clothes on the sink counter. Your humming settles into Michael’s chest as he peels himself out of the trunks and sweaty t-shirt. It’s not clear if it’s a song or just content humming, but he enjoys the sound either way.

“Got space for one more?” He asks.

You peek out from the curtain and grin. “Of course I do.”

You step away from the water, letting Michael in front as you lather soap over your chest and arms. It shouldn’t be this much of a shock. He shouldn’t be in such awe watching you. But he is. That’s just the plain truth of it. It doesn’t feel like it’s been nearly 12 years together. It doesn’t feel like it took you two years to have your first kid. It doesn’t feel like you’ve been there for three albums, three insane tours, two kids, a couple foster kittens, the two dogs, some nasty scandals. No, you’ve just been there for the blink of an eye. You’ve been there late in the nights when Michael couldn’t sleep, when that song wouldn’t let him go. You peeled him away from the video games, and though he’s been slowly introducing Trey and Orion into his hobby, you brought him into a realm of reality that he didn’t feel like he had to constantly escape.

“Is there something on my face?” you ask, watching the way Michael’s been standing under the sprinkle of the shower staring at you.

“Yeah, you look a lot like my spouse. And I still can’t believe it.”

“That’s funny. You look a lot like my husband. But I swear, it’s been like twelve years since I’ve seen him.”

His fingers are wet, but they’re soft cupping your chin. “I hope I’m a good stand in.”

You shake your head, one of your sudsy hand cupping the back of his neck. “Not a good stand in. Because you’re the best original I’ve ever had.”

The tender confession warms on his entire body. His chest squeezes for a moment and all there is to do is kiss you, pull you in close by your hip and melt into your touch. Michael’s grateful it’s you that he’s spent this last decade with. Anyone else and he’s sure it would’ve gone poorly. But not with you, with you it’s easy--sure there are issues here and there, but you’ve never once wanted to go to bed mad at each other. You haven’t once, even in all the tears and justified anger, felt like the only choice for you was to run. You dug your heels even deeper when the seas got rocky and said over and over with your actions that you weren’t going to leave.

And sure, there was a couple times that leaving did seem like a more viable option, when rumors kept churning the mill and when it seemed like Michael would never come back home to you. But you stuck it out. You figured out a way to make it work and Michael can’t be more grateful that it's been you. “I love you,” he breathes as the water runs down his back. It’s starting to lose its heat. But he’s warm with you close.

“I love you. Even if you ‘tink,” you tease, using the variation of stink that you used to coo at the kids when they were babies.

He laughs, a bit of a squeak leaving his throat. “I do not ‘tink!”

“Hmm, I’d beg to differ.”

You steal Michael’s sweatshirt, fresh from your shower and before he can object your mother is calling. “Dinner’s ready!” Her shout is greeted by another rumble of thunder.

“I’m only letting this thievery go because of food,” Michael says to you.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. It’s not because I’m sexier in your clothes.”

Michael shrugs, a slight noise of agreement leaving his throat. “Potentially.” He stops you right at the top of the stairs, kissing your forehead, down the bridge of your nose and across your cheeks.

Your giggles are high pitched and you’re clutching at his t-shirt trying to curl up and duck away from the affection. “I’m hungry,” you pout, the smell of the tacos floating up from the kitchen now.

“Oh, dear, let’s get you to some food, stat.”

The dinner is an array of shells, soft or hard, meat, and toppings--ranging from sour cream to hot sauce. You help assemble Treyvon’s plate, only to sneak a couple dabs of the hot sauce for him and he kisses your cheeks. “Thanks,” he whispers.

“Anytime, bub.”

Your parents asks about the beach with Trey and Orion are more than happy to recount. They list off who won footraces and how many laps they did in the water. Trey talks about the jellyfish he countered and Orion talks about the shells she collected. Your parents listen carefully, no doubt having heard of all these adventures already.

“But we had to leave early because the storm,” Orion concludes. The thunder’s been rumbling steadily. You’re not sure if lightning is going to accompany this storm. The windows that are drawn are showing just how dark the skies are and how fast the clouds are rolling in. The rain hasn’t fallen yet, but it’s going to be soon.

“Blanket fort?” you ask as the kids drop their plates off near the sink.

“We need cookies,” Trey counters. You can only laugh but have to agree. “Blanket forts require cookies.”

“Let’s clean up first. One mess at a time.”

“One mess at a time,” Trey echoes and takes up the dishrag ready to dry all the utensils that come down from the washing rack. The kitchen assembly line works effectively. You wash as Trey dries. Orion helps put some dishes up where she can reach and Michael floats, drying the larger pots and pans and putting them up for Orion as well.

Your parents, after the kitchen is cleaned, head up to their room but you take over preheating the oven and figuring which cookies the kids want. Orion takes charge on placing them on the cookie sheet, making sure her sugar cookies are delicately spaced. A loud rumble echoes outside the house and the rain isn’t slow to fail either. It cascades down in sheets and you think it’s definitely a good time to build a blanket fort in the living room. The darkness isn’t thick itself--there’s still an undercurrent of blue in the gray that’s taken over the sky. The rain blurs the outside world, as if your eyes are out of focus.

Michael’s chuckles alert you that he’s already getting started on rearranging the living room. Orion hugs onto your leg and lower waist as you both look out to the storm. “I want to run in the storm.”

You rub your hand over her back. “You’d get your favorite pj’s all wet and then you’d have to shower again.”

“I know. But that’s okay.” There’s a harsh strike of lightning and Orion shakes her head. “On second thought, maybe not.”

“Oh maybe not,” you laugh and turn your attention to the living room. The fort is coming together. Though the dogs are doing their best to attack the sheets and blankets. And for the moment, you’re not at your parents house anymore. You’re not standing in your childhood kitchen. You’re at home. You’re laughing at your husband’s attempts at building a blanket fort being thwarted by your own dogs.

“We need a movie!” Trey shouts, popping out from the inside of the fort, one pillow still clutched in his grasp.

“Yes!” Orion agrees.

You hadn’t necessarily planned on a movie night. But thankfully, you’re better with passwords than your husband and you know from having to troubleshoot with your parents over FaceTime that their TV does have the Netflix app already downloaded. You’re not sure if they’ve logged in or not. “Thank goodness for technology,” you laugh but nod at the request.

The timer for the cookie’s finally chimes and you pull them out of the oven. They’re perfectly golden, filling the whole kitchen with the smell of baked vanilla and sugar. Orion gets a plate of cookies as does Trey. The rain is still falling in sheets, hitting the panes and side of the house and coating the background in a white noise, a constant and steady sound. Michael’s turned out of the main lights to the living room, leaving on the soft table lamp that can’t fully bleed due to the sheets, but it cuts through just enough.

You and Michael settle towards the back of the fort, the kids laying on their pillows as you pull up the app. It takes a few minutes to settle onto a movie. Michael jokingly suggests a scary movie but Orion’s adamant against it through Trey looks intrigued. Michael winks at him, noticing the twinkle in his eye. Orion no doubt won’t make it past the first movie and when she falls asleep, Michael knows you’ll put it up to a pure vote. Trey nods at his dad and let’s the choice for the animated Spiderverse movie be the family friendly win of the night.

Michael’s hold around your waist is reassuring and you rest more weight into him. “Look, I’m voting no on a scary movie. But if something happens after I’m asleep and Trey has nightmares, it’s on you.”

“There’s nothing that gets past you, huh?”

“Of course not. I see,” a yawn interrupts your thought, “everything.”

“Can’t see nothing with your eyes closed.”

“I can see perfectly fine with my eyes closed,” you retort. Michael doesn’t say anything when you snuggle deeper into his side, arms winding around his torso. The kids giggle, even dance along to some of the songs in the soundtrack. Michael watches them, a smile on his face. These are his kids. They can sometimes butt head in ways he hadn’t ever imagined kids could do, he’s happy that they’re his. Orion acts out Doc Oc’s big reveal scene and Trey’s laughter keeps him from acting seriously.

The dogs catch onto the ruckus and start to investigate but when neither Orion or Trey given in too seriously they settle back down. And it’s just his kiddos, being the absolute joy that they are, acting alongside a film they’ve seen way too many times. But no matter how many times they beg for it, or agree on it, they love it all the same. There’s still the same wonder and awe like the first time they saw it.

“Let me guess,” you start, eyes still closed. “Orion’s Doc Oc. Trey’s Miles, you’re Peter Parker and I’m just the old person in the corner half asleep.”

“Close. I’m the old man in the corner with his spouse, so you know, two old folks today.”

“Damn,” you giggle, slowly opening your eyes. “I’ll get it next time.”

He nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Definitely next time.”

It’s only in the silence of the credits fully rolled that, Michael notices that the storm’s mostly passed. It’s still dark, and there’s still a soft patter of rain, but it seems the brunt of it has come and gone. Orion’s crawled up into your lap and you’ve turned, curling up around her. It won’t be long before the two of you fall back into sleep.

Trey grins, but follows behind Michael as they take the plates and place them into the sink to be washed from the sugary goodness. “Thanks,” Michael grins taking the plate Trey’s carrying.

“You’re welcome, Dad. How scary are we gonna get?”

“How scared do you wanna be?”

“I ain’t scared.”

Michael can’t help the laughter that shakes his shoulder, watching Trey puff out his chest. “Well, we’ll definitely see about that.”

Trey nods defiantly at his father. He can handle scary things. It’s not even real in the end. Once the dishes are done, they slide back into the blanket fort and Trey lays across his pillow again as Michael browses the horror section. If you were awake, you would’ve snatched the remote by now and landed him with stern glare. He knows that you sneak the hot sauce. And he’s sure you know he sneaks things too. What would be the point of it all if their kids didn’t feel safe and understood? Sure, it probably doesn’t make sense to sneak like this and the two of you could have an adult conversation. But sometimes it’s nice. It’s just a thing that him and Trey have. Because they kids need that. They need a thing that they have just with one parent, so that they always know that they’re going to be there.

They eventually settle on a movie. It’s not too scary, but the introduction definitely pushes the boundaries on the amount of gore that Michael would normally let slide. As it progress, the blood volume reduces. It’s mostly jumpscares that the movie relies on, but one or two even get Michael. Trey sits up and without much thought Michael leans forward. Not to swoop in just yet but hovering close by, just in case. There’s a lull in the plot, and Trey seems to relax.

“Want to call it quits?” Michael asks.

“Like ten more minutes,” Treyvon offers. It’s not too bad, but it does scare him just a little bit. And it’s mostly that beginning. He’s used to movies that start a little slower on the whole gore thing and this one started right out of the gate. He’s not sure if ten more minutes is the smartest idea. But the end has to be coming up soon. He can hold out for just a little bit longer. Though, as it progress, that uneasy feeling creeps back up. Trey turns and finds his father’s hand already stretched out.

“Done?”

Treyvon shakes his head. It’s a small comfort to settle into his dad’s lap. “How much more time is left?”

With a quick pause, Michael reveals they still have half an hour left. “Still a good chunk of time left.”

“Can we take a break?”

“Yeah of course.” Michael exits the movie completely letting the Netflix homepage fill the screen of the TV. Treyvon exhales, burying his face into Michael’s chest. “I’m sorry. Didn’t seem so bad.”

“Not your fault,” Trey mumbles.

Michael runs his hand over Trey’s back, holding him tight and secure to his body. “You’re safe. I’m here. And there’s Southy and Moose to protect you too.”

“Dad, I love them. But they’re old,” Trey laughs.

“Oh, Moose,” Michael pauses on the thought. “No, come to think of it, she’d roll over for pets in a heart beat.”

“See!” Treyvon giggles.

“Palette cleanse. Let’s watch some cartoons.”

“Maybe we can finish that movie in the morning?”

“If you’re up for it,” Michael agrees. Michael won’t bring it up unless Treyvon does; it was kind of intense from the start and it’s no fault of Treyvon if he doesn’t want to finish it now or in the morning. They watch another hour of cartoons before Michael can tell Treyvon’s fallen asleep. He could wake you, carry both kids to the bed and properly sleep through the night. Or Michael can let one more episode pass of the show and then turn it off, leaving on the soft lamp and letting himself fall asleep too, just slide down to the floor and bring a pillow up for Treyvon while he keeps close by.

“Not going upstairs?” you ask softly into Michael’s ear.

“You feel like carrying either child upstairs?”

With a soft giggle, you kiss his cheek. “Absolutely not.” You settle behind Michael, back pressed into his as you keep an eye on Orion curled up on her pillow and find one the spare sheets to drape over her.

Michael knows someone’s staring at him. He can feel the fire behind the gaze even if he’s eyes are still closed. If it were one of the kids, they’d be poking at his face or arms, or stomach. Instead it’s just a stare, just the hairs along his neck standing up on end. “If I’m in trouble, can I have a cup of coffee first?”

“A scary movie? Michael, really?”

It’s right on the tip of his tongue to make a joke that the omission of the nickname babe is much too severe for one scary movie. But if he says that, it’s going to reveal the whole secret. “We did a palette cleanse. I was up the entire time.” Michael blinks open his eyes to see you, kneeling next to him. The kids are missing from the fort. The clink of forks alerts him that they’re probably eating breakfast.

“He’s been quiet the whole morning. Which is not like Trey at all. You say no to hot sauce but yes to a fucking horror film.” Your voice is firm but a whisper.

“You say yes to hot sauce and no to horror films.”

While Michael’s right, and you don’t want him to be, you know you don’t have a full leg to stand on. Sighing you fall to your butt, hugging your knees to your chest. “Fix it. I don’t care how. Don’t care if it’s ice cream at every meal. But I need my son back and you agreed to the horror film.”

It’s a fair call and Michael nods, finally sitting up from the floor. “On it. Also, good morning.”

You huff, and swat at his butt as he crawls out from the fort. “Good morning to you too, angel.”

He giggles at the sickly sweet sarcasm but pads into the kitchen. Both kids sit, eating at their waffles and bacon. “Morning, Papa Bear!” Orion greets with a bright grin. Michael kisses the top of her head and squeezes Treyvon’s shoulder.

The boy is slow to meet the gaze and mumble out a greeting. Michael knows it’s bad. He probably should’ve turned the movie off after the first fifteen minutes. Orion’s finished first and gets excused from the table. The thud of Michael’s coffee cup echoes for a moment. “How’d you sleep?” Michael asks.

“Okay.” There’s a pause and Trey looks up from his plate. “Movie was a little scarier than I thought,” he whispers, glancing into the living room, trying to keep the secret from you.

“It’s okay. It scared me a little too at times.”

“I think Mom knows something. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Michael ruffles Treyvon’s hair. “Bud, the only one getting into trouble might be me. But not you. You got my permission to watch the movie, so it wasn’t like you disobeyed anyone and you didn’t break a rule. I just picked not the best film for us to watch. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you that badly with the film.”

There’s not a rule against scary movies. Most of your objection is just Trey’s age and wanting to wait until he’s a bit older. However, Michael knows that sometimes a good scare isn’t that bad. Besides, the movies normally get vetted by him first. Michael looks through them to see which ones are too violent or not appropriate for kids. And last night, on a slightly last minute decision, Michael made a call and it was just the wrong one. That’s his mistake not Trey’s.

Treyvon nods at Michael’s apology. “I-I don’t want to finish it. I wanted to look strong, but,” he shakes his head. “I don’t--”

Michael nods. “No problem. We can watch more cartoons, get some ice cream at lunch.”

“Mint chocolate?”

“With all the sprinkles your tummy can handle it,” Michael grins.

“Add gummy bears and it’s a deal.”

Michael thinks for a second, running a hand over his beard. It’s an instant yes. But he pretends for just a moment. “Alright, you drive a hard bargain. Gummy bears too.”

Treyvon’s quick to finish his breakfast. “Thanks, Dad. For like understanding and everything about the movie. And, I know you didn’t mean to pick such a scary movie. I’m-I’m just glad you were there.”

“I’m always going to be there, Treyvon. Always. I’m your dad. I’m always going to be there.”

Trey slips down from the chair and hugs Michael. “Thanks.”

“Of course. You’re welcome.”

#michael clifford #michael clifford fanfic #michael clifford fic #michael clifford imagine #michael clifford blurb #dad!michael #h writes #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos imagine #5sos fic #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #michael clifford x reader insert #dad!michael blurb

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electrickoushi · 3 years

Text

denki kaminari has lost his sister

a/n: happy new year! this fic was for one of my other friend’s xmas presents which is just a bit late. i hope you enjoy it!

pairing: kaminari denki x shinsou hitoshi tags: fluff, lifeguard au, they are equally whipped, pre-relationship, crush at first sight wc: 5.8k

Denki is ready for vacation. He’s ready to hit the beach, eat a ridiculous amount of hamburgers, and maybe even get a tan to show off to his friends back in Japan. He is significantly less prepared to chase after a lost sister (multiple times) and talk to a surprisingly cute lifeguard that manages to stumble upon Denki in his time of need.

Denki’s cheap slides slapped against the ground as he and his family stepped off the airplane.

He swung his backpack over his shoulder and looked around. Large windows surrounded them, allowing sunlight to flood in. Potted plants sat on the tiled floor and lined the walls. People tripped over one another as they all eagerly ran to security to start their vacations.

Denki’s family took their sweet time retrieving their luggage. They walked at the pace of a snail despite the boy’s wish for them to hurry up. For some reason, they decided to stand still on all of the walkways (which had the word walk in them, Denki pointed out) and gawk at all the foreign stores.

They arrived at the tram station that would take them directly to their hotel, just to find out that they had missed it by only a few minutes. The woman working at the desk for the tram told them that it would be another twenty minutes until the next one came. Denki’s mom just thanked the woman and waved it off, not understanding that she was wasting the precious minutes of vacation Denki had calculated on the plane. 10,283 minutes of relaxing time in which he didn’t have to deal with Katsuki’s terrible behavior, Mr. Aizawa’s dull grumbling, or Ms. Midnight’s provocative... um, homework.

Twenty minutes later (10,223 minutes left), the tram screeched to a halt, and the Kaminaris walked out to board.

Smiling widely, Denki’s sister Yuki took his right hand as she glanced around to explore the new country they would be living in for the next week. Once they got seated, Yuki let go so she could turn and look out the window.

“So how’s Hawaii so far?” he asked his little sister, flicking one of her pigtails.

He was scared that the foreign land and language and people might be too overwhelming for a five-year-old, but she was clearly enjoying every moment so far. He saw her wide eyes in the reflection as she took in all the scenery.

“Wonderful! Do you see the ocean? It’s so blue.” She pressed her finger against the window. Wonder and amazement flashed in her eyes and Denki laughed. It’s like she forgot they also lived on an island surrounded by an ocean.

They both watched the exotic flora pass by while the driver spewed out facts about Hawaii that would entertain the tourists. They flew over his mom’s, dad’s, and sister’s heads since Denki was the only one with strong enough English to understand the fast, muffled speech of the driver.

The tram stopped in front of their hotel, and the brother and sister stood up to follow their parents out to collect their suitcases. They rolled them up the brick pathway, careful not to bump into other guests.

A cold burst of air conditioning greeted them when they walked into the building. Warm, earthy tones decorated the lobby, giving it an overall oriental feel, which was probably why his parents chose this hotel in the first place. Guests were drawn toward the main novelty of the lobby: the small waterfall in the middle of the room. The water cascaded over a wooden wall and emptied into a small koi pond where kids could throw in small pellets of food.

His parents walked straight past the wall and towards the check-in desk with the assumption that their kids were trailing right behind them. Denki hurried after them (only 10,206 minutes remaining), but suddenly saw a small flash of bright blonde hair dip into the gift shop. He groaned and ran after Yuki.

Denki found her next to the souvenir t-shirts with sayings like “Aloha” and “Welcome to Hawaii” on them. She was tugging on a hot pink one that was five times too large for her.

“Yuki, you can’t run off like this.” He grabbed her arm that was clinging to the fabric and made her let go of it.

She whined, sticking out her tongue at her older brother. Denki rolled his eyes at the childish behavior but was secretly thankful that she didn’t start throwing a temper tantrum. Those meltdowns could last for hours on end, and he wasn’t prepared to deal with one of those in public.

Denki had just managed to get Yuki to leave the gift store when their parents walked up to them, glaring.

His mother started the attack before Denki could even try to defend himself. “Denki, I thought you were more responsible than this. After we got our keycards, we turned around just to find you gone.”

Denki wanted to scream at their ignorant, illogical thinking. He held back his sigh and tried to explain. “You don’t understand, I was coming to get her and-”

“Stop making excuses. You also left your suitcase in the middle of the lobby. You should be glad no one stole it.” His dad thrust the handle of his suitcase towards Denki.

I’m sorry that you can’t keep track of your own child, so your poor son had to do it for you, just to get in trouble for running off, Denki bitterly thought as he watched his parents spin around and march off. Naturally, they expected their children to follow them.

It had been less than an hour since they landed and they were already mad at him. He rolled his eyes and huffed. What a great family trip this was going to be.

Even Yuki must have sensed the tension since her usual, endless babbling had subsided while they walked behind their parents to the elevators.

The elevator ride was quiet.

The doors slid open and Denki was the first to escape the cold atmosphere. He reached their room first but had to wait for his mother with the keycard. She swiped it, the green light switching on to signal that it was unlocked. He quickly pushed the door open and entered the room.

There were two beds, which meant he would be sharing one with his sister unless he wanted to sleep on the couch or the floor. That would also mean that she would get an entire bed to herself, and that was utterly unacceptable.

He tucked his suitcase between the wall and the bedframe before checking out the rest of the hotel room. They had a giant TV on top of a dresser placed in front of the beds. There was a nightstand between them with a clock, lamp, and phone on top. Pictures of various plants and landscapes adorned the walls.

Skinny French doors opened to a smaller room with a living area. There was a green couch facing another TV, and a desk situated in the corner. Denki found a small kitchenette and a door leading to the bathroom.

He returned to the earlier room and pulled back the beige curtains to reveal a sliding glass doorwall leading to a balcony. They had a great view of the strip of beach that the hotel owned.

His parents sat on their bed and talked in hushed whispers.

Probably about me, Denki thought as he flopped on his bed face-down. If only he could escape for a while to give them time to cool off.

He unzipped his suitcase to dig out his Switch when he saw his swim trunks. He looked out the doorwall again.

“Mom, Dad, can I go to the beach?” he asked, forgetting all about his game and pulling out the hideous shorts instead.

“I don’t know, can we trust you?” his father retorted.

Denki bit back a tart response. “I’ll be okay. I’ll take my phone and stuff.” “I want to swim!” Yuki popped her head in out of nowhere. She seemed to have returned to her normal, hyperactive self.

His mom clapped her hands together. “Perfect! Denki, you take your sister to the beach and your father and I can have some alone time here.”

“But I wanted to-”

“You wanted to what?” his dad asked, arching an eyebrow to give him The Look.

“... Talk to girls,” he sheepishly admitted. And guys too, which is what I would say if I was actually out to you two.

“This is a family vacation. If you want to go to the beach, take your sister along with you. Besides, you speak English well, so if your sister gets lost, she’ll be fine.”

He held back another aggravated scream. “Fine. Yuki, go get your swimsuit on.”

Denki grabbed his pair of hideous yellow swim trunks with black lightning bolts on them. They were so outrageously horrible, which is exactly why he bought them in the first place.

Walking into the bathroom, he quickly changed into them and applied sunscreen to his face.

He packed a bag to take with him while his sister changed. In it were his phone, three towels (one for him, one for his sister, and one to sit on), and one of the keycards.

“Okay, here’s her floaties, and some money for snacks.” His mom handed the objects to him. He tucked the cash into the outside pocket of his drawstring. The floaties wouldn’t fit, so he would just have to carry them.

“Carrying transparent pink and blue floaties with flowers on them is truly the epitome of hotness,” he muttered to himself as he blew a strand of hair out of his face. “Come on, Yuki.”

“Have a great time, you two!” his mother beamed as if she wasn’t mad at him only a few minutes earlier.

“Will do.” he said, shutting the door behind him.

His sister darted down the hallway and Denki couldn’t help but groan.

They found a shady spot underneath a palm tree that was pretty close to the beach, the optimal location. From here, Denki could watch Yuki if she wanted to go swim or play by herself. They could also build sandcastles more easily since they wouldn’t have to haul ass to get wet sand. Finding the spot wasn’t too difficult since the beach wasn’t packed either. It was the middle of a Tuesday after all.

Denki rolled out the striped towel and set the bag on top to weigh it down. He dropped the floaties with a dejected sigh before sitting down and peeling off his shirt. Despite the warmth of the sun and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, he still felt agitated from the altercation earlier.

He pulled Yuki into his lap, twisting one of her pigtails around his finger. Her arms were already sticky from sweat and her feet were coated with sand. More granules of sand transferred to the towel and Denki’s legs the longer she sat.

“You’re not mad at me too, are you?” he asked, picking her small body up to reposition her to face him.

She shook her head, placing her small, sticky hands onto Denki’s bare shoulders. “I love you, Denki!” She kissed him on the cheek and giggled.

He couldn’t help but smile and pull her into a hug. She may be a brat sometimes, but if anyone was on his side, it was her. “I love you too, Yuki.”

“Can we get ice cream?” she asked while hugging him back. Her hair tickled his ear as the slight breeze swung it back and forth.

Ice cream was a great option to battle the heat, second only to jumping into the ocean. Plus they hadn’t eaten anything since the plane ride, so he was starving. He wanted a real meal, preferably a hamburger with a large side of fries, but they wouldn’t be having dinner for a few more hours. The pool bar was open, but he had no clue what they sold or how much it was. Frankly, he wasn’t feeling up to the task of talking to people either.

“Of course,” he replied, bringing joy to his sister’s eyes. He eyed at the crowd swarming the ice cream truck. There were so many people, all shoving to get their popsicles and ice cream sandwiches, and he didn’t want her to get hurt or lost.

“Um…” Crap, he had no clue what to do. “Yuki, I’m going to go get us ice cream, okay? Listen, you have to promise me that you won’t leave this spot. Can you promise me that?”

“I promise!”

Denki nodded and set her down on the towel. She fell square on her butt, digging both her hands into the damp sand. She looks occupied enough, he decided as he dug the money out of his bag and told her goodbye.

Halfway to the truck, he turned around to check if Yuki was still sitting on the towel. Thankfully she was, easing his fears slightly.

He waited in line for a bit, bought two ice cream sandwiches, and made his way back to the large palm tree. The sandwiches seemed to be melting in his hand by the second, so he took up a quick jog. He watched his path, trying not to step on anyone or anything while the sand burned his feet.

When he reached their resting place, he expected sticky fingers grabbing at the sandwich in his hand. Instead, Yuki was gone.

He dropped the two wrapped sandwiches and frantically swiveled his head around in search of those blonde pigtails and purple swimsuit.

He had really done it now. What if she got kidnapped? What if she got into the water and drowned? His parents would never forgive him. He would never forgive himself. Of course he shouldn’t have left her there.

“God, why am I so stupid?” He felt like crying and screaming and kicking something. This vacation just kept getting worse and worse.

“Hey, are you okay?” a deep voice said in English.

Denki looked up and shielded his eyes from the sun to find a purple-haired boy staring at him with concern. The boy’s lips were set in a firm line and the bags under his eyes were quite profound. He may not have been found objectively attractive by the common person, but Denki couldn’t help but find a certain kind of beauty in the orderly unkemptness of the boy.

Now is not the time to think about that though, Denki thought, chiding himself for his behavior.

“I mean, you just look… distressed,” the boy said when Denki didn’t reply.

Denki was distressed. So much so, that he didn’t notice when he started cussing in Japanese, which is what brought the boy over in the first place.

“Oh. I’m fine. I’m good besides the fact that I literally lost my sister and when I go back to the hotel, I will get decapitated by my parents after being awarded ‘Worst Brother of the Year.’” Denki slapped his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes of any stray tears.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that. Do you want help looking for her?” he asked, squatting down and prying Denki’s hands off his face.

Denki looked up and into the purple eyes of his new savior. “Yes. Please, yeah, thanks.”

The boy stood up and offered his hand out to the blonde. Denki took it and smiled. Somehow, his hand wasn’t as sweaty as everyone else’s. It’s like his body had adjusted to the almost unbearable heat. That or he was just too pretty to sweat. He wasn’t sure.

“What does she look like?” the purplet asked, placing his hands on his hips and cracking his back then his neck.

Denki was not staring at his back muscles nor at his crazy hair that must have been at least sort of soft.

Cracking his knuckles, the boy looked at the blonde expectantly and waited for his response.

“Oh, right,” Denki cleared his throat. “Well, she is five, and she is kind of short. She has blonde hair too, but it’s lighter than mine and in pigtails, and she has a purple swimsuit on, kind of like the color of your hair, and yeah.”

“Okay. Don’t worry we will find her.” He took in the long expanse of sand and people ahead of them. His sunglasses would have been nice.

Denki rubbed the nape of his neck. He felt guilty that he was wasting someone else’s time, but he needed all the help he could get. This vacation was already a complete shitshow and a lost sister on his watch would make it an Oscar-winning shit-performance or whatever the step up from shitshow was. “My name is Denki, by the way. Uh, thanks for helping me.”

“I’m Hitoshi, one of the lifeguards here. So it’s really no problem. It’s my job to save everyone.”

Somehow that made Denki feel a little better.

“Okay, Denki, do you have any idea where she could be?”

Denki shook his head.

“Okay, let’s just ask around then?” Hitoshi suggested.

They started their trek, Denki with his slides on and Hitoshi barefoot. The heat had made Denki’s hair start to frizz, and he tried to discreetly pat it down. He didn’t put any gel in it this morning since he thought he would be swimming, not talking to a hot guy while looking for his sister.

They approached the nearest person, a middle-aged woman with a big, floppy hat and large sunglasses who was reading a magazine and tanning. Clad in a skimpy pink bikini, she laid on one of those beach chairs, long legs stretched out. Her giant boobs spilled out of her halter top, drawing the attention of many males around, which seemed to be one of her objectives of the day, along with tanning and reading about the top seven diets that are taking the world by storm.

Hitoshi promptly ignored the lady’s more than concerning fashion choices and led the conversation. “Excuse me, ma’am, have you seen a little five-year-old girl anywhere? She has blonde pigtails and a purple swimsuit on.” He held his hand near his waist to illustrate her height.

She pulled her sunglasses off with an exaggerated snap of her wrist and glanced up at the boys. “Did you lose a child? Aren’t you supposed to be a lifeguard?” She flicked the whistle hanging from Hitoshi’s neck and turned back towards her magazine.

Denki was shocked, first by her ginormous, unshielded tits, but now by her sharp words. Hitoshi was just trying to help him search for his sister. Why was she being so rude?

Hitoshi started to speak, but Denki stepped forward. “Look, lady. You have no right to speak to my friend this way. Have you seen my sister or not?”

The lady narrowed her eyes at the blonde. “I have not,” she said, snapping open her magazine and turning away. “Brats.”

Denki stomped away from the woman. Once they were out of earshot, he started grumbling. “Despite your strong milf status, you’re a complete bitch.”

Hitoshi softly laughed at the strange yet comical remark.

The joyful sound was unexpected as it landed on Denki’s ears. Hitoshi had a deep, almost gravelly voice (one that Denki found undeniably hot) that seemed to never fluctuate in tone or timbre. It was calm and stable, so the warm, sweet sound made Denki’s heart skip a few beats and made his mouth malfunction for a few seconds.

“You have a nice laugh,” he blurted out. His cheeks went red with embarrassment once he realized what he said. “Er, I-”

Hitoshi just laughed more at the blonde’s candor. “Thanks.”

Denki decided to stop talking, stop looking at the purple-haired boy altogether before he said another stupid thing.

The two boys walked around, going from person to person and asking if they had seen Yuki. Everyone shook their heads and returned to their activity, clearly uninterested in finding the lost child. So far the bitchy milf was the worst of the worst, but no one else was that much better.

Each time they got out of earshot, Denki had some underhanded comment that made Hitoshi laugh.

As they walked around, Denki and Hitoshi made small talk, discovering different things about each other. (Denki had lost track of exactly how many minutes of vacation were left a while ago, as he was just a bit too preoccupied with something, or someone, else.)

Hitoshi worked as a lifeguard during the summer, weekends, and school breaks along with his two friends, Eijirou and Mina. His purple hair always stuck up like crazy, even though it got wet all the time. Oh, he also loved cats and liked to go biking when he had some free time.

Denki had come to Hawaii for a vacation with his family, but they were sort of fighting right now. The black lighting bolt in his hair was natural, even though no one really believed him. Oh, he also loved hamburgers and liked to hang out with cute guys who liked cats when he had some free time.

Hitoshi smiled at his last comment. Sometimes he had a hard time discerning whether someone was just being very friendly or if they were trying to flirt with him. It was seven times harder when it came to boys. But by now, he was ninety-nine percent sure Denki was flirting with him. He just called him cute for goodness sake.

They walked around for a few more minutes with no luck. Hitoshi was frustrated at the lack of care from the guests while Denki was about to go berserk. It had been twenty minutes and still no luck. How were they ever going to find her?

Hitoshi was very worried about the blonde. He could sense the spiraling about to occur, but his break was ending right now.

“Hey, Eijirou!” He shouted, waving both arms above his head to get the attention of the other lifeguard. The red-haired boy turned around and squinted at the pair. Was Hitoshi actually talking to another human?

Hitoshi grabbed the blonde’s hand and ran towards the tower. Denki started thinking about how nicely the lifeguard’s hand fit in his.

“Hitoshi, what’s up bro? Who’s this?” He climbed down from the tower and stuck his hands on his hips, looking back and forth between the two boys. His eyes followed their arms that met in a handhold, and Eijirou couldn’t help but smirk. Listening to Hitoshi while very obviously staring at their interlocked hands, he shook his leg to get the sand off before slipping his foot into a red croc.

“This is Denki, and we are looking for his sister. So can you just cover my post for a little bit more?”

They were not getting the hint. He watched Hitoshi very slowly slip his thumb out to stroke the side of Denki’s hand. Eijirou watched the blonde’s breath hitch as he stared straight ahead, trying not to pass away.

The redhead just gave them a cheeky grin. “Yeah, no problem! What does she look like?”

“Well, she’s five and has blonde pigtails and a purple swimsuit,” Denki described, motioning with his free hand.

Eijirou considered the description, squinting, until something finally clicked. “Oh, you mean her?” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of his lifeguard tower.

The three watched as Yuki popped out behind the white wood of his lifeguard chair. Eijirou smiled, Hitoshi gasped, and Denki felt his soul ascend. He would live to see another day.

He tore away from Hitoshi and ran over to his sister, kneeling down so they were eye level. “Yuki, why did you leave when you promised me you wouldn’t?”

She shrugged, playing with her skirt and wiggling around. The sand must have been terribly interesting because she refused to make eye contact with her brother. Maybe she was finally feeling guilty about all the trouble she’s caused today. Denki pouted in return and furrowed his eyebrows.

Watching the blonde’s cute expression, Hitoshi could swear he fell in love just a little more.

Yuki dashed away, kicking up sand and dodging Denki’s arms. “Not again,” he whined, bowing his head in defeat before standing up to go chase after his sister.

She ran right past Hitoshi who scooped her up before she could escape.

“You should have listened to your big brother, Yuki. He’s been spending all this time looking for you,” Hitoshi said in perfect Japanese. He was still standing next to Eijirou, far enough away that Denki couldn't hear him.

She frowned and flashed him big puppy dog eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” he said, glancing over at Denki. He set her down and she ran back to him, hugging his leg. “Sorry, Denki.”

He sighed and sat down on his butt. “It’s okay, just please don’t run away again.”

Yuki giggled and crawled into his arms, burying her face in his neck and blowing a raspberry.

“Yuki…” He cracked a smile and started tickling her, seeming to forget about the harrowing experience she just put him through.

While the siblings made up, Eijirou left, clapping Hitoshi on the back and wishing him good luck, both with the second half of the shift and his newfound crush.

Hitoshi climbed back up on his chair, leaning against the back of it and sighing. In the past twenty minutes, he saw a swearing Japanese boy on the verge of a breakdown, asked said boy what was wrong, helped said boy find his sister, and developed quite the crush on said boy.

The sun beat down on Hitoshi as he watched the brother and sister duo with a smile on his face. He rested his arms on his knees, holding up his face with two curled fists. Sitting down and watching people enjoy their lives was very boring compared to the adventure he took with Denki.

“Ooooh, who are you staring at ‘Toshi?”

Hitoshi almost fell out of his chair, which would have been quite the sight to see. “What?”

“You haven’t blinked for a full minute. Who are you watching?” Mina asked, surveying the ocean in search of the individual who managed to steal Hitoshi’s heart.

“No one,” Hitoshi said, blinking aggressively. His eyes did feel very dry all of a sudden.

Very unconvincing. “Mhm…” she mused.

“Don’t you have work to be doing?” teased Hitoshi as he dragged his eyes away from Denki and placed them on the waitress.

She stuck her tongue out at him and tucked her hands in the back pockets of her jean shorts. Hitoshi just stared at her silently. After a few seconds, Mina just scoffed and ran a hand through her pink hair.

“You’re so boring. I’ll find out who you were staring at though, Mr. Heart Eyes, just you wait!” Mina ran towards the other tower. “Eijirou! You’ll never guess what happened to Hitoshi!”

Hitoshi chuckled at the black girl’s behavior. His eyes wandered for a bit before finding the blonde boy again in the water. Denki was splashing around in the water with his sister, his smile so bright that it stood out against the sunlit ocean.

A flash of red dove into the water, momentarily drawing Hitoshi’s attention away. A few seconds later, Eijirou’s head popped out of the water, wet hair clinging to his face and over his white headband. He looked over in Hitoshi’s direction and gave him a thumbs up. Hitoshi gave him one back, unable to hear the complaints that came from Eijirou’s mouth. This was the third time he had to save someone in Hitoshi’s zone since he was too distracted by a certain blonde boy.

Hitoshi did a once over of the sand and water before inevitably being drawn back to Denki and his sister. She was in a yellow inner tube and Denki spun her around in place, causing her to shriek out of joy. His hair was completely wet and fell down to his shoulders in nice waves. Hitoshi admitted that his swim trunks were objectively ugly, but he somehow pulled them off. It could have been the toned abs but Hitoshi was definitely not studying the muscles that looked extremely nice when Denki would emerge from the water.

He started staring into space, dreaming about the boy, when he heard screaming. The blonde’s voice carried across the ocean as he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “Yuki, where are you?”

Hitoshi looked at the inner tube, unsurprised to find empty air where a person should be. She was quite the handful it seemed. A few seconds passed before Hitoshi stood up and dove into the water to search for the lost girl.

The saltwater stung his eyes slightly while he swam around to find her signature pigtails. He spotted her among the various legs of people and grabbed her arm, pushing her up to the surface of the water before him.

Once he sprung up, he was met with an angry glare fixed on the small girl’s face who was back in her innertube with Denki in front of her. His back was to Hitoshi when Yuki started yelling at the purple-haired boy.

“You ruined our game! You’re no fun,” she snipped.

“Yuki, don’t talk to him like that. He was just making sure you’re safe,” Denki reprimanded in Japanese.

Denki turned around to apologize to Hitoshi for his sister’s attitude, just to find that his brain had malfunctioned and refused to communicate with his mouth. He must have forgotten how to tread too, because he accidentally plunged down into the water, curing him of his original shock.

Why were men so attractive? More specifically, purple-haired lifeguards who just came out of the water after saving his sister who didn’t need saving.

Saltwater filled his mouth and burned his nose as he flailed in the water for a second before propelling himself upward. Choking and sputtering, he grabbed onto Yuki’s tube to stabilize himself while he was in the process of dying.

Hitoshi watched on with concern. “Are you okay?”

Denki kept coughing but nodded regardless. “Sorry, I, um, well, we were just-”

His face was bright red, possibly from his near-death experience, possibly from the hot male in front of him.

Hitoshi would bet it was the latter.

He found that flustered Denki was somehow even cuter than beach boy Denki, and the strong desire to fluster him crept up further. He smirked to himself for a split second before swimming closer to Denki and tapping him on the shoulder. He shot a deadly smile at the coughing boy. “Hey, I’m Shinsou Hitoshi, lifeguard on duty right now,” he said in Japanese.

“I know, you told me before,” Denki reflexively replied in his first language, still recovering from the past five minutes of his life. His eyes widened. “You just spoke perfect Japanese?”

“I did. I was born in Japan and moved here just a few years ago.” Hitoshi looked smug at the fact that he succeeded in rattling the blonde.

Denki stared at him, trying to remember if he said anything stupid in Japanese while in the presence of the lifeguard. He didn’t think so, but he could never be sure. His coughing fit had finally stopped, and they stared at each other in silence.

“Your English is really good, Denki,” Hitoshi said, watching a small blush spread on Denki’s cheeks again.

“Thanks.”

Did he always have freckles? Hitoshi wondered as he swam closer.

The romantic moment abruptly ended when Yuki splashed water in both of their faces.

Hitoshi shook his head to get rid of as much water as possible while Denki just growled at his sister, restraining his desire to splash her back twice as hard. The purple-haired boy noticed this and tugged on the other’s arm. Denki paused his murderous rage to look at Hitoshi.

“Why don’t I show you around after my shift? Are you in the hotel up there?” Hitoshi asked as he pointed at the large building that loomed over the beach.

“Yeah, yes I am. Um, sure, what time is that?” Denki stuttered out, cringing at his voice. Now was not the time to be majorly awkward, he scolded himself. He glanced back to see if Yuki was listening. Thankfully, she wasn’t or she just didn’t care. That would be quite a long conversation with his parents, one he definitely preferred not to have soon.

Hitoshi cracked a smile at the way Denki stumbled over his words. “Around six. I can take you out to dinner at the beach restaurant.”

“That’s perfect. I’ll meet you here again, yeah?”

“Sure.”

Denki turned towards his sister who was entertaining herself by spinning in tiny circles. He could never be too careful when it came to boys. “If Mom and Dad ask where I go tonight, you just tell them that I made a new friend, okay?”

“Okay. Can we go back to swimming now?” she asked, looking up to find the pair laughing at her uninterested tone.

Denki nodded through giggles while Hitoshi waved goodbye to Yuki. She’d warm up to him later if he had anything to say about it.

Hitoshi swam to shore and walked back to his lifeguard chair. Sand stuck to his wet feet and legs. He tried brushing it off as best he could, but the curse of sand clung to his body like, well, wet sand. He dried his hair and torso off before settling back into his chair.

Once again, his eyes found Denki whose head was sticking just above the water. He managed to position his sister so that she was sitting on his shoulders. Once she was properly situated, he stood up, boosting her into the warm air. Squeals and shouts came from her mouth as she grabbed onto his hair while Denki spun around.

He stopped spinning, facing Hitoshi and making eye contact with him across the ocean. Denki grinned and offered a flirty wink before thrusting himself backward and falling into the water with a large splash. They surfaced a few seconds later, laughing and chasing each other around.

Hitoshi smiled at the boy’s antics and tried to calm his racing heart.

Someone knocked on his chair leg, pulling Hitoshi out of his thoughts about his future date. It was Eijirou who had come over to notify Hitoshi that he was taking his break now. Hitoshi nodded and watched the other lifeguard walk towards the bar to go talk to Mina.

“Hey, Eijirou?” Arching his eyebrow in curiosity, the red-haired boy turned around and motioned for his friend to continue. “Do you think I can get off early tonight?”

“Got a date with a cute blonde?” Eijirou teased.

“Yeah, something like that,” the lifeguard replied with an uncharacteristically large smile on his face.

Eijirou had never seen anything like it before.

#elliewrites #fluff #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #kaminari denki #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x kaminari #shinkami #bnha oneshot

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