#she's like so what does it feel like to have both gills and lungs

[softquietsteadylove]

The Mermaid AU!!! Damn, it's wonderful! So Thena haven't tried walking with human feet, so how about she's trying it and Gil helping her? She's stumbling and let's give them their first kiss your honor🫡

I would also like to see Thena being so curious with human things like how things work and maybe her being jealous? I can really imagine her hissing with her fangs on someone hitting on Gil🤣 and ladies be like, uhh Mister is your wife normal? Does she often do that?

"No, that's it, you got it!" Gil encouraged Thena's every step, leaping forward to catch her when she stumbled. "Whoa!"

Thena grumbled into his chest, allowing him to help her stand straight again. "You do this all the time?--it seems exhausting."

Gil chuckled, letting her lock her knees again and resume walking practice. "That's how we feel about swimming."

Thena's jaw dropped, giving him a truly aghast expression.

He nodded though, taking one step back for every step she took forward. "It's hard work to swim with legs. You have to be strong to be any good at it."

"Poor creatures," she murmured as she watched her feet move through the sand of his little beach. He had insisted that sand was a little harder to walk on than most terrain, but at least it would be soft if she did end up falling without him there to catch her.

He needn't have worried; he had been there for her every step since the first.

She had been coming to see him more and more regularly. And with regular time spent in his presence, came her observation of his human traits--including his legs. Until one morning he came out to greet her and found her wobbling around in the shallow water, two pale legs under her.

"I know, we're a sad bunch," Gil laughed. His feet hit the pebbly beginnings of the forest floor closer to his cabin. He looked down, "hey, we made it all the way up the beach!"

Thena beamed, all but throwing herself up the last stretch and into his waiting embrace. She had been working on being able to walk without his assistance for a few weeks, by this point.

"You did it!" Gil swung Thena around in his arms a few times. He kept his arms around her waist, wrinkling the shirt of his she was wearing.

Thena swung her feet faintly within his embrace, tilting her head at him for still holding her aloft.

"Uh, why don't you let me carry you to the house?" he suggested, shifting her in his arms so he could hold her more properly around the shoulders and knees. "Sand is nice and soft, but the bottoms of feet are pretty sensitive. I wouldn't want you to get hurt walking on the rocks and roots and stuff. Plus it's dirty."

Thena had no real protests, even if she wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about. She let him carry her from the top of the beach into his cabin, which she had seen once or twice already by now. It was a lovely home, and she had come to enjoy noticing the little details about it, like where he stored the things he used often, and how the wood of places he touched looked different from others.

"Well, now that you've walked a whole beach, maybe we should get you some shoes," Gil smiled at her as he got them inside. "That will help to keep your feet safe."

"Would I be able to walk more places then?" Thena asked as he set her down at a kitchen chair.

"Uh," he paused, turning and reaching to put a pot of water on his boiler (a stove, rather). "Maybe, yeah...just not anywhere too crowded."

Thena tilted her head a few times at him, "do I not seem human enough?"

He let the flame sit low and sat in the chair at an angle to hers. His legs were longer, and his knees bent more sharply than hers. And his pants - jeans, rather - looked rough to the touch. "You seem very human, Thena. But I just...would worry about it."

"Worry about me?" she asked a little more directly, deciding she had no need for him to hide his words from her.

"Not really," he sighed. "About the humans around, more so."

"What would worry you about them?" Thena tilted her head in the other direction.

Gil considered what to say, scratching his facial hair as he did. Thena watched him do it; she wondered what it felt like to touch. "Humans are...can be...nice."

"Like you."

He paused in his explanation to give her one of his very warm, very inviting smiles. She had never seen a human smile quite like Gilgamesh. "I guess so. But they can be less nice, too, Thena. And if anyone figured out what you are, or even thought too much into it, I wouldn't know how to protect you."

Thena nodded, looking down at her legs (lap, rather). Just because she could walk around like a human didn't mean she was one, and all it would take would be one human to ensure she never saw water again.

"I'm not saying we'll never explore more places, okay?" Gil said gently, reaching over to take her hand in his. She stared at it, wondering what the point of the gesture was. She wasn't complaining, though. "Just give it a little longer?--for me?"

"For you?" she asked.

Gil blushed, which she had learned from a few of his anatomy books was something that happened when humans felt flustered. "Well, I'm hoping you'll do this especially because I'm asking you to, I guess. It can be a way to ask something of someone you're close with."

Close: that was a good word for it. Thena looked down at his hand around hers. He was so warm, and even with her blood running a little warmer than normal with her legs and using just her lungs, he was still much warmer than she was. It was nice, though.

But she knew how warm he was from when he would lift her out of the water and up into his embrace.

Gil's head whipped to the door as someone knocked.

Thena tilted her head. "How did they get here?"

Gil stood from the chair, pulling Thena up to her feet. "I think it's a friend. I called her for some stuff. But just wait until I make sure it's safe, okay?"

It wasn't as if she really got a choice about it. Thena let him guide her to sit on the stairs just on the other side of the kitchen wall, out of the light of the large windows above his sink.

"Just for a minute, Angelfish," he promised, giving her hands a squeeze between his before going to the door.

Thena watched the shadows stretching over the floor.

"Sersi, hey--thanks for coming."

"Of course."

Thena tilted her head at the soft, silken voice floating to her ears. She watched the shadows move closer and then collide, melding into one. She slid down a step, leaning to peek around the corner.

Gil released the woman from a loose embrace, patting her shoulder. "I know it's not easy to get out here, but it's just not safe to go to land considering-"

"Of course," the woman shook her head, pushing a springy lock of black hair away from her delicately featured face. She was quite pretty. "I understand. Can I...?"

Gil glanced over his shoulder, hands on his hips, his fingers tapping against his belt. "I-I don't know, Sersi."

"Oh, please, Gil?" she looked at him with wide, doe-brown eyes. They were warm, just like Gil's. "If what you told me is true-"

"It is," he huffed at her, crossing his massive arms in her direction.

Thena peeked out a little further.

"Then this could be the discovery of a lifetime!--a generation!" the woman bounced in her excitement. She was effervescent and personable, also like Gilgamesh. Who was this person?

"Exactly why I can't trust anyone to keep her secret," he lowered his voice.

Thena watched as he lowered his head closer to this mystery woman's, saying something so soft that Thena struggled to pick out the words. She leaned further, trying to see if she could read his lips at least.

Sersi gasped as Thena toppled over, stumbling out from the staircase just outside the kitchen. "Oh my-"

"Thena!" Gil rushed to her, already bending to pull her into his arms.

Thena squirmed in his embrace as he muttered something about 'patience' against her hair. She kept the woman in her sights, though, determined to learn more about her. "Hello."

"H-Hi," she replied in such a soft, fluttery tone. She gulped, her lashes fluttering as she dared to walk a little closer to her. "I'm Sersi. A-And you must be Thena."

She looked at Gil. "I thought you said no one could know about me."

Gil blinked, maybe having not expected her to be so annoyed about the current situation. He tightened his arms around her, "w-well, no. But Sersi is a marine biologist. I had questions--a-and she brought stuff for you!"

"It's true!" Sersi leapt to join the argument in Gil's favour. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder. "He asked for some clothes and things that might, um, fit you."

Thena looked down at the shirt of his she was wearing, "what's wrong with this?"

"It's-"

"Thena," Sersi stepped forward again, holding out a hand.

Thena hissed at her.

"Thena, hey, it's okay," Gil whispered, trying keep her contained in his arms. "I promise, I trust Sersi. She's here to help us."

"It's okay," Sersi said gently, setting the bag down and tilting her head at Thena. "I don't blame you for being cautious of me. I can't imagine how much you've had to adjust to."

Thena tilted her head right back at her, although Sersi matched each of her movements. Thena blinked at her. "Who are you?"

"I'm Gil's sister."

Oh. Thena halted, her breath getting caught in her throat. She was...that explained some of her observations rather conveniently. She felt heat build in her cheeks; this was what blushing felt like. "I see."

"I am a marine biologist, as he said," Sersi continued, maybe oblivious to Thena's discomfort, or at least the reasons behind it. "He asked me some questions about a 'discovery' he'd made a few months back. As time went on, I had to ask more things about this secret of his in order to research and answer him. Eventually we determined that I could know a little more about--well, you."

Thena just nodded, still feeling a little stunned at the presence of the second human she had ever met properly. Gil was still holding her tightly, and she realised part of it was how stiff and coiled she was. She let out a breath, unwinding her muscles and relaxing.

Gil loosened his hold on her, although he didn't step away from her at all.

Thena met Sersi's eyes, trying to push down the twisting feeling that had consumed her just a moment ago. "I have a brother as well."

"Really?" both humans asked with equal surprise.

"Yes," Thena looked at both of them before landing on Sersi. "Although he's not nearly as nice as Gil is."

Sersi laughed, and Thena had to admit that even their laughs were similar. Sersi's was much lighter and gentler, but it had the same from-the-heart warmth to it. "I can't even argue with that. Gil has been quite a nice brother to me."

"Yeah, I'd hope you can't argue," he huffed at her, putting his hands on his hips again.

"No one's perfect, though," Sersi finished, turning her nose up at him. She looked at Thena again. "Can your brother split his tail as well?"

She had taken care to learn the words for things, too. Thena couldn't fault her on anything. "No, he's never come anywhere near humans. He doesn't trust them."

"I can't blame him for that either," Sersi offered a remorseful smile and a shrug of her shoulders. "You just got lucky and found a good one, I think."

"Yes," Thena smiled at Gil, who was back to blushing shyly at the open praise of his character. "I suppose I did."

#Thenamesh Mermaid AU #thank you for the ask! #I tried to get most of your ideas into this installment #although I guess you'll have to ask for more oh no #but really I love this new AU #and it makes me so happy that other people do as well #it's a little different than in the ask #but as soon as you mentioned jealous Thena #I immediately thought about marine biologist Sersi #and I ended up making her Gil's sister #because Ikaris is indeed Thena's brother #and he's like where do you go everyday? #Thena: mind your fucking business that's where #Ikaris: ??? ! #anyway Thena gets to talk to Sersi more #who is absolutely obsessed with Thena #she's like so what does it feel like to have both gills and lungs #how is walking? #can you taste anything other than salt? #or can you taste everything but salt because otherwise how would you open your mouth? #meanwhile Thena's like can I play with your hair? #Sersi: absolutely--so did you experience a blood temperature change? #Sersi is in marine biology heaven #while Gil is like okay I guess I'll just make us all some breakfast #she still has fangs as a 'human' #Sersi knows this because Gil has mentioned m u l t i p l e times #how cute they are

[fairy-writes]

Merfolk!Viktor x Reader 04

part one of merman!viktor HERE

part two of merman!viktor HERE

part three of merman!viktor HERE

all parts of this series are tagged under cryptid!viktor

cryptid!viktor also includes my pieces with vampire!viktor

POSTING THIS ON THE LAST DAY OF MERMAY LETS GOOO

“what is he doing here?!” you demand and hear a voice behind you.

“it’s here because you found it.” comes a smooth baritone, and you spin around to see silco leroy. 

he’s dressed immaculately in a black three-piece suit with a red button-down and white tie. his shiny black dress shoes splashed through the water that was being flung up by viktor’s constant attempts to make it over the wall. which weren’t going well, mind you. his shoulders kept slamming against the concrete barriers, and his long nails scraped and clawed so much you were worried they’d snap. 

what parts of the cage weren’t surrounded by concrete were surrounded by laminated glass meant for viewing the animal in the habitat. it looked thick, way too thick for anything to break through.

just how long had this enclosure been in progress? when was it built, and why didn’t you know about it?

“what do you mean he’s here because i found him?” you ask incredulously, and sevika steps out from behind silco when you start to get angry. she’s decked out in her full security guard garb with her pistol on her belt and her hand on her baton. she looks more like a police officer than a security guard. 

but she gets the job done and absolutely terrifies you.

not as much as silco… but no one scares you as much as silco does. 

“because you found this creature. do you have any idea how valuable it is?” he inquires, and you shrug,

“about as much as the next person, i suppose.” and get the immediate feeling that your answer was the incorrect one. he shakes his head, clicking his tongue disappointedly as he crosses his arms. he looks like a dissatisfied father scolding a child. 

and you had the feeling you were the child in question.

“we both know that is a lie. you know exactly how valuable this thing is and the strides we could make in the scientific community with it.” you have the notion that he’s calling viktor an “it” just to irk you.

it’s working.

you cross your arms and lean on one foot, scuffing the other against the concrete. you flinch when water splashes against your back over the top of the angled glass where viktor is still trying to escape and duck your head as if something had been thrown at you when he starts screeching. 

it’s a heart-wrenching sound that pulls at your soul. it simultaneously scares and hurts you.

it’s the sound of a man who is angry and lost. a man who longs to return to his home and is oh so scared of what is going to happen to him. 

you only hope they don’t kill him. 

“fine, yes, i know how valuable he is.” you say and stress the “he” in your sentence. 

silco quirks an eyebrow, but you keep talking, 

“and what do you want me to do with that information?” you finally ask, and he gestures to where viktor has finally stopped throwing himself from the water and is resting on the small sandy shore, shoulders heaving and head down as he tries to catch his breath. 

so merfolk do breathe air. 

how did they function underwater? 

you could’ve sworn you saw gills on him yesterday. 

do they have both lungs and gills?

you realize abruptly that silco is talking.

“—to study the creature. take samples. learn the behavior. possibly even teach it how to communicate. and no telling anyone. after all, you did sign the NDA, did you not?” he talks in that silky smooth and very unnerving voice of his. you involuntarily shudder, and he notices. his smile turns triumphant as you duck your head and mumble in agreement.

it seemed you had no choice.

but… 

teach viktor how to communicate?

did he even have the physical capabilities to speak a human language? much less english? all you had heard from him yet was hisses and screeches. noises unable to be made by human vocal cords. they sounded more animalistic, almost whale-like. it was a noise made deep in his chest that resonated throughout the air. 

it would have been beautiful if it weren’t such a heartbreaking sound. 

it made you wonder just how human merfolk actually were. 

you were snapped from your musings by silco leaving with sevika on his tail. he turned at the door and offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“you start immediately. marcus will explain the rest. best of luck.” he said and shut the door without another word. 

marcus does not, in fact, explain anything. he just reiterates what silco said and leaves you and viktor alone. 

speaking of viktor…

he’s gone.

he wasn’t on the beach. 

where was he?

you ignore the flash of panic that goes through you and rushes to the glass that stands between you and the water. you search frantically through the clear blue water for any signs of the merman.

only to fall on your rear when he erupts from the water like a man possessed and slams into the laminated glass with an enraged screech, his talons scraping and leaving gouges in the transparent material before splashing back into the enclosure.

one thing is clear as you look into the water and see him circling the perimeter, his angry golden eyes watching you with clear scorning. 

he blames you entirely. 

#arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor x you #arcane viktor x y/n #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane x you #viktor arcane x y/n #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane: league of legends #arcane fanfic #cryptid!viktor #fairy writes

[mamamittens]

A Lone Melody (Pt. 6)

Soft Platonic Yandere Arlong & OC(Melody)

Main|First|Previous

Warnings: Accidental-ish consumption of a deadly substance. Do not eat random things you find anywhere, including and especially in the ocean.

Sea bunnies eat poisonous sea sponges, but I didn't feel like digging for the exact types of their usual diet, so I went with the first result of deadly sea sponge. So it is real! Just might not be exactly what a sea bunny eats regularly.

Fun fact, black-tipped reef sharks eat small fish by hunting and corralling them in groups, betta fish usually eat insects from the surface of their habitat, and sea bunnies eat sea sponges, algae, sea grass, sea snails, and other sea slugs.

Word Count: 1,834

The grotto was a bit of a hassle to get to now that Arlong had grown. When he was younger, it was hardly any trouble to duck between the rocky outcroppings and under thick foliage. Some areas were now a lot wetter than he remembered, small tide pools forming where he’d once gleefully stomped through. Melody clung to his arms, eyes wide as she watched the buildings disappear.

The grotto itself was also a lot more… populated than it had been in his youth. Sea life claiming the hidden space as their home away from fishermen and nets. Nothing overtly dangerous upon first glance. A few peaceful reef sharks a ways off lazily swimming through schools of colorful fish. It was a wonderous beauty, a slice of his childhood that had undeniably changed for the better since he had last seen it. White sand fading into the gradual drop-off of pure blue.

Jinbe whistled as Shyarly waved at them from the shore, setting out a blanket with a basket of food.

“I didn’t know this place existed on fishman island.” Jinbe commented idly with a soft smile. “This is a wonderful place for Melody’s first swim.”

Arlong puffed up with pride, lifting Melody up in the air with a smile.

“Of course it is! Only the best for my pup!” Arlong declared, walking over to set her down on the blanket.

He’d helped her change into a swimsuit in bright, vivid yellow. Her hair brushing her shoulders until he pulled it back with a matching headband so she could see properly. He’d even thrown on a pair of matching swim trunks alongside Jinbe—though he chose a more traditional version closer to a speedo. Arlong settled down on the blanket himself, scooping her into his lap.

She was bigger now. When he first found her, she was just a little too big to hold in one hand, but now he needed both to lift her up securely—particularly when she wanted to run around. Pale gray cheeks soft and rosy with health, it was finally time to teach her the most basic skill of a fishman.

“Do you remember why we’re here, pup?” Arlong asked. Melody tore her gaze from the dizzying beauty of the technicolor fish swimming just beyond the shore, ruby eyes gazing up at him adoringly.

“I do, dah. We’re here to swim.” She answered dutifully. “I gotta learn how to use my gills.” Melody demonstrated by patting low on her neck where the curved slits rested in a relaxed state.

Arlong had seen them flair occasionally, usually when she was about to throw a fit, so he knew she was capable of using them.

“That’s right, pup. Your lungs can’t handle breathing in the water through your mouth, you have to pull in water from your gills. Can you show your dah how you flair them?” Arlong asked softly. Melody nodded in excitement, holding her breath as her gills and hair puffed up. Jinbe and Shyarly chuckled.

“Not so hard, darling. Think of it like… sticking out your tongue. If you have to force it, you’re doing it too hard.” Shyarly advised.

“That’s right. When you get in the water, your gills will do the breathing for you. With practice you can talk underwater too… it does sound weird though.” Jinbe admitted sheepishly. “Sound carries underwater a bit differently.”

Melody looked between the three of them thoughtfully and took a deep breath. Slowly, her gills flared independently of her slow breathing.

Arlong grinned, tapping her nose with pride.

“That’s much better! Just like up on land, it’s important to keep your breath even.” Arlong informed her. “To start with, you can hold your breath to make sure you don’t swallow sea water—it’s really not pleasant, pup. And we’ll stick to the shallows. If you need to, just sit up and breath. We’ll be right here.”

Arlong stood up, walking into the water. When it reached his shins he stopped, slowly sitting down to make sure Melody was comfortable. The fish gave him a wide berth as he dipped Melody’s toes into the water. She giggled, kicking her feet, clearly eager to go in.

So Arlong set her down, the water nearly up to her shoulders. This would be the deepest body of water she’d ever been in and clearly she wasn’t afraid to go deeper. She jumped, splashing the water around before diving down before Arlong could stop her. Arlong gasped, almost yanking her out before stopping himself.

She was crouching down to the sandy floor, her gills clearly flaring in exaggerated motions as she tried on her own terms to simply breath.

Then, Melody relaxed. Tension falling from her shoulders as she slowly drifted back up, her gills only slightly flaring a she took in water to breath. When she surfaced, it wasn’t quite with a gasp of air, but a slight cough as she transitioned naturally from gills to lungs.

Melody looked up at him with a hesitant smile, eyes wide as she sought his approval.

Arlong grinned, chest aching with pride.

He scooped her up, kissing her cheeks with rough laughter, tears beading at his lashes.

“You’re a natural, pup!” Arlong cheered, realizing for the first time that Shyarly and Jinbe were to either side of him, congratulating Melody on her success.

“Beautiful work, angel!” Shyarly cooed, tickling Melody’s exposed side. “You’ll be swimming solo in no time!”

“It’s not so hard once you practice.” Jinbe reassured, gently taking Melody from Arlong to kiss her hair. Melody beamed with pride, sharp teeth on full display as she squirmed.

“Pah! Dah! I wanna swim!” Melody protested with a loud giggle.

“Oh? Do you want to practice more here or go deeper?” Shyarly asked softly. Melody perked up, head whipping around to look at the schools of fish darting around the deeper water, her hair smacking Jinbe’s face as Arlong laughed at his friend’s misfortune.

“Deeper!” Melody looked at Arlong and Jinbe with hopeful eyes.

“…We’ll go with you, pup. There’s still a bit more to swimming than just breathing.” Arlong agreed after a moment. Melody crowed in victory as Arlong stood up and slowly walked deeper.

Just like with breathing underwater, Melody needed very few instructions for swimming itself—though she did doggy paddle for a bit at first. Whenever she got tired she’d swim to the nearest person and climb onto them for a power nap. Arlong had taken to just floating on the surface, totally relaxed as he kept an ear out for any signs of struggle. Shyarly actively swimming with Melody while Jinbe reclined in the shallows.

“Melody, no!” Arlong bolted up upon hearing Shyarly’s screech, whirling around to find his daughter with a mouthful of red coral. The tree-like appendages snapping between her teeth like dry pasta. After a moment, he realized it wasn’t coral at all, but toxic finger-sponge. Jinbe was rushing over but Arlong got there first.

Melody was eating it voraciously in a way he’d only seen with her favorite snack, fruit jelly and crackers.

“Melody!” Arlong snapped, “Spit that out!” Melody paused, branch still sticking out between her teeth.

She swallowed in confusion.

“You want some too, dah?” Melody asked. “It smells good but tastes way better!” Arlong could smell the sour notes quite easily, the sponge bleeding out cloudy liquid that spooked the local fish.

Despite his heart racing, Arlong couldn’t help but pause. He knew damn well that shit killed small creatures in minutes. And he noticed that there was something else between her teeth.

“Melody, how long have you been eating that?” Arlong asked, cautiously taking away the last handful of broken branches from her hand.

“Just a bit, dah!” Melody explained, Shyarly anxiously curling away from the clouded water, her face paler than usual.

Arlong dropped the broken sponge and swiped at her bottom lip where a thick bead of bright blue liquid dripped from her teeth. It was more teal, like pure, shallow water that glowed in the light. It made his skin tingle and burn before going numb. Leaving a red mark like a rash that he knew would only grow worse the longer he touched it.

“…Let’s not eat anything else but what your auntie Shar packed, alright? I think we need to look into something.” Arlong declared, rinsing off his hand in the sea water.

“Oh… okay, dah.” Melody agreed reluctantly before turning to Shyarly, “What’d you bring, auntie?”

Shyarly recovered herself and gave a shaky smile.

“I made sandwiches for everyone—and I also included jelly. Jinbe told me you like fruit jelly, darling.” Melody perked up immediately.

“Jelly!” Melody looked towards the shore hopefully.

Arlong chuckled and shared a nervous look with Jinbe.

What the fuck was their daughter’s species?

--*--

This wasn’t Melody’s first memory either.

Crystal clear water and a dizzying array of tropical fish swimming past her. Her aunt’s fin spinning around her in teasing circles.

It wasn’t of endless minutes relaxing on her papa’s or dad’s chests after tiring of balancing swimming and breathing either.

Nor the elation of praise for quickly grasping these skills.

Firm, loving hands keeping her safe in the sea water. Fish fins delicately glancing off her outstretched hands as they darted away.

The sea will always feel like home when it teemed with life that pulsed and raced around her, but that wouldn’t be something she consciously remembers either.

Nor would it be the first time a scent tickled her nose underwater. Savory and almost sweet with a strange bite to it. Drawing her towards the red branches of sea sponge growing near the edge of the grotto where fish gave it a healthy berth.

It won’t be the sharp snap as she broke off a small piece and rolled it on her tongue, the cloudy red liquid sharp and mouthwatering to her senses. Crunching pleasantly in her teeth like ice.

She won’t remember the sharp panic her aunt showed when she noticed what Melody was doing or the worry in the faces of her family.

She won’t even remember the first time her gums felt hot and foreign liquid pooled in her mouth from her teeth.

This is the first time Melody ate a toxic substance and within moments developed a poison biproduct from it.

Later, it will be determined that it’s an entirely natural action on her part and will need to continue eating poisons and toxins to help her system flush out the old. It will be unclear for some time if she’ll ever be able to do it on her own—but she’ll learn.

For now, she’s just a small child learning something unexpected about herself and the world. As all children eventually do.

Though she won’t remember this exact moment—and those anxiously present will never forget—this is where Melody grew to love the taste of deadly toxins.

And when she started being seriously taught to never bite people—for their own safety.

#one piece #a lone melody #platonic yandere #one piece yandere

[cream-and-tea]

LAY ME DOWN. chapter seven excerpt. unedited. featuring: agnes taking some time to explore her new surroundings and reflect on her old ones. blasphemy. implied homophobia. religious trauma. mild injury.

[Transcript under the cut]

hiiii! we’ve had pallas’s existential gender ponderings so it’s only fair that i post something that features much more heavily in the plot: Agnes And The Ongoing Sexuality Crisis! now go and listen to hallelujah (in your arms) by semler at least 50 times to accurately recreate the experience i had writing this chapter <3

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-). @vellichor-virgo​ @nicola-writes​ @doctormoss​ @gerbermatter​ @cactusprincewrites @houndmouthed @muddshadow @just-wublrful @midnights-melodiverse @corkywantstowrite @paradisiacalshroud @andromedatalksaboutstuff @kingsinking @lungs-and-gills @lychniscitrus @phantomnations

This isn’t the first time she’s dreamt of girls. 

Agnes considers that fact as she pulls everything out of the chest sitting at the foot of the bed (spare bedding mostly, sheets and quilts and pillowcases— multiple of each—and at least one heavy coat). They’ve never felt like that before though, clear and cold like water running over her skin, so obviously there. Most of the time she doesn’t even remember the other ones, just the feeling of them, waking up part ashamed and part euphoric (the euphoria always wore off long before the shame).

Agnes checks under the bed, then opens and closes the drawer on the end table, scoots it over to peer behind it, not really sure what she’s looking for. Secret passages maybe? Hidden traps? Something to let her know what the rules are here. 

There are, in her experience, at least three kind of rules in the world: the kind that people will tell you up front, the kind that they expect you to just know about and act surprised when you don’t, and the kind that they never say out loud but you can feel somewhere in your bones must be followed at all costs (We don’t talk about how Agnes sees ghosts and we don’t talk about how Agnes thinks about girls both fall into this category). Normally it takes her way too long to figure out which are which, she can’t afford to do that here where everything is already so confusing. 

Pallas would probably know all the rules, if she can find them, if they don’t make her brain explode when she does. Pallas had seemed to know everything about whatever this place is. What would they think of the girl in her dreams? They’re a weird and very sharp sort of person, she thinks, not really anything in particular at all. A why more than a what. If they weren’t definitely going to murder her if she looked at them wrong she would ask about that. 

There’s nothing in the desk but pencils, pens and a stack of notebooks. There’s nothing under the rug or behind the dresser filled with clothes that all look her size. The bookshelf is half full of titles she doesn’t recognize. She’s too weak to climb up to and push aside the strange painting of a human-faced deer full of arrows that hangs over the fireplace. When she limps her way to the bathroom the tub is still full and stagnant from when she filled it the night before but her clothes have mysteriously vanished from their crumpled pile on the floor. 

Agnes sways, then sits on the edge of the bathtub to appease her screaming ankle. She swings one leg into the water, hoping that will somehow help the pain, presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Okay. Okay okay okay.”

Things she knows: This is a library in a forest a long time after libraries stopped being something people thought about (her mother is dead). This library is supposedly full of people like her and people like Pallas (her Papá is gone). It’s going to teach her about what she is (her mother is dead). It’s not going to be easy (her mother is dead). She shouldn’t tell anyone her name (her mother is dead). The Library is supposed to save the world. (her Papá is gone). There are doors in trees that lead to tunnels that lead to here and things that look like dogs but aren’t and people that can bend blood and flesh and a Director who’s office sits in the void with a sword hanging above it in suspended animation (her Papá is gone and her mother is dead her Papá is gone and her mother is dead but somehow she is alive alive alive).

Things she doesn’t know: How exactly The Library is going to save the world. What The Library knows about the men in white. Where the men in white could have taken Papá. How these people can teach her about ghosts. How this place stands untouched in a forest that consumes everything around it. Why the girl in her dreams was asking her to find her. Whether or not there will be people her age here. Why the dogs and the Director and the librarian remind her of what the men in white did to her mother. Where her clothes went. If she’ll ever see Pallas again or if they’ve left her for good. If God hates her or not. Why there’s a sword in the Directors office. If there’s a place she can get food. If there’s any point to the deer painting or if it’s there just to creep her out. 

The closest thing they’d had to art on the walls back home was a wood-burned etching of the Virgin Mary that sat propped on a shelf above the kitchen table. Papá had made it for Mother for some anniversary and it really was very beautiful, dark line’s swirling across polished cedar. Her mother loved it and Agnes loved it too, there was something mesmerising about how the natural whorls and grain of the wood mixed with scratchy charcoal dark swirls. She’d liked the way the Mother of Gods eyes were ever so slightly downcast, as if she wanted to look at you but couldn’t quite bring herself to. Agnes could relate to that. And then one night when she was thirteen and everything seemed awful forever she’d gone to bed late after too little time spent with Mother and too much time wandering with the ghosts and dreamt that the carving had come alive. 

Mary had still been the colour of wood in the dream, but soft to the touch, human and wrapped in flowing fabric. Agnes had been standing barefoot and bareshouldered in the middle of the kitchen and Mary had knelt in front of her very very close and Agnes had used to clumsy hands to move the veil from her hair and the Blessed Virgin's hair had come loose around her face and she’d put her carvedgirl hands on either side of Agnes’s face. 

Then Mary had said nos diligimus, quoniam ipse prior dilexit nos and put her lips close to Agnes’s and Agnes had woken up screaming like someone had doused her with boiling oil. 

This, obviously, woke her parents, but she’d been too sick with horror and shame to lie so instead had sobbed out everything into Papá’s shoulder. Then Mother had begun to talk in the high and strung out way that there was something very, very wrong and Papá had sent her to sit on the steps outside in the gnawing February air where she’d pressed her hands to her ears and her snot-streaked face to her knees, trying to block out the sound inside while a dead woman and her barely-there son had pressed to either side of her, trying to be comforting but really only making her colder.

She felt about the same then as she does now, half-awake and shuddery and like she could make one wrong move and the world would collapse in screaming fire around her, well-worn prayers buoying in her heavy head, bits of wood carried along by a torrent of floodwater.

Oh Lord, what’s happening to me.

Oh Lord, why why why why why.

#listen ok. listen it was so hard to decide which warnings to put at the top of this one #how dare i say can i accurately sum up ‘so one of my first Gay Awakening moments was with the wood burned carving of the virgin mary my pa #rents kept in our kitchen. yeah it was kind of hot. yeah it scarred me for life’ #i think i did well considering the circumstances lol #and yes despite this being in chapter 7 agnes will take the majority of the book to admit she likes girls #not that i blame her but babygirl. sweetheart. pls take a moment and sit down and think #it’s so funny bc for the entire story pallas is like i am so Brooding and Traumatized #i have Secrets That Must Never See The Light Of Day i am lying to myself at all times #meanwhile agnes is operating at a baseline repression level they can’t even DREAM of #it’s the growing up catholic <3 #wip: ghost story #creme does a writing

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

Find the word tag game!

Thanks for tagging me!! I got tagged twice so I'm going to do both sets of words in one post so I don't have to come up with twice as many people to tag shhhh

From @dotr-rose-love: little, garden, dream, car, and why

From @lungs-and-gills: knife, water, read, shimmer, and friend

These are from Blue like don't forget about me

Little and Why:

“Only a little.”

And maybe in another life that’d be the truth. It’s not late, but it’s the time of year when the sun turns in early and only rises when it can’t get away with staying down any longer. And Daddy don’t usually need an excuse to put the fear of God into him, so it’s always a special treat when Nash gives him one.

“Why’d you stay then?”

It might be something in the jutting tip of Teddy’s chin or the proud shine in his eyes, or perhaps it’s instinct honed from years of tiptoeing around his dad that warns Nash away from the truth.

“I never seen that many Pokémon cards before.”

Teddy’s posture relaxes and that same playful grin from earlier peeps out.

“Have,” Teddy's uncle interjects.

Baffled, Nash argues, “Have not.”

His uncle shakes his head. “No, I have never seen that many Pokémon cards before.”

Nash glances at Teddy then looks back to his uncle and says slowly with his best enunciation, “Neither have I.”

Teddy cackles, head thrown back, and nearly falls from his seat at the table. His uncle smiles and it lightens him up, but not enough to make Nash feel better about being the butt of some joke he doesn’t understand.

Garden: didn't have it :(

Dream Sleeps:

But Nash doesn't think that's quite right. He thinks God is a lot like Mama—lovin' so long as it’s from a distance and you don’t think too much about what he could fix if he really tried. The sticky questions are always smoothed over with pretty words like, ‘do what’s right even when it’s hard,’ and ‘learn to fight your own battles’.

His teacher says it’s inspiring, but all he hears is that as far as fightin' the devil goes, he's on his own. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised to find there is no God up there pokin’ people to do what’s right.

But he’s got no issue believin’ in the devil.

Not only is the devil real, he's mean as spit and sleeps just down the hall.

Car:

[Nash] sets [the step stool] in front of the car, climbs atop it, and clicks on the light. It reflects back at him from the shiny silver of the socket wrench.

"Perfect. Hold it right there."

Teddy's uncle gets to work. He also gets to chatting. Nash doesn't say much, but he doesn't need to because Teddy's uncle does all the talking. He's never been this chatty before, but apparently, all he needed was a tool in his hand and something to keep him busy to open up the floodgates.

He doesn't talk about anything over important, mostly just cars. Sports cars, race cars, the go-cart he wants to build with Teddy someday if he could just convince him to put down the Pokémon cards for five minutes. He talks about trucks that'll last years and trucks that are better left on the side of the road. He talks about his first car, a station wagon, and he talks about his high school girlfriend's first car, a Jeep, and how he got it stuck while out mudding and rather than confess to her old man about it, he called up all of his friends to help him tow it out.

They got three more cars stuck before he finally caved and called on the adults for help. He talks about how long they all laughed at them before they lifted a single finger and how he was so embarrassed he stopped answering his girlfriend's calls until she sent her cousin over to tell him he was dumped.

It's… surprisingly nice.

Knife: didn't have it :(

Water:

He’s never been too good at letting go of the anger that sometimes balls up in his chest like a nasty old hairball, but the very last thing he ever wants to be is like his daddy, so he swallows back the mean-spirited words that want to choke out of him while Teddy chatters about nothing of consequence all the way through the cornfield, over the ridge, and down past the treeline where a little bubbling spit of water curls around hills and through tree roots.

Read(ing) and Shimmer Glitter:

"Let me help with your bully and I'll let you help with mine."

Teddy sticks out his hand like a gentleman's agreement is enough to protect Nash, like the skinny little asthmatic with a million and one allergies is any match for his pa.

Yet... despite his deficiencies, there's an unshakable confidence to Teddy that's difficult to look past. It's tricky because Teddy always means what he says, but Nash likes to think he's gotten pretty good at telling when he's talking bullshit and when he might actually be onto something.

The other problem is that once you spend enough time with Teddy, some of that baseless confidence starts to shed off onto you when you're not lookin'. Like glitter, you don't even realize it's there until the light catches it just right.

Nash takes Teddy's hand and grips it how Daddy taught him at church for greetin' time. Nobody smacks him in the back of the head for doin' it wrong even though Teddy doesn't pump his hand up and down and he holds on far longer than he should.

He's gotten pretty good at reading Teddy's face despite the handkerchief, but it still takes him by surprise when he notices the wrinkles beside his eyes that give away a covered smile.

Friend:

He doesn't see Teddy again for three days. By Wednesday, he's sure he's dead.

He gets so bold as to ask Ms. Rainer if Teddy'll be comin' back but she just smiles at him all sweet like adults do to babies when they coo and dribble spit down their fronts and tells him Teddy'll be back soon and it's wonderful to see that he finally made a friend.

He comes away from the conversation with no comfort as to Teddy’s health and rankled by the idea that he's known for being a friendless little freak. Hasn't anyone figured out yet that it's on purpose? On purpose he doesn't collect extra pairs of grasping hands that need things he can't give. On purpose he keeps his distance.

Yet here he is, checkin' on the new kid that lives in the house up the hill and fretting for all the nothin' he's heard.

Tagging (with no pressure): @wildswrites, @arionawrites, @lucianinsanity, @thedumbestavenger, @surroundedbypearls and anyone else who wants to play!

Your words are: hint, blow, tremble, smile, and flat

#tag games #sswrites #blue like don't forget about me

[ahanenohi]

float away with the sea

This was supposed to be a simple mission. Keiji certainly did not expect it to throw his entire life beneath the waves.

or: my entries for this round of the @flash-exchange , created for the lovely @cottonfluffballofdoom .

this is a dual entry containing a rough sketch and a short flashfic below the cut (700 words)

story below the cut.

The first tides of the day brought upon fierce waves, throwing themselves upwards and onto the workers’ docks, dousing the sandals of Japan’s most famous wild child and his companions.

“So, debrief me,” Keiji started with a lazy smile, turning to the man next to him-- a trusted vassal of his uncle’s. “What are we here for, again?”

The man gave him an unimpressed look. “My Lord has an ongoing negotiation with the Mouri clan. You were asked to coordinate the final details.”

“Ah, yes. Right.” Keiji grinned. Finally, he was being trusted with such an important task. 

Keiji hummed and noticed a man atop a ship. Tanned and lithe, with a countenance that Keiji had only seen in fellow warriors. He indicated the stranger with a gesture that was both grand and playful.

“I suppose that’s our contact, eh? C’mon, let’s go greet him.” 

The vassal nodded stiffly and Keiji called out to the man as they approached.

“Ah! The Maeda delegation! Welcome,” The guy laughed. “I assume you’re here for the trade negotiations?” 

Keiji gave his assent and they got to work, discussing into the late hours of the afternoon.

“It was wonderful doing business with you,” His contact smiled pleasantly. “Our discussion was quite fruitful. Now, as for your uncle’s special request… Men?”

It all happened so suddenly. At first it was an ambush. And then, it was a betrayal as his own companions worked with the attackers and threw him overboard with the anchor.

It was all a ploy to get rid of him, he realized belatedly, struggling as he sank. As he inhaled more water with every kick, he began to notice something.

Something moving towards him. There was no chance that figure was an ordinary person.

They got close enough for him to take in their long hair, their horrified eyes and their… claws?

Claws that slashed across his neck, leaving blood in the water. He pressed his hands to his neck, desperate to survive. If he could stop the blood flow and make it back to the surface…

The figure tilted their head in an almost confused manner and simply slashed again, this time at some point on the sides of his ribcage. He gasped and swallowed water. 

This is it, he thought. This is how I’ll die. It does not feel the same as the way he’d imagined death.

The first sensation he felt is that he wasn't drowning but breathing. How was he breathing? He’d been deep under the water for ages now, the sea must have filled his lungs-- ah. He wasn’t breathing through his lungs anymore, was he? Instead he felt the distinct sensation of air coming out of his neck and sides-- from the same wounds that figure had left.

The second sensation he felt was that his legs, his face, his everything, all of it was hurting to an agonizing degree. With a final bubbled sob, he slipped into darkness.

---

“Holy Cats! You’re awake?!” Keiji startled as he looked for the owner of the voice just now, readying himself for a fight. “Calm down! My name is Mai, I’m the mermaid who turned you!”

“Turned..?” Keiji asked, eyeing the woman who had come in. He took notice of the light pink fins and tail attached to her body, almost as if she were half-fish. Mai simply pointed at his… legs?

His kimono had been neatly cut and hemmed with what looked like seaweed just below his hips. But underneath that… was a fishtail, one of rich reds and oranges. Keiji paused, concentrating on moving it. It almost seemed like flickering fire as it caught the light. Keiji lifted his hands, noting that they were now tipped with claws of the same color. He pressed his palms to his neck and felt… gills flare on his neck as he breathed heavily.

Mai gave him a guilty smile. “I’m sorry. I know from experience how much the transformation hurts… but you were tied to that rope and drowning. It was the only way to save you.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, catching him as he fell forward, shocked. “I’ll help you adjust. Just as long as you stay with me.”

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku keiji #ikesen keiji #ikemen flash exchange #mermaid au #you know i originally planned for a happier ending than this #but that word limit is tough. #no room for happy endings here my loves #pesto scribbles

[paperpocalypse]

significance.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 26. Cuddling in comfortable silence before murmuring “I love you” + 47. “I’ve been in love with you for years”

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,118 words

Warning: Swearing, violence

His head feels like it’s been split open, the rest of his body feels like one giant bruise and the Handler’s daughter has her fancy leather boot on his fucking throat.

Five couldn’t be less surprised by his luck.

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

He forces in just enough breath to answer her. “Eat shit and die …!”

The reaction is worth it. Lila lets out a furious cry, gritting her teeth and bringing her foot down even harder – and in doing so, changes her center of gravity. Opportunity. Five digs his nails into that damned shoe and pushes upwards. The sudden force sends her flying, and he can breathe again.

Fighting the ache in his bones, Five stumbles to his feet as she does the same. “Come on,” he pants, readying his stance as the woman turns to face him again. “What are you waiting for? Let’s finish this thing.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers, sniffling. “This isn’t gonna be quick. You are going to suffer for what you did.”

Suffer? For Christ’s sake – Five scoffs and drops his hands. “Lady, I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Ronnie and Anita Gill.”

“Mean nothing to me.”

“1993, East London.” Lila continues to stare at him like he knows what the hell she’s talking about. “You hog-tied them and you shot them in the head.”

Five narrows his eyes; it’s very possible that she’s just bullshitting him. But despite the rationality of just ignoring her and going for the kill, he searches his memories anyway. 1993, East London. Hog-tied. Tables overturned, the pleas of a couple inside a tiny flat in the middle of the night. Yes, wait – he does remember. 1993, toys strewn everywhere – he told you to close your eyes but you didn’t – East London, two quick shots –

“We had no choice.”

“I know. But …”

“The flower merchants,” he murmurs. Five looks at her with wide eyes. “They were your parents …!”

“And they never did anything to anyone. They didn’t deserve to die like that.”

The Handler ordered him to kill Lila’s parents. Lila, who has powers like them. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Absorbing this newfound information, Five attempts to talk the woman down as he fills out the rest of the picture. “You’re right, alright? I killed them. But I killed a lot of people over the years. It was all just a job. Alright? That was never personal.”

At that, Lila laughs. “‘Never personal,’ my ass,” she sneers. “Yeah, I’ve killed – it’s always, always personal.”

“That’s why you’re not cut out to be an assassin.”

She yanks a knife out of her boot as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth. “Bet your life on that?”

Right then, a shadow moves in the doorway to the barn. Five immediately knows who it is, and his heart seizes in his chest.

“Lila!” Your voice is firm and taunting.

Shit. Shit!

Without hesitation, Five lunges for the knife, only to find himself grabbing at air as Lila reappears behind you. The blade is pressed against your neck before he can even shout your name.

Five clenches his fists as he meets your eyes. Your expression is stony, hands stiffly grasping at Lila’s arm. Jesus Christ, just a little energy to blink – nothing –!

Fucking shit!

“Let her go.”

—

The bearded man smiles. “Sorry, no can do.”

The alley is frigid and dark, the air damp and rotting. He doesn’t move a muscle. In front of him, you breathe steadily, in and out, not saying a word. The steel barrel pressed flush to your temple mirrors the one against his.

“Just hand over your valuables and that briefcase, and we can be on our way.”

“Sorry,” you say, voice steady and cold. (It makes him proud.) “Everything stays with us.”

He looks at you. You blink.

Within the next half-second, he’s knocked your captor to the ground and the two of you are aiming the guns at their previous owners. They raise their hands almost immediately. Exactly like the exercise from his youth.

Another half-second, and both of you pull the triggers.

Five stares down at the corpse now lying on the ground. Then he straightens his tie and turns to you.

You’re still pointing the gun at the other target. His frown softens.

“[Y/n].”

Putting a hand on your arm, he notes how you stiffen, snapping out of whatever zone you had been in. You meet his eyes and breathe in sharply, then relax.

“We’re done.” You frame the question as more of a statement as Five takes the former thief’s gun from you.

“For the night,” he affirms, holding your gaze curiously. “You good?”

You wet your lips and tuck your weapon away. “I’m okay,” you eventually reply. He raises an eyebrow; your mouth twitches. “I just – well, you’re taking this whole assassin thing a lot better than I am. Pointing guns and shooting and killing for real, and – and all that pizzazz.”

“I was a member of the Umbrella Academy,” Five points out dryly. “Thirteen more years of formal training and being able to spatial jump gives me somewhat of an advantage.”

“… That’s true.” Still, you seem unsettled. “Five, you’re okay with this? We’re … killing people.”

“No. But we have no other option,” he says. “It’s only until I figure out how to get us back, alright?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Alright.”

The pair of you leave the alley, leaving the targets there to be found by the police. The fact that they had a gun pointed at your head should make him feel better about it. They were already criminals, too. Self-defense instead of cold-blooded “corrections.”

There’s still a bitter taste in his mouth anyway.

“You hold your own pretty well,” he murmurs after a while, trying to distract himself.

You grant him a small, knowing smile. “Thanks,” you say, taking his arm as the pair of you walk the rest of the way to the motel. “I had a good teacher while I was stuck in the ruins of the apocalypse.”

He hums. “Weren’t you lucky?”

Your hand tightens around the sleeve of his tailored suit.

“The luckiest.”

—

He’s going to kill her.

Teeth bared, Five starts toward her, only to stop short when Lila presses the blade harder against your throat.

“Not another step, Five,” she warns him, her grip tightening. “Or you’ll both regret it.”

“She’s not responsible for what happened. I was the one who killed them!”

“But she didn’t stop you, did she?”

Five struggles to control his rage. The knife is sharp and black underneath your jaw, ready to draw blood at a moment’s notice.

You inhale shallowly. “Lila,” you rasp.

“Don’t speak.”

“Look,” Five forces out as evenly as he can, catching the woman’s attention again. He can’t take his eyes off that goddamn knife. Five can almost feel the edge cutting into his own skin. “You wanna blame someone, blame the Handler, alright? She faked the kill order.”

“Bullshit! I saw the kill order. AJ Carmichael ordered it, and you and [Y/n] carried it out.”

“Lila, listen to what I’m telling you, alright? The Handler gave us the kill order. She came on the job, which she’d never done before.” He unclenches his fists with unwilling, trembling fingers. His mind is reeling. “You’re Commission. You know execs never go on jobs, but that day in London, she was there. Ask yourself why –”

“Stop trying to muddy the waters.”

Five swallows, pulse racing. He rips his eyes away from your neck to gauge Lila’s expression. Doubt is beginning to bleed into it, and he manages to keep his tone level.

Focus on completing the picture. No sudden movements.

“Think about it, Lila. It all makes sense.”

Lila’s grip on the knife relaxes by the smallest amount. She hesitates for a moment before speaking. “What?”

“She never cared about your parents. She was looking for you.”

What little is left of her anger melts off Lila’s face. For the first time, the girl looks completely vulnerable. And it’s not a farce.

“Why?” she whispers.

Come on …

“‘Cause you’re one of us.”

Lila whips her head around when Diego cuts through the silence, holding you even more tightly against herself. Five’s gaze snaps back to the knife again and he swears internally.

Dammit, Diego, you better have a plan!

“The Handler stole you, Lila. Just like our asshole father took all of us,” his brother explains carefully.

“No. It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right. Because he didn’t have our parents murdered.” Diego approaches her, staying low to the ground, hands outstretched. “Listen to me, Lila. You were born October 1, 1989, the same day as all of us.”

The rest of his siblings close in on Lila, slowly, warily. The movement sends her into a panic, and she cuts a little into your neck. You let out half of a gasp and swallow the rest of it, but it’s enough.

Five sees red.

“Get your fucking hands off her!”

“STAY BACK!”

“Five! Back off!” Diego shouts. Chest heaving and blood roaring in his ears, Five looks at him and then at your sweaty, frozen face – and against every fiber of his being, he listens and backs off, glaring venomously as his brother then turns to Lila again. “Lila? Lila, stop. Let her go.”

She turns her head from side to side, knuckles white as she keeps the knife against your throat. “No,” she chokes. “Diego, you don’t understand. They killed my parents. They took my life away from me.”

Five seethes. “For the last time, it was nothing personal –"

“And it was wrong. I know.” Diego’s eyes flit to Five’s, silently reprimanding. “You want to make them pay for what they did. But killing [Y/n]’s not gonna bring your parents back. You know that.”

“It’s not about bringing them back.”

He nods once, softly. “You’re right. It’s about justice. Honoring their memory.” Diego’s voice is gentle. “Trust me, Lila, I get it. I lost someone to the Commission too. She wasn’t family, but she was my friend, and I cared about her. She wasn’t supposed to die. She didn’t deserve to die. But she did.”

As Diego continues talking, Five keeps his guard up on the other side, watching and waiting for a contraction of a muscle, a single forewarning of violence. If another drop of your blood stains that blade, shit, he’ll kill the woman with his own two hands, Diego’s feelings be damned.

Tightening his jaw, Five shifts on his feet as he looks at you. You stare back with calm eyes – just like that night in the alley, but this time, with no signal for him to make a move.

Goddammit, they should’ve gotten you to safety by now!

“… Just think about whether taking another life would honor their memory. [Y/n] deserves a chance to start over, live a peaceful life with people she cares about. And so do you.”

Lila’s trembling. Yet, she refuses to budge. “If it weren’t for her and Five,” she whispers, “I wouldn’t need that second chance. I would have been all alone if Mum hadn’t found me that night.”

“But there’s a reason she found you. She’s using you, Lila. The Handler.”

“You’re wrong. She raised me.” Lila pauses, then asserts, “She loves me.”

“She’s dangerous,” Diego emphasizes. “And you’re scared of what she’ll do with all that new power. That’s why you dragged me to the Commission. Because I know what it’s like to love dangerous people.”

—

“Oh, my.” The Handler puts a hand on his shoulder, hovering behind him. “One hundred and forty-three kills on the simulation? That’s a new record. Very, very good, Five.”

Five bristles at her closeness, but he doesn’t move away, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of unnerving him. “Thanks,” he says tersely.

“Tell me, Five. From what I’ve seen during your training, you’d be a lot more efficient in the field if you were a one-man team. Working alone is when you work best.”

“I’m partnering up with [Y/n].”

“And you’ve filled out the paperwork and everything, I know. I know. But I implore you to think about it logically,” the Handler tells him, leading him down the hallway. “[Y/n] has highly marked assessments, but frankly, they’re nowhere near your level.” She raises her eyebrows at him and blows out a stream of smoke. “Forgive me for assuming, but perhaps this is less about a partnership that would benefit the Commission and more about your personal … relationship.”

Five smiles thinly at her. “With all due respect, we’ve worked together for years. Almost forty years, in fact. I can assure you that our partnership will deliver more than satisfactory results.”

The woman just hums serenely, eyebrows still raised and cigarette holder between her lips as he faces her. Behind her, he sees you approaching.

“Excuse me,” he says politely.

As he sidesteps the Handler to meet you halfway, your shared employer calls out to him, voice ringing through the sparse crowd of Commission drones. “You’re a dangerous man, Five,” she drawls, “and this is a dangerous job. If you want to protect someone, we won’t stop you, but don’t let it endanger this opportunity we’ve so generously provided. To the both of you.”

“Duly noted,” Five replies over his shoulder, walking away with you. He can hear the Handler’s heels click against the floor as she goes on her way as well.

“She’s suspicious about us partnering up, isn’t she?” you ask him lowly.

He frowns. “I would be too if I were her. But we have to stay together.”

“Well.” You reach up to adjust his hat, tilting it slightly. “In any case, I’m pulling my own weight in the field. Just like in the apocalypse. No one-sided protection.”

“[Y/n], this is different from the apocalypse. We’re not dealing with food shortages or bad weather – we’re dealing with people.”

“All the more reason for you to trust me.” Despite your usual controlled tone and mien, he sees the way that your eyes glint. “I’m kinda dangerous myself, Five. Especially for the people I love, and I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Five sighs.

“You’re so sappy, you know that?”

(Nevertheless, he finds himself mumbling those four words, just loud enough for only you to hear.)

—

“Difference is …” Diego glances around at their siblings, then looks down, “they love me back.”

“Shut up.”

“The only thing she loves is power. Now, the minute she can’t use you, she will turn on you, and deep down, I know you know that.”

She tilts the knife against your neck. Five sucks in a breath, his heart pounding.

“You don’t know me, Diego.” Lila’s voice is hoarse.

Diego steps closer. He lifts a hand to cover hers over the knife.

“Don’t I?” he whispers. “I know that we can be your family. If you just let us.”

Lila’s eyes are glossy with unshed tears. Hesitantly, she turns her head to look around at his family, and in that moment, Five has a cautious inkling that Diego’s words actually got through to her. She doesn’t resist when Diego pulls her hand gently.

When she releases you, he almost feels weak with relief.

Five murmurs your name as you stagger over to him; you grab his arms, and he raises his hands to hold your face between them.

“Shit,” he breathes, “[Y/n] –”

“I’m okay,” he hears you say, but his ears are ringing and your skin is cold and shit, your neck – delicately, Five tilts your head back, and you attempt to brush his hands away. “Five, it’s – it’s just a scratch …”

His fingers brush against a wetness on your skin. You wince, almost imperceptibly. He draws back to look at his hand, and when he sees the blood on his fingertips, your blood, the wave of relief crashing onto him abruptly morphs back into rage.

Before you can pull him back, Five lunges at Lila.

Gunshots echo throughout the barn.

—

You’re smiling.

—

He wakes up, gasping for breath.

“Oh, good! You’re still alive,” the Handler says, looming over him. Her lipstick is bright red through the dizzying blurs. “Lucky you. You got to see how this all played out.”

Grappling for air, Five tries to speak – tries to give one last word, to finally tell the damned snake to fuck off as he stares into the barrel of her automatic. But it hurts to breathe and he can’t. Fuck, it hurts. It hurts. His tongue feels like lead and his throat is closed up. All he can do is look.

But before she can pull the trigger, he hears gunfire.

Bullets rend flesh that isn’t his. Five’s eyes widen, stunned; the Handler gasps sharply. She turns. More gunfire.

She falls.

Shit, that could only mean.… Five struggles to lift his head, almost blacking out from the pain as the gunman approaches, crushing straw underfoot. A shadow falls over him.

The Swede silently tilts his gun down at his face, and he realizes: they are both the last ones. Everyone else is dead. The Swede’s brothers. The Handler. Lila. His siblings. You.

This is the end.

(This doesn’t have to be the end.)

… Five blinks, numb.

(You’re the one who got us stuck here.)

Unless …

(Seconds. Not decades.)

Seconds.

His lungs burn. Hope blooms in his chest.

(C’mon, Five.)

Concentrate. Hands clenching sluggishly, Five focuses on gaining back the feeling in them. Seconds, not decades. A familiar, electric buzz thrums through his bones, warm, crackling with energy. His hands begin to glow. Blue envelops them like they had so many times before.

It happens slowly, time reversing itself like molasses oozing back into a jar. The Swede lowers his arm and retreats. Bodies begin to rise. Five feels himself getting pushed up, and his feet touch the ground; he presses forward, running, refusing to look back. The sharp pains recede to a singular ache.

Seconds.

Seconds.

He breaks through behind the barn door with a gasp. Air fills his chest, full and crisp.

Immediately, Five looks back at you and everyone else, standing and breathing, and pats himself just to make sure.

Holy shit.

Spotting movement outside, Five leaps at the Handler just as she walks in, seizing her weapon and turning it on her. His finger curls at the trigger. She raises her hands in surrender, lips pursed.

Got you, you son of a bitch.

“It’s true, isn’t it? What Five said,” he hears Lila ask. He doesn’t dare look away from her mother, meeting her poisonous glare with an equally cold one. “Answer me! Is it true?”

The Handler takes in a breath. “Well –”

Before she can finish her sentence, blood sprays out from her chest. She collapses. Dead.

The Swede. Five stares at her body, gun lowering. There’s a pregnant pause, void of any air – and then in his periphery, Lila shoots forward.

Luther charges after her. “The case!”

“No!”

Diego tackles him to the ground. Lila disappears in a flash of blue.

One dead, one missing. Neither of which are you or his siblings. There might be hope for them yet. Rolling his shoulders, Five turns his attention to the rogue assassin, cocking his gun and pointing it at him. The Swede reciprocates.

Nobody utters a word, for fear that it may be their last. But as Five feels the weight of the automatic in his arms, he wonders, suddenly, just how much he has in common with this man. A forgotten humanity. The death of their families. The force of a person with nothing to lose.

Except in the Swede’s case, he has no chance of gaining back what he had lost.

This is the end.

Five takes his finger off the trigger, then after a brief hesitation, lets go of the gun.

“Enough,” he says.

Nothing happens at first. The only sign that the man heard him is how he looks away from Five, surveying the rest of the barn’s occupants.

Five returns his gaze firmly, muscles tense, when he meets it again. The Swede regards him for another moment, then finally speaks.

“Inte mer.”

He drops his weapon. No more killing.

—

After Vanya helps the kid and calms him down, she goes with him and Sissy to help them pack up. Everyone else exits the barn as well to rest up and say their goodbyes before leaving, save for Diego, who talks to Herb and Dot with you and Five before joining the rest of the group at the house.

As soon as everything seems like it’s on track, Five brings you straight to the bathroom before you can protest.

“Five, it’s just a scratch.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

In a familiar turn of events, you’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub, sulking as he cleans the rest of the dried blood from your neck. Five scowls as he inspects the thin, rough scab underneath your jaw. For shit’s sake, it’s more than a ‘scratch’ – but at the very least, the cut wasn’t deep enough to cause too much bleeding.

Obviously, he’d have preferred it if you hadn’t gotten cut at all.

“She could’ve killed you.”

“I know,” you murmur. He glares at you softly, and you reach over to hold his hand. “Sorry for worrying you.”

Five scoffs, shaking his head. “Worrying me? I was damn well past worrying when she –” At that moment, he makes the mistake of seeing the guilt in your eyes, and he sighs. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You shrug quietly as he opens a large Band-Aid. “That I had to do something to keep you safe.”

“At your expense?”

Your miniscule smile changes into a grimace for a split second when he sticks the bandage on, but it returns immediately after. “You would’ve done the same thing, Five.”

All he can retort with is a displeased huff.

Silently, you stand up and turn him around, urging him to sit down this time as you pluck another hand towel from the stack that Vanya had given the two of you. Five sits still, mouth shut and eyes watching, as you start cleaning his face. Your expression is tender. A familiar feeling wells up inside of him.

Suddenly, you chuckle.

“What?”

“It’s just – if I didn’t know any better,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly grimy spot on his cheek, “I’d think that you were a schoolboy that just got into a fight and lost.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, good thing that you do know better, because I obviously would’ve won.”

“Obviously.” Your eyes glint, like they have so many times before.

—

“How bad does it hurt?”

Your hand is soft in his as he glances at his wrist, propped up on a stack of books, then into the small fire burning a few feet away. “Not that much,” he answers. “Thanks for splinting it.”

“Thanks for talking me through it.” You breathe in, head on his shoulder, testing the words on your tongue before you continue. “I was worried. I’m glad it’s feeling better.”

A wrist sprain is nothing to write home about, figuratively speaking. It’s more of an inconvenience than an actual concern; Five figures that the injury will heal in a week, a week and a half at the most. Frankly, he’s more concerned about how much longer it’ll take to complete daily tasks in the meantime.

… You, on the other hand – well, he wonders if you’ve ever gotten anything more than a few cuts and scrapes growing up. The closest he had ever seen you get to panicking was after he fell today, and you’ve been wandering around with him for years.

In a strange way, Five thinks, he was glad for it. He is glad for you. Glad for your presence, your level head. He is glad for the way you hold his hand and talk to him during the day and after dark. And he is glad, secretly, that you want to protect him just like he wants to protect you.

“I love you.”

The words slip out, rough and unbidden.

Five holds his breath when they echo in his ears. You stop tapping your fingers over his skin. Perhaps that’s a bad thing. It was not a mistake, of course, and he isn’t going to take it back, but if that wasn’t what you were saying this whole time – shit. He lets go of your hand, his throat scratchy and strangely closed up.

But then – your fingertips brush his face. He swallows.

“I love you too.”

#cliché tropes and prompts #source: bucky-plums-barnes #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #the umbrella academy five #the umbrella academy #tua #five x reader #five imagine #tua fanfic #fanfic #reader insert #fluff #angst #tua s2 spoilers #tw violence #flashbacksssssss #yeah boi #i am conflicted abt the ending asdfhgjasdlkf; sorry for the weird close :( #five x fem!reader #fem!reader

[sp00kworm]

SIREN (AMMB): Zadok’s Ending

Chapter 1: Meeting the Band

Pairing: Deep Sea Merman (Zadok) x Gender Neutral Reader

Adult Content below the cut. Dom Reader and collar use.

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A lithe looking figure was draped in oversized clothing. Loose cuffed cargo trousers were covered in chains and topped with a large hoodie and a coat which made your own look positively thin. You frowned before you caught sight of the pale, micro-scaled skin underneath. The white scales shimmered with pearlescence as Zadok glanced around behind himself and touched the water pumps attached to his neck, which were then coupled to a small tank fastened like a backpack to him. There was a sense of worry in his posture as he reached for his wallet to order.

“A chai tea please. And an anchovy sandwich to go.” He ordered quietly as the barista noted it down and carefully took his money, trying to avoid staring to badly at the suction cups and tank attached to him. Zadok ignored her look and stood to the side, pulling his hood further over his fins to avoid any more unwanted attention from the customers and staff. It was weird seeing the confident lead singer to upset and shy about being seen in public. Your staring, however, got you caught firmly in the act. With a rush you turned back to your phone, and pretended not to be looking as his white eyes caught you. A huff sounded but he didn’t move to come and say anything. He turned back to the counter and opened his phone, clawed webbed fingers typing across the keyboard.

 Sadly, and awkwardly, you turned back to your table and waited for your food, trying to put Zadok out of you mind. He didn’t owe you anything after all, you were just a fan of the band. The barista was quick to make his drink before she packaged and wrapped his sandwich for him in the red and white plaid paper.

“Thank you.” He rumbled as he took the food and paper cup, “Have a nice day.” Zadok’s webbed fingers adjusted the wrapped sandwich before he tucked it into his satchel and placed his wallet firmly back inside. The singer reached upwards, his pale skin flashing with purple light, to adjust the cups over his gills. They didn’t budge, and so he walked away from the line, his hood up and his head ducked as he headed towards the door, leaving with a soft ring of the bell. You ducked over your food as he turned to walk left, past the glass window you were sat next to. He stopped just outside of the door and pulled something out of his pocket as he sipped at the tea in his hand. You realised it was his phone and as he raised it closer to his eyes you ducked back down to avoid being seen, sipping your own drink before your phone vibrated on the table again.

 Thinking it was just another text from Tom, you opened the screen with a disappointed sigh, upset that Zadok had ignored you. The screen lit up again and you clicked your tongue at the incessant buzzing. A message, but not from an account that you knew, nor did you follow them. It was a picture of a figure huddled by a cliff as the profile icon, decked in all black and shielding themselves from the wind. The water looked choppy and you saw the faintest hint of waves in the background. With a confused look, you opened the message.

‘Sorry for ignoring you.’

The second message was not twenty seconds after the first.

‘This is Zadok by the way. Don’t start gawking out of the window at me please.’

Slightly rude, you thought as you looked closer at the obscure profile icon, wondering just how the weird, huddled mass of black could be the singer. Your phone buzzed again before you could give it much thought.

‘Meet me by the Elf fountain.’

 You looked up from your phone as the Merman tugged his hood a little higher and tucked his hands into his pockets again. You didn’t see him then as he disappeared into the mid-morning crowds beyond your sight. With a rush you finished up your food and took your coffee to go before you made your escape out of the café and into the street. The Elven fountains weren’t too far from the café and you were eager to know just why Zadok had even spoken to you at all. The fountains were fresh water and housed a few species of pond fish, usually Koi kept for decorative appeal in the gardens. A car slammed its horn at you as you dashed across the crossing at the last moment heading towards the park where the fountains were.

 It didn’t take you long to weave your way through the streets and it took even less time for you to manage to find Zadok. He was perched on the edge of the fountain, his feet beneath the cool water. You were sure it wasn’t allowed but none of the busy workers seem to be bothered by the man as he trailed them back and forth. His heavy work boots were shoved by the side of the stone, his socks tucked into each boot. You stood by the gate to the little fountain area for a moment before white eyes turned and found you staring. Zadok pulled a hand free from his pocket to give you a small wave, claws flashing a silvery colour in the light.

“Good morning.” he offered as you approached, his voice soft and calm despite your obvious staring from the gateway.

“Good morning.” You replied, feeling awkward and caught out by his kind greeting, “So…”

Zadok chuckled at you as he pulled his feet up onto the stone, perching his head on top of his knees, “So…” he replied.

“Why did you invite me here?” You asked quietly as Zadok brushed water from his webbed feet, avoiding his other filed claws on each of his toes, “You seemed well, pretty gloomy when you walked in.”

 Zadok just watched you for a moment, his ghostly eyes staring at you before his mouth stretched to reveal a wide smile full of thin, sharp teeth, “I tend to look like that when Duncan spends his night crushed against me instead of in his own bed.”

Suddenly, it was like the tension dissipated, like a lightning bolt and smashed right through it. Your tension seemed to evaporate, and you returned his smile, “I can see why that would make you upset.”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe.” he chuckled, “I’m sorry for seeming like an utter creep, but I don’t…well I don’t much like public places. I get recognised and its just never much fun after that.”

“No, I understand, I’m just confused about how you uh…found my socials.” You asked as Zadok’s eyes widened in realisation.

“Ah. I see now.” he lowered his head and awkwardly played with the tops of his shoes, “I found the pictures. It wasn’t too hard to find considering the show was last night.” he confessed, “That’s my private account for family and friends.” Zadok reached for his phone and showed you the screen of his page, “I wanted to talk, if that’s alright with you?”

You stepped closer and sat down on the side of the fountain with the singer, “What do you want to talk about?” You smiled as you sat down, folding your hands in your lap as you tried to get comfortable against the stone.

 “It seems weird now that I think about it.” Zadok confessed as you sat next to him, your drink clutched between your two hands, “I just wanted to thank you for what you said yesterday. It really does mean a lot to have someone feel so strongly about our music.” You watched as he tucked his clawed, webbed hands away in his pockets before looking him in the eyes.

His white eyes were striking, and you struggled to reply immediately, “You don’t have to thank me for being honest. Your music is amazing, just like you’re an amazing singer.”

“It means more than you think.” He insisted as he reached for his own drink, and pushed aside a small plastic bag, “I’ve spoken to a lot of fans, and, trust me, not one of them has spoken like that. Not with such passion about it all.” he laughed softly as he leaned back to take a drink, revealing the water pumps over his gills. He caught you staring, “They’re more to stop me drying out and hacking on everyone. I find I really need them after shows. So much singing hurts my lungs, so I have to revert back a little.”

“I had no idea you had to breathe water too.” You marvelled at the gills again before turning your gaze back to his pale scale-skin face, “Wait…” You held up your hands, “You sing so much it actually hurts?”

“Now don’t worry yourself!” Zadok bumped your shoulder gently, “Its not bad. Just like human singers need rests from growling, I need my own rest and recuperation.” He chuckled again, “But it is much easier to sing with water, but its not something anyone but a Mer can understand well.”

 “Is that why you looked like you enjoyed the beginning solo so much? Because its easier to sing in the water?” You asked, curious and eager to pick Zadok’s brain.

He laughed at you before nodding, his hood sliding to reveal the pointed tip of one of his fins, “I’m surprised you noticed.” he held his drink in his lap, wiggling his wet toes in the cool air, “Its not just that its easier to sing, really…I was born in the ocean, even though my parents have long lived with humans. We still spend our early years in the deep black waters before integrating into society. I’ve always just loved the water. Its always brought me peace. Its like a veil on the audience so I can just be myself.”

“That seems like an odd way to start life, but the more I think about it the more I think it must be nice, to be just you and the water.” You sat back, your palms pressed into the rough stone as you looked at the water, “And I bet it made you an amazing swimmer.”

Zadok paused before laughing again, the noise gentle and soothing, like the sound of water in a stream full of pebbles, “It did make me a good swimmer, yes, but it also taught me a lot about our culture. It made me who I am.” he looked at his feet and the water in the tank gurgled quietly.

 Silence fell between you both again, and you sat looking at the little goldfish in the fountain as they swam around Zadok’s ankles and disappeared under the lily pads. It was serene. You looked up and soaked in the weak sun.

“I have one more question for you.” Zadok said.

You looked over to him, “What’s that?” You asked.

He looked around and leaned over, “Is there somewhere more, private than this?” he sighed, “I just…I’m sick of being recognised. I ran into a group of fans on my way here and had to sign a few things. I just…”

“Want a day away from it all?” You asked gently, “I think I have a place in mind.”

Zadok smiled at you, “You’re not planning to kidnap me, are you?” he joked as he took another drink of coffee.

“Me? Kidnap you?” You exaggerated, “I think I would have more luck catching one of these goldfish, and that’s a pretty slim chance!”

 Zadok laughed gently, like the sound of water over stone, and you stood from the fountain, holding your coffee as you waited for him to shake his feet dry and put his shoes back on. He looked at his socks and huffed before pushing them into his pockets, opting to instead carry his boots and walk barefoot through the grass.

“So, where do you have in mind?” he asked as he followed you, “Will I need my shoes on?”

You nodded at him, “You’ll need your shoes for now. The city might be okay but I’m pretty sure you’ll get glass in your feet if you don’t wear something.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s too fun. I can’t be having a day in the minor injuries unit.” Zadok followed you to the gate before he took his napkin from his coffee and wiped off his feet. He hopped on each foot as he put his sock on and then his boots. Quickly, he tied the laces up before he checked his wrist. A silver watch flashed, and he hummed at the time.

“Have you got somewhere to be?” You asked.

Zadok shook his head as he clicked the sound off his phone, “Nope. Let’s get going.” he pulled his hood back up and hid his face as you exited the park and headed out towards the city’s edge.

 “I suggest you keep your stuff close.” You suggested as you both entered into a small, abandoned area of the city. It was overgrown and the small homes here were derelict, with ivy and bushes sprouting out of the windows and collapsed roofs.

Zadok looked up through the trees, “What kind of place is this?” he asked quietly as you both stepped around a couple of mushroom circles.

“It’s a fae pool. A spirit pool of sorts.” You pointed past the houses towards a large clearing where a natural pond glittered with the light pouring through the centre hole of the canopy, “Its protected by the city for small fae and creatures to use and live in. Some species can’t integrate with humans, so these are the result.” You pointed to the rocks where a nymph combed her hair. She turned and saw you both, smiling before she blended into the air and disappeared into a small creek that trickled away from the large pond with a chime of laughter.

 “This is amazing.” Zadok breathed as he ran his claws over a rotten wooden fence, touching the ivy which wrapped around them gently, “I’ve never seen something like this before, not unless it was in the actual countryside.”

You smiled brightly as you reached the edge of the water, “Well, its something a lot of people don’t know about. I only know because of the guy I work with. He comes out here sometimes during shifts.”

“Is that the one that was with you last night, the werewolf?” Zadok asked curiously as he laid his bag down by the edge and undid his coat.

“Oh yeah, that’s Tom. He comes with me to a lot of stuff. We’ve been friends for years now.” You answered him, “I saved him a spot at the front since he was just as excited as me to see you guys.”

“He’s a nice guy then.” Zadok smiled, his needle like teeth parted slightly as he turned to sniff the air, “Sounds like a keeper.” he teased.

You shook your head, “Nah. We’re just friends. Tom is like a brother to me. We’ve both been through this before.” You shrugged, “I’m sure I’ll find someone like that though.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will.” Zadok awkwardly added before he changed the subject, “Are we allowed in the water?”

 The water was clear enough to see the heavy, dark stones that covered the bottom and you shrugged at Zadok.

“So long as you don’t kiss any Nymphs, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” You joked as you sat yourself next to the water and sipped the last remnants of your drink.

“Oh, I don’t plan on kissing any of them.” Zadok chuckled as he shrugged his coat off and reached for his tanks, “Would you mind…”

“Oh, gosh, sure, sorry.” You rambled before turning around, “Are those tanks hard to get off.

In reply you heard the hiss and click before water glugged and the tank thumped to the floor, “No. It’s not too hard, just a lot of suction cups and water glugging.” Zadok hummed and you made sure to keep turned around as fabric fluttered to the floor, “You can turn back now.” He announced quietly.

 You turned back around, clutching your drink between your hands, and looked at the man as he laid on his back and floated out into the middle of the clear water. He was bare of clothes, but nothing was exposed, and you remembered your anatomy lessons enough to know that most Mer’s had slits which hid everything away. Zadok flipped himself backwards and plunged himself deep into the pool. The water swirling was the only sign he was moving, and you walked back to the edge and sat down. Much like he had earlier, you took your shoes and socks off, and plunged your feet carefully into the water. It was quite cool, and you shuddered at the sensation before you wiggled your toes back and forth and swung your feet in the water. A hand grabbed your ankle and you jumped with a squeak until Zadok’s white head appeared. His head emerged and you marvelled at the glittering silver and purple of his bioluminescence. His eyes blinked back their protective eyelids, the third lids sliding to the sides of his eyes as he peered up at you with a grin of needle like teeth.

 “Boo.” He whispered before submerging his gills again, his eyes poking out above the water while the slits on his neck and ribcage flared and moved water.

“You’re an ass.” You commented before splashing water at his head.

Zadok flared the fins on his head, the sails on top of his head and one each side shaking in a ripple before they shone with purple light, “You stuck your feet into a pool with unknown creatures in it.” he shot back at you as he laid himself on the incline of the pool, his stomach resting against the stones, keeping his gills submerged.

“Is the water okay for you? Don’t you need salt water since you’re from the deep ocean?” You asked curiously, “You won’t get any infections from it will you?”

Zadok gave you a withering look, “I’ll be fine. If this is a fae pool it will be perfectly clean. They don’t like dirty water.” he wiggled back into the water, “I can breathe fresh water just fine, since this is pure, its even better.”

“That’s great then. I didn’t want to be responsible for making you ill or anything! Considering you have a few more months of touring it would be pretty disastrous.” You smiled with relief.

 For a while, you watched Zadok swim and dive. He dipped beneath the surface seamlessly and you marvelled at the glow to his fins and scales as he dove to the bottom of the pond. You could make out the colour of his bioluminescence beneath the surface, glowing through the water as he swam in large circles. As you sat, quiet and still, the sprites seemed to return to the water, and you smiled as a few smaller sprites sat by you in the reeds and grass. A couple of small looking mushrooms rattled together before their small arms and legs appeared and they opened their eyes, trundling over to pick at Zadok’s clothes and shoes before they hopped into his shoe and made happy noises. You laughed at them before a small, hummingbird like fae zipped in front of your face and giggled before settling herself on top of your head to play with whatever she could reach. Zadok surfaced and opened his eyelids as a couple of kelp looking creatures clung to his fins. They flopped back into the water before he could complain but he only smiled beneath the surface, snapping at them with his sharp teeth to scare them away from his fins. He reached and tugged a few of them free of his dorsal sail, the sharp needles tearing a few of them a little, but they didn’t seem to complain as they floated back into the depths of the pond.

 “They seem to like you.” Zadok commented as he swam close to the edge, his body bending before he laid his webbed hands in the grass, claws plucking at the strands and snapping them.

“If you come here long enough, they take a liking to you. They just like people who can sit quietly, and who don’t litter.” You replied as you placed your cup into his plastic bag. You hummed as you reached inside and plucked the bottle out, “Did you plan on doing a little more than swimming?” You teased as you shook the bottle of whiskey in front of him.

Zadok plucked it out of your hands and scoffed, “A little more than relaxing…” he muttered, “Something like that. It’s been a rough few weeks, being on tour and all.”

You didn’t know Zadok well, but you found yourself replying before you could stop yourself, “Is it something you want to talk about?”

“No.” he replied brusquely, “Its something at home. Nothing you can really help with.” Zadok hummed, “But some company might be nice?” he asked as he held the whiskey a little higher out of the water.

 It was only just past midday, but you smiled at him, remembering that you had the day off work anyway. You checked your phone and nodded.

“Sure. I wouldn’t mind sharing some of that. Its expensive.” You commented as Zadok undid the lid and tossed it into the grass.

He held the drink up before taking a few sips and hissing, “Definitely decent stuff.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” You joked, “As a bartender, I have a keen sense for what makes a good whiskey.” You laughed before taking a mouthful and humming at the burn as you swallowed, “Oh yeah, definitely decent.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Zadok chuckled as he leaned back and floated out into the middle of the pond, his eyes closed as the sun shone through the leaves and hit the skin of his belly. His stomach glittered with blue and purple light from the natural sunlight and you watched the light show in awe before you took another sip of whiskey to dampen the feeling swirling in your gut.

 Zadok floated for a while before he dipped below the water and dove to the bottom, the water swirling in his wake. His fins popped back out of the water as he swam to the edge and surfaced, smiling at you before he held out his fist.

“Open your hand.” he insisted, “I have something for you.”

You did as you were told and placed the whiskey down to open your hands for what he had to give you. He opened his claws and dropped a large looking rock. You frowned but span it over to reveal the inside of a geode. It was split some time ago but Zadok’s swimming had cleaned most of the silt from inside of it, revealing a shiny gathering of blue and clear crystals. The sprite in your hair chirped happily before a magpie squawked and landed nearby, eyeing the shiny object up with one beady eye.

 “Wow.” You whispered, “Was this at the bottom of the pond?” You asked as you turned the crystals away from the sunlight, so the magpie didn’t decide to dive at you for the object.

“There’s a small cave at the bottom. It probably leads to some fae lair, but the inside was full of rocks and geodes. Its obviously a lair which has been abandoned though, there’s silt all over it.” Zadok commented, “They probably moved along a while ago.”

“That’s amazing.” You replied, “Thank you. Its very pretty.”

Zadok failed to stop his fins from flaring as he puffed with pride, “Sorry.” he grunted, “It’s a natural thing. I can’t stop myself.”

You only laughed at him, “Its fine, don’t worry about it.” You took hold of the whiskey again and held it out for him, “Want some more.”

Embarrassed, Zadok nodded, “Yep.” And took the whiskey as he swam back out into the pond, treading water easily as he sipped whiskey, back and forth across the length of the body of water.

 The whiskey was strong, and it quickly got to your head, making you smile as you laid near the edge of the water, talking as you watched the clouds roll overhead. You grinned as Zadok started to cloud watch with you. It was childish almost, but peaceful as you both laid back and watched the day roll past, sipping whiskey before you started on the bread and meat he had shoved into the bag as well, chewing slowly as you listened to the trees rustle and fae giggle. The sun started to dip below the horizon as you both finished off the bottle of whiskey, giggling and slapping water at each other before you flopped back against the bank with your feet swirling back and forth in the water. Zadok dipped below the surface and resurfaced happily, stretching his lithe figure out before he swam back towards you. One of his hands wrapped around your ankle, the black, tapered claws grazing over your skin before he pulled himself out of the water, and grazed them up over your calf, to the point where your bottoms were rolled up your legs. His white eyes continued up your legs, following their own path over your chest before your gazes locked.

 His fingers pressed against your skin, softly mapping the expanse of your calf before he trailed his other hand up your other leg, touching the back of your leg in a slow stroke before he heaved his body up and out of the water, resting between your legs as he dripped water over your stomach. Intensity burned in his white eyes as his nose holes flared and his mouth opened, scenting the air. You looked up at him and felt your body go hot. After a moment looking at his perfect, pearl coloured skin, you dared to stroke your hands over his stomach, following the deep purple colours as they zipped up over his shoulders and down his back. A croaking purr escaped Zadok as he pushed his skin against your hands, enjoying the petting as his lips pursed. His gills flared with a sigh before he leaned over and pressed his lips to your own. His second eyelids closed over his eyes, like he was snatching a fish from the water, and he watched you melt against the grass, one of your hands cupping his cheek, stroking at the fin on the side of his head, while your other hand dared to trail down his stomach, stroking the soft, scaled skin before you reached the mound between his legs.

 Another soft rumble ran up Zadok’s check before he croaked, the sound accompanied by the soft fluttering of his gills. His eyes were closed as your fingers grazed over the flushed flesh of his slit. You stroked along the centre where the rough scales parted to reveal a peak of his soft, blue coloured flesh.

“Fuck.” Zadok whispered as his arms shook, “Please.” he whimpered in your ear.

“Please, what?” You gasped as your finger dipped into the slit as it grew slippery with a natural lubricant before you kissed him again, stroking the flushed flesh gently as you felt his tongue prod at your lips. The two of you kissed a little deeper, tongues touching before Zadok tilted his head and pulled himself out of the water completely, pressing his wet skin and scales to your front.

The mer shifted against you as your fingers came away from his slit, covered in a thin slime, “Let me…” he croaked again with a purr, “Let me have you.”

 You grinned as he pressed his slit to your hips, rubbing the scales against you, “Do you have a room somewhere?” you asked, no louder than a whisper.

Zadok nodded his head as you dragged your nails down his back, shivering before he managed to speak, “The Rouge Bard. We have our own rooms. Everyone is out today.” he added as he blinked and leaned to nip at your lips, his gills fluttering again before he leaned back.

“We best continue this there then.” You stated as Zadok kissed you once more and pulled away, shaking water from his body as he hissed and pulled his clothes back on. The cotton dragged at the swollen flesh of his slit and you drunkenly hummed, looking at his angular ribcage, structured with thin bones and heavy scales. You were admiring him. Zadok smiled as he zipped up his cargo pants, moving the chains out of the way as they linked together and jangled.

“Yes. Let’s.” Zadok shuddered as the wind blew, but quickly covered up before stealing another heated kiss from your lips, his fins flaring as you clicked the water tank breathers to the gills on his neck.

 The two of you stumbled from the abandoned homes, stealing kisses and dragging your hands over each other’s skin as darkness settled over the city. You stumbled and laughed with one another as you reached the hotel and he dragged you into the elevator, purring his croaking noise again as he pressed you to his front and stole another kiss, his lips demanding more from you. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you gasped against his teeth as they nipped at you. The elevator pinged the floor and you both collapsed out of it, dragging each other down the hall until you reached his door. You pressed his back against it as he fumbled for the keycard to get in.

A whistle sounded behind you as Zadok opened the door, “Golden boys getting some ass tonight I see.” Senoz purred from across the hall.

“I think I might be the one getting the ass.” You purred as the demon’s tails swung upwards, curled curiously.

“Well, when he’s a disappointment, you know where to find me, sweet thing.” Senoz swiped at your neck and licked the skin before leaving you both to tumble into Zadok’s room.

“Fucking demon.” the merman growled, “I’ll…”

“You better not be all talk. I might get bored and head over to see how good Senoz is in bed.” You countered as his coat fell to the floor.

 Zadok was quick to pull the suction cups of his water tank free, wheezing for a moment before he pealed his shirt off, revealing his angular chest and plated ribs again. You leaned back to admire the sight before he grabbed at your own clothes. You let him wrangle your coat and shirt off before you pushed him back towards the double bed. He went with a soft rumble, laying back against the cushions as he undid his trousers. You stood and slid them down over his hips to reveal his underwear. They were wet with lubricant. Pulling them down, you tried not to lick your lips as his slit sat before you, puffy and glistening, the head of his cock already peeking out from the blue flesh. Zadok threw his head back as you pushed your fingers against the soft scaled skin, revealing the v-shaped head of his cock.

“Fuck, please.” he whined again, “Please.” he reached for your neck and leaned up for a kiss, only to be denied as you spotted the jewellery collars on top of his dresser. They were probably from the show the night before. Before he could steal a kiss, you retrieved one of the studded black leather collars and grinned.

“If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you have what you want.” You promised as you slid back into his lap, holding the studs of the spiked collar open.

 The merman looked from the collar to your face. His white eyes widened before he nodded, licking at his lips with a blue, pointed tongue. You reached around his neck to click the collar closed before leaning back in his lap to admire the black leather and silver spikes against his pearlescent skin. Bioluminescence trails ran up his arms as you trailed your hands over his scaled skin. It was rough over the tops of his arms and you dug your fingers into the meat of his tricep to enjoy the feeling of the rough skin against your palms. Sitting back on his thighs, you turned your gaze downwards as you looped a finger through the ring hanging from the leather. Zadok moaned quietly as you gave it a soft tug and teased the tip of his cock. It bobbed, stirring between the blue fleshy lips before it extended out of its hole, shining wet with lubricant. His dick was long and curved upwards, with a head that tapered into a v shape. Beneath the head was bulbous, in the shape of an oval, and the bottom was flared with ribs. It was entirely new, and you felt your mouth water slightly at the sight of the blue gradient of the organ. The bottom glittered with silver light at your staring and his cock bobbed upwards sharply as your fingers trailed over his shoulders and down his ribs. Zadok let out another purring croak as you finally reached his pelvis and ran your fingertips along the top of his dick.

 “Please, master, please.” he croaked as he flopped back into the cushions, easily falling into a more submissive role as you dragged him up a little by the ring of his collar, “Please touch me.”

You shuddered at his tone of voice, enjoying the soft pleading from a voice which was usually so confident and demanding of attention on stage.

“Are you going to be a good boy and do as you’re told?” You asked as you sat on his thighs, running your fingers over his hips, towards the base of his cock, before you trailed back again, letting the head of his dick leak precum and his slit drip with more lubricant. The clear fluid leaked down over his buttocks and you watched as his face lit up with a blue blush.

Zadok swallowed thickly, “I’ll be g-good.” he promised quietly as you let go of the ring of his collar and stroked the length of his dick.

“Good boy.” You cooed as you stroked him, “We can stop anytime, just pat my thigh twice.” You told him before leaning down to steal a kiss from his lips as you pressed your finger to the sensitive head of his cock.

 “Ah!” Zadok cried sharply as your fingers twisted underneath the bulbous part of his cock, “That’s…sensitive.” he whined as you grasped the oval shape again and stroked around it, watching his clawed feet curl into the sheets, cutting slits into the sheets.

“Its sensitive is it?” You asked as you trailed over the bump again.

“Yes.” he cried, “Please, master, I can’t…I’ll cum before…”

Abruptly, you let go, watching his cock bob and throb with a hum. Zadok whined and croaked again before leaning up to kiss you, demanding your attention.

“I think I need a little help before I can fit that in baby boy.” You uttered against his lips, “How about you open me up a little?”

Zadok nodded as you took hold of his hand and looked at his claws, assessing them for a moment before you decided they were clipped enough to not shred your insides.

 Zadok croaked before purring again as you sat on your knees, resting above his lap as his hand encompassed your sex, the rough scales on the outside of his fingers grazing against your sensitive skin before they ran back and pushed at your hole. He met with resistance and the mer quickly gathered the natural lubricant from his slit, smearing it over his fingers before he pushed back against your hole. Carefully, he slid one finger inside to the second knuckle, letting you rest for a moment before he eased the rest in. Your inside were warm, and Zadok shuddered at the temperature difference before he crooked his finger and began gently thrusting it in and out. His other hand occupied itself at your chest before his mouth took to teasing your nipples, sucking on the buds until they were pert and sore, his sharp teeth nipping at the skin as he croaked again in happiness.

“You’re such a good boy.” You moaned between the attention of his mouth and hands, enjoying the pleasurable stretch as he pushed another finger into you and scissored the two apart, pressing against your plush insides.

“Anything for you, master.” Zadok purred drunkenly, his pale face flushed with blue blood. You watched his cock bob and weep a pearl of light blue precum, following the fluid as it dripped back down the length and mixed with the lubricant seeping from his slit.

 “Zadok, you’re dripping all over yourself. Is this turning you on that much?” You asked breathily as his fingers pressed into a sensitive spot, keeping your composure as he sucked on your nipples again, leaving cool spit over the skin with his blue tongue.

“Mmm. It is.” Zadok hissed as you wrapped your hand around the head of his cock, “Please, can I be inside you?”

“Hmm? What was that? Where are your manners, baby?” You asked as you pulled his fingers from you looking at them before you leaned back in his lap and pinned his hands to the bed. His dick bobbed as you stretched his arms up over his head and you admired the shape of his lithe figure, all bone and sleek muscle. His luminescence burned bright in striped over his entire body, shooting like currents as you nudged your hips against his own, “What’s the magic word?”

“Please, master, I can’t stand it. I need to be inside you.” Zadok moaned as you tugged him up by the collar for a kiss, mashing your tongues and teeth together messily before you reached back and lined his dick up against your hole, “Thank you, thank you…” He uttered incoherently as you sank down on his cock.

 A moan tore from you as the bulbous part under his head sank into you, stretching you wide before the ribs along the bottom scraped gently at your insides. A sharp bolt of pleasure ran up your spine as you took him to the base. He was unique, slippery, and textured in ways you had never taken, and you took a moment to admire his face as his second eyelids flicked and blinked back and forth. His hips shifted, jolting you on top of him, and you felt the cool seep of lubricant from where your hips were pressed together.

“You’re just gushing for me, aren’t you?” You teased as you slid up his cock and slid back down, enjoying the wet squelch that sounded as your hips collided. Zadok nodded and croaked again, reaching for his collar as his other hand wrapped around a bed post, anchoring himself as your rhythm took over, rocking his dick in and out of yourself. He struggled to say anything as the bulbous protrusion expanded, squirting something unfamiliar inside of you.

 “Did you just….” You paused as he shook his head, and your insides turned into jelly, numb to the swell but tingling with extra pleasure. It was a thin stream of jelly and you sat up on your knees to see it drip out of you thickly, numbing wherever it touched.

“Its for…eggs…” he moaned, “I couldn’t stop myself…”

You moaned as your legs shook, “It’s fine…Fuck its.” You pushed your fingers to your sex and shuddered again.

“It’s an…aphrodisiac and its…” Zadok moaned sharply his hand flying to the bed post again as you dropped on his cock, picking up the pace in a frenzy as your insides throbbed with the need to cum.

“I need to cum, baby, can you do it with me?” You asked as you leaned for another kiss and to tug at his collar, tightening the hold of your hand around his neck slightly as you thrust onto him. The ribs of his cock brushed your insides and you quivered before you came, white hot pleasure burning behind your eyes before Zadok croaked and shot his load. You shuddered at the feeling as you slowly brought yourself off his dick. Light blue cum dripped from you and you flopped against his chest with a sigh, thumbing at the collar around his neck happily in the afterglow of it all.

 Tiredly, you roused from your sleepy state as Zadok placed you back against the cushions and tugged the sheets over your body. You hummed against the cushions before the sheets slid back down over your skin.

“You’re not already up for more are you?” You cooed as you peeled open your eyes.

“If only. I’m not that young anymore.” Zadok chuckled as he eased you over onto your back and revealed a warm wash cloth. He hummed as he slid it over your skin, wiping away the cum and jelly like substance which had made your insides tingle.

“I might be able to go for another.” You hummed as he wiped between your legs and tapped at your thigh.

“Well, this one hasn’t got it in him, I’m afraid.” Zadok flopped next to you, clean and relaxed as he laid back against the cushions and reached around the back of his neck.

You reached for the collar for him, “Here. Let me do it.” You kissed the skin of his shoulder and squeezed his shoulder softly before you unclipped the press studs and pulled it away from his neck. You kissed his neck where the leather had bitten into his skin a little and placed the collar on the bedside table before snuggling back against his chest.

 Zadok croaked a little before he ran his fingers over your back, running his claws up and down your spine as he laid back and enjoyed the warmth of your skin against his own. He was cool to the touch, and you slid your fingers down over his plated chest, swooping to the side to feel the odd angle of his ribcage before you stopped above his pelvis, remembering that his dick had probably long retracted into his slit.

“Wait you don’t have anything do you?” You asked sleepily.

Zadok thumbed at the bottom of your chin, “Unless you count drug laced jello as having something, then no.” he let out a raspy breath of air before sitting up, easing you off his body, “Sorry. I need to just go and soak a while. Come and join me?”

With a smile, you leaned up on the edge of the bed and kissed him, enjoying the scrape of his scales, “Sure. Give me a minute though, my legs are still a little like jelly.”

Zadok chuckled again before he purred softly and walked to the bathroom.

 You watched his backside go before you sat back against the headboard and massaged at your thighs, hoping that the numb, tingling feeling would wear off. It felt like a residual tingling pleasure, and you felt your insides burn with the idea of another round in the posh hotel bathtub. A rumbling sounded from the floor. You perked up at the noise before looking at Zadok’s bottoms on the floor. His pocket lit up with the screen of his phone. Someone was ringing him. It wasn’t polite, and you knew that as you curiously leaned down and plucked the phone from his pocket.

‘Misty Conrad’ it read, and you felt your heart drop into your stomach. Miss Conch. The words rang in your head from the band meet and greet. Senoz had implied that they were together. Suddenly, the mild buzz from the alcohol wasn’t there, and you sobered up as the ringing stopped and the screen went black. You clicked the screen back on and looked at the notifications. Three messages. Ten missed calls. The phone buzzed again with a new message and you clicked it to reveal the short message.

‘I know you’re with that fan. Answer my calls Zadok or it’s over.’

 Your eyes burned with tears of humiliation. He was with her. What they had was more than a song recorded together, and you were a fool for not seeing the signs earlier. You let out a small noise as you sniffed and grew angry, the tears siding down your cheeks as you grabbed for your clothes on wobbly legs.

“Was that my phone?” Zadok asked and you turned to face him as he poked his head around the bathroom door. He was dripping with water but his eyes widened as he saw you crying and grabbing for your clothes, “Are you…”

You threw his phone on the bedside table as you tugged your underwear and bottoms on, “You’re a cheating fuck!” You accused, “And you used me! I should have known that this was stupid but… Miss Conch. She’s been ringing you all say and now she knows.” Your brain couldn’t seem to quite catch up with you as you pulled your shirt on and grabbed your bag. Zadok wrapped his waist with a towel, his mouth open as he grabbed his phone from the table and looked. He cringed at the messages and turned.

“Look, its not what you think!” he insisted as he caught your arm, “We’ve not been together seriously for ages and…”

“And nothing!” You threw back at him, “You used me to console your feelings because you can’t bare to deal with her, and you’ve made me into some kind of…”

“I’m not…” Zadok took a breath, croaking as he pulled at his fins, “Look, I’m sorry, I’ll sort this…”

“I…I don’t care.” You tugged your arm free, feeling the tears beginning to burn into your anger again, “You’re a bastard, Zadok, I want you to know that. A selfish bastard.”

 Zadok let your arm go as you opened the door and stood with his phone clenched in his claws as you slammed the door behind you. You wiped at your eyes furiously in the hall and took a shaky breath before you turned on your heels.

“Hmm, leaving so soon, sugar?” Senoz purred as he peered out into the hall, “Or did you want a piece of this instead of the fishy boy?” he sniffed and tilted his head, his horns scratching at the frame, “Wait, why are you crying? Are you alright?”

You held out your hand to him, motioning for him to stop as you wiped the tears away, “I’m fine. Leave it. I’ll be going.”

The demon turned his head to Zadok’s door as you left him stood in the hall. As you rounded the corner you heard him knock on the door.

“You know that’s real bad fucking PR to make fans cry after fucking them, Zadok!”

 You didn’t hear from Zadok after that. The band continued their tour globally, and you watched the highlights happily, listening to the songs with your usual interest. You smiled at Duncan’s solos and watched the crowd go berserk. It was energy you lived for. Zadok’s performances were stunning. He draped himself over a piano and sang a ballad before he did more singing in his ancient mer language. It was lovely, but it stung a little. It wasn’t long after their tour finished that you turned on the alternative radio station. The ends of a metal song chugged along as you made a sandwich. It was your day off from the bar and you had been cleaning most of the day, enjoying cleansing yourself of clutter and dust. You hummed as you placed two slices of bread on the plate.

 “Although we have drama in the metal scene, we’re all used to the usual knucklehead fights between rival bands, or better yet, accusations of plagiarism, but we’ve never quite had some news like this. The frontman of the band SIREN has been caught, if you mind the pun, in a fishing net of accusations. Miss Conch, the mans supposed former partner, has been blowing the lid off his life outside of his band. The accusations range from ritual sacrifice to cheating, and its not something we usually endorse. But, to answer these claims, we have the very man, or mer, with us in the studio right now.”

 You dashed for the volume dial and turned it up a little before you moved your plate closer and began to cut up your filling for the lunch.

 “So, Zadok, what do you have to say about these claims by Pop Star, Miss Conch?”

“Some are right, but most are wrong. The ritual sacrifice, for starters, is a ceremony done by my people to appease the currents of the ocean. We take a fish and its bones and lay them in art decorations as an offering. Its an old and sacred tradition. The cheating accusations are, in part true, but our relationship was never official, and I had already broken things off by the beginning of this tour. Her more serious allegations…well my manager and lawyer are already dealing with those. They are untrue and slanderous.”

“Are you calling Miss Conch a liar?”

“For the most part, yes, I am. She invaded my private life and failed to see when our relationship was over. I want to be transparent and come out to speak for my side of the story. I’m not calling her obsessed or anything derogatory, I am just justifying what is fact from fiction.”

“That’s understandable and I’m sure your fans appreciate your honesty.”

 “Unfounded and untrue.” You scoffed as you slapped your sandwich together, “Next he’ll be telling everyone that he-”

 “This drama has gone on long enough and it has hurt people close to me, not just mine and the band’s reputation. I hurt someone I now know I shouldn’t have with this mess and this is my start to fixing that mistake.”

 “That he didn’t know where his dick was going…” You whispered as you looked at the radio like it was a person staring back at you. You wondered if he was talking about you as you moved around the island of your kitchen and headed towards your couch to sit and eat your sandwich. The host thanked him before announcing the next song as Burn by SIREN. You listened to the thunderous drums as you chewed, mulling over the words in your head before the guitars wailed and you thumped at the cushions.

“Why do I even think that? He’s the one who just failed to tell me he has a girlfriend!” You grumbled to yourself before pulling your phone out. You sighed as you opened MonstGram. In your inbox, there sat one message.

 ‘Can we talk? I need to speak to you. I know I’m a selfish bastard but I want the chance to apologise.’

 The same image of the figure by the sea. You took a deep breath as you looked at the vague image of Zadok and placed your phone down, the screen black as you finished off the last bits of your sandwich. Contemplation lasted only a moment as the screen lit up and the notification registered. Another message. You looked at the icon and opened it again.

 ‘I know I’m the last person you want to see but I’m sorry things ended up how they did. I hope my stupid actions didn’t ruin your love of our music. I’ll leave you alone. That’s all I wanted to say.’

 It stank of desperation. You looked from the message and back to your empty plate. It wasn’t manipulative. It was honest, and that made you hate how you were feeling even more. You opened the conversation again and stared at the picture of the sea and cliffs. Your fingers danced over the keyboard before you started to type.

 ‘One chance. Meet me at Full Moon Bar. Friday. I’ll be on shift but I’ll talk to you.’

 ‘I’ll see you then.’

 With a great sigh, you closed your screen and looked up at the ceiling, your head resting on the back of the sofa cushions. It was a leap of faith, you knew that. You were trusting him with your good faith again.

“If he doesn’t show up, Miss Conch will be the least of his problems. I’ll slice him up like sushi and mail him back to his manager.” You spat, and the poisonous words made you feel a little better and hate him a little less. With a smile, you ran a hand over your face and got up to go and put your plate away in the sink for washing later. For now, you had a living area to deep clean, and you headed for the vacuum to try and clean Zadok from your mind for a while.

 The bar was quiet on Friday. Thankfully, there was a small group who had a lot of orders to keep you entertained. It distracted you from the nerves brewing in your gut.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you today?” Tom asked as he leaned over the bar, his nose perked as he sniffed at the air, “You smell off as all hell.”

“Get your werewolf nose away from me, Tom. I mean it.” You threatened as you turned to place some clean glasses under the bar, “I’m not in the mood for your meddling.”

“Meddling? Me? Never.” Tom teased gently, “Its like you’re worried though. Talk to me.”

With a great sigh, you turned back to face him, “Someone I’ve not seen in a long time is coming…I just need you to be there in case. Not with me or anything, just around.”

 “Of course.” Tom consoled, “I hope this isn’t some abusive asshole, because I swear on the moon I’ll…”

“Don’t worry. Its not. Its just something I need to sort out.” You assured him.

“Okay. What time do you need a minute?” he asked as he opened the bar door and stood next to you. You peered at the clock as the bell on the door rang, and Tom turned to greet them with a smile.

“Evening.” he said before he turned back to you, his eyes wide and his nose flared, “Tell me I’m not dreaming, and that Zadok from SIREN did actually just walk into the bar.”

You stiffened as you peered around him, “You’re not dreaming big guy.” You headed to the door, “So keep your cool. This is the one I need to talk to.”

Tom’s mouth opened like a large fish but he didn’t ask you any questions as you headed over to Zadok.

 Zadok ducked into a booth near the entrance, his head low and covered by a large black hood. His water respirator was on and he was wearing a mouth piece over his face. You watched him before finally taking the last couple of steps and sliding into the seat. You slid him a shot of whiskey. Zadok caught the shot glass and looked up, his white eyes locking with your own before he reached for his face and clicked a few buttons. The water drained from the mask and he pulled it free, smiling with needle sharp teeth. He was dressed in his usual baggy combats and a large, long sleeve shirt. The shirt was torn and had a few chains linked across his chest. He tugged off his hood and looked at the shot glass for a moment.

“Look I know that…That I fucked up. What I did was selfish, and I took advantage of you.” he started as he clutched the glass between his hands, “I shouldn’t have I shouldn’t have let you do what you wanted but it happened and I’m sorry.”

 You looked at his face and the wetness of his eyes, “You still did it, and that hasn’t changed. I was…I was hurt and upset. I had her message me, Zadok. Spiteful, horrible things. None of that hurt will go away but its fading.”

Zadok cringed over his drink, “We weren’t even properly together. We had sex and a few dates but with the tour, it wasn’t going any further. She messaged me constantly. Harrassed me with phone calls and I was just…I should have told her.” he looked you dead in the eyes, “I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess.”

“It’s a mess, but I appreciate you being so honest with me.” You confessed as he thumbed at his drink before downing the whiskey. His hands looked a little steadier after the strong liquor.

“It’s the least I could do. She’s in the past. She’s tried to file a lot of shit against me. It wasn’t worth it, and I’m…I’m tired. She can have the song rights and royalties. I just want her out of my life”

 You didn’t comment but nodded as he ranted a little. You knew about the allegations. It was widely known news to the fans now. Still, his interview weighed on your mind.

“What you said in the interview you did on Metal Talks.” You started, “Is this what you were talking about? You wanted to make this right with me?”

“Yes. I knew…Look I was a fucking idiot, I know that, but I ruined something that I thought was going to be…”

“More?” You added with a small smile.

“Call it stupidity, but…You were just stunning, and I got carried away. The alcohol didn’t help matters but I still think you’re amazing. Your love for the music, for life, it just spoke to me and… Look I can’t change anything, but I can try and sort this out.” He pushed the glass over to you on the table, “We don’t know each other, not really, but would you be willing to know me, in a better way?”

You gut churned as you looked at his pearlescent skin and his beautiful white eyes, chewing the inside of your cheek, “Maybe I would. I thought you were moving, in everything, from the moment I started to follow you all, but that doesn’t change what you did. I need time and space, but I would like to know you, the real you.”

 Zadok carefully reached for your hand and squeezed at your fingers carefully as he smiled and ducked his head. The door opened and Tom greeted the next customer. You sat, letting him hold your hand, before you blushed and got up.

“You still have to pay for the drink, but you can stay, if you like? I know Tom is dying for an autograph and a picture. He’s probably your second biggest fan.”

Zadok chuckled and looked up at you, “Who’s my first?”

“Well, you just might have to find that out.”

#merman x reader #merman x gender neutral reader #merman #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster bf #monster boy x reader #monster boys #monster reader insert #reader insert #zadok #SIREN #siren: a metal monster band #zadok x reader #monster boys x reader #exo #terato

[deniigi]

Blame @petrichordiam for this.

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Title: centerstage

Summary: An academic goes to a conference and is jazzed to see a jedi speak there. He unknowingly sits next to this jedi’s Support Squad.

The jedi Support Squad is like 85% clones, and 15% Jedi Generals.

No one mentions that the jedi speaking has never done this before and is petrified out of his blessed little mind.

*Anakin is like 19-20ish here.

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Sion Jissard has spent the last ten years of his life in the dredges of archives, digging through documents and testing fibers found between the flimsy, papery pages of old texts—scrounging for clues to recreate the conditions of the great conference halls and small, tucked away offices in which some of the most powerful people in the galaxy once gathered to whisper and shout over the fate of whole planets.

He has a hypothesis that the conditions in those rooms affected the decisions made in them. His hypothesis is strong enough that it has endured several rounds of peer-review and escaped those vulture-like clutches mostly unscathed in published form—both in journal and, his chest swells to recall, in book formats.

His book has sold several hundred copies and been cited in a plethora of upcoming article submissions.

The last eight years of tension in his marriage has eased in light of this. The salary from the professorship obtained in light of the book certainly hasn’t hurt it either.

His two doctorates are set on the wall of his office and when he receives word that a conference on ‘Intergalactic Unionism and Peace Negotiation’ is to be held in two months time, he opens up the speakers list and raises his head to gaze upon those two solid frames.

There will be jedi speakers at the conference. Several, actually. The whole thing is to be held on Coruscant, in the small visitors’ wing of the Jedi temple itself.

Sion Jissard pinches the fabric of his suit and then lightly slaps at his cheek to make sure that he is not dreaming.

He has only recently begun studying the jedi order’s material world and the role that world plays in their intergalactic peace-making practices. Prior to this, he considered the subject too on-the-nose. Jedi studies are rampant. Everyone wants a piece of that pie—the allure of it being that the jedi themselves, scholars in their own rights, refuse to partake in examinations of their culture.

They are notoriously obstinate. Their grandmasters refuse to let outsiders into their archives. Their masters shut down any and all attempts to obtain interviews or transcripts or documents with empty expressions or gentle, pitying smiles. Their knights blink with confusion at personal and personal-adjacent questions, and the little ones, the apprentices, are shielded behind all of these people as though the elbow-padded questioners are threatening their precious little lives.

In short, the jedi are happy to listen but loathe to teach. If you are not one of their soldiers or one of their fellows, they will lie to your face and tell you that it is their religion to do so.

And yet here they are, offering up a scholar’s wetdream and even allowing a handful of their own to present on their areas of expertise.

Sion Jissard will pass up this opportunity only upon pain of death.

He applies for the conference as a participant, not a speaker, and is delighted to receive confirmation of his place within mere minutes.

He puts the date on his calendar and starts looking into transit to Coruscant for the event in two months time.

--

 Sion arrives on Coruscant, at the foot of the Jedi Temple itself, and stares up at it for so long that he begins to feel sick to the gills.

He fumbles for his confirmation at the little table set up in the interior courtyard behind a side-entrance door. He is distracted by the fact that the woman he is standing in front of is a Jedi. She is helped by two small children and holds a baby who is dead-set on unraveling the knots that decorate her thick waist band. Even the baby is dressed in double-collared cream-colored robes.

Sion has so many questions he wants to ask.

The jedi asks him for his name. She has a collection of name badges before her, but none of them are his. He gives his name and the master turns to the little girl sat at her right elbow with a brush in hand and instructs her to write it out.

The jedi child—not an apprentice, her robes are cream still, there are no additional earth-colors layered on top of it—writes Sion’s name in beautiful script on a little card and hands the card to the master, who puts it in a holder with a pin on it and places it into Sion’s hand.

She instructs him to go through the side door and enjoy some refreshments before the event begins. The baby in her lap looks up at her abruptly and bonks his sweet little head against her chin.

Sion forgets himself.

“How old?” he asks automatically, gesturing to the baby.

The master looks down into her lap.

“He is eight months and 75% lung,” she says affectionately.

“Ah. Mine was like that, too,” Sion says. “He grew out of it. He’s only 40% lung now.”

The master smiles.

Sion removes himself from her table before he embarrasses himself further.

--

 There are enough people inside the front room of the jedi’s visitor’s wing to nearly fill it to capacity. The volume, though everyone is whispering, is great enough to be heard from outside the door. The room itself is earth-colored with a high ceiling. Its walls all contain niches with rounded borders. Columns with deep-cut creases in them arch high to the skylights.

It is all beautifully geometric, stoic, and clean. And even though the walls and floor are built from materials of warm tones, the skylights overhead and the surrounding addtion of books and holorecords set into the walls lend it a cooling quality.

What should have been imposing architectural feels more like holy space. The room is one that reverberates with reminders to respect all around you.

Sion’s fingers yearn to document this, but there is a sign right by the room’s entrance that asks politely for no recordings or holographs to be taken.  

“Professor Jissard,” a familiar voice says.

Sion feels his whole body droop. He turns to see Teo Detras stood before him in his obnoxious, roaring red robes.

“I’m pleased that you too were able to secure an invitation, sir,” Teo says as though he has not attempted to place Sion on the metaphysical chopping block for each of his premises since the time they began their academic programs.

Sion opens his mouth to point out that this is also his area of study and that Teo has no monopoly on the field of Jedi architecture when a quiet passes over the room. Sion watches the heads around him lift and searches for the source of the sudden shudder of silence.

He finds it in a tall master with dark skin standing at the very front of the space. The man has tucked his hands neatly into the mouths of his sleeves.

He is Jedi Master and General Mace Windu. Sion has read and reread his essays, not caring so much for what he is talking about but how he is talking about it. His metaphors and examples should have been insight into the common experiences of those living in the Jedi temple.

Sion has found, however, that Jedi Master Mace Windu does not especially care for eloquence or metaphor. He cares only to methodically destroy the argument (if it could be called that) published by a jedi named Qui-Gon Jinn many years ago. Though Master Jinn has not published for several decades now, Master Windu’s writings remain agitated by his interpretations of the jedi’s Spiritual energy, the Force.

Just gazing upon the man now, Sion would not think him capable of agitation.

Master Windu welcomes the academics to the temple and says that he regrets not having more time to speak with each of the attendees as individuals, but there is a war on and his clone troopers require his services. He encourages people to refrain from any recordings of the temple due to its sacred nature, and he asks that attendees be mindful of the jedi Initiates (the white-robed children) who are confused and intrigued by all of the non-jedi people inhabiting their usual playroom.

He cautions everyone that if anyone slips on a toy, he warned them, and the temple is not liable for their medical bills.

This is a joke.

People are unsure of whether or not to laugh. Some laugh awkwardly far too late. Master Windu gives no sign on his face that he appreciates or disapproves of this.

Instead, he steps from his space of honor and leaves in his place a young man with feathery blonde hair and a highly expressive countenance, who drops his armload of documents on the floor obnoxiously and flings himself down to snatch up only the conference program, as if this was the most efficient way of finding it.

People know to laugh this time.

The young man begins announcing panel topics and rooms and give his strong opinions on each of them.

More people laugh. It feels less like a sin.

“And that’s all, my dears and darlings,” the young man says, “Mind your step into the conference rooms, our predecessors derived joy from an unexpected drop.”

--

 Sion has only one panel that he will kill at minimum three bodies to sit in on. It is the one on peace strategy and resource management. He is not here for the peace strategy or the resource management parts of the talk; his burning interest yearns instead in listening to how and if people talk about their space and things. He wants to write down the language they use. He wants to learn about the physicality of peace.

He thinks ‘The Physicality of Peace’ would make a very compelling title for another book.

So he slips through the arched doors of conference room 3 and finds himself in a tiered lecture theatre. There is a small balcony with rows of pew-like benches that hangs over a lower seating area. He takes a seat at the edge of the front pew and sets his datapad on his lap for note-taking. At the front of the room there is a long bench—not a quite table, but definitely a tall bench, and behind it, there is an enormous screen for displaying images and information. Someone has very kindly thought to place a jug of water and some cups at the center of the bench by a microphone.

Sion gets the impression from its awkward, dead-center placement that it is an addition that the jedi themselves usually forego.

He wonders what that means. He only wonders for about 15 seconds before a hand touches his shoulder and he jerks in alarm.

“My apologies, sir. We were just wondering if the space next to you is available?” says the smooth-faced, copper-haired man standing above him.

He is wearing white armor on top of his layered robes. The arms and legs that emerge from his long off-white tunic are dark in color, but his boots are hard and white and come up and over his kneecaps.

Sion is speechless.

This is General and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

General and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi has touched Sion’s shoulder and apologized to him.

He doesn’t have words. He can only make fish-mouthed motions and then point and nod.

General Kenobi accepts this with grace and stands up straight. He waves behind him to call his companions over to join him on the balcony’s edge.

They arrive as a pack.

Instead of coming around and staggering past Sion’s knees at the edge of the bench, General Kenobi climbs over its back and settles in. He then twists back over the row and holds his hands out; a Clone Trooper in full armor hands to him a strange bundle of woolen, brown robe. It produces legs and arms and then bright blue and white lekku once Kenobi has situated it next to him.

“Fooled ‘em,” the little Togruta that emerges from the cloth says brightly.

“Shh,” Kenobi says. “Cody, you next.”

“No, I want Rex to sit with me.”

“Ahsoka, shhh.”

“Rex.”

“Child, this is how people like me get banned from meetings; you’re not even supposed to see—”

“REX.”

“HUSH. Okay, okay. Rex. Pst. Cody, get Rex. Cody, oh for the love of—Wolffe, yes—no. Wolffe, look at me. Get Cody to get Rex.”

Sion cannot believe what he is seeing. General Kenobi appears to be sneaking half of his command into the balcony area. There are more than a few clone troopers there are at least twenty. They are somehow visibly excited despite their matching helmets. The General is able to tell them apart easily. He leans over the back of the bench again and crooks his finger at one of the troopers who leans forward. He tells them to throw something at their commander.

The Clone takes off his glove, stands, and nail a clone standing in the aisle in the head with it. The slap of contact makes this clone cease speaking in serious low tones with a clone decorated with blue edging in front of him. The first clone draws himself up perfectly straight and turns around with a fury that even Sion can feel the heat of.

His armor is painted yellow in places.

He holds the glove in his hand like a threat. The clone who threw it winces and points wordlessly to General Kenobi, then sits down in a hurry. Kenobi smiles wide and white. He has freckles on his face that do not appear on any of the images of him that appear on the news.

He’s also shorter than Sion himself, even sitting.

“Sir,” the white and yellow clone says stiffly.

“Rex,” Kenobi says through that threat of a smile. “Get over here.”

The Togruta child twists around excitedly as the clone in white and blue exits the conversation with the one in white and yellow and surveys the rows of his fellows piled into the space behind the General and the child. He has to squeeze past the line of knees and then climb over the bench to sit down next to the child, who immediately cuddles up to him.

“Hey, that’s my seat,” a new voice whispers.

Sion looks back to see General Quinlan Vos with his arms crossed over his chest, recognizable in any setting. Behind him is General Koon. General Kenobi slaps a hand to his forehead and grumbles, then shoos the blue edged clone and the child a few seats down.

The generals clamber just as awkwardly as the blue clone through the sea of knees of the troopers and then over the back of the bench.

Somehow, Sion has won the jackpot. He is now surrounded by jedi culture, literally.

“All of you, back,” Kenobi snaps down the bench when everyone is just starting to get comfortable. “Cody. Commander, come here.”

The clone trooper with the yellow edging does not want to play this game. He shifts his weight back onto his other heel as Kenobi pats the newly vacated space next to him. General Vos croons in a teasing tone something about Kenobi being especially fond of this clone.

Kenobi lurches out across the empty seat to punch him in the gut and then returns peacefully to patting the space over the sound of Vos’s moaning.

The Clone Commander has no choice. His general is giving him a directive. He gives in to the inevitable and makes his way through the knees and—much more neatly than the others—steps over the back of the bench to its seat and then into sitting. Kenobi beams at him, practically purring.

Sion needs desperately to take notes, but the subjects of said notes are right there and rudeness is intolerable in retaining his vantage point.

He fights the urge to vibrate in space as the lights begin to dim overhead and the panel chairman comes out to introduce the topic and speakers. It is only about a minute or so when a hand lands firmly on Kenobi’s right shoulder—the one by Sion’s arm. Sion jumps, but Kenobi resolutely stares directly down at the speaker.

“Obi-Wan,” Master Mace Windu’s low, low voice says right into the space between Kenobi and Sion’s ears, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Kenobi begins to melt but catches himself.

“You didn’t for a while,” he said.

“Get her out of here.”

“She has a right to see her Master.”

“What part of these orders are challenging for you?”

Kenobi still does not turn around to see Master Windu, but his eyebrows sink and his brow becomes more pronounced.

“No padawans,” Master Windu says. “Ahsoka. Out.”

The togruta, still bedecked in that heavy cloak, turns to stare owlishly at Master Windu while the person at the front of the room moves on to introducing the next speaker.

“But I’m not a padawan,” the child says. “I’m obnoxious. Master Kenobi said so.”

Kenobi holds his face in a hand.

“You can be both. Come,” Master Windu says, holding out a hand.

“But I’m a cloak,” Ahsoka tries instead.

Kenobi crumples further. Master Windu’s hand finds his shoulder again. Sion can feel its heat.

“If not her, then you,” he says.

“After,” Kenobi says.

“I’ll be waiting, Obi-Wan.”

Master Windu vanishes from behind them. Sion shudders. Kenobi turns to the side and hisses at Ahsoka,

“Now look what you’ve done.”

“You’re my co-conspirator,” Ahsoka hisses back. “My—my—Rex, what’s the word?”

Clone Commander Rex does not want to give her the word. Ahsoka tugs at him.

“Rex,” she insists.

“Enabler,” Commander Rex says with bitter regret coating his words.

Ahsoka beams over the laps of the other Generals at Kenobi. He glares back through a squint. He starts to say something, but General Vos tells him to shut up in a sharp tone.

Sion looks back to the front of the room and finds that a young man with dark hair has come out to the center of the front table-bench to speak.

He is a jedi. His robes, however, are dark in color. Blacks and browns with knee-high boots.

He’s very young. Very, very young.

And nervous.

Very, very nervous.

Even from the balcony seats, Sion can see his hands shaking. He is holding a stack of white paper. It is trembling like a branch on a windy day.

“Go, go, Master, go, go,” chants little Ahsoka.

Sion finds himself abruptly appalled by the realization that the child on center stage is the master of the child a few seats over from him.

General Koon gently shushes Ahsoka. Commander Rex helpfully wraps a gloved hand over the bottom half of her face to keep her distracted.

Sion looks from them to the young man and finds that he’s already knocked over the jug of water on the bench and looks about ready to sob about it. He gathers himself, though, and brings the microphone closer to him.

He is General Anakin Skywalker, Sion now understands. He is the first speaker and he’s never in his life presented a paper at a professional conference before.  

His voice shakes as he reads out the title of the article that he published (and that Sion has read) on battlefield surrender. After the second paragraph, Sion brings a hand to his lip to help him contain the emotions that come with the understanding that this boy is about to read his article, word for word, in front of a room full of academics.

He thinks now that he has been too harsh with his students.

--

 General Skywalker is not a strong public speaker. Clearly, his expertise is in action. He stammers. He loses his place in his reading and accidentally rereads three whole sentences. Only twice does he look up from his paper, and each time it is not at the audience but at Obi-Wan Kenobi, sat next to Sion, serious as a plague.

Kenobi nods sagely.

General Skywalker is General Kenobi’s apprentice. Was General Kenobi’s apprentice. However, it is clear to all who are present today that General Skywalker is still General Kenobi’s apprentice. Desperate, the poor thing is, for Kenobi’s reassurance.

His confidence in reading grows under his former (current?) master’s approving eye until he turns a page and—horror of horrors—drops the stack of paper.

Sion’s whole body tenses in sympathy and second-hand embarrassment. Skywalker flings himself down and messily collects the papers. He hurriedly reorders them, all while stuttering ‘ums’ and ‘uhs.’

Yet, when Sion chances a peek down the line of Generals next to him, he finds that not a single one has winced. No one has laughed. Even the clone troopers all around them are as silent and steady as the night itself.

It seems like they are all listening intently to their young General on center stage. The only giveaway that sympathy is being had by any is the tiny gesture Clone Commander Rex is making with his hand. He is moving it almost imperceptibly in a circle, as if to say ‘come on, come on.’

Sion looks back to young Skywalker and waits patiently as he finds his place and carries on reading again, this time faster. This time he does not look up for his master’s eye.

He wants only for the torture to end.

He gets to the end of his paper without dropping it or repeating himself and is flushed red. He does not ask for questions. He merely says quietly into the microphone, “Thank you.”

The panel chair waits a beat before walking over to Skywalker and asking the crowd for questions on his behalf. Skywalker becomes even more luminous. Sion cannot decide whether asking a question would be more or less stressful for this poor boy.

No one asks a question.

The panel chair then starts to ask for applause for Skywalker, but before he can even finish the sentence the whole balcony breaks into uproar.

General Kenobi hoots and whistles piercingly in Sion’s ear. General Vos claps and shouts what sounds like ‘You FUCKING did it, kid. You FUCKING did it. Hip-hip—”

“HUZZAH,” the Clone Troopers behind General Vos finish for him in perfect unity.

“Hip-hip—”

“HUZZAH.”

More applause and congratulations erupts after this.

General Skywalker slams his paper into his face and bursts into tears at the front of the room.

He bolts for a doorway that Sion hadn’t even noticed was right next to the bench. General Kenobi whacks at his Clone Commander’s shoulder, and Commander Cody wraps hands around his waist and hoists him up so that he’s standing on the guardrail at the edge of the balcony. He leaps from there to the lower level then goes jogging out the same doorway his former apprentice ran through.

After another moment or two, Commander Cody stands up and snaps at the whole collection of troopers in their language. Everyone shuts up and sits back down. Commander Rex gestures for Ahsoka to put up her hood and takes from General Vos a small datapad which he gives to the child—presumably for her to occupy herself with for the next hour and a half of papers. She takes it and immediately becomes absorbed in its lightly-glowing screen.

The balcony is once again on its best behavior.

Sion doesn’t bother with listening to any of the other papers. He feels no shame at all in beginning to furiously take notes on his last twenty-five minutes with the jedi.

--

 Upon leaving the conference room nearly two hours later, he finds himself swept up in the clone troopers’ swift and orderly exit from the space. They line up outside the hall in lines by regiment and they wait for their commanders and generals to arrive before marching back towards the visitors’ wing’s exit.

After two or three minutes, only two lines remain.

Clone Commander Rex and Clone Commander Cody stand perfectly at attention beside their lines of men. Clone Commander Rex has his jedi’s apprentice thrown over his shoulder; he has balanced her on one arm while she sleeps.

It’s very sweet. She obviously trusts the Clone Commander very much.

“Gentlemen.”

The clones snap to even tighter attention as General Mace Windu appears, walking briskly their way.

“You’re dismissed,” he says to them. “Commanders, you will remain. Obi-Wan and Anakin will join us shortly.”

“Sir,” both commanders say simultaneously.

There is a pause, and Sion sees that all of these people are now looking at him.

“Can we help you, sir?” General Windu asks.

Yes. And Sion will pay any amount of money to just know this one thing. This teeny, tiny detail.

“Sir?”

“Is that normal for you?” he blurts out.

The Clone Commanders stare. The general stares. The apprentice coughs lightly in her sleep.

“I regret to say that it is not only normal, but expected of these general and units,” General Windu says. “Please vacate this area.”

Right.

“Thank you,” Sion says.

He stiff-legs it back to the crowd of other academics and hunts down a liquid to soothe his parched throat.

  The new book’s title will not be ‘The Physicality of Peace.’ It will be ‘All is Fair in Love and War: The Jedi Order and Ideologies of Family, Part I.’

 --------------- Yeah, so anyways, Myth and I decided that Anakin is bad at public speaking and nothing anyone says can take this from me now, I’m invincible. (If you want this on Ao3 let me know).

#anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #the clone wars #clones #guys sometimes anakin is allowed to be cute #but only like every so often I don't want him getting uppity #and thinking I actually like him or something like that #ahsoka and rex's relationship is everything to me #fic #ficlet

[foilfreak]

Beauty and Her Beast: Chapter 3

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(Link to ao3 version in comments below)

“Going off the information I have listed here, it appears as though you’ll be receiving subject N-45, today. She’s a healthy 22 year old female. Her short, but muscular body weighs 95lbs with a childish height of 4’10” tall. She possesses primarily Romanian and Filipino ancestry, with some Dutch or Finnish or... whatever, thrown in there as well. And according to the various items we found on her person when she was first brought in, she’s apparently a graduate student at the University of Bucharest, or, at least she was, before she drove her car into a tree while driving up the mountain and was recovered by Heisenberg” Miranda explains robotically, reading aloud from a piece of paper held inside a thick manila envelope. “Of the 4 remaining test subjects, N-45 is easily the most violent and difficult one to work with, having to be either anesthetized or restrained every time I wanted to so much as take her vitals or stabilize her condition. When given smaller doses of sedatives she-”

For the first time in his entire life, Salvatore completely ignores whatever unimportant nonsense Mother Miranda is going on about, continuing to take in and analyze the strikingly unique appearance of the young woman before him.

Upon first inspection, N-45 appeared to resemble that of a normal woman in just about every way possible. Her hair was scruffy and very short, barely long enough to reach her eyes, and a deep black color that looked so soft and luxurious that Salvatore ached to run his fingers through it. Her face was slightly round, giving the young woman a very youthful appearance, with her sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones being some of the only things keeping Salvatore from mistaking her for a child. And lastly, her... figure, if Salvatore had to put such an embarrassing idea into words, was similar to that of Mother Miranda, only shorter, more compact even. It reminded the hooded man of those small packets of candy Duke occasionally gifted him that said “fun sized” on the label, in reference to them being much smaller than the standard sized candy bars and yet somehow being… better, despite technically giving you less candy.

She was already perfect as she was, but it was not just N-45’s beautiful human features that pulled Salvatore in and refused to let him escape the stupefaction he’d been placed under, but also her mutations.

A soft royal blue coated her from head to toe, giving way only to a large patch of solid white located on her chest and stomach. Her skin catches the light in a way that reveals areas of tiny overlapping scales, glimmering like stars in the midnight sky, or freshly polished armor, perhaps, along the bony ridges and tender curves of her figure.

Small white dots distributed like paint splatters across the colored sections of her flesh give a similar visual effect as freckles, starting from her hairline and extending all the way down to the very tips of her toes. These galaxies of white were invisible only on the white patch along the front of her torso, as well as on the lighter blue hue taken on by both the palms and webbings of her hands and feet.

Long Fin-like extensions grew along both her forearms and lower back. The former extended outward and inward like a windshield wiper, likely used to decrease water resistance. The latter, however, perhaps used to increase fine motor maneuverability while swimming at greater speeds or in tighter spaces, grew straight downwards from her lower back in an overlapping fan configuration that marginally covered her rear end, though not by very much. The fins looked like a soft, delicate material that was probably very flexible but very durable, if Salvatore had to guess just from looking.

And to top everything off, N-45 even appeared to even have gills, 2 different sets by the looks of it. The first set of 3 breathing slits was located horizontally along both sides of her neck, while the second set could be found on both sides of her torso, following the downward angle of her ribs but stopping just underneath her soft, plump-looking breasts.

Salvatore feels a sudden wave of heat cascade over his body and he turns his face away in shameful embarrassment as he suddenly realizes that N-45, much like every test subject undergoing cadou treatment, was still very, very nude at the present moment.

“I can’t make any promises regarding her disposition, but physically speaking, she’s ready to be released to you whenever you’d like. I’ll have some of the villagers transport and release her into the reservoir later this week” Mother Miranda says, pressing a button to close the pod now that Salvatore was no longer staring at her.

“W-wait just a m-moment” Salvatore calls out, prompting Mother Miranda to halt the closing of the pod.

“Yes? What is it?” The woman asks curtly, clearly not wanting to stand here and watch Salvatore any longer than she has to.

Wringing his hands together nervously, Salvatore meekly asks, “C-could… could y-you wake h-her up… s-so that I can s-speak with her… j-just for a m-moment?”

Mother Miranda remains silent for a moment, blank face staring directly at Salvatore as she contemplates what to do.

“No, Moreau,” she says finally. “I’ve had a very busy day today and I'm quite tired. N-45 is a menace that I struggle to deal with even on my best days. The last thing I need is something going wrong and her getting out and causing all sorts of chaos.”

Salvatore’s shoulders slump in disappointment, but he makes no further attempts to argue.

Mother Miranda rolls her eyes at the incredibly childish display, walking over to place a gentle hand on Salvatore’s head. “Would it make you feel better if I agreed to have N-45 be the first of the subjects to be dropped off? It’ll be more difficult than my original plan, but I suppose it was a bit unfair that you were the only one who didn’t get to “pick” their gift.”

“Yes, M-Mother Miranda… I-I’d like th-that very… very m-much” Salvatore says, leaning into the touch as Mother Miranda begins guiding him back toward the hallway leading to the exit door.

It wasn’t until after Miranda had exited the lab and begun walking down the long hallway toward the exit that Salvatore dared cast another glance back at the pod that contained N-45, wistfully thinking of how amazing her hand had felt in his, and how much he wanted to speak to her.

Just as the disfigured man was about to turn back and follow Miranda out of the laboratory, a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, prompting Salvatore to tense and snap toward the 4 pods, frantically trying to figure out what it was he saw. A few seconds of stillness pass before Salvatore sees movement again, not freely moving about the room like he originally expected, but from within one of the 4 pods, his pod to be exact.

His curiosity momentarily outweighing his nerves, Salvatore slowly approaches the metal capsule, trying to get a look through the small pane of glass that allows visual access into the holding pod.

Another flash of movement has Salvatore flinching, jumping back as though he’d been advanced upon. After several seconds of stillness, however, the hooded man regains his confidence and once again inches his way toward the capsule, moving his head up and down to try and get one more glimpse at N-45 before he has to leave. One last look before she lays eyes upon his vile and disgusting body for the first time, screaming and calling him a monster as she runs away, leaving him alone and without anyone to call his own. Just like always.

“ Hello ?”

Salvatore froze dead in his tracks, his heart pounding and his lungs refusing to take in air, as a soft, muffled, questioning voice reaches the deformed man’s ears, followed by two golden orbs with narrow black slits running vertically through the center, that slowly peek into view from the bottom of the glass window. Salvatore’s eyes widen in shock as he quickly realizes that the orbs of gold are not, in fact, just spheres of color, but rather a pair of eyes, staring intently at him from inside the pod.

“Uuuuuh… u-u-uuum… I-i… I w-was just…” the disfigured man stuttered as he struggled to move his body, seemingly paralyzed by the bewitching gaze currently locked onto him, looking at him with an intensity that makes Salvatore wonder if this is what it feels like to be a cell put under a microscope.

It isn’t until Salvatore notices the golden orbs moving and shifting from one corner of the window pane to the other that the hooded man realizes, to his immediate horror, that he might not be the only one trying to get a better look at the figure located on the other side of the pod door. Panic and fear immediately fill Salvatore from deep within, growing strong enough to allow him to finally overcome his temporary paralysis and skitter away from view. Pulling his hood even further over his petrifyingly grotesque face in shame of himself, Salvatore flees the laboratory as quickly as his hobbled limp would allow.

His heart pounds to the beat of the soft, but desperate pleas of protest coming from N-45’s pod in response to Salvatore’s rapidly retreating form, yet the hooded man cannot bring himself to believe what he hears as true. Perhaps believing that the siren-like voice he hears echoing off the metal laboratory walls to be nothing more than a trick of his sick and lonely mind, Salvatore does not stop, nor does he turn back around until he’s met up with Mother Miranda at the exit to the surface, lungs burning and legs aching from running for so far and long.

“Oh, there you are, Moreau,” Mother Miranda says suddenly, stopping just before they are about to exit the laboratory. “I’m glad you chose this time to finally catch up, because I just realized a second ago that I’d forgotten to give you N-45’s previous name. You can name her something else if you’d prefer, of course, but I offered the information to your siblings so I suppose I should offer it to you as well. Would you still like to know N-45’s name, or would you rather abandon her given name for one of your own choosing?”

After a few seconds of silent contemplation, Salvatore lifts his head, “I… I-i would like to k-know… her n-name… please...” the mutant man says softly.

Mother Miranda briefly raises a questioning eyebrow at Salvatore’s nervous body language, but ultimately rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders, all but tossing the Manila envelope containing N-45’s information at the hooded man before disappearing out the large metal door.

“If you’re going to read that now, feel free, but return to the meeting room once you're done. And be sure to lock the door to my laboratory behind you” Miranda commands, her voice having grown echoey due to how far away she now was.

“Yes, M-Mother” Salvatore calls after her as he scrambles to catch the thrown file and prevent any loose papers from falling out. Once he’s got a solid handle on the thick envelope, he opens it, casting a quick glance back in the direction of the pod room, where Nadine and the other 3 gifts were being held for the time being.

Returning to the file, Salvatore frantically flips through every page, trying to find the one that held N-45’s personal background information.

After several minutes of desperate flipping back and forth, Salvatore finally focuses on one particular piece of paper that looked to have been in the file for the longest. Pulling out the particular page he’d found, the disfigured man drops the rest of the folder onto the ground and begins rapidly skimming through the information printed on the page, his hungry eyes refusing to stop until they finally zeroed in on the information he’d been looking for.

Project: E.V.A. Resurrection

Subject: N-45

Parasite Administered: Cadou (Series- N; Strain- 45)

Family Name: Bogdan

Given Name: Nadine

“N… Nadine” Salvatore said slowly, feeling slightly lightheaded and out of breath as each individual letter of the young woman’s name rolled off his tongue like Camembert cheese; smooth, creamy, decedent, and likely to keep him up all night with an upset stomach and a racing heartbeat.

Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine.

The name quickly became a broken loop played over and over and over again inside Salvatore’s head, his mind unable, or rather unwilling, to think of anything else as he read, reread, and then re-reread Nadine’s name at least 100 times, before finally setting the piece of paper down.

“Nadine...” Salvatore breathes the name once again, his voice carrying a wistful tone. “E-even your n-name is wonderful...”

An already beautiful woman, made even more perfect through the power of science and Mother Miranda’s grace, only for all that potential to end up wasted in the hands of a desperately lonely and horrifically mangled fish mutant, who was more likely to accidentally dissolve her in stomach acid than woo her like some kind of aquatic Prince Charming.

“Y-ya right... e-e-even with a-another mutant… I’m s-still so disgusting a-an… and horrifying in comparison… n-not even my o-own kind can b-bring thems-themselves to love me f-for who I a-am… not th-that there’s much of m-me that’s worth l-loving to begin w-with” Moreau laments to himself, wondering if it was even worth holding out hope that things with Nadine could go his way. As if one look at his monstrous form wouldn’t be enough to ruin everything Salvatore already has an agonizingly low chance of ever having with that magnificent specimen of a woman.

Even with Nadine’s own external mutations making it clear that she was no longer fully human, her form had still retained such a beautifully strong, yet womanly shape to it, and her face still looked so young and innocent despite everything that she’s been through. Someone as beautiful as her was far too good and pure to be tainted by his filthy hands.

‘Maybe I should just kill her when the villagers arrive with her at the gate? At least then... I could say I put her out of her misery before she had to experience it for herself…’ Salvatore sulks mentally.

However, despite the self degrading thoughts running through his mind, the memory of the curious look Nadine’s shockingly bright and mesmerizing golden eyes held when trying to look at Salvatore through the pod window made the hooded man shiver, having never been looked upon in such an innocently curious manner before. Most people who got that close to Salvatore didn’t even need to see his face in order to start screaming and running away in terror. However, if the deformed man allowed himself a brief moment to believe that it was indeed her who’d been calling him to come back and show himself, then from the tone and rushed quality of her voice, it would seem as though Nadine was unsatisfied with the fact that she hadn’t seen all of Salvatore’s face and body, not terrified.

How strange...

How very strange indeed…

#salvatore moreau #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil 8 village #resident evil 8: village #karl heisenberg #donna beneviento #mother miranda #alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #salvatore moreau x oc #salvatore moreau x reader #re8 #moreau x oc #moreau x reader #beauty and her beast #chapter 3 #fanfic

[grovyrosegirl]

Confrontation: MCSM Fic

Author’s Note: I’ve been replaying MCSM seasons 1 and 2 recently because I got nostalgic for those blocky dorks. Then I went through some old WIPs in my docs and found this Lukas and Aiden fic from a few years ago. I really liked it, so I spruced it up a bit and finished it for old times’ sake. Enjoy!

---

“Bring him in.”

The guards wasted no time leading Lukas into the small cobblestone room. Despite confiscating everything in his inventory upon arrival, including his weapons, they kept a tight, secure grip on both of his arms. It was only when his former friend, who leaned against the wall with the most satisfied smirk on his face, gave them a small handwave that the guards released Lukas and stepped back, still blocking the only exit to the room.

“Leave us,” Aiden then ordered the two guards, much to Lukas’ surprise.

Even with the wary looks he saw on their faces, the guards obeyed and left the room, shutting the iron door behind them. Lukas faced forward once again, now noticing the oak wood table resting in the center of the room, two identical chairs stood on opposite sides of the table’s surface.

“Take a seat, Lukas,” Aiden made his way over and sat down in the chair facing the door, casually resting his arms behind his head. “Let’s chat.”

Lukas didn’t speak, eyeing the other carefully. Despite everything that had occurred in the past year, knowing what Aiden was capable of, and how low he’d sunk already, seeing that look--that smile--on his face felt unsettling to him. Lukas recalled their theater days that felt like centuries ago, the days before the Witherstorm, before they even thought to call themselves the Ocelots. Aiden was never much of an actor, his specialty had always been the set production.

But clearly, Lukas thought to himself as he felt his eyes lower into a glare, Aiden was enjoying playing the villain.

Slowly, he made his way over to the other chair, sitting down and folding his arms.

“So, is this the part where you try to get me to talk?” Lukas curtly began before Aiden could open his mouth again. “Because you’re wasting your time. Even if I did know where Jesse was, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Everything had happened so fast. The guards raced towards them all, closing in fast when they were revealed as the bridge-builders, an innocent act back home, but a crime on the floating island. His own capture occurred in a matter of seconds, he didn’t even see the guard coming until the very last moment. One minute he was watching Jesse sprint away into the alley, the next he was on the ground, pinned down by the guard. But those few seconds let Jesse and Petra escape, and for that, he took some relief in. By the time Lukas and Ivor were escorted to the throne room, the Founder was already getting the report from another guard that they’d lost sight of the “remaining criminals” as they put it.

He felt relieved knowing that his two friends hadn’t been captured yet. It meant there was a sliver of hope of getting out of this place.

Aiden let out an exaggerated sigh and sat up straight in the chair, leaning forward slightly and placing his arms crossed on the table’s surface, “Man, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse. Aren’t you sick of talking about her yet? Don’t worry, I’m not going to try and get an answer out of you. Like you said, it would be a waste of time. Besides, you already got plenty of that from the Founder.” He snickered for a moment before continuing, “No. This is the part where I throw you a bone.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” Lukas said.

“It means I’m giving you a chance here, buddy,” Aiden said, “to join the winning team again.”

Lukas blinked, “What?”

“You heard me.”

He eyed Aiden suspiciously before saying, “You can’t be serious.”

“No games here, friend. Out of the goodness of my heart, I’ve decided to give you a second chance,” Aiden stood from his seat and began to walk around the table to stand next to Lukas. “C’mon, Lukas! It’ll be like the old days. Don’t you remember? We were the top dogs for years, and now, we can finally be on top again. But this time, it’ll be more than just winning some lame building contest.”

Aiden let out a deep chuckle, he wrapped one arm around Lukas’ shoulders and leaned in closer, a grin on his face.

“Here in this world, buddy? We can be kings.”

Lukas roughly shoved against Aiden’s chest, making the other man stumble back a few steps.

“I knew it,” Lukas said through his heated glare, “you’re planning to betray the Founder, aren’t you? It’s not enough that you want to steal the Eversource from her, you want her throne too.”

Aiden shot his own blazing glare back at Lukas, before regaining his composure and saying with that same grin, “Congrats Captain Obvious, you want a cookie?”

“Eat a slimeball, Aiden,” Lukas fired back, “do you honestly think you’ll get away with this?”

“I already am. But right now? That’s nothing you need to worry about,” He once again leaned back against the cobblestone walls. “The real question you should be asking is whether or not you’ll get to be a part of the spoils. It’s easy, Lukas. All you have to do is say yes and follow my lead. After that? Well, it’ll take a while, but I’m sure you can make up for abandoning your real team.”

At those words, Lukas’ boiling thoughts began to steam. He smashed his hands against the table’s surface and pushed himself up from the chair.

“Excuse me?!” He exclaimed. “You must’ve really lost me there, because last time I checked, it was you who abandoned me!”

At that reaction, Aiden almost seemed to shrink against the wall. However, he swiftly recovered his bravado and moved towards Lukas with gripped fists.

“We left because all you could think about was Jesse and her loser friends! It was always, ‘I’ve got to help Jesse build today!’ or ‘I’m going to visit Jesse!’” He clasped his hands together, held them close to his cheek as if he were hopelessly in love, and swung them back and forth while speaking in a mocking manner, “‘She’s my new best friend! We make cookies together! She’s sooo nice, and she’s sooo cool!’ You followed her around like a lovesick puppy. It makes me want to hurl!”

“I don’t get it all. Why?” Lukas shook his head in frustration. “Why do you hate her so much? Why have you always hated her so much? She never did anything to you! You always just got a kick out of torturing her and her friends, didn’t you? And when you couldn’t pick on her anymore, you start pushing Maya and Gill around. Anything to make yourself feel tall, is that it?!”

“Not like you ever tried to stop me,” he scoffed.

“Because back then, I thought it was all some dumb rivalry. But I was wrong. And I still kick myself everyday for not putting a stop to it. Maybe if I had,” Lukas paused, then let out a sigh that was flooded with a regretful tone, “maybe we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Aiden scowled, “She’s a loser. And all she does is drag people down to her loser level. She did it with Petra, and she did it with you.”

“She’s a hero. And she’s my friend!”

“I was your friend!” Aiden snarled.

“Yeah, you were. Until you decided that your stupid, fragile ego mattered more than years worth of friendship!”

“If you were really my friend, you wouldn’t have chosen Jesse over me!”

“If you were really my friend, you wouldn’t have made me choose!”

At the end of his patience, Aiden lunged forward with an angry screech. He grabbed the collar of Lukas’ jacket and yanked the boy forward, dangling him slightly off the ground.

“I can do it, you know,” Aiden said through gritted teeth. His voice was low, but ever-so menacing, “I can throw you off this island right now. No one would blame me if I told them you attacked me. The people here believe whatever I tell them. You fall into the void forever, and all you’ll be remembered as is some villain who tried to attack this island’s savior.”

Lukas, amidst his struggle against Aiden’s grip, looked him directly in the eyes and said in his own low, fearsome voice, “I dare you.”

Aiden went still. All of the bravado, the threats, and the glares were drained from his face. His eyes went wide with disbelief, and in that moment, Lukas saw it. Fear. Hesitation. The thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d taken a step too far. Aiden opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. With only a sentence, Lukas was allowed to see the tiniest glimpse of the person he used to trust most in the world.

He saw the scared, insecure kid he’d met all those years ago.

Aiden’s grip on Lukas became loose, allowing the latter to easily push him away.

“That’s what I thought,” Lukas broke the silence with a sigh. He buried his hands into his jacket pockets, looking down to the floor, “You’re all talk, Aiden. Always have been.”

The anger returned as quickly as it had fled. But it wasn’t explosive. It was simmering. Aiden narrowed his eyes back into a glare, his fists, clenched so tight it looked painful, were trembling.

Another moment of silence passed before Aiden finally looked away from Lukas and exclaimed, “Guards!”

The same guards who’d brought Lukas here returned swiftly, entering the room and grabbing ahold of both of his arms once more. Lukas did little to resist their hold, only keeping a hard stare on Aiden.

“Get him out of my sight,” Aiden said in a low growl. “He’s useless.”

The guards obeyed and led Lukas out of the room. With a slam of the iron door, Aiden was left alone.

#my fanfics #Minecraft Story Mode #mcsm #MCSM lukas #mcsm Aiden #MCSM episode 5

[concealeddarkness13]

All’s Fair In Love And War (Especially When It’s Both) Powerpoint!

I finally made one for the worldbuilding and main characters! Tagging: @ratracechronicler​, @merigreenleaf​, @maple-writes​, @half-litpersonas​, and @incandescent-creativity​ (since you want to be tagged in Powerpoints)! Here, here, and here are other info posts about this story.

[Image Description: a page titled: All’s Fair In Love an War (Especially When It’s Both)

AKA: The story I already want to start writing, even though I already have plenty of stories. End Description]

[Image Description: a page titled: Overview

One bit happy world

Except the fact that humans are stuck in a fairly small enclosure because they tried to conquer the other species centuries ago

At that time so long ago, a scientist made prosthetics that gave elemental magic to people but also adversely affected their bodies

More info on the magic in a later slide

So, humans aren’t very happy about being in the enclosure

Some humans have come to believe that being 100% peaceful and ignoring the victims of the magical cyborg experiments (because they’re still going on) is the best way to convince the species to let them out

While other humans are convinced that a show of force and violence is the only way to get out

But this group has shady connections with the magical cyborg experiments

So, both groups are iffy

Good thing there’s one POV protagonist who couldn’t care less and just wants to live her life. End Description]

[Image Description: a page titled: The Species (almost all these names are temporary)

Humans: Just regular, old, plain humans, nothing to see here, they certainly don’t have any inherent magic (that the author still knows nothing about), just the magic that is given to them through the prosthetics

The Shades: (Yes, this is the home world of the Shades from Bring Me That Horizon) the Shades eat human emotions, and they’re shapeshifters

The Snakes: This species feeds on human blood, they have snake scales, longer limbs in proportion to their body, large eyes, slit pupils, and snake scales all over their bodies; they have paralyzing toxins that are aerosols and are secreted by their hair; these toxins only paralyze humans

The Venus Girdles: This species feeds on human souls, they have hair that looks like a lot of Venus Girdle jellyfish fused to their head, they glow slightly, and they just have an ethereal feel; they feed using their Venus Girdle hair coming into contact with the prey’s skin and sucking up the life force, so a human can still live, and their soul will replenish the life force after a while; the feeding isn’t painful, just makes the human feel really tired

The Crabs (I suppose): This species claims to feed on human logic, they have carapace that grows over their skin, especially on their chest to protect their hearts, they’re usually faster and stronger than humans, and they have slit pupils; they actually feed on the inherent magic humans have (surprise, surprise the prosthetics are not even needed), and their carapace is especially anti-magic

The Celestials: This is a species no one has ever seen, but there’s a whole belief system around them, and they are actually real; I don’t know what they eat, but they live out in space around the planet, they protect the planet from invaders, their skin looks like the night sky, their hair and clothes are all flowy and wave in an ever-present wind, and they can change their body’s make-up to fit the atmosphere of the planet or space. End Description]

[Image Description: a page titled: The Magic from the Prosthetics

It’s elemental magic...with a nefarious twist!

The fire magic lets a person control fire, but the source of their fire resides in their lungs, and if they exercise too much or get stressed out, the fire stokes and burns their throat (but they can breathe fire), and occasionally, they’ll have to cough up smoke

The water magic allows a person to control water and swim really well, but after a year, they grow gills, and that’s a painful process, and randomly, their bodies will forget how to use lungs, so they will have to breathe through their gills for an unspecified amount of time, which sucks if there isn’t a good water source around

The wind magic allows a person to control air, but they grow wings, which sounds great, but it takes two to three years to grow those wings, and it’s very painful throughout the whole process, and they hurt more than they should even after the wings are fully grown

Finally, the lightning magic allows a person to control lightning, but they basically have lightning in their bodies the whole time, which means that they have 24/7 static electricity that makes their hair stand on end, and the energy the lightning gives their bodes means they really can’t sleep, which really sucks, so they’re chronically tired. End Description]

[Image Description: a page titled: Characters

I have way too many characters

Seriously, there are a lot of them

So, I’ll only talk about the really main characters

But I’m having fun, so it’s ok! End Description]

[Image Description: a page titled: Chess

One of the POV characters

She was part of the most recent cyborg experiments (which are still going on), but she doesn’t remember any of it; her right arm and left leg are prosthetics

Actually, she doesn’t remember anything past two years ago, so she doesn’t know who she was before that

Because she was part of the cyborg experiments, people don’t particularly like to see her if they can identify her prosthetics

So, she keeps moving from city to city once people start to recognize her prosthetics

Survivor; the only time she doesn’t prioritize survival is when she goes to a bar and picks up someone so she doesn’t have to sleep alone

She doesn’t believe anyone would do anything for reasons other than selfish ones

Doesn’t trust anyone

Chill, though; she could see some alien she can’t explain and she’d just shrug; she also has no opinion on either of the different sides

One night, she’s found kissing the son of the leaders, and that causes a scandal

So, the leaders decide to cover it up by trying to say she’s really human and had been engaged to their son the whole time

Creed, their son, decides to cause some mischief, and she agrees

She keeps claiming that soon she’ll have to leave, but she never does

“I put my head down keep running away from it, anywhere I’m going can’t be worse than this, I need to get away before it pulls me in, I’m never ever getting close to anyone again.” (Right Left Wrong by Three Days Grace). End Description]

[Image Description: a page titled: Creed

He’s the son of the leaders

...But is he?

He’s known as Callum Miro Rey, but he likes the nickname Creed (spoiler reasons why)

When they met at the bar, he seemed to recognize Chess from somewhere, but of course, she doesn’t remember

He is genderfluid, and I’m still figuring that out; he likes he/him, they/them, and she/her on different days, and it changes every couple days normally

He seems to be easily amused and doesn’t have an opinion on whether peace or violence is the best way to go

He just likes to watch humans bicker about the different sides

Doesn’t seem to care about much, but he does seem to actually have some kind of fond feelings for Chess

They become partners in mischief, to more? Possibly.

“And now the silence screams that you are gone, you’ve tuned me out, I’ve lost your frequency.” (Frequency by Starset). End Description]

[Image Description: a page titled: Vesper

She is an important member of the peace group; she gives speeches about the logic of staying peaceful to get out of the enclosure

She grew up with parents who were hosts to the various ambassadors the different species would send inside the enclosure

Her parents always taught her to bury her emotions and never show that something affected her

While observing the ambassadors, she came to the conclusion that there was no way to fight the different species and expect to get out of the enclosure, that the only way to get out is to make the other species see humans as such a non-threat that they wouldn’t care about letting them out

Because she’s such a high rank in the peace movement, the violence movement sends the infamous demon twins, Thorne and Jude, to capture her

She’s logical, but she does have emotions, and she actually feels them very deeply, she just never shows them

And she’s also self sacrificial, very much so

“No one is coming to save you, the enemy means only to play you, and they take and they take and they give just a little.” (Save You by Manafest) End Description]

[Image Description: a page titled: Thorne

His full name is Thorne Ragnik (and I’m only saying this because I’m proud I actually thought up last names)

He’s part of the violence movement, one of the demon twins (even though they aren’t twins)

He grew up poor because both of his parents were part of the previous cyborg experiments, so they were ignored by society (because the leaders are part of the peace movement), and now he’s an orphan

As such, he stole to survive, and one day, he stole from Jude’s parents’ house, and Jude caught him

But instead of raising the alarm, Jude decided to help Thorne because he wanted to and also because of the mischief

They’ve both been part of the violence movement for a few years, and they’ve become infamous for capturing opponents to the violence movement in their special way

Which means dancing with their prey until the prey is thoroughly confused and dazed

Thorne is more of the serious one, but he also gets dryly dramatic really quick

He wears a normal suit most of the time. End Description]

[Image Description: a page titled: Jude

His full name is Jude Laynor

His parents are nobles that believe in the peace movement

And he’s a trickster who loves mischief

So, he doesn’t get along with his parents much

And when he was young, he met Thorne when Thorne tried to steal from his parets’ house, and he didn’t care

He actually hangs out with Thorne a lot after that, and he’s one of the reasons Thorne becomes more lighthearted

He joined the violence movement with Thorne at the same time, and they quickly became known as the demon twins

He’s more playful and teasing, and he wears fancy, flashy stuff

He grins all the time. End Description]

[Image Description: a page titled: Maisa

He’s a Shade who has taken an interest in Vesper

He’s actually part of a group of different species that are working to make sure the humans never leave the enclosure, and in fact, they want to control humans even more

Vesper came to the conclusion that peace is the only way on her own, but once Maisa took an interest in her, he started manipulating her to make her believe even more in the peace movement

He manipulates her by seducing her, because of course

And Vesper knows Maisa’s horrible, but she thinks her sacrifice is worth it to let other people out of the enclosure

Maisa’s selfish, possessive, and a jerk

He’s a shapeshifter, and he does change between male and female sometimes

He basically feels he’s entitled to Vesper (he’s so interested in her because she does feel deep emotions even though she doesn’t show them), so when Thorne and Jude capture her, he’s going to send minions after them. End Description]

[Image Description: a page titled: Quin

He’s the final POV character, but he won’t show up as a POV right away

That’s because neither Chess nor Vesper know that there are humans living on the outside of the enclosure, so that reveal should be hidden a little

I’m not sure how yet, but Quin was captured by the group of different species that want humans to stay in the enclosure sometime before the story starts

They keep him as basically an animal in a small cage: they show him off to the other species to convince them that humans aren’t sentient (which the group knows isn’t correct, but they want the others to believe so)

The species speak in their language around him (that he doesn’t speak), but one day, while they’re showing him off, he speaks back to them in their language because he learned a few phrases from them talking it around him so much

Which leads to him getting tortured for interrupting their plans

Which then leads to the totally not inherent magic in humans coming to the surface for Quin and helping him escape

He’s scared and doesn’t trust people much

Which leads him to the becoming a part of a small group of one human and a few different species or half-species, who is moving around outside the enclosure (I don’t know all of the characters, so they’ll go on the extra characters powerpoint if I make one)

I’m not sure all that he’ll do in this story, but he’ll be fun! End Description]

[Image Description: a page titled: Aeflin

She is a human antagonist, she’s the scientist that is conducting the magic cyborg experiments now

She’s bubbly and happy, and she actually gives really good life advice

She just also doesn’t have very good ethics when she’s being a scientist

Very curious and will ask you tons of questions if she doesn’t understand what’s going on

She is with the other antagonist on the next slide, and they’re in a loving relationship. End Description]

[Image Description: a page titled: Naivi

She’s the second human antagonist, she’s working on the outside of the enclosure to destroy the other species

She’s charming and teasing, at least to people who aren’t her enemies

I don’t know all of her backstory, but she’s a victim, while she also does some horrible things

Duality!

I already know she’s going to be a fun character. End Description]

#writeblr #All's Fair #yes I know I said about the snake scales twice #but I'm too lazy to go back and fix it

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter eleven: after you've gone

word count: ~12.6k

rating: m

warnings: canon-typical religious blasphemy, though it's in full-force here with joseph so i wanted it to be noted in the warnings. there are mentions of self-harm, both past and implied presently, and they're not treated very lightly. elliot is having a hard time.

notes: there's a lot of moving parts in this so i apologize in advance if it feels a bit slow, but everything felt really important to include and i wanted to make sure nothing got left out. thank you so much to my beta @starcrier who literally proofed this beast with all of the love in the world.

i won't ramble on too much, but i did want to say that the reception for the last two chapters really made my whole heart just explode and i wanted to thank you all! what an incredible experience it is getting to write these two gigantic idiots. <3

“I saw her. Our mor.”

Helmi cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, scribbling absently on the side of the file she’d continued nosing through once she’d gotten back to the bunker. Like this, she felt far from Kajsa—farther than she had in the longest time. Maybe since they had welcomed her into the Family.

“Did you?” She stretched back against the truck’s seat, feet kicked up on the dash as she scanned the page, going over her own notes. Starvation, classical condition. On animals and people? In the back seat of the truck, Peaches rumbled her discontent at lack of attention; Helmi reached back and scratched her ears until the rumble turned into what she recognized as a more contented purr.

“Yes. She is doing well. Her color is just as Ase said, you know. Perfectly balanced. Poor John—I can see his suffering.”

Helmi hmm’d, the thoughtfulness matching the patient rumble Peaches had rewarded her affection with.

“Is Deputy Pratt behaving?”

“I should hope so. He has no reason to have any loyalty to the Seeds, outside of fear.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Helmi was sure, in the very marrow of her bones, that Kajsa was smiling.

“And what did you give him, Helmi? To make him loyal?”

She considered. “A more impressive fear.” And then: “Also, I said I wouldn’t kill him.”

“That is just a more impressive fear bundled up pretty, my heart.”

“Mm,” Helmi replied in agreement. Whatever the case, she thought that Pratt had more to gain from fucking the Seeds over than he did by fucking them over—and that’s why Kajsa entrusted this sort of thing to her and didn’t do it herself, after all. If it had been Kajsa here, eyeing Pratt like a piece of lunchmeat, she’d have him drugged to the gills and barely aware of what was going on. Not being of use.

It’s why we make a perfect pair, something inside of her said, joy shared, joy doubled.

“Don’t rest on your laurels.”

Sorrow shared, sorrow halved.

Helmi sighed. “I’m not.”

“Keep putting pressure. I want them squirming, hjärtat.”

“I will.” She paused, sitting up in the truck and glancing out at the remaining members of the Family. Those that hadn’t given themselves a swift, clean death. After Kian’s face was crushed in, Kajsa had gathered them all and said, It’s going to be harder, from here. If you feel you cannot do it, if you think that you do not have the strength to answer our calling, then it is your time. We love you.

It had been the time for many. Morale had been—and still was—low. Ase’s death first, gut-wrenching and tragic, and then Kian’s; worse than the last. Worse, because while he had been grieving, while he had been suffering, he had still been their second-in-command. Meant to be infallible, even more so than Ase. He had been meant to carry them into their next life, after It was appeased. Contented. After It had turned the world to winter.

Now, more than ever, with only a handful of them left to huddle around their fires and sleep in the backs of cars, and kiss and laugh and hug each other in the inky black night, they felt like a ship adrift at sea.

Kajsa’s voice hummed in her ear, plastic and metal vibrating where it lay trapped between her head and shoulder. Helmi’s gaze swept away from the remaining Family members and turned her gaze back to the file. The Seeds were deeply rooted in this place—the tendrils of a tree that might be dead at the trunk but stayed for many decades after, if it wasn’t ripped out at the base.

“Did you hear me, Helmi?”

“No,” she replied truthfully. “I was distracted.”

“I am coming back,” Kajsa reiterated patiently.

“The others will be happy.”

“And what about you? Will you be happy?”

Helmi paused. She closed the file, dropped it back onto the dashboard and cranked the seat back so that she could stretch a little, her eyes tracing the tinny, ancient ceiling of the truck she’d lifted from Eden’s Gate. She exhaled, once, and then held her breath; closed her eyes, felt the ache of it between her ribs.

“I sense before me a lost lamb.”

“Not lost,” Helmi replied, her lungs tight. “Just—thinking.”

“Must I divine the dark cloud over your soul myself?”

She allowed her body to take air back in. “I wonder,” she murmured, “if it will be enough to appease the Father.”

“Do you wonder,” Kajsa hummed, “or do you worry?”

A moment of silence stretched. And then, the rich, melodic timbre of the Hierophant’s voice came through again, idle and pulled snug against her ear, like Kajsa was really right there again to say the words against her skin: “What will you do, if Staci Pratt defects despite your Machiavellian threats of harm so great he should never consider to incur it?”

“I don’t know,” Helmi replied uneasily. “It would depend on if he brought mor and the interloper, or if he just—”

“The answer, hjärtat, is that you do not know, because it has not been revealed to you yet.” Despite the interruption, Kajsa’s voice was pleasant and serene. Ever since Ase’s death, she’d been more tempered—like she was playing a role, filling a void. Helmi almost missed her cruelty. Like it was a creature comfort. “There is no use in wondering, because we will never know before it is our time to. We want for much. Whether or not we are given it remains to be seen. Our Father is a most...”

Her voice trailed off. Helmi tried to think of what words Kajsa might use; stringent, perhaps, ambitious, or even enigmatic—

“Wretched god,” Kajsa finished, a grin in her voice. “It does so love to watch us toil, does It not?”

“Yes,” she answered after a moment, because wretched resonated somewhere in her soul, somewhere in the marrow of her bones, reminding her why this had felt like home ever in the first place. Wretched, to watch them suffer, to give them so little information and let them suffer wreck after wreck.

In front of her, the dark of the forest swelled, breathed, reminded her: failure was not an option. Theirs was not a benevolent, forgiving God, the kind who would forgive sin if one only asked—the Father was wrathful, was vengeful, and would make them suffer their insolence and their ineptitude.

“I should get going. I imagine our mor will not be far behind, thanks to your ingenuity, and I want to be in Hope County to welcome her.”

“I am,” Helmi blurted out after a second of hesitation, “happy, that you’re coming back.”

There was a pause on the other end; and then, a soft breath, where Helmi thought maybe Kajsa was smiling again.

“Ingenting under solen är beständigt, my heart.”

The call clicked. Only empty air and static, then, buzzing faintly in the ear, the words dead in her mouth before she’d had the chance to say them back.

Nothing under the sun is lasting.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot was going to be sick. Nevermind the morning-after-dread of realizing she had caved in on her most basest animal desires—What, the man who’s perhaps lied to you the most tells you he’s never thought you’re crazy, and you let him fuck you? Come on, Elliot,—but listening to Pratt ramble nervously into the phone about how he didn’t realize everyone was gone, nobody stopped to look for him, nobody tried to call, he thought she had left too and she had, where was she? Was she okay?

“I’m fine,” she managed out. Guilt ripped through her sternum, burning hot and shameful. I’m fine, Pratt, don’t worry about me. Got well and truly railed last night, it’s fine. Oh, also, I’m going to have a baby. And I’m married. Don’t worry, you found out about the same time as me, just off a few weeks. “I’m at my mom’s.”

“In Georgia?”

“Yeah.” Elliot swallowed thickly. “Are you okay? You sound like shit.”

Pratt laughed uneasily on the other end of the line. “I’m with, uh—I’m with them.” He paused. “The Seeds. And their—the lawyer lady.”

“That doesn’t tell me if you’re okay,” she reiterated, more firmly.

He laughed again. “I’m on the phone with you, aren’t I?”

Frustrating. They might all be looming around him, waiting to hear what she was going to say. It was a trap, of course. Jacob or Joseph had done enough digging around in her past to find out they’d gone to school together, had gone to school dances, had basically dated—and they knew she’d evacuated the entirety of the Resistance otherwise. They were clearly laying a trap to get her to come back. But for what?

“Hey, um—” Staci cleared his throat. “Ell, there’s—a lot of bad stuff going on. There’s these people, and they’re—they’re just killing people, left and right, gutting them and sticking them up and—Jesus, they fucking split Miss Mabel open like a fish, and I’m—”

Oh, there it was; the sickness, the violent urge to throw up. The Family was supposed to be dead. They had been killing themselves off in pairs after Kian’s death, weren’t they? Elliot blinked rapidly, trying to calm the furious beating of her heart, the way it slammed against her rib cage and demanded penance.

Calloused fingers swept her hair to the side and squeezed at the juncture between her neck and shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. She closed her eyes tight, willing herself to accept it for what it was—John, comforting her, because even now he knew her well enough to see she was spiraling.

I can’t, is what she needed to say. I can’t come back, Staci, I can’t, not me and not my baby, my hands are already covered in blood I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—

“—I’m so fucking scared, Ell.” Pratt’s voice wobbled on the other end, hitting straight at the fresh welt of guilt in her chest, ripping and tearing at it.

I can’t—

“I don’t want to be alone—”

I’m sorry I can’t I’m sorry—

“—I’m sorry—”

“I’ll come,” she blurted out, her voice hoarse, the burn behind her eyes and in her nose a threat of oncoming tears. She couldn’t stand it—couldn’t bear to hear him like this, when this whole time he was supposed to have been safe. She’d let him down, and while she had a responsibility to herself, the responsibility to the others had always come first.

And, better still, was the tiny, tiny fragment of hope that the dark-haired woman with a mouth like broken glass would be left behind, too. The dog with the man’s face and the strands of her hair glinting between Its bloody teeth would stay here, in Weyfield. It would wait for her, but perhaps there would be some peace there, too.

It waits for you, It waits for us all, It will have you. As It gives, so too does It take.

“Tell them I’m coming back.” Elliot bit the words out through her teeth. “And tell them if I come back and you’re hurt, or dead, or—if there’s anything wrong with you, I’m going to fucking kill them. Okay?”

“No need,” came Jacob’s voice over the phone. “You’re on speaker, Deputy Honeysett. We’re well acquainted with your particular brand of mania.”

“Great,” she snapped, feeling a vicious flush spread through her cheeks despite the fact that she didn’t feel bad at all for what she’d said. “You thought I was fucking manic before? I had nothing to lose, then. Imagine how much worse I’ll make your life now—”

John’s hand squeezed again. This time, she shot him a venomous look over her shoulder and shrugged him off. Elliot knotted her fingers in Boomer’s fur and prompted again, “Is that clear?”

The eldest Seed sounded like he was smiling when he said, “Crystal, Deputy.”

“Good.” She paused. “And don’t fucking call me that. I’m not a deputy, anymore.”

“Sure thing, hellcat.”

“Pratt—”

Jacob’s voice came again: “Have a safe trip.”

The phone call beeped once, twice, three times, and then ended. The hard knot of dread in the pit of her stomach did not lessen; she hit the redial button, and it went straight to voicemail. Again, and again, and again, her hands shaking as she thought wait, I didn’t get to say goodbye, I didn’t get to promise I’d be there, I’m coming Pratt, I’m coming please don’t be worried, before she shoved the phone into John’s grip.

“Call him back,” she demanded, “make him pick up the phone—”

“Elliot,” he began, “if he turned the phone off, I can’t—”

“Fuck you!” she snapped, coming to a stand and raking her fingers through her hair. “You fucking knew they had Pratt, didn’t you? You knew that he was still trapped there and he didn’t get out, and you fucking left him there, so that you could pull me back if it didn’t go the way you wanted—”

John stood too, setting the phone on the bedside table and lifting his hands. The gesture was meant to calm and soothe, see my hands? Here they are, no threat here, but all it did was make her angrier, stoke a fire inside of her that had apparently lain dormant since she’d left Hope County.

Elliot smacked his hands down. “Don’t treat me like some fucking animal, John.”

“I’m not,” he defended quickly, dropping his hands all the way back to his sides when Boomer barked twice, sharp and accusatory, hackles lifting. “I didn’t know Pratt was still there. I thought the Resistance had got him out, and I didn’t bother asking.”

“You should have bothered—”

“I’m just as displeased as you are,” John interjected dryly, the dark coloring of his tone implying that he was—but for perhaps a different reason. It struck her that he might, in fact, be so displeased because he was aware of their history, on some level. It did feel a little gratifying to know that he was squirming for such an insignificant reason.

“You fuckhead,” she spit. “You put a fucking baby in me and you still have the insecurity of a middle school boy.”

“We both know,” he replied tartly, “that our baby is not in any way binding you to me, Elliot. And is it so shocking, considering that the thing that I want most in the world is for you to come home, and you fight me at every turn—”

“Hope County isn’t my home anymore—”

“—but Staci Pratt calls you and cries a little into the phone, and you’re jumping at the bit to go back?”

“Fuck. Off,” Elliot bit out between her teeth, face flushing. “Pratt is my friend, which is more than I can say for you.”

“Right,” John agreed, “because you let the person you hate fuck you.”

Her mouth clamped shut, biting and swallowing back a wad of venom she thought might make her sick if she let it out. There was too much of it, the things that she wanted to say—fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou, I fucking hate you, you make me sick, if anything is wrong with Pratt I’ll kill your brothers and then I’ll fucking kill you too—but she didn’t say any of it.

Instead, she said, “Get out. I’m getting changed and we’re leaving.”

John sighed, passing a hand over his face for a moment like maybe he regretted what he’d said. “We can’t.”

She felt her voice spike, near incredulous hysteria: “Pardon?”

“Old Father Time of the Job Ineptitude mentioned he had Federal agents showing up out of nowhere,” he snapped. The words had her stomach twisting; her first thought was a tiny spike of happiness at the idea of Cameron Burke, and then it was quickly doused by the sharp reminder that she’d stolen his gun and ran with it. Because he thought she was crazy. Because he was going to put her behind bars.

John continued, “He seemed to be implying it was somehow related to me showing up, and by proxy you, and if we up and leave—”

“It’ll make it look more suspicious,” she finished, feeling a little numb. “Okay, so—what? How long do we have to wait?”

He scratched his cheek, his eyes flickering absently over the duvet on the bed, like he was trying to map it out in his own head. No doubt, he was trying to operate on multiple timelines—the timeline of Not Raising Suspicion, and whatever timeline Joseph had given him.

Some things really did never change.

“After your mother’s Christmas party,” he ventured finally. “It’s not quite Christmas—could look enough like we’re sticking around for enough holiday cheer to be passable before leaving again. Pritchard’s clearly not unfamiliar with your mother’s...”

His voice trailed off. He looked to her as though asking for permission to say something critical; when Elliot remained stonefaced and immovable, he finished, “...temperament.”

“Nice save.”

“Well,” he replied, humble as ever. “Anyway, that probably wouldn’t rouse suspicion. If it is Burke, and your house isn’t getting stormed right now, I have to think he’s here on unofficial business. Otherwise, why wouldn’t they just come and bust the door down and grab you?”

Elliot hoped that was the case. She hoped this meant that Burke was just trying to find her, and was not hunting her down at the behest of the government. If there was one thing that Joseph had been right about amidst all his doomsday-saying and whatnot, it was that according to the news, there was a big chance the government had bigger things on their hands. Bigger concerns than a tiny town in Montana and its cult inhabitants.

“Get out,” she said again. “So I can change.”

“You—” John sucked in a little breath, stopping himself from what was inevitably going to be stirring another argument; he lifted his hands again, this time in surrender. “Alright, Ell. I said you’d get anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“Chop-chop.”

“I’m going. Mind if I pull some clothes on before I walk out into the house owned by your mother, where she has almost assuredly been sipping her vodka martini since four AM?”

She felt her eyes narrow. “Fine.”

Turning, she crossed the bedroom into the master bath and shut the door behind her, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes until fine webbing scattered across the dark of her eyelids. This was the last thing she needed—and it felt, surely, traitorous and awful to think it, to think, this is the last thing I need, Pratt needing rescuing, when the only reason she’d felt comfortable leaving Hope County in the first place was because she thought the only people who were left were cultists.

Elliot dropped her hands from her eyes, blinking a few times until her vision cleared. In the mirror—much as it had been since coming back from Hope County—stood a girl that she thought looked like a stranger. Blushed cheeks and kiss-reddened lips, her neck littered with love marks, the healthy glow blooming up from beneath the WRATH scar on her chest, exposed by her loosely cinched robe.

That’s not me, she thought, pulling absently on a strand of red hair and swallowing thickly. I’m not that girl.

Her face was softer than before, more lively color rising up around her eyes and cheeks and mouth. More of her freckles had come out. There was a tiny, tiny—almost imperceptible—slope to her tummy, now, too.

Not me, came the thought again, more distressed this time, her brows pulling together at the center of her forehead. That’s not me. I’m not that girl. Who are you, pretty girl? Not me.

The woman and her dark hair—dark dark dark, like an oil slick, looming in the corner of her mind. Her mouth red as pomegranate and stretched like broken glass.

I hear stress is bad for the baby.

A knock came at the door. Elliot blinked, feeling unwell and unsure of how long she’d been standing there, her hand having dropped to cup the slope of her stomach experimentally. Women did that, right? When they were pregnant? Did it make them feel closer to the baby? Did it make them feel more protected?

Did she feel safer?

“Ell,” John said, nudging the door open, “your mother is...”

Pulling away from the door, she cinched the robe tight and busied herself at the sink, turning the water on. As he stepped into the bathroom, she could see John was now fully-dressed, freshly-showered. She’d been standing in front of the mirror trying to recognize the person staring back at her long enough for him to do that, it seemed.

“That was a quick shower,” she said briskly, splashing her face and rubbing absently at her cheek. She could feel John’s eyes on her through the mirror, even though she refused to meet them.

“I’ve always preferred it that way,” he replied casually. And then: “Get distracted?”

Yes, she thought, but didn’t say, because then the things he’d said last night that had made her feel sane and normal wouldn’t mean anything anymore. John would have said I don’t think you’re crazy and he’d have to take it back, because if she told him there was a stranger standing in her mirror, he would think she was crazy.

“It’s weird,” is what Elliot offered after a moment, trying to find a way to be honest and redirect, “to see a baby bump. Even if it’s small.” She cleared her throat and fished her toothbrush out of the holder. Continuing briskly, she added, “And the scar. I spent a lot of time avoiding it.”

John’s expression had done that funny thing that she supposed was softening at her words. He stepped forward; the ghost of his fingers trailing her ribs over the robe made her skin prickle with goosebumps.

“I’m not done being mad at you,” she warned him, eyes flickering to meet his gaze through the mirror.

“I know,” he replied, tone agreeable. “I just—”

The brunette paused then, waiting for her to stop him before he smoothed the warmth of his palm over her hip, across the expanse of her abdomen. It was painfully intimate in a way that didn’t imply sex—intimate, in the way that she felt seen, that she could see the relief coloring the edges of his expression.

John pressed his mouth to the back of her shoulder. “Just missed you,” he murmured after a moment. “Getting to touch you. Even just like this. Especially just like this—”

Something panged sharp and unforgiving in her chest. “Well, don’t get used to it,” she replied tightly, brushing his hand away from the baby bump after letting it linger for a moment. “And I don’t remember inviting you in.”

“Your mother was asking after you,” John said, by way of explanation, looking pleased from their little moment. Fucker. “She wanted to know if you’d be drinking coffee this morning. I think her exact words were, ‘Mr. Seed, would you ask my daughter if she’s going to take the risk of drinking coffee this morning? I know she shouldn’t be, with her condition—’”

“Ugh.”

“‘—but since we’re going to be picking out her dress for the Christmas party today, I could make an exception—’”

“Fuck me,” she muttered, wetting her toothbrush and putting the toothpaste on it. “Ask her if she can make it extra strong.”

“I’m actually enjoying being out of your mother’s ire for a minute.”

Elliot rolled her eyes. “No coffee for me.”

“Got it.” John headed for the bathroom door, and then paused again, turning to look at her. “Ell,” he began, “I really didn’t know—you know, about Pratt.”

That pesky little flutter of something agonizingly sweet—softness—in her chest flared again.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” is what she said, before she turned the toothbrush on and started scrubbing her teeth. That seemed enough of an answer for John, for once, because he left and closed the door quietly behind him after deliberating.

The minutes, and hours, and days—well, day or two—until they got back to Hope County were going to be something close to agony. She could only hope they had taken her seriously when she told them that she’d better come back to a Pratt in one piece.

I don’t want to be alone. Pratt’s voice echoed hauntingly in her head. She thought she could remember the sound of voices in the background—a woman’s, at least. Faith? Or John’s friend, Isolde? Surely Jacob and Joseph were there listening to him call her, too. She’d been so fucking stupid to let them get to her.

No, not stupid. Not stupid to want Pratt to feel safe, and like someone was coming back for him.

I’m sorry, she thought tiredly, as though the words could somehow get to him. I’m sorry, that it’s me you have to wait for.

I’m sorry that I won’t be the person you remembered.

I’m sorry.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You did so well, Staci.”

Faith’s voice jarred him out of the weird pause in time he’d been marinating in. It had been just a few seconds, maybe—Jacob and Joseph were talking in low voices, the dark-haired woman standing at the point of their little triangle with her arms crossed and her brows furrowed—that his brain had shut off, the distress in Elliot’s voice echoing eerily in his head. She’d sounded so upset. He wouldn’t have called, wouldn’t have started to ask her to come back, if he’d known how much she didn’t want to.

But that wasn’t true, either. He would have called, because Helmi had said, Either the Seeds are going to drag her back by her hair kicking and screaming, and eventually kill her, or she comes back and we keep her safe.

‘Safe’ had been the keyword there. He didn’t know how much he could take the woman at her word, but considering everything—well, it was better than trying to take the Seeds at their word.

Faith’s hand touched the back of his, startling him into a tiny jump. He cleared his throat. “Um—I wasn’t...Acting.”

“Still,” she replied sweetly, “I know it must have been hard.”

She was so polished—skin all dusted silver and moonlike, flushed with a little high color in her cheeks, her blonde hair tumbling around her face loosely. In the chapel, the air was tepid at best, and frigid at worst, keeping a little pink in everyone’s faces.

It was strange to look at her now. Her hands were soft; her skin unblemished. Just hours ago, he’d been sitting in the car, noticing the same kinds of details about Helmi—about how human she looked, hand slung over a steering wheel, her cracked phone plugged into the truck’s stereo and her chipped nail polish and the scars and bruises littering her knuckles. The way she’d shot him a toothy, wolfish grin as she cranked the volume up and said, What, Staci Pratt, you don’t like Blue Öyster Cult either?

In comparison, Faith didn’t feel human at all. She felt like a dream.

“Can—” Pratt came to a stand, rubbing his palms on the tops of his thighs. “Can I go? Lay down, or something?”

Three pairs of eyes snapped to him. The dark-haired woman, who Jacob kept referring to as Sol, completely ignored his question and looked at the redhead to say, “Has someone checked him for head trauma?”

“I’m not—concussed!” Pratt snapped, his voice wobbling. “I’m just tired.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He looked like maybe he wanted to say something, and then reconsidered, saying, “Dr. Hale will take a look at you and then sure, Peaches, you can rest.”

It took every ounce of his self-control to not tell Jacob to stop calling him that. He had to remember that as far as they were concerned, he hadn’t been taken in by the “other side”, he’d been sitting scared and meek like a good boy at the compound.

Pratt’s eyes darted, catching sight of the woman that Jacob gestured to with a free hand. Right. The Fall’s End vet. She’d been here for what—a little over a year? He couldn’t tell if she was being held captive by Eden’s Gate or if she was there by her own volition, though the few times he’d run into her before she’d seemed like a pretty even-keel person. Didn’t she have like, two degrees or something? What was she doing here?

He made his way to the back of the church, meeting the curly-haired blonde halfway. Definitely looked too clean to be a cultist. “You’re not a people doctor, right?” he asked uneasily, watching as her head cocked to the side and her mouth quirked in a bit of amusement.

“No, Mr. Pratt, I am not a people doctor.” She fell into step beside him, opening the chapel door for him. “But I do have first aid training, which I think is about as good as you’re going to get around these parts.”

“I didn’t get a concussion.”

“That’s good. When was the last time you ate?”

His mouth twisted in a frown, trailing after through the snow as the cold began to sink into his bones. She seemed awfully confident moving around the compound, if she wasn’t part of the cult. But if she was, what was she doing here? How did—?

Pain bloomed behind his eyes, a fresh headache sinking into his nerves. Too much. It was too much confusion, about Elliot (pregnant? And John Seed was with her?) and about the Family and about all of these—these people that he didn’t really recognize hanging around the Seeds. And the compound was so quiet. Where was everyone? Had the Family really taken that many of Eden’s Gate out?

“Mr. Pratt?”

The woman opened a door into a bunkhouse that glowed with golden light from within and radiated heat. Two long-haired shepherds lay on the floor at the foot of the bed, lifting long faces and peering at him with dark eyes. He stepped inside and cleared his throat.

“Uh, a day, maybe,” he replied after a minute. Taking a seat when she gestured for him to, he shifted uncomfortably as she set a first aid kid on the cushion beside him and pulled one of the wooden chairs up in front of him.

“And slept?” She blew a curl out of her face and opened the kit, fishing around to find some alcohol wipes and Neosporin. He guessed he was a bit worse for wear than he’d thought, initially; not that he’d been taking great care of himself, even when it had just been him and Dani. She’d encouraged him to stay high, not stay better.

Fuck, I’m such an idiot.

He let out a little hiss when she pressed one of the alcohol wipes to a cut on his cheek.

“The same,” he replied, reaching up and brushing her hand away. “What—what are you doing here, doctor?”

“Arden is fine.” She sat back, regarding him curiously. “I’m cleaning that cut, Mr. Pratt. It looks agitated.”

“No, I—” Pratt let out a little breath. “I mean here. In the compound.”

Arden stared at him for a moment, like she didn’t understand why he was asking her that question. She lifted her hand and arched a brow inquisitively; when he nodded shortly, she leaned forward again, balancing her free hand on his shoulder and using the other to gently dab at the cut.

“I’ve spent the last month or so holed up in my house,” she explained to him. “Me, and the dogs, I mean.”

A little smile ghosted over her lips, and despite himself, Pratt felt a wry smile tugging at his own. It was difficult not to feel relaxed, when Arden moved with so much surety. In the glow of the radiators ticking away and the warm yellow light, especially.

“Mostly reading. They had assigned one of the boys to me—Santiago. I think he’s John’s man. He doesn’t strike me as one of Joseph or Faith’s.”

Pratt made a little noise of agreement, because he knew exactly what she was talking about. She dropped the alcohol wipes to the side and reached over for the Neosporin, dabbing some onto her finger and then reaching back up to resume her work.

“Sorry,” he said after a moment. “That you got—stuck, I mean. Here.”

“Oh, you don’t need to apologize, Mr. Pratt.”

“I feel partially responsible,” he admitted, feeling some of the tension flee his shoulders. “You know, being law enforcement and all—”

“Hold still, please.”

“Sorry,” he said again. “I guess what I mean is—sometimes it feels like a real failing on our part. All of those people, I...”

He paused, and Arden leaned back, giving him a pat on the knee. “That’s alright, Mr. Pratt,” and her voice bloomed with comfort. “Where was I?”

“Up at your house, with the dogs and maybe one of John’s men.”

“Right. I wasn’t allowed to leave, you know, on account of the—” She gestured with an elegant hand. “Cult running amok.”

He nodded. “Cult number two.”

Arden smiled, and continued, “And then just a few days ago, after one of them started killing those folks in Fall’s End, Jacob came up to get me.”

The way she said it made him feel, a little uneasily, that maybe he was misreading it. Jacob came up to get me did not sound like Jacob came to pick me up because I’m his prisoner.

And then she said, “He was worried, you know. Only having a radio up there. I know how to use a gun, but I’d prefer not to, if I don’t have to, and—”

“Sorry,” he blurted out, “but are you—”

She blinked light eyes at him, almost owlishly, like she didn’t understand the question. “Am I...?”

“With? Them?” Pratt gestured towards where the chapel lay, beyond the bunkhouse walls. “The—Eden’s Gate?”

“Oh!” Arden laughed, almost sheepishly; he felt a nervous little laugh bubbling out of him too, almost hoping for the relief of her assuring him that she was, in fact, not in league with the Darwinian psycho that had spent the last few months mindfucking every resident he could get his hands on.

She came to a stand and pulled a bottle of ibuprofen and a granola bar out of the kit, dropping them in his hand.

“Eat the bar before you take the ibuprofen,” she told him, “or it’ll—well, I’m sure you know. Upset stomach, and all that. Do you want to take a shower?”

Pratt’s fingers curled around the ibuprofen bottle. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m sorry,” Arden replied, not sounding very sorry at all, “I guess I just thought it a bit silly. Who else would I be “with”?”

His stomach somersaulted, sinking viciously. Suddenly, the granola bar—which had certainly been sitting in the kit for who knew how long—looked even less appetizing than before. While his vision swam for a second, the woman carried on conversationally, as though she had not just revealed herself to—

Well, to be in league with the Darwinian psycho that had spent the last few months mindfucking every resident he could get his hands on.

“But—they think the world is ending,” Pratt blurted out, lifting his eyes to look at her finally. “And—doctor, all the people they killed, and—”

“Don’t strain yourself, Mr. Pratt. You’ve been under quite a bit of duress as of late, I think, and it would be best to try and keep those stress levels down.” She moved to the small pantry beside the bathroom, shuffling around and producing a few towels, leaning into the bathroom to set them on the counter. “Though, you do bring up a funny point—have you been listening to the news? I suppose you haven’t. I remember listening to the news before all of this business went down and thinking that the world had ended a long time ago. We were just a bit behind, all the way out here. Do you want to take a shower?”

Blinking furiously, Pratt searched his brain for the answer; he muddled through the disappointment raking down his spine, the delicate little hope that had been fostered at the prospect of finding someone who was kind and not under the Seeds’ thumb being crushed beneath the weight of the reality of his situation.

“Yes please,” he managed out, his voice hoarse.

“Alright. Eat that bar first, so you don’t pass out in the hot water. And Mr. Pratt?”

“Y—” He had clumsily ripped open the granola bar and shoved half into his mouth, the fear of being seen as disobedient when Jacob Seed was within radius flickering like a wildfire through his body. He swallowed thickly, the dry food feeling like it was sticking to the inside of his mouth. “Um, yes?”

Her expression colored sympathetic, Arden reached down and fished a water bottle out of the case, dropping it in his hand.

“The honorific isn’t necessary,” she told him. “Remember, Arden is just fine.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbled. “I mean—Arden.”

She smiled, this time with teeth. “Good. You holler if you need me.”

I won’t, he thought, even though she was probably preferable to anyone else coming to his rescue.

Maybe he really would rather be dead.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Scarlet insisted that John stay at the house while they went to the boutique. It was all a big show of his mother-in-law attempting, he thought, to be polite, though she failed miserably at it; and as much as John wanted to argue that it would probably be best if he came along—considering their late-night visitor—he could tell when a battle was a lost one, and when it wasn’t.

“Do you think you can do that, Mr. Seed?” she asked, pulling the objectively ostentatious fur coat around her shoulders and buttoning it. “Remain in my home for a few hours, without causing me any problems?”

He said, “I think I can certainly give it a shot,” to which the blonde rolled her eyes.

“Please do more than that.”

“Rest assured, I am fully capable of behaving myself, Mrs. Honeysett.”

He couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Every second he spent in her presence, being reminded of how little she liked him given how much she didn’t know about him—or care to get to know about him, anyway—he thought, I cannot fucking wait to get back to Hope County and the resurgence of the Family. I cannot wait until that is my only fucking problem. Anyone else and she would have been thoroughly cleansed; clearly, Wrath ran in the family. Just the thought of it made his fingers itch.

Elliot had looked tired already, standing at the door and letting her mother go first. As soon as Scarlet was out the door, carefully picking her way down the front steps, John’s hand went to Ell’s hip; her lashes fluttered at the contact, but she didn’t jerk away; only tensed, considering the act of balking and pulling away from him but not yet committing. So there had been progress.

Her free hand came to his shoulder, resting there uncertainly. “Please don’t do anything to my mother’s house.”

“As much as I would love to, I will refrain from my wretched impulses. I am a man of God, after all.” He grimaced. “Do you think she’ll like me more if things are immaculate?”

“Ha-ha. She certainly will not.” She paused, letting out a little breath. “Okay. Back in an hour.”

He felt a smile tug at his mouth. “Ambitious.” His hand drifted to the small of her back, and he said, “Ell, before you go—”

“John, I don’t—”

Elliot turned to look at him at the same time that he stepped forward, closing what little distance there was and rapidly; she blinked, and her eyes flickered to his mouth instinctively, like she was expecting it—like she’d gotten used to the affection when he closed in on her like that. The gesture sent a little thrill through his stomach.

Mine.

“Don’t let her stress you out,” John murmured, keeping his voice low between just the two of them. “You’ll look good in whatever you pick.”

She turned her face away, cheeks going pink. “What’s this, huh? Still trying to make up for being a complete fuckhead this morning?”

He grinned. “You really have gotten brattier.”

“Goodbye, John,” she said, and then he leaned in and kissed her; the connection made every part of him sigh, collectively, as though he’d just been waiting for it.

Waiting for her.

Yes yes yes, it all said when she didn’t pull away, his fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater at the small of her back as her hand slipped from his shoulder to his chest, yes, mine all mine.

Elliot did pull back after a moment, putting a bit of space between them—though it seemed more to catch her breath than anything else. She only pulled back enough for their eyes to meet; John’s gaze darted downward, watching pearly teeth as they tugged at her lower lip, worrying it there for a moment.

“To answer your question,” he continued as casually as he could, “that’s not how I intend on making that up to you.”

“So you agree?” Elliot asked. Her voice came out evenly, despite the color blooming underneath the freckles on her cheeks. “You were being a complete fuckhead this morning?”

“I did so miss our banter.”

“Bunny,” Scarlet called impatiently from the driveway, “the boutique is going to get crowded if we don’t get there when it opens.”

“I’m coming!” Her gaze darted back to him. “The best way to make it up to me would be to say the words out loud,” Elliot informed him as she inched toward the door. “So that baby can hear them, too. At least you’ll have been more honest around our child than with me, if we’re keeping a running tally, and we should—”

He tugged her back from the doorway again, lighter, more playful as he went in to kiss her a second time; but she pulled back, just out of his reach, hand planted firmly on his chest.

Elliot said, “I told you not to get used to it.”

“I’m not,” he answered lightly, “just taking what I can get.”

“Elliot.”

“Coming!” Elliot cinched her coat up more snug, closer to her throat and where the scar lay expertly over her sternum, and snagged the keys off of the counter to the beat-up Honda Civic John had lifted from Eden’s Gate. Right. He couldn’t wait to hear Scarlet’s input on that car ride.

The redhead made it down two steps before she paused, turning and looking at John and going, “Um, bye,” in a tone that was more sheepish than he anticipated; it was almost shy, and it caught him so off-guard that he didn’t even get the chance to muster a response before she was making her way across the snowy driveway.

“Drive safe,” John called, once he’d gathered his senses a bit more. Elliot glanced at him over her shoulder and then ducked into the car, closing the door and beginning to pull her way down the drive. He waited until they’d turned onto the freshly plowed road before he turned back into the house and closed the front door behind him.

Boomer had seated himself in front of the window, letting out a little whine as his tail swept along the floor.

“C’mon, furry sentinel,” he sighed, not risking putting his hand within biting reach. “Just you and me today.”

The Heeler whined again, apparently thoroughly displeased at this news, and stayed rooted at the window to watch for his girl to come home.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he hit the redial button on the number they’d gotten a call from that morning and waited as the phone rang, pacing around the polished living room. It rang enough times as he idly adjusted glasses on a bar cart that he thought for certain no one would pick up—and then the phone clicked, and a warm voice came through.

“Hi, John.”

He blinked in surprise. “Hello, Faith. How’d you get this phone?”

“Isolde passed it to me when she saw your call. She wanted me to tell you that she’s too busy to talk to you.”

A wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Sounds like everything’s operating as normal, then.”

“I suppose.” Faith paused. “Are you coming home soon?”

“I am.”

“With Elliot?”

“Yes, she—” John cleared his throat and made an effort to sound as unbothered as possible. “She’s very concerned about Deputy Pratt’s well-being.”

“We’re taking good care of him. Will you tell her that? Better than he’d be getting out there, anyway,” and she said the word out there with such a surprising amount of venom that John realized he’d nearly forgotten about the Family’s reappearance. Well, there couldn’t be that many of them left, could there?

And then Faith said, “A lot of us are dead, John.”

His hand went to the mantle for a little support as he leaned against it. There was a bit of a bite to Faith’s voice—almost accusatory. A lot of us are dead, she said, as he stood in the plush home of his mother-in-law while they went dress shopping for a Christmas party. It occurred to him that none of his siblings—nor Isolde—were aware of what they’d been dealing with the last couple of days; they must have felt like he was getting off easy.

“The Father says we only have a little while longer,” she continued, “and that if we can’t fix this in time, we won’t wait for you. He’s been alone, a lot. Talking to God. Praying for more time, for you.”

The words made his stomach wrench, a little. He would have felt worse if he didn’t know already that there was an exit plan in place, one that Elliot was already on board for. “We’re only here for another day, and then we’re leaving” John replied. “The sheriff mentioned some—Federal agents. I don’t want to rouse suspicion and bring them down on us again.”

“Do you think it’s Burke?”

“Maybe.” He pressed his forehead against the stone mantle. “Probably. No one’s come storming in yet.”

“I hope it’s him. I hope he follows you all the way back here.” And then, darker: “He has a lot to apologize for.”

John made a low noise of agreement. It felt good to have a conversation with someone who seemed to be on the same side as him, for once—no bickering with Scarlet, no bickering with Elliot, and no bickering with Isolde. As of late, it seemed he was only capable of incurring arguments; though that did seem to be changing quickly with his wife.

“We’re having a service soon. Did you want me to tell Joseph anything?”

“Ah, no, that’s alright. I just wanted to let you know we had a plan.”

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No,” John said again, more quickly and with a bout of unease sprinting up his spine. “No, that’s alright. I’ll let you go. We’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Alright.” Faith’s voice lightened when she added, “Tell Elliot I said hello.”

Bad idea, he thought, but said, “Of course,” and hit the end call button. It wasn’t until his entire body relaxed that he realized he’d been fully tensed, waiting for some kind of verbal blow—and though there had been a few, he felt...

Fine.

I feel fine.

It was fine. Everything was fine. Joseph was praying for more time for them. They’d make it back without a hitch. And then, when the world ended, and took the remainder of the Family with them—

Well, that would be all the better.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“My children.”

The heaters rattled, clicking in the lukewarm air in a steady, mechanical heartbeat. Candles lit throughout the chapel drenched the members of Eden’s Gate in a strange, golden glow, and as Joseph’s voice carried all the way to the back where Staci sat between Jacob and Arden. He could see in the front row sat Faith and the dark-haired woman—who he’d come to understand was Isolde Khan, John’s old business partner—and there was a moment where Joseph’s eyes fixed on her before they lifted back to the congregation.

“God has truly been testing us,” the man continued, pacing away from the altar the front, hands folded behind him. “As you know, I have spent a lot of time in silence and solitude so that I might be the most open to receiving from Him. For the longest time, I thought—had we done something wrong? Had I led us astray? Were we being punished?”

An uneasy murmur rippled throughout the crowd. In the front, Pratt could see Isolde writing something down in a notebook; he wished he was closer, so he could see what it was—what was so interesting that she was taking notes now, of all times? What could she possibly be doing?

Preparing for the worst-case scenario, he thought idly, shifting in his seat. Jacob’s eyes cut over to him and he cleared his throat. The shower had done nothing to ease his nerves.

“But I’ll tell you—devout, and loyal, we have not been left to the wayside.” Joseph stopped, pressing a hand onto a woman’s shoulder, squeezing. “I have heard His voice. I have received His word. We are not only followers of God’s word—we are His soldiers.”

The noise that passed through the congregation this time was brighter, agreements—it must have felt good. Not just passive sheep, to be shepherded; soldiers. Capable of violence. And they were.

“We are His warriors.”

The woman Joseph’s hand was on was getting teary-eyed, and when he departed from her to sidle his way down the aisle, she all but collapsed in on herself, folding in half to bury her face in her hands. Another attestation of acknowledgment rippled around him, louder.

“This world is a wretched, vile machine, taking in and spitting out sin, flooding our garden with locusts,” the Prophet continued, his voice lifting in volume. “We are, my children, the only people who have the great fortune of seeing this—of knowing what no one else in the world seems capable of understanding. God has told me—”

Sick, Pratt thought dizzily, I’m going to be sick.

“—that a life of bliss awaits us, if we can only...”

Joseph paused, as though he needed to look for the words, as though he hadn’t been reciting this all day in preparation for the sermon; Pratt knew that he must, the assured cadence of his voice coming so firmly that there was no way it wasn’t rehearsed.

“...look past the dread, and the fear,” he continued earnestly, allowing his hand to be taken by another member, “because fear is the language of the Devil—if we can look past it, and dedicate ourselves fully to His cause, there is only happiness and serenity waiting for us on the other side of this.”

“How do we do it, Father?” a man to the other side of Jacob cried out, his voice a panicked fever-pitch. “How do we show Him we’re devoted?”

Joseph’s head turned. His gaze landed on Pratt, lingering before lifting to the congregant. “We’ve got to stop the machine.”

Optimism flooded the crowd. An easy solution. Stop the machine, like it was nothing. Like they weren’t dealing with a group of people who killed as easily as they did.

“Throw your bodies upon the gears, upon the wheels, upon all the apparatus,” Joseph intoned dutifully, pacing back toward the front. “Whatever it takes to bring the machine to a grinding halt. We can no longer passively take part in the End—we are warriors of God, and our divine right is not instinctively endowed. It is earned. And we will show that we have earned it by exterminating these interlopers invading our garden.”

Pratt’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Eden’s Gate members came to a stand around him; loomed in his vision; eclipsed what little murky light reached him. Cheers and applause rolling around in his head. He thought for sure he’d heard this all somewhere, before—

Oh, yes. And you've got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it, that unless you're free, the machine will be prevented from working at all! The irony of Joseph lifting lines from an activist’s speech was not lost on him.

A heavy hand gripped the collar of his shirt, hauling him to his feet. “Stand up,” Jacob muttered. “Good posture’s important.”

He steadied himself on the pew ahead of him. Amidst the chatter of the congregation, eventually quieted down by Joseph’s patience at the front of the chapel, he could hear renewed excitement. More life had been breathed into the peggies than he’d seen in a long time—well, considering that he’d only been here roughly a day, and the whole place felt like a ghost town even now, that was saying something.

“Please,” Joseph called lightly, “join me in prayer.”

Heads bowed. Pratt let his chin drop to his chest, but his eyes didn’t close; his gaze darted to his right, where Arden stood, hands clasped politely in front of her. Her head did not bow for prayer.

He was only vaguely aware of the words coming out of Joseph’s mouth, redirecting his eyes back to the floorboards beneath his worn shoes. Lord, we pray that you might show us guidance and wisdom in these uncertain times; show us how to be most like you, for only you are perfect...

Elliot was going to come back to this. She was going to come back to this, and he was going to have to figure out how to get her out of here without any of the Seeds noticing. Helmi had said, meet me out back, by the river, in three nights, but he couldn’t keep track. Had it been one night? Two? Less than one?

“I am your Father,” Joseph was saying. “You are my Children. Together, and only together, will we march through the Gates of Eden.”

A rousing amen echoed around him. They milled about, chatting excitedly—perhaps delighted to have a focus for their ire, for their agitation. The members of Eden’s Gate looked worse than Pratt remembered. Dirtier. Thinner. More exhausted. He thought that it must be nice to have a purpose—

Fuck me, not that shit again.

He filed out of the row behind Arden, and with Jacob behind him, following her to the front where Isolde and Joseph stood. They were speaking in low tones, bundled close together; she tapped her ten against the front of her notepad in what looked like an agitated tick, but he couldn’t hear what it was she was saying. By the time they were close that he might have heard, Joseph lifted his head from where he’d bent a little to speak closely and looked at him, smiling.

“It was nice to see your face in the crowd this day, Deputy Pratt,” he said, his voice warm. “Did you enjoy the sermon?”

Pratt opened his mouth, and then closed it. He didn’t want to play this game.

“Go on, Peaches,” Jacob prompted, clapping his shoulder.

The nickname sparked something angry inside of him, like dragging a match against the sandpaper side of the box. If there’s anything wrong with you, I’m going to kill them, Elliot had said.

Pratt turned his gaze to Joseph. “I thought the Mario Savio part was a bit much.”

A surprised, abrupt laugh barked out of Jacob. Joseph’s expression remained flat and serene. In fact, the only person who seemed to have any negative opinion about his words was Isolde, narrowing her eyes as she turned to look at him fully.

“We’re not exactly looking to hit notes with the intellectuals in the crowd, Deputy Pratt,” she informed him coolly. “They don’t care who said it first. They care who said it better.”

“Y—” Pratt swallowed. “Okay, well—”

“‘Okay, well’ shut the fuck up,” she snapped. “Or I’ll have Jacob take you out back and put you down like Old Yeller.”

“You can’t,” he protested quickly, “Elliot said—”

“Do you think I care in the least what some woman five states away said?” Isolde cut over him quickly, the elegant, soft roll of her accent a strange and unsettling juxtaposition to her words. “I’m getting this ship in fit fucking order, and that means I don’t need you inspiring dissent. Anyone with an opinion that is less than glowing, radiant, gorgeous—they get taken care of, whatever that means. Got it?”

Pratt closed his mouth tightly, until the pressure was beginning to build between his molars. I just have to make it until Elliot gets here, and then—and then I’ll—then I can get—

He took in a little breath. “Yes.”

“Peachy.” Isolde flashed a smile that was all-too-saccharine, and then turned to Joseph. “Let’s sit.”

“Of course.”

They departed to a pew just to the left of them. Jacob was grinning at him, wolfish.

“Thought about telling you she wrote it,” he said, “but that was much more entertaining.”

“You look pale, Staci,” added Arden, her voice light as it redirected from Jacob’s apparent joy at his suffering. “Maybe you should go lay down. I don’t want you straining any of those injuries.”

Okay, he thought, and maybe the words came out of him but he couldn’t tell; he couldn’t tell anymore, but he did want to go lay down. Lay down, and close his eyes, and sleep until Elliot got back.

He’d never been happier at the prospect of seeing an ex-girlfriend.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When they arrived at the boutique, Sylvia was standing outside, bouncing on the balls of her feet in what Elliot could only assume was an attempt to get warm. It was difficult, to focus on something as inane and arbitrary as dress shopping when she knew that Pratt was back in Hope County, dealing with God-knew-what the Seeds were throwing at him.

Well, the Seeds. And more. The Family, who were supposed to be dead, and—

I hear stress is bad for the baby. A familiar accent, wasn’t it?

“Well, are you just gonna sit in there all day or what?” her mother asked, having stepped out of the passenger side.

“Did you invite Sylvia?”

Scarlet sighed. “I thought it might be nice, for you.”

It was an unexpectedly sincere gesture on her mother’s part. She swallowed a thick emotion down, clearing her throat and managing out, “It—is, mama, thank you,” before she got out of the car and took the keys with her, heading towards the front doors of the main street store.

“Howdy, Freckles!” Sylvia greeted her warmly, throwing her arms around her in a tight hug. “Been a few. Wyatt’s still got your Jeep, he’s been runnin’ it a few minutes a day to make sure the battery doesn’t go bad.” She smiled brightly, turning to Elliot’s mother. “Mrs. Honeysett, you look mighty lovely.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Sylvia tugged the door to the boutique open, ushering them inside so that she could trail in after. The inside of the store was toasty warm, making Elliot regret having worn a scarf, but it was too late now—the coat and scarf combination were doing the work to keep her scar covered.

“I just love this place,” Scarlet sighed, shrugging out of her coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. “What do you think, Elliot? Maybe something blue. I’d put you in green, but with that red hair, you’d look like a Christmas ornament. Blue’s a nice winter color—very fashionable.”

“Sure, mama,” Elliot replied, brushing her fingers along the silk of one of the dresses. The last time she’d been in anything that blue and nice had been back in Hope County. At her “baptism”. The same one Burke had been dragged to, the same one that John had held her under for just a little too long for, maybe distracted by the Marshal’s arrival back then.

“Psst.” The sound of Via’s voice caught her attention, pulling her from the waking memory. The blonde had pulled what appeared to be the most atrocious Christmas gown that could have been looked at off of the rack, holding it up and lifting her eyebrows as Scarlet chatted enthusiastically with the store’s saleswoman.

“Stop it,” Elliot said, fighting back a smile. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, dead serious, Freckles.”

“It has mistletoe on it, Via.”

“How else am I supposed to fetch a husband, if not by readily-accessible entrapment?”

Well, she thought a little dryly, that is how John got a wife.

It was odd, to think of the moment with anything less than hostility—to have come to a point where there were things more pressing than a marriage that, in the end, might not matter anyway. John had said that he knew the baby didn’t mean she’d take him back; had acknowledged there was no guarantee. For once, he’d shown up in her life with every intention laid bare for her to see.

Maybe not every intention. But she’d root them all out, eventually, and pretend like it hadn’t become something of a game, to catch John in a lie and watch him squirm.

She let the boutique’s owner show her around, clearly making quite a show for her mother, and politely turned down any suggestions for a deep v or off-the-shoulder type of garment. Sylvia had picked out a few; most blue, some blush, a few red, and then loaded some into Elliot’s arms.

“Try ‘em on!” she chirped. “Yes, even the green ones. Maybe your mama doesn’t want an Elliot Christmas ornament, but I do.”

Elliot heaved a sigh, though it was only half-sincere—anything delivered with Sylvia’s bright, cheery smile, she was hard-pressed to feel anything less than good about. Maybe that was dangerous, to be so comfortable with someone.

Or maybe, she thought, closing the dressing room door behind her, that’s just how having friends are. You remember what that was like.

She did. As she undressed and zipped the back of one of the red dresses Sylvia had selected—thoughtfully aware of the fact that she’d want most of her chest covered—she regarded herself in the mirror. There was that stranger again, flushed cheeks and bright eyes staring back at her. A familiar nose shape, a familiar slope of her cheekbones—but the rest of her. Where had she gone?

With one hand she pushed the door open, the other one lifting the back train of the dress as little as she walked out. A grimace had planted itself on her face, even despite Sylvia’s elaborate applause at her appearance.

“Oh, bunny, you look darling,” her mother sighed, having turned to take a look. “What’s the matter? You don’t like it?”

“Not big on the sparkles,” she admitted.

“I like them. You’ve always looked good in red, though. That fair complexion of your father’s.”

Sylvia grinned. “Try on a green one. I wanna imagine how you’ll look on my tree!”

Elliot stuck her tongue out at the blonde, turning around and scurrying back into the changing room. There were a few more dresses—even a green one—that were in the running, but eventually, she’d settled on a floor-length piece, dark blue velvet and halter-topped to get the most sternum coverage. When she’d redressed and rejoined the group outside, her mother was beaming as she gossiped with the boutique owner.

“Elliot’s quite modest,” her mother said conversationally, “and she’s already married, you know.”

“Thank you, mother,” Elliot sighed, a little smile fighting its way onto her face.

“Whatever are you still wearing your coat for? Your face is all red.”

“I’m—” She paused, swallowing. “Still cold.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Cold? It’s eighty degrees in here. And your face is all red.”

Sylvia had glanced up from across the store, neck-deep in dresses of a warmer shade. Elliot could feel the eyes on her—her friend, her mother, the boutique owner—and she cleared her throat and tugged absently at the tag on the dress.

“It’s fine,” she said after a minute.

“Well, at least take your scarf off.”

“I think it’s a lovely scarf,” the owner tried, a little helplessly.

“Mother, it’s—I’m fine—”

But her mother moved too quickly for her to realize what was happening; her mother’s hand unwound the scarf with expert ease, and then froze, her eyes fixed on what Elliot thought assuredly was the little of her WRATH scar, revealed.

Her stomach rolled. Heat flooded her body, worse than before—it was the kind of sticky-wet heat that came with the threat of throwing up, the kind that crept up the spine and gripped by the nape of the neck. Elliot felt her lashes flutter; she dropped the dress abruptly and yanked the scarf out of her mother’s hands to wind it securely around her neck again. The boutique owner had quickly turned to the clothing rack, as though something very emergent had occurred on the inanimate objects.

Stupid. She was so stupid. She should have just worn a sweater. She shouldn’t have looked at her scar that morning and thought, maybe it is something to love, she shouldn’t have ever risked the chance that her mother would see it, stupidstupidstupid—

“My God,” Scarlet said tightly, the tone of her voice washing Elliot with shame. “What did you do?”

I’m sorry, she wanted to say, automatically. Mama, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m not good anymore, I’m not—

“Phew, I sure am dressed-out,” Sylvia announced, having come over. “I’ll have to go home and weigh my options. Ell, you wanna head outside for some air?”

“I think that’s best,” her mother replied curtly, before Elliot could even think to formulate a sentence. “I’ll finish up in here.”

She thought about trying to say something—trying to explain, maybe, what it was that had happened. But how could she? Her mother had suffered through the years she’d inflicted pain on herself, after daddy and after Mason, and she had told her mother she was better, now. Healed. Good. What could she say, to make it alright?

Because there was no world where she could say, I didn’t want it, and mean it.

Via’s hand fit snugly in hers, tugging her lightly out through the front door of the boutique onto the street. It wasn’t until she took in a lungful of cold, dry air that she realized she’d been holding her breath; her lungs ached, her head swimming, and she was gripping Via’s hand too tightly.

“Hey,” Sylvia said softly, “s’okay.”

It’s not, she thought miserably, it’s not okay, I’m not okay, I want to go—

Where? Where could she go?

I want—

Nowhere? Anywhere?

—to go—

“Home,” she managed out unsteadily, “I should go home—”

Sylvia gave her hand a squeeze. “You want I should give your mama a ride back to the house?”

“Yes.” She swallowed, sniffing. “Yes, please.”

“Okay, Freckles. Sure. You just—maybe you just take a little drive for yourself, collect your thoughts.” Via paused, and then leaned a little to catch Elliot’s eyes; though her vision blurred from the threat of tears, the blonde still smiled a little. “You gonna be okay all by yourself?”

It was a strange question to ask, but Elliot knew what she meant. Are you safe? Alone?

“Yeah,” Ell replied in a thick, watery mumble. “I am.”

“Okay. Can you give me a call when you get home?”

She nodded weakly. Via pulled her into a hug, tight and gentle all at once, enough to make the dam break; just for a little, just for a minute, the tears streaked down her cheeks and caught up in the fabric of the scarf where it wadded against her jaw.

My God, what did you do?

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, pulling back and sucking in a sharp little breath. “Um, I’m really—s-sorry—”

But Via shook her head firmly and brushed some of the hair back from Elliot’s face, wet from her tears. “Don’t apologize. Go get a little breather.”

She fished the keys out of Elliot’s pocket for her, putting them in her hand and hesitating.

“Promise you’ll call,” she reiterated.

Elliot nodded. “I—I promise.”

“Okay. No take-backs.”

“No take-backs.”

Via gave her another hug before ushering her towards the car. As she climbed in and turned the key, her hands shaking, she thought about the way her mother had looked at the scar—with disgust. Horror. Shame. Via hadn’t looked at her like that, when she’d seen it. She’d seemed embarrassed, at having put Elliot in such a position; but not like that. She hadn’t looked horrified.

John didn’t look at it like that. He’d spent a lot of time last night, tracing the shape of the scar with his eyes, with his mouth, reverent and adoring. Makes you hungry, doesn’t it?

At least leaving would be that much easier.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They came back separately.

When John heard the front door open, he’d been starting a pot of coffee in the kitchen. He poked his head around the archway to look out in the foyer, only to find Scarlet standing there, furiously unbuttoning her coat and dropping her gloves into the drawer. Two dress bags hung on the coat rack.

“Ell outside?” he asked casually, coming around.

“Certainly not,” Scarlet replied tartly. “She’s—”

And then the woman let out a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment—for the first time, Scarlet Honeysett looked to be composing herself, which he thought she was nearly incapable of losing sight of. It seemed even the impenetrable armor of the Honeysett matriarch had its own weaknesses after all.

His tiny little thrill at the sight of Scarlet looking troubled was short-lived, however, because she said, “My daughter walked into the boutique sporting this—wretched scar—”

Oh, he thought, suddenly.

“—never been so humiliated in my whole life—”

Oh, no, because he knew exactly what she was talking about and Elliot would be—

“—have no doubt, Mr. Seed,” Scarlet bit out viciously, “that scar is new and you have certainly not influenced her away from such activities.”

He needed to find Elliot. She would be distraught; why hadn’t she come home with her mother? And why wasn’t Scarlet more pressed concerning her daughter’s well-being?

“And where is she?” John asked, ignoring the stinging anger bubbling in his chest. Wretched scar, she’d said. Like it wasn’t beautiful. Like it wasn’t gorgeous. Like he hadn’t spent a whole night looking at it, running his hands and mouth over it, knowing that Elliot had looked at him and wanted it and trusted him and if there was something more devoted, it was carrying someone’s child. “Elliot? Where is she?”

“Taking a moment to regain her senses,” the blonde replied sharply. “She has vowed to be home soon. Mr. Seed—”

He had gone to reach for his coat, pausing at her words and looking at her expectantly.

Scarlet twisted the gloves in her hands for a moment, her brows pulling together.

“I just think,” she finally said, “that as her husband, you are responsible for her as much as I am. You have to be taking care of her when I’m not around.”

“I do,” he replied.

“Evidence says contrary,” Scarlet snapped. “She has come back to me with more—damage—”

The sound of a car pulling up outside snapped John’s attention elsewhere. He knew that if he stayed much longer in the conversation, they would be leaving sooner than what they had planned, if only because Scarlet wouldn’t tolerate him in the house for the things that he wanted to say to her. Damage, he wanted to say, that is only as bad as it is because it’s compounding on your incessant need to brush aside her problems like they’re nothing, like she didn’t need help then.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, pulling his coat on and opening the door. The rush of cold air bit at his face and hands; Boomer came rushing out around his legs, springing down the steps and hurrying to the driver’s side of the Honda. John was only vaguely aware of the door closing behind him—and it didn’t matter, anyway.

She didn’t open the door when Boomer got there, scrabbling at it for her eagerly. She kept her hands on the top of the steering wheel and pressed her forehead into it, the engine ticking as it cooled. When John got there, he reached for the door handle to tug it open. Elliot hit the lock button.

“Ell,” John said, “open the door.”

She lifted her head tiredly from the steering wheel. Where her hand sat over the lock button, her fingers trembled a little, and her face was flushed—not with health, but with the sickly red of feverish, panicked crying.

“Baby,” he tried again, a little more urgently, putting his hand on the glass of the window, “Boomer wants to see you.”

Elliot’s eyes were fixed on his jacket. “Would you—” She stopped, her voice muffled by the glass, and then she took a deep breath and said, “Would you even be here if I wasn’t pregnant?”

“What?” John blinked at her.

“If I didn’t have the baby,” she tried again, her voice thick and watery with unshed tears, that pouty lower lip trembling, “would you have even come for me?”

He stared at her. It had never occurred to him, that there might be a world in her head where he didn’t come for her, where he didn’t find her, where he didn’t try and bring her back.

“Of course I would,” John said, drawing her eyes to him. “I love you, Elliot.” And then, more urgently: “I love you, with or without the baby.”

She looked away from him, then, staring out the other side of the window, fingers curling uselessly against the steering wheel even as the keys lay in the passenger seat—like she wanted to run. Like she wanted to floor it, and go somewhere, anywhere.

“Open the door, Ell.” He swallowed thickly. “Won’t you?”

The door lock clicked. He tugged at the handle and it opened with ease, Boomer instantly shoving his face into Elliot’s side and whining, tail wagging so furiously his whole body moved with it. John pushed the door open the rest of the way and reached for her, and her hand caught his wrist and pulled, and she buried her face into his chest and trembled like a leaf in a breeze.

“I’m so tired,” she moaned miserably into his chest, hiccupping with grief, “I want to go home.”

John wrapped his arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head and keeping her tugged close.

“I know,” he said. “We’ll go. We will, I promise, Ell, okay?”

“Please—” The redhead pulled back to look at him. “I can’t—you can’t—lie to me, anymore—”

“I know,” John said again, a little helplessly, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. She was clutching him so tightly he was sure her nails would leave marks on his skin, even through the fabric of his clothes.

“I won’t.”

#far cry 5 fic #fc5 fic #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #john seed/female deputy #fic: witching hour #john seed x female deputy #my writing #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #this chapter is about as long as the last one but also feels so much: bigger #thank u to everyone who reached out to me for the last two chapters it literally !!!!! #makes my whole fucking day #when i get feedback or even just to chat with some of y'all #*smooches u*

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

“Do you ever stop talking” that’s Gai focused, with the rest of the Gokaigers either a)defending him (or getting offended on his behalf) from people or monsters who are bullying him (or just being slightly rude I feel like they’re all over protective assholes) or b)finding creative ways to fondly shut him up?

9. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“--so the Zyurangers were the first team to ever go past five members, but Big One from J.A.K.Q. was the first unique sentai ever to join his team late. And for a while the Kyouryugers were the biggest sentai, but now the Kyuurangers have them beat, especially since some of the Kyouryugers are part-time. I’m kind of wondering if we’re ever going to see a team bigger than the Kyuurangers, twelve is so many--”

“Gai, my dear?”

Gai blinks. “Yes?”

Ahim pats his forearm gently with the hand not holding her needle. “I very much appreciate your company and assistance, and I don’t wish to dampen your enthusiasm at all, but this section takes a great deal of concentration. May I wait to hear the rest of this?”

“Oh! Sure, of course.” He peers down at what she’s working on, careful not to jostle the embroidery frame he’s holding steady. “Is that Warz Gill?”

“Yes, this is part of the Fall of Zangyack tapestry I’m working on. When it’s done it should go all the way around the common area.” She puts down another neat stitch in gleaming silver thread. “You chronicle Super Sentai history in your way, and I chronicle our history in mine.”

“That’s great, will you tell me more about it later? When you’re not working?”

She beams at him. “I would be happy to.”

--

The net whooshes through the air, and Luka runs out of the way just in time, skidding across the practice room floor and stopping herself against the wall with one foot. Across the room, Marvelous has taken up a defensive posture, gun in one hand, sword in the other, watching warily as Gai pulls the net back.

“See,” Gai says, spinning his trident as he scans the room, “I’m starting to think that this might be a multi-volume project, at least two parts. Because there are a lot of non-human sentai, with a lot of different stuff going on,” and he dives for Marvelous, who dodges, “and from what I’m hearing it might be getting even weirder. And then there’s that, like, recurrence thing, where there are those themes that keep cropping back up? Like how there are four different dinosaur teams now?”

“Yeah, I’d,” Marvelous dodges again, and then has to duck under a swing from Luka, “I’d noticed about there being lots of dinosaurs.”

“Right? Or there have been three different teams of ninjas, although I guess that’s kind of different, since they’ve got some lineage stuff going on there.” Gai deflects a blow from Marvelous’ sword. “They don’t just, just happen, where it’s like, surprise, more dinosaurs. I mean, it is surprise, ninjas, but that’s just how ninjas are, that’s the whole ninja thing--oof.”

The breath goes out of his lungs as Luka knocks him onto his back on the floor and sits straddling his chest, sword raised. “Do you ever stop talking?” She sounds minimally annoyed, which is, for her, nearly as good as a declaration of love. “You’ve been going for forty minutes now.”

He grins up at her. “You love listening to me talk, though.”

“I hate that you’re right.”

“You really do love listening to him talk, too,” Marvelous says, dropping his sword and gun on one of the tables in the corner, “it’s incredibly cute.”

“Says you, I’ve seen how dopey you get when you think he’s not looking.”

Marvelous sputters. “I do not get dopey.”

“Hey,” Gai says, still pinned underneath Luka, “if we’re done sparring then one or both of you should kiss me. Foolproof way to make me stop talking, I promise.”

Marvelous and Luka both blink, and Luka says, “Since when do you just ask for kisses like that?”

Gai shrugs. “We’ve been together for ten years, I feel like at this point I should be able to.”

--

“Did you know,” Gai says sleepily, “apart from the Gouraigers and Beet and Stag Buster, there haven’t been any insect-themed Sentai? I feel like there ought to be more.”

Doc frowns, just as sleepy. “What about Stinger?”

“Scorpions aren’t insects, they’re arachnids.”

“Right, right...”

“Although that’s a good point, he’s still kind of related to them. Also I guess insects are more of a Kamen Rider thing.” Gai stifles a yawn. “Shit, do I need to put in a chapter about Kamen Riders?”

“Guys,” Joe says, reaching to turn off the light, and then to pull up the blanket, “it’s late, go to sleep.”

“But. Joe. What if I need a chapter on Kamen Riders?”

“You might need a chapter on Kamen Riders,” Doc mumbles into his collarbone.

Joe lets out a sigh that’s half laughter. “You can figure that out in the morning. Go to sleep.”

--

“You know, you’d think people would stop making super-computers given how frequently this happens.”

Doc pauses in the middle of aiming. “Does it happens that often? Super-computers going off the rails and turning evil?”

“Oh, yeah, often enough.” Gai nods enthusiastically as he spears a heavily-pixelated trooper, which explodes in a cloud of digital confetti. “There was Messiah, you know, the Go-Busters fought him, and Kamen Rider Ex-Aid’s whole thing was evil computer stuff, and there was that Venjix guy...”

“Venjix?” Ahim cocks her head curiously. “I don’t recall him, which Super Sentai fought a being named Venjix?”

“Oh. Uh. It’s. Really complicated, actually. And I will...I’ll...explain later, I promise. It’s--you remember the Go-Ongers? And that thing where I was finding signs that the multiverse is way bigger than we originally thought? Well--no, we don’t have time, we’ll talk about it later, it’s a really long explanation.” Gai pauses, staring into space, and then absently destroys another Pixel Trooper. “Actually, it might be a whole other book.”

The kaijin commanding the Pixel Troopers shrieks in frustration. “Do you ever shut up? Blah, blah, blah, you talk nonstop, I’m shocked your colorful friends aren’t deaf by now!”

“No need to be rude,” Gai says, mildly. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“In fact, do you mind?” Ahim glances over at the rest of the crew. “This fellow is being very unpleasant, I think perhaps it’s time we got out the Buster.”

The kaijin lets out another, somewhat more startled shriek.

“Great idea, Ahim.” Marvelous reaches for his Ranger Key as the Buster begins to materialize in their hands. “We can’t go letting people think that anyone can go telling Gai to shut up.”

“I love you all so much.”

“We know, Gai, we love you too. Now shut up and help me aim this thing.”

#ikari gai #ahim de famille #luka millfy #captain marvelous #joe gibken #don dogoier #fanfiction #nearlybanjou

[only-lonely-stars]

Cursebreaker, Chapter 1

[Prologue] // [Chapter 1 - you are here!] // [Chapter 2] // [Epilogue] (FFN)

Summary: Once upon a time in the kingdom of Skytarin, a mermaid came to the surface for the first time, and laid her eyes upon a prince in red. Unable to shake the memory, she sought a curse to become human, if only to meet him. Little Mermaid retelling, part of the Fairy Tale AU! (Rated T for safety's sake, not a specific warning.)

Chapter 1: The Surface

Above Skytarin, the sun hung in the sky, looking down with love. Its heat beat down upon the kingdom, warming the world with its gaze. The only place that was unchanged was the ocean, for the coldest, deepest waters saw not a shred of sun. They were deep and wide, with many ravines and trenches that cut to the core of the world and touched heat vents. These sustained life, along with the thread of inherent magic. Together, they had formed the mer, and the mer relied upon the heat of the vents to keep their home warm.

The mer were not like men in most ways. Their city was great, but it was built into the very bottom of the deepest trench rather than the surface. They breathed the water as if it was air, seeing through the pitch-black as if it were as bright as the sun. They had their social classes, but they had no nobles. They even had a ruler, but he was not a king. He was named Chen, the Master of the Waters.

Master Chen was a merman with many descriptions: proud and arrogant, charismatic and self-centered, deceitful. He loved his daughter dearly, for she was the only child his wife had ever borne him. He treasured her like a rare possession, as one might keep gold or jewels. He tethered her in the trench, not with shackles, but with watchfulness, so that she might never leave his grasp and go to the surface.

Skylor, the daughter of Chen, was a mermaid like the rest of her kin. All the mer loved their dark world, enjoying the beauty which they could see. However, they dreamt of the surface, and it was well-known that every young mer sought to visit the surface at least once, if only to see how the men lived. Thus, they swam up to to it, where they might catch a glimpse at the light.

Whenever she could, Skylor escaped her father's watch, going to the surface. However, she never once broke the surface alone. The first time she did, it was with some friends of hers, who told her all about their adventures. They called the city on the coast Zenith, the capital of Skytarin.

"Come with us, Skylor! The city is beautiful," they said. "There are men and women aplenty to see, and so many wondrous inventions. You must feel the sun on your skin. It is indescribable!"

Their words dripped with temptation, and it was hard for Skylor to disagree, even with her fear After days upon days of endless pleas from her friends, Skylor finally bent and let them sway her. They arranged a day, and the thrill of disobedience ran through Skylor as she thought of it. Fearful or not, she eagerly anticipated the moment of discovery. What would the dry air feel like on her skin?

------

In its due time, the day of Skylor's first peek into the world of men finally arrived. On that day, she found herself more excited than she had been for anything else in recent memory, though she was not often excited. When her friends came at last to bring her with them, she escaped the palace and rose through the water with them, the sunlight weakly filtering through to her as she departed.

When they reached the surface, her friends wasted no time in breaking through to feel the air, closing their gills and opening their lungs. They laughed and cheered, having breached the surface in a hidden cove.

Despite her excitement, Skylor hung back in hesitation. Her friends dove back to her, seeking to encourage her.

"Skylor," they said, "do you not want to see the city? Feel the air on your skin, and let your hair dry!"

Skylor looked up at the surface. "Are you sure that it is safe for me? Father has always forbidden it."

"Disobey him! He has not gone to the surface in many years. Why would he know what it is like now?"

Skylor knew they were right, just as well as she knew how much she longed to feel the air. At last, she relented and broke the surf.

To Skylor's surprise, the air was cold and dry, especially as the water ran off her skin. She shut her eyes as she felt the magic transition them, letting her see clearly above the water when previously it would have been as bright as the sun itself. Her gills closed, her unused lungs opened. An uncomfortable tightness presented itself around her body, but then it disappeared, and her transformation was complete.

When at last she opened her eyes, Skylor found the most beautiful sight before her. An azure sky hung above her, broken by thin white clouds, partially hidden by the rocky outcropping of the cove. The cove had a beach, which was filled with green leafy plants and tall palms. In the distance rose her true prize: the city of Zenith with its shining buildings and palatial towers, amber sparkling everywhere she looked.

As she stared, Skylor's friends cheered, celebrating her first breaths of air. She floated for a moment, tasting the ocean breeze, a smile on her lips. She looked around herself, and saw that the surface world was good.

Once she had adjusted, the mermaids swam toward the city, beckoning her, and she joined them with glee. Now truly a creature of both worlds, Skylor found herself transitioning more easily every time she went under or over the waves, diving and breaching with more comfort every time, laughing as they went together toward the coast.

When the girls finally reached the city, they retreated underwater until they found a suitable hidden place. There, protected from the prying eyes of man, Skylor looked over the water and gazed at the harbor. There, a majestic ship floated in the water, about to be sent on its maiden voyage. A crowd had gathered, and at the head of the crowd were two men– human men, standing on their foreign two legs. Skylor watched in amazement as they stood and addressed the crowd. Her attention was drawn to one of them in particular, and she found herself transfixed.

The man was tall, strong, and clearly of high standing, clothed in the richest of reds. As he turned and spoke to different parts of the crowd, she spied his face– dark eyes, a defined jaw, determined features. He had rich brown hair, and unlike the other humans of the crowd, it has several small spikes that reached toward the sun. He was everything she had never seen before, and she found him to be strangely beautiful. This was no merman… this is was a new sight.

Skylor's friends giggled with each other when they saw her preoccupation. They whispered to each other, and one of them spoke quietly in her ear.

"Skylor, do you see something enjoyable?"

Skylor nodded, not turning away from the sight of him. "He is… fascinating."

"Of course he is! He is a man, not a mer."

"He is beautiful, whatever he is." Her companions giggled, and Skylor at last turned to them, cheeks flushed. "Come now, do not laugh at me! I have never seen men before! You know my father."

"Why yes, we do," they responded. "Yet you have never loved a merman, have you?"

"No," Skylor responded. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, nothing, but Skylor!" The others laughed. "Do not go and fall in love with a human. We would miss you so if you left us."

"As if I could," Skylor murmured, brushing her wet red locks from her face even as it heated. "A man and a mermaid? It would never work. Your imaginations get the best of you."

"No, no, no. We are fine. What of your imagination? It would not conceive of this."

A smile on her lips, Skylor turned back to the harbor. Something monumentous had apparently happened, for the crowd was cheering. The man in question shook another's hand, and then stood off to the side as the crowd surged forward toward the ship. The people boarded without hesitation, and slowly the man was left behind with his companion.

Skylor held her breath as the man in red looked her way, not seeing her within the water, but seemingly contemplative of some elusive matter. She watched as his face shifted, the consideration of that secret matter almost clear for her to read from his handsome face. Then, he turned and left, his long strides carrying him up the pier and away from sight, and he was gone.

The mermaids watched him go, but then shook Skylor from her reverie. "Come, Skylor! There is much to see!"

"I am coming," she said, following them after one last glance in the man's direction. She wondered if she would ever see him again. "Who are you?" she whispered under her breath, expecting no answer.

For the rest of that fine day, Skylor and her friends explored the coast of Skytarin, watching the people of Zenith. The mermaids cheered in glee as the fishermen caught and tossed their fish, the merchants sold their wares, and the men and women went about their days, with children running under foot. The run beat down, bright and hot. All in all, it was a fascinating sight, unlike anything in the trenches.

When at last they returned to the abyss, it was evening, and all the mermaids were tired. Skylor snuck back into the underwater palace, thoughts filled with the image of the mysterious man in red, his handsome likeness etched into her mind. She wondered who he was, and what he was like, or what his name was. Would she see him again?

On that day, Skylor learned what the air felt like, but all she could think about was him. She dreamt that night of the city, but she also dreamt of him, and woke with a smile on her face.

#OLST fanfic #ninjago #ninjago fanfic #skylor chen #kai smith #master chen #clouse #ninjago skylor #ninjago kai #ninjago chen #ninjago clouse #kai x skylor #skylor x kai #kailor #ninjago au #ninjago fairy tale au #fairy tale au #cursebreaker #little mermaid au

[loominggaia]

Fanfiction: New York (part 8)

Anon uploaded part 8 of their New York fanfic! You can read the other parts under the fanfic tag.

Posted under the cut:

The morning arrived, the crew waking up as Zeffer went to sleep. Day three of their hunt for Evan had officially began and the crew was beginning to realize this was gonna be harder then they thought. First off this city was HUGE!!! This New York place being much, much larger then any city they have ever been to before so their was a lot of places to search. The second thing and one they didn’t wanna think about is what if Evan wasn’t here? What would they do then? No. He had to be here.

The crew was gonna be here awhile, a long while they could tell and where gonna need food, supplies, a place to sleep that wasn’t some rat infested abandoned building. But in order to get any of that they where gonna one thing, money. They where not broke but may as well have been, GP was next to useless here so they where gonna need some of this earth money to get by. Zeffer told them before going to sleep he found somebody who could solve their id issue but it was gonna cost them big time.

But their was one thing above getting cash or finding Evan the whole crew was in desperate need of right now, a bath! Being unwashed for two days and sleeping in a old building filled with rodents had the crew smelling rather foul. Elska found a pond nearby during her search yesterday they could use and while they didn’t have any soap on them it was still better then nothing. It was decided that the Elska, Alaine and Jeimos would bath first, lukus and Issac after and Zeffer whenever he woke up.

Kimi woke up in her flat to the sound of her alarm, it was a work day and she had to get ready. Getting out of bed she got herself ready, the events of yesterday still fresh in her mind. Her meeting with those two foreign cosplayers had been all she could think about, it’s a real shame she couldn’t get a phone number or social media from either. She really wanted to see them again, especially that cute Alaine girl, and ask whether they found their friend or not.

Alaine, Elska and Jeimos made their way to the lake. Them stripping off their sweaty armor and hopping into the cool waters, hoping to soak off all dirt and filth. As Alaine plunged into the water she fully expected to feel the familiar sensation of changing into her aquatic form, the flash and light and feeling of her legs fusing into a tail. But as Alaine got her hair wet something strange happened, or should we say didn’t happen.

Alaine felt nothing? No flash of light, no leg fusion, not a single thing? She looked down in confusion to see she was still in her terrian form, a sinking feeling that something was wrong took over. She dipped the back of her head in deeper into the water, being sure to get all her hair soaked. Nothing. Her confusion turned more panicked, why was she not transforming? In one final test she dove under the water, fully submerging into the lake.

As Alaine dove under the water she waited for something, anything to happen but nothing did. Her tail and more pressingly her gills never emerged. For the first time since she was a child Alaine found herself holding her breath, unable to breath underwater. Her lungs burned and called for air, she frantically swam up to the surface desperate for air. Jeimos and Elska where at the shore washing themselves, not paying attention to Alaine diving. She was mermaid so they didn’t need to worry.

That illusion was burst as Alaines head busted up from the waters surface, violently coughing and gasping for air. That got the pairs attention as they made their way to Alaine, pulling her close to the shore. That’s when they noticed she wasn’t in aquatic form, but why? She was completely submerged a minute ago how does she still have her legs? Something wasn’t right and Jeimos had an idea on what it is, these thoughts having plagued them since they first arrived on earth.

Kimi made her commute to work, the trip being the same as every other day. Traffic, blaring horns, drivers screaming at each other from their car windows, same as every other day. Pulling into the hospitals parking lot a nagging thought crossed her mind, it being about the cosplayers missing friend. While she’s never seen a Mr. Evan Atlas as a patient that doesn’t mean someone else hasn’t. Just out of curiosity she’d ask around to see if anyone has a patient by that name.

After rescuing Alaine from near drowning they where now on the shore, Alaine visibly shaking and freaked out. She told them what happened and was asking why she hadn’t changed? Something was clearly wrong with her as this has never happened before. Jeimos told the two they had a theory but wanted to wait to tell the whole crew, it was something they all might want to hear. Drying off and getting dressed they made their way back to base.

“What do you mean theirs no magic”! The crew asked in unison. Jeimos clarifies to them that for the whole duration of their stay they have not sensed a single bite of magic here at all. At first they believed it was just due to being in an iron rich city but after seeing what happened to Alaine they now knew it was something else entirely. This earth place, it had no magic energy flowing through it unlike Gaia. To demonstrate Jeimos tried to cast a pyromancy spell.

Jeimos could cast the spell but instead of a huge jet of flames only tiny sparks came out. Even this alone took a lot out of Jeimos who staggered and started coughing. They explained that the lack of magic could explain why Alaine didn’t change into her aquatic form or why they didn’t find werewolf Evan their first night, theirs not enough magic surrounding them to fuel their change. This didn’t bode well for Jeimos and Zeffer, both being Fey and for Zeffer a vampire and thus reliant on magic.

The crew stopped their, they didn’t want to think about it. They didn’t want to think of what might happen to Jeimos or Zeffer if they stay too long or if they can even get home. The only thing they knew no whas they needed to amp up their search, find Evan and leave earth even faster. The crew split again to continue the search, back to the groups they had yesterday. Alaine was feeling rather stressed and anxious about this mornings events and needed to blow off some steam.

Alaine had a devilish idea on how to both blow off steam and get some quick cash. She turned to lukus and asked him if he felt like helping her do a little ‘hunting’. At the hospital the day was going by same as any other, new patients in various conditions flooding in, doctors and nurses rushes between rooms, patients or their families arguing with doctors over their diagnosis, the usual. Kimi was asking some of her coworkers if they have seen this Evan fellow with most saying no.

Still determined to see if this Evan guy passed threw here she decided to use her lunch to ask if they had a patient record for a Mr. Evan Atlas. If not then her suspicions could be put to rest. Lunch arrived and kimi did just that and reviewed patient records looking for any Evans. After going threw about 5 different names she found it! And what she found was a dead ringer for who those two cosplayers where talking about. Tall, beefy, blonde, missing a leg. It all checked out.

Kimi was also shocked to figure out this was the “Gaia guy” she was hearing about. Evan was in the over end of the hospital and currently in the psychiatric ward, a place she’s early ever stationed. While not directly seeing him her and her crew on this end did hear through word of mouth about a patient that had to be baker acted due to their delusions. Claiming himself to be a werewolf from some fantasy land where mermaids, centaurs and vampires are real.

Evan was sitting in his room, watching tv and eating bland hospital food like he had been doing for weeks. More reports of what people are now calling the “prosperity park centaur” have come flooding in, some teenagers claiming to have been attacked by it and even some blurry photos got taken. It frustrated Evan to no end, knowing his crew was here to rescue him yet having no way of letting them know he’s here. He heard the door to his room and say a nurse walk in.

Evan was confused? Nurses normally didn’t show up to clean for Atleast another 10 minutes? And he didn’t recognize this nurse either. She introduced herself as Kimi Wong and gave him some shocking news, she’d actually spoken to his friends! She actually spoke to Alaine and Lukus, also confirmed that Jeimos and Issac where on earth as well.

He was then disappointed to find out they where not in the hospital to see him, nor did this Kimi girl have a way of contacting them again. She apologized and told Evan the next time she sees them she will tell them where he is. While not exactly what he was looking for it help give Evan hope that he might soon get out of this miserable place and get back home.

*

This story just gets more and more interesting as it goes. Come in Kimi, I believe in you! Interesting to see the fae characters getting weaker without magic, I never even considered that myself. Can’t wait to see the next part. TO BE CONTINUED...?

#fanfic