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adelheidvonschicksal · 4 years

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Heat | Bakugo x Dragon!Reader

Synopsis: Due to black magic, you’re slowly turning into a mindless dragon. Bakugo has to help care for you until a cure is available and that includes dealing with your new sexual appetite. [request]

Content warning: NOT SFW, Fantasy!AU, Interspecies, rough sex

“I hate sleeping outside!”

You complained and threw another branch of dry wood onto the fire pit that centered your little camp for the night. Katsuki scoffed at your grievances as you paced in circles around the campfire.

“Well, we could have stayed in town if someone didn’t decide to steal from the fucking merchants’ guild.”

You stopped your pacing and your eyes narrowed at him. “I couldn’t help it! You know that,” you grumbled.

It wasn’t entirely your fault that you found yourself attracted to things like shiny rocks, gold, and jewels lately. When you saw such things, you couldn’t help but collect it. You told yourself it was to sell for money, but that was nowhere near the case as you kept them for yourself. You were starting to accumulate (read: hoard) quite a little treasure pile in your satchel actually. The trinket you stole wasn’t an exception.

“Besides you think he got that talisman through legal means--give me a freaking break.”

“It doesn’t matter! You don’t take it.”

You huffed and sat down in a clear spot that you finally thought good enough to settle and turned on your side. “It’s not like I want to be this way.”

With those words, Katsuki finally stopped grumbling and went to completely ignoring you. As the air filled with silence, you sighed at your unusual predicament and curled your tail around yourself.

Katsuki and you were all you’ve known ever since you were children. Orphaned by the civil war, the two of you had to rely on one another. Being forced to flee your village after another battle made that true now more than ever. When Katsuki’s new goal became to take over the country himself by following his own rule of “whoever survives makes the rules”, you knew there would be hardships, but you also knew he’d get himself killed or worse without your help.

That almost turned true when you had your first scuffle with the King’s royal enchanter. Katsuki almost ended up on the end of a spell that would chain his mind to the body of a beast had you not pushed him out the way. The asshole didn’t even say “thank you” but yelled at you for getting in the way. Thus, your adventure to take over the country sidetracked into a side quest to turn you back into a human before you completely transformed into one of the giant reptiles known as a dragon. The quicker the better, too.

Your head kept hurting with every small sound that you could never hear as a human now that your ears turned to elf-like points and your skin itched with layers of blue scales lining the front of your forearms and going up the side and back of your neck. You didn’t really mind the tiny wings fluttering at your back as much as the beginning of a slowly thickening whip-like tail and the pure white horns sticking out at your temples and curling to the back of your head like a mountain goat, the weight of which hurt your neck no matter how much you tried to whittle them down against tree trunks. Though, the worst is the strain on your and Bakugo’s relationship as he gets angrier with each passing day and added appendage you grow. He doesn’t know how much pain you’re in every time your scales spread or your teeth sharpen. You made sure to keep it a secret to keep him from worrying.

You turned back to him, already asleep with his same resting bitch face and arms crossed. Well, you hoped he was at least a little worried under all the aggression and annoyance.

You weren’t really sure what you wanted to do with your life yet since all you had focused on before was survival, but you couldn’t imagine not spending it without him once everything settled down, no matter how much you fight. He was kind when his mood was calm, and he would often show care for you and protect you. Plus, you’re sure he wouldn’t make such a bad father. You had taken care of the younger orphans before, so you were already like a mom and dad back then.

You paused, wondering where that thought came from. You squirmed, feeling warm as you thought deeper on the subject without real direction since you’re not entirely sure why you suddenly thought about that now. You only ever gave little thought to having children, but you couldn’t break the chain of knowledge that he’d probably give you handsome children, strong ones too, and it’s not like you haven’t thought about taking a spin on his cock a few times. You sat on your hands and knees, crawling as quietly as you could over to him.

Perfectly pleased you were when you gazed at him. Muscles ripping and free to gaze at thanks to his open fur cloak, fine blond spikes scattered and framing a smooth jawline and pouted pink lips. You took the dive and listened to everything that told you to touch him.

Katsuki jolted from his sleep with a groan and a hoarse curse leaving his parched throat. His moan escalated with the intense pressure on his hardened cock, and the situation made him snap his eyes open when the weight felt too real to be a dream. The sight of spiked teeth and unnaturally goldened eyes peering down on him almost earned you a punch to the throat if he hadn’t stopped his instincts from taking over. You had almost fooled him into thinking a dragon got him, the saving grace being your remaining human features calling out to him and his dick as you jerk your hips and your hooked ivory claws dig and pierce into his shoulder to draw blood.

Katsuki shoved his hand to your forehead and roughly attempted to push you away. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Get off me, (Name)!’

“Katsuki,” you huffed, frayed layers of smoke following your words, as your face sweats and creases with another weak moan. You dropped your hands and frantically go for one of his many twisting and crossing belts and cords. “I-I need to feel your cum inside me.”

His face lit red, and you felt yourself flung off in an instant, but that didn’t deter you before you hopped back into a kneeling position and attempted to climb back on top of him like an animal who tried despite their owner demanding them to stop. “I’m not about to fuck you!” Katsuki growled and shook you off again before forcing you onto your stomach and pushing his knee on your back. You whimpered with the bone digging between your shoulder blades, and Katsuki didn’t want to be rough but you kept squirming and trying to buck him back off with snarls of disapproval. “Calm down, damn it.”

Katsuki unhooked the cord around his waist and quickly used it to tie your hands together behind your back before getting off of you. You whined, violently kicking in debris as tears began to stream down your face. You heaved, wailed out, and flipped side to side like a fish out of water. Finally, you got too exhausted to keep up your violent thrashing but not before popping a few scales, breaking the tip off one of your horns, and coating yourself in red dirt and small bleeding scratches from tiny branches and rocks under you.

Katsuki gripped at his hair, panting as he watched the end of your sudden distress. He had no idea what just happened, but it was clear you needed to speed up your trip to the healer. He tied off your items to his waist and heaved you up to journey through the night.

Another four days had passed with you having your little spouts of desperate pleading for him to come over and ravage you senseless and breed with you and tantrums of aggression and violence towards him when he’d reject. He couldn’t say he wouldn’t mind being able to have sex with you; but in that state, it wasn’t anytime likely that he was going to stick his dick in you so you could revenge murder him in his sleep once you’re healed and coherent.

Katsuki finally reached the edge of your old village where he had known the healer to live when you were younger. The old healer had long passed away, but his apprentice still lived there. Any healer was better than none no matter how many times the finicky half-elf made Katsuki roll his eyes.

“Amajiki!”

There was a yelp immediately followed by the crashing of a potion vial to the floor as Katsuki kicked the door open and hauled your sleeping body onto the nearest chair. Finally, the healer turned around, tired eyes falling on Katsuki. He sighed, scratching his head through blue hair.

“Oh, it’s only you two again,” he monotonously drawled, and Katsuki glared. Then, dark eyes widened upon noticing you in the corner, and he moved to you with a speed Katsuki had never seen the halfling move. “What did you do?”

“We got into a fight with that damned Shigaraki, and it was for, never mind! It doesn’t matter,” Katsuki exhaled deeply. “I fucked up all right. Just…please fix her.”

“You don’t need to beg,” Amajiki mumbled, beginning to undo your restraints before moving you to rest on top of his work station. “How long has she been like this?”

“Almost two weeks, she was fine mentally for the first week, but lately she’s been going crazy, and I can’t get her to fucking snap out of it.”

“She’s closer to dragon than human, right now. You’re lucky she has high magic tolerance, or she would’ve turned by now,” Amajiki explained, looking over the progression of your metamorphosis.

Katsuki grimaced. He always knew he had a lack of magical ability or tolerance, not like you who used magic like it was child's play.

“Can’t you do anything for her?”

He nodded and turned to Katsuki. “I’ll give her something to slow down her change until I can make something to remove the curse, but it’s going to take a few week-ah—”

Amajiki gasped as you suddenly lifted up and pulled him down against you. Your lips immediately went to his neck, nipping and biting with a satisfied growl. Bakugo was quick to let his protectiveness and jealousy take over. “What do you think you’re doing? Don’t touch her, bastard!”

“It’s not me!” Tamaki whined and tried to push you away as you passionately pressed your lips to blushing cheeks. “Please, please, g-get her off of me!”

Katsuki moved to yank you off. It was unnecessary since you instantly changed your target once you noticed Katsuki was there. You threw the healer onto the floor without a second thought and bolted yourself to Katsuki’s arm. “Katsuki,” you half cooed and half growled into his ear.

“Son of a—why the hell is she like this,” he scowled as you wrapped your arms around him and tried to hold him against your own body.

Tamaki smoothed out his clothes and wobbly stood back on to his feet. “Mating season started, and she’s in heat right now. I can give her something to calm her down a little, but you…well…someone needs to take “care” of it soon.”

Katsuki scoffed, tossing that idea. “Just tell her to do it herself,” he demanded as he held you at arm’s length.

“She’s not really in a state of mind right now. Dragons need to be induced or they stay in heat like ferrets. If her heat is extended too long, it can kill her before I finish the recipe.”

Dropping his arm, Katsuki’s lips trembled into a scowl, then he asked you, “Do you really need me to fuck you that badly?” You seemed to pick up on the idea, clung him tighter, and seductively crooned at him with a lightly rumbling purr. “Then, just don’t be pissed at me afterward!”

You blinked at him and nod flippantly.

“I’ll get started in here, you can use the room in the back,” Amajiki offered, inwardly drowning in the despair at the thought of having to burn the sheets afterward.

Katsuki dragged you to the room in question the entire way repeating, “Just for healing…just for healing…” Fuck. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding. He didn’t know if it was because he really wanted to have sex with you or because he suspected you would avoid him after. Probably both.

When you got in the room, you pushed him down on the bed without any restraint. Your lips instantly melded to his in a sloppily passionate kiss that made him groan from deep in his throat at you mounted on top of him. Sharp teeth pulled at the delicate curves of his lips, drawing blood that you happily slid your tongue over to taste before moving to his neck with as much fervor and need highlighting every kiss over his bobbing Adam’s apple. He tilted his head up, letting you have free reign to mark and litter his skin with deep purpling bruises as he wrapped his arms around the small of your back.

Despite the scales lining around your back, your stomach and underbelly remained fairly soft and fleshy, leaving your breasts softly hugging to his own firm chest, but it was the eager grinding on his lap that had him moaning.

“Damn, you’re already this excited,” he choked out as you pressed down on his budding boner. Katsuki was beginning to wonder how much of this was you because you didn’t nearly go after Amajiki this compulsively. You seemed extra obsessed on attaching to him. “You really want me to breed you, huh?” You moaned in agreement, a smile drawing against him. Suddenly, he grasped onto your horns and pulled your head back towards your back as he sat up. “You ready to take my cock, aren’t ya? You’ve been begging for it all damn week, but you wanted it before then, haven’t you?”

Katsuki yanked your head back and kissed your collar with rough lips and down the center of your upper chest, stopping only where your clothes didn’t allow him to feel the warmth of your skin. He released your horns and grasped your neck with both hands, dragging his palms down.

“Katsuki, hah, hah,” you whined as your scales prickled and pulled with the strokes of his fingers over the tiny edges. “inside, it’s hot,” you barely strung together the words, but he could pick up on what you meant as you whimpered for his cum to douse the heat built inside you.

“My cock is loaded with cum for you. It’s more than enough to fill your womb.”

Katsuki pulled at his belts, never breaking eye contact with you as you hungrily waited for him to get undressed while snatching off your own robes. Smallclothes were already out for you because of your tail, so you were completely bare and ready as your impatiently watched him finally tug down his pants and his thick cock sprung free, ready and dripping with the first beginning of fresh precum dripping down his rounded head.

“If you want it, you’ll get on your hands and knees," he said to reduce the chance of you clawing him and nudged you to flip you over. He shoved your tail up and out of the way and cup your engorged pussy. He could feel the intense heat radiating from you. He slid his fingers inside your, curling them along your slick saturated inner walls. His fingers nearly slipped out at first go with how wet you were, and a waterfall of wetness oozed out and down his hand as he stretched his fingers inside of you. Katsuki added a third and fourth then begins to move his palm inside you, stopping at the junction of his thumb and pointer fingers, and you take it all with a pleased growl as he twisted his palm in your needy core.

Katsuki moves his hand, replacing it with his cock. He slid his tip against your opening, and you jerked back towards him, desperate to have it inside of you and spraying your insides with his seed.

He chuckled at your whine. “I’ll give it to you, just wait,” he teased and stroked his head in and out of your entrance, teasing the nerves around it with the plump tip of his member.

“Katsuki, ngh, put it in,” you grumbled, smoke coming from your mouth, and he swallowed hard before giving in to your demands before you really got pissed.

He thrusted into you once then pulled all the way out and thrusted again. Katsuki held in his moan as your velvet walls slid around him and enveloped him. Your body was on fire, more so than anything he’s felt. He gripped your waist, thrusting into you with increased speed, his lap bouncing against your rounded ass.

Your nail dugs into the mattress, ripping through the fabric and revealing fluffy down and strands of cloth as your body jerked with his pumps and the room filled with wet slaps and your own growls and low blowing of tiny flickering flames and smoke from your mouth with each pant. It wasn’t until Katsuki gripped your horns, pulled your head and pumped into your innermost wall with an aggressive rut of his hips that you roared in complete pleasure and pain as the pain echoed through your head with the straining of your neck and scalp.

Your tail kept swooping, hitting on the side of his hip, and he hissed with the sting of scales slapping his skin and leaving red welts along his muscular thighs. Katsuki returned your hits with a sharp upward thrust that made you whine and your pussy clench.

It was with a loud mewl that you came around his cock, your fluids escaping in droves down your legs and staining the sheets with the ever-rushed drive of throbbing meat taking your body. It was when he released inside, and his semen coated you inside and out that coolness finally rushed through you, and you dropped your head to the pillow as he stilled deep inside of you before pulling out with a slime trail of cum seeping from your cunt.

You collapsed onto your side with a drawn out, “mm” before cuddling into ripped sheets and piles of cotton. Katsuki shook his head and petted your own. “Feeling better?”

Opening your eyes, you turned to face Katsuki and tackled him to the bed again.

“Fuck, wait damn it, it’s not ready!” he griped as you straddled him and clawed at his chest. You wrapped your hand around his cock and your mouth around his nipple.

With the growl you released, he knew you didn’t particularly care and that he wasn’t leaving any time soon.

—————————extended ending————————

Katsuki hissed as Tamaki slathered his back wounds with healing salve. You had dug all the way into his shoulders and dragged your hands down to the small of his back this time around. They left zigzagging patterns down his back and flared bright red like a beacon on his back, and now it kept hurting every time he stood straight.

“Why hasn’t she changed back yet?” Katsuki demanded to know because at this rate you were going to bleed him dead if not make his dick fall off from soreness and chafing. It had been another two weeks, and Tamaki had given you the potion over two days ago.

“The potion only strips the curse. It doesn’t reverse what’s already happened. She’s going to look like that from now on, but you won’t have to worry about her turning into a dragon completely. Other than having some behaviours like what you’ve seen, she’ll be fine,” Amajiki explained as he finished patching Katsuki’s wounds.

Katsuki sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned to face the healer. “When is this heat going to end then so I can tell her?”

Amajiki paused, quirking his head. “I already told her, she said it’s fine.”

Katsuki scowled.

“What are you talking about? Have you not seen these fucking claw marks! She’s still loopy as hell.”

Amajiki shook his head. “Mating season ended a few days ago, and she seemed coherent when I talked to her the other day.”

Katsuki blinked owlishly at him before scrunching his face with annoyance. You heard the echoes of his scream from your comfortable, relaxed position in bed, and your eyes widened with the knowledge you were caught. “(Name), you fucking faker!”

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #adelssmut #fantasy au #bakugo x reader

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nsheetee · 5 years

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Broken Hearts Club

Pairing: Na Jaemin x Reader, ft. Lee Donghyuck x Reader

Genre: Bulleted AU, High School AU, Heartbroken AU || Angst, Fluff

Length: 4.2k

Warnings: Swearing, informally written, slight enemies to lovers au

Summary: When a video of your boyfriend, Donghyuck, making out with Jaemin’s girlfriend, Mina, circles around school, you and Jaemin end your relationships and join the Broken Hearts Club, a place where students go when their hearts are broken and in need of repair.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★

the first time you met na jaemin was when you walked up to the doors of the broken hearts club

you didn’t recognize him as your classmate, nor as the really good dancer on your school’s dance team, not even as just some random good looking guy in your class

to you, he was someone who you had a connection with that was unlike the connection shared with anyone else

your ex, donghyuck, left you for jaemin’s girlfriend, mina, and every single person in the school was aware of it

now you were standing in front of the doors of the club that was about to not only heal your broken hearts but also your faith in relationships

(ya’ll didn't know that yet tho)

you and hyuck were the school’s power couple

you’re the class president, treasurer of the national honor society, and vice president of the ecology club

everyone knows you as a successful student who tutors others in your free time, the one who created the recycling program at your school, and was just an overall nice person to everyone

hyuck is the varsity soccer captain and the class clown, people love his enthusiasm and how he lit up any room he walked into

that’s also what you loved about him awwww

when you first got together, people thought you weren’t gonna last because of how different you were from each other

which ultimately was the case (yikes)

but actually, you and hyuck were together for almost all of high school

you went to all the dances together and sat at lunch together, you would be seen in the library studying with him and not so secretly holding hands under the table

you loved dating hyuck, he was fun and carefree and in your stressful life, you needed someone like him

you even told him you loved him during your two year anniversary when you went stargazing on top of his roof together

(he promised he loved you too)

(he lied)

(and he lied every time he said it after that)

the whole student body was s h o o k when the video of hyuck playing tonsil hockey with jaemin’s (now ex) girlfriend circled around

“how could hyuck do that to y/n? they’re so nice :(”

everyone felt pity for you, and all you could do was gingerly accept it, your heart being a bit too fragile to care about the embarrassment of the situation

the sad eyes and soft smiles people sent you were the reason you decided to join the broken hearts club

a place where the side eye glances and the soft tones were non-existent and where you hoped to get your heart to stop breaking every time you walked into school to see mina in hyuck’s arms- a place that belonged to you only days ago

jaemin’s situation was a little different

mina and him were only dating for a few months, but it was enough for jaemin to fall head over heels in love with her

jaemin worshipped her- celebrated every anniversary in their short time together, bought her food and jewelry, he even got into a fight with an upperclassman football player because of a rumor that he hit on mina

mina was the super preppy head cheerleader !!!

but she was genuine about her excitement

that was the only thing genuine about her oops

and that's something jaemin absolutely loved her for- the child-like excitement she holds for everything she does reminded him of himself

jaemin was always trying to see the bright side, his teammates on the dance team knew him for his positivity- he was always trying to be positive for his own sake and for his teammates

but jaemin hates liars and, unfortunately, mina lied to him

a lot

about super little things (at first)

like how she told him she was with her family when she was actually out at the movies with her friends

or when she would say she couldn’t text jaemin back because her phone was dead when it really wasn’t

these things irked jaemin but he got over it

his heart eyes for mina blinded him

when he saw that video, there was a small place in his heart that was not surprised

his attempts at being a positive and happy person vanished and he became angry at mina, for lying to him and for cheating on him

he blamed her for his broken heart and for ruining the relationship

he joined the broken hearts club to get rid of the pure anger he felt towards his ex

but enough back story, lets get to the good stuff >>

so neither you or jaemin really knew what happened in the bh club

you just assumed everyone gathered once a week, talked about their feelings, and then left after an hour

but you were so wrong

during the first meeting, you learned that the bh club sponsors activities to get people to create new memories with others so their hearts can heal

(awwWWW)

so you and jaemin found yourselves at the zoo one day after school with the rest of the club for one of their activities

they buddied you and jaemin up (since everyone else already had a buddy) and told you to:

1. have fun! :D

2. don't cry :(

3. remember, you don't need their love

so with these three “rules” you and jaemin awkwardly walked around the zoo

ya’ll didn’t know how to act around each other

could you confide in him since he was in the same situation?? or were you sworn enemies cuz your ex’s are together now??

it was so confusing to you, but you noticed one thing: jaemin didn’t seem to like you

he didn't reply back when you attempted to start conversation

he would roll his eyes at your comments about the animals

it was starting to get tiring, just being around someone like him made your shoulders sag and your mood go down

you were in the aquarium where all the penguins were, several people gathered around to watch the penguin feeding and you couldn’t see over everyone :(

jaemin rolled his eyes “Here, step up onto the bar, you’ll be able to see”

“I'll fall off”

“no you won’t, I promise I'll hold onto you.”

“I don’t believe you�� to jaemin, it was a small and insignificant promise, but your mind went back to the promise hyuck made about loving you and how every time he said it since then was a lie

it didn’t matter to you if it was “I promise I'll hold on” or “I promise I love you”

your hands were sweaty at the thought of someone promising you something and then not upholding it again

jaemin rolled his eyes for the millionth time, and forced you up onto the bar, keeping an arm around your knees and your hand immediately went into his soft blonde hair to steady yourself

you watched the penguin feeding like this- so enthusiastic about the cute little penguins eating their fish uwu

and jaemin watched you- he realized you reminded him a bit of himself, before the mina thing happened

he used to get happy about the little things- he loved getting caught up in the little moments in life because it made him realize that happiness was not a destination, but a journey

jaemin sulked some more as he held onto you during the penguin feeding, wondering where this mindset of his went

god, mina really screwed him over

so you and jaemin kept participating in the bh club’s activities

the next activity was a trip to the pound, where you got to watch kittens being born

(”be careful when you hold them jaemin, your large man hands could strangle them”)

(”I won’t, for once in your life just trust me”)

you still didn’t trust anything jaemin said, but after the zoo, he didn’t seem that cold towards you anymore

when you both held a baby kitten in your hands for the first time, neither of you could help but coo at it- talking in a baby voice and absolutely melting at how the mama cat tended to her kids

afterwards, jaemin was a bit embarrassed about the cooing, but you laughed it off and said there was no need to be embarrassed

it was the first time you had a truly civil conversation, and jaemin found that he liked when you genuinely smiled at him

it made him want to smile too

after that, the next club activity was at a new restaurant that opened downtown, where jaemin choked on his cherry soda when you told him the story of how you locked the vice principal in his office until he agreed to start a recycling program at school

(”you did whAT”)

(”every school needs a recycling program, I wasn't asking for that much?”)

this is where jaemin thinks he first started to admire your persistence about something you were passionate about

when you started talking about how important it is to save our planet, jaemin almost choked on his cherry soda again

this time it was because he was too distracted by the sparkle in your eyes and how you bounced in your seat when you got really excited

he blushed when you caught him staring- heart hammering in his chest

he welcomed the feeling wholeheartedly- loving the rush he got from being around you

outside of the club, you and jaemin slowly started hanging out

first it was to study for your shared english class, then it became less studying and more talking about how romeo and juliet were dumbasses, and other Philosophical Ramblings™

soon, jaemin would make it a routine to meet you by one of the rose bushes outside of school and you would walk in together

this s h o o k the school, you and jaemin walking in together that first day sent a new rumor running through everyones mouths

“jaemin and y/n are a thing now”

the two people who were the most affected by this rumor were surprisingly not you and jaemin

but it was mina and hyuck

hyuck was just deadass confused on how you and jaemin even got together- and at the same time relieved that you found someone else

he obviously felt guilty about cheating on you

(he wasn’t dead inside ofc he felt guilty)

but seeing you happy with jaemin made his guilt ease away- even though he still knew what he did was wrong

but mina was just straight up jealous

watching jaemin in the halls- the way he acted towards you and the way he was different with you than when he was with her

it got her pissed and the relationship between her and hyuck took a sudden turn...

when you went to support jaemin during one of the dance team’s performances, this only fueled the dating rumor

after the performance, you greeted jaemin and congratulated him on a great performance, people around you secretly watching your interaction

“I had no idea you could move like that jaemin !! it was like a different you on stage.”

“it’s the same me, I promise” jaemin laughed but you shifted your eyes away uncomfortably

the “p” word was still a bit sensitive for you, no matter the situation

jaemin noticed this and internally winced at himself- he knew how much you hated that word and he quickly tried to turn the awkward atmosphere around

“c’mon, let’s go eat and I can show you a few more moves. I swear, it’s me who was up on that stage !!”

jaemin found himself to be significantly less angry now

he finds himself seeing the glass half full again, and it was something people around him started to notice as well

he felt like he’s almost back to his old self and he doesn't know whether to thank the bh club or to thank you

you also don’t feel that ache in your heart that hyuck left behind anymore

jaemin was somehow training you to accept promises from him, and you couldn’t be any more thankful for him

(”I promise this pork taste good, here, try some”) = when jaemin cooked for you for the first time

(”I promise this looks good on you”) = when you were a bit self conscious about your new sweater

(”I promise I’ll be there for you”) = when jaemin held you to his chest after you had a bad nightmare one night

these days, a new ache settles in your chest

it’s the good kind- the kind that has tingles running down your back at the sight of jaemin and a bright glow on your cheeks whenever you talk to him

you like jaemin

you felt guilty about your feelings at first- you were scared that your brain was just trying to get you to cope with your heart break by using jaemin as a rebound

the day jaemin realizes he loves you was when you snuck into his room one tuesday night

you were wearing a super baggy hoodie and you tripped over it as you climbed through the window and both of you couldn’t stop laughing as you fell into jaemin’s bed, pushing your faces in his pillows to quiet yourselves down

you don’t even remember why you came over, probably some lame excuse like homework?? or a last minute movie marathon?

you honestly could just lay down and look at jaemin all day long if he would let you (which he would) no need for you to make up fake reasons

you looked up from your pillow and jaemin saw how happy you looked, so different from when you were standing before him in from of the club door months ago

“you look happy”

he didn’t mean to say it out loud but the words just tumbled out of him

you looked up at the ceiling and thought for a second

jaemin had filled the past few months with his presence, slowly slipping in through the cracks in your heart

cracks that were there before you even knew hyuck, much less dated him

that’s when you knew jaemin wasn’t a rebound for you- he was the real deal

“yeah.. I am... are you?” you asked, almost nervously

jaemin was considerably more happy and more satisfied with himself than ever before

jaemin knew he was in love

he was happy < you did that

he felt good about himself < you were there to make him see it

“yeah, I am happy”

“really? you promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart”

jaemin was planning to confess with one of the roses from the rose bush when you would meet up in the morning

he had a speech planned out in his head

he kept repeating it over and over again as he held the flower carefully so he wouldn’t cut himself on the thorns

“hey”

it wasn’t you, it was mina

“...hello” jaemin replied, looking past mina to keep an eye out for when you would approach

“how have you been?”

“that’s none of your business... I’m sorry, could you just leave me alone? I'm waiting for someone”

he didn’t mean to be so rude but he was getting anxious as time passed and you weren’t showing up

“jaemin... are you waiting for y/n? didn’t you hear?”

“hear what”

“hyuck and I broke up, he went back to y/n and they're dating again”

jaemin stood still, looking at mina like she just grew a second head

he felt blood trickle down his hand, his eyes caught the sight of his fingers gripping around the rose tightly

he couldn’t believe what he was hearing (and he probably shouldn’t have, considering mina had a track record of lying)

mina stepped closer and reached out to jaemin’s other hand that wasn’t preoccupied with the rose

mina was reminded of the imagines of you and jaemin together- jealousy filling her vision as she watched jaemin break down in front of her

“we don’t need them jaemin, we can be happy together again. remember when we were happy?”

jaemin didn’t remember, his thoughts and memories were now filled with you, he guessed the broken hearts club succeeded in helping him create new memories to heal his broken heart

but all of his new memories were of you now

his newly angered heart made him say his next words

“yeah, okay. let’s get back together”

here’s the deal- you didn’t get back together with hyuck

he came up to your house that morning

he kept apologizing for cheating on you, grabbing onto any part of you to get you to stop walking away from him

when mina broke up with him the previous night, he didn’t know where else to go but to you

you were always there for him and suddenly when he had no one, his mind took him to you- swallowing his pride as he faced you again

you finally stopped, looked at him straight in the eyes and squared your shoulders

if there was one thing you learned from the broken hearts club, it was this:

“I don’t need your love, hyuck”

but what shocked you was when you got to school, walking into the cafeteria that day and seeing your jaemin sitting with mina

she was feeding him from her plate and talking animatedly with him

and he was taking it all in from her- every kiss on the cheek and every laugh from her lips, he accepted it

he looked up from the table, those once warm, chocolate eyes meeting yours

they were now cold, they were empty, they were angry again

you were confused- what happened to jaemin? why was he sitting with mina? did they get back together now that her and hyuck broke up?

the questions made you confused and dizzy and you got out of there asap

despite your confusion, the familiar numbing feeling of your heart cracking returned

you trusted jaemin, the promises he made to you filling your head and you felt like you could break down right there in that hallway

why did the people you trust always hurt you in the end?

despite both of you having broken hearts once again, neither of you went back to the club

jaemin spent a whole four (4) days with mina before he realized he could literally not stand her anymore

she hadn’t changed as a person- she was the same cheerful cheerleader that jaemin dated months ago

but jaemin’s mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of you

and he slowly realized he couldn’t feel anything for mina because...

how could he when there was someone like you walking around- he knew you were perfect for him

one night while jaemin and mina were on a date, she off-handedly mentioned to jaemin how crazy the varsity soccer team is this time of year

when she went to go cheer for them, all of the s/o’s of the soccer players joined along for a game to support them

jaemin hummed absentmindedly “that must’ve been awkward”

“why?”

“y/n would have been there, I don’t think you two would be very friendly with each other”

“why would y/n be there? she’s not dating anyone on the soccer team”

suddenly, both mina and jaemin stopped moving and jaemin looked up from his food, fork in mid-air

mina had a look on her face that said she knew: she fucked up

mina had always been a compulsory liar- it was just so easy and addicting for things to go her own way when all she had to do was bend the truth a little

but at this moment, she only slightly wished she could be the person people saw her as when she walked down the halls at school: a genuinely preppy cheerleader

not the sneaky, lying bitch she actually was

“I mean-”

“what do you mean, y/n’s not dating anyone on the soccer team?”

jaemin didn’t know what to think, did you and hyuck break up again?

his heart stupidly fluttered with hope

“does it matter-” she tried to laugh it off

“yes, it does”

jaemin was starting to see in red, anger pouring into all his sense as he waited for mina’s explanation

“they... never got back together in the first place” she admitted, looking down at her hands in her lap

“so you lied?” jaemin asked, but he knew the answer

“yes, jaemin. I lied.”

jaemin couldn’t hear anymore of this, he stood up and walked out.

jaemin felt like a fool, he felt stupid- how could he trust mina’s words? how could he not hear about you and hyuck never getting back together?

for once jaemin’s anger dissipated and it turned into something else

a feeling that made it hard to breath and felt like his chest was caving in from the pain

he felt legitimate heartbreak

this time, jaemin can’t blame anyone but himself

this time, jaemin trusted a liar and he got played

he lost you, and it was all his own fault

jaemin spends the next few weeks in silent self-affliction and guilt

not even his friends could pull him out of the cavity he created for himself

one day after school was finished, jaemin made his way through the empty halls, like a mindless zombie walking down the stairs and out to the parking lot when someone tapped him on his backpack

it was the second to last person he thought would talk him right now

(read: you were THE last person he thought would talk to him right now)

it was hyuck

jaemin and hyuck both stand in the parking lot, wind whipping around them and tension growing as hyuck refuses to look up at jaemin and jaemin refuses to look anywhere but at hyuck

“listen... I know I have absolutely no right to stop you like this but there’s something I have to say” hyuck says, the anxiety of his words weighted down his whole body and he almost couldn’t see straight

jaemin raised his eyebrows in question and hyuck took it as an okay to continue

“I've known y/n for so long, almost four years. we’ve spent so much time together... but.. I never loved them. I tried so hard. I wanted I love them, I still wish I could, but I can’t find it in me. they deserve to be loved, jaemin.”

it was hard for hyuck to admit his true feelings about this situation, but he needed to say it out loud

and this was something jaemin needed to hear

“what is it that you need to say.” jaemin knew this wasn’t the point of this whole conversation

“they said they don’t need my love, and they really don’t. I won’t be able to treat them right, anyway. I don’t know how, but you managed to erase almost four years of my memories in their mind in only a few months and replace them with your own.” hyuck sighed

“My point is... don’t give up on them. it’s your love they need now.”

the next day, you opened your locker, an envelope falling to your feet.

‘broken hearts club room after school - j’

you scoffed, he couldn’t even come up to you in person to give you this?

you threw away the note in anger, but the invitation lingered in your mind all day and by the time the last bell of the day rang, your feet were itching to go up the stairs to the club room

you rounded the corner, down the hallway, and up the stairs to the club room, not really in control of your feet

you couldn’t believe that a few months ago, you were in the exact same position with jaemin just a few feet away.

you didn’t know him at all back then

you didn’t know he liked cherry cola, or pork, or that he danced like it was his reason for being put on earth

you didn’t know that he hated liars and that he truly did try to keep all his promises

and as you opened the door to the club room and watched as jaemin turned around to face you

you realized just how much you missed him, just how much you would do anything for him, just how much you loved him and you knew

it didn’t matter how many promises he makes, you would now believe every single one of them

jaemin was a bit surprised you showed up, but he wouldn't take you for granted any longer

“hey”

“hey” you surprisingly laughed, and jaemin came closer, dragging you down into a seat at one of the desks while he paced in front of it

you let him tell his side of the story- and jaemin was thankful you did, the fact that you didn’t know the reason behind his actions was killing him

you were surprised by his story- the miscommunications between you and him made both of you laugh and you stood up from your seat and walked up to jaemin, stopping him from wearing out the tile floors any longer

it was weird how you could laugh at the situation now, but jaemin need you to know how serious he was

“y/n... really... I'm sorry. I promised you so much when we got to know each other, knowing how you felt about promises and at the first test of trust... I broke them.”

you shake your head, gathered jaemin’s hands in yours and pulled him closer

“jaemin, this wasn’t your fault. don’t blame yourself” jaemin felt light, he couldn't believe you were real- right here, right now- forgiving him

“I promise” jaemin chuckled at his use of words “I’ll make it up to you.”

“oh? how are you gonna make it up to me?” you asked, curious as to what he had in mind

“I promise... I’m gonna love you until your heart is strong enough to never break again”

his words ringed out, loud and clear, filling you with hope and determination

you leaned in and pressed a kiss to Jaemin’s cheek, and when you leaned back to see jaemin’s reaction, the conviction in his eyes shined brightly

you both leaned in for a real kiss

a soft, pillowy, warm kiss that was the perfect new memory to start your relationship

jaemin promised he was going to love you

and you were going to believe him

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★

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kekeslider · 4 years

Text

I’ve been holding on to this one for a while because of sheer laziness, because I knew it would be long as fuck, but I continue to see people saying that Shadow Weaver was redeemed at the end, via one act of good before dying, and I don’t think that’s the case at all. I believe at the end she may have escaped.

Here’s my biggest take on SW, obvious as it is: she is primarily concerned with power and control at all times. It’s consistent through every bit of her story. She recognizes power in young people, Adora and Micah specifically, and seeks to control them. She’s nice to them, affectionate, at first. In her own super messed up way she cares about them. But never more than herself, her own desires and interests.

The common belief after the finale is that Shadow Weaver’s last act before the end was an attempt by the writing to give her a miniature redemption through death. And other people have said it but one of the purposes this actually serves is to show that despite all her efforts, SW never really controlled Adora and Catra, she never turned them into the things she wanted them to be, because they anchored each other. Adora and Catra crying over SW’s death isn’t to show that she was actually not so bad, it’s to show that in spite of everything, Adora and Catra still care about the life of others intrinsically.

Shadow Weaver knew this before her sacrifice. The fact that Adora could not continue on to the Heart without Catra was proof enough that she had lost control, if you could even argue that she ever truly had it. You might view SW’s decision to stop the beast and let them go as an acceptance of this fact, or that she simply did what had to be done to save the whole universe, or that she had a genuine desire to do one good thing in her life. But I’m going to argue for two different alternatives.

1. Shadow Weaver sacrificed her life here because she realized that she had no way out after this. She no longer had sway over Adora or Catra, and throughout the season, and some specific scenes in prior ones, both characters repeatedly call attention to SW’s abuse of them. They’ve reached a point in their journey where they’re both completely aware of her manipulation, her abuse, her two-sidedness. They never believe during this season that SW is a good person now, or that she repents for what she’s done. There’s a recognition that Shadow Weaver is helping the rebellion because she’s chosen to be on the side of the winners because that’s how she’ll guarantee her survival and maintain her control over the situation. She tried in the previous season to control Glimmer like she had the others, but Glimmer was too wise to actually trust SW, potentially because she knew what real love and loyalty was and recognized that that wasn’t what Shadow Weaver offered. In a genius turn, Glimmer uses Shadow Weaver rather than the other way around.

All attempts to guarantee her position after the war have failed. She has no control over Micah, Adora, Catra, or Glimmer. She can’t get Adora to the Heart without going back for Catra, so even if they somehow pull through without it she can’t claim herself a hero for her role in it. She is at the end of the road, she’s run out of tricks, and she makes a decision. She decides that dying in one last act of manipulation over the two girls she almost destroyed is her final way to secure her place in the narrative as a Hero. It’s about the legacy, it’s why she says “You’re welcome,” so they will be forced to believe she did it for them, and that would solidify her life as meaningful. It’s her last attempt to retain some of the power she craved, fought for, and stole throughout her life.

But I don’t think the writers actually intend for her to get what she wants here. Shadow Weaver is an interesting character, she has a lot of pull over events in the story, but there’s no sense that she’s beloved. Not by characters and not by writers. I’m eternally sorry to fall back on one of the most tired comparisons in the universe, but bear with me for a moment. In thinking about all of it, I noticed certain similarities between SW’s death and that of Severus Snape. One final moment before death that they want the child(ren) they abused to see that will justify everything. But that is where the similarity ends, and why I think it’s so different on the writing side of things. Snape’s death was intended by both author and narrative to excuse and forgive him for countless misdeeds. And over the years we’ve become far more critical of that. I don’t get the sense that the writers of She-Ra want us to forgive Shadow Weaver because she was oh so complex. I don’t think there’s a future catradora kid named “Shadow Hope Prime.” I think they wanted us to see this act of desperation for what it was: a last ditch attempt to retain control by a person that can’t care about anything but herself.

2. This is where we go straight into theorizing and headcanons so I’ll try to keep it shorter. My suggestion is this: Shadow Weaver did not die in her final scene, she made a grand escape.

At this point she has no friends, no allies, no one who believes she’s anything but dangerous. She has 4 people in positions of power she has personally and extravagantly harmed. She abused Catra and Adora throughout their lives, she manipulated Micah as a child and eventually sent him to Beast Island for at least 10 years, making him miss his daughter growing up, and never to see his wife again, and while SW never had the sway over Glimmer she did the others, she still was directly responsible for taking away her father, turning her mother into a, to be harsh, cowardly and ineffective leader for years, and indirectly responsible for the strife between Adora and Catra that took the war to new extremes.

Shadow Weaver has no one, and no options, and at that point in time the most likely outcome after it’s all over is prison, and she may not be lucky enough to be treated to Brightmoon’s cushy prison again.

You may ask at this point, Catra, Hordak, all the clones all get a redemption without threat of imprisonment, why not Shadow Weaver? And the answer is simple: Shadow Weaver has not redeemed herself in the eyes of the writers, viewers, or other characters. Catra saves Glimmer in an act of selflessness and love for Adora, and then becomes an instrumental help in saving Etheria. Not to mention Adora’s personal relationship with her and the recognition that they come from the same place and lived much of the same hardships. Hordak and the clones get a second chance because it is now known that they were all effectually mind-controlled and enslaved by Horde Prime, and their lives, as individuals with free choice and no strings holding them down, is only just starting. Not to mention Hordak and Wrong Hordak both have Entrapta on their side, and she’s a princess with her own kingdom and could just grant them asylum and bet the other princesses wouldn’t do anything about it lest they risk a civil war, but that doesn’t seem like a realistic issue for this new post-Horde planet anyway. The point is, the other antagonists from the show have made meaningful connections with other characters for the sake of them, not to be self-serving. Shadow Weaver continues to be manipulative up until the very end, no one will give her another chance at this point.

And she knows this. She’s a smart lady, and there’s a great big universe out there full of people that don’t know her. If Adora saves the day and the universe is saved all she has to do is get off planet, and if Adora fails they all die anyway, so why not have a go at it? My theory is that she uses her great big show of magic as a distraction and a disguise to make her escape. The world will believe she died, they may even celebrate her for her role in saving the universe, and she’ll be free.

You think there’s a hitch in this theory right? Because we see the room after she’s gone and all that’s left of her is her mask. Obviously she was completely destroyed, right?

But this specific scene reminded me of something else

If you’ve watched Teen Titans you know that the mask-wearing Slade was one of the major antagonists throughout the series, was also quite inclined to use and abuse powerful youths, and at the end was at the mercy of one (arguably two) of the children he had hurt. She kills him, he falls into lava, and the last thing we see of Slade is his mask. The next season picks up with Robin obsessed with the search for Slade, believing that he couldn’t really be gone that easily, and driven by this single remnant of him. Only to find out later that while Slade did die, he was resurrected and was once again back to be a massive asshole.

I think Shadow Weaver’s last scene does what it is meant to at first glance. Audience and characters believe she’s dead, which makes for a tidy ending, the death is non-explicit so kids don’t get too traumatized, but the ambiguity of it also means that if they wanted to, Shadow Weaver could return for a future installment in the series, be it comics, a movie, or another season. Whether those things are likely to be produced isn’t my interest in arguing here, it’s the possibility.

There’s still a lot of potential for Shadow Weaver to be used as the primary villain, and facing her again could be used any number of ways to shake up a domestic bliss the characters end up in, to have them, older, more mature, having spent time healing from how she hurt them, no longer be affected by her in the same ways. Or the complete opposite, they may still be affected by her, seeing her again could tear open old wounds, but in the end show that while hurt remains, they still carry on.

#spop #spop shadow weaver #spop adora #spop catra #catradora #meta

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prince-toffee · 4 years

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Fallin’ For A Fallin’ Angel II

His eyes slowly opened, struggling to keep apart as they adjusted to the bright light. A pained grunt escaped his throat as the clone began to regain his consciousness. HTK 218-666 did not know where he was. His mind was sluggish, trying to process whatever had transpired. The first thing he truly noticed was his comfort - not often did he awaken to softness, never infact. 218′s pod was hard, metallic, cold and jagged. With malfunctioning cables - they didn’t serve much real purpose now as the ex-general had used up all his Life Force rations. The cables that binded to his neck, back and arms were more of an ornament than a necessity - to make the the crashed wreck feel more... homely. It was a familiar feeling - not a pleasant one, but a one he knew.

But then it hit him, he wasn’t in his pod, was he. He opened his eyes to see something above him. Some sort of rectangular canopy of fabric, held up by four pillars which descended all around him. And a light pinkish red veil surrounded all the sides between the pillars. A force field perhaps. Was this a prison?! Was he captured?! The defective clone shot up, looking around his new unfamiliar surroundings. There was a sheet of thin fabric covering him, it was smooth and cool to the touch. 218 flanged the cover off. Only then realised that most of his uniform was gone.

Which wasn’t a novelty to him, back on The Velvet Glove uniforms weren’t gifted until after the cloning process and then taken away again when put into storage. Being bare wasn’t new. What 218 was worried about was perhaps they had searched him, maybe taken samples - his wounds seemed healed.

Who? Who was it? Who captured him? The memories slowly returned back to him, bit by bit as he strained his mind. There were attackers, creatures of the desert. He remembered he was near victorious, but his will power was not enough, he was knocked out. He was weak. Brother was right. ‘Near’ wasn’t enough. He failed, again. 218′s fist tightened and he grew infuriated at his own shortcomings, he had to make this right. He looked over himself, his wounds were tended to, strange. He had to make sure if all the injuries were sealed up right. But first, the forcefield.

He looked at the pink veil, it was see-through, probably taunting him with freedom on the other side, no doubt. He had to be careful, it could incinerate him on contact for all he knew. One of the plush stuffed bags that was placed under his head was thrown at the forcefield, but it did not react - it simply flew through it. Curious. Did someone accidently deactivated it? Was the plushie bag some sort of unlocking key? That could be his chance. He gently and slowly pocked it with his finger and pulled it back as quick as possible. His brain module took a moment to read what the nerve receptors had came back with - nothing. No pain. No resistance. No forcefield.

Now braver with the confidence of a survivor, he pocked his whole hand through, and even waved it around. Success! Next he poked his head through looking from side to side. No guards. A pitiful prison. He noticed the tattered remains of his uniform, no good, it was already worn out - past its time. 218 already had the lower half of the uniform already on him, he didn’t know why it was left on. He placed a foot on the floor then the next. His muscles screamed at him, but he managed to stand. It seemed his defection was getting worse. It seemed like his feet were the next to fail.

He did not like his defective form on display, so he reached for the covering that was laid onto of him and draped it around himself.

He pushed on, literally, and doors to the room weren’t even locked. Perhaps this was no prison. As the clone opened the doors he was hit by waves of incredibly bright light and loud noise. 218 was in some corridor or porch, because he looked apon a busy hustle and bustle of a town square at work. Few steps forward and he was holding onto an ornate wooden railing, he looked down at the society at work. The town was constructed at the foot of the mount on which the castle stood in which 218 was in. Marketeers selling, customers buying, children running through the streets. 218 did not know how long he had been unconscious, but it looked like a busy morning with the rising... moon... and suddenly he remembered why he hated this planet.

218 also noticed a strange statue at the centre of the town. Chiselled out of stone, a tribute, he was familiar with such things - countless worlds under the control of the Horde had erected tributes in the image of their holy lord and master. But what creature held dominion over this world?

The being was in the position of natural wings a part of her physique, it reminded him of the Horde insignia - the wings of the vampire. This was terrible. These people were living under a false idol, praising a pretender. This was unacceptable. He had to save these people - bring them into the light. Perhaps... this was it! The redemption he was waiting for! He could save them, direct them to their true saviour. He could save them!

He began to walk off, he was still in his capturer’s base of operations. He had to get out. The thought of rallying the people below briefly crossed his mind, but he shook it off - he clearly needed to get back to the crash site, return to the repairs. Fixing the warship and leaving that miserable backwater planet was imperative! But all the bots were destroyed, defences weakened, and his assailants knew where he would be - there was no more hiding. He wouldn’t be safe back there. So where now? He couldn’t exactly blend in with the local populace.

Just then his thought process was cut off as another person walking in the opposite direction bumped into him. 218 didn’t have much weight to him so he got pushed out of the way quite easily. The individual in question who was storming off was not of the same race as the invaders at the wreck. Their skin darker, shorter, no scarlet exo-skeleton over their body. The creature had short violet hair and what looked like oil and grease on her clothing. “Hey buddy, watch it!”

“...Watch what?” 218 asked to himself quietly under his breath. The passer by clearly didn’t hear him, nor did they care to. 218 reached large stairs, leading down to the town square. It looked like the guards occupying the top of the stairs were both distracted by some raving salesman. This was his chance. However, he was startled by a voice behind him.

“Ah, so I see you have woken up.”

The clone spun around to see a tall figure cloaked in shadow. The intimidating character set 218 slightly on edge. The figure wore a black cape and black uniform, body biologically the same as all the other native beings around this complex.

218 could have sworn that the mystery man’s eyes lit up with a spark of red. It was probably nothing - a trick of the light. The Horde trooper remained silent, so the figure decided to take the lead on the interaction. He stepped forward, into the light. 218 unbenounced to himself clutched closer the blanket sheet.

“Heh, welcome back to the land of the living, my friend. You slept like a log.” 218 simply listened and stayed quiet, partially because he didn’t know what to say, this wasn’t the way he thought the situation would play out. He did not know he was going to be greeted, not after what happened in the wreck.

He saw the creature look him up and down examining his form, as his chest lay bare. But there wasn’t much to look at, due to the defection he couldn’t keep on weight - all fats and necessary nutrients degraded quicker than normal, as did his body cells. He was a walking corpse. A shameful form in the eyes of his Brother. The individual stopped mere few small centimetres away from 218, their chests almost touching. The caped being was a head taller than him. “I’m glad to see you fit enough to attempt an escape.”

218 swallowed down on his heart attempting to jump out of his throat. His voice was not as deep as 218′s but held just as much authority. “Ah, I see had the splendid pleasure of meeting Princess Minerva, her winning charm never seems to fade with time, hmm.”

Her?... The clone guessed the creature he was referring to was the being that had stormed off, pushing 218′s shoulder. Her?... He did not know what that was.

The towering scorpion looked back at 218 looking as if he was expecting something. 218 didn’t get it. “Not one for jokes are we? Well, not every one is a zinger. I’ll work on it. Don’t let that discourage you. Come on. I can’t exactly let you go right now, but I’d rather we speak as civilised people rather than have those prickly gents over there force you to follow me.” The scorpion pointed with his claw at the two spear wielding guards whom had positioned themselves behind the clone. Ready to strike. That made 218 comply with the peaceful option, of course.

218 followed close behind as the individual led him through the corridors and hallways and down a stair well. The soldier memorised the whole journey backwards just in case he had to run out and escape. “Oh, Ra-dammit, haven’t even introduced myself. I just presumed you knew who I am, but well, you don’t look like you’re from around... anywhere. Do you know who I am?” He asked softly, and curiously. 218 just stared back without words.

“Yeah, course you don’t. Nobody does, nobody cares. I’m the King of this kingdom and what do I have to show for it? What do I truly have, huh?” He looked back at 218 with annoyance in his expression, the clone simply starred back. “Well, my name is Niro, King Niro if you want to be formal, I guess. But like I said, nobody cares.” Niro? Noted - 218 thought to himself. And a ‘king’ was ruler of some sorts, 218 was pretty sure, his troops had encountered all sorts of societies and civilizations on their voyages across galaxies. This was a figure of power standing infront of 218. He didn’t know how Niro compared to other worlds’ authorities - opposition to his Brother never lasted long. You never really got to know them before heads started rolling. 218 was not apart of guest accommodations, he was a general - a soldier. On the frontlines until the end. He didn’t ‘get to know’ people, he ended them.

“And what’s your name?”

“HTK 218-666. Top-General of the 218th Legion. Brother amongst the ranks of the Galactic Horde.”

“...Cool... So you’re not from around here, figured.” They approached a dark rusted door with two guards at it’s sides. They both bow at the sight of their king, and each pulled down a lever on the wall behind them. The ‘klank’ was heavy and loud. 218 then beard many gears and cogs turn and the rusted door began to raise upward. This so called Niro strolled inside, he of course followed. He briefly turned back to see the four guards remained outside as the door shut back down.

The clone quickly turned back, narrowing his eyes at the table that stood infront of them. The room’s walls and floor were all metallic, dark, from what 218 could tell, they were scorch marks. All around the room. “What is this?” Niro slowly made his way around and sat opposite the clone on the far side of the table. He gesture to 218 to do the same.

“So you do talk. Great. We’ll be doing a lot of talking. Please, my friend, sit.” He extended his claw towards the empty seat. But there were no guards in this room, he had no power over 218, 218 was weak, he admitted that to himself, but one on one, surely he could take him. But then what? Four armed guards still waiting outside, possibly hundreds more patrolling the complex. He was trapped.

“And please don’t try to escape, I know you’re thinking about it. You see this glass sheet behind me?” Niro knocked on the glass as he leaned back on his chair. “It’s one way glass, my ever so trusty Force-Captain is on he other side. One word and she pulls a switch and electrocutes this entire room. And don’t worry about me, I won’t feel a thi-”

“Because your hide is electrically resistant.” 218 recalled to himself the confrontation at the power core back at the ship - the scorpion soldiers were unaffected by a direct current of electricity from a dislodged cable. He needed to think of alternate offensive techniques.

“You’ve got quite the keen eye. So you know what’s at steak - you, getting fried.”

Fried?

“I just need to ask you a few questions.”

“You threaten me first, and then you want me to comply? Negative. I will tell you nothing. An assault on the form of Prime is a crime throughout the known universe. Unhand me and bring me back to my Brother and you will be forgiven.”

“Forgiven? Who- wait, universe? You mean that which is beyond the barrier?”

This conversation was puzzling 218 more and more he did not understand what this creature was talking about. Did- did he really not know what the ‘universe’ was? From the looks of this planet it was incredibly primitive, but THIS primitive? It could be that these naïve natives haven’t yet discovered interstellar travel. This idea led to more bad news, if so, then this world could not yet offer resources needed to fix the warship.

“You’re an alien, from outside. Please, tell us more.” The king leaned over more, clearly eager to listen, encouraging 218 with his captivation with the topic.

218 realised this was unsafe, he had already told those people too much, much more than they ever anticipated to hear. He couldn’t let the secrets of the Horde be taken from him by a backwater people. He could not fail his Brother again. “I will say no more.”

Niro looked displeased. “Opal.”

In that moment the room went red, the sound of... some thing veering up, a machine of sorts maybe. But 218 did not have time to think too much about it, because the shock came soon after. The air did not change, there was no heat, it was cold rather. The pain was quick to spread, started at the bottom of his feet and shot up to his brain. It felt like having nails hammered through his organs. He was weak. He only lasted a few seconds in silence, after three he let out a scream. The pain disappeared as soon as the first tear formed at the edge of his eye. The room lost its red glow and reverted its colour palette back to the dead still greys and silvers.

“Sit.”

He complied.

“I must admit that was a bit too much than I would’ve approved, Opal.”

“You cannot break me, for I am already broken. I will not fail my Brother again. I will have nothing out of me.”

In that moment of defiance 218 and Niro looked into each other’s eyes. The scorpion king saw the devotion and pride in the clone’s eyes, the willingness of self-sacrifice. Niro knew the man opposite him was going to die for whatever cause he believed in. That spark of determination. The same look he saw in the mirror every morning in his own eyes. Both of the men spotted the room once again turning into a dark shade of red. Niro watched the enigmatic man shut his eyes and took in a shaky breath. Niro knew very little about the man infront of him, but he knew in that moment he accepted his fate. A conviction and dedication few have.

“STOP!”

The Hillian king exclaimed at the sheet of glass behind him at his Force-Captain. The colour faded away, yet it didn’t completely disappear. The voice of the Force-Captain came through the window. “Sir, he took out an entire detachment, this is an interrogation room - he’s being interrogated.”

“Force-Captain, are you disobeying a direct order from your king?”

The Force-Captain did not respond, but the shade of red did veer and disappeared. The captain remained silent in that Niro hoped was shame. The king turned back to the frightened prisoner. 218 chose to reopen his eyes, he looked at Niro in confusion - weighing out his options. Was trust earned in this moment or was it a ruse?

“Why not just kill me?” 218 asked.

“Like I said: we’re here just to ask you some questions. I would only kill you if you were a threat to Scorpion Hill, you’re not.”

218 knew he shouldn’t have, but he kind of took offensive from that, he was dangerous.

“But trust me, she wanted to. You killed her husband, on that scouting party. Through those eight hours of unconsciousness I had to make sure she wouldn’t kill you. Best sleep you’ve had in a while I’m willing to bet, by the looks of that train wreck to live in. Do, you... live in there?”

“A ship wreck, and yes I have taken residence in it for shelter a- have you said eight cycles?!”

“Hours, but- sure.”

“This is unexpectable! I have already wasted six more cycles than usual! So much possible productivity gone! I must return to the repairs immediately!” 218 rocketed up onto his feet ready to walk out.”

“How- what? Hold on, what repairs?”

“I will tell you no more.”

“If you won’t tell us, we can’t help you, friend. Its simple as that. You appeared from nowhere - your a mystery. And so you are seen as a threat. People hate what they don’t understand. Help me understand.”

“Niro, was it?”

“Yes.”

“All you need to understand is - if you return me to my spacecraft, if you aid me, you will be rewarded and welcomed by my Brother. He can show you all the light. He can offer you a perfect world.”

“Who is your brother?”

“Horde Prime.

The Emperor of the Known Universe. The most powerful being in existence, his empire is endless - far superior to whatever your world holds. But give into him and he will take you in and make sure faction a jewel in his empire.”

“I’ll have to decline on that offer. I find that the more power people have, the more they see themselves as saviours. You’re not going anywhere.”

“But the Horde can gift you, reward you, the empire has collected and melded technologies from across numerous galaxies - he can give you interstellar travel, advanced communications, synthetic nutrition, biological enhancements, limitless knowledge of the cosmos, language, salvation, weapons-”

“Weapons?... What kind of weapons?”

Of course, should’ve known. 218 knew this might be his only way out of this predicament, he needed to tell this Niro what he wanted to hear, “The Horde has taken dominance over countless systems, many by force. To do this the engineers and scientists of the Horde had to develop instruments of destruction which could topple armies. I can give them to you. I was a general - I hold the accumulated knowledge of dozens of battalions I have commanded. Horde Prime needs me, I am crucial to the cause. Help me and the knowledge to conquer worlds, can be yours.”

218 saw Niro deliberating, thinking over everything said. He had a lot to consider, but 218 needed the answer now, he needed to rush him, make him slip up - act rash. 218 needed to return to his Brother’s side, his Brother needed him! He was one of his top generals. And bringing a world with him for the Horde to assimilate, an offering to show he wasn’t a waste, a failure. Brother would see that 218 was worth something - a useful tool, a loyal soldier. THIS was his redemption.

“This ‘Horde Prime’ is he really that influential? Would he have the might to liberate Scorpion Hill from the mercy of other kingdoms?”

“There has never been a mightier lord in the universe’s history.”

“And if I decline?” Niro decided to test the waters.

“Then my Brother’s wrath will rain down on you, and a different party would be blessed with the fruits of my Brother’s labour.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it. Other kingdoms of Etheria are not so welcoming to outsiders from beyond their walls, not to mention from beyond this dimension. Scorpion Hill is your best bet. The others will simply label you - mad.”

“Than you accept?” 218 raised the brow at the talking king.

“I suppose I do.”

Niro agreed to aid the alien man, if he was a man, he was no fool of course, he knew that spark of devotion in those eyes meant he was telling the truth, but that spark had the possibilities to burn forests. Niro needed to watch his own back. But he also needed to see more - how good were these weapons - was this prisoner worth keeping around. Niro extended his claw to 218 in acceptance, however 218 did not quite understand the motion, he stared at it discombobulated.

“Am- am I supposed to do... something with that?”

“Oh boy.”

---

After a far too long explanation of what a hand shake was, the two did. 218 was lead off by the guards back to what was then labelled his quarters and Niro returned to Opal’s side behind the one way glass in the observation room. He could tell she was displeased, no, more like infuriated. Understandable.

“Your highness, may I speak freely?”

Here it comes. “[sigh] Opal if you want to berate me then just get on with it.”

“Are you insane!??!”

“Aren’t we all?” Niro replied calmly juxtapose to the loud bark of his Force-Captain.

“He killed a full detachment of our troops! I cannot even explain how untrustworthy he is! You don’t even know his name!-”

“Yeah, I do. It’s 321-123 or something to that effect.”

“You’re joking around? Why are you joking around?” Opal placed her hands on her hips eyeing the king waiting a twist.

“Cause the talk’s not over yet. First of all, you saw his physique, that man’s made out of match sticks, with all the guards clogging the corridors there’s no chance he’s escaping. Especially now that he doesn’t have the home advantage. He’s trapped and he knows it.”

“What if he wants to be there? The whole alien story, it’s- it’s out there. He could be a spy for BrightMoon, or the Salineas, the princess of Dryl wasn’t happy with the deal. Dozens of other smaller kingdoms too.”

“Second of all, Scorpion Hill is home to a multitude of races, from all around Etheria, I’ve seen them all. I know my people. I don’t know him. And those eyes? Eyes of a believer. He’s not lying, and if he is, you get to say ‘I told you so’. And we know how much you love that.”

“We’re taking a huge risk with this. The Council of High Priests will be hounding at the door the moment they find out. I’ve managed to hold back the paperwork’s circulation, but they will find out. And that man you just let out, interrogated in secret - is a walking omen of bad mojo to them. We could be- no, we are in serious trouble!”

“Third of all, he can be the answer. If what he says is true, and I believe that he is. Then this man, if he is a man, can be the way by which I can free Scorpion Hill from the parasites that drained it of its life. With those weapons hierarchy won’t mean much, and what do those crooked old fools have? A wooden stick, some holy water?”

“You- are you serious!? You’re planning an overthrow. Don’t get me wrong Niro, I hate the council, just as much as you and I’d stand by your side until the moons crash down, but it’s a spider web, the council is tied to dozen other kingdoms and unknown benefactors - you pull that string and heaven’s gonna fall on your head.”

“And last of all, we match out - war - kingdom after kingdom, until we’re truly free.”

Opal looked at Niro, his eyes narrow and his claw bending steel in its grips, the desk gave in under his claws strength. Niro grew more and more irritated with each day in his position of powerlessness. He knew she was worried, maybe even scared, but she knew why he was willing to risk it all. Niro would fight armies single-handedly, if he had to, his blood boiled for a fight - for his people. This individual, whoever he was, was in deed an omen of the council’s worst fear, but if Niro played it right it could be an omen of a brighter future.

Opal placed a hand on the king’s shoulder, she felt the need to persuade her old friend out of whatever crazy act he was about to write, she began, “Niro-” and ended, as a guard entered the room with an announcement and a pant in his voice from the urgent sprint.

“My lord, Force-Captain.” They bowed, “The scout survivor from the last mission has woken up.”

“Like I said the talk’s not over yet. Led to the infirmary soldier.” The three marched off with haste. It did not take long for them to reach the infirmary, all the medical staff bowed as their king entered. He ignored the gesture as he often did, he said countless times to treat him like anyone else, or at least no bowing. Niro hated the feeling of superiority, of being worshipped to. In his eyes he was just someone who wanted to make a difference. He got to the resting bed of the survivor, bruises all over his body, many blood stained changed bandages. The Hillian soldier attempted to salute to the royal, but pulled their arm back the moment they felt something crack.

“Easy soldier, rest. Can you talk?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fantastic.” Niro pulled up a chair next to the injured scout and sat down, “Mission report.” For the next half an hour Niro questioned about the mission and about the enemy they had met there. New details came to light: robots, traps, some sort of power core, a savage yet resourceful opponent. And their name.

“And then he proclaimed himself as - Hordak, my lord.”

“Hordak.” Niro repeated, the name lingering on his tongue. Curious.

#hordak #king niro #nidak #horo #scorpia's grandfather #part two #slow burn #fallin for a fallin angel

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creators-novel · 3 years

Photo

A short time after the battle at Gaia’s castle, Straus decided to take a day to explore some unseen parts of Creator civilization. After all, he and Koto barely understood what it was like outside their own homes; aside from the occasional venture out to-… “borrow” food and supplies from small towns that seemed to house many Creators and their families. Straus found it interesting that (what he considered to be) normal-looking homes could exist in the middle of literal nowhere, but decided to chalk it up to things he didn’t quite yet understand about this society.

On his little journey, Straus stumbles upon a larger-looking town. The houses and roads are mainly constructed from stone, and surrounding it is a rather big manmade body of water with…a beach! Straus couldn’t remember the last time he went to one of those! He curiously goes in for a closer look. He smiles to himself as he steps onto the sand. “(You sure you’re alright alone? There could be followers of Gaia here who might recognize you.)”, Para chimes in. Straus reassures him as he puts up his hood, “(Naaah, we’ve got this.)” He strolls happily through the sand while humming a song to himself…he knew the song but couldn’t quite remember from where. Did he hear it on the radio? …When was the last time he saw a car with a radio…? …When was the last time he saw anything quite like his old home…? Does he even remember what it looks like…?

Straus is so lost in thought that he didn’t even realize he was about to trip over something until it was too late. Or, pray tell, was this something a someone?

“Oof-!”

“Ow- w-watch where you’re walking, buddy-…!”

Straus collects himself, and as he turns around, he sees a red-haired girl who had been impaled with a spear, she’s very much hurt. She looks up at him and weakly speaks,

“What’s a normal Creator d-doing here any- …wait…”

“Who skewered you?”

“U-Um?”

“Do you need help with it?”

“Um-??”

“Here, I’ve got ya.”, Straus carefully removes the weapon and tosses it aside. The girl takes a sharp breath through her teeth as some tears escape from her eyes. Straus kneels next to her and applies weak healing magic to her wound, “Hopefully that fixes you right up. I’m not very fluent in healing magic…I’m more of a self-defense person.”

“It’s good enough”, says the girl, holding her side, “I suppose I should fill you in. I was attacked by the Royal Princesses, lead by that orange old hag.”

“(Royal? Orange old hag?)”, Straus ponders, “Can’t say I know about them.”

“You don’t know about Jupiter and the Princesses? But everyone does.”

“Add that to the list of weird things about me, sweety. I’m fairly new at all of this, to be frank.”, he timidly smiles at her.

“That…uhm-“, She looks away from him, “would explain your appearance…I’ve never seen a Black Eyed Child with heterochromia before…”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes, they’re like mine.”, she points at her own blackened eyes, “I’m a Black-Eyed Child, we’re a pretty exclusive group, so how come one of your eyes is white like a normal person?”

“hmm…I actually don’t know. To be honest, I barely know much about myself…it’s kinda bothersome…I’ve only known my sister and this green princess who kept bothering me.”

“-!!! You crossed paths with Gaia and lived?! Also- sister?”

“Mind if I tell you my story?”

The girl thinks about it for a moment before smiling at Straus, “Sure.”

A little bit of time passes as the two share stories about themselves, and they get so into it that a spark of chaotic, rebellious energy arises in both of them.

“FOR REAL THOUGH”, shouts Straus, “I DID AS SHE TOLD ME AND THIS WAS MY PAYMENT”, he points at the scar across his eye, “I’M TELLIN YA THIS PLACE HAS LEFT A BAD IMPRESSION SO FAR MAN!”

“YEAH! PREACH IT BRUV.”, says the girl, encouraging this craziness, “LEMME HELP YA WRECK THIS PLACE FOR YOU!!”

“LIKE WHAT DA HECK!? WHAT IS UP WITH THIS BIASED PURITY BASED SYSTEM ANYWAY?! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

“RIGHT?! DON’T JUST ASSUME ALL BLACK EYED KIDS ARE BATTLE HUNGRY CRETINS WHO WANNA PUNCH EVERYONE’S LIGHTS OUT! AAAAA!!”

They enter into a laughing frenzy together as they kick at the sand. After a bit they calm down, Straus is the first to speak.

“Heh…moments like these remind me that besides my sister and our creations, we’re just strangers to all of this…”

The girl nods, “Mm-hm…me too…However, I’m truly alone here…My father passed away and left the cult in my hands, but I didn’t last as the leader. Stronger members kicked me out ‘cuz I was never worthy of such a position.”

“You got anywhere to go?”

“No. I’ve been on foot most of the time, keeping out of Jupiter’s sight.”

“Hm…wanna stay with me, Ms. Red? Down to be roommates?”, Straus smiles.

The girl is taken aback by such a kind offer, she cups her hand to her mouth as she tries to control another wave of tears, “Oh-? … Yes, I do.”

“Oh- by the way, I’m Straus. What’s your name?”

“I’m Scarface Red. But most just call me Red, like you did just now.”

But Straus and Red are not alone in this meeting. In the distance, another pair of red and blue silhouettes watch from behind a stone wall. The smaller, blue one speaks to the other.

“…Sister, do you see what I see?”

“Yeah, it’s her.” The taller, red one grins. “Mother will be pleased if we make sure she doesn’t escape this time…!”

Red spots the two sisters approaching and points them out, “It’s them-!!” Straus turns around and immediately realizes the severity of the situation, “(They look like Gaia-!) Yup, time to bail! Hang on to me!” Straus helps up the still-weakened Red and lifts her onto his back; the two start to speed off as the sisters charge towards them. “Don’t let them get away!” Shouts the red sister. “If I had to guess”, says Straus, looking over his shoulder, “Those are the ones that injured you?” Red responds with a quick nod as she holds on for dear life.

“You will come with us! This is Jupiter’s will!”, the red sister starts to assault the pair with a barrage of fireballs.

Straus huffs, “I am so sick of royalty at this point. Time for some trickery!” He quickly summons a small portal and throws it behind him and Red, this trips up the sisters and makes them faceplant into the sand.

“OOF-“

“Sister, they’re getting away….”

“DO YOU THINK I DON’T SEE THAT?!”

The sisters look up to see Straus and Red turn a corner as they jump into a portal and disappear from their sights.

“Curses!”

“Who was…that boy?”

“No clue. Maybe Mother will know. C’mon, let’s go report in.”

#creators #creators-novel.tumblr.com #freedom of creativity #red #chapter 17 #original character #original story #original fiction #origin story #blue #beach #illustration #digital art #my art #new arc

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jadekitty777 · 4 years

Text

See You Heal

Hey everyone, long time no update, right? Aha!

Alright time for something a little different but still sweet. This entry is a work entirely inspired by @ladyrobiness‘ beautiful Slow Sunrise series. I woke up one morning and the idea just hit me like a truck and well... I had to write it out.

This is a continuation to that series so, reading it first is absolutely required. But why wouldn’t you? It’s a beautiful Fix-It fic with lots of tender moments of healing for Qrow and Clover both along with them just falling in love like the adorable dorks they are <333

Here are the Ao3 links to both:

Robiness’ Story: Slow Sunrise series

My Story: See You Heal

It’s also below the cut!

Rating: K+

Pairing: Qrow/Clover

Word Count: 2800

Summary: Qrow knows ignoring the problem only makes it worse. Unfortunately, dealing with it has its own set of problems too.

Sometimes, Qrow wished his standard for dealing with shit wasn’t ‘‘Ignore it until it goes away’.

It didn’t work. He knew it didn’t work – and yet sometimes his traitorous brain thought: maybe this time it’ll be different. So, when the issue of Clover not liking anyone at his six came up, like a scroll that had been factory reset, he defaulted. Hoped in the most ironic ways that the problem would just fix itself or at the very least, never become a problem.

That was why, as he gusted through the air trying to spot the nearest nomadic settlement, all he could see instead was Clover’s dismayed expression.

Really, he only had himself to blame.

They’d been traveling through Vacuo’s unforgiving desert for hours. It was a six-day journey to reach Shade Academy, most of which they had to do on foot as no locals at the city border ever escorted anyone across the desert without a price. Though they’d gotten an early start, beginning their trek even before the sun had peaked the horizon, as the day waned the sands around them began to shimmer as the heat rose to unbearable heights. Add onto that an unstable ground that left them all unsteady on their feet, relentless winds that whipped sand along exposed skin and eyes, and the occasional Grimm or wildlife lying in wait for an attack, and it just seemed like a recipe for disaster.

So, when the Sidewinder Grimm leapt from the dunes they were walking across and struck out at Weiss, all but two of them either didn’t react fast enough, or stumbled when they tried. The first of the two that had was Clover, who had his fishing line around Weiss in an instant and yanked her his way. The second was Ruby, who sped above the field like a shot, petals and dust following her wake as she managed to get in the first blow.

Within seconds, the rest of them recovered and suddenly the snake had ten skilled opponents bearing down on it. It certainly wasn’t a long battle, but enough to get the adrenalin going. The kids seemed to take it as they saw it, realizing the threat was over once the smoke cleared. But more veteran huntsmen like himself kept on guard a little longer.

Or like Clover – who wasn’t expecting Jaune to come up behind him and give him a congratulatory pat on the back.

The reaction was instantaneous. Clover yelped as he twisted and swung Kingfisher right at the boy’s head.

The clang of metal hitting metal seemed to echo the world into silence.

Jaune, shield shadowing his face, looked tense and a little frightened.

Clover just looked horrified.

And then he was faltering back, dropping his weapon into the sand. “I’m- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to- are you okay?!”

“I’m, fine.” Jaune answered a little shakily, trying to laugh it off. “I don’t think now is the time for a training exercise though.”

Clover tried to meet him, but his own chuckle rang hollow. “No. No it’s not.” He ran a hand agitatedly through his hair. “I really am sorry. I, I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s too hot.” Weiss was the one to offer, turning the attention her way. “I’m having trouble too.”

It sounded logical. Believable. Of course the Atlesians weren’t accustomed to blistering heat like this and would be most likely to succumb to its’ effects.

Only Qrow knew the truth of the matter. Tried not to think how a desert wasn’t so unlike a tundra – open space, unsteady footing, extreme weather.

“We need to get out of this sun.” Blake decided.

Ruby nodded in agreement. “Right. Uncle Qrow, can you scout ahead and see if you can spot something?”

That’s how he ended up in the sky, canting in great big circles like a vulture and looking to every horizon as he tried to make out a camp or an outcropping or a cactus. Anything that might provide shade or water. It took a few cycles, increasing his radius at every turn, before finally managing to see several flutterings in the distance. Upon closer inspection, he knew it was the tarps of caravans, moving southwest. Which meant stable ground and civilization.

He dove back towards the group, morphing just shy of his landing. “Looks like someone’s on the move several miles that way. There’s probably a temporary camp nearby.”

Or if there wasn’t, there would be.

“Right, then let’s move.” Ruby ordered, turning to the robot beside her. “Penny maybe you can try and keep us cool in the meantime?”

“I will give it my best shot!”

Their conversation faded to background noise as his focus instead shifted to Clover who, for the first time since they’d begun traveling together, took lead instead of rear. A silent attempt to rebuild goodwill. But his posture was held straight, an unnatural rigidity to his movements.

Qrow joined him, not quite reaching for his hand, but allowing their knuckles to brush together. The effect was miniscule, but there, just the slightest drop of his shoulders as his face eased into a small, not-quite-there smile.

Okay. He could work with this.

It was funny how easy it was to trick a Vacuon when they thought they were the ones playing it. All it took was some altruistic speeches from the kids about wanting to help because that’s what huntsmen did and the words “free of charge” and suddenly they were traveling with a whole parade of people who thought they were getting protection for nothing. Which was mostly true – except of course, now they had a place to stay in and quicker way to the academy.

It also kept them busy, trading off shifts throughout the day to keep watch on their surroundings. Which meant it was almost two days later before he finally had a moment alone with Clover. The wayfarers who they were assisting had a strict habit of bearing down at the hottest part of the day to conserve resources and energy. With JNPR 2.0 on duty and RWBY helping with lunch, Qrow took the opportunity to retire to their makeshift quarters.

As he stepped into the tent, he found his segue into the conversation was going to be more on the nose then he’d planned for.

Clover was seated on one of the various sleeping mats, Harbinger in his lap as he tended to her gears. “Hey.” He greeted. “How’d scouting go?”

“Uh. Fine.”

Seeming to sense his unease, the huntsman paused, looking between him and the weapon. “Oh, sorry! I guess I should do this later.”

“No!” The word burst out of him, startling them both. Qrow cleared his throat, repeating more levelly, “No, it’s fine really. I told you to take care of her.”

To prove his statement, he took the few steps forward to sit directly across from him.

Clover eyed him skeptically for several long moments, perhaps trying to puzzle out if he was trying a backwards form of recovery or just talking big. He seemed to decide the former as he bent back over the sword. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. A lot of grit is getting in-between the gears. But I’m worried about messing up the mechanics.” He offered him a smile. “Harbinger’s really intricate. You did an amazing job.”

“Laying it on a little thick there, aren’t ya Ebi?” He scooted forward just a little, pointing to the correct parts as he spoke. “First loosen the spindle here. Then you can take out the suspension spring and remove this gear.”

They spent the next several minutes just going about the task. Even though he was guiding another’s hands through the motions, the work was so familiar it was relaxing. He even found it possible to keep hold of the small, easily lost pinions as they were removed. All the while, he studied Clover as he worked, the way his brow furrowed with deep concentration or how his strong hands never faltered as he took out each gear with care and reverence. As if the weapon was as cherished as his own.

“Last one.” Qrow announced as the fifth pinion was dropped into his palm.

“You know, before I really was praising you.” The smallest cog came out with a small pop, being added to the growing collection on the cloth Clover had laid out. He finished his statement with a mirthful smile, “But now I’ve determined you went too far.”

He snorted. “Sorry my sword-scythe-shotgun hybrid is a little more complicated than your basic fishing rod.”

He gasped in mock offense. “My darling may not have all your weapon’s fancy little tricks, but it gets the job done with just as much grace.”

“Oh, that’s what you call all that flailing around?”

“Watch it Branwen.”

“What? Am I-” The rest of his words ‘on thin ice’ died in his throat. “Uh-”

This time, Clover misinterpreted his floundering. “What, am I doing it wrong?”

He focused on where the other’s hands were, his own quickly reaching out to catch his, only to abort the motion just as quickly when his fingertips skimmed Harbinger’s surface. That Clover noticed.

He ran the same hand over the back of his neck. “Uh, don’t remove that unless you want her coming apart completely.”

“Alright.” Clover lifted his hand from the center plate obediently. “Are you doing okay or should we stop?”

Dropping the pinions onto the cloth beside the other parts, he tried not to let it feel like too much of a failure. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Why would I be uncomfortable?” He replied with a frown.

Qrow stared. Was he being serious right now? “You’re kidding. If anything you should be more repelled to be holding her than me.”

“But I’m not. I never have been.”

The frustration broke over like a wave so that his next words flooded out like a tide of turbulent emotions, “Why not? You’re the one who got hurt! Why is it so easy for you?!”

No, no. Shut up.

He slouched over, scrabbling hands through his hair, tugging at the ends as if it would ground him back to the present.

This was going all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be getting angry.

“I-I mean-” He started to say.

Clover cut him off. “Have you ever considered things were different from my perspective?”

He blinked. Looked up. “What?”

The other huntsman’s gaze drifted, falling down to the blade still in his lap. He ran his palm along the surface. “I never saw it. Or if I did, my mind’s blocked it out. I… remember pain. How hard it was to breathe. But as far as anything I saw in that moment? All I can think of is gray. A dark gray, almost black, but kind of green too?”

Qrow frowned, trying to piece that together. Atlas wasn’t exactly known for its abundance of greenery. The only green thing he could think of was Clover’s own pin. Maybe it was just his body going into shock, making him see things that weren’t actually there.

“Either way,” He continued, idly tracing the intricate patterns embedded in the sword’s metal. “What I’m getting at is, the only reason I know this was the weapon that struck me is because I was told it was. To me, it’s kind of removed from the whole event.” His movements stopped, that same dismayed look from several days ago clouding his features. “Instead, I have other problems.”

Seemed like they were going to have that conversation after all. “Like what happened with Jaune.”

“Yeah. I hadn’t meant to attack him. I just thought…” Clover slumped, trailing off.

“That he was someone else. I know.” Qrow said in the space left behind. “Known for awhile, actually. I knew it was an issue, but I hadn’t said anything. Tch. I should of. Maybe then-”

A flick to his forehead had him jerking back.

“Stop.” Clover’s fingers soothed over the spot, sliding down along the contours of his face to cup his jaw. “You’re not responsible for my problems Qrow. It’s my job to acknowledge them and ask for help if I need it.”

There was a lot of things he thought to say, the most prominent being how Clover never seemed to have an issue laser focusing on Qrow’s problems and addressing them (though, to be fair, those results didn’t always pan out) – but what he finally decided on saying was, “Do you need help?”

Teal eyes went wide and he drew back. The look on his face, vulnerable and lost, was heartbreaking. “I, uh. I don’t know.”

“Would you like to try something?” He pressed on gently.

“Like what?”

“An exercise.” He waved towards Harbinger. “Set her aside and take off your shirt – Don’t smile like that, I’m not gonna do anything lecherous.”

Clover laughed. “Ah, there goes all my hopes and dreams.” Still, he did as commanded, laying the blade to his left before peeling off the green shirt he wore.

Qrow managed not to stare at the metal plating built into the center of his chest, stitching his body together like a broken doll. Instead he reached forward, undoing the red bandanna around the man’s arm – one of the only things he’d kept of his old uniform, besides the boots – and tied the cloth around his eyes instead.

“Uh, Qrow?” Now blind, Clover sounded a lot more uncertain.

He ran a hand through short brown locks. “When I used to teach, I would do this with the students.”

“Lot to unpack with that statement.” He was barely containing a laugh.

It was his turn to flick him. “Shut it and listen.” He got to his feet, speaking as he rounded the other. “It was usually for typical stuff. Figuring out what movements they knew by reflex and what they needed to work on. Keeping an ear on their surroundings when their eyes can’t. But sometimes,” He stopped directly behind him. “It was to help break bad habits.”

Clover was already tense. “Really?”

“Ruby’s footwork used to be terrible. Got worse when she discovered her semblance – she was tumbling all over the place. Taking away her sight made her focus harder on every step she made. Made her more aware of everything she was doing.” Qrow reached out, fingertips brushing along the base of Clover’s neck, the skin shuddering under his touch. “That’s what I want you to do. Focus on the way your body reacts and correct it.”

“This… seems a little unconventional.”

He knelt down behind him. “Sometimes it’s the unconventional methods that work. Now,” He laid his palm flat along metalwork layered over his spine, hearing the sharp inhale. “Let’s get started.”

Qrow couldn’t say for how long, exactly, the exercise went on for – but it was certainly not as long as he would have kept one of his students at it. Where he’d push them to continue even just a minute longer, he was more willing to pull back with the brunette, knowing this was taking a mental toll along with the physical one. So, when he noticed Clover’s efforts were turning to frustration, he was quick to call for a break, offering that maybe they could finish up with Harbinger in the interim.

Clover, stubborn man he was, didn’t want to quit entirely though.

That was how they ended up sitting back to back as Qrow polished off the gears and pins and Clover set them into place.

Healing takes many forms, Qrow mused as he handed over the third cog and reached for the next, the anxiety he normally felt completely, blissfully absent.

Felt the stretch of muscles against his own as Clover worked, his erratic breathing and shakes having steadied a while ago.

One day, he hoped they could come out of this without their demons controlling them.

Yet, he knew recovery was a difficult, haphazard mess of a journey; so that day was in a future he still couldn’t quite discern, no matter how hard he looked.

Not that he could say he was surprised. His life had never been simple and that track record wasn’t going to let up a four decades’ long streak so easily – but, for once, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

For the one brightness he could see in all this was right behind him.

Qrow slid down, just enough to rest his ear against the metal along Clover’s back, the reassuring thump-thump-thump of his heart a gift he’d never waste.

For it beat with the promise that he was here.

He was alive.

And, Qrow recklessly dared to believe, he was his.

Another gift he’d never waste.

A devotion he’d never dishonor.

A love he’d forever hold onto.

#qrow branwen #clover ebi #fair game #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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sapphires-and-gold-fics · 5 years

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Fictober Day 8: “Can you stay?”

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF

Characters: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth, Selwyn Tarth

Summary: Civil War au where Brienne is there when Jaime kills Aerys - it's a whole thing that literally no one asked for. Very tame in terms of content.

Notes: Yes, Jaime is short for Jameson. That is what I call him when I'm disappointed in him, or worried about him, or concerned that he's been a blundering idiot about something. Oh, Jameson.

Read on AO3

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Jaime was sure he was dying. He hadn’t planned on it when he’d decided to take down the General, but he supposed it was what he deserved for having fought on the wrong side of the war.

Fighting to “preserve their way of living” was what his father and sister expected of him, even if he’d long ago rejected it for himself. But removing to the city from the plantation was hardly an improvement. If he’d gone north like his brother, perhaps his sister’s claws could have been yanked out. If he’d gone north, perhaps he’d have been on the right side when war came. Instead he’d let his sister walk him down to the enlistment office.

He thought of her when he fought. He couldn’t kill enough make penance for her contrite brand of maliciousness, but maybe if he came out of this alive he could live to see her children, if she ever had any, grow up to be better than their elders. The thought kept him moving, gave him hope. He wanted to live.

But then he was commanded to stand by while General Aerys burned escaped slaves who’d been found trying to cross the border, and he couldn’t proffer up a single valid excuse to himself.

Aerys had claimed to have spotted a Union spy in the woods and he wanted first crack at him. Jaime had followed at a comfortable distance, knowing that this could be his one chance to stop the madness Aerys was often seeing phantoms in the woods, and Jaime knew that this time was no different. As the woods grew denser, Jaime got closer, less comfortable. Close enough to thrust his sword through Aery’s back, but not quite close enough to have spotted the flesh and blood Union soldier that Aerys has been tailing. This time it hadn’t been a hallucination. This soldier had lifted his rifle to his shoulder just as Jaime had dealt the killing blow. As a result, the shot meant for Aerys shattered Jaime’s forearm.

He cried out and tried to regain his sword with his left hand, but he fumbled it and it landed on the ground as Jaime pressed his spine against the nearest tree, in agony. The soldier stepped in front of him and kicked the blade away with his heel, and then peered down at him - his glance heated and clear and blue.

“I saw what you did,” she said - she! Jaime was sure he was dying. “He was tracking me and I finally had a clear shot to defend myself but you killed him, why?”

“You’re a woman? Of course this is how I die.”

“You’re not going to die, it’s just your arm.”

“Says the lunatic who shot me.”

“Why did you do it,” she demanded more urgently.

“He was an evil man.”

“You saved my life.”

“I thought you were a figment of his imagination,” Jaime would have shrugged but for the excruciating pain. He slid to the ground, propped up by the tree. “I’m dying.”

“You’re not. You can make it back to your troops. Find yourself a surgeon.”

He caught her eye - that astonishing blue gaze. “Can you stay? Stay with a dying man. It’s said that drowning makes for a peaceful death.”

“You’re wounded, not drowning.”

“Let me drown in your eyes.”

“You’re delirious. You must be losing a lot of blood.”

She removed his coat and he gritted his teeth, breathing through the pain as best he could. After examining the wound, she removed her own coat and fashioned a sling. He groaned seeing her form through her crisp uniform shirt, the slight narrowing of her waist... he felt himself harden absurdly at the thought of what lay beneath. It had just been too long since he’d beheld a woman that his body must be confused, he thought, even if she did have astonishing eyes.

She worked diligently. “There. Go back to your camp like this. They’ll think you were in a shootout with Union forces and took a coat from the dead for your arm.”

“I’d be labeled a hero. But I’m not. I killed my commander.”

“You had your reasons I think, Captain...?”

“Jameson.”

“You saved my life whatever your intentions were, Captain Jameson.”

He chuckled, “Not - it’s Jaime. Jameson Lannister. Just call me Jaime.”

“Lannister... are you...?”

“If you’re asking after the impish southern abolitionist, that would be my brother, Tyrion. The two of us share a belief system, a moral code, but only one of us was brave enough to act on it before this mess began.”

“Is that what you did today? Act on your beliefs?”

“Is there honor in stabbing a man in the back?”

“There is if the man is wicked.”

“My father would disagree.”

“Go back to your men. Tell them - tell them that you and your commander were set upon.”

“It’s my weapon. They’ll know. They won’t ask why, they’ll just string me up.”

She huffed and seemed to deliberate something rapidly in her mind until finally she put out her left hand. “Let me help you up.”

“I told you, I’m dying.”

“You’re not. You’re going to live. You saved my life and now I want to repay the debt. My camp is... not far. I’ll bring you there.”

“A prisoner? I’m sure one such as you would enjoy seeing me in irons, no thank you.”

“No, not a prisoner. I swear it. My father is the commander of the brigade. I shouldn’t have even been out here. I shouldn’t have strayed. But I had smelled your campfires and I thought if I could just get close enough maybe I could better our chances. Then I saw General Aerys and I knew it was my opportunity to upset the balance. My father will be furious when he finds I’ve gone and yes, bringing back a prisoner might assuage that, but I don’t mind his anger. I will bear it. And when I tell him that you saved my life I swear he will protect you.”

“Why are you on the front at all? What sort of father lets his daughter get so close to danger?”

“What sort of father lets any of his children do so? We’re at war, Captain Lannister. And the more people - men and women - who contribute, the quicker it can be over. Now come, before someone comes after you.”

He took her hand and let her drag him deeper into the forest until they came upon a clearing that opened up directly into General Selwyn Tarth’s camp. When he saw him, Jaime nearly ducked and ran off, but his captor held him firm.

“General.”

“Daughter.”

“I was in the woods, I thought—“

“You didn’t think at all. You might have been killed. And now you come back with a rebel who should be in irons?”

“General, this man saved my life. If not for him, I would have been killed.”

“You were foolish, Brienne.”

Her name was Brienne.

“I know it was foolish to go off, I know that. But General Aerys is dead and I am not, all thanks to Captain Lannister. I have promised him safe passage. He saved my life, we owe him that.”

Selwyn peered at him with eyes like his daughters, but dulled with age and perhaps the sight of too many deaths. “You killed Aerys, boy?”

Jaime looked at the taller man as straight on as he could, his arm throbbing. “I did. I would do it again. He was mad.”

Selwyn suddenly let out a hearty laugh, completely inappropriate for the situation. “That he was, boy.” He studied Jaime, and seemed to notice his makeshift sling for the first time.

“Brienne, fetch a surgeon for the captain.”

“I don’t want to lose my arm.”

“They’ll do what they can. Brienne, go, he’ll be in my tent. And after you’ve done, rouse up some more of your clothes for the boy, let’s make him fit in as best we can.”

The surgeon gave Jaime a choice - keep the arm and be in pain the rest of his life, not to mention risk infection, or lose the arm at the elbow and begin healing properly. He was gripping Brienne’s hand with his left when he let them take the other.

After the next skirmish, Selwyn sent his daughter away, and Jaime with her. He believed that the next battle would be severe and he didn’t wish to risk her. And though he had one arm, Jaime would at least lend her some additional protection. This time it was Jaime dragging her away.

They went first to the field hospital to have his arm checked for infection, and from thence they rode the train north to Boston, or in an approximation of “northbound.” Wartime meant the trains were irregular, and the journey indirect and long.

By the time they arrived at Tyion’s door, the war was nearly over. News from the front was that Selwyn had been right. And that battle had been his last. By that time, Jaime and Brienne had slept curled up on each other’s shoulder for almost three weeks, the only comfort on the long road. Tyrion offered them each a guest room in his home but he suspected correctly that one would have sufficed. They didn’t deny themselves for long. And they married days after their arrival.

Months later they finally got word of his family through his father’s sister - the house and farmlands had been destroyed and his father and sister were presumed dead. Jaime offered his aunt a home in the north but she declined, preferring to stay in the south and help her son’s family navigate this new life and build a new home.

Jaime never returned to the south. He was already home.

#braime #fictober2019 #fictober #brienne x jaime #jaime x brienne #civil war au that no one asked for #civil war au #braime au #got au #ao3 #ao3 link #mine #don't ask me why i did this #north and south #oh jameson #put me back together

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memescomicswriting · 5 years

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In the Pursuit of Happiness Ch. 7

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Reader x Bucky, Reader x Steve

Warnings/genre: Very Angsty Chapter, a few bad words

Summary: Singer!Avenger. Raised by Sheild since the age of ten, Y/N grew up without everyday examples. She only saw how to be an agent. Though as a grown woman she has surpassed that mindset, she still faces challenges from her upbringing- like how to handle feelings, unrequited love, and interpersonal challenges. Set after similar plot points in Civil War, Y/N must face returning home after leaving during an uncomfortable time in her life and facing the consequences

A/N: This is my first series in the Marvel fandom. I hope you enjoy it. I always welcome feedback. It is appreciated. This story does not follow the traditional Marvel timeline. I mess with it to make the story work, so roll with me.

This may be my favorite chapter so far. It certainly was the easiest to write.

Story Masterlist

A month passed since Steve left. Things continued as they always had. You and the team trained and acted when needed. Peter was heading back to school soon and you were trying to enjoy as much leisurely time with him as you could. You'd have some weekends with him and you would go to visit, but you couldn't take him on trips with his friends to water parks or the beach, trips to Quebec, and long movie marathons with the team. Somehow, wherever you took Peter beyond the compound, Bucky decided he needed to get out as well. You appreciated it. Though you loved Peter and his friends, being all alone with a gang of teenagers could grow draining. Wanda would join you on occasion, but she was indifferent to outings with large crowds of people. Despite Bucky's unease with crowds and a large amount of time in society, he took to the teens, the city, and other places you traveled well. He was fun in the purest sense. He'd make jokes with you while Peter and his friends were distracted. He'd intercede when someone recognized you and refused to leave. He thought ahead and brought you coffee when you seemed tired or a snack you eyed. It reminded you of the old days with Steve; long before you believed he developed feelings for you. You enjoyed having an adult compatriot again.

While Peter shopped for school supplies with Tony, on Tony's insistence, you were left on your own in the compound. There was a nook on the terrace, around a corner no one thought to look past. There, you kept many plants- flowers, herbs, vegetables, and some fruit bushes. It was peaceful and shaded enough to lounge during the summer months. There you often read books- F. Scott Fitzgerald, Orwell, Agatha Christe, and more. Today, you were engrossed with a modern commentary on "A Midsummer's Night Dream." Bucky cleared his throat off to the side of you, making himself known. Slowly, you closed your book after marking your page. "I was wondering where you got off to. Now I know." He eased his way off where he lounged against the concrete wall. There were three other seats open at the patio table, and he sat in chair nearest to you. He brought a journal and glass of iced tea with him. "And what got you wondering?" You inquired. Your book pushed further across the table and you crossed your legs over each other as you leaned back. "Some of the others are going to the tower for a press statement. Do you think you'll go?" He took a sip of his drink and offered you some. You took the drink and plucked some mint from beside you and put it in the drink. Bucky gave you a look, but you continued. "I have a short tour in a week. I'll save the public appearances for those not always in the public eye." You easily shrugged. "I may be able to change my appearance while facing the world as an avenger, but it's draining all the same." Bucky nodded in agreement. You returned his improved drink and settled into some silence for a moment. "Of course you're welcome to accompany me on any tour stop you like. Peter, Tony, Wanda. Vision, Sam, and sometimes the others join in." Steve's name was unmentioned. He often joined you in the past, but now he was a sore spot for Bucky and yourself. If Steve was here now, you're sure you'd still be friends with Bucky but not on the level you were now. You'd both lost your person in Steve's leaving. "Maybe I will in Florida. After years of the cold, I enjoy my tropical missions. I think Miami'd be fun. Maybe your Puerto Rico benefit." He ran a hand through his hair. You could see the wheels behind his eyes turning in thought. Could he handle himself that far away? You reached your hand out and took his. You smiled as warm as the sun when you gave him a gentle squeeze. "Only if you feel comfortable enough to go. I'll always be there to help but I'd never push you beyond what I knew you could handle." His smile grew nearly as bright as yours. The appreciation obvious, with no need for a declaration. "It sounds nice." --- Another month came and went. You thought it would grow easier with time, but this month started darker than the first. Bucky never made it to Miami or Puerto Rico. The night before his flight out he had a relapse. Sam informed you about the incident over the phone. "He just woke up one night with no memories. He wasn't the soldier, but he was confused and cornered like a wild animal. It took two hours and all of Wanda's mental determination to put him down. We aren't sure what triggered the lapse, but the doctors are saying it was his PTSD acting as a protection mechanism. He's traveling to Wakanda for a week and then he'll undergo recoupment here." You felt guilt. Perhaps if you had been there you could have reversed it sooner, without the fight. Maybe it wouldn't have happened at all. "Steve," It was another message to his answering machine. Then tenth so far. You sent one every week. "I don't know if you listen to these, let alone receive them but it helps me to send them all the same." You paused, trying not to lose the composure in your voice. "It's Bucky. He had another lapse. A bad one. Maybe the others informed you, gotten to you. Maybe not. But I think it would help if you returned, for him." You tossed your phone on the overly plush hotel bed. You were defeated. You canceled the rest of your tour following Puerto Rico. On the island, you represented yourself as a celebrity and your views as a hero. You used the Stark relief fund to rebuild the countless homes, businesses, and structures that hadn't received aid. You tossed tour money at any genuine organization, political or otherwise, determined to help the island. You sponsored lawyers. You used your powers to protect protestors from the poorly ordered police. They didn't want to hurt their countrymen, but they had orders to follow so they kept their jobs. When the chaos subsided, and you accomplished what the federal and island government failed at, you returned home. --- "Woah," Clint called out, reeling you back. You were still in your uniform and decked out in the face you presented as an avenger. You were near Thor's build, but slimmer and more feminine. "Hold it there Florence Nightengale. Don't rush him. He needs his sleep. You can see him in the morning. You could easily startle him if you burst in." "Clint," You pulled away and continued down the hall. "I'm not going to startle him. I'm just going to check up on him. See if he needs anything." "You have a tendency," Clint was hesitant to finish. "To overstep respectable bounds Y/N. He's not Steve and you don't have the control like Wanda. Leave him be." You froze in your tracks. Tears were threatening to pool down your face. No, we were here because you caused Steve to leave. Bucky was doing just fine while Steve was around. He relapsed because his person left. This was your fault. Bucky wasn't Steve. Steve who you pushed and pushed until he finally gave in to your demands and explored modern society. Steve, who's demons were further embedded but easier to ward away. You weren't Wanda. She possessed a level of control you dreamed of. She knew her powers and their bounds. Once you thought you had your gifts all figured out, they surprised you again. Ashamed, you focused your blurry vision on your shoes. "I know I'm not Wanda and I'll never be as amazing as her, but I have different talents than her. Some of them may help him heal faster. He's not Steve, but he needs my help." You pushed yourself forward. Clint didn't follow. You were sure he'd return to the common area and have FRIDAY monitor you for him. You slid into the darkened room with ease. It was pitch black in the common area. You slipped with no noise. However, opening Bucky's bedroom door frightened you more than the time you snuck into Sheild headquarters at sixteen after a date. Hopefully, you wouldn't be horrifically caught like that time. The moonlight shown through open blinds so the room was littered with shadows. In the middle of the bed, Bucky slept in a dysfunctional spread but calm. He looked at peace so you wouldn't disturb him. There was a loveseat close to the door. You took up residence there. Figuring you'd make sure he got a peaceful nights sleep, you'd safeguard him until he naturally awoke. However, you were tired from your hasty journey to the compound. You brought yourself home without a plane. Jet lag took a whole new meaning when you were the jet. Your eyes slipped shut even though you tried your best to keep them open. Waking up startled you. It was still night, but a different hour. It was closer to morning. The faintest murmur stirred your intense hearing and you shot up alarmed. "Steve?" The voice was gravelly and distant. It was Bucky from his bed. You looked over your shadow and then yourself. Still in uniform and morphed into a giant, it was easy to confuse you in the dark. "No," Your voice took a hushed approach. Thinking on the spot, you grabbed one of Bucky's clean and folded t-shirts from the laundry basket. Throwing it on, it became as large as a dress as you shrank back to your standard size. You slipped your uniform off from underneath his shirt. "It's me Y/N." Once recognition shown through his moonlit eyes you approached the foot of the bed. "Oh, Y/N." Sleep was retreating form his voice, but you didn't want to stir him so soon. "Go back to sleep. I'll just sit on the loveseat and read or something. I just wanted to make sure you were okay tonight." You ran a hand through your hair and it fell out of your tight bun. Fidgeting with it, you twisted it into a low and loose ponytail. "Y/N come here. You can't stay on that small couch the entire night." He declared and you were inclined to do whatever he said tonight. His body shifted to your left and the right-hand side of the bed remained. "Just come here and talk me back to sleep. You're good at talking." You resisted the urge to smack his chest as you took your place. Even half-asleep Bucky could be the wittiest man you ever met. Settling into the bed should have felt strange, but instead, it was natural. You frequently climbed into the beds of your teammates to talk. Steve's the most often. Maybe it was the familiarity. Peace incircled the bed. "You missed the tour." You faced the ceiling as he did, but the comment was directed at him and not the walls of the room. "Sorry." He muttered with his lips sticking together from the sleep he was just in. "I encountered some complications getting there." You quickly replied. "You should have called me. I would have made certain you got there and enjoyed yourself." "I-I didn't, didn't wanna be a bother." The tiredness in his voice was overpowered by nervousness and shame. Sometimes, Steve felt as though he was a burden to you, especially in the beginning. You spent so much of your time helping him he became conflicted about your motives. Did you do it out of kindness, assumed responsibility, or pity? It was never any of those. Kindness was the closest thing to it. You helped him because you wanted to. Now, you'd do the same for Bucky. You turned to face the man sprawled out next to you. He wouldn't look at you so you leaned up on your elbows and blocked his view of the ceiling with your frame. "James, listen to me." Your voice filled with stern compassion. "You are not, nor ever will be a burden to me or anyone else on this team. Got it?" He quickly nodded in understanding; perhaps afraid of what would happen if he didn't. You settled back down next to him, closure this time. "Contrary to what your doubts tell you, we like having you around. You're the most loyal and dependable person I've met besides Steve. You're funny and so smart that it nearly kills me sometimes. You could give Bruce and Tony a run for their money if you took up their studies. You're a great role model for Peter. And best of all, you're the most amazing friend. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have made it these past two months. I owe my strength now, to you." Bucky never replied to you after your impromptu speech. If you scared him with your thoughts, so be it. He needed to hear it. Your fears of that drained however when his fingers intertwined with yours. The intimacies in it spoke profound volumes. He couldn't bring to words how much he needed someone to say all those things. In appreciation, he brought your intertwined hands to his lips and kissed your smooth skin available to him. Things stilled in the universe surrounding you two. The crickets faded into nothing. Owls grew silent. Even your breathing drew elongated into silent sweeps of breath. Both of you fell asleep like that- in mutually appreciated silence and touch. You slept in that morning due to the lump of super-soldier weighing you down as his personal pillow. --- After that night, Bucky became far more comfortable with touching you. He hadn't shown any problem with it before, but he was far more generous with personal contact now. Everything was platonic. At least that's how it felt. Whether or not the others saw it that way was a different story. Before, his contact with others was limited to pats on the back from Sam or Steve, check-ups from Bruce, and the occasional shoulder squeeze from Nat. His fingers brushed yours on occasion, but it was always in passing. That night released a floodgate of touch starved longing. Bucky began by sitting with his body pressed to yours on the couch. Quickly, he moved on to taking your hand when it was free; even when it was inconvenient. He'd rest his arm on your shoulder and then his head. After exhausting missions, he asked for shoulder rubs on the jet ride back. If you were tired, you'd still agree to it. If he worked up the courage to ask, then he needed it. Slowly, he built his way up to embrace you. One morning, you woke up exceptionally early. When your body refused to let you go back to sleep, you just got up and started your day. The smell of fresh coffee drew you to the kitchen. There, Bucky sat with his head supported by his elbows propped up on the table. His normally silky hair was caught in knots that blanketed his face. Shards of a coffee mug decorated the floor around him. Temporarily ignoring the mess, you took the free seat next to him. Unlike the others, you didn't approach him like a wounded animal. He was just another person at the counter. When he didn't respond, you gently squeezed his bicep. Stormy eyes flashed in front of you. He'd cried his eyes puffy and nearly red. Defeat radiated off of him. "I can't do anything right Y/N." The nightmares were taking their toll. It was clear in his sunken demeanor. Your heart broke for him because he thought he had to keep it all in. He wouldn't ask for help. "No one is asking you to, Bucky." With your free hand, you began detangling the knots from his hair. "Just be and take your time. I'll be right here when you're ready to face the world again." Shock overtook you when he collided with you far faster and harder than you ever anticipated. His arms almost doubled around your waist due to his broad structure. Heat startled the nerves of your shoulders when his cheek rested in the crook of your neck. His body was pressed into yours and you were squished, but you didn't mind. You draped your arms across his frame and dug your fingers into his hair so you could trace small, soothing patterns into his scalp. "Thank you." He breathed into your neck. You stayed like that until he decided to part from you. You refused to let him apologize as you cleaned up the mug he shattered and made him breakfast. Bucky hugged you in the most random moments. You could leave the gym, sweaty and he would be freshly showered, but he'd still pull you against him. If you leaned over him while he sat, he'd pull your arms around his shoulders and lock them there. Walking into a room he occupied, getting excited, frustrated, or any time you lingered next to him you were engulfed by him. Soon, you realized it was his way of communicating with you when he felt too uncomfortable to speak. That realization came when he tapped the words "are you okay" into your arm with morse code. He hugged you when he needed touch, in congratulations, thanks, and concern. It didn't matter where or when, which got you into trouble. If someone walked in without context, they confused the meaning of the embrace. It didn't help that Bucky directed most of his affection to you. He was healing. You'd talk about boundaries when he was strong enough. --- The third month dragged out into eternity. The sooner you neared that benchmark, the more frustrated you grew with everyone. That included yourself. You grew moody, argumentative, and distance. You'd lock yourself away during the day and roam by night. You couldn't handle everyone failing to hold back pity as their eyes met yours because they knew Steve wasn't coming back. It was October now, and even the prospects of the Halloween season and the begging of fall did nothing to lift your spirits. It did get you out of your room more, but only to your spot on the terrace. You curled up in your usual chair, but now you had a portable firepit to enjoy. Autumn winds rippled through the air and chilled your bones. Then the fires' heat rocked against you, warming you back up. Some nights you slept out there, alone, and numb. "If you burn down the compound," A deep voice startled you out of your distant state. "Stark's gonna kill 'ya." You huffed. Bucky. He lounged in the shadows of the corner, barely visible by the light that reflected from his eyes. You rolled your eyes at the slight smugness he'd gained. "Trust me, if I'm burning down the compound there are a lot more violent and plausible causes than my fire pit." You poked and prodded at your insulted method of comfort until Bucky snatched the iron rod away from you. "So what's got 'ya acting like a caged wild animal?" He plopped down into the chair beside you. The patio table and chairs were replaced with lawn chairs once fall appeared. You gave him your most obvious really look. "What do you think?" "I don't get it." He stated bluntly. "Why now? You think this would be how you acted right after he left, not month three going on four." He turned and faced you. He didn't know. For a super-assassin and soldier, he was pretty clueless. "Because." You met his gaze. "If he doesn't return by month three, he isn't returning at all. Not for a very long time." "You left for three months." He nodded, beginning to understand. "We have an agreement: neither of us can leave for more than three months at a time. Missions never ran past three months without rotating teammates. I never went on a tour longer than three months without a massive break in between. He even refused to search for you more than three months without a visit. If it passes three months, we really are broken beyond repair." Bucky reached for you and when he got ahold of you, he lifted you up and onto his lawn chair. "Hey, look at me, doll." His fingers traced the outlines of your face and gently nudged your vision back to him. "No one is broken here. Whatever wounds are hurting you today, will heal in time. You'll see." Your voice croaked as you allowed the pain to take over you. "Bucky, I can't do this without him. I'm holding onto something that's drowning me and I can't." "Then let him go." He crooned. "And be your lifevest. A person isn't worth sinking over." He kissed your forehead and held you tight in his arms. That night, he did the reassuring. In the morning, you woke up to a peeking sun and smoldering embers. Bucky's chest was your pillow and a small fleece blanket was enough for you both when you comfortably intertwined. You left Bucky with the blanket, figuring he'd sleep another hour. You needed to make a call. "Voicemail ten-thousand, and it'll be the last one you'll have to endure from me." You sniffled as you rubbed your chilled face warm again. "I thought you were the one Steve. Finally, I found a man I could give my heart to and love. But you took that chance away from me when you left. Do you understand that? You made my decision for me and that is wrong. For the past three months, I've done nothing but think of you. I wondered what it would be like if you were here. How happy would I be? Now I'm miserable. When Bucky lapsed I blamed myself because maybe he wouldn't have if you were here, and I drove you away. I beat myself up for your decision, something I had no control over. Enough is enough. From now on, I'm going to work on forgetting you instead of mourning someone who ran from me. I don't hold any ill will against you. In fact, I hope you thrive on this mission. I hope it brings you to everything you needed and more because no matter how much you hurt me, I could never hate you. So this is the last time I'll attempt to contact you. You need to get over me and I need to get over you. So this is goodbye. Stay safe Steve." Misty eyed, you hung up the phone. With the click of that button, you allowed all the emotions you'd bottled up over the past three months to spring free. You felt nostalgia, regret, bitterness, dread, insecurity, and finally release. Hope. You felt hope. You met Steve at such a young age, and for years he was a crutch for the pitfalls and joys of your youth. Now that he was gone, it was time for you to embark on your journey. As a woman, it was time for you to grow up and create an identity outside of those around you. It was time to settle your uncharted territory. Silently, you slipped back under the blanket with Bucky. When you returned from your phone call, he was still asleep. He looked so peaceful this morning. He hadn't shown this much tranquility in months. You were careful not to bother him as you gently sunk into the spot you left. In no time his arms were back around you, but now you were his pillow. A delicate sigh escaped his sleeping lips when he nustled into your chest. Your light chuckles only lulled him further back into his present state. It felt right and you felt content. Now, you were exactly where you needed to be.

---

A/N: What did you think of chapter 7? Reblog if you liked it! Comment what you enjoyed the most?

Do you think it was wise for Y/N to take over Steve’s supportive roll in Bucky’s life? Was it fair for her to place so much blame on herself? With Steve’s door closing, what doors should open to Y/N?

My messages, asks, and requests are all open. Let me know if you have any thoughts, comments, or suggestions!

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lopithecusfanfiction · 6 years

Text

Catch of the Day

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Rating: Teen+ Word Count: 7079 Alternate: AO3, fanfiction.net Summary: Clark, while out fishing, finds an unusual man. Warnings: N/A Author's Note: This is my second story for the SuperBat Secret Santa and is, again, for @boxymilk!

Boxymilk, I hope you enjoy this story as well! I had so much fun writing it!! XD

Enjoy and happy holidays!! Prompt: Mermaid AU

Clark sighs as he motors his fishing boat out into the water. Today, the ocean is calm enough that he won’t have to worry about the boat not holding up to it. He really needs to invest in a new one but they are so expensive that he just can’t afford to. It doesn’t stop him from wistfully looking in the boat catalogues that he picks up from the local veggie market. If only the demand for fish would rise and then he could grow his business. Maybe even move somewhere bigger than the small, rundown town he lives in now.

When he’s far enough out into the ocean, he prepares all his materials, throwing the net out into the water. Then it’s just the waiting game, the part of the journey he enjoys the most. Clark likes the quietness that being out in the middle of the sea brings with it. The sound of the waves is soothing, the slosh slosh of it enough to put him asleep on more than one occasion. It’s also away from any civilization. Back on the land, he isn’t exactly the most outgoing of persons and it can get extremely lonely sometimes. But being out here, Clark can forget about all that and just relax while he recharges from the sun.

Looking around the wide expanse of water, Clark is about to settle in for a long wait when something catches his eyes. There’s a figure a few yards away, floating in the water. Using his powers, Clark looks closer and is alarmed to see that it is a human body, face down and bloody. Quickly, Clark floats into the sky and flies over to the prone figure, looking it over.

The water around the body is red and using his super hearing, Clark can hear the person still has a heartbeat. Hastily, Clark bends to pick up the person but then stops short when he sees where some of the bottom half of the body is sticking out of the water. Carefully reaching down, Clark flips the person over and gasps.

This person isn’t a human at all. They’re a mermaid or better yet, a merman. The man has a pale, human torso with arms, hands, and a head. Black hair is floating around that head in wistful motions. Below the torso, is a black tail that is mostly submerged in the water. Blood and dirt covers the merman’s body.

Promptly, Clark picks up the merman, cradling the body close to his chest. He flies back to the boat as fast as he dares with such a delicate thing in his arms. Clark’s mind is whirling, not only with the fact that mermaids are real but that he has now got to save one from bleeding to death. He sets the body down onto the deck of the boat and starts to clean it up, putting pressure on some of the more serious wounds.

“Don’t worry,” Clark mumbles as he works. “I’m going to help you.” The merman doesn’t wake to Clark’s words and Clark thins his lips in worry.

Nodding to himself, he stands and quickly pulls the net up. It’s empty but that doesn’t matter right now. Instead, Clark goes to the bridge and starts the engine, heading home at top speed. Looking back at the merman, he sees that the man is still lying there unconscious. Clark is relieved to see that the blood isn’t soaking through the makeshift bandages he applied before they got underway, but is still concerned about how much blood the merman lost.

He makes it back to shore in record time and picks up the merman once more. He decides to fly home, hoping that it will be quicker and conceal the creature in his arms. The last thing he needs is a whole debacle of towns people coming to see the mysterious mermaid. Then the next thing Clark knows, the FBI will be knocking at his door, asking to confiscate the ocean dweller. Clark shivers, remembering his fears of being discovered for his own alien abilities.

Luckily, with it being so early in the morning, not a lot of people are out. There are mostly the shop owners opening up for the day, either inside a building or under the cover of a market stand. It makes it easier for Clark to fly overhead and not be seen. Eventually he lands behind his house and enters through the backdoor.

Clark heads upstairs and is about to set the merman onto his bed but then thinks better of it. Turning in the opposite direction of this bedroom, he enters the bathroom. His house isn’t big by any means; one bedroom and one bath. The kitchen is small and the living room even smaller. He doesn’t even have a dining room or a table to eat at. Instead he has to eat at his couch, watching the news on his cheap tv that is on its last legs.

Clark carefully sets the merman down into the bathtub and frowns at how the creatures tail scrunches. The tub is nowhere near big enough for such a long man but it will have to do. Kneeling, Clark begins inspecting the wounds closer, peeling off some of his homemade bandages. The man is going to need to be cleaned to get all the blood and dirt off. Clark also doesn’t want to keep him out of the water for too long. He’s not sure what will happen if too much time is spent in the open air for a mermaid and Clark has a feeling it’s not what happens in the fairy tales. Still, he needs to treat the wounds before filling the tub.

Clark stands once more and grabs for a clean washcloth and the first aid kit. He doesn’t know the first thing of taking care of a mermaid. Just half an hour ago, he didn’t even know they existed. But he has to focus right now and hope that he is doing the right thing for the man. Clark kneels back down and gets to work, using the washcloth to wash some of the blood and dirt away and the first aid kit to sterilize the wounds.

The more Clark reveals of the man, the more he realizes that the dirt isn’t actually dirt and instead tattoos. Slowly, Clark runs the washcloth over the man’s chest, exposing a wide expanse of abstract art of swirls and patterns. It travels over merman’s left pectoral and onto his left arm, down until it reaches his elbow. On the left shoulder, among the swirls, there is a picture of a turtle, the surrounding background filled in with black in order to make the animal stand out more. On the merman’s right forearm, there is a tattoo of the bottom half of a fish tail, though Clark assumes it could also be a mermaid’s tail. The other half disappears into a curving line that travels to the man’s wrist where a clam shell tattoo rests. When Clark gently leans the merman forward to clean the man’s back, between the shoulder blades is a picture of an octopus, wrapped around a coral reef. Then, on the lower back, just before it turns to tail, is a tattoo of a jellyfish swimming horizontally. Clark stares at them in awe, wondering how the man had gotten them and what the meaning of them are.

The merman groans and Clark carefully sits the man back, waiting for awareness. It doesn’t take long as the merman blinks open eyes and Clark is struck by how blue they are. They’re the color of the sky and absolutely beautiful. The man regains consciousness and looks around the room, eyes finally settling on Clark.

The merman clears his throat. “Where am I?”

“Oh!” Clark exclaims, feeling a flush of heat make its way onto his cheeks. “You’re in my house.” Those icy eyes narrow. “I found you in the ocean, hurt, and I brought you back here to heal you.”

The merman looks down at his own body. “Well, I’m not going to heal if I’m not in water.” Narrowed eyes turn to Clark once more. “Instead you’re killing me.”

“Oh!” Clark exclaims again and immediately turns on the water, plugging the bathtub. He sticks his hand under the spout to check the temperature. “Is it too cold?” The merman only crosses muscled arms over a strong looking chest. “Um… too warm?” Still no answer. “Not salty enough?” The merman looks like he wants to throw something at Clark’s head. “Okay… um… how about this? What’s your name? I’m Clark.” Clark sticks a hand out to be shaken.

The merman ignores it, reaching over and adjusting the temperature on the faucet to fully cold. “Bruce.”

“Okay, Bruce.” Clark eyes the temperature and forces a chuckle. “I guess I should have expected you would want it to be cold considering the ocean is thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit.” If there were crickets around, now would have been the perfect time for them to play their tune. “Okay… what about salt? The ocean is salty.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Bruce turns judging eyes onto Clark.

Clark swallows awkwardly. “I’ll go see how much salt I have.” He stands and leaves the bathroom, heading downstairs and into his kitchen. Opening up the cupboard shows that he only has a small container of table salt. Shrugging, Clark figures any salt would be better than no salt. Grabbing it, he heads back upstairs. Once in the bathroom, Clark opens the container and dumps the salt into the water, Bruce’s curious, calculating eyes trained on him. When all the salt is in the tub, Clark smiles down at the merman.

Bruce glares. “You really think that’s enough?”

“It’s all I have,” Clark explains and Bruce uses his tail to splash Clark with water angrily. Clark stands. “Hey, watch it! I don’t need water all over my bathroom.” Bruce huffs and turns away petulantly. “You know, you would think you would be more grateful considering I saved you.”

“I didn’t need saving,” Bruce grumbles, still facing the wall.

Clark huffs and mumbles under his breath, “Yeah, right.”

Hearing Clark’s breath of air, Bruce peeks over at him. “I guess I should expect a prude like you to be bothered by a little water.”

“What?” Clark asks, confused. “What do you mean I’m a prude?”

Bruce’s eyes travel up and down his body. “You land dwellers and your penchant for covering yourselves.”

Clark gapes. “Wearing… clothes makes me a prude?”

One of Bruce’s eyebrows rises. “Even the mermaids pretty much bear it all.”

“You mean the female ones?” Clark asks.

Clark watches as Bruce takes an angry breath in and Clark has to stop himself from laughing. “I am not a mermaid, whatever your name is. I am a merman. When I said mermaids, I mean they still cover up their bosoms.”

Clark snorts. “Bosoms? You can just call them breasts, you know.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow even more. “Don’t be crude.” Clark refrains from asking which he is, a prude or crude.

Clark sighs. “Well, you just got me wet so I’m going to take my shirt off anyway.” Clark reaches down and starts unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it off where it sticks to his skin. “And the name’s Clark.” Bruce is eyeing him intently and when Clark has the shirt completely removed, Clark turns to the merman. “What?”

Bruce gestures for Clark to spin and so Clark does. When he is facing the man again, Clark raises an eyebrow. “Where are your markings?”

Clark’s eyebrows furrow. “Excuse me?”

Bruce huffs, as if the merman isn’t surprised by this revelation. “You don't have any? What are you? A barbarian?”

Clark stares at the merman, confusion and shock running through his head. “Uh… not all humans have, um, tattoos.”

Bruce huffs again, crossing arms once more. “Barbarian it is. Getting markings signify maturity. Obviously, humans without them aren’t mature.” Bruce gives Clark a pointed look.

“No, we-” Clark starts but cuts himself off, giving up. “Look, I need to treat your wounds.”

“There’s no need for that. They are healing just fine on their own,” Bruce states. The merman is flapping his black tail impatiently when suddenly it bumps a bath bomb that had been placed on the side of the tub, into the water. Bruce watches it as the thing sinks to the bottom of the water and starts dispersing into a pink mess. The man sniffs the air. “What is that?” Bruce sniffs again. “Why does it smell so… strange.”

“It’s a,” Clark goes to reach into the water to take the bath bomb out before the whole thing disintegrates, “bath bomb. It’s used to add some flare into the water.”

Bruce slaps Clark’s hand away. “Don’t you dare reach into the water near my tail.” Clark baulks. “You land dwellers are strange beings. Why do you want to change your water? Do you know-” Bruce cuts off. “My tail feels weird.” The merman reaches down and starts to scratch at the black scales. “What the hell is in that thing?” Bruce demands.

“I…” Clark flounders, not knowing what to do. “You must be allergic to it.” When Bruce growls at him and gives Clark a death glare, he quickly reaches over and starts draining the tub.

Bruce watches the water go down, eyeing the drain with suspicion. “You know this dumps into my home, right?” Clark clears his throat, turning on the faucet to cold in order to start washing the bath bomb off Bruce’s tail. “No comment?”

“I’m not the one who does the plumbing,” Clark explains. Bruce’s tail slaps Clark in the face and Clark rolls with it. “Was that really necessary!”

Bruce’s eyes narrow on him. “You’re not hurt.”

“I have tough skin,” Clark retorts, feeling annoyed.

“Merpeople have tough skin. Humans don’t,” Bruce grumbles.

With a tired sigh, Clark grabs a sponge to work over Bruce’s tail, not bothering to elaborate. Bruce looks at it. “Touch my tail and you’ll get more than just a slap in the face.”

Clark stares at him. “You’re mean.”

Bruce yanks the sponge out of Clark’s hand and inspects it. “What the hell is this?”

“Uh…”

Bruce’s eyes narrow. “Why does this thing look like the sponges in the ocean?” The merman’s eyes then widen, looking up at Clark gapingly. “You murderer!”

Clark takes the sponge back. “What! It’s not-” Clark pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s not a real sponge. It’s made from plastic.”

“Plastic?” Clark can hear the judgement in Bruce’s voice. The merman huffs. “I don’t want that abhorrent thing on my scales. Do you have a pumice stone?”

Clark blinks at the man. “Um… no?”

Bruce huffs again and then mumbles under his breath, “Definitely barbarians.”

“Well then, I’ll just… get cleaning,” Clark says, reaching down and starting to wipe the sponge over Bruce’s black scales.

He’s slapped in the face again for his efforts, this time with a fist. “I told you not to touch my tail.” Bruce takes the sponge back roughly and starts scrubbing not so gently over the scales.

Clark rubs at his cheek. “Sorry.” Clark kneels there watching as Bruce rubs. At one particular spot, however, Bruce flinches back and then red trickles down Bruce’s tail. “You opened one of your wounds back up again. Let me see.”

“That’s because there’s not enough salt in this Rumjir-forsaken water,�� Bruce grumbles, handing the sponge back.

“Well, I am so sorry that I don’t have salt water on hand.” Clark reaches down and starts cleansing the scales gently. “My bad. Next time, I’ll make sure to carry some buckets back with me too.” This earns Clark Bruce rolling those sky-blue eyes. They do this in silence for a few seconds before Clark asks, “Rumjir?”

“He’s our god, the god of the ocean,” Bruce informs.

Clark nods absently, focusing on cleaning Bruce’s tail. It’s swelling a little from the reaction to the bath bomb and Clark worries. “I thought Poseidon was the god of the ocean?”

Bruce shakes his head. “I’ve never heard of this Poseidon. Don’t equate human things to merpeople things.” Bruce then glances around the room, not giving Clark a chance to respond. “What is up with this room?”

Clark looks over at the merman. “Excuse me?”

“Your wall has pictures of anchors and life preservers on it. There’s even boats in places.” Clark glances around his bathroom, eyeing the wallpaper. Bruce is glaring again. "Those anchors destroy the coral reefs."

“I… don’t use anchors.” Bruce huffs at Clark’s statement. “It’s just wallpaper anyway. It’s not hurting anyone.”

“It’s hurting the ocean,” Bruce states. Then those blue eyes are glaring at him suspiciously instead of the wall. “I hope you recycle.”

“Of course, I do!” Clark crosses his arms, sponge dripping onto the already wet floor.

“Well at least there’s one thing you haven’t screwed up,” Bruce grumbles and Clark takes a calming breath, feeling his annoyance start boiling again. “But then there’s the trash issue,” Bruce continues, grumbling next, “Got my tail stuck in a diaper once.”

“I’m… sorry?” Clark says because he’s not really sure what he is supposed to say.

Bruce’s eyes snap to him. “You should be sorry. You’re ruining the ocean.”

Clark uncurls his arms from his chest, placing his balled-up hands on his hips. “I’m not ruining the ocean, but humanity is.”

“And don’t even get me started on the dwindling fish population,” Bruce mumbles, as if not hearing Clark at all.

“Fish population?” Clark comments, mostly to himself. He thinks back to his profession as a fisher and huffs, his annoyance rising with the man he is trying to mend. Reaching over to the cabinet under his sink, he opens the door and pulls out a rubber ducky. It was gag gift to him from the Daily Pescetarian’s owner, Perry White. He tries to hand it over to Bruce, knowing that it will most likely irritate the merman. “Here.”

Bruce takes it and investigates it, pressing it down and squeezing it. “More plastic?” Bruce chucks the duck at Clark’s face and the toy bounces off. “We get plenty of this material in the ocean. It kills everything!” Bruce’s eyes roam up and down Clark’s body. “You should write all the things I’m telling you down. I'm sure your human brain isn't big enough to remember how much you've screwed everything up.”

“Right,” Clark says sarcastically. “I’ll just go get my pad of paper and pen. Or would you rather me use a rock and chisel so not to pollute the ocean?”

Bruce waves a hand. “If you must, the rock and chisel will do.”

Clark growls and stands. “You’re vexing.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “And you’re living proof land dwellers can live without a brain, but sometimes we have to settle for what the tide brings.” Bruce’s tail flexes as Clark clenches his jaw in irritation. “For example, this contraption you’ve stuck me in is way too small, this room is also very tiny, you waste water that pollutes my home, and,” Bruce grabs the body wash, opening the cap to sniff it, “what the heck is this?” The merman holds it up for Clark to see. “You rub chemicals all over yourself? What kind of creatures are you?”

“Wait a minute,” Clark starts, kneeling again and turning on the tap in order to fill the tub once more. He won’t be able to add salt this time and hopes Bruce doesn’t notice. The merman probably will, however. “Just an hour ago, I didn’t even know merpeople existed. If you’re confused about humans, then I’m so much more confused about you.”

Bruce huffs and turns away from Clark, waiting for the tub to fill. At least the man’s tail is now looking better. “You land dwellers always believe you are superior to us ocean dwellers.”

Clark frowns, not really knowing how to respond to such a comment. It’s not true that Clark considers himself better than anyone, whether they live on land or in the ocean, but he isn’t sure how to get that across to the merman that is currently in his tub, glaring at the water. Instead he watches Bruce’s body and eyes at all the wounds. There are scars that he had missed seeing before when tending to the man. Now that he can sit back in leisure, he notices them prominently.

Sighing, Clark begins a new topic, hoping to quell the merman. “Can I ask you something?” Bruce says nothing, continuing to study the water with disgust. “Why were you hurt?” Still, Bruce says nothing. “You don’t want to tell me?” Clark pushes.

Bruce’s arms cross. “It’s none of your business,” the merman mumbles. Clark stays silent and Bruce eyes him curiously. Then those blue eyes roll in their sockets, Bruce relenting. “Bottom feeders.”

Clark raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Bottom feeders? As in criminals?” Bruce nods. “There are mermaid criminals?”

“Merpeople,” Bruce says pointedly. “Don’t be sexist.”

Clark blinks at him. “...Right.”

Bruce turns and makes eye contact with him, shrugging. “I’m normally pretty good at taking down the bottom feeder scum but this particular group had Atlanteans with them.”

“Atlanteans?” Clark asks. “As in from Atlantis?”

Bruce rolls his eyes once more. “Yes, of course. What else would I be talking about? Don’t be stupid. Keep up.”

“Right, my bad.” Clark clears his throat, trying to not let the insult get to him like last time. “So, why were you fighting criminals? Are you a merman cop or something?”

“Or something,” is Bruce’s answer and the merman doesn’t elaborate on what that means. Bruce’s eyes become downcast, studying the floor of the bathroom. “You humans help the bottom feeders thrive by polluting our water. They prosper on anything on the ocean floor. So, anything bad for our home that goes down there, it has an impact, for better or for worse. The sea life that is responsible for keeping the ocean clean and healthy are overworked and can’t keep up. The land dwellers’ population continues to grow while ours continues to dwindle. Innocents die because of the plastic and waste of humans.”

Clark stares at Bruce in dismay. “I… didn’t know that.” He knew that humans were polluting the water and that it was killing the marine life. All he had to do was look at his average catch of the day and watch it lower and lower in count, to know the kind of impact polluting has. He just never realized there were actually living, sentient beings with their own population and villages that were being affected as well. “I’m sorry about what the humans are doing to your people.”

Bruce side eyes him when Clark mentions humans, not looking angry but instead hesitant and wary. “What did you mean earlier when you said that you have tough skin?”

Clark smiles at Bruce and looks at his watch. He stands. “I’m sorry, Bruce, but I have to get to work. I’m already late opening up.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow. “You sell fish?” Clark tilts his head in question. “That’s why you were out on the water, right?”

“If you’re going to lecture me about the fish population again, there’s no need.” Clark picks up his soiled shirt. “I already understand.” He reaches over and turns off the faucet. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Bruce’s demeanor changes almost instantly to anger. “You’re going to just leave me here?”

Clark pretends to think about it, smiling smugly at the merman, and shrugs. “Bye.” He walks out of the room, ignoring Bruce yelling profanities at him.

Clark heads towards his bedroom in order to pick out a new shirt to wear. He’s not really sure what he is going to do at the shop today. He has no fish to sell except the few buckets he had frozen just in case he ran out of stock for today. After putting on a new shirt and with a heavy, tired sigh, Clark walks out back. He opens his freezer, taking out the buckets full of frozen fish. They will begin to thaw on his way to the fish stand, since it’s a good fifteen minute walk from his house, but luckily they won’t be completely melted so he’ll have time to add them to the coolers.

When he gets to the stand, Clark sees a familiar face and groans. “Kent!” Lois calls as he approaches.

Clark sets the buckets down with an exhale. He doesn’t really want to deal with Lois today. “Hey, Lois.” He begins adding the thawing fish to the coolers.

Lois eyes him. “You’re late opening today. You’re never late.”

“I got caught up with something.” Lois’ eyes narrow at him. “And no, I’m not going to talk about it,” he adds quickly. When he is done relocating all the fish, he turns over the closed sign to the side that says open. “Do you need another article for the Daily Pescetarian?”

Lois’ lips are pursed with suspicion. “No, I just came to see how you were doing. Why did you need your extra stock? The fish weren’t biting this morning?”

Clark sighs. “I didn’t have an opportunity to get out into the water.” One of Lois’ eyebrows rises. “Something came up.”

“And let me guess?” Lois says, leaning over the coolers to inspect the fish. “You’re not going to tell me what it was.”

Clark shakes his head. “It’s really nothing that important, Lois.”

“But something important enough to keep you from fishing and opening the market on time,” the woman points out. “Clark Kent, I never pegged you as someone who could end up being unreliable.”

“I’m not unreliable, I just-” he starts but Lois starts chuckling.

“I’m only teasing, Kent.” She gives him a warm smile. “I know people can always count on you.” Lois looks at her watch. “Shoot, I have to go. Perry is going to fire me if I’m late again.” She waves as she starts walking away. “Bye, Clark!”

Clark waves back at her, forcing a smile. “Bye.”

When Lois is out of sight, Clark takes a deep breath and falls back into his chair. That was close. He’s going to have to be careful or else Lois will start sniffing around where Clark doesn’t want her. The last thing he needs is for Lois to find out he’s hiding a merman in his bathroom and then write up an article in the Daily Pescetarian about mystical mermaids. That would make his and Bruce’s life unnecessarily complicated. It’s best to just keep the whole thing quiet.

The rest of the day runs smoothly until Clark finally runs out of fish, except for two he keeps, by mid-afternoon. He’s going to lose profits because of it, but he really doesn’t have a choice. Walking home as fast as he can without using his powers, he makes it back to his house in record time. Instead of heading to the bathroom, he heads to his kitchen and starts up the gas stove, putting a pan on top of it. Then, he begins to prepare the two fish he had saved.

Using his super hearing, Clark focuses on the bathroom as he cooks. He can hear Bruce’s even breaths, almost as if the merman is sleeping. Clark wonders how often the man is able to sleep without interruption. If Bruce is out fighting crime, does that mean he does it in whatever the equivalent to night time is down in the ocean? Clark doesn’t know but he suspects that either way, Bruce doesn’t get much sleep no matter what.

When the food is done cooking, Clark dishes it carefully onto two plates and then heads upstairs and to the bathroom. He enters with a wide smile, greeting the merman happily. “Hey!” Bruce startles awake, splashing more water onto the floor. “I brought some food.”

Bruce eyes the plate as Clark holds it out. “Is that… fish?”

“Yes.” Clark sets Bruce’s plate down on the edge of the tub and then sits down on the toilet. He grabs his fork and begins to eat.

Bruce is still eyeing the food. “Are you insane?”

Clark almost chokes, coughing to clear the food out of his throat. “I’m sorry, what?”

Bruce looks like he is going to throw up. “Merpeople don’t eat fish.” Clark’s eyes dart to the plate in front of Bruce. “We only eat plant life.”

“You’re a vegetarian?” Clark asks, astonished. He hadn’t been expecting that.

Bruce closes his eyes. “I’m sorry that your life had to come to a premature end. May Rumjir watch over you, little one.” Bruce opens his eyes and glares deadly at Clark. “How dare you take such an innocent life.”

“I…” Clark gapes, lost for words. He hangs his head. “I’m sorry.” Clark looks up and sees that Bruce’s eyebrows are furrowed. “I should have been more considerate of you and asked what you eat.”

Bruce is staring at him. Finally, the merman turns his head away. “Whatever.”

Clark is about to sigh in defeat, thinking he had ruined all his chances with the man, when he notices something peculiar. Bruce’s tail starts to shimmer yellow. “Your tail.”

Bruce’s eyes dart in the direction of his tail and when the merman sees what is happening, his cheeks alight in flames. Clark raises an eyebrow and Bruce’s blush travels down the merman’s torso as Bruce starts rubbing a hand down the scales, muttering, “Stupid tail.”

“Um, Bruce,” Clark starts, amusement building in his chest. “Why is your tail changing color?” It couldn’t mean what Clark thinks it means. After all, Clark knows a lot about fish but pretty much nothing about merpeople. Clark knows fish change color to attract a mate. Certainly, merpeople didn’t do the same thing. Did they?

Bruce scowls at Clark, splashing the water all over the place. “It’s no reason,” Bruce snaps in response.

The edges of Clark’s mouth pull upwards and he sits down on the tub. “You know, I’m very logical in fish and their behaviors.”

“Are you?” Bruce says. “I hadn’t noticed through all your stupidity.”

“I’m going to ignore that insult for now,” Clark states, smiling at the merman. “One thing I learned about fish through my studying for my job, is the fact that some fish change colors when they are trying to attract a mate.” Bruce’s face turns into a deeper red. Clark shrugs. “That wouldn’t happen to occur with merpeople as well, would it?”

Bruce throws the sponge at Clark’s face and Clark blinks as the water splashes all over his face and down his shirt. “Of course, not, idiot!” Bruce huffs, crossing arms again. “Don’t be so ridiculous. Obviously, this is a reaction to that water dissolving thing.”

“Bath bomb,” Clark says.

“Yeah, whatever.” Bruce waves it away, hand flopping back and forth in front of Clark’s face. Bruce huffs again. “As if I would be attracted to you, a moronic land dweller.” Clark tries to hold back a smile. Bruce is looking very petulant right now. “Not in a million years.”

Clark chuckles and Bruce glares at him. Clark sits back against the wall, watching Bruce’s tail continue to turn an iridescent yellow as the merman continues to ignore it while the red of the blush Bruce is sporting travels down Bruce’s chest. He decides to change the subject for now, having mercy on the flustered man. “So, how long do you live for anyway?”

Bruce’s eyes travel to the side to peer at Clark. “Longer than a human.”

Clark nods. “So, do I.” One of Bruce’s eyebrows rises and Clark shrugs at seeing it. “You asked me why my skin is so tough. It’s because I’m not human.” Bruce’s eyes narrow, the man giving Clark full attention now. “I’m an alien and I have super powers.”

“Yeah, right,” Bruce says, sounding disbelieving. “And I’m friends with the Loch Ness Monster.”

Clark laughs slightly. “No, really I am. I can prove it too.” Clark crosses his legs and then begins to float. He looks over at Bruce to gauge the merman’s reaction but there is none. Only continued suspicion. With a silent sigh, Clark lands back down. “See?”

Bruce’s face softens a little. “An alien, huh?” Clark nods. “And you can fly-”

“Among other powers,” Clark inputs.

“Uh huh,” Bruce hums. “You have all these powers and you choose to be a fisherman in a,” Bruce’s eyes travel around the room, a look of disgust on the merman’s face, “dilapidated, ratty, run-down, unsightly house?”

“There’s no need to use four adjectives to insult my house, is there?” Clark mutters under his breath.

Bruce continues, not acknowledging Clark’s words. “You could do anything and you choose this?”

Clark shrugs. “What else am I supposed to do? I need a way to support myself.”

Bruce looks around the room again. “It doesn’t look like you’re supporting yourself.” The merman points at part of the wallpaper that is tearing off the wall. “Even the wallpaper doesn’t like itself.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t like it,” Clark mumbles and Bruce ignores him.

“You could use your powers to get somewhere in life, Clark.” Clark’s eyes snap up from looking at the floor to peer at Bruce. It’s the first time the merman has said Clark’s name. “What do you use your powers for?”

Clark shrugs again. “I don’t use them.” Bruce’s brows furrow. “I hide them mostly.” Now Bruce’s eyes are narrowed and Clark sighs. “Think of it this way. If humans found out that I was hiding out a merman in my bathtub, the government would be here within the hour to take you away and study you.” Bruce’s face slowly softens. “They would do the same to me. Humans don’t know we exist, Bruce, and I would like to keep it that way. For the safety of us both.”

Bruce’s lips thin and he studies Clark. Then, the man finally asks, “What other powers do you have?” Clark looks away from the merman as he begins to list them out. He tells Bruce all the ones he knows of and he can feel Bruce’s eyes boring into the side of his head in concentration. “I see,” Bruce says once Clark is finished. “So even though you could single handedly take out the government, you’re still afraid of them.”

“What if they find a way to capture me or kill me?” Clark asks, looking Bruce in the eyes.

“Aren’t you curious about where you came from?” Bruce asks.

“Well, yeah but-” Clark begins, getting cut off.

“Then you should find out,” Bruce states, running a hand down his tail that has started to shine more yellow. “I just think you can’t do that without revealing yourself.”

“Why not?” Clark inquires. “I’ve been sneaky so far.”

“No,” Bruce retorts. “You’ve been hiding. There’s a difference.” Bruce’s eyes squint at Clark, evaluating him. “So far, all you’ve been is a coward who is hiding behind an excuse. You could be doing so much good with your powers yet instead you choose to be selfish in your own unfounded fears.” Clark opens his mouth to respond but Bruce doesn’t let him, continuing on. “Finding out where you are from can help you learn to utilize your powers for the better and, in turn, use those powers to help people.” Bruce is looking at Clark with an enraged glare. “That’s what you should be doing. Not living in an eyesore, selling fish and barely making enough money to live off of.”

Clark frowns, not meeting Bruce’s eyes. “You want me to be some kind of superhero?”

“I want you to stop being a selfish coward!” Bruce yells and flinches at his own slip of self-restraint.

Clark’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. He looks up at the merman. “Why does it matter so much to you? You don’t seem too highly keen on humans.”

Bruce doesn’t answer right away, staring at Clark instead. Then, finally, “Because down in the ocean, it’s not just clear waters and coral reefs all day.” Bruce looks away. “There are bad people down there, Clark. Crime and wars, poverty and illness. I fight those, every night, just to try and make my people safe, to make them just feel a little safer. I don’t have powers that could help me.” Bruce snaps his eyes back to Clark. “You do and you do nothing with them.”

“I…” Clark trails off, suddenly feeling guilty. Bruce is right, in a way. He has all these powers and instead of taking advantage of them to protect people and the world, he pretends to be a normal human being that can’t do a thing to help. Clark hangs his head. “I’m sorry.”

There’s silence that makes its way between the two for a long moment before Bruce begins speaking again. “It’s not too late to change it.”

Clark smiles a little, peering over at Bruce. “No, I guess it’s not.” Clark lifts his head, smile growing bigger. “Thank you, for showing me better.”

The blush is back on Bruce’s cheeks and the merman’s tail turns a bright iridescent yellow. Bruce turns away huffily. “Idiot,” the merman mumbles and Clark’s smile widens.

To save Bruce from any more embarrassment, Clark moves on. “Are the merpeople at war with the Atlanteans?”

Bruce sighs. “It’s a war that has been going on for years. It’s bloody and horrific.”

Clark swallows, not really wanting to know the answer to his next question. “Who is winning?”

Bruce’s face turns sullen. “Atlanteans.”

Clark’s shoulders slump even though he had been expecting that answer. “I’m sorry, Bruce.”

Bruce nods gloomily. “There’s nothing you can do, Clark. There’s no need for you to be sorry.”

“Maybe someday I will be able to do something,” Clark says.

Bruce huffs a small laugh. “Atlanteans hate land dwellers even more than merpeople. There will never be anything you could do.”

“Are…” Clark starts, pausing to take a deep breath. “Are you in danger from them?”

Bruce smiles at him. “Clark, I put my life on the line every night. It’s not just them I’m in danger of.”

“But when I found you, it was because of Atlanteans.” Bruce nods and Clark continues. “What if I don’t find you next time?”

Bruce crosses his arms, raising one eyebrow. “You plan on making this a habit?”

This time it’s Clark’s turn to blush. “No, no, of course not.” He chuckles awkwardly and Bruce smirks at him. “I just meant…” Clark trails off, sighing. “You were very badly injured when I found you and if I hadn’t of found you… you would have died, Bruce.” Clark licks his lips. “I don’t want you to die.”

Bruce’s smile eases slightly, getting less teasing and getting fonder. “Don’t get soft on me now, land dweller.”

Clark huffs a laugh, his own affectionate smile directed at Bruce. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Clark takes a deep breath and stands. “It’s getting late. We should try resting.” Clark examines Bruce’s tail with his eyes and a heavy feeling forms in his chest at seeing the wounds almost fully healed, knowing he’ll have to say goodbye to the man soon. “It looks like you’ll be able to go back to the ocean tomorrow.”

Bruce glances down at the black tail that just won’t stop shimmering yellow. “I was actually kind of hoping you would bring me back tonight.”

Clark’s heart jumps. “Oh!” Clark had hoped to have a bit more time with the merman. He is growing fond of Bruce, despite all the insults that were hurled his way and Clark feels as if he and Bruce could get along well if given the chance. “You should eat first, shouldn’t you? I’m sure I have something here that will be deemed edible by you.”

Bruce huffs playfully. “I’m not counting on it.” They both chuckle and when they’ve finally settled down, they smile at each other tenderly. Bruce sighs, looking off to the side. “I can eat something once I’m back in the ocean.”

Clark’s heart falls but he doesn’t show it. “Okay.” Clark bends over and picks Bruce up out of the bathtub, Bruce slinging arms around Clark’s neck to hold on to.

The flight back to the ocean is made in silence and Clark tries to go as slow as possible without it being obvious. He’s sure Bruce notices anyway but the merman doesn’t complain. Clark brings Bruce back to the spot he found the man in. They both look down at the water, the moon shining off it in ripples. Clark doesn’t let go right away, wishing he had just a bit more time with the merman. But eventually he knows he has to set Bruce back into the sea and say his farewells.

“Hey,” Bruce gets Clark’s attention. “Wait here.” Then Bruce dives out of his arms, the man being more slippery than Clark had anticipated. He doesn’t know how long he waits but it feels like several minutes as he watches the moon crawl across the night sky. After what seems like forever, Bruce’s head finally breaks the surface. The merman holds up a hand, clasping something. “Take this.” Clark reaches down and retrieves it, examining it closer. It’s a type of shell with brown, tan, and gold stripes. “It’s a fulgurator olive shell,” Bruce informs him.

“It’s… beautiful,” Clark comments. “You’re giving it to me?”

Bruce nods once. “You know, you could put it on a shelf or, if you get someone skilled enough, you could,” the merman shrugs nonchalantly, “possibly make it into a necklace.”

Clark stares at Bruce in wonder. “Thank you.”

Bruce’s cheeks are red again and he gestures for Clark to come closer. Clark does and Bruce jumps halfway out of the water, kissing Clark on the cheek. “Thank you for saving me.”

Clark reaches up to his own flushed cheek, placing a hand where Bruce had kissed him. “Y-You’re welcome.”

Bruce nods once again and then starts swimming backwards. “I’ll see you around.” Clark says nothing, stunned. Bruce clears his throat. “Don’t forget about the dwindling fish population, land dweller.” Bruce then backflips back under the water, tail showing off the bright iridescent yellow as the merman disappears from sight.

Clark smiles after Bruce, his chest feeling warm and the shell held carefully next to his heart.

A/N: Thanks for reading and again, happy holidays everyone!!

#superbatsecretsanta2017 #DC Comics #SuperBat #Superman #Batman #Clark Kent #Kal El #Bruce Wayne #Catch of the Day #My Fanfiction #SuperBat Secret Santa 2017 #sfw

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bxxpbxxprichie · 6 years

Note

*to the tune of we will rock you* I NEED PART SIX RIGHT NOW

HALLA This is the final part of ED fic. I’m really glad so many people came on this journey with me, and I hope you guys still like the final part. Fingers crossed!

Part ONE / TWO / THREE / FOUR / FIVE / SIX

“He should wake up soon. The midazolam could wear off completely any moment. In any case, it could’ve worn off already, but his body might still be tired.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

There was a tinge of pain in his stomach that pulled terribly when he lifted his arm to rub his eyes. He didn’t make it that far, before someone grabbed his hand and pulled it back down.

“Don’t move too much. You’ll pull your stitches.” The voice was watery, as if they’d been crying. He didn’t know who it was.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and squinted against the blaring lights. A soft sniffle caught his attention and he turned to look, his automatic response being to make a joke, but his throat was too dry, and slightly sore.

He licked his lips, his tongue getting stuck to the bottom one for a moment before trying again.

“No, just rest. Ma’s going to get the doctor.”

He still didn’t know what was going on, but he remained silent and waited. He couldn’t remember the last thing that had happened, really. He felt that he couldn’t remember anything.

A short woman with dark hair and almond colored skin stepped into the room with a bright white smile and a styrofoam cup in hand, complete with a bendy straw that had a red stripe running down the side. She pressed the button to lift his back up, before handing over the cup.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. I am Doctor Royce. Is it okay if I ask you a few questions before I start answering yours?” She asked.

He nodded, sipping generously from the straw.

“Great,” Her smile seemed to only get wider as she lifted a clipboard and drew a pen from her coat pocket. “Can you tell me your name?”

He paused, his head cocking slightly to one side as he thought it over. Things were still pretty muffled up in his head, but he knew he had a name at least. His mouth moved, lips pursing in a soft o shape, and his tongue touching the roof of his mouth as if automatic. “Errr-” Came from his lips, which sparked something. “Richie. Richard Tozier.”

“Good. Can you tell me a few of your friends names?”

Richie sniffed in response, his head turning to the boy clutching his hand tightly. He recognized him, definitely.

“Stanley Uris,” He finally said, before turning back to her. “Except he’s my boyfriend.”

Stan squeezed his hand tighter.

“Bill Denbrough, Beverly Marsh...Mike Hanlon, Ben Hanscom, and Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“Thank you. Now that we’ve established your memory is working well enough, you’re free to ask any questions you have.”

Richie cleared his throat a bit, and nodded, “Well, I guess I’d like to know why I’m in the hospital...and how long I’ve been here.”

“We were eating dinner,” Stan piped up, “And you just fell over. You were holding your stomach and crying so we called an ambulance.”

“It’s a very good thing they did. Stanley here filled us in with the fact that you are anorexic. It’s very hard to start eating again after you haven’t for a long time. You ate too much, and it ripped a small hole in your stomach. Small enough that we could save you, but others are not so lucky.” Doctor Royce had lowered the clip board to her side. “You’ve been here for about two weeks. We put you in a medically induced coma to allow your body to heal. We’ve also got a diet plan put together for you once you leave so we wont have this situation again.”

Richie nodded, although very slowly. He’d almost died. He realized that. But it wasn’t all his fault. Sure, maybe he could’ve tried harder to get food most days, but...

He couldn’t play the blame game here.

“You are seventeen, correct?”

Richie looked up at her, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Your parents are in custody at the moment for what they have done to you. Depending on what their sentencing is depends on where you will be staying. For now, the Denbrough’s are going to foster you.”

Richie didn’t know how to feel about that, exactly. He and Bill weren’t on the best terms on one hand, but on the other he was happy to get out of his own house. He was happy they were being generous.

A few days later, Richard Tozier was walking down the steps of the hospital and getting into his foster family’s car. He and Bill made up rather quickly, which Richie was happy about. He was currently residing in the guest bedroom of the Denbrough house, but he didn’t know for how long.

Margret and Wentworth Tozier were charged with class 3 felonies on multiple accounts of child neglect. They will both serve five years in prison.

After finding this out, the Denbrough’s continued fostering Richie up until he was 18, in which case he just stayed there until graduation.

On the topic of Richie and Eddie, Richie apologized to the shorter male profusely after telling the truth. Eddie had been pissed, but then had also tried to kiss him, reading the whole situation wrong. Richie and Eddie still aren’t on the best terms, but they’re civil.

Richie and Stan on the other hand are about to move into an apartment together in Bangor. They decided to stay local for college, rather than separating off. Bangor Community offered programs for both of them, anyhow, so they might as well stay.

Was it mentioned that Richie bought Stan a parakeet for his birthday? No? Well he did. Stan lovingly named the parakeet Claude, and in turn got Richie a fish for their anniversary. Richie named the fish Toast.

Happiness oozed from Richie Tozier’s pores for years and years to come.

FIN

#richie tozier #stanley uris #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #stan uris #stozier #multifandomimaginings

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eri-223 · 6 years

Text

HZD: Winter’s Bargain Chapter 1

Read here on AO3. Rescued by Aloy and now under the watchful eye of the Carja court's many spies, Sylens reluctantly helps put Meridian back together after the attack on the Spire. Someone seems to want to keep the Carja nervous, and Sylens needs to find out whether they're an enemy or an ally. The one with Marad’s spy shenanigans. Aloy/Sylens, 2300 words.

He must have been thrown onto the ice.

That would explain the hard surface underneath him, the concussed confusion as his eyesight blurred. Shamans stood over him, songs distorted behind heavy wire-and-cloth headsets. Their voices cracked and reverberated. Sylens had done something terribly wrong. Of that he was certain. The tribe had decreed this cold vengeance for what he had done.

Aloy said, “If I had known you were the person who needed rescuing, I wouldn’t have come.”

Sylens opened his eyes.

Red desert dust caked his hands, the orange blankets in front of him, and Aloy’s jacket. Heat washed off her. It felt like the desert sun, but something metallic too, like the HADES unit. She looked more muscular than he remembered, heavier, as if she had been given gravitas by her conquests.

The red-and-gold battlement walls around him looked Carja. Not ice at all; heat and heavy blankets covered him. There were more people in the room than he had seen in months, more than he cared to see. Three masked guards were arranged behind Aloy like nervous Watchers. They were extraneous, a sign of a nervous sovereign. Aloy could have attacked him while he was asleep if she had wanted. The guards did serve to partially hide a man dressed in the lighter finery of a Carja noble, who waited patiently beside the closed wooden door.

Until now, Sylens had imagined that he could have walked through Meridian at almost any time unobserved; although his markings might be memorable, most people who knew his face were dead. In the course of their business he and Bahavas had met once at a shrine near the edge of the city and once in the holy circle near the apex. On other days, he had gone to the markets on the outskirts with his arms and head covered, to forestall questions from Carja who found Banuk memorable.

He had certainly never been here before.

“Why did you bring me to the palace?”

Aloy ignored the guards as surely as Sylens had done. “You were hurt. Do you remember the Vantage near the prison?”

The prison? Ah, she meant the one in the Sundom. Sylens still had a feeling that exile should be cold. Maybe that was why the avalanche-prone cliffs of the Alpha site had sometimes been a comfort. Now, though, the palette of his life was not blue and white but shades of green.

He had had months wandering in deserts to disprove his fear of the cold, not to mention the time spent here, in the humid forest. The idea had never departed, though. When he had been a child he had seen an exile taken onto the ice, the shamans singing in praise to the justice of the rime. The man had been half-mad with poison, but he had been alive enough to weakly struggle.

That wasn’t what Aloy was talking about, though. “Yes, of course I remember. The Vantages are made to be difficult, and this one was no different.” The cache up in the mountains would have been a good place for a relay signal. Not an essential part of the plan, but something in him had wanted to take a journey that long. He needed to stretch his legs, to ride without needing to go anywhere. Maybe, he needed to look at the mesa and wonder whether Aloy was in Meridian.

“Someone yelled. It turned out to be you. Avad’s people wrapped your arm, but it will take a long time for the bruises to heal.”

“You brought me to Meridian?” He lowered his voice, both for their secrets and because he was angry. Afraid, too; he doubted that Carja justice was any kinder than Ban-Ur’s.

Aloy nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. She knew it was a weighted decision.

“Foolish. I suppose I should thank you for saving my life, but I didn’t think you had any particular love for this city.” Sylens sighed. She might have saved his life. It had been a careless fall, and now that the tattered dreams were clearing, his left arm ached fiercely.

Instead of asking anything further, Aloy turned away fast, the beads in her hair jangling against the metal sewn into her clothing. “Let me talk to him alone,” she said, talking through the guards to the nobleman still half out of sight behind them.

“A minute, no longer.” The man had a clipped voice full of confidence. It sounded familiar, but Sylens had intentionally stayed out of bloody Carja court politics when he was luring Bahavas and the other members of the gang that would become the Eclipse. The king had only mattered as much as Helis’ revenge demanded he did.

Aloy nodded. Sylens sat up as the guards walked out, leaving him with a better view of the single door in the little tower room and the bench on which they had placed him. Aloy folded her arms, looked like she considered sitting down and then decided against it.

“There were bandits near the Vantage,” Sylens said. “Some of them caught me on the cliff and must have fled when you came. I did not just fall off the ledge.”

Aloy smirked, did not directly reply. “I haven’t told Avad and Marad who you are,” she said.

“And why not?”

“You gave me the tools I needed to defeat HADES. And out last conversation was … unusually civil. Now we’re even.”

Sylens chuckled. She didn’t know that the spear had included the virus a virus that was meant to send a version of HADES, caged again, back to his new hideout. There was something appealingly reasonable about the exchange of debt, though. Hadn’t they all been paying the debts of the Old Ones, all this time? Hadn’t humanity deserved what it got, for Faro’s sin of erasing APOLLO? Sylens wasn’t sure. Aloy, though, was the only other person likely to understand any of that at all.

“In fact, that’s why I was in the forest in the first place, setting up relays. If we could use Eclipse equipment to speak to HADES, we could learn so much more,” he said.

Aloy was taken aback. “You’re just … telling me that? You trust me with that? Did it not occur to you what HADES did last time? Did you want to do that again?”

“I was in the desert. I thought that if the Faro robots rose up out of the ground it would be a terrible loss but at least I wouldn’t be around to see civilizations destroyed again.” He shifted, found that his arm ached only slightly less if he tucked it against his side. “We make scant few pieces of information now. For them to be consumed again …”

“But now you’re telling me you want to do that exact same thing again.”

“No. Not to unleash it. To control it. To talk to it, as you talked to GAIA. With the spear, with the Alpha Override, I think we could do it.”

“I was here.”

“What?”

“I was here, in Meridian, when the world almost ended. You know that. I would have had to watch innocent people die, not just myself. I will not face that again if I can prevent it with my own hands.”

“Exactly! Exactly.” Sylens sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. It didn’t hurt to move that far. How had she carried him here? Drugged with hintergold, on the back of a Strider? “Aloy, if we learn what HADES has to tell us we can find out more about the kind of technology that created GAIA in the first place.”

“I can still work with GAIA, in the Nora lands.” She uncrossed her arms, sat heavily down on the side of the couch where his legs had been.

“Then you understand the knowledge they both could give us.”

“I heard the recordings. Quantum processing, was that the one? That’s what you would have destroyed us all for.”

“That is what I trust you with now. We could remake the Earth, Aloy.”

“I won’t allow it. The Kestrels won’t allow it.”

“I know. So I’ll help you. Whatever you’re working on here … I don’t doubt my knowledge of the city will help you.”

“Locked together by a bargain again. I’m beginning not to regret rescuing you, if this sort of fight results. Too few people …”

“Even though the world is at stake?”

“It won’t be. Because you won’t leave my sight.” She stood up. “This is good timing. Marad has me working on some things in the city. We can both stay out of trouble.”

“Good. You deserve a place as Avad’s investigator. You deserve Marad’s place as advisor, really.” It was a guess, based on the name she had used, but it was also honest. Sylens did not doubt that Aloy was more intelligent than any of the Carja courtiers.

Aloy pushed a sigh out in a loud burst. “I won’t tell them who you are. I’m saving that one for when I might need it.”

“To use against me? A good decision for both of us, I think.”

Aloy rapped on the inside of the door.

The guards hadn’t gone far. Almost immediately, the door opened and the man in the robes, the one Aloy had called Marad, walked in. Sylens carefully stood.

Aloy looked between them. “Sylens, this is Blameless Marad. Sylens helped me … prepare for the attack on the city.”

“Greetings. You come highly recommended, and Aloy … I’m sure you know how much she did for the city.”

Was he probing, wanting to know where Sylens was during the attack? Aloy had seemed to think everything would go smoothly. “Blameless. That’s a … notable name.”

“Is it? Some people certainly say so.”

“…Do they.”

“Right now, my advice is that Aloy consider her work,” Marad said. “After the attack, some people are rebuilding and others are taking advantage of the chaos. The Hunter’s Lodge has been taking in scared farmers. There’s plenty to do, if you want to help us while your friend recovers.”

Aloy did not hesitate. “Yes. I already know a few places where we could help out with supplies. The Nora have already left, but … like you said. Lots of refugees.”

“You know where to find me,” Marad spoke with clipped authority, like a teacher telling a child how far they were allowed to stray. When he went out, leaving the door open behind him, he conspicuously gestured for the guards to move out onto the next lower balcony, far enough that they could see the doorway but not so far that they were obviously watching the tower. Sylens watched him go. He had a feeling that Marad was more than an advisor; someone so effortlessly practiced at giving out no information at all was more likely a spymaster. Sylens could admit when he was outclassed — to himself, at least. Unfamiliar with the city as he was, Marad would be able to track him easily.

Aloy nodded at the door. She always looked ahead, didn’t she? Always forward.

“You’ll be able to stay here in the palace,” Aloy said, and led him out. “But I have work to do. Machines are all out of their usual territories after the attack.”

Years ago, Sylens would have thought that he might never walk the streets of Meridian again. He had little use for the city itself as long as he could lure people like Bahavas out of it. The chaos in the court had worked to his advantage. Now, Sun priests did not walk in bloody-minded procession but hunched their shoulders on their way to shamed and profaned alters. Sylens almost laughed at how unlikely it was that someone would recognize him. As soon as they crossed the bridge from the palace, people crowded them. Farmers from lands shelled and shredded during the attack, hunters who had made their way to the Spire to seek their fortune, and thrill-seekers now seeking no more than hot food and passage north thronged the streets.

People recognized Aloy, though.

Vendors called out to her, not to sell but to thank. She greeted some people with clasped hands and a nod toward the Hunter’s Lodge. “Tell Talanah I say hello.” Soon enough, though, Aloy found her own apartment door and opened it onto a large, cool room. Sylens shut the door behind him. The trap door on the left side of the room had recently been broken, and sharp pieces still stuck out from the edges of the stone passageway. Otherwise, the room was decorated in Carja finery.

“They gave me this place,” Aloy said bluntly, setting her bow and arrows down beside the door. She followed them with the spear Sylens had given her, and met his eyes. “The last owner is gone.”

“How convenient for you.”

“He was a complicated man.” She let the spear go, moved to sit on a cushioned bench beside it. “But now we have a chance to do more. Let me explain what we’re working on here.”

“Wait.You kept my secret, for now. The thing that could put me in greater danger than any other person in this city. You trust yourself with it. Why?” Sylens did not hesitate to be blunt.

She looked down. “Because we’re the only ones who know.” She stood, faced him furious. “If I told Avad that you had helped call HADES down on this city, they could kill you. I don’t know if Avad would, or if Marad would sway him. And then our last piece of information is gone, a lifetime worth of research. You’re wrong about so many things, Sylens, so very many. But you did the work. And I won’t see the only other person who understands that work destroyed.”

So fierce. So … he watched the line of her jaw as she tilted her face up toward him. The thin, white scar was barely visible from one side of her neck to the other, like a terrible smile.

He nodded. “And what is our work?”

“First, we’re going hunting.”

#Horizon Zero Dawn #writings #Aloy/Sylens #Aloy #Sylens #Blameless Marad

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mollymauk-teafleak · 7 years

Text

The Seal Lullaby: Chapter 12

Ao3 | My ko-fi

Thanks so much to everyone who gives me support and encouragement with this, especially my fantastically talented beta readers @minky-for-short and @childofdustandashes and my amazing friends @oversaturated-ocean @purearcticfire @brainypaperbullets @lookatvanessasface @arya-durin-51 @hollywoodx4 @kilocurican

Alex realised, as he watched his family grow, as he shifted through college applications with Philip and learned what certain times in the month not to touch Angie’s stuff without permission and to make sure the kitchen was well stocked with hot chocolate and kissed and murmured to Eliza’s belly every night, that he was never going to stop worrying about his kids. Whether he still had to change their diapers (which he was getting very good at doing one handed, saved time) and remind them with rain boot went on which foot or he stayed up until midnight pretending to Eliza and himself that he was really, really invested in this Civil War documentary so he could meet them coming in from their first high school party. Some of it was the kind of worries he heard the other parents talking about on the afternoons he’d spend leaning against the school railings, on his own, humans tended to avoid him when he didn’t have Eliza with him to wind her arm through his and help him feel like he belonged there. Something in his eyes, she reassured him one day when he was feeling sad about it, after he’d seen a few words passed between two of the younger moms less used to him, words even his ears couldn’t pick up but they came with hard lined mouths and raised eyebrows. Never a good sign. Eliza let him rest his head on her bump and stroked his hair and reassured him that it was just his eyes.

“You just look so…focused,” she’d smiled gently, leaning down and kissing his temple, “Like you’re thinking such deep thoughts. People just don’t want to interrupt you.”

That had made him feel a little better but still, as he waited for those of his kids too small to be trusted to walk home on their own (Philip elected to walk home on his own, Alex knew fine well, so he and Theo could go down to the beach and kiss) he couldn’t help but feel like he was eavesdropping without meaning to. Standing on the fringes like a badly cast extra in a play where he didn’t know half of his lines, someone shoved on from the wings and the last minute, shuffling his feet until little Johnny would come sprinting out with his too big backpack and Jamie’s eyes would brighten just from seeing his Pops across the yard and Alex would find his place in it all again.

Still, it was good to know part of his life sat somewhere on the axis of normalcy, that he could pretend, as he pulled his grey sweater closer around him even though the day was unusually warm for Oregon because the seawater in his blood made him cold, that he was a normal human man with a normal heartbeat and a social security number and a wedding certificate. Who had some job that didn’t involve pouring out his soul, where he sat in a cubicle and, what, looked at numbers? Went to meetings? Made mood boards? It was half unsettling, half stimulating to feel like that. It helped that the other parents around him were also fretting that their sons stayed up too late or their toddlers ate too much sugar or didn’t look where they were going when they crossed the road.

Though it never lasted long. It never could, not when the possibility of a life so different none of these people could even imagine it when their minds were at their freest lay just within his reach. Physically at least, mentally what was left of his skin might as well have been a threadbare cotton scarf from the back of a junk shop with no more magic than anything. Right now, the sound of two heartbeats sending bright red pearly blood in a healthy rush under Eliza’s skin, sounding like the sea itself, powerful and natural and very pregnant, was all he needed to satisfy his wanderlust.

The invisible but undeniable wound in reality that separated him and the mothers and grandparents and scant few fathers, in Alex’s opinion, was a peculiar thing. And none of them would ever know it.

How didn’t they see it?

But then he had to stop worrying about that, he only ever worried about things like that when he was alone and here were his boys, his AJ and Jamie and Johnny, sauntering and hurrying and sprinting respectively over to him though they all knew they had no choice about the huge hug from their Pops, regardless of their varying levels of enthusiasm.

Basic mathematics and simple facts of biology told him he couldn’t hold all of their hands as they walked home, as much as his heart ached to. So instead Johnny clung to his back, stroking his fingers, still adorably chubby with fading baby fat as his body lengthened and his proportions fell into place, through his dad’s hair. Babies always seemed to have a fascination with Alex’s soft dark hair, at the perfect length for grabbing.

Jamie held the hand of his dad’s that wasn’t weighed down with too many heavy schoolbags for a normal man his age to really carry but he lifted them easily. AJ opted out of the whole affair with a wrinkle of his nose, keeping a teenage respectable distance up ahead, though Alex’s quick, sharp eyes didn’t miss how his namesake stooped halfway along their meandering path home to pick up a smooth, palm sized rock of a somehow instantly calming slate grey, shot through with exposed veins of deep green sea glass where the endless churning of the waves had hurled two things never meant to mix into one beautiful object. Alex didn’t need to ask his son to know that the stone was for Angie, to add to her collection of the pebbles and trinkets she kept so she could run the edges of her thumbs along the worn places and smooth parts when her breathing got fast and her sweat ran cold and her heartbeat got too quick to bear.

Maybe his little girl felt some kind of kinship, an understanding, with those stones who were also wearied from a long and difficult journey with an uncertain end. Or maybe she aspired to be like them, to have all her hurt and torn and vulnerable parts heal smooth and clean or be patched with something that sparkled beautifully. Either way, they brought her some modicum of comfort and Alex loved AJ so much in that moment he couldn’t speak, for finding Angie another moment of peace along the shoreline.

Another thing his eyes, trained and honed to sharp points by days spent in water so dark and thick he’d once wondered if the night sky had begun to run like candle wax and drip into the sea, another thing they didn’t miss was how AJ’s ears picked up a little, how he stood a little straighter when his reaching for the stone he’d decided must be Angie’s brought him in reach of the sea. Alex could almost see ethereal fingers of salt tinged, bitter air, reaching for him, seizing his attention, pulling him off balance.

He couldn’t help it, he bristled. Instincts that weren’t as buried as he’d like to pretend rose at the threat to his pup and pulled his lips back from his teeth a little and tensed his muscles so Johnny blinked dolefully, made his black pupils widen and fill and leak until they flooded most of his eyes with darkness.

And a solid, heavy pounding in his heart that thickened the lining of his throat with acidic, tarry fear, beating a single word, no, no, no, no, no-

But the moment passed so quickly it was almost anticlimactic, in a way. But Alex would take anticlimactic, he’d take it with desperate enthusiasm and breathless relief, he’d claw at it until the joints in his fingers broke. As long as there was that tiny, daring, contemptuous smile on AJ’s face, so slight Alex couldn’t even say if his son was aware of it himself, something so youthfully disrespectful, something that said, ‘ not this time’.

Hopefully not the next time either, or the time after that or any time.

Alex honestly wasn’t that worried, as he watched AJ lazily toss the stone from one hand to the other, catching it deftly like it’s path through the air behaved according to his playful wishes rather than any law of physics before stowing it away in his jacket pocket.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was.

Maybe his wanderlust tainted blood became diluted for every baby he and Eliza had; maybe the stranger currently growing under and rounding out his wife’s skin so beautifully right now only had a sixth of the saltwater than ran through poor Philip’s veins. Maybe Alex had proven himself with his first sacrifice, the one he’d made for his eldest son that he was willing to make for every one of his babies but prayed he’d never have to (not least because he wasn’t sure his skin held enough material, he wasn’t exactly the biggest of guys, physically) but maybe the debt had been paid and the scales had been levelled with just the one. Maybe it was just a numbers game, like whatever precise, three decimal point percentages determined which of their children got Alex’s ability to fold his tongue in three different places or Eliza’s uncanny knack of licking her own elbow with her unusually long tongue and Philip had simply drawn the scrap of paper with the black dot staining it.

Alex didn’t want it to be that, that concept terrified him, for there to be a roll of the dice marring every time he and his Betsey made something so beautiful. Of course, there always was, a million different near misses and sidestepped eventualities for diseases and mishaps on the cellular level that even Alex, with all of the medical texts he devoured, didn’t have names for. But this was one more immediate. One he knew he was solely to blame for.

No, for all the evidence that was stacked against it, as much as it went against so much of what his tired, permanently shadowed eyes had seen, Alex wanted to believe life had just given him a break.

Whatever it was, wherever this little quirk of fate had come from, whether or not Alex would continue to worry for the rest of his life about it, none of his other children felt the same pull to the sea Philip had. For them, it was something they barely recognised, that they couldn’t pin down enough to name. Waking up every morning with the scent of salt in their noses from the breeze wriggling its way in through the cracks in the windowpanes sated it just fine.

Alex was dizzyingly relieved by this, so grateful he could barely stand it. He’d have torn his pelt to shreds for that, for his children to have a normal childhood. Instead, he’d been given it as some gift. He could count his gifts on one hand; Eliza, his children, his mother and the life she’d given him. This. And they still felt like so much more than he deserved.

Of course, he knew Eliza’s genetics had a lot to do with it, her calming influence, the sense of peace she seemed to have that she shared so selflessly with everyone she met. Alex made sure to praise every inch of her, her glorious human body where he could taste the unfailing lushness of greenery between her thighs and the tranquillity and immortality of the earth in the hollows of her neck and the agelessness of the stars on her tongue, whenever he found the opportunity. So unfamiliar, so contrasting with his own makeup but he loved it too much for words. He knew he had more to thank her for than he could ever know, the ability of his children to make their homes on land, to find peace in a way he never would, was the least of them.

Eliza was his world, his entire planet and he worshipped her accordingly.

Satisfied, watching AJ return to the path, kicking up sand idly with the toe of his boots in blissful witlessness to the forces moving around him seeking to pull him in one direction or the other, Alex let himself drift back into the immediate. He re-tuned his mind to what was happening around him, his ears back to picking up the gentle, happy babble of Johnny perched on his shoulders. His youngest never seemed to fall silent, having taken the longest of all of them to find his voice and learn to talk he was now apparently making up for lost time, narrating every little detail like he was just so happy to be here. Alex was in love with it, often sitting the little boy on his lap while he worked, letting him give his own often hilarious interpretation of what his Pops was writing. Honestly, his ideas were often a lot better than what Jefferson ended up publishing.

“So, I’m gonna sleep forever and ever ‘cos there’s no school so that means no alarm clocks,” Johnny declared, bunching and un-bunching his hands in Alex’s hair, enjoying the softness and the scent of it he’d forever associate with comfort and home, “So I’m gonna wake up with the birdies and then me and mama gonna have pancakes for breakfast and I can have as many blueberries as I want, gonna eat a million blueberries!”

“Oh really?” Jamie sounded bemused, nodding and smiling his way enthusiastically through his little brother’s babble though he must hear it from first thing in the morning when Johnny woke up in the bed next to his own until the little boy fell asleep, “That’s a lot.”

“Yes!” Johnny nodded proudly, “A million million blueberries an’ then AJ’s gonna take me to storytime at the library- “

Up ahead of them, AJ stiffened immediately at the sound of his name, turning quickly on his heels with an expression Alex rarely saw on his namesake’s face. Uncertainty. Even worse, silent uncertainty.

“Is he?” the corners of Alex’s mouth twitched upwards a little, “But doesn’t mama always take you to storytime? And I seem to remember AJ saying he’d rather backflip off the end of the pier wearing nothing but his gym socks than get up before ten on a Saturday morning.”

Johnny frowned a little, his young face wrinkling up at this wobbly piece of pavement jutting up and ruining the perfect logical path he’d constructed, “But he said he would, he said he’d take me so I could hear the one about the billy goats again, that’s my favourite! He promised!”

AJ blushed a deep and intense crimson, one Alex recognised well, having felt it’s burn on his own face many, many time. AJ did nearly everything exactly the same as Alex, so many little physical quirks and idiosyncrasies he saw in his son like the weirdest mirror ever.

“Look, I said I’d take you and I will, okay?” he hissed, narrowing his eyes at his littlest brother, “So shh!”

Alex tilted his head, growing more curious by the second, almost in perfect timing with his smile growing harder to hide, “So I suppose we’ll be fishing you out of the dock sometime around noon on Saturday then?”

AJ gritted his teeth, “It’s no big deal…”

“Just trying to help your mama and me out?” Alex smirked, “Cos that doesn’t sound like my boy. Maybe there’s another reason you’re super eager to get to the library at nine o’clock on a sunny Saturday morning…”

AJ stared resolutely at his scuffed shoes, his shoulders tense, “I just wanted to, okay?”

Alex hitched Johnny up a little higher, experiencing one of those moments of clarity that make children firmly believe their parents are omniscient, “And I’m just saying that I think the reason you so desperately want to…is maybe the very nice young man from your class that reads to the children and volunteers behind the counter.”

AJ went even redder, if that were even possible reaching colours that probably went right off the visible spectrum, “No! Course not! I barely even know him, why would I…that’s just…you don’t…oh, shut up!”

He reeled around and stomped off for home at twice the pace, just a stone’s throw up ahead, with the back of his neck still blazing and his posture wired, all of it telling Alex that he had hit the mark. Not that he minded in the slightest that his son was so clearly crushing on the sweet young man who gave up his weekend mornings to read picture books to children and process late fees, who wore a silver star of David around his neck proudly and complimented Johnny on whatever unusually patterned pair of socks he was wearing every single day. Nothing about that situation brought him anything but delight.

He himself had felt a flutter of the heart when he stumbled across a word in a book one day, a description that he felt he’d known all his human life but had never heard it verbalised until that moment. Bisexual. Devoted to one, not because of her gender. A desire just for beautiful people, one way or the other. Eliza had smiled when he’d excitedly shown her, after he’d finished his rushed, ecstatic explanation and she’d come to him the next day with three strips of bright cloth sewn together, colours that seemed to just go together and mean something just by being adjacent, forming an upraised fist, a straight back, a proud and bold smile just by standing back to back. He’d hung the flag up in his office and even now, when it was fraying around the edges and getting a little dusty, much in the way that the years were carving their mark on Alex’s face, it still brought a spark of pride and self whenever his eyes caught it.

All he wanted was for his children to feel the same. Whatever gave them that spark, whatever shape it took, whatever title it carried, he just wanted them to find it. And maybe AJ had found it with his library boy with the carefully written nametag that read ‘Elijah.’

“Whassup with AJ?” Johnny tilted his head, the little heart shaped face and rounded cheeks he’d inherited from Eliza creasing in brotherly concern.

Jamie gave a knowing sort of look and Alex grinned at him, putting a finger to his lips.

“Don’t you worry about your brother, Johnny boy,” he reached up and took hold of his littlest son’s hand, “He’s going to be just fine.”

He had to tell Eliza about this.

Years could pass, the world could turn as often as it liked, go up and down and even sideways but people in small towns would always talk.

Why would they ever stop, when the Hamilton family, rattling around in their cottage by the sea that, despite the fact it had been gladly utilised to within an inch of its life, somehow still deserved the title of folly, provided them with so much material?

Not that they didn’t like them, gossip was never intended as malicious as it was passed back and forth across the bar or the gingham laminated table covers at the café or the dented, scratched Formica of the diner. It was part of living there, there was nothing but fondness in it. This was how affection was shown in such places, through raised eyebrows and critical remarks and discussion, the way people would get in groups to pick apart their favourite books or dissect much appreciated films. People talked about how the librarian really needed to stop letting his cats wander around the stacks, shedding on all the sofas and knocking the reference cards all higgledy piggledy but to any out of towners, they boasted proudly of their many feline library assistants, showing off their library cards with inky paw marks as the signature. The people talked about how the old woman who spent her mornings combing the beach, indifferent to the weather like a well-seasoned veteran grandmother unmoved by the temporary tantrums of their beloved charges, armed with a surprisingly deadly and well cared for pickaxe. As she broke apart the limestone shores and scaled the cliffs in search of fossils, her neighbours would tut and roll their eyes and bemoan that they’d be calling in air support to save her old bones from certain death any day now. And yet, they listened with equal enthusiasm to her breathlessly excited descriptions of the treasures she’d uncovered, to the difference between ammonites and trilobites, her hastily scribbled replications of complicated evolutionary trees on the back of the napkin that had previously been wrapped around the postman’s scotch on the rocks. They even threw her a party in the church hall when one of her papers was accepted into whatever journal published such things, none of them even had a clue.

And they talked about the Hamiltons.

No, in the small seaside village that seemed to have reached a kind of stasis of its own around the nineteen forties, aesthetically at least, the unusual, slightly isolated family were well loved. Respected even, protected and conferred over in much the same fashion as the townspeople talked about the various myths and legends specific to their little hamlet.

Because that’s what they were, really. In a strange kind of way that not even the townspeople themselves could really put their finger on (not that it was in any of their natures to go finger prodding, more to accept what was there at face value), it was like a paragraph of one of the leather bound tomes full of the area’s fireside stories had floated free, perhaps knocked loose by the idle paw of one of the cats, caught on some breeze and materialised in real life.

Ethereally beautiful parents, living secretive, secluded lives, appearing as if by some magic hand in hand along the beach at dusk or sat together on one of the benches at the tiny communal park, very, very occasionally emerging for the evening in the town’s one restaurant. Eliza did spend what little free time she seemed to have trying to get involved with the community’s bustling life, as friendly and infectiously sunny as ever, apparently only growing more beautiful as motherhood and a little maturity suited her. It was as if she just radiated a pure and uncomplicated certainty that this was where she was supposed to be and what she was supposed to be doing, an unshakeable contentment with everything around her. Every child in the town who had had her as a teacher thought her one of the most wonderful people in the world, none of them left her classroom without getting some kind of sense that being compassionate, being gentle was the right way to be. For this reason, maybe others, the pride all the residents felt was perhaps a little stronger for her than it was for her husband.

Sure, Alex was pleasant whenever he was run into at the store or at the library or on one of his long walks, the guy could talk for hours. But there would always be something…distracted about him. Like he was too aware of everything he did and said, like he was trying to follow a long and complicated script from memory but only at times. At other times, it was the complete opposite, he was so vague it was a little disconcerting. There seemed to be nothing behind is eyes, or at least something buried so deep it looked like nothing.

Things were different when he was seen with Eliza or with the rest of their family, as he was ninety-nine per cent of the time. Then he was just like any other devoted father or husband, often leaving conversations half-finished when one of his little ones dragged him away to join in their game or not looking like he saw much beyond his adored wife, more often than not resting her head on his shoulder, her arm wound around his waist.

He was still a fond figure, a treasured fixture of their place by the sea. But, even at his best, most human moments, Alexander Hamilton was considered an ‘odd one’.

One of the things most discussed, most poured over, most satisfyingly eyebrow raising, was just how many children Alex and Eliza were planning on having, whether they were going to keep going until they could stage their own family production of the Sound of Music or until the foundations of the lopsided cottage they somehow continued to make work for a family so large actually gave way. It was almost like the tides or the return of the swallows, with a regularity not too stringent to be called clockwork but with a loose pace and beat of its own, Eliza would turn up at the town’s little grocery store or the crafts shop to get more wool or the bookshop she and Alex and their children loved, in a dress more shapeless than usual or jeans clearly borrowed from her husband; soft, forgiving shoes even if the near constant rain had left the ground outside more in common with a swamp than anything else, a cardigan so careworn with holes in the sleeves and under the arms but was clearly a treasured item that had its flaws forgiven when great comfort was needed. There’d be no change in her shape, not yet, the evidence would be in the way she carried herself, the knowing light in her eyes like the Mona Lisa, like she had a secret she wasn’t sharing with anyone else, the way a soft, indulgent smile seemed to be the default setting of her face. Or else, her shopping cart full of nothing but peaches, cookie dough that was clearly never going to see the inside of an oven and cans of whipped cream gave the game away fairly quickly. If Alex was with her, further proof would be found in the way he kept a tight perimeter around her, never willingly moving more than arms length away from her, stealing more kisses and gentle touches of her hair than ever before.

Everyone in the village had learned to recognise the signs, like the well-recognised ciphers of a coming winter; the leaves shrivelling and losing their footing in the way Eliza started piling it on top of her head as it thickened, the first careless spill of frost in the shadows under her eyes. But of course not a word was said until the bump was actually visible and Alex was going around what always seemed like every single individual with a pair of eyes in a five mile radius, excitedly showing them the sonogram. Then it was weeks of watching Eliza blossom and flourish, a living Demeter in chord dungarees and hiking boots, listening to the existing Hamilton children chatter excitedly about their new sibling and draw pictures for them in the corner of the tea house when they came along with Alex for his early afternoon caffeine hook up, seeing Alex’s smile grow surer and more easily seen.

And then there would be another name to remember.

Oh, they were just grouching. They were just grumbling in the same way they did every time it rained and every time the sun shone with too much heat and every time there were leaves or snow on the ground, the way they just did.

All the little Hamilton’s were fondly thought of by pretty much everyone in the village. Though it had to be said they were a little like dryads, appearing out of nowhere, going about their own little businesses, following their own unseen paths and then dematerialising just as quickly. Those who caught glimpses of them most often learned where the scattered, aimless threads of their daily wanderings tended to converge and overlap and tangle into knots of time. It was possible to catch them, sometimes, if the wind was in the right direction and you knew the tricks.

For example, Jamie could usually be found sat in the smallest table, right over in the corner of the tea house, at the chair with no cushion and a leg that wobbled but it was always the one he chose, even when Rosie casually mentioned that she could keep one of the plush, obese couches over under the specials board free for him if he liked? Jamie always politely shook his head, turned back to the homework or the Lego model or the sheet music or the book that was occupying him that day in silence. Though, occasionally, on the days he was apparently feeling especially brave, he would go up to the glass counter that held the cakes and pies and other pastry gems Rosie’s girlfriend, Jessie, made so lovingly, press his wondering eyes to the cool surface and quietly ask what different ingredients she’d used, courteously suggesting alterations or changes with the respect of a fellow savant. Jessie adored him, Rosie guarded him and no one was surprised when, the Saturday after his sixteenth birthday, after his usual customary glass of iced tea, he slipped on an apron that seemed to fit him perfectly, picked up a notepad and tucked a blunted pencil behind his ear and got to work.

However, if it was Will you wanted to find, the quiet, contemplative young boy who followed on Johnny’s heels and whose hair was always in his eyes, getting caught in the joints of his glasses, then the place to try was the small plaza outside of the town hall. He would habitually brave the rain with his usual easy indifference to anything but his handful of interests, somehow manoeuvring his awkward angles and jutting joints into spectacular breakneck tricks on his battered skateboard off the architecture there. Little Will was rarely seen without pastel coloured band aids laddering his skinny legs, usually with motivational slogans written on them by his older sister, and he seemed to wear them like badges of honour. Either he was risking life and limb on the village’s only and slightly regretted flirtation with the sweeping curves and flowing lines of eighties design, flirting with a trip to the ER on a skateboard with mismatched wheels that looked like it should have collapsed into splinters a long time ago or, if it was Saturday (or his mother was anywhere near) he would be volunteering at the tiny animal shelter on the outskirts of town. That was his true second home, where a light seemed to come on in his eyes and he seemed able to stand a little bit straighter than usual, working some kind of magic through his fingertips to soothe half feral cats who hissed and spat at everyone else or nervous puppies who only freed their tail from between their legs and stilled their frightened shaking for him. He never asked for any pay, any kind of compensation for what he did. All Will seemed to want in the whole entire world was for no one to touch his skateboard and to see the animals. That was all he asked for.

It was a surprise to everyone in the village, no one more so than Eliza and Alex when, out of the blue, almost without thinking, like it had crept up on them, their seventh child turned out to be a little girl. They’d all hear the story of how an exhausted Eliza refused to believe Alex when he tearfully informed her that the tiny little squalling baby in his arms, loudly experiencing her very first sensation of the outside world- the gentle, protective touch of her father’s hands, was a girl. Even she couldn’t believe that they’d finally broken their streak of Y chromosomes. She was even more shocked, so much so that, by all accounts, she burst into fresh tears, when Alex grinned through his own calm weeping to tell her than she was going to be named after the greatest and most wonderful woman he knew. Her mother.

Of course, it would be as scandalous as a grandparent having a favourite grandchild for anyone in the village to love one Hamilton child more than the others but, if pushed, if really, really pushed, there was a good chance many of them would say little Liza. Not only because she was an angelic thing, all sunset coloured skin and bouncing black ringlets and her mother’s beaming smile as well as her name. Also, more for the entertainment factor, for how many times they’d seen the toddler waddling down the main street at a surprisingly fast pace, usually in some state of undress or wearing more clothes than was strictly typical or perhaps holding the glasses her Pops ended up getting quite reliant on later on in his life, with Alex himself a few paces back, trying desperately to catch up with her. Alex was known for being fast, quick on his feet, but somehow his daughter was always faster.

The villagers felt themselves off the hook once Liza started preschool, surely seven was more than enough? Privately, they’d all thought that maybe five or even six had been enough but each to their own.

But no, apparently, Alex and Eliza wanted to go for the even number.

Though, along with the fact that Mrs Adam’s Christmas decorations were a little flashy this year and that the library fees were getting a little extortionate, weren’t they, it was a well-established fact in that corner of the coastline that Rachel Hamilton was an absolute treasure. Smiling so prettily with such a genuine, innocent warmth, eyes that looked older and seemed to hold so many more depths than a two-year-old would be capable of, usually seen lovingly following her mother, always stooping to lightly brush any flowers she past. Not pick them, never pick them, she’d hate to keep them for herself. Just to touch them with the curious pads of her fingertips, a greeting and a question and maybe even an answer in one little gesture.

Nearly a year after Rachel arrived, Eliza got the sense that there were a lot of eyes on her, a lot of loaded questions, a lot of glances. They only stopped after she casually mentioned to the florist that she and Alex had made the decision that their family was the size it had always meant to be. She didn’t use the phrase, not in front of the sweet old gentleman she chatted about gardenias and gypsophila with, but in her heart, she felt it; their pod was complete.

The moment the words were out and into the collective ears of the village, Alex looked up from his desk sharply, frowning, wondering if he’d just imagined that distant sigh of relief that sounded as if it came from a hundred mouths at once?

Though change was rarely a good thing, in the eyes of such granite carved, salt burned people. What would they talk about now, that they’d lost the swelling population of the brightly coloured, lopsided cottage growing down by the shoreline? Even a family with a goddess for a mother, an alien for a father and dryads for children could only provide so much material. But it was sweet to see, after all, to see a collection of people so loved and loving, protected and protecting, working in their own strange little ways and yet in perfect harmony with each other’s. It was just that they’d miss the excitement they brought, that’s all.

After everything that happened next, in the months that followed, the excitement that came crashing down on the Hamilton family, the townspeople would feel a pang of guilt.

#the seal lullaby #hamliza #alexander x eliza #selkie au #fluff

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