#3rd person

[monstersandmaw]

Changing Tides - human prince 'cursed' into merfolk body (sfw)

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Anon sent me this message and I responded with almost 8000 words:

"human prince who got cursed and turned into a merman, and while his family and the royal court struggle to find a way to break the curse he finds he's actually happier as a merman"

It's 3rd person, sfw, and features an orca clan who adopts our frightened prince, and there's a hint of mlm romance for one of the orcas with a human in the future... Anyway, I hope you like something a little different. 

Content: some mild elements of body horror during the curse/turning scene, brief but not gory/too explicit mention of marine animal death, some implied trauma resulting from a transformation against his will/separation from family and previous existence at a young age, brief description of blood/injury from a harpoon to another character

Wordcount: 7965

Dusk gathered over the gentle swells of the open ocean, gilding the new yardarms and painting the perfectly crisp, white sails of the Royal Navy’s flagship with a pink and orange watercolour glow. The ship’s guests drank and laughed, and celebrated The Sea Rose’s maiden voyage, utterly unaware that they were enjoying their final few moments of life as they knew it.

Unremarkable in almost every way, a small porpoise had been playing in the bow wave, its small, dark body darting mere inches from the stem each time it plunged in and out of the spray and waves.

It didn’t hear the warning from the sea witch racing to catch up with it, and when the young porpoise’s concentration slipped and the black-painted stem of ‘The Sea Rose’ collided with its solid little body, no one on board noticed the tragedy of its passing. Even if the guests hadn’t been half drunk on the heady mix of wine and their own self-importance, there was no one on lookout in the crow’s nest that day; the new ship was flanked for her safety by two frigates a little way off, both crewed with the Navy’s finest and bristling to the gunwales with cannon and ammunition. There was no need to keep a watch this time.

There was, after all, no danger.

And yet, the animal’s accidental death would not go unmarked, unmourned, or unpunished.

Heedless of the vengeful danger rising swiftly from beneath the ship, the king himself strode along the main deck in his white and gold finery, leaving his guests for a moment as he spotted his thirteen year old son standing at the taffrail on the afterdeck and staring out at the ship’s trailing wake.

He slapped the skinny boy on his shoulders by way of a greeting, and nearly sent him toppling over into the sea from the force of his jovial blow. Hauling him upright again with a meaty fist at the scruff of his velvet doublet, the king laughed, cheeks red with drink and the bracing sea air, and he grinned down at his second eldest son.

“What’s got into you, lad?” he asked, his words a little thick and his green eyes a little glassy. “You’ve begged me for years to be allowed to go to sea, and now you’re here, you look like you’d rather be anywhere else! You’re not seasick, are you, lad? You’re going to be Admiral of the Fleet when your brother ascends the throne — can’t have you turning green at the slightest bit of swell!”

“It’s not that, father,” he said, mustering a smile for the king. “I’m sorry. I was just… thinking.”

Down below on the deck, the little prince’s older brother was talking with a few of the captains and admirals, and the boy felt suddenly every bit as young as he was. ‘King’ Eolan was a title that would suit his brother one day, with his regal bearing and his noble features, while the younger boy was gangly and too skinny to fill out the doublet he wore or the fine leather boots on his small feet.

He didn’t get the chance to observe the Crown Prince in action for much longer though, because a shudder ran the length of the new ship, and conversation sputtered and died.

The sails quivered and the rigging shook like spiderwebs before a coming storm. All the hands looked to their stations while the royal guests shifted uneasily and someone dropped a wine flute into the silence of the swelling sea. The Crown Prince scuttled up the stairs to the afterdeck and joined his father, tense and alert, though not before laying a hand on his little brother’s shoulder and offering a reassuring smile.

While the ship sailed past the stricken porpoise in a foaming, heedless rush, the creature bobbed past with its back broken, dead on impact, and the sea darkened around it and then began to boil and churn along the sides of the ship.

Finally, a shout went up and someone standing by the rail on the port side pointed and then reeled back in alarm. They were joined by more guests and sailors until half the ship’s company was hanging off the side and staring into the water that had turned an inky black around the corpse of the sea creature.

The thirteen year old prince followed his father to the railing of the high afterdeck and peered over in time to see a humanoid figure rise from the water. Her long, wet hair hung around her shoulders like a veil of moonlight, and her eyes flashed the colour of the ocean on a summer’s day. Her skin was freckled and oddly iridescent and the air around her seemed to shimmer like the road on a summer’s day. In her right hand she held a staff that was the silvery brown of old driftwood, wrapped around with seaweed like the leather on the grip of a quarterstaff, and her lower body appeared to be that of a leopard seal.

The prince’s breath caught and he stared, slack jawed down at her, forgetting to be afraid.

At the sight of her though, the guests recoiled and grabbed at the charms and holy pendants they wore around their necks, but it would do them no good. The witch raised her staff and let out a wordless scream of grief. As if whisked by a winter squall, the sea rose up around her at her call and a huge wave sloshed against the side of the ship, rocking it and sending a wall of spray and foam across the main deck.

Wherever the droplets of water touched, a flurry of white feathers appeared, and from the afterdeck, the king and the two princes watched a flock of startled seabirds flounder upwards into the sky. In their wake, the main deck lay completely deserted.

The king swore and unsheathed the steel sword at his hip but the young prince simply clung to the wooden railing and continued to stare down at the sea witch.

All his life, he’d heard tales of merfolk and of the magic they wielded, but he’d never dared dream they might be real. He’d spent hours begging the merchants who came to the castle for stories from the fish markets, since every sailor claimed to have fallen in love with a selkie or kissed a mermaid on one of their voyages, but he’d never truly believed that merfolk really did exist.

“What is the meaning of this?” the king bellowed down at her over the sound of the settling sea. “Return this ship’s crew and my guests to me at once, witch!”

“Never!” she snarled. “They’ve flown far away now, oh great king,” she added sarcastically, still sneering, “Your pretty birds won’t return to you now!”

“Why? What prompted such an act?” he barked. To his younger son, he suddenly gestured and added, “Come away from there!” With a desperate look over his shoulder, he hissed at the Crown Prince, “Eolan, protect your brother!”

The witch smiled and the younger prince saw tears tracking down around the corners of her smile as it turned from malice to grief. “Father…” he breathed, wanting to warn the king, but not knowing quite why or of what.

“Quiet!” the king hissed with a sharp motion of his hand. “Eolan, fetch a harpoon. I will have her hide on my wall!”

The Crown Prince snuck away down the stairs, out of sight of the sea witch, and then disappeared below decks. As he left, the younger boy finally let go of the railings and came to stand behind his father.

“Your ship,” the witch called above the wash of water against the sides of the vessel, “Is an abomination! You toss your refuse into the sea to choke the life from those who live there, tangle us in your nets, capture us… skin us!”

She paused and choked something raw and visceral and far beyond articulation. Drawing energy into the staff in a swirl of mist, she came to the real crux of her grievance.

“Your ship took my familiar from me and you didn’t even care to notice!”

“Your what?”

“Shadow!” she wailed, and that sorrow finally crystallised into rage. She pointed as the body of the dead porpoise floated over towards her and then with another heartbroken shriek, she raised the staff not at the king, but at his son. “I curse you!” she spat at him. “I curse you! May your son’s frail human legs fail him and may he know the plight of our people first hand! May the air choke him and the water you disdain be his only solace!”

A bolt of lightning seared down out of a clear sky and struck the deck of The Sea Rose behind the king in a spray of splinters. Ozone and singed wood filled the air as he turned around at the wheezing gulp that left his son’s throat. At the sight that greeted him, the gilt steel sword dropped from his fingers to clatter across the deck at his feet.

The boy’s legs had gone completely limp and he hit the deck hard, eyes wide with terror.

“Father,” he tried to choke in panic, but the sound lodged in his throat.

He brought one hand up instinctively to claw at his neck as he failed to breathe, suffocating in the ordinary sea air, and a moment later his fingers found the three slits of gills in his skin that had not been there before the lightning of the witch’s curse had struck him.

Before the true terror of his discovery could sink in, however, a blinding pain erupted in his chest and his hips, and his legs began to spasm.

The boy tore at the trousers which were suddenly constricting and strangling him, cutting into his legs, and he rolled on the deck as he ripped them off to reveal the distinctive opal-green and black pattern of a mackerel’s skin beginning at his hips. He clawed wildly at his skin in horror trying to halt the change, and his father dragged the fabric away just as the transformation ran its course, and his son arched his back and writhed on the deck like a landed catch, unable to breathe and blind with terror.

Footsteps on the stairs announced Eolan’s return and when he saw his brother lying on the deck with the barbed tail of a mackerel, he crashed to his knees beside them, the harpoon forgotten.

Not knowing what to do, the king knelt at his son’s side and stroked his curly, black hair out of his eyes which were bulging as he failed to breathe.

“Father,” he mouthed, chest spasming.

The skin of his remaining human body turned a grayish silver, like tarnished pewter, and between his fingers as they scrabbled at the deck the king could see a thin webbing stretching and flexing. Black, wickedly sharp claws raked the wood of the deck to splintered furrows as the boy twisted and panicked.

“What do we do?” Eolan whispered, tears filling his eyes. “Father? He’s dying… He can’t breathe!”

Acting on the most fragile of hopes, the king picked his son up in his arms and held him briefly, kissing his forehead. “I love you,” he said. “I will find a way to reverse this.”

Before the cursed prince could work out what was happening, he had been flung over the side of the ship and hit the water with a heavy smack.

The rush of cold seawater across his new gills was a relief beyond anything he’d ever felt. Instinctively, he drew in water through them and let his body start to sink.

Above, the shadow of a second ship, the frigate ‘Persistence’, announced itself with a volley of musket fire, and the sea witch dived out of sight, dragging the body of her slain familiar with her into the depths, the young prince forgotten entirely.

In all the commotion, the prince disappeared into the depths of the coastal waters, alone and afraid for the first time in his life.

__

The clan of orca-folk cautiously breached the surface and paused to watch the selkie on the shore light the driftwood pyre with the tip of her staff, and dipped their heads as one in respect. The creature at the heart of the kindling blaze was most likely her familiar, and they decided not to trouble the witch in her grief.

Leaving her, they swam in silence out of the cove and moved along the rocky shore, casting uneasy glances at each other. Magic was rare among the merfolk, but those who changed their shape at will, like the selkie folk and their distant, inland relatives, the kelpies, had it more strongly. There had been turmoil on the sea that day, and even now that the stars had blinked to life in the sky above, the waters still churned with unease.

A younger member of the clan swam on ahead, not quite understanding the wary reverence her relatives had for the sea witch, and, distracted by the passing of a very ordinary but still very quick seal, she raced off in a stream of bubbles to play with it. Yes, her kind hunted seals, but when they were being that obvious about their pursuit, the seal was in no danger.

She blasted around the rocky promontory but splayed her wide flippers to bring herself to an abrupt halt when she spotted a boy about her own age lying curled on the sandy bed of the next cove’s floor. He was hunched in on himself and seemed to be in some kind of distress, so she swam slowly over to him. He had the dizzying markings of a mackerel — black lines and opal shimmers like summer sunlight on the sea’s surface — and she wondered if perhaps he’d been left behind on the annual migration.

As she approached, he raised his head and his mouth opened in a soft ‘o’ of surprise, gills flaring.

“Hi,” she grinned. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. “You alright?”

He shook his head.

“Pearl?” Her older brother’s voice sounded from close behind her, wary and warning, and she glanced back over her bare shoulder at him. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I just found him.”

Hook swam past her, pushing her roughly to one side, and he loomed over the terrified stranger and bared all his sharp teeth at him. Hook was only a year older than Pearl, but he liked to play the grown up with her, and it irritated her no end. She grabbed the wide flat of his tail as it wafted past and yanked him sharply backwards. It wasn’t enough to move him much, but it brought his long, black and white hair drifting into his face and undermined his attempt at a tough persona a little.

The strange boy cringed away, hands above his head, and Hook relented when he saw he was no threat, and clearly terrified.

“You hurt?” he asked, though he could taste no blood in the water. “Where’s your shoal?”

In no time, they were joined by the whole orca-folk clan, and it was decided that the stranded boy would swim with them for the winter until his people returned to these waters to claim him. The boy didn’t speak, but he seemed able to understand them, and something told Pearl he’d been through something more awful even than being abandoned by his shoal.

Over the next few weeks, she first coaxed some tentative smiles from him, and then, when they had stopped to rest one night in another rocky cove further to the south, he laughed.

It happened when Hook got his finger clamped by a massive lobster and he swore and flung the thing away before washing it further from him with a great sweep of his tail, scowling. He was growing into his body and would one day outgrow even their father, and the motion sent the offending crustacean spiralling away on the temporary current.

When the wash of water in their ears had settled, they heard a quiet giggling and looked around to see him sitting near a bed of kelp, one hand over his mouth, and laughing softly. His eyes were the most beautiful brown, like a seal’s, and when Hook saw who was laughing, his indignation at the incident melted away like the ice in the spring, and his whole body softened.

Pearl watched as Hook swam over to the strange boy, the one they’d taken to calling Mackerel for the beautiful patterns on his tail, but the boy stopped laughing almost immediately. Hook’s shoulders dropped and he looked mortified when he saw unease and uncertainty in the boy’s eyes.

“It’s alright,” Hook said with a half-smile. “I deserved to get pinched the way I picked her up,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking. You want to see if we can find another one and I’ll show you the right way to do it?”

Tentatively, the boy nodded, and Pearl watched as the boy swam off at Hook’s side. He didn’t swim like normal merfolk, but more like a newborn still getting used to his tail. Sometimes he started to sink and panicked, and the first few times it had happened, Hook had actually had to lift him up to keep him from sinking completely. Unlike them, he was a piscine merfolk, meaning he could breathe water and not air, while they were mammalian and needed to surface. When Hook went up to gulp fresh air those first few times, Pearl would watch the boy and make sure he didn’t sink until Hook returned.

He seemed to grow in confidence though over the winter, and by the time of that first laugh, he was just a bit awkward in the water. He couldn’t hope to keep up with Hook, but her brother had a kind streak to him for all his brash bravado, and he kept pace with Mackerel. Slowly, the boy began to talk with them, but he never spoke of what had happened to him, and any time they asked him where his shoal was or where he’d grown up, he shut up tighter than a clam and refused to talk. Eventually, they stopped asking.

He did till them his name though, and they were surprised to learn it was a human name. Pearl had been named for the lightness of her irises — such a pale blue it was almost silver — and Hook had been named because the patch of white under his tall dorsal fin looked like one of the barbed devices that humans used to catch fish. Mackerel, however, turned out to be named Theo, and when asked why he had that name, he just shrugged and said his parents must have liked it. They stuck to calling him Mackerel, or Macks, and he didn’t object in the slightest, only smiling shyly the first time Hook used his new name.  

When spring came to the waters where Pearl’s clan hunted, no piscine merfolk came looking for Mackerel, so he simply stayed with the orca folk.

One year became two, became three, became five.

Hook grew into a monster of a merman, with muscles rippling over his body and a reputation for taking on anything he deemed a threat to his clan, from great white sharks to fishing boats. Mackerel grew as well. Gone was that awkward, faltering motion as he swam — he could out pace any of them in a race and he was lithe and graceful and elegant when he moved. He laughed a lot too.

Pearl noticed how he would watch her swim past and then look away, and when Hook caught him staring at her like that, he washed him playfully away with a wave of his massive tail and sent him spiralling off into the murky depths with a laugh and told him to come back when he could win against Pearl in arm-wrestling.

Then, one summer evening, Mackerel disappeared.

They’d been swimming nearer to the shore than was wise in the warmer months, when humans often gathered on the shore with their fires to dance and sing and make a strange music of their own. Hook and Pearl’s mother called the clan back from the shallows and led them away when they heard the strange notes of human song and saw the orange lights dancing on the shore like strange, swirling blooms of plankton that spat sparks into the sky, but when Hook turned to Pearl to ask her something, he tensed and looked around.

“What?”

“Where’s Macks?” he asked, his hold tightening on the driftwood spear he usually carried in his right hand. Its ghostly-white blade was made of honed whalebone, and it had gutted a great white from nose to tail only the week before. The colour had drained from Hook’s usually tanned face, and he looked around frantically in the gloom that night had cast on the sea.

“Maybe he didn’t hear mother calling?” Pearl whispered.

“Stay here. I’ll go back for him.”

“Careful!” Pearl hissed, but he was already sliding away like a shadow, consumed by the growing darkness.

Hook searched the cove where they’d been intending to rest until they’d discovered the humans too close for comfort, but found nothing. Panic began to rise as he looked further along the dark, jagged rocks of the shoreline.

Eventually he started to run out of air, and surfaced carefully, mindful of the massive dorsal fin that stuck up like a sail behind him now that he was full-grown. If the humans spotted it glinting in the dark, they’d hurl harpoons at him or try to snatch him for a trophy. Merfolk — both saltwater and freshwater — didn’t last long in captivity, and he had no intention of being taken.

Then, at the far end of the sweeping cove, he spotted the opalescent glimmer of Mackerel’s scales and saw his greyish body draped over a rock. He was leaning on it, staring at the humans. His black hair, which, in the water, was flat, had started to curl, and Hook couldn’t believe he was out of the water at all. He was going to asphyxiate if he stayed up there too long, but the orca kept watching him a little longer. He liked Mackerel’s body; how it was different from the powerful orca folk. He was built for speed and agility where Hook was built for a combination of wild bursts of power and slower endurance. He might have begun courting him, bringing him gifts of carved whalebone and rare trinkets from the seabed, if Mackerel hadn’t clearly been attracted only to his sister or her female friends. So, he’d kept his affection for him chaste, and now as he watched, he realised with a jolt that Mackerel was crying.

Slowly, he swam over to him, keeping in Mackerel’s line of sight, and when his best friend turned to look at him, Hook’s heart cracked and sheared apart at the look on his face.

“What?” Hook asked, pausing and bringing his hands up to speak in the Hunter’s Tongue they used with each other when they needed to be silent in the water. He’d taught Mackerel himself, and he’d soon picked it up like he’d been speaking it all his life.

Mackerel only shook his head though and then dipped his neck below the waterline to breathe before rising up and staring again at the humans.

Hook turned to watch, but didn’t he understand. Humans were fascinating, sure, but they weren’t beautiful enough to make grown merfolk cry, surely?

Strange structures had been erected on the soft, pale sand, which looked like they were made of the same material that humans used to catch the wind and drive their boats and ships. These though were coloured the same shade as the urchins and starfish that hunkered down in rock pools at high tide, and whatever they were made of glittered occasionally like the sun on the water. The humans were laughing and moving around in odd patterns around their fires.

“What is it?” Hook whispered when he was close enough to Mackerel that their bodies touched all along one side.

“I miss them,” Mackerel rasped back. His voice didn’t work very well above the water, needing the cool caress of the waves to make it audible.

“Miss who?”

“My family.”

Hook went still. Macks had never talked about his family in all the years he’d lived with Hook’s clan. He looked from Mackerel to the humans and back again. “What do you mean?”

Mackerel bit his lip. “These people…” he said. “I know them. Hook, I was —”

A shout went up and something lanced down out of the dark, piercing the water and glancing off Hook’s large, rounded flipper. He cried out in shock at the sting of it as blood blossomed in the dark water, and he yanked Mackerel down into the waves just as another spear flew into the waves like a diving bird.

This one landed in Hook’s flat tail, and it wasn’t a spear. It was a harpoon.

Thick and barbed, the weapon lodged itself in his tail and he found himself hauled up the beach by a small party of humans before he could even flounder or lash out. His own spear had been dropped when he’d reached for Mackerel and he only prayed that his friend had the sense to swim for the depths. Not that he was about to go down without a fight, he thought as he readied himself to lash out with his fists, and even his teeth if he had to.

Of course, Mackerel had the self-preservation instincts of a piece of seaweed in a Spring Tide, however, and he breached the water a second later with a screech of distress that made even Hook’s eardrums hurt. For an instant, the tearing pressure on his tail was relaxed and he heaved his body with all his might, knocking the shadowed figures aside and sending them tumbling into the sand.

Then he saw Mackerel hauling himself up the beach, and the men started to run for him too.

Panic set in to Hook until he heard Mackerel yelling at them. He was yelling a name. A human name.

The figure at the front of the group skidded to a halt in the wet sand and stood there in shock while a wave washed up the shore to him and sloshed over his boots. “Theo?”

“Eolan…” Mackerel wheezed. “Please… Let him go…”

The figure crashed to his knees in front of Mackerel and tilted his face up to look him in the eye.

Hook seized the opportunity and swung his tail again, scattering the last of the humans tugging fruitlessly on his line now that there were too few of them. The barb of the harpoon was right through the meat of his tail and it was bleeding everywhere, turning the sand a nasty dark hue.

“Let… him go… Eolan. For me.”

“Brother? Little brother?” the human choked, bowing over him.

“Yes. It’s me. Let. Him. Go.”

The human turned his face to look at Hook then, and Hook recoiled. He looked like Mackerel, just… older. And harder too.

“Get back into the water,” Hook growled at Mackerel. “You’ll choke up here.”

That made the human — his brother? — look sharply back at him, and when Mackerel nodded and his lungs started to seize, the human dragged him unceremoniously into the water himself by the tail.

Hook meanwhile clawed his own way back down the beach, dragging the harpoon with him. If it ripped out of his tail, he’d bleed to death, but if he didn’t get away from these humans, they’d hang him up like the sharks and the tuna they took great pride in catching, and they’d wait til he bled out or died from the stress of it.

He yanked at Mackerel’s tail and dragged him the last way into the water too, then half-swam and half-sank down into the safety of deeper water. Pearl was waiting for them with Hook’s spear in her hand and swam at him, crying out when she saw the harpoon in his tail.

“It’s bad, Hook. We have to take you to the sea witch,” she said. “Mackerel, what in the name of the Deep were you thinking?”

“I…” he croaked. Like a piece of flotsam caught in the grip of the tide, he didn’t know whether to return to the beach or follow them into the sea. Hook didn’t have time to wait though, and he let his clan bear him away, looking back over his shoulder at Mackerel in disbelief and confusion.

Pearl drew Mackerel after them, and he followed in mute shock.

The sea witch’s lair was somewhere most merfolk avoided, mostly because magic was as unnerving to them as human fire, and the sea witch was powerful. She had never been known to turn away anyone in distress however, and when she scented blood in the water and saw Hook being borne into the protective ring of rocks around her home by two of his kind, weak from blood-loss and pain, she darted over immediately and hissed a curse.

“Humans,” she said through gritted teeth as she instructed the orca folk where to leave Hook. He found himself drifting in and out of consciousness on a soft bed of woven kelp, and when he looked up she smiled at him. “Easy, sweetheart. We’ll get you taken care of. I’ll need you to be brave, and you might need to hold onto someone while I take it out. There’s no easy way to do it, but my magic will patch you up afterwards. It’ll scar, but at least you’ll have your tail, eh?”

He nodded. “M… Mack…” he moaned, but Mackerel didn’t appear. When he cracked his eyes open again, he saw Mackerel staring at the witch with abject terror in his big brown eyes.

“It’s alright, lad,” she laughed, waving him over. “Come. Your friend needs you now.”

But Mackerel didn’t move.

When he remained, drifting on the currents like a mindless jellyfish, the witch tutted and gestured more impatiently, until she went still and really looked at him. “You’re… You can’t be… By the Deep, you’re him, aren’t you?”

Slowly, he nodded.

When Hook let out a groan as the water drifted over his injury and moved the harpoon, the witch focused again and said, “No time for that now. Someone hold him while I heal him up.”

Mackerel did move then, and he swam right around her and came to hold Hook’s hand in a firm grip. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Not your fault. Humans are awful. I hate them,” Hook spat. “I hate them all, I —” He cut off as the witch yanked the harpoon out and immediately began to heal it. Hook’s eyes rolled and he lost consciousness at last.

When he came to, he found Pearl at his side, curled up asleep the way she had done when they were really young. He stroked his hand over her hair and she stirred, blinking and rolling over.

“You’re alright?” she asked and he nodded.

Moving his tail experimentally up and down, he found that the pain had gone, and the wound had been mended to leave a silvery scar in the top and a pink one in the white of the flesh underneath. “Where’s Macks?” he asked and she swallowed and looked away. “Pearl?”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Hook jerked upright and glared at her. “Gone where?”

“He talked with the sea witch for ages and she gave him something, and then… he just left.”

“Without saying where he was going?”

“He swam to the surface like he was one of us running out of air. I don’t know what happened.”

“Where is she? Where’s the witch? I want to ask —”

“I’m here,” came the witch’s harsh voice from nearby. “Don’t get your flippers in a flap,” she added, rolling her eyes. “And something tells me your boy will be back…”

“He’s not my boy,” Hook growled.

The witch just rolled her eyes. “Maybe not in the way you wish, but he’s not for you anyway. Your blood told me an interesting story when I drank half of it in by accident earlier. How are you feeling?”

She moved her seal’s lower body from side to side in a sinuous sweep and lifted up his enormous fluke, nodding with a satisfied grunt when she inspected the scar.

“I’m fine. Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not really my story to tell, if he’s not told you already,” she said carefully, “But I lashed out a long time ago when humans took my familiar from me, and I took it out on the wrong person. I wanted the humans to know what it was like to suffer at the hands of someone you feared, so I gave one of them a tail and gills in a fit of pique to make his father pay. I was so wrapped up in my grief at Shadow’s death that I clean forgot about the lad when the humans opened fire on me, and I’ve not thought about him from that day to this.”

“Mackerel…” Hook exhaled, his blue eyes wide. “He… He was human, once, wasn’t he?”

The witch nodded. “Pampered little princeling out on his father’s brand new ship. Shadow got too close and the ship hit my familiar. The shock of it broke something inside me that day, but I never should have taken it out on an innocent child.”

“Where is he now?”

“I gave him the means to return to his people. If he stays on land for longer than a single cycle of the sun and moon, he’ll stay there and never return. If he returns to the sea within that time, he’ll never be able to return to his human form again.”

“Why would you make him choose like that?” Hook demanded, face like a thunderhead.

“My magic isn’t infinite, boy,” she scoffed. “I can’t give him a shifters gift. He must choose, his family in the water or his family on land. By all accounts, the humans have scoured the land looking for a way to get their cursed prince back, but no witch has been willing or able to help them.”

Pearl shook her head. “Probably no one wanted to go against the Sea Witch…”

The witch blew a stream of bubbles from her mouth and shrugged. “If they had, I might have heard about the situation and remembered the poor boy I tossed into the ocean like a piece of discarded bait. Your clan shamed me with your honour in taking in the boy as your own.”

Hook swam out of the witch’s lair not long after that and made straight for the cove where the humans had been frolicking on the shore like spinner dolphins in the surf before they’d spotted him and Mackerel.

There, sitting close together on the beach by the dying embers of the fire, he saw his best friend and the human who’d called him ‘little brother’.

For a long time, he watched, transfixed.

Mackerel was wrapped in a piece of fabric that looked like a small, patterned sail, only it fell softly around him, and from under it, Hook could just see a pair of feet. His gaze snagged on them, and he wasn’t sure how long he stared. He wondered what it was like to have two limbs instead of one — perhaps it was like controlling his flippers and his tail separately…?

Suddenly, on the rocks above him and to his right, a male voice cleared his throat, and Hook jumped, lurching away with a snarl.

“Sorry,” the man said with an earthy chuckle. “Didn’t want to spook you, but I figured you should know I was here, and that you’d better not try anything either,” he warned.

Hook’s upper lip peeled back to show his row of sharp teeth. “If he wants to be there, I won’t stop him,” he growled. “Who are you?”

“Crown Prince’s bodyguard. You?”

“His friend.”

Hook eyed the man up and down and found he didn’t dislike him, physically. Like Hook, he was clearly a warrior, since he had what the humans called a ‘sword’ belted to his hip, and he carried a long spear in his right hand. His clothes looked like they’d been made of fish scales though, and Hook immediately wanted to touch. The fabric shimmered in the torch light and clinked softly, almost musically.

When he saw where Hook was staring, the man chuckled. “Yeah, mail’s a bit like fish skin, I suppose.”

“Mail?”

“This,” he said, plucking at the shirt that ended halfway down his thighs.

He crouched down, leaning on the spear for balance, and at the sight of the dark, soft fabric underneath the mail and covering his legs, Hook’s curiosity surged and he swam a little closer.

“Fuck,” the man breathed when he saw the way Hook moved.

“What?”

“Never been this close to one of your kind.”

“Without hurling a harpoon at us, you mean?” Hook growled, gripping the rock at the man’s boots and raising himself up out of the water enough to reveal his entire torso. Then, with one hand, he grabbed at the man’s mail shirt near his neck and hauled him close.

The spear dropped from his hand and clattered onto the rocks, but the human didn’t resist him.

“Holy shit,” he exhaled instead.

Hook snarled, lip rising again on one side, and he heard a shout of alarm from the beach.

Flinging the man aside so that he toppled and landed hard on his backside on the rock behind him, Hook looked over to find Mackerel standing shakily and staggering on the sand. The ‘sail cloth that wasn’t sail cloth’ fell to his waist and he grabbed at it, just as his brother lurched to his feet and helped to steady him.

Together they walked shakily around the cove and over to the rocks that jutted out into the sea like a dock, but the shore was too jagged for Mackerel’s bare, human feet, and besides, he was too unsteady on his unfamiliar legs.

He beckoned Hook over though, and Hook glanced back at the Crown Prince’s bodyguard, then sloshed into the water and drove himself at the shore with a few powerful sweeps of his tail. There, he half-beached himself, looking up at Macks.

Mackerel crouched, keeping the soft fabric around himself and half hiding his strange limbs from Hook’s view for some reason, and the older man stepped back when Mackerel nodded at him. “You’re human?” Hook croaked, looking up at him.

Mackerel made a little sideways motion with his head. “For now. I’m sorry I never told you what happened. I… I was afraid you’d… that you wouldn’t want me in your family anymore if you knew the truth. I know how you talk about humans…”

Shame twisted in his gut and he looked back at the man on the rocks who was standing up at the approach of Mackerel’s brother.

“You going to stay with them?” Hook asked.

“I’m not sure. I want to talk with my brother a bit longer. While I can. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Hook nodded. “I understand.”

“Hook…?”

He met Hook’s blue eyes with his brown and reached for him. His skin was warm and soft in the firelight, and Hook found he missed the stony grey it had been before. Being human didn’t suit him, but he didn’t feel it was his place to say that, so he just swallowed and nodded. “Take your time. You know where we’ll be.”

“Hook, whatever I decide, you're family too. All of you. Pearl and you and the whole clan. You took me in and cared for me in a way my family on land never really did. They sheltered me and they loved me, but… not the way you did. I’ll always love you all for that. You know that, right?”

Hook nodded once and shoved his weight backwards in the sand, awkwardly carving a channel in the wet shoreline with his massive body. He glared as Mackerel’s older brother strode back across to join them, and he helped Mackerel to stand. His legs trembled and wobbled, and he laughed and leaned into his brother, and the two retreated up the beach to talk some more.

At the whispering of metal rings sliding like scales across one another, Hook glanced to his right and saw the guardsman approaching along the sand. He set down his spear and held up his hands, laughing softly. It was a warm, chuffing sound, and it stirred something in Hook’s gut that he’d thought only awakened for Mackerel.

“What do you want?” he asked, though it came out more petulant than threatening, and it only made the human warrior snort another little laugh. “You sound like a seal with a cold, making that noise.”

That made the man’s laughter grow and he shook his head. Hook saw that his hair was wavy and dark brown, and it looked impossibly soft. A shiver ran down his whole body and he felt a spark of arousal thrum through him. He was glad he was lying on his front, for one.

The two princes talked long into the night, and Hook stayed with the guardsman.

Slowly, he got over his hostility and started to ask questions about the humans’ world, and once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. The guardsman had plenty of his own questions too, and by the time the sun was well up into the sky and hammering down on them, Hook’s deep voice was hoarse and his golden-brown skin was dry and prickling.

“I should…” he rasped, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the water behind him. “I’m going to turn into one of your baked fish soon.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” the guardsman said. His name was Kit, it turned out, which Hook thought was a very funny sounding name. “You need a hand getting back in the water?”

He didn’t, but the thought of having this human’s hands on him sounded suddenly and bizarrely appealing, so he shrugged. “You strong enough to actually help me, or are you just looking for an excuse to get your hands on a merman?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Again, Kit laughed. It seemed so easy, so natural for him to laugh, but Hook felt a little flicker of pride all the same at having made him do it.

“With all that muscle you’re packing? Probably not,” Kit admitted. “Seemed polite to ask though.”

Hook snorted too, and shook his head. His hair had dried while they’d been talking and it was tickling his face. The guard surprised him by reaching out and tucking it behind his ear with a smile. “I’m glad I met you, Hook,” Kit said. “Maybe… no matter what His Highness decides, you’ll meet me here again some time?”

“His… Highness?”

“The one you call Mackerel. He’s a prince, you know?”

“He’s just… Macks,” Hook scowled.

“Yeah.”

Kit straightened with a grunt and dusted the sand off his legs, and Hook used his forearms to back himself back out into the surf, tail lifted so it didn’t drag like an anchor.

His back was burned, and the saltwater was agony to start with, but it had been worth it to spend so long in the company of the strange human. He ducked beneath the water without a word and vanished, deciding to wait out the rest of the time until Macks’ spell conditions were met in the solitude of a nearby kelp bed.

Occasionally he surfaced, but he didn’t go back to the shore, and finally, when the moon was starting to rise again, he breached the water one last time and looked to the beach. There was no sign of Macks this time, and he realised he’d probably made his choice.

Grief struck him a worse blow than even the harpoon, and he curled inwards with a grunt as saltwater leaked from his eyes and he realised he was crying. He doubled over and turned towards the open ocean. His scarred tail gave a throb of pain as he pushed himself to the limit and blew past his clan who had been waiting nervously out in the open water all day.

Pearl yelled after him but he ignored her. He wasn’t sure how far along the coast he swam but eventually he doubled back to familiar waters and located his clan.

And there, in the middle of all of them, was Mackerel.

Hook halted and stared, and the motion of his black and white tail attracted his best friend’s attention enough that he stopped mid-sentence and darted away from the girls, his body flashing like a minnow between the figures of orca merfolk. He shot out and blasted over to him at a pace even Hook hadn’t known he was capable of, and collided with him with the speed of a racing tuna fish. He gave a soft ‘oof’, a cloud of bubbles rising up to the surface in a foam as the air was knocked from his lungs and he started to cough. Mackerel tugged him up to the surface and made sure he got a good gulp of air before hugging him again.

“I know you don’t see me as your brother,” he said, “And I’m sorry I can’t give you what you wanted, but… I hope you’ll accept me back into the clan all the same.”

“I love you,” Hook said, “No matter what, or how. I can’t believe you stayed though. I thought… I thought…” He squeezed him tightly, using his flippers as well as his arms, and Mackerel laughed.

“Turns out I actually prefer being a merman,” Mackerel laughed. “I was always out of place on dry land, but here… I think I’m meant to be here.” He waited a beat and then said, “My brother’s guardsman seemed quite taken with you. Maybe you can keep flirting with him when I go and visit my brother?”

Hook shoved him away and then used his trademark tail-wipe to wash him even further away, and the two of them laughed.

“Race you?” Macks asked.

Mackerel did an easy back-flip in the water, rolling gracefully and then twisting like a strand of kelp in the current. When Hook thought back to how he’d been in those first few weeks — when, he now knew, he’d only just acquired a tail instead of legs — he realised how Mackerel had really grown into that pretty tail of his.

As pretty as it was though, it somehow wasn’t as appealing as Kit’s legs anymore, and Hook hid a secret smile as he let his slippery friend scoot away from him before setting the muscle of his tail to good use and powering after him like an incoming breaker.

Relations with the humans changed after that. The old king died some years later, though not before he got to see his lost son one last time, and over the course of the next year, trade and new laws governing fishing rights and shipping lanes were established for the safety and benefit of the merfolk.

And if Hook disappeared from the clan for extended periods of time, and if those periods happened to overlap with Kit’s time off duty, well, it was only a sign of better things for both worlds, surely?

__

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#merman #merfolk #cursed prince #curse #orca merfolk #3rd person #exophilia #fairy tale

[mugenfinder]

Sprinting with this character feels like a prank

#Soul Saber 1.5 #3rd Person #animecore #3d anime #doujin game #cw flashing #flashing lights

[locketdream]

any autistics that end up talking to yourself/ about yourself in 3rd person? often Angel does

#angel #shane #3rd person #talking in 3rd person #autism #autism spectrum disorder #autistic #actually autistic #autie #actually autism

[jaksfanficsaver]

Celeana shifted slightly, taking in a deep breath and smiling softly at the telltale scents surrounding her.

Bergamot, rosemary, and Brandy.

They've easily become her favorite as of late. A familiar weight was settled beside her, a lean arm across her middle. The owner was cool to the touch, and a welcome surprise.

Had she slept with him last night?

Her nose crinkled as she thought, the memory surfacing. She had. The Tiefling had been the only one awake when Astarion startled out of his trance, panicked from a horrid memory repeating. She'd offered her company as a source of comfort, and apparently had fallen asleep in his burrow of blankets with him.

Still. She wasn't upset.

She took one more deep, slow breath before blinking her heavy eyes open, finally gazing down at him. A small smile curled her lips as several urges crossed her mind.

Caress his face? Pet his hair? Hold him tight? Kiss him?

Oh.

She liked that last one.

He looked so peaceful as her eyes wandered his face, this trance must be much better than the last. She leaned down, close enough that their breaths mingled. She hesitated, still watching his face, and not wanting to cross a boundary of his. Right when she was getting ready to pull away, his ruby eyes snapped open.

“Well, if you won't do it, I will.” He spoke clearly.

Oh.

Celeana blinked, startled by him, but quickly soothed as his cool lips met hers. She felt his fingers curl around her nape and into her hair, pulling her closer still. Her eyes drifted closed as she leaned into him, sighing softly through her nose. Astarion's kiss was languid, as if they had all the time in the world. They parted briefly, sharing breath and slow smiles before he gently pushed her back onto her back and settled upon her hips.

“What are you up to, my Star?” The bard chuckled softly, tilting her head back to give him better access as he placed butterfly light kisses along her throat.

“Just admiring my Moon.” He replied smoothly, a soft smile twitching his lips at the stary lovestruck look on Celeana's face. He gently ran his hands up her arms and easily entwined their fingers, pushing her hands up beside her head while he leaned in for another loving kiss. A soft purr rumbles in her chest, content to stay like this for all eternity. Astarion left one last peck on her nose before settling down on her chest, enjoying her warmth, her heart, and her purrs. Her arms wrap around him in a comfortable weight as she settled in again.

If the others needed them they could wake them later.

#3rd person #astarion x tav #astarion x celeana #astarion acunin #Celeana gueshoon #bg3 oc #astarion x tiefling

[niksixx]

POLL TIME

#writing #writing poll #1st person #3rd person #books

[2dirty4uu]

Morning Sun- Gojou Satoru

Summary: GN reader x Gojou Satoru. Satoru’s significant other wakes up before him. Warning: Pretty fluffy, little bit angsty towards the end, foreshadowing Gojo getting sealed. No beta read and not really edited! Word Count: 508

Morning rays peer down through a pair of sheer white linen curtains hang on a minimalist silver pole. Hitting the bed next to the window, which holds two people covered in a duvet made of the same colored white linen. The two people submerged in the morning sun sleep peacefully, naked and in each other’s embrace.

Softly one of them opens their eyes, blinking a few times adjusting to the light. After their vision adjusts they see what they could describe only as an angel who has descended to earth and for some unfathomable reason decided to lay here with them. Here in a simple plain apartment room of one, vacant majority of the time, lonely, and only dressed in necessities. Lying asleep on a bed that sits on the ground with only an alarm clock and a phone that is plugged right by it.

How this person’s soft silk white hair that seems to defy ground, never wanting to be tamed brushes their arm. The arm that this angel of a person uses as a pillow even though it does not seem comfortable. This person is enveloped in the warm embrace that the sun brings, making a halo around them causing them to look even more eternal if that was even possible.

The person whose body was carved out of marble, smooth, defined, and slick. Where every little detail was put on display from their swan neck to their generously sized chest, down to their stomach where etch out is a six-pack, their thighs also were made generously. Their body was the peak example of lean muscle and elegance. Nothing showed this more than their hands, slender, long fingers. Slightly rough calluses brought from years of experience of fighting.

Lashes so white that they would look clear on their own flutter against their face showed signs that this person, this angel was waking up. Then those long lush lashes move a few times never fully lifting all the way only getting to the mid-way point before falling again. Finally, this person’s eyes open fully and bring with them the view of the universe and everything it is and not.

Clear pools of water could be one way to describe their eyes or a load of sapphires melted together. Both descriptions are correct yet both can’t seem to begin at what they truly are. The shades change constantly, never picking to stay, expanding and collapsing simultaneously holding in them the secrets to all one wants to know. While all answers seem as if they could be found here there is unknown. Where there are no answers and sometimes the answer is neither. These eyes of someone tired of all that they know and hold.

Holding on to others who need them till everything is done. Where then they can finally rest if that will ever happen. This person whose experience and knowledge that appeared infinite somehow ended up in this simple bed that sits in a one-room apartment, laying in the morning sun and soon to be gone.

#gojo satoru #jjk #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x you #jjk gojo #jjk you #gender neutral reader #3rd person #mostly fluff #morning #jujutsu kaisen #fanfic #jujutsu gojo #gojo #jujutsu fanfic #jjk fanfic #no sleeep

[fiora-miriel]

I want to know something. Also clarify for more in comments/tags

#fanfic #fanfiction #pov #reader #y/n #3rd person #1st person #writing #ao3

[sicksadstar]

autistic things 16

talking to yourself/ about yourself in 3rd person

#autism things #autistic things #3rd person #autism spectrum disorder #autism #autie #autistic #asd #autism spectrum #autistic spectrum #actually autistic #actually autism #actually autie #actually audhd

[distantlonersdreams]

Barbie and the Nutcracker was too different in my dream last night. The prince was human the whole time and he, Barbie, gingerbread boy and peppermint girl went on an adventure through a forest in autumn. The prince had to wear a different outfit than usual, and I woke up hyperventilating.

#third person #3rd person #dream #sugar plum fairy #dreams #distantloner's dreams #dreaming #distantloner #barbie #barbie and the nutcracker #gingerbread boy #peppermint girl #adventure #autumn #fall #forest #wrong clothes #panic #hyperventilation #nightmare #Why didn't Mattel sell nutcrackers in 2001

[mugenfinder]

This game actually looks pretty nice when you turn the graphics to minimal. But I think there's something going on with some of the models where they

??? This is the same model far away and up close.

#Soul Saber 1.5 #3rd person #3d anime #animecore #kusoge #doujin game #cw flashing #flashing lights #mugenfinder gaming

[clairethecutepup]

1st Person vs 3rd Person

Some people prefer the "distance," and "seeing/knowing all" or just the environment/thoughts regarding the focused-upon protagonist (when "Limited 3rd"). Some prefer the limitations of 1st Person, especially in horror and thrillers, or the extra touch of personality from having the characters "speak" to you firsthand. What's your preference?

#poll #1st person #3rd person #narration #writing #literature

[sugarcraftcinemas]

[Something was off in Vincent's apartment. Specifically, one of his plants was mysteriously absent from its usual spot with just the amount of sun it liked - and in its place laid a piece of paper, written upon in glittery pink gel pen. It read as follows.]

"Hiya Vinnie!!

Nice place! I've seen it before but I figured I'd compliment the setup this time. Nicer than the orphanage LOL. Anyway, as you have by now noticed, your beloved... I don't know plants, but your friend is gone. I have it.

If you ever want to see this thing again, you will bring me and/or my sibling a dessert a handwritten letter of apology. I can't promise not to drop it out a window if you take too long or do anything to upset them too much before you comply. You can choose the dessert, but make it good

Yours sincerely, E. Koizumi ʚ♡ɞ"

[In one corner was a scribbly looking drawing of a black haired girl winking with her tongue poking out. In one hand, she held a familiar looking potted plant, while the other posed to make a little victory sign.]

At this point, he's admittedly not surprised to see the empty spot, but still in distress. He's also not surprised to see the drawing resembling Esmee in the corner. He anxiously reads the note under his breath, gasping when the line about dropping it out of a window reaches his sight. He only skims the rest, already racking his brain for the quickest chocolate mousse he could make.

#3rd person

[jaksfanficsaver]

Uncertainty

Pairing: Celeana/Astarion

Warnings: some angst, hurt/comfort? Celeana has anxiety

Astarion woke from his trance early, blinking as he sat up. He sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face, his ear twitching as he heard faint music. He glanced at his violin, gently picking it up and slipping out of his tent.

Celeana sat atop a stump close to the dwindling fire, her tail wrapped around her seat and her knees tucked close as she halfheartedly plucked at her lyre’s strings. She hadn't heard him yet, of course not, he took a moment to examine the tune. It was unfamiliar, but easy enough to accompany on his own instrument.

The tiefling gasped, startled by her partner’s reply to her melancholic tune. Her ears twitched softly as she listened, continuing on her lyre. They shared the late night air, filling it with quiet music and solemn harmonies. A sad smile parted her lips as they finished their song.

Celeana listened to his steps carefully as he padded up behind her, placing gentle hands on her tense shoulders after setting aside his violin. She sagged beneath his touch, sighing. “Did I wake you, Stari?” She mumbled softly up to him.

“No, my Sweet,” he began “my own mind did, however, it was pleasant to hear your tune. As somber as it may be.” He started to gently work out some of the knots in her tense shoulders, kissing the crown of her head between her curled horns.

“What are we doing, Astarion?” The words were hesitant but clear, spoken into the cold night air while she watched the flickering embers. She poorly hid a sniffle while tears welled in her dark eyes.

Astarion stilled in his motions, the proverbial wind knocked out of him. Did she have doubts about him? “How do you mean, my Moon?” he resumed his motions, trying to sooth an apparently deep festering turmoil in his love.

“I mean everything.” She sighed deeply curling tighter around herself, her tail coiling tightly around herself now. “This rag tag team, this quest, us.” her voice broke with a small sob as she shook beneath his hands. The Rogue’s heart broke as he listened to her quietly sob, obviously much more affected than any of them had really seen. “What if I can’t do it.” her voice was small, weak as it warbled around the words as she cried. Astarion crinkled his nose as she pressed her face into her knees, hiding from him and her emotions.

“... Good thing you’re part of a team then, isn’t it, My little love.” he abandoned his impromptu massage in favor of wrapping himself around her back, trying to be a grounding weight for her.

“W-what?” Celeana hiccupped, sniffling as the tears streamed down her lavender grey cheeks, leaving darker tracks and smudging her already messy kohl. Astarion calmly rounded her, crouching so he could look up at her, his hands gently, but firmly, on her shoulders.

“I said it’s a good thing you’re part of a team, Celeana.” He gazed up at her, soft and loving. “You’ve got this whole, what did you call us? Rag tag team, Cel.” he brought his hands up to cup her cheeks, gently brushing away her tears. “You don’t have to do any of this alone.” His voice was soft and soothing as he spoke so gently “And as for us,” he began “You shall have me for as long as you’ll allow me the privilege of being yours.” he pulled her forward so that he could gently rest his forehead against hers, sharing air that he didn’t need.

Celeana broke, loosing her sobs as she dropped to the ground with him, wrapping her arms and tail around him tightly. She shook as she cried, hiding her face in his neck. Astarion let out a small noise of surprise as he hit the ground, startled for a moment before wrapping his arms around her. He gently hushed her, combing his lithe fingers through her messy hair.

“Oh, Celeana, it's alright…” he mumbled softly to the large tiefling. She trembled with effort as she tried to calm her sobs. “Shh, shh, shhh.” Stari hushed, gently massaging her nape with one hand while the other trailed feather light along one of her pointed ears. “I'm with you, Darling, you're alright.” Her fingers flexed in the fabric of his shirt while she tried to focus on him, hiccuping as she breathed.

“That's it, sweet girl.” He praised softly as her breathing started to regulate while she focused on him. “No matter what happens, in this moment, right now. The only thing you need to be is my little love, my Moon.”

“I'm frightened, Astarion.” She eventually mumbled against his skin, her breathing near normal now and the embers all but out.

“I know, Celi.” The vampiric elf murmured, gently pushing her hair back. “I'll be right here with you…” he kissed her temple, running a gentle finger over her horns. “Now, let's get you back to bed, Love.” He breathed softly as he moved her to get up, making her whine at the loss of comfort. “Oh hush,” he began playfully “you'll be in my arms all night, we're just migrating, alright?” The tiefling gazed up at him from her place on her knees, giving him a timid nod before letting him pull her up.

“There we are. Let's get you some rest.” He gently led her to his tent, now full of blankets and pillows due to Celeana's regular visits and his new budding self-esteem. Astarion settled in the nest pile first, holding his arms out in an invitation to her.

“... You are certain?” She fiddled with the tip of her tail, a tell of her anxiety he noted.

“Yes for gods sake. You're not going to gore me with your horns” he rolled his eyes, smiling softly when she quickly curled into his side, nuzzling his chest and letting out a deep sigh. His scent soothed her and pulled her into a quick slumber while Astarion traced gentle patterns onto her back with his hands.

“What am I going to do with you?” He asked himself quietly, beginning to realize he'd been falling for her.

#astarion x tav #3rd person #astarion x celeana #astarion x tiefling #celeana gueshoon #named tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate tav

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

My Greatest Accomplishment

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America, Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier

Word Count: 4122

TW: Whump, Torture, Brainwashing, Mind Control, Programing, Pain, Reader Death, Loss of Limb, Pneumonia

Note: Third-Person f!Reader

Bucky didn’t know how long he had been here, locked in this cell with a rattle in his chest and agony in his arm. His arm that was no longer there. Most of the time he forgot it was gone, the pain in the place it once had been felt as real as the time he broke it protecting Steve from the neighborhood bullies. Yet, every time he would turn his head, he was reminded of the fact that there was nothing remaining below his left elbow, except for the pain. He couldn’t even recall what happened. The last thing he remembered was Steve’s hand reaching out for him as his grip on the train faltered, and he plummeted into the unknown. After that, he woke up in this cell, cold, confused, and isolated. Guards brought him food and water twice a day and a doctor periodically changed the bandages on his arm, but besides that, he was alone. Time soon lost all meaning. Hours turned to days, days into weeks, weeks into months, until Bucky had a hard time remembering a life before this cage.

It soon began taking a toil on his body. Though he had Super Soldier Serum flowing through his veins, it could only do so much. As time lingered on in his cold, damp abode, he developed a nagging cough that at first seemed relatively harmless but soon grew into a spasm inducing affair. Curled up under his thin blanket, on a worn out cot barely big enough for his frame, Bucky prayed for this torture to end. But he should have been more specific in what he asked for.

One day, after almost a year in captivity, Bucky’s cell door swung open and a small man with glasses stepped into the cell. As he groggily stared at him, Bucky knew he recognized the man, but his frayed mind couldn’t recall from where or when. The man grinned wickedly at the prisoner before addressing him with a small tilt of his head. “Sergeant Barnes.”

And that was all. The man then signaled the guards to grab Bucky as he turned back and exited the room. Bucky flinched as the two guards grabbed him roughly under each arm and began dragging his broken-down frame across the room. It was the most human contact he had experienced in months and the whole ordeal was sending pricks of pain throughout his body.

The guards followed the man down the hall, their prisoner hauled along between them. After many twists and turns and a short elevator ride, they arrived at what looked like a laboratory of some kind. And there in the middle of the room surrounded by beakers, machinery, and what only could be described as torture devices, stood a woman in a white lab coat. Even with other scientists bustling around her, there was no doubt she was the one in charge, the leader of the group. Everything about her was steely and cold, from her piercing eyes to her freshly polished high heels. She stood straight as a rod as she moved from one experiment to the next, observing their progress. The man cleared his throat and her head immediately swiveled in his direction.

As her eyes settled on him, they narrowed slightly. “Zola. I had heard you were locked away in an American prison somewhere, left to rot for the remainder of your pitiful life.” Her voice was emotionless and harsh, with just a trace of a Russian accent.

“I had believed so as well, but it seems the Americans value power over justice. I have been recruited to assist their scientists in creating weapons and defenses against the Soviet Union.”

The leader scoffed. “And they came to you for this? And you agreed?”

“Well, it is better than life in prison. However, I do despise those arrogant Americans who ruined what could have been my greatest achievement. And as such, I have already started taking the necessary steps to take down their organization from the inside.”

“And what does any of this have to do with me?”

Zola chucked softly. “Well, my dear, you have always been one of my most valuable and talented scientists. And as such, I have brought you a gift.”

He signaled to the guards who dragged Bucky’s limp form into the room before tossing him at the woman’s feet. The impact with the hard ground shook loose some of the congestion in his chest and he broke down into a horrendous fit of painful coughing. The leader just stared blankly down at him, clearly unimpressed with the so-called gift. “And why would you bring me this inferior subject?”

“Ah, my dear, he is more than he seems. This is the only surviving recipient of my Super Soldier Serum.”

For the first time, Bucky saw a spark in the leader’s eyes. The cold indifference that she had been showing him transformed into savage fascination.

Using the tip of her toe, she tilted Bucky’s head back to get a better look at him. “Really? Huh, it seems I was wrong…. This is quite a gift after all.” She nudged his arm just above the amputation. “Though something will have to be done about this.”

Bucky jerked away sharply, a snarl on his face. The leader’s smirk grew larger. “Ah, and he still has some fight left in him. Good, it will make things more exciting.”

“That is why I am giving you full control over this project. If anyone can tame this wild stallion, it is you. Do what you feel is necessary but remember, we need him in his peak condition by the end. I have big plans for him. He is to be the new fist of HYDRA.”

“I understand.” She scrutinized Bucky as if she were a cat eyeing its prey. “It will take time, but every man breaks…. eventually.”

And break he did. Although he managed to fight longer than anyone had expected him to, she had been right. There was only so much a man could take before he was forced to submit.

Surprisingly, the first thing the leader had done in his transformation process was to treat his severe case of pneumonia. After being relocated to a cell that was much clearer, warmer, and dryer than the one he had been held in for all those months, Bucky was given antibiotics, pain pills, and an IV drip. To any outside observer, it might have appeared to be her way of softening him up or gaining his trust. However both she and Bucky knew the truth. He was no good to her in this weakened state. And by giving him the time to heal, she was able to set the next stage of her project into motion.

As soon as his breathing had improved and his chest was clear, Bucky was dragged back into the lab where he had first met the leader. But before he could even ask what was happening, an oxygen mask was strapped tightly over his mouth as he was strapped down to a table. He struggled as his shirt was cut from his body, leaving his upper half exposed. Scientists buzzed around him, prepping what looked like surgical knives and tools. But as he looked around, his head started getting fuzzy and his eyelids grew heavy. His last coherent thought before he drifted off was this isn’t oxygen in this mask.

As he slowly clawed his way back to consciousness, Bucky immediately could tell something had changed even before he opened his eyes. The constant ache in the spot where his arm had once been was gone. However, in its place was a searing burning sensation across his left shoulder. As he tried to shift to get a better look, a slight gleaming caught his eye and he froze.

Hands. He had two of them again, but the left one…. Oh god. He stared in horror at the silver fingers that danced in front of his eyes. Somehow he was moving them just as he would his normal hand. As one of the scientists approached, he shot out the metal monstrosity and wrapped the fingers around the man’s throat. As he began to squeeze, more men rushed over and tried to pry his grip loose, but they were no match for the power of his enhanced limb. Finally, one scientist jammed a needle deep into Bucky’s chest. As his strength gave out and the new arm clanged to the table below him, he caught one last look at the leader before blacking out again. She was grinning from ear to ear.

The next time Bucky woke up, he was strapped to a chair with a metal halo hanging high above him. His new arm was chained tightly with yards of thick chain. As he flexed the thick muscle in his upper arm, he wagered he could snap the confines given enough time. But before he could attempt his escape, the leader entered the room. She had an unfamiliar red book in her hand.

As she approached, Bucky jerked his arm sharply, hoping to frighten her. Instead, her eyes grew wide and bright with joy. “Ah, Sergeant Barnes. I am glad to see you are awake. Good. We have much to do. First, how is the arm functioning? I assume you are grateful to have both of your limbs back, yes?”

Bucky jerked against the chains once again. “Let me out of here and I can show you how grateful I am,” he snarked.

But she shook her head with a smirk. “I’m afraid I cannot do that. At least not until we successfully complete step two.”

Bucky felt an uneasy twinge in the pit of his stomach. “Step two? What the hell is step two?”

She walked over to the computer set up next to his chair. “You see, Doctor Zola has tasked me into turning you into a weapon for HYDRA. Now, on weaker men, this would not be a difficult task, but with you… You are quite the fighter, Sergeant. And you will make an excellent addition to our organization. But first, we have to ensure your loyalty. Which is where we come to step two.”

She nodded to a man on the other side of the machine. With the press of a button, the halo slowly lowered down until it was just over Bucky’s head.

The man from before stepped forward and tried to jam something into Bucky’s mouth. Jerking his head away, Bucky spat in the man. A sharp slap stung his face as his head snapped to the side. Wide-eyed, he stared up at the leader who was standing calmly in front of him once more, with almost no indication she had ever moved.

“You would do well not to resist, Sergeant. This is going to be a painful enough experience for you as it is. Take what little comforts we provide you. You will want them.” She held out the rubber mouth guard the man had tried to put in between his teeth. This time he opened his mouth to allow it, eyes blazing with furry.

Just as she was about to place the piece between his teeth, Bucky lunged at her, teeth gnawing at her fingers. But she had expected another rebellious act, so she managed to grab his cheeks between her fingers. Squeezing forcefully enough to bring tears to his eyes, she coldly said, “One more try and I will break your jaw. The choice is yours.”

Releasing his face, she approached with the rubber piece once more. This time, Bucky didn’t fight back. He didn’t doubt she would stay true to her word, and he had learned long ago how to pick his battles.

Satisfied he was prepared, the leader nodded once again at the scientist. Pressing another button, the halo began to turn and lower once again. But suddenly, the straps around his arms tightened and sharp needles pierced the skin on his flesh limb, injecting him with a burning liquid. He winced and jerked but the straps were too tight. As the halo descended lower and lower, Bucky watched in horror as two arms unfolded from the device, electricity surging between them. He struggled desperately to pull away, but the arms soon clamped tightly against each side of his face. He could feel the electricity flowing just below the surface of the metal plates and he suddenly flashed back to years ago, to another prison. When Zola had experimented on him once before. When he had been given the Super Soldier Serum. He remembered a device similar to this being used on him. But that had been much smaller and less sophisticated….. Oh god….

The leader must have noticed some sort of recognition in his face. “I believe you are familiar with Dr. Zola’s earlier model of this machine. I have since taken his designs and perfected them. I call it the memory suppression machine. You see, a man who has something worth fighting for would rather die than submit. He is unable to be swayed or corrupted unless in very specific circumstances. However, a man who knows nothing, who has no beliefs or ties to the outside world, can be molded into any shape I wish. And this, my dear sergeant, is what will happen to you. As with before, you will try to resist but the end result will be the same. So make this easier on all of us, and just give in.”

Bucky tried to put on a brave face, but he knew his terror was shinning through. As he felt the electric surge start to grow stronger, he tried to think of all the people he desperately wanted to remember. His parents, his sister, the Howling Commandos…. Steve. But in the next instant, every thought was ripped from his head.

Bucky convulsed forcefully as electricity flowed through his body. Every nerve, every synapse lit up all at once. He felt like he was burning from the inside out. The pain was so intense, so consuming, he didn’t even have the ability to think that he was supposed to think about his life. The only though in his head was pain, agony, torture, MAKE IT STOP!

“Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car. Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car. Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car.”

Over and over again, the leader chanted the Russian words from her red book. Bucky could barely hear them as his screams of agony worked around the mouth guard but yet, he could feel them worming into his fried brain, taking root as the rest of him faded away. Over and over again, the words rang out.

“Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car. Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car. Longing, rusted, seventeen, daybreak, furnace, nine, benign, homecoming, one, freight car.”

Then, just as the soldier in the chair began to slip into unconsciousness, the leader, his leader stepped forward. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered a phrase that was so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. But before he could try to remember, he slipped into the darkness.

It had taken almost a month of conditioning but the project had been a complete success. The man who stood before her now was everything she had hoped for and more. She had done test after test, pushing him to the very limits, but he never regained the knowledge of who he once was when confronted with the truth. Her proudest day had been when she showed him a newspaper article with a photo of him and Captain America, and he didn’t so much as blink.

However, the conditioning did falter over time. There had been a close call after four days without the machine when he suddenly stopped in the middle of training. With a far off look in his eyes and confusion written all over his face, he had stammered out, “Bu-buck? Bucky?” He had been back in the chair within five minutes.

But the constant sessions were coming with their own set of problems. The machine basically worked by frying his brain and with day after day of this, he was starting to show damage in his cognitive and reactionary skills as well. Something had to be done.

And so, with much reluctance, she had called Zola. The man had been like a father to her…and she hated her father. But still, she knew of no other scientific mind that she would ever consider her equal. Plus, as the head of the undercover HYDRA operations, he had to make the final call.

So when he arrived, and after an impressive demonstration of the work she had accomplished with her subject, she finally broached the issue that was troubling her.

“As you can see, he is a very impressive specimen. However, when it comes to his memory, I can only do so much long term. The longer he is awake and conscious, the more his memory will try to creep back in. And while the memory suppression machine can wipe his brain again and again, I can not prevent it from causing permanent damage over time.”

“Then what do you suggest, doctor?”

She stared at her silent soldier. “We keep him in stasis until he is needed. That procedure has its own complications as well, but I believe dangers of frequent memory wipes are far greater than the dangers of stasis.”

Zola considered for a moment before nodding. “I trust your judgement. If you believe this is the best solution, then put him on ice.” He turned and left the room without another word.

She signaled to the guards standing on either side of her prized possession. Mechanically, he allowed the men to lead him over to the prepared chamber. Not even flinching at the cold, the soldier entered the tube with no resistance.

As the door shut, she stared through the window with a smug smirk, “A fitting solution, wouldn’t you say, Winter Soldier.” She had always hated that name, but it now seemed to be more prophetic than anyone could have realized. Placing her hand against the glass, she murmured. “Ah,… sleep well, moy soldat. You have a marvelous future ahead of you.”

She basked in her accomplishment as the once fierce warrior stared docilely back at her. As she signaled her team to pull the switch and the ice overtook his body, he had just enough time to rest his metal fingers against his side of the window, the thin glass the only thing separating their two hands. But then, he was gone. An icy statue was all that remained. Without a second glance, she turned to her men, “Come. We have work to do.”

Years passed in an instant for the weapon who was once Sergeant Bucky Barnes. All he knew now of life was murder, and pain, and her. They were the only three constants that remained with him even after his memories were wiped again and again. They were the three things he clung to, to keep even the smallest shred of himself. But, nothing lasts forever.

By 1972, the Winter Soldier became one of HYDRA’s greatest weapons. From surviving fights with Super Soldiers to assassinating U.S. Presidents, he had become a thing of legends and ghost stories. And even within the organization itself, few people knew the entire truth.

Which was why it came as such a surprise when an entire squadron of men burst into the lab one day. The asset had just returned from a mission and had yet to be wiped or placed back in stasis. As the intruders surrounded him, guns raised, he looked to his leader for his command, but she just soft shook her head. Even with his incredible skill, he couldn’t take on this many armed gunmen at once without massive casualties to the scientists. And she did not plan on becoming a casualty.

Once everything was secured, a man in an expensive suit strolled into the lab. The leader’s face turned deadly as she glared daggers at the newcomer.

“Pierce.” She growled.

“Good morning, Doctor. I have come to take possession of my property.” He motioned to the soldier standing silently behind her.

She shifted slightly, placing herself more squarely in front of him. “What the hell are you talking about? He is mine. Zola gave him to me years ago back when he was nothing but a whimpering, pathetic reject. I am the one who programmed him! I am the one who trained him! I am the one who gave him his greatest weapon! You cannot just walk in here and take him now!”

It was the first time the soldier had seen her get angry like this. She grew angry at him all the time, especially at the beginning. But this… he had never seen. The color rising in her cheeks as spit flew from her snarled lips, hands trembling in fury. Actual hate-filled emotions. And for the first time in many years, he felt a twinge of something in his chest.

Pierce smiled smugly. “That is true, and HYDRA thanks you for your years of hard work and service. However, I am in charge now and I will be taking him from here.”

“That is a lie. There is no way Zola would ever-

“Zola is dead, doctor.”

Her face faltered for a second. “No… I knew he was ill but dead…” However, she soon steeled her face once more. “It makes no difference. I have been the head of the Winter Soldier program since its inception. I will not allow it to be taken from me!”

Pierce nodded. “I figured you might feel that way.”

Before anyone could react, he pulled out a gun and shot her in the stomach. With a gasp of pained astonishment, she stumbled back. But the soldier caught her before she could hit the floor. Gathering her up in his powerful arms, he turned and bolted from the room, ignoring as a bullet lodged itself into his shoulder. His first directive, the one no one knew about, had always been to keep her safe and alive. But even he had not been fast enough to save her this time.

After carrying her into her office and setting her down gently on top of her desk, the soldier turned to lock the door behind them.

“All of my work, all of my achievements, all of my loyalty, and this is how I am repaid….” She glared angrily at the ceiling. But then her gaze shifted to the lone figure by the door. She motioned for him, and he was at her side in seconds.

For the first time in almost thirty years, she addressed him as a person instead of the tool she had crafted. “I read the notebook you had with you when they pulled you from that river all those years ago. I know about your friend…their super soldier.” She spat out the words in disgust before a spasm of pain ripped through her body. Blood was gushing from the bullet wound in her stomach, but the soldier made no move to try and stop the flow. They both knew there was nothing he could do at that point.

Licking her lips, she continued. “Every program needs a deactivation phrase. It’s just how it works. I chose one from your book. One I assumed no one would ever accidentally stumble upon.” She peered up at him, eyes slightly glassy but still shining with pride. Reaching up, she softly rested her hand on his face though he just stared back with the same indifference he always had. The irony was not lost on her that the one time in her life she was craving affection and care, she was left only with the shell of a man she had created.

“I am tempted to say it now, you know, to release you from your mental prison before Pierce can get his hands on you. But I am too selfish for that, even now. You are my greatest accomplishment, and I cannot just throw away my life’s work. But maybe, someday, you’ll find someone who can do what I cannot. I wish you luck... moy soldat... and stay strong.”

Her hand fell from his face as her heart slowed its beating. And just as she slipped into the eternal darkness, she thought, Maybe he’ll get lucky one day…. Then again, what are the chances someone near him will use the phrase ‘Til the end of the line’….

#sfw repost #fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x f!reader #sebastian stan #3rd person #reader #3rd person reader #f!reader #marvel #marvel x reader #whump #torture tw #pain tw #loss of limb tw #mind control tw

[rwprincess]

Strange Love: Part One (Fred BensonxFem!Reader)

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.9 k

Synopsis: Request from @fandom-garbage:

What if the reader (fem or gn) is like popular and considered very "hot" I guess but she makes her love for her bf Fred very apparent despite him not being the typical guy I guess. Kinda like Jessica and Roger Rabbit dynamic I just think that would be very cute. Like she kisses him all the time.

CW: Spoilers/references to Harrison Bergeron by Kurt Vonnegut; hard crushing/fluff; reader is kind of on a pedestal; self-doubt/deprecation on Fred’s part

A/N: Honestly, the song Strange Love by Karen O has guided several of my Fred fics, but I thought this one would be perfect for incorporating some of the lyrics and being more based on it. Also, while I was never hot or popular, I did do cheerleading for six years, so I drew on that experience for the 'hot but sweet cheerleader' trope, a la Chrissy the Queen Cunningham.

He had to be mistaken. Or dreaming. But he could have sworn he saw Y/N make direct eye contact with him and smile as she passed in the hallway. Fred watched after her a moment longer and noticed her turn her head, glancing back in his direction as she walked with her swarm of friends, the elites of Hawkins high. It's a crowded hallway. There's no way she was looking at you, he scolded himself and adjusted the satchel strap across his chest. But the next day, he was hit with the hard realization that he hadn't been imagining it.

"Hi, Fred!" She said from behind him and he turned to see that photo-perfect smile plastered on her face.  It fit in with her whole cleancut image: hair swept up into a tight ponytail without a single hair misplaced, a crisp green, white, and gold cheer uniform, and a perky pep in her step and tone in her voice. He had to consciously stop himself from slamming back into locker in shock and disbelief, not to mention the fuzzy weakness in his knees that made him feel on the brink of collapse.  Whether it was anxiety from her seemingly knowing his name and initiating conversation or he was alarmed at her beauty up close, he couldn't say;  either way, it was overtaking him in an intoxicating blunder.

"H-hello?" He stammered out an unsure greeting. At this point, he knew this was happening, but he could not fathom why.

"How are you? Sorry," she blinked in realization, "this is probably really weird and out of the blue. I'm in Callahan's class with you, I sit near the back and --"

"No, I know who you are." He finally snapped out of his daze to reply,  "I mean, I recognize you."

"Oh, good," she let out a relieved sigh and then started talking quickly again, unable to contain the bubbly personality underneath. "I just feel bad that I've never really had a chance to talk to you and you seem really interesting, so I thought I'd say hi, see how you were doing.  Kind of introduce myself belatedly. Way overdue, I know."

His brain took a moment to process the rapid speech, and all it could return in kind was, "Me?" with a hesitant gesture at himself.

"Yeah, you." Her stunning, sparkling eyes softened into a warm and welcoming gaze, "Unless you suddenly aren't Fred Benson." That perfect smile played at her lips again.

"I am." This is going swimmingly, he thought to himself sarcastically. He was so rarely at a loss for words or wit, but he felt totally out of his element here. "I just…I didn't realize you knew who I was. Different friends and all that. We--we haven't worked together in class, right?" He asked trying to play it cool as though he wouldn't remember her nor did he know for a fact they'd never been paired together.  That would be the stuff of dreams to last him for the next century, much like this scenario was likely to fuel him.

"No, but I've heard some of the things you've said, answers you've given. I've found them really…" she paused, drawing in her pink, glossy lower lip between her teeth searching for the right word while Fred was just doing his best to recall how to breathe correctly. "Insightful." She finished, giving him a direct and meaningful stare. He felt pinned, but oddly didn't mind it.

"R-really? Thanks." He was still unsure. All of this seemed too out of place, too unreal.

"Yeah, of course. Hey, are you going to the basketball game tonight? At least to cover it for the paper?" She asked and he could only blink in surprise. She knew he was part of The Weekly Streak, too?!

"Um, yeah. Yes. I'll be there, reporting." He replied, matter-of-factly.

"Good. Maybe I'll see you there." She grinned and swayed a little, balancing on the balls of her feet. "I've gotta run though.  Bye!"

"Goodbye." He mumbled, skeptically, before she walked away. But he caught her in another over-the-shoulder glance as she walked away and disappeared into the throng of students.

~•••~

"Y/N?" Fred's most trusted friend and confidante, Clark asked, dubious. "As in Y/N L/N? Ridiculously hot cheerleader here; that Y/N?"

"Yes! Obviously!" Fred said, exasperated. Of course, he had also been in disbelief but Clark's rigorous clarification was irritating him; was he truly that undesirable or unworthy to talk to?

"Fred, I know some weird stuff has happened in Hawkins lately. The Russians, the mall fire, that dead kid showing back up y'know, not dead. But this? This takes the cake."

"Nice to know I'm that low on the totem pole, that it is absolutely unbelievable for a girl to talk to me."

"No, no. Not a girl. The most attractive, sought-after girl here? It is not a dig at you, she shouldn't be speaking to any of us!" Clark tried to justify as he noticed Fred's face get redder with anger.  "It just defies the natural rules of high school. We are down here," he made a gesture at shoulder-height, "and she's in the stratosphere. I'm not sure she's really from this planet, man. I mean, have you seen her?"

"You doofus, I just told you I talked to her, of course I've seen her!"

"Then you should get what I'm saying." Clark shrugged and Fred sighed in defeat. Clark was right:  she was out of their league. He shouldn't get his hopes up, and yet, that little sliver of faith kept him going.

~•••~

Clark had to eat his words later that night, though. He decided to attend the game himself and see if Fred's outrageous claim came true. Y/N approached as the crowd was dispersing from the bleachers to address Fred.

"Hey, didja have fun?" She asked, that ever-present beaming smile lighting up her face and the whole gymnasium along with it.

"I'm not sure I'd precisely put it that way," he returned the smile helplessly, "but I'd say I enjoyed myself overall. Sports aren't really my thing.  It's part of the job, but it wasn't bad, per se."

"That's the spirit!" She reached out and nudged his shoulder with a pom-pom, his smile growing wider in spite of himself. That is, until he saw Clark making his way over. The dream bubble burst…back to reality. She noticed his face fall and peeked behind herself. She turned back and raised a quizzical eyebrow to Fred.

"Clark, hey." He tried to seem enthused but fell short.  "This is Y/N. Y/N, this is my friend, Clark." They exchanged pleasantries, but Fred tried to communicate to his friend to take a hike. "I thought you were headed right home after the game." He 'hinted' through gritted teeth. Luckily, Clark caught on and obliged him.

"Oh! I am.  Very busy stuff…at home, but I just thought I would say goodbye as I was headed out. So, uh, goodbye. And nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too?" Her voice rose in pitch, not sure what to make of the conversation, and she turned back to Fred. He caught a glimpse of Clark mouthing Oh my God! And doing a 'call me' hand sign before noticeably pointing towards her. Fred waved at him as if nothing happened.

"Sorry about him. It's just way past his bedtime." He said sarcastically and she giggled.

"So, are you headed home too? Or…well, some of us were going to go to the diner if you want to come with." She said it like it was no big deal, like it was a run-of-the-mill invitation, as if he should have known he'd always be welcome.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Normally I stay and draft the article.  I mean, I don't usually go home right away anyway."

"Oh, good, then I'm not keeping you up past your bedtime?" Holy hell, was she trying to kill him? His heart slammed in his chest and he tried to swallow thickly, but his throat was too dry and his Adam's Apple bobbed in vain.

"Nope, not at all. I like to walk on the wild side. Rebel." He joked, even though he felt ridiculous saying so.

"See? I told you you were interesting." She said lowly, leaning in just a bit. "You ready to go?"

~•••~

Y/N was surprisingly funny and kind. While Fred had felt compelled to take up her invitation, he was still apprehensive. It felt like it was just too good to be true, that there had to be some ulterior motive. But she made him feel more or less at home among her friends. Or, as welcome as he could feel in a place he clearly did not belong.  It felt akin to being at the zoo, but he wasn't sure if he was a patron…or an exhibit. Some of the crowd seemed questioning or worse, falsely kind, but Y/N paid them no mind and acted as though this was totally normal, as if Fred had been with them all along.

"What did you think of the reading for this weekend? Harrison Bergeron?" She asked him.

"You already read it?" He asked, amazed. He figured that most people, ones with social lives anyway, would do weekend assignments on the weekend.

"Yeah. I knew I had the game tonight and practice tomorrow. So I tried to get ahead. Or at least not procrastinate. You know Callhan's class. It can kick your ass if you fall behind." She then furrowed her eyebrows,  "Sorry. That makes it sound like I think you're a slacker or something if you haven't read it. I just thought that maybe you had already--"

"I did. I, uh, like reading.  Shocker, I know. So you don't have to apologize." He watched her carefully, taking in her relaxed posture and knowing he had reassured her that there was no blunder on her part. "Honestly, I think it was an artistic way of saying how I've always felt: conformity is dangerous and it'll lead to the death of society."

"I can see that being a point, for sure. I think it was a look at equality versus equity, though. Rather than having equal opportunity, they had equitable hindrances. It also reminded me of Animal Farm, ya know? Like we strive for this perfect equality but someone will always rise up and put themselves at the top. 'Some are created more equal than others' and all that."

"Wow. And you think I'm insightful." He sat back, astonished.  He had now completely forgotten that there was a table full of her friends; to him, only the two of them shared this conversation or perhaps even existed. "I think you'd be like the ballerina in the story. Laden down with every handicap to make you less extraordinary." She bit her lip in response, not sure how to take the compliment.  "Well, you'd definitely have one of the earpieces for sure. Disrupt all those big, anti-conformist thoughts." She laughed nervously and placed a hand on top of his. "I don't think I'd be quite like the ballerina, though."

"Come on, you're athletic and graceful, smart, beautiful--" the last descriptor flew out before he could contain it and he instantly clammed up. 

"Thank you," she said softly and then sat back, withdrawing her hand and he worried he'd said the wrong thing or acted too strangely. She cleared her throat, "So, uh, tell me: what's it like working on the paper? Do you get to choose your research or is it assigned to you?" She asked, trying to give him the opportunity to talk about something he knew, but more importantly, to take attention off herself. 

"Kind of both. There's things our editors and the supervisor think people will want to read, or events that have to be covered. But sometimes you can pick what you want and they'll pick it up." He replied and noticed her gaze, fully locked on him. She had a way of focusing on him that made him feel so seen after years of feeling invisible. It made him feel both nervous and exhilarated to have that kind of attention, particularly from her.

As the evening wound down, she asked, "Can I give you a ride home?"

"I wouldn't want to be a bother…" he said. He wasn't sure why his immediate response was to decline. Probably the nerves acting up again, or somewhere in his brain he was still thinking this couldn't possibly be real. That he was like Cinderella and his time was about to run out and he'd be less than ordinary again. 

"It's not, really. Come on." She jerked her head toward the parking lot and effortlessly commanded him to follow her lead. He watched her as they walked out: moonlight pooling in her hair and highlighting her best features, making her more radiant than usual. Ethereal, even. He got into her car silently, almost afraid of how this would turn out. He was still waiting for that big 'gotcha' moment, the one that revealed she couldn't be so perfect. She couldn't be so stunning and kind and everything else. He directed her to his house and gulped as she parked along the curb out front.

"I had a really nice time with you tonight. I'm glad you decided to come along." She smiled at him with perfect teeth, the effect knocking a blow into his stomach. Pow.

"Yeah. Thanks for inviting me. It was…really nice." He stumbled over his word choice, which was a new sensation for him. In his own little corner of Hawkins High, he commanded The Streak with some authority and used his brains and his wits as his guard. But now, that was all wiped away and he was at a loss…vulnerable. 

"Fred." She stated, and hit her palms lightly on the steering wheel, looking forward, "I hope this isn't too…forward or totally off-base but," she bit her lip and looked back to him, "I really like you. And I'm hoping you feel that way about me. I mean, you called me beautiful and-- I'm rambling but, I don't know, would you maybe want to go out sometime? Just you and me?"

"Me?" He asked incredulously, pointing to himself and then quickly looked over his shoulder out the window as if someone else would be there. She had to be talking to someone else. "You can't be serious. Me? Like…you belong with some model or football captain or something. You could have any guy you want!"

"I know," she replied softly, "But I've wasted enough time with guys like that. I know what they're about. I'd rather have someone with brains, a kind heart. And don't sell yourself short, you're very cute." She said, eyes raking over his features. He felt hot under her gaze. It was both searing and electrifying, all at once. He was stunned into silence more than anything and when he didn't respond, she gave a soft sigh. "Sorry, I must have misread. I just thought…I'm sorry."

"What? Good God, no! I'm just…shocked. Surprised, that's all. I never thought in a million years…are you sure you want me? Are you feeling okay?" He asked, still in disbelief.

"Yes," she laughed melodically, "I mean, only if you're interested," she smiled coyly.

"Obviously." He said, with eyes wide behind his glasses. 

"Good." She whispered and leaned forward, capturing his lips and brushing her hands through his hair, cradling his face. He knew he was out of practice and had no clue what he was doing, but her kiss felt so right, as if they were meant to fit together. "So, about that date…" she smiled as she pulled away.

"Anything you want. Any time. We could go now, if you're so inclined," he said just a little too eagerly and she laughed. 

"Well, I was thinking maybe the day time but--" she joked back, making him feel at ease. 

"Whatever's good for you." He muttered, feeling a little silly. She brushed his cheek gently with her fingertips, trying to cue him to make a move. 

He luckily took the hint and kissed her goodnight.

#fred benson x fem!reader #3rd pov #3rd person #stranger things 4 #fred benson #fred benson stranger things #cheerleader x nerd trope

[curb-the-pain]

FLAWLESS VICTORY!

I'll beat Mohg every day till the Shadow of the Erdtree DLC - Day 6

#youtube #flawless #boss #mohg #elden ring #souls #gaming #soulslike #nagakiba #katana #nihil #miquella #miquella the unalloyed #lord miquella #rpg #arpg #3rd person #nohud #no healing #mohgwyn #dearest miquella