#also if anyone wonders why i keep using he/him when he has the shorter gills. it's because he's transgender. like father like son. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

foilfreak · 3 years

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Beauty and Her Beast: Chapter 3

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

(Link to ao3 version in comments below)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ Hello ?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Project: E.V.A. Resurrection

Subject: N-45

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

Family Name: Bogdan

Given Name: Nadine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How strange...

How very strange indeed…

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

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ALSO because I'm needy and for Science! If you are so inclined: anything to do with our favorite idiot drama trash knights during the Crusades?

Acre, The Holy LandAugust 1191

The midday heat is, as usual, blazing like the fires of hell, the din of the rebuilding walls is endless – the scraping of the stone blocks, the bawling of the masons, the creaking of the scaffolds, and the yelps of whichever unfortunate has recently crushed their fingers – and Garcia de Clermont is left to scrounge a scanty bit of shade and wonder, as he does at least once daily and twice on Sundays, what the damnation a vampire is doing in the Holy Land. The Holy Land; the jest seems obvious, too ironic to be permitted, though he can cross church thresholds and bow his head in prayer with the best of them, and he’s old enough by now that holy water does not trouble him. It’s the heat and the sun and the fact that they have come here from Europe to a place that does not want them and an aristocracy that does not trust them, but Richard Coeur-de-Lion will do as he will, and nobody else appears to be vexing themselves with these questions. Europe seems entirely shocked, shocked, that Jerusalem fell to the Saracens, when they had been outright ignoring it for forty years, but that part does not surprise Garcia. Though at the rate they are going, it four years now since the capture of the city by Saladin, and the crusaders presently marooned a hundred miles north in punishing midsummer heat, it seems signally unlikely that they will get there any time soon.

Garcia checks the sky, decides that the sun has no intention of abating, and swears under his breath. He needs to get back to Richard anyway. The notable failure of the Saracens to deliver on the terms of Acre’s surrender – or indeed, anything at all – has made the Plantagenet temper, never bounteous, burn still shorter, and Garcia thinks it prudent to keep an eye on the king. First, however, he needs to find Gabriel, and no prizes for guessing where he is. The crusaders, the instant they tasted brief success by acquiring Acre and cursing Philip of France’s cowardly departure, have decided that this is apparently a pleasant summertime vacation, and settled into spending it drinking, gambling, fucking, and otherwise getting into mischief. And as all of these are Gabriel de Clermont’s favorite pastimes, the only question is which shabby brothel or disreputable winesink he has fallen down this time. He has been even less keen on the crusading idea than Garcia. He’s not wrong, but still.

Garcia turns and sets off along the main row of brothels, crammed to the gills with crusaders, pockets jingling with the gold Richard has paid out to help rebuild the wall. Cursory glances into each are usually enough to confirm that they do not contain his brother, but on the fifth, it is a different story. Garcia sighs deeply, steps inside, and follows laughter, the scent of spiced wine, and palm fronds and fresh dates to an inner courtyard. Herein, Gabriel sits shirtless with two pretty women sitting in his lap, and a pretty boy leaning on his shoulder. They are all laughing and, Gabriel included, extremely drunk.

Garcia clears his throat. This gets no response.

“Gabriel,” he says pointedly, a little louder. “Gabriel! Let’s go!”

“Is someone talking?” Gabriel – his vampire senses must have good and damn well informed him that Garcia was there the instant he walked in – but the idiot has the nerve to flare his ink-dark brows in exaggerated surprise. “Ah! There you are, darling! I hardly saw you, skulking in the shadows like Conrad de Montferrat. Sit down, or should I say, lie? They’ve offered me half price on the next fuck, and I am deeply delighted to offer this unmissable bargain to you.”

Garcia bites his tongue on the question of whether that means all three of them, the girls and the handsome young man alike, since knowing Gabriel, it assuredly does. He tries to banish the mental image of all four of them writhing in some improbably athletic configuration on some dim bed. Gabriel needs to be more careful, besides. Just because Richard (before the crusade, at least) was more or less known to be sleeping with Andrew de Chauvigny does not mean that Gabriel should get himself labeled in public as a sodomite. Richard was already forced into that absurd theater of repentance in Messina, and while it is hardly as if anyone can do anything to Gabriel (indeed if they whipped him, he would enjoy it too much, perverse bastard that he is), rumors getting around of Lord Gabriel de Clermont’s laundry list of mortal sins would not help their holy cause. Or maybe that is exactly why Gabriel is doing this. Sabotage the whole crusade, get them happily sent back home to France, easy as pie.

“No,” Garcia says instead. He strides across the room, hoists one of the girls off Gabriel’s lap as they both pout at him, and fights the urge to throw her something to cover herself with. “Come on, they’re expecting us.”

“Has anyone ever told you how very tiresome you are, darling?” Gabriel takes a better grip on his remaining whore, apparently in challenge. “Truly.”

“Yes,” Garcia says. “You. Repeatedly.”

Gabriel waves that off with one flick of an elegant hand, turning his head up so the jeune homme can feed him a grape. Fascinating as this spectacle of the debauchery of the Romans of old may be (in Gabriel’s case, literally) Garcia is out of patience. He hoists the other girl off, drops her as she squeals on a red cushion, scouts around until he finds Gabriel’s shirt, and throws it at him. When Gabriel appears disinclined to struggle into this garment on his own accord, Garcia forces it over his head and hauls Gabriel’s arms more or less through the sleeves, then uses every drop of supernatural strength to get the eldest de Clermont son, protesting, to his feet. “We. Are. Going.”

“Fine, fine, you needn’t bark orders like Richard.” Gabriel weaves after him, blowing a kiss to several heads that pop out of dark rooms. Garcia does not need to know, thank you. “Or do, it’s rather assertive of you.”

Garcia mumbles something under his breath as they finally reach the street, Gabriel winces and squints against the sunlight too, and then decides for this to be the single, solitary thing that a vampire nearly twelve centuries of age is capable of dealing with. “Crusading is boring, darling,” he says, as they stride (or in his case, determinedly wobble) up the street. “Can you blame me? The rest of the army’s doing the same.”

“You’re one of Richard’s top commanders,” Garcia reminds him. “We both are. It could go poorly.”

Gabriel makes a rude noise, though Garcia knows he is not uncaring of the prospect that it could backfire onto Richard. Their loyalty and love for him, after all, is most of the reason they are here, Knights of Lazarus or otherwise. “Well then,” Gabriel says, as they reach the top of the hill and he drapes an arm around Garcia’s shoulder, either in fraternal concord or to disguise the fact that he might otherwise stumble out of his boots. “We shall simply have to make some better amusement.”

#timeless ff #gabriel x garcia #the brothers dimm #all souls au #peak disaster gabriel is peak disaster #why son why are you the way you are #extasiswings #ask

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glitterfilledtrashcan · 5 years

Photo

I ended up drawing the older/adult versions of my rapr smeets! I’m still working things out, but here’s what I have so far.

Flirt:

-The third one of the clutch born

-Tallest of her siblings, but shorter than both Red and Purple by a small fraction

-Worked her way through the Irken military (With some obvious help from her status as the Tallest’s smeet + being from the first natural born clutch in a long while)

-Lost her eye, has several other injuries that are mostly kept hidden under clothing

-The Tallest’s favorite (Favoritism in them is mostly based on height)

-After sustaining her injuries, because she still wanted to be part of the military without having to be out in the field, was put into the Army Operations Manager position after the last guy was 'sadly’ found unfit for the job and was reprogrammed to work as a janitor on a faraway and hostile planet. I’m sure he’s enjoying that

Byzantium

-The fourth one of the clutch born

-Shortest of her siblings, but still receives a healthy amount of favoritism when compared to how the Tallests treat your average Irken

-Somehow came out quite intelligent despite being the related to/raised by the Tallests

-She does have her dumb moments, or moments where she’ll lash out and get mad for something very minor and/or unimportant

-She’s a scientist that specifically works in the manufacturing/testing/designing of machinery that benefits everyday life and the military

-Was inspired at a young age by her sire’s(Red’s) designs of some artillery that he was working on. (He’s actually quite good at stuff like that thanks to his time before being Tallest)

-Is the shortest scientist on her team. It’s no secret she wouldn’t even be one had it not been for her relationship with her parents, and just what they’d probably do to get her in that position. Only the best for their smeets, after all, even if they are short

Jazzberry:

-First of the clutch born

-Was obviously more than quite the shock, even to her parents who didn’t know of the impending arrival of their smeets

-Some Irkens arient really sure she’s the Tallests’ smeet, even though there’s no other logical conclusion to come to. She’s very nice and bubbly, loves to talk to people and loves physical affection like hugging

-Has a girlfriend who she is very faithful to (Plus the gf’s taller, which Purple and Red love, in the event they somehow have a clutch, or clutches, of their own)

-Was arguably the least favorite of the clutch, or it seems that way to outsiders at least. After all, she’s never really gotten too much special attention, and other than the fact she was the first one born has nothing too special about her

-Red and Purple would still maim or kill anyone who hurt or threatened her, though, not that anyone would be dumb enough to

-Works as a navigator, and it quite good at identifying known constellations and mapping our uncharted ones they’re going through

-Was the easiest one to raise, which is why Red and Purple love her so much, even if they don’t show it publicly too often. She would just lay there and giggle, rarely crying, and more than content to just sit in one of the Tallests’ laps as they looked over reports while her other siblings ran around and caused havok

Periwinkle

-Seconds of clutch born

-Was the largest for a while, giving him a lot of attention he truly did not want from his parents, as well as other Irkens

-He was very relieved when both Smitten and Flirt grew taller than him in their later years

-Somehow ends up eating more than both Red and Purple, mostly because he stress eats

-Enjoys spending time alone, or just with his family. He freezes up and begins stuttering and mumbling when confronted, or even just talked to, by other Irkens on person, and nearly goes fully still and unresponsive when he has to deal with the Computers

-He does much better talking with people he’s not comfortable with over video

-His main job is to keep up to date records. Not only on Irken history, propaganda, etc., but also intelligence gather on enemies, whether through Invaders or otherwise

-He hates when invaders and such give him irrelevant data, as it still needs to be put down. As in, he has to take the time out of his day to sit down and write all thus ‘useless’ data

-Whenever he is seen in public, he is always with Red, Purple, Smitten, or Flirt. He literally has not been seen by himself, in PUBLIC, without one of them since he was a wee smeet. Said individuals are usually a lot more alert/confrontational when with him, keeping others away. It’s mostly instinctual because they can sense his discomfort(through body/antennae language), and immedently get the, ‘Oh no, danger, back off’, instinct. Red and Purple more so, once again due to instinct, more so parental

-Antennae are very sensitive to vibrations, as well as other ways Irkens communicate using them, so he tends to get very stressed and overwhelmed in crowds, one of the many reasons he can’t stand being in public

Smitten:

-The fifth smeet born

-The more serious out of her siblings

-She does not get along well with Flirt, and is very cold/cordial when she has to speak with her. She also makes her antennae stand up straighter/taller when around her

-This is mostly because she was the first one of the two to get their growth spurt. She got all the attention from her parents and other Irkens, until Flirt shot up past her. Needless to say, Flirt was the one getting the most attention after that, and she wan’t so happy about it

-She gets along well with the rest of her siblings, but gets along with Byzantium the best. She annoys her the least, or so she says

-Other than Flirt, she is the only other one who has killed another person, Irken or otherwise

-Said people may or may not be related to the disappearance of the previous adviser, which the Tallests waved off as something unimportant when brought up to them, as well as some individuals who threatened her position, but also the position of her brother. (More of a, if he won’t do it, I will, sort of deal)

-People wonder when her taller sister is going to go ‘missing’ under ‘mysterious circumstances’, but that honestly wont happen until Red and Purple both pass away. After all, they won’t let the death of their daughter slip under the rug

-Is actually a good adviser. Not the best, but the body counts and over-taken planets are still high and only getting higher

-Rarely speaks to others outside of her family, but does have something going on with a special someone. Someone whose not exactly of the Irken race

All

-All of them don’t have Paks. This is because they were born naturally, and as such, attaching a Pak on them would cause them to, well, not die, but basically be in a comatose state for the rest of their life. Which would probably be extremely shortened due to the body attaching the spinal cord in an attempt to gill the foreign object/invader inside them (The computers knew this from the early days of ‘taking over’ the empire)

-All of them, because they are naturally born, are fully able to produce smeets of their own with ease. Irkens, before they required smeeteries, produced A LOT of smeets, as in 1-12 in a clutch, and could become ‘pregnant’ again soon after. Doesn’t help that all of them can both sire and incubate said smeets. Normal Irkens CAN produce clutches, obviously since they were born, but this scenario was so low the Computers thought it wouldn’t happen

-You see, in this kinda au-thing I’m working on, the Computers couldn’t just make artificial smeets without reproductive and social organs(Like the crop). The first ‘batch’, and the several ones after that through experimenting, were basically useless. They basically could not function because their bodies needed them to A) Produce certain hormones necessary for their survival, and B) Without their social organs they were incapable of forming bonds with other Irkens, and also almost incapable of properly communicating with one another, as even their antennae, which Irkens use to express most of their emotions, were even stiff and un-moving. They also didn’t produce hormones that Irkens usually give off to communicate. Needless to say, that was a mess. Soo..

-The computers kept the organs, but the Paks keep most of their levels down, preventing most clutches to be formed, or if they are, they die shortly after conception. (In fact, although the Tallests don’t know this, they’ve had several of those). This is fine, as most of the Irken population is too busy working and taking over planets that they don’t have time to procreate, meaning their already low chances of having smeets gets even smaller. However, Red and Purple don’t really have this problem, aannnd, they’re the first Tallests to rule together, adding together the fact they are mates. It just led to a lot of failing to conceive clutches until Purple carried one to a term they could just barely live outside the body, completely on accident. Without even knowing he was. Not like they have sex-ed on Irken or anything

#invader zim #invader zim fanart #iz #iz fanart #rapr #OC #ocs #headcanon #hc #Still working things out #sorry for how long this is

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sassycassie-s-writing · 5 years

Text

Seal the Promise

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC, Young Justice - Kaldur’ahm/Aqualad

Rating: PG/K+ (for le very minor smoochy-smoochy)

Original Idea: IDK I read this thing and realized I needed to give Kaldur a little love on this blog because he’s a great character.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I literally wrote this in a few hours because it just came to me (the shower is a great place for stimulating creativity). It takes place between S1 and S2 (like maybe 3 years after S1?) because I haven’t seen S3 yet. I feel like this one has the potential for one or two more parts. Any thoughts? @welovegroot (I know it’s not BatFam but we both like YJ so I’m tagging you)

^^^^^

“Psst!” I could have sworn I heard someone whispering my name.

I turned, looking around for the noise. I was alone in the Atlantis magic school courtyard. No one else was there. It was late and I’d been studying for hours, leaving me completely by myself. “He-hello?” I called quietly. “Is someone there?” Slowly I swam over to inspect behind the pillars.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember this from our childhood,” said a deep voice as a hand closed over my mouth to stop my scream. The arm that belonged to it brushed the gills on my neck.

I gasped through my open gills and whirled around. “Kaldur?!” I hissed. “What—How—why—?!”

Kaldur put his hand over my mouth again. “Shh! No one can know I’m here.”

I pulled away from his hand. “Kaldur what are you doing here? If anyone sees you here you’ll be arrested—”

“I need you to listen to me very carefully. I’m not what Atlantis believes me to be. I’m not actually a traitor. I’m a double agent in order to learn more about Black Manta. No one can know. You cannot tell anyone. Do you understand?”

I nodded. “I got it.”

“Good. Because I need your help. The team on the surface needs your help.”

“Uh… Kaldur… I don’t know if you’ve noticed but… I’m… me. I can’t go to the surface.” I gestured to my long blue fish tail. “I don’t have legs.”

“No, but you’re advanced enough in magic to give yourself legs.”

“Kaldur, I… I don’t know.” I shook my head.

“Please. For me. All you need to do is go to Happy Harbor in New England. It has a massive mountain on the north end of the bay. Tell the one called Nightwing that I sent you. He will immediately know what to do.” He held my forearm and shoulder urgently. “Please.”

I sighed and looked down at his chest. He was dressed almost the way he used to be before he betrayed Atlantis—or rather, “betrayed”—to join Black Manta. But just different enough that no one would initially realize it was him. “I’ll… I’ll try, Kaldur. Because you’re one of my best friends. But… I can’t make any guarantees about how well it may go. Or that I’ll even be… be able to… to give myself legs. What if I can’t get my tail back?”

“I have faith in you,” Kaldur said.

“That makes one of us,” I muttered.

Kaldur reached up and picked up the pearl on my necklace between his forefinger and thumb, twisting it back and forth on its chain before letting it fall on the webbing between his fingers so he could examine it. “I’ve thought of you often since Tula’s death,” he said. I looked away, blinking the sting of sorrow at the memory of loss out of my eyes. He pinched my chin and turned my head to face him again. “I know she was one of your best friends.”

“I’ve thought of you often as well,” I agreed. “And... I know how much you loved her.”

Kaldur’ahm smiled forlornly. “This is where you tell me that my love for her was childish.”

I shook my head. “Not anymore. When we were younger my words on the subject were born of a jaded cynicism my parents imposed on me that I’ve spent years trying to unlearn since I’m naturally more of an optimist. Those words were also, at the time, born of a jealous, selfish desire to have you for my own. A desire that I grew out of.” I met his eyes with honesty. The only lie was that I’d grown out of that desire. I most certainly had not.

My words earned me a gentle grin. “It pleases me to see you so grown-up. Though it saddens me that I’ve not been here to witness it.” He brushed some of my hair out of the way as it drifted through the water.

“Yeah. I… I really missed you, Kaldur,” I said. “It devastated me to hear you betrayed Atlantis.”

“I suspected as much. Hence why I’m telling you the truth now,” he said.

Movement caught my eye. “Oh shrimp,” I hissed.

Campus security.

I pulled my hair and swirled it up to cover my head—and Kaldur’s. I slid my fingers around the back of his neck and pulled him closer to me. “Kiss me,” I whispered.

“I beg your par—“

“Just do it,” I replied. “Trust me.”

He did, letting his lips meet mine. I could feel his fingers tangle in some of my hair. I yanked him and pressed his back against one of the pillars where it would be harder for the guards to see who he was. His bare feet brushed against the scales of my tail as I pushed him firmer against the pillar. With my tail, he and I were the same length. However my torso was much shorter than his so I imagined that if I got legs—which I was fairly certain weren’t as long as my tail and fluke—I would be quite a bit shorter than him.

“You there!” a guard called. “Campus is closed.”

I pretended to be embarrassed at getting caught, pulling away from the kiss with a bubbly sigh out my nose, but keeping my hair upward to block Kaldur’s face from view. “We just, uh, finished studying for our exam that’s tomorrow. We were just… heading home,” I said.

“Well, get a move on,” the other guard said.

“Yes sir!” I said with a bit of a squeak. Both guards kept swimming and disappeared. “C’mon, Kaldur. It’s not safe here for you.”

“It’s not safe for me anywhere in Poseidonis,” Kaldur pointed out as I checked to make sure the coast was clear before pulling him along by the wrist away from the magic school. It could have been the bad night lighting, but I could have sworn he was blushing. I should have given him more warning before ordering him to kiss me.

“There is one place you’re safe here,” I said.

“Is that right? Where?”

“My place.” I swam through the city cautiously before we made it back to the small grotto apartment where I lived after I moved out of my parents’ place. I pushed Kaldur in ahead of me and then shut the door. “It’s not much, but no one ever visits so no one would find you here.”

“Always so kind to me,” Kaldur said. I glanced at him over my shoulder.

“You’re one of my best friends, Kal,” I muttered. If anyone else called him Kal they’d get a water-hammer to the gut. But I’d known him long enough that he begrudgingly let me call him Kal rather than Kaldur.

I opened a storage cupboard and held out some food. “Care to take a meal with me?”

He accepted it. “I would consider it an honor.”

I smiled and floated against the ceiling, letting my back brush it while I ate. Kaldur was used to me being weird and eating on the ceiling so he didn’t comment on it. I preferred the ceiling because I could relax and just float without putting forth any effort to keep me in one place underwater.

“How is Garth?” Kaldur asked quietly after swallowing a bite.

“Still hurting,” I said. “He and Tula were pretty happy together. Losing her cut deep.”

“I understand.”

“You really think I can help your old team on the surface?” I wondered.

“I have no doubt of it. You are a skilled magic-wielder and an incredibly intelligent young woman regardless of your magical prowess. Nightwing will understand why I’ve sent you.”

“What am I supposed to tell the queen when I say I’m not going to show up for lessons? And Garth? And the king? And my parents?”

“I’m sure you will come up with something cleverer than anything I could imagine, but I would recommend you say you wish to do some soul-searching. You could say that you want to broaden your horizons on the surface team for a while if you don’t want to lie too many times. I suppose you could say nothing and just disappear for a while.”

“I could but… if I can’t give myself legs on my own I might need the queen’s help.”

“Indeed,” Kaldur said quietly. I finished my meal and pushed off the ceiling to float near him. I wrapped my arms around his torso and rested my head on his chest.

“I miss you, Kaldur,” I said quietly. I love you, I added silently.

“And I you,” he agreed. His free hand rested on the back of my head. “When all this is over, I promise you and I will take the time to catch up.”

I kissed his cheek. “That seals the promise. We better.”

That earned me an amused chuckle. “We will. I’ve already missed out on too much of your life since I’ve been away.” He kissed my cheek as well. “That seals the promise.” He glanced at the singular glass window in the open living area of my apartment. “I should go before the sun rises. Escape in the cover of darkness.”

“Want me to lead you to the edge of the city?”

“No. I want you to stay safe, here.”

I sighed. “Okay. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.” A kiss of promise was pressed to my forehead. “And when all this is over, I will return to you.”

“You better. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Kaldur. My friends are my everything.”

“I completely understand.” He took my hand in both of his as he swam to the door of my grotto apartment. “I’ll be careful. And I’ll see you again when all this is over.”

“I’ll see you when this is over,” I agreed.

“Thank you for the meal and the company.”

“No problem. Thank... thank you for coming back to see me. And telling me the truth. Oh, and by the way, you’re a really good kisser.”

A faint dusting of pink darkened his skin. “I, uh… thank you.”

“Sure thing,” I said, squeezing his hand.

He smiled, released my hand, and slid out.

I blinked the sting of sorrow at losing him again out of my eyes, sobbing without tears and curling up on the floor of my grotto to release my emotions into the sea around me. Exhaustion after hours of studying didn’t help me either. After a few minutes I swam to my sleeping quarters and passed out. I had my exam tomorrow and then… I guessed I was heading for the surface.

“I won’t let you down, Kal. I promise,” I said, blowing a kiss toward the edge of the city to seal the promise.

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