#and hearing the opening melody drift through the ship like he's heard it his entire life... that makes sense 2 me y'know | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-sympathetic-villain · 4 years

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The Stowaway’s Heart - Chapter 1

AO3 | Next | Masterpost

Description: Virgil is rescued by selkies after being abandoned at sea and brought back to their pod to recover. Virgil's poor, gay heart may just explode from how attractive they all are.

Pairings: Analogical, Platonic Logince (There may be more as I go along!)

Word Count: 1813

Chapter Warnings: Dehydration, Imprisonment, Mentions of human trafficking, Mild Suicidal Ideation

Author’s Note: This is something I’ve been writing when I need to take a break on You Belong With Me. This will eventually probably end up being a lot of extremely gay fluff with a little hurt/comfort to start.

Three days.

Three days since they’d thrown Virgil in the brig.

Three days since he'd heard the voice of another person.

Three days since he’d last drank water.

Three days.

He couldn't even open his eyes as he lay motionless on the stiff cot in his cell. If it weren’t for the chill of the night air, he wouldn’t even have known how long they’d left him here. Not that it mattered. No one was coming for him. He was going to die of thirst, locked in the brig of this godforsaken ship drifting through the ocean. They could have at least had the decency to kill him outright, instead of forcing him to wait as he slowly wasted away.

The haze in his brain seemed to break for just a moment as the sound of footsteps echoed above him. He held his breath, straining to hear as the gentle tap of steps moved across the deck. He waited for the footsteps to disappear. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. His mind had to be playing tricks on him.

But the sounds continued. For several minutes, he could hear the deliberate movement of footsteps clicking above him. The sound wasn't just objects rolling about the deck. There were actual people on the ship somewhere above him.

Maybe someone came back to finish the job they started.

Virgil exhaled bitterly.

No. It can’t be.

He moaned, confused. They wouldn’t have come back for him. He was worthless to them at this point. In his condition, he wasn’t even worth keeping as a captive for trade. Nursing him back to health would cost them more than the price he'd fetch at the market. Distraught, a groan escaped him as he willed whatever strength he had left into trying to push himself off the ground, only barely managing to roll onto his side. Virgil nearly bit his tongue, forcing back a wave of nausea as he fought the urge to gag.

Moving is bad. Got it.

He groaned, remaining still as he listened to the soft tapping above him. He forced his eyes open to stare at the hatch in the ceiling in the space outside of his cell. Time passed slowly as he waited, yet the hatch to the brig remained closed. Virgil couldn't help it. His eyes started to droop with exhaustion as his focus faltered. His vision blurred as he nearly answered sleep's enticing call.

It doesn't matter anyway.

Virgil groaned. Even if they were coming back for him, he stood no chance of fending them off. Whoever was coming would find him, regardless of whether he was awake. He couldn't stop whatever they were going to do to him. He was at their mercy. His head drooped.

Maybe it would be better to be unconscious.

The sound of metal moving against metal above him tore him from his thoughts. He listened, waiting, until a metal clink from above confirmed to him that they had found the hatch. Even as his heart raced in his chest, he couldn’t even find the strength to tense his muscles in anticipation of whoever was coming his way.

Bright light assaulted his eyes as the hatch opened. He groaned loudly as he clenched his eyes shut and cringed as the footsteps at the hatch came to an abrupt halt.

Great job, Virgil. Now they know you’re here.

He listened as the footsteps started to descend the steps once more. Slowly, this time. Virgil ached to open his eyes and see who was approaching him. He wanted to see their face. At least then, he could brace himself for whatever they had planned for him, but he couldn’t. So, he waited, lying prone on the bed, vulnerable to whoever approached.

The footsteps paused at the cell doors. Virgil grunted. He forced his eyes open, ignoring the pain. He was only able to make out a tall, dark silhouette standing at the cell door, hands on the bars before the pain became unbearable and his eyes closed once more.

“You’re alive!”

The deep voice was loud and jarring and Virgil couldn't help flinching at the sudden sound.

“I am sorry. I did not intend to startle you, small one.” The voice dropped to a whisper. “Give me a moment. I will get you out of here.”

Virgil relaxed. The voice was mesmerizingly smooth and deliciously deep. Virgil couldn’t help wishing the man would speak more. At least if he was going to die, he could listen to something pleasant as he drifted away.

The source of the voice, however, seemed to have other ideas. As fast as the pretty voice had come, it was gone once more, and Virgil had nearly drifted off to sleep again by the time the voice returned. The man was further away this time,. He was somewhere close to the top of the stairs and he wasn’t alone anymore. Another booming voice echoed down through the hatch above. Virgil cringed. The second man’s voice was deeper and he sounded angry.

“—he’s injured!” The pretty voice spoke again.

“He’s dangerous!”

“He’s barely conscious. Look at him. He's hardly a threat to anyone in his current state.” The pretty voice was flat now, starting to sound annoyed.

“Look at the state of this ship.” The angry voice paused. “What if he’s responsible for this?”

“You think he did this and then just locked himself up in a cell to die?” The pretty voice sounded bitter now. “I find that highly unlikely.”

Silence hung between them for a moment before the other voice spoke again. “He’s still dangerous, Logan. They all are.”

“Undoubtedly, they would say the same about us.” The man, Logan, said bitterly.

“I hate it when you’re like this.”

“Compassionate?”

“Stubborn.”

“Forgive me if lowering my standards of who is worthy of basic compassion is a topic on which I refuse to compromise, Roman.”

“I’m not asking you to lower your standards.” Roman muttered bitterly. “I’m asking you to consider the consequences.”

“I have considered the consequences.” Logan sighed. “I’m not willing to leave him to die over complications that may never arise.”

“I shouldn’t have let you come with me.”

“That is of little consequence at this point. I’m here now.”

Roman sighed, considering the situation. “Fine, but he’s your responsibility and yours alone. No one else will be allowed near him.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Virgil could have laughed at the barely concealed smirk in Logan’s tone. He could guess that this man with a pretty voice was used to getting his way.

“He will remain confined the entire time. He's not going to be moving about the island unchecked.”

“Roman—”

“This is not a negotiation.” Roman stated. “These are my rules if you choose to do this. Otherwise, I’m not allowing it.”

Virgil heard a dissatisfied grunt before Logan spoke again. “Fine, I will concede to your terms.”

“Good, because I have one more.” Roman hesitated. “You will leave your pelt with me while you care for him.”

“That’s not fair—” Virgil could almost feel Logan bristle at Roman’s suggestion.

“I don’t care if it's fair or not. I’m not taking the risk of a human controlling you. That would endanger everyone at home.” Roman interrupted, quiet for a moment before he spoke again. This time his voice was soft and pleading. “Not to mention, I don’t know what we’d do if we lost you again, Lo. He'd never forgive me.”

Human?

“Very well, Roman.” Logan’s voice was tired, but he seemed resigned. “That will make the process uncomfortable, but if it will put your mind at ease, I will do whatever you require of me.”

“Thanks, Lo.” Roman’s voice was softer. His angry tone had faded. Virgil’s heart warmed pleasantly at the sweet tone that drifted through the brig. “Now, go do whatever you need to do. We're leaving soon.”

“Thank you.” Hurried steps dropped down from the stairs above. A loud thud resonated in the floor below Virgil as the man jumped past few steps to land on the ground. A moment later, he could hear the jangling of metal as someone fiddled with his cell door. Virgil’s head started to spin and he resisted another wave of nausea. His vision darkened as his consciousness faded for a brief moment.

He woke to the feeling of hands on his neck. Panic coursed through his body as he weakly tried to struggle away from his attacker, but he barely moved, too exhausted and weak to truly fight back.

“Do not move, human. I have no intent to harm you. I only wished to confirm you were still alive.”

Virgil settled as the hands moved off his throat, too weak to do much else.

“Good. You are going to be okay. My name is Logan and I am here to help you.”

Virgil’s skin tingled at the pleasant melody of the stranger’s voice.

“You appear to be severely dehydrated.” Logan spoke softly. A blissful sigh nearly escaped Virgil as the stranger’s soft hands pushed his hair away from his face. “I am going to give you some water, but I will need to prop you up to prevent you from choking. Will you allow me to lift you?”

Virgil groaned and Logan seemed to accept that as consent. Warm hands gently curled him upright, cradling him around his shoulder. He felt a cup at his lips and he opened his mouth, sipping eagerly at the sweet, cool water. Instant relief washed over him as the aching dryness in his throat eased. He nearly moaned with satisfaction, but his relief was cut short as the cup was pulled back away from him too soon. He grumbled unhappily.

A heavenly laugh sounded near his ear. “I'm sorry, dear one. Too much at once will make you sick. You will have more soon. I promise.”

Virgil melted into the man's arms, relaxing at the soft tone of his voice. He wavered at the edge of consciousness, nearly giving into sleep at the comfort of the man's touch.

“You are going to be okay, human. I give you my word.” Logan whispered. A sad tone crept into the beautiful sound of his voice. Virgil felt a hand on the neck, and he leaned into its warmth. “But I don’t think you need to see what is waiting for us up on the deck. Please forgive me, dear one.”

Vague confusion swelled in Virgil’s mind for only a moment before he felt a small prick in his neck. He winced but the pain quickly faded.

“Don't—" Virgil rasped the first word he'd spoken in days. He tried to pull away but his resistance was short lived as his racing mind succumbed to oblivion.

“Sleep now, human.” Logan whispered sadly. “You’re safe now. You'll be in a better place when you wake.”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders #ts #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #analogical #platonic logince #The Stowaway's Heart #villain writes #selkie au

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starlightinhumanform · 4 years

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Discordant

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Platonic Logince

Summary: Based on the amazing @tscampfireau (specifically this brilliant ask)!!~ When Logan gets caught up in questioning his identity, he can’t sleep and he knows that if stays in that tent any longer, he may actually lose his mind. He didn’t consider that playing his guitar in the middle of the night would wake one of his friends up.

Warnings (in order of strength): Some Angst, Discussions of Gender/Sexuality, Mild Language Throughout, (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: Angst With a Happy Ending, Human (Highschool) AU

A/N: You don’t need to be familiar with this AU to understand this fic, but your life will be so so much better if you do check it out. I honestly enjoyed writing this so much. My love for music and the outdoors really popped out in this and I love the characters in this universe. Also I got the opportunity to stretch my platonic-writing muscles! It was so interesting to talk about questioning when that’s something I’m very familiar with. But enough rambling!! I hope you like reading this as much I enjoyed writing it! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Link Fic Masterpost Fic Request Info

Logan stared at the thick woven thread that made up the material of above him. It was dark green, just thin enough to allow the moon’s glow to bleed through. Outside, the crickets sang brightly and the sound seemed to beckon him through the zippered door of the tent.

In the sleeping bag next to him, Remus was snoring at a volume level that could rival a chainsaw. Logan hardly knew this guy, but his breathing pattern was becoming increasingly ingrained in Logan’s brain.

He was tired and his head hurt but sleep was apparently not an option. Too many thoughts buzzed around in his head, filling his mind with a drone that built up pressure and made it hard to do anything but stare with glazed over eyes.

It was suffocating. It was overwhelming. It was wrong. Logan was supposed to be the one who knew everything, who always had things under control and had the answer to every question. But he didn’t have the answers- not this time, not about himself.

Logan turned his head to stare at the sleeping teenagers next to him. He had taken the spot closest to the edge of the tent so from here, he could see the entire group packed next to each other in the too-small-for-all-of-them tent. They all looked so peaceful, passed out after a day of questionable shenanigans in the surrounding woods.

Logan didn’t even try to push away the twinges of envy that were creeping into his mind. He wanted the peace that they had- and he didn’t just mean sleep. Everyone else in this tiny little tent was so sure of themselves; they knew exactly who they were and what they were. Even Virgil (who was generally excepted by all as The Baby) was comfortable and open about their nonbinary identity. They had all seemingly outgrown their questioning stages of life. And here was Logan. Stuck. Glitching. Like a thread of himself had gotten snagged and now the whole thing was unraveling.

He didn’t know who he liked or how he liked them. He didn’t know who he was. And it was eating him away.

Logan threw his head back into the pillow behind him. He just wanted to close his eyes and drift to darkness, ignore all of the question marks in his head until later. But if the past few hours proved anything, it was that he wasn’t going to sleep tonight. It would make more sense just to give up on the whole futile attempt.

He glanced sideways again at the pile. None of the others had shifted in minutes. They wouldn’t notice if he got up and left for a few minutes, would they? On his other side, his guitar was wedged between the side of the tent and his sleeping bag. He could just grab it and leave for a little while and the others would never notice.

Before Logan was really conscious of his actions, he was already tiptoeing past the tangle of bodies with the neck of his guitar in his grip.

The relief of stepping outside was physical. His shoulders relaxed immediately and the pressure in his head subsided. A warm breeze played the scent of firs through his hair. Far above, the stars stared down like a thousand shining eyes. He gazed back lovingly.

A few feet ahead of him, the last embers of the fire were quietly fading away. He grimaced slightly at the fact that the other hadn’t put the fire out completely but he couldn’t help appreciating the beauty of the warm glow that burrowed out from the dead ashes.

Logan sat down on one of the logs they had rolled over earlier. The quietness was starting to creep back over him; the charm of the crickets fading to white noise the colour of dirty snow as a thousand questions regained their throne in his mind.

He hung his head and tried to memorize the patchwork of leaves and pine needles beneath his bare feet. There was no pattern- just a mess. It reminded Logan of himself. Logan liked things that were clear and made sense but no matter how hard he tried, he could find nothing familiar or reasonable within himself.

Logan strummed a chord. He didn’t even think about it, no thought going towards the note or the sound he was creating. He just wanted to feel it. Strings pressing into the pads of his fingertips. Neck lying securely in his palm. Body resting against his lap. Vibration moving comfortingly from the guitar to his chest.

His fingers swept down the neck, catching the next note before the echo of the last had a chance to fade away. He found another note and chased it all the way up to the second fret. His fingers danced over the strings, weaving together a melody as his thoughts wandered else where.

Logan had spent years thinking he was straight; it was kind of the “default” of society. But then he learned that guys were an option and, hey, that sounded kind of nice too. When he hit middle school, people started to talk about attraction- er- differently and he thought maybe he was asexual. But that didn’t feel quite right either. It made him wonder exactly how he felt at all. For a while he wondered if he had ever been attracted to anyone. He thought for sure he would know what love was like. Maybe he just hadn’t experienced it yet. Maybe he was just a late bloomer. Maybe he had felt it and just didn’t know it.

He was brought back to reality when a drop of water hit the top of his hand. He blinked up the sky, trying to find the source of rain in the cloudless sky. He squinted up at the stars, damp eyelashes flickering against his skin. It was only then that he realized he was crying, tears dripping off of his cheekbones and running off of his jaw.

He shook his head and started playing again. He was pressing against the fretboard so hard that his fingers were beginning to feel like he had been playing for an hour. The muscles in his hand were sore and he could feel the strings digging little trenches into his skin. He ignored the sensation and picked the rhythm up.

Things didn’t get easier when gender butted its ugly head into the discussion. It changed everything. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to change everything and maybe it shouldn’t have changed everything but to Logan, it did. How the hell was Logan supposed to put a finger on his sexuality if he didn’t even have a gender to contextualize it in? Logan kept using the same pronouns because it was easier, because maybe he was just imaging it, because maybe he just wanted attention. He just wanted a box to check, just tiny little square he could stand in and say “Hey this feels ok.”

The body of his guitar dug sharply into Logan’s chest as a shuddering sob brought him slumping forward. He didn’t stop playing. He couldn’t stop playing. It was the only thing that he he understood right now.

He let the weight of his body fall completely over the curve of the guitar. The hum of the strings carried directly from the instrument and into his chest where it echoed back until he wasn’t even sure where the sound was coming from. It was just one long harmony, tiny whimpers mixing with melancholy strums that called into the darkness around him. If only an answer would step out of those empty, lonely woods.

Logan started as a hand landed lightly across his shoulders, causing him to jump and spin around.

Roman was standing there, one of Remus’ old volleyball jerseys hanging off of him and making him look like a neon-coloured ghost. His hair stuck up at ridiculous angles but his face couldn’t be more serious, “Logan? Are you ok?”

Logan hurried to wipe his face clear of tears, “Oh yeah. Why are you out here?”

Roman laughed without humor as he took a seat down next to Logan, “I think I could ask you the same thing.”

“I just couldn’t sleep,” Logan shrugged.

“So you decided to play your guitar loud enough to wake me up?”

Logan stared into the maze of trees so didn’t have to look at Roman, “Sorry about that.”

Next to him, Logan heard Roman sigh, “No you don’t have to apologize. I just want to know what’s wrong.”

Logan kept staring a mile ahead. He wasn’t exactly the best at talking about things like this, about himself. Besides he hadn’t ever mentioned this to anyone before. Whenever the others discussed their sexualities or genders he would step back and go quiet, walled off by his own confusion. He didn’t know how to join the conversation when his experience seemed so, so different than theirs. He would probably seem like an alien to them- so unsure of himself while they seemed so comfortable. Maybe they would decide he didn’t belong after all. He didn’t know how to join the conversation and he sure as hell didn’t know how to begin it.

But maybe now was the time to try, “Roman, have you ever felt lost?”

“You do remember how we met, right?” Logan could hear the ruthful smile that tugged on Roman’s mouth.

Logan turned to face him, unsure of where exactly this was going, “Yeah. In our freshman year.”

“Your freshman year. My repeat year.”

“Oh. Right,” Logan didn’t know what to say; he got the feeling he wasn’t really supposed to say anything yet.

Roman nodded like he was having a silent conversation in his head with someone else and they had just made a good point, “The year before and the start of that year, I had never felt more lost in my life. I couldn’t keep up with the year I was supposed to be with. I didn’t fit in with the incoming class and I didn’t know anyone there. I was separated from my twin for the first time ever. And I was still struggling to come to terms with my identity as a guy. I was cut off from my friends, my family, the people around me, even myself.”

“So what changed?”

“I met you,” Roman smiled warmly.

Logan felt his eyebrows weave together, “How did I do anything?”

“You gave me a place to stand, somewhere safe that I always knew would be there while I figured everything else out. You gave me a friend. You were always so there that you gave me the room to find myself.”

“Oh,” But that was exactly the problem. Because he wasn’t there, he had no clue where he was.

“So yes,” Roman bumped his shoulder into Logan’s, “I’ve been lost before. And you helped me find myself and my friends and even my brother again.”

“Oh,” Logan cursed in his head. He must sound stupid, but he didn’t know what else to say.

Roman leaned sideways to nudge Logan with his shoulder again, “You obviously didn’t ask me that just so you could hear some sappy rant; what’s up?”

Logan moved the guitar off of his lap and set it down in an attempt to buy time. He was staring off again, half hoping that if he stared into the dark woods long enough he would just melt into them. The other half wanted to explode and tell Roman every single thought bouncing through his mind. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees, “I’m lost.”

“Ok,” Roman spoke slowly, confusion evident in his tone as he began to rub his hand over the plane of Logan’s shoulders, “How are you lost?”

“It’s going to sound stupid,” A laugh escaped Logan in a breathy wheeze; it sounded sickly to his own ears, but he was far away. There was no humor in his voice but the situation could only be described as ridiculous. He was out here, in the middle of the night, sobbing like a man whose heart had been broken- and over what? Because he couldn’t decide who to crush on? He shook his head; he was obviously making too big of a deal out all of this, “It doesn’t really matter.”

Roman gave a similarly humorless laugh, “I’ve seen you cry- what? Maybe three times? This matters.”

“I’m just questioning a lot of things.”

“What sort of things?” Roman was clearly trying to draw more information out of him.

Logan teetered for a moment, stuck on the top of the fence and too scared to jump down. Except that’s where he always was, wasn’t it? Always questioning, always unsure, always overthinking things, always analyzing the path and never actually taking a step forward. He took a shaky deep breath. Maybe it was time to take the leap, “My gender. My sexuality. It’s like I don’t know where I fit in with all of it.”

“Oh.”

A beat of silence played into the night, filling the space between them with the quiet murmur that trees whisper at the dead of night. Under any other circumstances, Logan would have found it beautiful. Now it just served as an indication that he had said something wrong. He found himself counting out the measures as he held his breath and wished he could fill the painful space with something, anything. He wanted to start playing his guitar again, get completely lost in it, and pretend nothing else existed. He settled for clearing his throat.

“Do you need to?” Roman interrupted the silence.

“I’m sorry, what do you mean?” Logan sat up so Roman could see his confused expression.

“I mean, do you need to know right now?”

Logan couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice, “Yes, I need to know right now. I want to know who I am!”

Roman clamped his hands down on Logan’s shoulders, making eye contact so intense it made Logan squirm, “Logan, listen to me. You are more than your sexuality. You are more than your gender. You are brilliant and funny and the only person who has ever been patient enough to tutor me. You’re one of my very best friends and that has nothing to do with who you like or what pronouns you use.”

Logan glanced away, the pressure from Roman’s eyes and words far too great for him to hold on to. He tried to avoid that gaze, but more importantly he wanted to avoid the heaviness of what Roman had said. It meant too much. He tried to resort back to his annoyance, “How can you say that? You changed your pronouns; they sure as hell mean a lot to you. Why can’t they matter to me?”

He wanted his voice to sound bitter, to bite, to cut down what Roman had said. But his words were a whimper and nothing more than a plea. He dissolved into tears again and sank into Roman’s side, “Why can’t it matter to me? Why can’t I know too?”

Logan felt Roman wrap his arms around his upper body. He usually hated contact like this but right now it was exactly what he needed; it was grounding, Roman’s sturdy arms giving himself to hold onto through it all.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that. It was kind of like dreaming- just fragments of broken thoughts floating through darkness. Roman’s shirt smelled like fire smoke and the scent drifted through’s Logan’s head along with everything else. He seemed to be thinking nothing and everything all at the same time. He didn’t know how to make sense of any of it.

Eventually he sat up, wiping his eyes and brushing his hair back into place as if that could save the shreds of his dignity, “Sorry about that.”

Roman had moved his arms when Logan sat up and he seemed tempted to wrap them around Logan again, “What? No, it’s ok.”

Logan shifted from side to side, “I just... I feel like such an outsider. Not knowing, I mean. You’re all so confident and I’m just lost. It feels like I’m missing a piece of myself. How do I find it?”

Roman seemed to take a moment to think, running his hands through his hair and staring off into the distance. When he turned back to Logan, his eyes were warm and full of little thoughts that bumped around the edges, “I think the first step is accepting that you can’t force it. Then you can just wait until you find something that feels right. And that might take a little while, but that’s ok. You’ll figure it out eventually- you always do. The problem you need to work on is being patient; everything will fall into place once it’s ready to.”

“Yeah, well, being patient isn’t exactly my strong suit,” Logan huffed a laugh up into the twinkling sky, “I hate seeing a problem and not being able to solve it or know the answer.”

“Logan, look at me.”

Roman’s voice came out in one low line of sound. It was more of a command than anything else and Logan felt compelled to turn.

“You’re not some math problem or crossword puzzle. There’s no x to solve for and the sooner you accept that, the easier it’s going to be for you to relax and let the answers come when they will.”

Logan glared at him for a moment because, as horrible as it was to admit, Roman was making a lot of sense. He sighed, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Roman gave him one of the sunshine smiles he had grown famous for at their school, “Thanks, Teach.”

They sat there comfortably silent for a few moments. Wind rustled the trees around them and the final embers dissolved into ashes. The moon basked the entire scene in an ethereal, cold light. For once, Logan felt like he could reflect the peacefulness around himself.

“And Logan? Don’t be afraid to talk to us. We’d all be happy to give you answers- or at least, the best answers we can. If I’m being honest, I don’t know if anyone is ever completely sure about this sort of stuff. How was it that you described the brain- ‘a couple pounds of gray tissue that reacts to electrical currents’ ? We’re humans and we’re messy and it can be hard to figure out what all those electrical currents mean. But we’ll help as much as we can. Hell, I’ll go to the library with you and we can spend the entire day there researching sexualities and identities if you want.”

“Thank you, Roman. That-“ Logan paused to take a deep breath. The sincerity and dedication in Roman’s words had a way of weakening his own voice until it was hard to speak in anything but a thin waver, “That means a lot.”

“No problem,” Roman gave him a smile that meant so much more than his casual words. He held it for a moment before trading it for a playful wink, “Now can I ask for a favour?”

Logan laughed and reached for his guitar, knowing what was coming, “Sure.”

“Play that song I like?”

“Already on it.”

The strings were cool, comfortable beneath the warmth of his fingers. His hand slipped quickly into the melody as Roman began humming. Logan would figure things out. It might take a while but for now, Roman was singing and the trees were whispering their song and the moon was turning everything silver and he could stay here a little bit longer.

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist, just send an ask or reply to this post :p

~ @phan-fander @abi-beehive @fandomfan315 @cas-is-a-hunter @reggieleigh07 @endless-rain-of-words ~

#logince #platonic logince #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #campfire!logan #campfire!roman #atomiktaco #sanders sides au #sanders side high school au #logan angst #ts logan #ts roman #starlight writes

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nightwang96 · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: DCU, Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, SladeRobinWeek 2020, Day 2: Merfolk, I know nothing about boats, and you can tell, ambiguous ending Series: Part 2 of SladeRobin Week 2020 Summary:

'“Deathstroke,” Bruce said finally.

“What?”

“That’s what he’s called. Or at least what we call him anyway.”

Dick’s head was swimming. He’d heard of mers being given names before, usually old mers who showed up in the same places over and over. But he’d never heard of Deathstroke.'

For the SladeRobin Week prompt Merfolk.

Dick had seen mer before. It was pretty unavoidable when you spent as much time on the ocean as Dick did. Most sailors didn’t particularly care for mers. They were inquisitive, smart creatures that enjoyed interacting with humans, but this often led to mishaps. Mers had been known to grab things off of ships, to tangle rudders and even sink smaller boats. They never hurt anyone on purpose, as far as they were aware, but often they couldn’t help it.

Dick had never really had a problem with them. In fact, he quite liked the mer. He liked to watch them streak through the water beside the ship, playing in the surf, breaching the water with a flick of their powerful tails. He liked listening to their curious chitters, and on rare occasions, the beautiful sound of their songs.

He never tried to interact with them though. That was always a recipe for disaster. Bruce had told him once about a young crewmate who had reached out to touch a mer’s tail and instead had been dragged into the water by the creature. According to Bruce, it had looked like the mer had only wanted to play, chittering excitedly as the crew desperately tried to pull him back on board. It had let him go once he had drowned, perhaps no longer interested once he had stopped moving, and they had managed to drag his body back onto the ship.

Bruce told the story often, not to incite violence against the mers, but as a cautionary tale. They were wild creatures, and though they looked like humans, they were not. They were something else entirely, and they were dangerous. You were better off leaving them alone.

Dick had been a crewmate on Bruce’s ship ever since his own parents had been murdered by pirates when he was eight. Bruce had taken him in, given him a job, and saved his life. He’d been sailing with him ever since, and in all that time, he’d never forgotten Bruce’s warning.

So when he saw the mer, floating quietly a little ways away from Dick’s post, he’d simply watched, curious. The mer was huge, easily the biggest one he’d ever seen, with a thick tail covered in gleaming orange and black scales. He was drifting on his back, white hair fanned out around his head, and Dick realised that he was missing an eye, thick scars a tangled mess over the socket. The mer was watching him too, gaze sharp as he lazily kept pace with the ship.

Dick was tempted to call someone over, maybe Jason or Tim, so that they could see the mer too, but something stopped him. Most mers tended to hang out in pods. They were incredibly social, and those that were alone tended not to draw attention to themselves, keeping away from boats and humans.

This mer was definitely not in a pod, or at least, hadn’t brought his pod with him to check out their ship. Dick slunk closer, leaning his elbows on the edge of the ship so he could try to get a better look. The mer tilted his head, turning over slowly to swim a little closer.

“What are you doing alone out here?” Dick murmured. The mer couldn’t understand him. They mostly communicated through chitters and clicks, and occasionally, wordless songs that carried across the salt air.

The mer made a strange clicking noise in his throat, and splashed his tail a little. Dick grinned, and the mer tilted his head, before peeling his lips back in an imitation of a smile, showing a row of sharp, deadly teeth.

“Yo Dickface! Get over here!” Jason’s shout obviously startled the mer, because with a flick of his tail, he dived beneath the dark waters, disappearing from view. Dick was a little disappointed, scanning the waves for any sign of it before giving up with a sigh, and going to see what Jason wanted.

He’d forgotten all about the mer by the next time he saw it. Orange flashes had caught his attention, bringing him over to the edge of the ship to peer into the frothing waters. The mer poked his head up, and Dick almost fell back on his ass, letting out a surprised laugh. The mer grinned at him, rolling over to float on his back, tail twitching.

“Hello again,” Dick said softly, pleased for a reason that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The mer chittered back at him, eye half closing, face turning towards the afternoon sun. Dick watched him for a long moment as the mer sunbathed, examining the pattern of his scales, and the litter of scars that were dotted across the mer’s torso.

“You’re a fighter hm,” Dick said. Mers often got involved in territorial disputes so it wasn’t unusual to see scars, but this many? Dick couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. Had he been forced from his pod? Bullied? Hunted? Were those scars from other mers, or humans?

There were people who would kill a mer. Either to protect their ship, or to prevent them from overfishing certain areas, or for their meat and scales, or even simply because they found them annoying. Dick had always found it distasteful. Mers were intelligent, beautiful creatures, and the thought that some people would kill them simply because they got in the way, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The mer seemed to sense his souring mood, because he sunk a little in the water, tail flicking in agitation. He chittered loudly and splashed a little, and Dick stepped back enough to avoid getting sprayed.

“Wow look at that thing.”

Dick had been so distracted, that he hadn’t noticed Jason coming up behind him. He spun around, the insane urge to hide the mer from view making him step in front of Jason.

“What are you doing here?”

Jason gave him a look, like Dick had grown an extra head. “I’m doing my job. Obviously you have more important things to be doing.”

Jason leaned over to get a better look at the mer, whistling when he eyed the thick, muscular tail. “That thing could probably do some serious damage.”

“It seems pretty docile,” Dick defended, not sure why it was so important that Jason not think badly of the mer.

“Docile? Have you seen the scars on it?” Jason made a sharp gesture and the mer, who had been watching him carefully, gave an agitated hiss, teeth bared.

Jason stepped back, discomfort clear on his face. “That thing is dangerous Dick. Leave it alone and get back to your job.”

Shooting him a glare, Jason gave one last assessing look to the mer and then stomped away. Dick sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Jason was right. The mer seemed docile and friendly, but he was a wild creature. He was unpredictable.

A soft chitter drew his attention back to the mer. He was almost within touching distance of the ship, gaze sharp as he eyed Dick. A swish of his tail, lifted him up in the water, and for a moment Dick was tempted to lean down and meet him halfway.

“I’m sorry,” Dick croaked, even though the mer couldn’t understand him. He turned away, and hurried across the deck, trying to put all thought of the mer from his mind. Dick would forget all about it, and the mer would lose interest, and everything would be fine.

Dick was woken by a haunting song, drifting through the salt air. He listened for a long moment, blinking into the dark of the cabin, an indescribable emotion swelling in his chest. Then he pulled his boots on and made his way up onto the deck.

Bruce was stood at the wheel, a dark shadow in the soft moonlight. He turned to look at Dick as he came up beside him, face drawn and serious.

“What’s that noise?” Dick asked, hushed. The melody was louder now, out in the open. It was beautiful and sad, and Dick wanted to close his eyes and fall into the smooth, low tones.

“It’s a mer,” Bruce said, just as quietly. His grip was tight on the wheel, eyes gleaming as he scanned the mirror glass surface of the water.

“You’re worried.”

Dick knew that Bruce was wary of mers, but he hadn’t realised that he would be so concerned, just hearing the song. Bruce had seen mers hundreds of times, and never looked like this.

“How many times have you heard a mer sing?” Bruce asked, and Dick was confused by the subject change.

“I don’t know, once maybe?” Once in the wild at least. It had been much more distant than this, higher and still beautiful, and far enough away that there was no hope of seeing the mer that was singing. Later that night there’d been a storm. Two ships had been lost at sea. Dick had been lucky that they’d made it out alive.

Bruce’s gaze was heavy. “Hearing mer song is never a good sign.”

Dick had never taken Bruce to be superstitious, but then Bruce had far more experience with mers than Dick did. His stomach squirmed, anxiety creeping beneath his ribs, as he scanned the horizon. Somewhere out there, somewhere close, was the mer, its mournful song echoing across the waters.

Tim appeared beside him, rubbing sleepily at his eyes, closely followed by Jason. “What’s going on?” Tim asked, voice thick.

“It’s a mer,” Dick parroted.

Jason shot him a look. “You don’t think it’s that mer that’s been hanging around do you?”

Dick hadn’t even thought of that. This bone-chilling melody, echoing through the still night, was so far removed from the mer that Dick had seen, that he hadn’t even equated the two together.

“What mer?” Bruce snapped, his focus suddenly laser sharp on Dick and Jason.

Jason shrugged. “It was some big, scarred up mer. Dick was messing about with it the other day.”

“I wasn’t messing about with it!” He knew better than to mess around with mer. He’d just been watching it, talking to it a little. That was all. “It was just kind of, floating around by the boat. It didn’t do anything.”

“Have you seen it before?”

“Yeah, once I guess. Why?” Dick got the feeling that he was missing something. Mer hung around the boat all the time, they were harmless for the most part. He didn’t get why Bruce was so bothered by this.

The music cut off suddenly, and Bruce’s jaw tightened, ignoring Dick in favour of scanning the waters again. The silence was almost eerier than the music had been, only the soft sounds of the wind and the gentle lap of the water as the ship cut through the surface.

There was a bang and the ship shuddered through a hit, rocking with the force of it. Dick cried out, startled, and staggered not to lose his footing. The rest of the crew spilled out from their quarters, shouting in alarm and hurrying to their posts.

“What the fuck?” Jason shouted.

“There,” Bruce said, pointing into the dark. Dick squinted into the water and, yes there, a flash of orange, the surface of the water breaking. It was the mer. But what was it doing? Another thud, and the boat listed like it was riding a wave. Dick couldn’t believe the sheer power behind it, the strength it must take to rock the ship like this.

Bruce grit his teeth. “It’s going to bring the whole ship down.”

Dick ran to the edge, leaning over to try and get a proper glimpse of the mer. Behind him Bruce shouted in alarm, but Dick ignored him. If he could just get the mer’s attention, maybe calm it down, then maybe it would stop attacking the ship.

“Hey,” he called out. The wind whipped at his hair, his clothes, carrying his voice out into the water. Another thud, followed by an ominous groaning sound. Dick gripped the edge of the ship for all he was worth, riding out the shudder. If the mer kept hitting the ship like this, it would breach the hull. The whole ship might sink.

“Hey, stop! It’s okay!” he called again.

“What are you doing you idiot?” Jason shouted, close behind him.

Dick ignored him, leaning a little further over, and there just beneath him, orange scales and then a flash of white hair. The mer floated up to the surface, his one sharp eye fixed intently on Dick. And that was good, as long as it was focused on him it wasn’t destroying the ship. Dick smiled and the mer smiled back, sharp teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

The mer disappeared, diving beneath the waters. Dick scanned the still surface for a long, anxious moment. Then the mer was breaching, lunging up towards him, and Dick pulled back in surprise, but he wasn’t quick enough to avoid the grab, the mer’s sharp claws digging into his wrist, dragging him out over the edge of the ship.

For a moment, Dick seemed suspended in motion, too surprised to scream as he fell overboard. Then hands grabbed the back of his trousers, halting his fall, and more hands gripped the back of his shirt, his hips, hauling him backwards. The mer bared his teeth, snarling furiously and tugged painfully on his wrist. Blood dripped down his arm and splashed onto the mer’s cheek, but the mer didn’t even seem to notice.

Then Bruce was there beside him, leaning over the edge to thrust a pike down at the mer. It twisted away, but the sharp end still caught its shoulder, and it shrieked in pain. A great heave, and Dick was falling backwards onto the deck, the mer releasing him with a howl. He collapsed in a tangle of limbs, heart racing, the blood roaring through his ears.

“You fucking idiot!” Jason was yelling, but he was still holding onto Dick, hands grabbing at his shirt as though Dick could slip away at any moment.

Dick leaned back against him, gasping in desperate breaths. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to being overboard, in the water with a mer. Tim crouched beside him, hands fluttering in the air.

“What was that?” Tim’s voice was high pitched, strained. “Why did it grab you?”

The hits on the boat had stopped, maybe because the mer had lost interest, maybe because it had failed to grab Dick, maybe because Bruce had injured it. Bruce himself was a taut line in front of him, pike still clenched in his fists.

“I don’t know,” Dick gasped. “It’s never done anything like that before!”

“Deathstroke,” Bruce said finally.

“What?”

“That’s what he’s called. Or at least what we call him anyway.”

Dick’s head was swimming. He’d heard of mers being given names before, usually old mers who showed up in the same places over and over. But he’d never heard of Deathstroke.

“Why Deathstroke?” Tim asked.

“Because he’s dangerous,” Bruce turned to look at him then, and his face was pale in the moonlight. “He’s got a reputation for attacking ships, sinking them, and then slaughtering anyone in the water.”

He hadn’t felt malicious, when he was drifting lazily beside the ship, but then again, he had just attacked them.

“I’ve never heard of him grabbing people off the ship before though.”

Jason snorted behind him. “Trust it to be you Dick.”

“But I didn’t do anything. Bruce I swear,” Dick said. All he’d done was watch it, talk to it a little. The mer couldn’t even understand him.

“Jay go check if there’s been any damage done. The rest of you can go back to bed,” Bruce said, rubbing his temple like he had a headache coming.

Dick clambered to his feet, feeling strangely unsteady. Tim hovered by his elbow, hands out like he was worried Dick was gonna fall.

“I’m fine,” Dick said, giving Tim a wry smile.

“You’re bleeding.”

Huh. Dick had forgotten about that. Now that Tim had pointed it out, his arm was throbbing, bleeding all over his shirt from punctures and scratches in his skin. He examined the deep claw marks with a morbid curiosity. Mers were predators after all, and their claws were huge, and sharp enough to rend the flesh from your bones.

“It’s not too bad,” he said, but he let Tim fuss over him anyway, cleaning and dressing the wound.

When he climbed back into bed, he found himself thinking again of the mer. Why try to grab him? Had it been trying to drown him? Kill him? He’d thought that the mer had liked him.

It was an uneasy, restless sleep that night.

He didn’t see the mer again for a couple of days, and he’d been watching out for him. He’d hoped to catch a glimpse of him during the day, maybe try and see if the mer was hostile, or if he was back to his lazy curiosity.

When the mer did return, it was night again, and Dick was awake, taking a turn keeping watch. Orange scales caught the moonlight, and Dick was instantly alert, heart racing. The mer’s head broke the water surface, his gaze unerringly meeting Dick’s and the mer tilted its head and chittered, splashing his tail. Dick edged closer, cautiously and the mer reached towards him, as though beckoning him. Dick stepped back instinctively, shaking his head, and the mer bared its teeth with a strangled hiss.

“Bruce!” Dick shouted, just as the mer lunged down, smashing against the hull of the boat with his tail. The cabin door flew open and then Bruce was running towards him, Jason and Tim hot on his heels.

“It’s back?” Bruce snapped, then grit his teeth as another smash resonated up the hull He grabbed up his pike and rushed to the edge, peering over in an attempt to get the mer in his line of sight.

“It’s going to sink the ship,” Tim said quietly, and Dick realised suddenly that he was right. Under the water, it was almost impossible to hit the mer, and the ship couldn’t take the repeated battering. He moved to stand beside Bruce, chest clenching at the older man’s expression, fear and grim determination.

“Get away from the edge,” Jason snapped. “It’s you it wants.”

Dick blinked, Jason’s words sinking into his brain. Dick wasn’t sure if giving the mer what it wanted would stop it from attacking the boat, or killing the rest of the crew, but at this point they were kind of out of options. The ship groaned and shuddered, and they couldn’t even see the mer, let alone hit it. If they didn’t do something, they were all dead anyway.

Dick climbed up onto the edge of the ship. Bruce made a startled noise beside him, and as Dick dived, he made to grab him, fingers brushing against Dick’s ankle. The water, when he hit it, was ice cold, stealing the breath from his lungs. He kicked up to the surface, looking up at the ship as the waves buffeted him.

Jason was yelling, leaning over the edge, and Bruce was holding him back, face devastated. For a moment they tussled together, shouting, until Tim grabbed Jason around the middle and Jason slumped in his hold.

The water broke in front of Dick, the mer breaching the surface to regard him with a tilted head. Bruce shouted something, but Dick couldn’t hear what he said, all of his focus on the dangerous creature in front of him. His teeth chattered, fear flooding his veins, instincts telling him to swim away fast. But that would be pointless. The mer was faster, stronger, deadlier, than Dick. He just had to pray that whatever happened, if he was killed now by the mer, that the ship would be safe. That his family would be safe.

The mer chittered, swimming close enough that Dick could reach out and touch him if he wanted. Dick was treading water as the mer floated in front of him, and Dick couldn’t tell what exactly the mer wanted. Tentatively, he brought a hand up. The mer copied the movement, touching their fingers together.

Dick smiled, and the mer grinned back at him.

#sladerobinweek2020 #day 2: merfolk #dc #dick grayson #slade wilson #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #merfolk au #fanfiction #my writing #ambiguous ending

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emperorsfoot · 4 years

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Entrapta in this chapter be like:

Hordak didn’t know where he was.

For half a moment, he wondered if another portal had opened up and inexplicably transported him to yet another alien planet. This did not look like any of the places on Etheria he’d ever seen.

He stepped through thick mists, swirling with color. Feeling lighter on his feet than he’d ever felt before in his life. Almost as if he were floating.

The pain in his face and in his neck was gone, not even the ghost of sensation there. As if he’d never been wounded by Catra in the first place. And when he reached a hand up to touch his face, he felt only healthy skin. Not dry and waxy as he had been for decades now, but soft and supple. Smooth. Without scars.

Music drifted to his ears from somewhere beyond the mists. A familiar haunting melody, though it took Hordak a moment to place where he’d heard it before. He listened to so little music in his lifetime. Mostly just what he overheard on alien worlds, what his own Etharian troops sang or played, and… and what Hode insisted his Force Captains should hear to understand an enemy.

That was where Hordak had heard this song before.

From Hode.

He followed the sound. As he drew closer, words became discernable from the melody.

“…And salvation, uncertain. “Redemption to find worth in. “Have all I’ve slain deserved it?”

Lyrics to a song Hordak was sure he’d only heard once. But it was during a significant meeting. And as he drew closer, he began to recognize the voice that sang it.

“From ashes, resurgence “To cleanse this ‘verse or burn it-“

It was his own voice, only slightly different. To the untrained ear, all Horde clones spoke with the same voice. But this one, to any other Horde clone, would sound different. This voice had trained itself for pitch and octave, to carry a tune and make… art. The kind of auditory art called music.

“My Lord.” Hordak blinked as the swirling colors of the mist that surrounded them parted to reveal his old mentor.

Lord Hode. Whom was very, very dead. Wearing the uniform Hordak always remembered him wearing, a tight combat suit with vintage overpants, simple boots, and arm bracers. But the emblem of the Horde was missing from the chest. He was wearing his long dark cape, but the hood was down. Hordak could see Hode’s face. He saw his Lord with the hood down so rarely.

The fact that Hordak was meeting Hode again could only mean one thing. “Catra killed me.”

Hode placed his hand flat over the strings of the instrument he played, to silence the sound. He laid the neck of the alien instrument across his lap and regarded the younger clone –although, ‘young’ was not quite so accurate anymore. The age gap between them had narrowed since Hode’s death, while Hordak remained alive and continued to age.

“By the Host, Zero-Zero-Three, you’re even thinner than the last time I saw you!” Hode observed.

Hordak flushed. Or, rather, he felt the sensation in his face that usually meant the color was rising in his cheeks. Being dead and all, he didn’t know if he actually could flush self-consciously anymore. His blood did not flow, why should the blood rise in his cheeks? Instead of offering excuses for his waif-like frame, he instead decided to correct his former Lord on his designation. He wasn’t a number anymore. He had a name.

“Hordak.”

“’Hordak’.” He echoed. “Terrible name. But if it’s yours it’s yours. Who am I to tell a brother what he should or shouldn’t name himself.”

Not knowing what to say to that, Hordak decided to ignore the comment. Instead he looked around them. Mist, and clouds, undulating with color. This certainly resembled a metaphysical realm. But it was not what Hordak was expecting from a world for the dead. It was not what he was expecting for the world of their dead.

“Where are all our brothers?” He asked. “Where are the legions of the All High Host?”

“Ah, that.” Hode leaned back. Although, what he was leaning on was a bit unclear. Unless the mist around him suddenly gained more solid substance to support his weight. Did they even weigh anything anymore? Being dead and all. “We did not go to join the All High Host.” He said as if this explained everything. “Instead we came here. This is the place for waiting.”

“Waiting?” Echoed Hordak. “Waiting for what?”

Hode looked at him a little confused. As if he didn’t understand why Hordak wouldn’t understand why he was here and not with the Host. “You’re the one who came here, Zero-Zero-Three. You tell me.”

…

At first, she thought Catra was right. That she was too late. That he had bled out. That Hordak was dead.

But just as she was about to pull her hand away, Entrapta felt the slightest of pulses. One small ‘ba…bump’. It was faint. Perhaps just the last impotent beat. It wasn’t like there was much left in him to pump. But it gave the Princess hope. If she could just get some fresh blood in him from a compatible donor…

“Mother…?”

Entrapta looked up.

Dak, the clone she made of Hordak, had followed her into the ship.

She looked around. This was a vessel meant for travel between worlds. It had to have some kind of medical room. A highly advanced medical room, where she could find the kind of tech she would need to do a transfusion.

“Pick him up and follow me!” She commanded.

“Him?” The hybrid blinked at her for a moment, not understanding. “The body? But, its dead.”

“He’s not dead!” Entrapta snapped. He couldn’t be dead. She felt a beat. A single beat of his heart. If his heart could still beat then he wasn’t dead. Besides, even if the heart had stopped beating by this point, he would’ve still been alive recently enough for her to save him and bring him back. “Carry him for me while I look for this place’s infirmary.”

Entrapta dashed out of the bridge without even looking to see if Dak was following her orders.

She found the writing on the walls. The geometric shapes of the First Ones sigils intersecting with others. Entrapta couldn’t read all of it, but she understood enough to know which lines to follow down the corridors to find the Infirmary. She almost missed the Infirmary door, however, passing right by the seem in the wall where the door fit in the frame. In fact, she would have missed it entirely if the LUVD crystal in her hand hadn’t glowed as she passed. Entrapta doubled back, holding the crystal up.

Apparently, this First Ones ship recognized the crystal as belonging to an Administrator of sorts. A fact she would have found fascinating and in need of further examination and study. However, at the moment, her priority was not new discovery and knowledge. At the moment her priority was saving the life of the best –and only- Lab Partner she’d ever had.

With the door open Entrapta disappeared into the Infirmary, only to stick her head back out again to see if her Intern had followed her directions and was bringing Hordak Sr. They were, Entrapta needn’t have worried. Dak was determined to please her –something she had been desperate to do for her own mother, something Hordak was desperate to do for his Big Brother, it seemed to be a unifying trait of the three of them. Dak supported the elder Hordak in their hair, the deceptively strong tendrils wrapping around the larger clone’s body, holding above Dak as they ran, trying to keep his back straight and head level. Entrapta noted that there was no blood dripping from Hordak’s body into Dak’s hair. His blood was not flowing anymore. His heart wasn’t beating.

At this exact moment, he was technically dead.

But that didn’t mean he was all the way dead. Just mostly dead!

If he was just ‘mostly’ dead, that meant he was still partly alive.

“Put him on the exam table!” Entrapta commanded. She swept her own hair over the table, knocking over packages of sterile wipes, and bottles of what smelled like antiseptic. “Wait a sec!” She held a hand up, a thought occurring to her. With her hair, she poured the antiseptic over the table and wiped the whole surface down with the sterile wipes. “Okay. Now, put him on the table.”

Dak complied. Laying the body down gentle. Lowing their hair, still trying to keep the body level so as not to strain the larger clone’s back, or wrench their neck. The spine was so delicate a part of the frame, yet so dramatically vital to constructing an erect robot. Dak imagined it could only be the same for an organic being like… this Hordak.

Entrapta looked around the Infirmary. There were machines all around them. Suspended from the ceiling above the exam table, standing independently and fitted on rollers to be moved around the room, fitted into the walls with display screens attached. But none of it was turned on, and Entrapta wasn’t sure how to activate them.

Every second was precious. The longer Hordak spent –dead- the less likely a chance for a meaningful recovery he had. The difference between ‘mostly dead’ and ‘all the way dead’ was only a few minutes.

“Entrapta, what are you-?” Adora had followed her as well.

The older woman all but pounced on her. “Adora! You can work First Ones tech faster than I can. Turn this stuff on! Help me save him!”

“Him?” Adora looked at the body on the exam table. “Hordak? But-“

She did not want to save Hordak. If he was dead, then all of Etheria’s problems were solved. Adora had nothing to lose from his death and everything to gain. Whatever feelings Entrapta had for him were not enough to earn him sympathy in her eyes. Not after what he did to her, both directly and indirectly simply by being on Etheria in the first place.

“I will not heal him with She-Ra’s sword.” She informed the older woman.

Entrapta blinked for a moment, her mind stumbling for a moment as it remembered that the Sword of Protection was ancient First Ones tech that the legends said possessed healing properties. She caught herself quickly, understanding the boundary the younger woman just set even if it just made her even hungrier to study She-Ra and the Sword of Protection. That was a matter for the future.

“Then don’t use the sword.” Entrpata tried to haggle. “Just turn on the equipment in this room. I’ll do everything else. Please.” She was begging now. “Help me save my- -my Lab Partner and I’ll…” she cast her brain around for something she could bargain with. What would Adora want from her? What did anyone ever want from her? The only thing anyone ever wanted from her. “Help me save Hordak and I’ll build weapons for you, and Brightmoon, and the Princess Alliance, for when Horde Prime comes. I imagine you’ll wanna fight him too.”

“W-what-?” Adora took a physical as well as metaphorical step back. “Horde Prime? The other Horde from outside Despondos?”

“What do you think Hordak was trying to do with his portal?” Entrapta raised herself up off the ground, the coils of her hair lifting her up higher than Adora, so that she was glaring down at the younger woman. “He couldn’t pass through, but he could get a message out to his Brother on the other side. Horde Prime will follow that message and open a portal from his side. Wouldn’t you rather be ready when he arrives?”

For half a second, the expression on Adora’s face was pure horror. Then she remembered. “You need a Sword to open a portal.”

In all honesty, Entrapta didn’t know if that was true or not. Certainly, you needed an Administrator Key –a Sword of Power- to open the portal from inside Despondos. But Hordak was also very certain that Horde Prime would be able to open a portal from his side. Entrapta mentally shrugged. She did not have enough data to offer a counter argument. Instead, she just held the younger woman’s gaze.

There must have been something in Entrapta’s face that convinced Adora that Horde Prime was a valid threat and her offer to help them prepare was a good bargain, because she relented. Ceding to the tech Princess. She uttered a command to the empty air and all the machinery in the Infirmary flared to life.

“Alien cadaver detected.” Announced a voice that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. “Would you like to perform an autopsy?”

“No!” Entrapta snapped at the Infirmary celling. “Fix him! Bring him back!”

“Scanning for lifeform match.” Announced the voice. A beam came down from the machinery in the celling, spreading into a line of several as they reached the table. A single horizontal line of light. It scanned down Hordak’s body, then back up it again. “Scanning… scanning… scanning… Match found. Ninety-seven percent accuracy, Revenanti, of planet Revena, beta, fully mature adult, deceased. Would you like to preform an autopsy?”

“No!” Entrapta snarled again, slamming her hair on the exam table. “He’s not dead! He can’t be! I won’t let him! We just need to jumpstart his heart!”

“Initiating defibrillation on Revenanti cadaver.” Announced the room. “Please clear all hands and limbs from the body and table.”

Two tentacle-like cables slithered down from the array in the ceiling above the table and shocked Hordak’s prone body. Shocked it hard enough to trigger involuntary muscle spasms that made it seem like the body were trying to get up.

…

“You know, this was never the initial plan.” Hode informed him.

Hordak blinked at him. “What plan?”

“My plan.” The other clone answered as if this explained everything. “Or, our plan, I should say. My partner’s and mine. This wasn’t even the first contingency.”

Taking a moment to –pointedly- glance around at where why were, some version of an afterlife, not the All High Host, but still a realm of the dead. Hordak paused just to make sure his old mentor understood when he stated dryly. “Dying generally is not part of one’s own plans.”

“No. It’s not.” Agreed Hode. “But one must also acknowledge the possibility of dying and make a plan for that as well. As I explained in the message I left for you in my deamon.”

Hordak frowned. “Imp has not played me any message from you.”

Hode looked confused. “I have been dead for many years. My deamon should have played it for you.”

“I only received Imp… recently.” ‘Recently’ being both a relative term, but also an inaccurate one. Hordak was only reunited with his late mentor’s deamon shortly before they were both pulled through a portal and propelled onto Etheria. But that event was thirty Etherian years ago. Approximately fifteen Standard Imperial Years –give or take. Not exactly ‘recently’ at all.

“He didn’t give you my deamon?” The other clone looked concerned. “My partner, I mean. He was supposed to make sure the deamon went to you upon the event of my death.”

“If you are referring to the blue alien in the hood, he started to give me Imp, but then quickly deemed me ‘not ready’.” Hordak said with a bit of a snit. “When I saw him again on Eternia, I’m fairly certain he still did not want to give me Imp. But then, Imp and I were pulled into a portal and he was not. So that ended any argument before it could start. But in all the time Imp and I have been on Etheria, he has not tried to play me any message.”

Whatever Hode was going to say died on his tongue. At the mention of the word ‘Etheria’ his mouth dropped open. Staring at the younger clone, disbelieving. “Etheria!? It’s real!? You’ve been to Etheria?”

“Yes.” Confirmed Hordak, confused by his mentor’s sudden fervor. He had certainly never even heard of any planet called ‘Etheria’ before being inexplicably transported to Despondos and crashing on it. “It’s where I died.”

Surprising them both, Hode surged forward, grabbing Hordak’s shoulders with both this hands. “And the other sword! Did you find the other sword!?”

It was all the younger clone could do to blink at his mentor.

“Other sword?” Hordak only knew about one sword. The Sword of Protection. The sword of She-Ra. The administrator key to the planet. It was actually a little terrifying to imagine there being another one. “There is more than one?”

Hode sighed, leaning back from the other clone. He placed the heel of his hand to his forehead and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “He was right. Of course, this does us no good now. Even if you were alive, you couldn’t wield the sword. Only a descendent of King Grayskull can wield a Sword.”

What could either of them do with this information now?

Nothing. That’s what. The dead could do nothing.

They lapsed into silence.

Hode picked his instrument back up and began plucking a tune.

The Horde had no instruments and sang no songs. But Hode did. He collected art from multiple races, played at least two instruments that Hordak knew of, and sang. Hode was different from an average Horde clone. Not different like Hordwing was different, or different like he himself was different. Hode was atypical.

“My Lord, may I ask a question?” He began.

Talons stilled over the strings, the last few notes fading into the mist around them. “What’s troubling you?”

Hordak actually had so many questions. He opened his mouth to ask one.

But was suddenly cut off when he felt something inexplicably jerk him. His whole body being pulled off his feet. Did he even still have a body? He was sort of floating in a world for the dead. The term ‘body’ was relative. It was like an electric shock, like being punched in the heart. Only instead of knocking him back, it was pulling him away.

…

“Initiating defibrillation on Revenanti cadaver.” Announced the room. “Please clear all hands and limbs from the body and table.”

“Insufficient erythrocytes.” Declared the voice.

“He needs blood!” Entrapta snarled. Erythrocytes were the cells in blood that carried oxygen –or, in the case of Hordak’s species, nitrogen. Hordak didn’t just need blood, he need blood from a member of his own species. She turned towards Dak. “He needs you.”

“M-me?” Dak blinked glowing eyes. Apart from the color, they were identical to Hordak’s own. Although they couldn’t know that since Hordak’s eyes were currently half-lidded, the nictitating membrane of his second eyelid covering most of it, and the color was muted and dark without the bioluminescent glow behind it.

“Entrapta! No!” Adora was horrified.

“What’s going on?” Bow and Scorpia pushed their way into the room.

Scorpia carrying an unconscious but still very much alive Catra in her arms.

Bow being the unwilling perch for Imp as the little deamon surveyed the scene.

“Mother wants to give my blood to this Hordak.” Dak announced.

“Wait, what?” Scorpia was taken aback. She thought Entrapta and little Dak were making progress and bonding. At least, it seemed like they were bonding back on Beast Island in the First Ones command room. Then, on the ship with the songs… Was she wrong? Scorpia looked down at Catra in her arms. Reminding herself that her recent experiences with people she previously thought were close friends had taught her that she really did not read people as well as she thought she did.

Perched atop Bow’s head, Imp opened his mouth to remind everyone of what Dak was, and what their purpose for existing was. “Clone.”

“You can’t just take out all a person’s blood!” Adora announced. “People need their blood in their bodies!”

“Dak is just a child!” Scorpia reminded the tech Princess. “Dak still has things they can do. Hordak is old. He’s lived his life and made his choices. Just- -let him go.”

“I won’t!” Entrapta shouted at all of them. “You- out of all of you, Hordak was the only one who didn’t treat me differently. Hordak never said ‘Entrapta, no’, or ‘you can’t’. Hordak never tried to stifle my creativity or curiosity. He never talked down to me like each and every one of you has done. I’m twenty-seven years old, I’m almost thirty. I am the oldest person in this room –except for Hordak himself- and you all treat me like I’m some sort of child! But Hordak never did that! The only time he ever said ‘no, don’t’ was when he was pulling me out of the way of an explosion. I may not have knowing him for very long, but in the time that I did know him, he was a better friend to me than any of you! Scorpia might be my Best Friend, but Hordak is- Hordak is… my Special Friend!”

Everyone was struck silent by this announcement.

Adora knew Entrapta had feelings for the dark Lord of the Horde. She saw the word etched on his First Ones crystal the day the portal was opened. And she created a clone hybrid of the two of them. At the time, Adora had thought of Dak as more of a ‘child’ between them. To spite hearing the recordings in Entrapta’s own voice to the contrary. But now she was realizing that her own perceptions of Entrapta’s relationship with Hordak and the reality of Entrapta’s relationship with Hordak were on two very different levels of depth. Entrapta was willing to sacrifice a child if it meant bringing Hordak back.

“Now, we’re wasting precious time!” Entrapta snarled. “Dak, get on the table and give me your arm.”

Dak might be a child in all their eyes. But, to Entrapta, they were just another one of her experiments. Like a robot, but organic instead of mechanical.

“You can’t!” Still holding Catra, Scorpia tried to place her body between Entrapta and the hybrid.

“Move!” Entrapta snarled at her.

Imp screeched an agreement with the Princess. He wanted to see master saved as well.

For half a moment, Scorpia looked almost as betrayed by Entrapta as she did by Catra. She crossed an ocean for this woman. Broke into a Horde prison for this woman. Left the Horde for this woman. And she was trying to cut open and bleed out a child. Not just any child, but a child that Scorpia had pulled out of the abandoned cloning tank. A child that Scorpia breathed life into herself. A child she brought out of the Fright Zone. Dak wasn’t her child, not really. But she felt an affection for them that was most definitely familial, if not entirely maternal.

“Do we need all his blood?” Bow cut in suddenly.

Everyone turned to stare at him. Hordak was such a large person and Dak was so small in comparison. Not only would they need all of Dak’s blood, they might actually need more than Dak’s blood.

“I mean, we’re standing in a First Ones ship.” He reminded them all. “The First Ones have technologies so advanced, they honestly seem like another kind of magic. Why don’t we see if they can synthesize blood for Hordak? We’ll use Dak’s living blood as a sample, but a sample shouldn’t need very much. You can save Hordak without harming Dak.”

Adora nodded. Not fully understanding what Bow was trying to say, but understanding that it was a solution that would keep Entrpata from draining the child that helped them through their most recent adventures. “Ship, make more blood using a sample from Dak.”

“Command not recognized.” Announced the voice of the Infirmary.

“Try, ‘synthesize viable blood from adolescent sample’.” Entrapta suggested.

“O… kay…” Adora didn’t fully understand all the words in the strung together sentence, but when she repeated it, the ship’s computer seemed to understand.

A syringe lowered itself from the ceiling array on another cable-tentacle. Entrapta held Dak’s arm straight and helped the automated machine find a vein. It filled the syringe with thirty milliliters of blood. There was another pause as the machinery and computer analyzed the sample. Then another needle, this one on an intravenous tube, came down from the ceiling. This time aiming for Hordak’s immobile body. Entrapta guided this one into the vein as well. Blood started flowing into the body, but it did not circulate. His heart was still inactive. There was nothing to pump the synthetic blood for him.

“Shock him again!” Entrapta ordered.

“Do the shocking thing again.” Adora commanded the Infirmary.

“Command not recognized.” The computer voice informed them.

“Try defibrillate.” Bow suggested.

“Defibrillate.” Adora tried.

“Defibrillating Revenanti cadaver.” The computer complied. It was an AI, but the disembodied voice still had a tone as if it didn’t understand why the Administrator and these other organic beings were bothering trying to revive a corpse. “Please clear all hands and limbs from table.”

It shocked his heart again. Then again. And a third time. Each shock forcing his hear to beat at least once. Making it pump the synthetic blood through out his body. Carrying fresh nitrogen to his brain.

“Clear.”

…

Hode reached a hand out to the younger clone, not sure what he could do for his brother.

Hordak clawed at the older man’s outstretched hand, wrapping his long taloned fingers around his wrist, holding tight. The other hand clutched at his heart. “What is happening to me!?”

“I don’t- I don’t know!” Hode had to admit. Zero-Zero-Three might think that he had all the answers, but in fact, Lord Hode knew about as much or as little as any other soldier in the universe. “Maybe… maybe you’re not all the way dead? Maybe you’re just mostly dead.”

“What does that-?” He was cut off then another violent shock pulled him off his feet. He was being pulled away. Pulled back. But back where he didn’t know. “What does that mean!?”

Hode loosened his own hold of Hordak. Ready to let his brother go back if that was indeed what was happening. “Someone must be trying to save your life.”

“Impossible!” Hordak snarled back. No one living cared about him. Entrapta was on Beast Island and probably already dead. If not dead, then nowhere near his body, certainly not in a position to save his life. He didn’t know where Imp was, but what could that tiny deamon android do? Catra wouldn’t save him, she was the one who killed him. Lord Hode had to be wrong.

Another violent shock rocked his metaphysical ‘body’, pulling Hordak farther away from Hode.

The older clone let him go. If back to life was where Hordak needed to go, then that would be where he would let him go.

“Listen to me, Zero-Zero-Three!” He shouted. “When you go back, you need to reunite Etheria with Eternia! They’re the only thing that can-“ another shock drowned out what Hode said and Hordak missed it. What? What could the two planets do? “-to cleanse the universe or burn it!”

“What?” Hordak called, not understanding.

“And-“ here, Hode hesitated. “And if you see Keldor, tell him I didn’t join the Host. Tell him I’m waiting for him!”

If Hode wanted to say more, he didn’t get the chance to. With one more violent shock, Hordak was pulled out of the place for waiting and slammed back into his body and his blacked out. Unconscious.

…

Entrapta leaned back with a relived sigh, watching the monitor. A steady, even heart beat. Hordak was alive. Unconscious and still wounded. But alive.

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a-little-dreamer-s-world · 5 years

Text

A Singing Loneliness (Part 2)

Back at it again! I’m glad that quite a few of you seem to be enjoying this story as much as I am, though I will admit that I’m not sure how long I’m going to let it run for, but I’ll be doing my best. I’ll be reblogging this with the taglist. Hope y’all enjoy!

Warnings?: Eventual LAMP, Body Insecurity (sort of), Self-doubt, panic,

“Why can’t we stay here though?”

“Because! It’s not safe to stay in one place too long; you know this, Patton,” Roman huffed at the merman in his arms, his tail laced between his and Logan’s as they settled for the night. The three of them laid in an alcove within a great reef, the shipwreck they had been at in the earlier in the day laying somewhere in the distance.

“But what about the merman in the land vessel? It doesn’t sit well with me to leave him there,” said Patton, looking up from Roman’s chest as Logan’s arm unwrapped from his waist to touch Roman’s arm.

“Well, if he had decided to come out when you were calling him, then he could have joined us. But he didn’t and that’s his choice. But seriously—”

“I think we should stay here for a little while,” Logan interrupted, surprising the other two enough to look at him.

“You too, Logan?” Roman asked, disbelief written all over his face. It was rare that Logan didn’t side with him when it came to Patton and his admittedly impulsive decisions.

“Well, why not? There are not many predators around here, and the ones that are here are smaller than us. It would give us a good break and we don’t need to worry about food for a bit,” Logan explained, shrugging his shoulders.

Patton seemed ready to erupt out of their arms in excitement, but Logan saw the look on his face and quickly added, “But it would still be a good idea to stay away from the vessel. They’re unstable with decay, so any thump against it could cause it to collapse.”

Roman sighed as Patton deflated against his chest, saying, “Let’s discuss this in the morning. Figure something out then.” He leaned down to kiss of their foreheads, feeling Logan lean over to kiss his cheek and Patton kiss his chin.

The three would settle down down once Logan kissed the top of Patton’s head, closing their eyes amid the soft light filtered through the water with the rising moon.

Virgil awoke in his nest of kelp, just as alone as he was when he fell asleep. In his mind that was a bit of a relief; another day he could ensure he was still here alive and well.

He raised his arms above his head to stretch, his tentacles extending out with them. He paused to listen to his surroundings, nodding to himself when nothing unusual was heard. He pushed himself forward and squeezed out of his hole. Virgil placed a hand on a wall, allowing a small smile to loosen his lips.

This place had made a good home for him; it hid him from predators and it was a great place to hunt for food. Speaking of which...

Virgil licked his lips when he picked up the sound of scuttling in the sand. He swam as quietly as he could towards his exit, finding himself in the lower parts of the human ship. He chose his favorite corner and got into position, slowing his breathing as his skin started to blend into his environment.

Ten minutes and a snatch by his tentacles later, he was enjoying his first meal of the day with a decent sized crab. He leaned back against the wall and hummed to himself, thinking back to the day before. What was it like to be in a ‘pod’? Was it nice? Annoying?

...Loving?

He shook his head, looking down at the half-eaten crab before tossing it away from him with a scowl. No, he shouldn’t think like that. There wouldn’t be a chance that they would allow him near them if they saw what he truly looked like. He had scared so many others away with how he looked; might as well let the last look of him be somewhat pleasant.

He was about to float over so he could retrieve his crab when a sound made him freeze, his skin draining into a pale gray. A familiar swish of a large tail was approaching, and fast.

He sped back up into the hole back into the room he had laid in to talk to the pretty merman yesterday. He waited with baited breath, wondering why was he back. Or... no, it wasn’t him.

He watched as the merman with the royal blue scales came into the hull, glancing around. Was he looking... for him?

No! Pale Blue (Patton, if he had heard right the other day) must have left something here the yesterday, and he and Red didn’t notice either until they all realized it was missing. But then, he would have found it earlier in the day if that were the case. So then why...?

Royal Blue’s scales weren’t just that color as he observed him further. The blue would be interrupted by specks of silver scales, making him look like the night sky, on the rare occasion Virgil would be brave enough to go near the surface. His scales crawled up his spine and his arms, patches branching off like bubbles. He was longer than Patton, every move he made filled with grace and with an effortless agility he wished he had.

It was when dark blue eyes met his brown ones that he panicked and ducked out of sight, trembling as he anticipated for what, he didn’t know.

What he didn’t expect was to hear him hum.

Logan didn’t know why he was doing this, to be honest.

The three of them had split up to hunt for food, but Roman had made sure that he had Patton in his sights because they all knew if he had the chance he would go back to the sunken ship. Which left Logan to his own devices as to what he decided to catch.

While he didn’t necessarily share Patton’s sentiment over the concern of the strange merman, his curiosity was driving him crazy. Why did he seem so shy? How was he comfortable, or even able, to live in such a place that could come crashing down at any time? And where was his pod if there was one? Was he abandoned, waiting?

Was he a lone survivor?

Logan looked back to make sure Roman wasn’t following him as he entered through the hull, sniffing the water as he kept his ears open in case he heard the stranger. A fresh kill caught his nose, drifting closer to the half-eaten leftovers of a crab.

Now this was interesting; Usually, merman teeth and claws weren’t strong enough to cut through crab shell, but it clearly had been torn apart. He mused about this as he glanced up, but his thoughts took a grinding halt when he found dark brown eyes staring back at him.

His mouth opened in slight surprise as the stranger ducked out sight, a soft whimper being the only indicator that the mysterious merman had not left the ship entirely. His initial reaction was to swim up there and actually see him, but something about the whole situation stopped him.

What was it that Patton had told them about? His singing? He figured he should try it; that way, maybe this stranger would be more willing to come out.

He closed his eyes and started to hum first, finding the tune. He opened up his mouth and let out a drawn out note, the melody starting out like a lullaby. He had never had the confidence in his voice like Roman or Patton; instead, he sung soft, though that never seemed to bother the other two, even enchanted by it.

His eyes opened when another voice joined his, almost making him falter in his song. The stranger was just as Patton had described and more. He strengthened his song to keep him with him, relaxing into himself as the low voice drifted into his mind to memorize.

He let the melody taper out, giving the stranger a small smile. “You really are like Patton said.”

The other merman shuffled above him, acting a bit bashful. “I don’t know what you mean, sorry. What did he say?”

“He told us you were breath-taking, both in looks and in your voice,” he replied, honest and warm, unlike his usual matter-of-fact tone. He slowly inched closer, trying to seem inconspicuous in his movement.

The merman gave him a tiny smile, looking away. “I think he’s thinking too highly of me. I’m just... me, after all.”

“Really? Because I would have to say that I agree with him, Logan said, his smile growing wider as he saw his whole face turn a slight shade of pink. He failed to notice that his forearms had turned that color as well, even over the “scales”.

“So, if he’s Patton, then who are you?” he asked, Logan seeing those pretty brown eyes stare into his.

“I’m Logan. Why... Why won’t you come out?” He had already halved the initial distance without the other noticing, feeling his hand twitch with the need to touch his pretty face.

“I...I’d rather not, I’m sorry,” he said, backing away from the hole just an inch. Logan felt a lurch in his chest that he would disappear for good, and he decided to go for it.

Just as he floated closer with his hand outstretched, he saw the stranger’s eyes fill with panic (and was that fear? He had hoped not; for him to be the cause of such fearful look...), and he quickly ducked out of sight. Before he could anything, call out, go in after him, anything, he was met with something that made him sputter back.

Pitch black... stuff filled his vision and his mouth, coughing to try and get it out. Ink, he belatedly realized as his back hit something solid. He stopped all movement when he felt vibrations in the water, his own warnings of the unstable ship filling his mind. He cleared his eyes the best he could and whisked himself out of the hull to find his pod, find his safety, find his home.

As he swam off, his mind went to where all that ink came from. There must of been an octopus in there, and it must have gotten startled when the other merman had dashed off. But even he had to admit that no octopus produced that much ink, and that something in the back of his brain was flashing that something was off, he had to ignore for it now.

He just wanted his home.

What had he done?

Virgil groaned as he heard Royal Blue leave, ink trailing from him into the surrounding water. He forced himself to move out of the ship through a different exit, not wanting to be seen. He would have to wait before the ink cleared out.

He curled up on himself, grabbing his head. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He knew now, or if he didn’t he was going to figure it out. He would tell the others, and they would hate him, and he would have to move, and...!

He looked down at his skin, and once again he could see patches color that belonged to those three mermen. He was suddenly filled with anger and shame at himself; how dare he thought of them and their beautiful selves and even think he could be anything like them.

He was not fast or agile, he didn’t have claws, his skin was nothing like their wonderfully smooth scales. He was just... himself.

Tides, he hated himself.

He didn’t know what to do now; if he’d stay, they would confront him, maybe even hunt him, for lying about himself. For acting like something he wasn’t. He reached down and grabbed a tentacle, squeezing it as hard as he cold. It didn’t hurt all that much; he didn’t know if he should cry about that or what.

Finally, he sighed, letting go as his entire being turned a dull brown. If he were to move, where would he go? This was the best house he’s had in most of his life. So what if they decided to come for him? At least he could always hide away and keep quiet so they didn’t find him.

And honestly, if they did find him, could it even be worse than being all alone?

He glanced back up to his ship, remember the shaking it had done with Logan’s departure. He should probably be more worried about than he actually was, but even if it did come down, he could most likely make some kind of house out of it.

It was at that moment he wondered if he had ever called this place home.

With his weary shake of his head, he made his way back inside. Something made him pause, turning his head to look out into the open ocean beyond.

The feeling of the water around felt more... active than normal. He had felt this before; a storm must be heading his way. He idly thought how he would need to hunker down in the night in case anything else decided to take shelter in the ship.

Little did he know that it would be a storm that would change everything in his small world.

#sanders sides #merman au #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #Goodness #this turned out to be about five pages #how did that even happen

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rumbelleshowdown · 5 years

Text

Honeysweet Sounds

Author: Cobalt Prompt: music, taking sides Group: B

Night had fallen and the ship drifted on an almost eerily quiet sea when the song of the siren sounded over the dark water. Rumplestiltskin had known it was coming, but the music still hit him like a fist to the gut, or the loss of a loved one, curling around him and flowing through his veins like heady wine. Halfway through coiling a length of rope, he stopped, eyes drawn to stare out to sea.

Few sailors were on deck during the night, and none of them reacted, of course. They'd known that they were about to sail into siren waters, and everyone on board had taken the necessary precautions. Everyone except for Rumplestiltskin, who now got up, swaying slightly in time with the music's ebb and flow.

He couldn't understand the words—the small pieces of wax in his ears made sure of that, but even so, thinking was hard, nearly impossible. Rumplestiltskin didn't even bother to make sure nobody saw him as he staggered over to the single lifeboat and untied it with a few practised movements. He had made his preparations over the last day, always making sure not to be noticed by his shipmates. He'd only get one chance at this.

The boat splashed when it hit the water, but nobody reacted, not even when Rumplestiltskin followed it over the side. Maybe someone had seen and decided not to interfere. Let the siren claim its tribute and spare the ship. Rumplestiltskin wondered if they were right.

The song grew louder as Rumplestiltskin rowed, and it became harder by the moment not to hear its words that whispered at the edge of his perception, promising knowledge and terrible truth. He reached into his tunic and plugged more wax into his ears; he had a purpose tonight and he could not afford to be distracted.

The siren sat perched on the edge of a jagged rock that only just stood out above the sea. Dark brown hair cascaded past her shoulders, framing a pleasant, almost sweet face. It was hard to remember that this was a creature that lured men and women from their ships and drowned them in the depths. That he was looking at a monster.

It became easier, however, as Rumplestiltskin rowed closer. Behind the siren, he saw a meadow stretch out under the water, impossibly blooming with all the flowers found on dry land, and dotted with pile upon pile of sun-bleached bones. The only thing that remained of the luckless sailors that had followed the sound of the siren's song.

The boat bumped against the rock and Rumplestiltskin turned around on the rowing bank to look fully at the siren. From nearby, she was even more beautiful, although unquestionably inhuman, with her body more akin to that of a bird than that of a woman. Up close, her song once again pierced through his protections, and for a moment, Rumplestiltskin found himself staring at her, open-mouthed, one hand on the side of the lifeboat while the other hung limp at his side.

Without pausing in her song, the siren stepped down from her perch, changing shape as she did so. Feathers melted into flesh and skin and the hand that reached for his face would have been entirely human if it had not been for the talons.

Just before the siren's skin touched his, Rumplestiltskin pulled away and threw the fishing net over her. Immediately, the creature let out a scream, a sharp, piercing sound that tore at Rumplestiltskin's insides, even though he could barely hear it. The siren struggled, flickered between shapes in an attempt to throw off the net, but only succeeded in thoroughly entangling herself while Rumplestiltskin held on for dear life. After what seemed like hours and could not have been more than minutes, her struggles slowed until she hung limp in the net. Rumplestiltskin still didn't loosen his grip, but he did allow himself a deep breath.

"I offer a bargain, siren," he said. "Your freedom in exchange for one answer and free passage for myself. Do you agree?"

Her mouth moved, but Rumplestiltskin was not about to remove his only protection in order to hear her answer, so he repeated, "Do you agree?"

She glared at him, and for the first time, Rumplestiltskin noticed the striking blue of her eyes. Finally, she nodded.

"Do I have your word?" He had no idea if a monster like this would feel obligated by a promise like this, but it seemed better than to just let her go and hope for the best.

Again, the siren nodded, and Rumplestiltskin began to untangle the siren from his net. She held still throughout, never taking her eyes off him until she was free. Then she gestured to her own ears, her fingers still human enough for the gesture, though her legs remained those of birds.

With dread bubbling in the pit of his stomach, Rumplestiltskin took out the wax from both of his ears. The sea remained eerily silent in the unnatural calm, except for the quiet lapping of the waves against the siren's perch.

"Speak, then," the siren said. "What is your question?" Even her spoken words carried a melody of their own, lilting and fascinating in a way that human speech never could be.

"First tell me if hearing your answer will make me drown myself," Rumplestiltskin said, surprised at the calm in his own voice.

"None of these have drowned themselves," the siren replied, gesturing to the impossible meadow behind her. A smile flickered across her face and moonlight glinted off a row of teeth far too sharp and pointed for such a human mouth. "The difficulty is in leaving once you have heard the secrets, and I have promised you free passage, seaman."

And that, Rumplestiltskin supposed, was as much reassurance as he was ever going to get. "I am looking for my son," he told her.

"Ever since his mother left you and took him with her," the siren said, her words blossoming into melody, even as she spoke. Rumplestiltskin's fingers dug into the side of the boat, but he did not move. "You searched for him, year after year, but the sea is vast, and you had little means of travelling it. You even found his mother, but she had long since lost sight of him herself. You let her go." She seemed almost surprised.

"What else could I do?" Rumplestiltskin whispered. "She had as much reason to look for him as I did; that way, maybe one of us would get him back."

"She died," the siren said, matter-of-factly. "In a storm. Almost a year ago."

Rumplestiltskin didn't ask the siren why she was telling him all of this. He was only surprised that the news of Milah's death didn't affect him more. Maybe, he thought, he had made peace with her absence too long ago to be shocked at this point. Still, this was a distraction. "I know most of this," he told her, "I need to know where Bae is now."

The siren's eyes glazed over for a moment as if looking at something far away. "An island," she said. "A wild place of cruel games and shadows, where children never learn and never grow up."

Rumplestiltskin mouth went dry as his heart sank. He knew the place she was describing. "Is he…" He swallowed. "Is he still alive?"

"You only bargained for one answer only," the siren said. "But yes. He is alive and afraid, and he is waiting for you."

The thought that Bae had spent any time at all, let alone years in that place made Rumplestiltskin's stomach churn, but there was nothing he could do to change the past. He would just have to find a way to save him now.

He became aware of the siren's curious stare on him.

"What is it?" he asked, trying to push aside the chaos of emotions.

"Why is this boy so important to you?"

Rumplestiltskin frowned, unsure how to answer. "He is my son," he simply repeated. "He... he is everything to me."

"How do you think to free him?" The siren sounded genuinely curious, her head cocked to one side in an almost birdlike manner.

"I don't know yet," Rumplestiltskin admitted.

The siren kept looking at him with that same inscrutable stare. "Stay," she said.

Rumplestiltskin almost laughed. "Why would I ever do that?"

"I can help you find your son," the siren answered. "I can help you save him. That island will not be easy to find, but I can bring us there through the ways of the immortals. You could take him back to live the life he should have had." She leaned forward until she was almost touching the boat. "All I ask in return is your word that you will come back to me."

The offer was tempting if it could be trusted, but Rumplestiltskin did not think that the siren would lie to him. That did, however, raise another question. "Why do you want me?"

"My flock is dead," the siren said. "My brothers and sisters, everyone I ever loved or cared about, long gone. I long for company and you are the first in centuries to find me not because I called, but because you chose to."

Rumplestiltskin remembered the melancholy in her song, and he knew that she was telling the truth. Still, he hesitated. He had no illusions about what a life at the siren's side would look like; there was no coming back once you sided with a monster over the whole of humanity. And he could not pretend that he was doing this for Bae, not entirely.

Then again, what had humanity—his own or that of others—ever done for him? The siren's stare never wavered, and Rumplestiltskin found himself staring back, lost in the endless blue of her eyes.

"Agreed," he said. "Help me save my son, and I'll stay with you."

"Are you certain?" the siren asked. "This is not a step you can return from."

"Just… just one thing." Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath. "What is your name?"

She blinked, clearly taken aback, but then the expression turned to bemused curiosity. "My sisters called me Belle."

Rumplestiltskin nodded. Belle. It suited her. "Then you have a deal."

A slow, genuine smile spread over her face, once more exposing those sharp teeth. Belle reached out for him, and this time, Rumplestiltskin did not shrink back. Her hand closed around his wrist, soft and slightly too cold to be entirely human, and he let himself fall into her embrace as she pulled him down and under the waves.

#rumbelle showdown #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #round two entry #author: Cobalt #group B #rumbelle showdown 2019 #rumbelleshowdown

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wellhellotragic · 6 years

Text

If Looks Could Kill 15/27

Summary: Emma Swan is a dedicated FBI agent getting over a bad breakup. When she and her partner, Ruby Lucas, are forced to go undercover as contestants on a reality show, Emma is forced to try and win the affections of Killian Jones, a man she despises. Killian Jones is a lost boy. Having recently been nicknamed the ‘Bad Boy of Boston,’ he’s been living up to his moniker using women and rum to avoid dealing with his dark past. When he’s forced to take the lead in a reality show, he encounters a gorgeous blonde who turns his world upside down. Miss Congeniality meets The Bachelor

Rated: M for language, violence, and smut.

Catch up here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

“Then why tell me?” His voice was shaky. He had an idea, a prayer, of what she meant, but he needed to hear the words straight from her mouth before he could let himself hope.

“Killian, it’s one thing for Ruby or the rest of the world to misinterpret my relationship with August. It’s completely different for you to misinterpret it though.”

His lips were just starting to curl upwards when she latched onto his shirt and yanked. It took a few seconds for the initial shock to wear off before he felt the warmth of her lips on his. Once he came to his senses again though, he was all in. He straightened his body and placed his left hand on the small of her back, guiding her to close the space between them. His other hand tangled into her hair. Both of them tilted their heads and his first thought was of how perfectly they fit together.

He wanted nothing more than to deepen the kiss, to beg for entrance with his tongue, but he was afraid to ask for anything more from her. Emma was skittish on a good day, and nearly feral on a bad day. He knew how easily spooked she could be, and now that he finally had her, he’d be damned if he did something to make her run.

His internal conflict was short lived, though, as Emma was the one to brush her tongue across his lips. His mouth parted, and suddenly his entire body was on fire. Every fantasy of her was put to shame in one fierce moment.

But as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

The loss of her warmth could be felt immediately as she leaned away. He pulled back from her to look at her face, and what he saw nearly broke him. Emma’s eyes were blown wide, and he could see the pure panic flowing beneath her jade colored eyes. They remained frozen for what felt like an eternity as he waited for her to say something, anything. He braced himself for what he knew was coming next, the last thing he wanted. The tension was like a vice on his heart and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“That was,” he started.

“A mistake.” Her words came out shaky. She looked terrified, but her voice was as wrecked as he felt.

“Emma.” Her name was a whispered plea on his part. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Before he could say anything more, she was already running back to the mansion. He wanted to run after her, but his legs wouldn’t move. He was rooted to his spot, unable to do anything.

Minutes passed, maybe even hours, before he was able to regain his senses and gain control of his body again. She was gone, and he felt like his heart was bleeding out inside his body. What had this woman done to him?

Everything felt dull as he wandered around the Jolly Roger, checking that all of the rigging was secure and that no harm had come to her during her transport to the estate. At some point, he had managed to drift into the captain’s quarters. Everything seemed to be how he had left it in there. Even the old guitar he used to play was sitting in the corner of the room.

When everything had gone to hell, he had considered selling the guitar, removing the last reminder of his old life. He hadn’t been able to part with it in the end though. For all the wretched ghosts it carried, there was also a piece of Liam attached to it. It was Liam, after all, who had believed in him, told him to go for it and to make something of himself. Killian couldn’t bear keeping it in his penthouse though; the haunting feeling that came from knowing he was in it’s presence was too much. Instead, he had brought it to his ship, letting mother nature do her bidding to the old wood.

He walked over and let his fingers glide across the strings. It was the first time he had touched it in almost two years. Everything became a blur as images of his life assaulted him. He closed his eyes and could almost hear the screams of Lost Boys fans; he could smell the sweat pouring down his forehead in the middle of a set. He would never admit it out loud, but he missed it; performing in front of sold out venues, creating words to inspire people, the rush of adrenaline for the cheering crowds. He miss her too, the raven haired temptress that had stolen his heart, standing off to the side of the stage so that only he could see her.

Killian had clung to her from the beginning, and for the past two years, he had held onto the memory of her, pining for her to return to him. He imagined her face in every woman he took back to his bed, imagined the smell of her perfume on them, or the way she moved in sync with him. None of them were her but with enough rum they almost could have been. He had thought of her every night since she had gone - until recently, that is. The memory of her laugh was beginning to fade, easily replaced by a new sound. Her eyes were more dull in his memories now as well.

His soul ached at how easily he was allowing Emma to replace Milah in his heart. In systematically trying to break down the towering walls that guarded Emma, he hadn’t even noticed when she had snuck her way in past his own.

The guilt came to him in waves. He had been willing to give up so much for his first love, but then she left, taking so much of him with her. His mind became muddled, and he did the last thing he ever expected to do.

He picked up the guitar and began to play again.

It was a soft melody, nothing he had ever played before. There was something cathartic about it. When he played with his band back in London, it was for just for fun, but something about this moment was different. He felt like he was finally starting to heal the broken pieces left in Milah’s wake. He hummed a tune as he played, letting go of all of the thoughts running rampant through his head. He played until his left hand began to cramp, and the pain was too much to continue.

Looking down at the jagged scars running across his palm, the pain seemed to amplify. It was too much and not enough. He’d never be able to play the way he used to. That dream was ruined, but perhaps that didn’t need to mean that his life was ruined as well. As he set the instrument back down onto it’s stand, he noticed that the light outside was beginning to dwindle. He had spent nearly the entire day hiding away on his ship, and if he didn’t return soon, people would come searching for him.

The journey back the cottage took longer than usual. He walked slowly, keeping his hands in his pockets the entire way back, as he tried to brace himself for the evening. He assumed that his ‘glamour team’, as Regina had once called them, would probably be waiting for him, and that the women would begin fawning over him the moment he stepped into the mansion. But the one thing he was certain of was that Emma would be avoiding him again.

Emma was out of breath. She had sprinted back to the mansion. She nearly slammed the door to her room behind her. Ruby emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, startling Emma with her presence. Emma didn’t even try to hide her current state, letting her body slump to the ground, using the door as a guide.

Ruby watched her for a moment, trying to decide the best way to approach her. She settled on compassion over directness. Ruby walked over to the other side of the room and sat next to Emma. She didn’t speak; instead she grabbed one of Emma’s hands and squeezed it reassuringly. The silence stretched on, and finally Emma laid her head on Ruby’s shoulder.

“I did something really stupid.”

Ruby again said nothing, waiting for Emma to open up in her own time. “I kissed him.”

Emma heard Ruby take in a deep breath of air.

“Are you okay?”

That wasn’t the response Emma had expected. She had been certain that Ruby would bombard her with questions about how it had happened, and if it was any good. Ruby knew Emma better than that though, and what Emma needed right now was for someone to just listen without judgment. She needed the Ruby that had picked her up from prison after Neal left, and that’s the Ruby she was going to get.

“I don’t know. Ruby, I screwed up everything.” Emma’s voice sounded so fragile, Ruby’s heart broke a little.

“Emma, you’re human. You’re allowed to have feelings. You’re allowed to care about him.”

“Not when I supposed to be protecting him. God, it’s my job to watch over him without getting emotionally involved. What about the case?” She was almost frantic now. “This could compromise the investigation.”

Ruby pulled Emma in closer, letting her arm drape around Emma’s shoulder so that she could run her fingers through Emma’s hair.

“Hey, listen to me, Emma Swan. You are the best agent I have ever met. You are not going to compromise the investigation. As far as any of the other agents are concerned, you are undercover as a woman competing for his love. It’s expected for you and he to be intimate.” Ruby waited for Emma to respond, continuing only after it had become apparent that she wasn’t going to.

“I don’t think that’s what you’re really upset about though, is it?”

With that Emma sat up. “Of course that’s what I’m worried about. Ruby, you were there; my reputation has taken enough of a beating as it is. I can’t be the agent who can’t tell the difference between pretend and real life too.”

“Emma, do you remember our first case back? The one with the poor girl who was being blackmailed into giving up her child?”

“Ashley.”

“Ya, her. She was so lost when we found her. I mean, here she was, nineteen years old, pregnant by a man who cared more about his father’s approval then her. They made her believe that she was worthless, incapable of taking care of the child. She was so scared that she would end up like the other women who had defied him, face down in an abandoned building. She was going to do it- get rid of the baby- but do you remember what you told her?”

Emma nodded slightly thinking back on it. Ashley’s boyfriend was the son of a very powerful and corrupt senator. His father had been so afraid of how a scandal would impact his reelection campaign, that murder had become the most logical solution in his mind. Ashley wouldn’t have been the first either. There had been mistresses who had threatened to tell his wife of his affairs, but none of them had ever had the chance; each had suffered a ‘freak accident’, all of which were later revealed to have been carefully planned by the senator’s right hand man. Ashley’s boyfriend had seemed like a sweet enough kid, but he had been terrified of his father and, rather than stand up for himself and the family he had created, he was just going to look the other way as Ashley and his baby were dealt with.

Ashley had been hiding out in a rat infested, run-down motel, using the last of her cash to pay her weekly rent. When Emma and Ruby had finally found her, she had been completely beaten down. She had told Emma that she was done fighting, and she had no choice but to get rid of the baby. That’s when Emma had snapped. She knew what is was like to feel completely alone, unwanted, and powerless.

“I told her that everyone was always going to try to tell her what was best for her, and who she needed to be, but that that wasn’t enough. She needed to learn how to punch back and tell them who she was instead. She needed be her own hero and set a good example for her child.”

Ruby gave her an encouraging grin.

“Exactly, and I’m going to give you that same advice now. Emma, you can’t worry about what everyone else thinks of you. If you try to please them, you’ll spend the rest of your days miserable. I know you. Emma, you’re a force to be reckoned with, and you need to show them that. Don’t take their crap.”

Emma felt the weight of everyone’s judgment lifting from her shoulders. Ruby was right; she had let years of fear dull her spark. Between Neal, and the shame of everything that had followed, Emma had let them convince her that she was somehow less.

“Thank you.”

“That’s what best friends are for.”

Emma stood first, reaching out a hand and helping Ruby up. She felt free again for the first time in as long as she could remember. And while she didn’t need to prove it to any of the other agents, she needed to prove to herself that she could do this. She could be Emma Fowler, the bad girl who took no crap. She could seduce Killian Jones without letting herself fall for him. Everything here was make-believe; she just needed to remind herself of that. With a new sense of determination, Emma made her way to the bathroom to start getting ready for the Rose Ceremony. She was going to be the envy of everyone there, and she was going to do it for herself and no one else.

“And Emma,” Emma turned to Ruby, “for what it’s worth, I think he’s different from the others, and that’s what really scares you. Don’t push him away because of that. Don’t be afraid to let him in.”

And just like that, Emma, felt the weight dropping down on her again.

The glamour team was becoming more and more efficient. The makeup girl had Killian’s coloring down to a science. Even so, Killian felt the way her brushstrokes lingered on his skin. She was always so close to him, and the warm puffs of breath assaulted his cheeks, making him uncomfortable. With the exception of her doing his eye makeup, Killian tried to keep calm by shutting his eyes. The woman who did his hair seemed just as interested in him as she took extra time to massage his scalp. A month ago Killian would have had them both in his bed, but right now all he wanted was for them to finish quickly and leave. At least the guy from wardrobe wasn’t quite as obvious about his affections.

Mary Margaret picked him up in her trusty golf cart and they headed to the mansion.

“So I know you’ve had a crazy last few nights. We’ll try to get all of this filmed as soon as possible with the least amount of reshoots.”

Killian gave a simple nod but kept his eyes trained at his feet.

“You okay over there? I promise not to let anyone try to drug you tonight.” He saw her grinning at of the corner of his eyes, and let out a small chuckle. “Seriously though, is something bothering you?”

He considered telling her, she was team Emma after all, but he thought it best to keep their shared moment a secret. A small part of him rationalized that it would only put more pressure on Emma, which could make her run, but a larger part of him was worried that it would only give them both a sense of false hope. The kiss had awakened something in him, but for Emma, it triggered her somehow. He was witness to the exact moment her walls began to skyrocket higher than ever.

This was a mistake.

The words played in his head over and over, taunting him to the point of insanity.

“No, everything is fine. I’m just a bit tired is all.”

Mary Margaret opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but quickly thought better of it and snapped it back shut. They pulled up to the house, and she ran through the plans for the evening with him. Tina Greene had already received a rose, so while she would be the one person missing this evening. The three girls that were being sent home that evening had been sinfully boring at best, not even interesting enough for him to bother remembering. After tonight, there would still be eighteen girls left for him to deal with, but fortunately the only one he cared about was safe for another week at least.

“Well this ceremony will be much like the last one, with the exception of you sneaking away to have booze with some of the contestants.” Mary Margaret gave him a pointed look, one that should have been scolding, but instead was amusing.

“Yes, your highness. I promise to be on my best behavior this evening.” She blushed a little bit as she led him into the mansion. “May I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“You and David seem quite happy. Was it love at first sight?”

She eyed him carefully, sensing that he was asking something bigger.

“Actually, I rather disliked him the first time I laid eyes on him. We met through work, and I thought he was a self-righteous prick. I actually threw a paperweight from my desk at him.”

“Really?”

“Ya,” she chuckled at the memory. “Unfortunately it hit him square in the jaw which split his face open. I had to take him to the emergency room for stitches. We started talking in the waiting room and I realized that outside of the office, he wasn’t actually that bad of a guy.”

“Well, battery aside, I’m happy for you.”

Both of them stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for the girls to get into place, before he could make his weekly grand entrance.

“Killian, I don’t believe in love at first sight. Lust, maybe, but not love. That’s something that comes from learning about the other person; it has a way of sneaking up on you. Don’t give up on her.”

#If Looks Could Kill #ILCK #wellhellotragic #hellotragic #cs ff

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downtowns-universe · 3 years

Text

Below the waves

Character: Eyrian

Words: 5657

The weather had cleared up, Eyrian could tell from the sunlight filtering down through the waves. The seas had been rough for the last couple of days: the aftermath of the storm that had brought him here. Whether the danger had passed completely he couldn’t quite tell from down here, so he decided a trip to the surface was in order. He got up from the rock he’d been sitting on and started making his way up, still a bit awkward in his movements. Melenna had told him it would take a while until he’d be able to utilise his tail properly, and until then he should be stretching the muscles as much as he could. It wasn’t until yesterday that he’d started to get enough feeling to actually attempt to swim. She’d also told him not to go too far from the settlement – but didn’t going up technically mean staying in the same place? On land it would. The ocean wasn’t that deep here anyway.

It was strange, observing the water surface from down below, as if the waves were inverted. He’d seen it before, of course, with how many times he’d landed in the water over the years, but never this clearly. His eyes must have adjusted to better see underwater. He wondered what else had changed.

The tail was the most obvious, of course. Moving it hurt, a dull pain like a bruise, but he knew it would be getting better soon. It already felt a lot better than it had during the last couple of days. Although he’d seen many colour variations, his tail had a greenish hue, its scales reflecting the light now that he was getting closer to the surface. The scales reached up to his waist, then gradually changed into skin that looked the same as before but felt tougher, like a shark’s.

Another thing that was hard to miss were the gills on both sides of his neck. So far he’d tried his best to ignore them. Every now and then he could feel them flare, something that made him feel uneasy when aware of it. He definitely hadn’t dared to touch them yet, even though he was curious about how they worked.

Eyrian hesitated before breaking the surface: would he still be able to breathe air? He’d seen merfolk on land before – but they had been transformed into their human form. They’d had legs, he didn’t. In his experience most fish didn’t last long on land. Was he even a fish? He wasn’t sure. There was only one way to find out, he thought while taking a deep breath.

The first thing he realised when breaching the surface was how loud it was. Not that there was much to hear: only the sound of the wind and the rolling waves, but during the last couple of days he had gotten used to the way sounds were muted underwater. Although they could speak, their voices did not carry far, so most of the time he was surrounded by silence. He had heard the merfolk make high pitched sounds or clicking noises to get each other’s attention, but he wasn’t sure what all of them meant.

Now the waves sounded deafening, sensations overwhelming him as he glanced around him. The world was bright, but he didn’t seem to be seeing clearly, like there was a film over his eyes. A wave washed over him as he struggled to stay afloat, reflexively trying to kick his tail as if it were legs, his arms flailing. He gasped for air but something seemed to be blocking the airflow, and he started flailing even harder. A panic started to settle in: he needed to stay afloat, no matter what. He needed to get back to the ship.

As if matters weren’t bad enough, something started pulling him under water. He struggled even harder to escape from the thing gripping his waist from behind, but it wasn’t planning to let go. He was pulled beneath the surface, still flailing and gasping for air.

It took him a while to realise he could breathe again, and wasn’t drowning at all. Remembering where he was, he stopped struggling. The grip around his waist was released and someone brushed against him while swimming past. He opened his eyes and looked straight into Melenna’s worried face.

“Please don’t try to drown yourself,” she sighed, an undertone of relief in her voice.

He looked up at the surface above them, the sun as bright as it was before. But for Eyrian, a moment ago it hadn’t been. It had been overcast, the waves tall and dark, topped with white foam. He had been alone and desperate to stay alive, just as he had been a few days ago. He now realised it had just been his mind playing tricks on him, playing into his fears.

“I wasn’t trying to,” he said sheepishly.

“Good.”

Eyrian looked up again, feeling the warm sunlight on his face.

“I just wanted to have a look on the surface.”

“Oh, is that what it was,” she teased. “Being able to stay afloat would surely help.”

“Then teach me.”

“You should first learn to swim properly,” she smiled, circling around him.

He copied her circle pattern, chasing after her – a bit less gracefully than he’d wanted.

“Come on, just a little peek,” he pleaded.

“If you can keep up, perhaps,” she laughed, suddenly twirling around and diving down.

Eyrian, finally having built up some speed, drifted off to the side before he could manage to change direction and follow. It was obvious she was leading him away from the surface.

She started swimming in big curves, then turned to watch him as he followed. She made it look so easy and graceful, her whole body moving in unison, changing direction with minimal effort. His own form must look awkward, he knew. He hadn’t quite mastered the correct rhythm yet, which meant he kept drifting to one side and having to correct his course constantly. And what for Melenna looked like wide arcs, for him felt like sharper turns than he could manage.

“You have to use your entire body,” she advised, swimming back towards him.

She circled around and came up underneath him, gently putting her hands on his waist.

“Right now you’re only moving your tail, keeping this–” she gently squeezed him “–still, which means you have to use your upper body to correct yourself. That will cost a lot of effort, and slow you down. Using your whole body is more efficient and faster – and a lot better for your back. Just look at the way a fish moves. Or a snake, if a land animal is more familiar to you.”

“I think I’ve seen more fish than snakes,” Eyrian smiled. “I’ve been on the sea for a while.”

“I bet most of those fish weren’t swimming anymore, though.”

Eyrian thought of the markets, baskets of dried fish piling high.

“…I suppose you’re right.”

Eyrian tried to change his movements according to the advice she’d given him, a bit nervous about her hands still around his waist. It took some effort, but in the end he was able to move in a way that was at least an approximation of what she’d shown him.

“Better,” she nodded. “Now follow me.”

He felt a jab of disappointment as she let go of him.

They repeated the pattern – a little more smoothly this time. Then they moved on to a different exercise, picking up the pace a little. He followed her absentmindedly, thinking back to his adventure on the surface. Perhaps she was right, and he wasn’t ready to go back there yet: he hadn’t expected to react in the way he did. Perhaps last week’s events had had a bigger impact than he’d thought. A lot had happened after all.

He’d been aboard a trade vessel, having secured passage back to Algiers, when they’d been caught in a storm. There were many storms during this time of year, but few of them were as bad as this one. A ship killer, he’d call it. He’d faced a few of them in his day – with varying results, he had to admit – but the ship had always gotten through it. The merchant captain had not been as lucky, although he could hardly be blamed for this. He had tried his hardest to prepare the ship. The crew had struck the sails to not let the wind rip them to shreds – or worse, take down the whole mast with them. Everything out on the deck had been secured to keep it from moving. All they had to do now was hold on tight and wait it out.

The rain started suddenly, like they had sailed straight into a waterfall, immediately drenching everyone out on the deck. Then the wind picked up, whistling eerie melodies as it swept past the rigging and turned the rain into tiny daggers pelting their faces. It had become dark, even though it was only mid-day, and the waves grasped at the deck with icy fingers. The wind and the ocean seemed to fight for control of the ship, both pulling on it, making the wood groan beneath their feet.

While he was working to fasten a line an enormous wave impacted onto the deck, knocking Eyrian off his feet. He tumbled across the deck, his shoulder impacting on something hard along the way. Before he could manage to grab a hold of something the wave spit him out on the other side, dragging him into the churning chaos below. The waves tossed him around, making him lose all sense of direction. Only sporadically he found his way to the surface to gasp for air, only to end up with a mouthful of saltwater instead. Staying afloat was a battle, and one he was losing quickly. If only he could manage to find his way back to the ship. He managed to kick off his boots to stop them from weighing him down. As a wave lifted him up he could suddenly see the ship, a distance away from him. It was only a glimpse, before the wall of water separated them again, but Eyrian could tell she was not doing well. She was at an angle as if capsized, her port side already taken by the waves. One or two lifeboats were drifting beside her, Eyrian did not think they would last long in this weather. Still he attempted to make his way over. What other option did he have? He just needed to find something to hold onto.

The elements disagreed with him on the matter. The waves tossed him around, pulled him under and spit him out again like he was their plaything, and once again he had lost his bearing. He swallowed another gulp of sea water and fought to stay afloat, having no breath left to curse at the waves. He surfaced and desperately looked around, seeing nothing but water. He turned just in time to see the enormous wave that crashed into him. It was like hitting a wall, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He felt a strong current dragging him down. It was too strong to fight against, or perhaps he simply had no fight left. As he sank deeper, the world around him went dark.

He did not expect to wake up, but he did. For a moment he wondered if he was dead, since he felt strangely light, as if he was floating. The pain when he tried to sit up made him believe otherwise. He felt sore all over, but his legs hurt the most. The entire lower half of his body felt like it was on fire, but at the same time strangely numb. When he stirred someone approached him, a pretty face appearing above his; long, dark hair fanning out around her. She told him he was safe, but that he needed to rest.

He did not remember much of the first three days, spending most of it drifting in and out of sleep. A plant-like material was wrapped around his body and he could hardly move, even if he’d wanted to. Sometimes the young woman was at his bedside, sometimes an older woman. He knew that something wasn’t right, but at that point couldn’t quite wrap his head around what it was.

The next day he had felt better, like he’d finally had a decent night of sleep. He took in his surroundings and finally realised what was off: he was under water, lying on the sand in what appeared to be a home crudely constructed out of planks and cloth. He’d started to panic, trying to break free from whatever was wrapped around him, but soon had to give up because it hurt too much. The older woman entered and approached him, quickly followed by the younger one, who carried something in her arms. Eyrian could see them clearly for the first time and recognised them by their colourful fish tails: they were merfolk, a species he had encountered before during his travels. He also knew of the myths being told about them, and slowly his mind started to connect the dots.

“No worry, you are safe,” the older woman spoke.

She had a thick accent, but not one he could place.

“I am Lorina, this is Melenna.”

“Did you… save me?”

The woman nodded. She then removed some of the wrapping, checked underneath it and nodded again. Eyrian wanted to look, he wanted to see with his own eyes what he suspected had been done, but still couldn’t find the strength to sit up.

“Stay,” the old woman commanded, pushing him down again. “Rest.”

She then left, while Melenna approached him. He could now see she was carrying more of the strange vines. He assumed it must be some kind of seaweed they used to treat him.

“You must excuse the sage; she does not speak your language very well,” she explained while setting the bundle down.

“It seems like you do,” he observed.

“I’ve spent some time ashore.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Before my apprenticeship with the sage.”

She carefully started unwrapping him. Eyrian couldn’t see what she was doing, so he instead took the time to study her more closely. She was pretty, with long, dark hair that was tied up behind her head, but a small strand had come loose and floated in front of her face. She brushed it aside. Her skin was darker than his, contrasting with the pinkish-orange hue of her tail, its colour reminding him of salmon. The tailfin had a darker colour, as did two smaller fins on her thighs and a bigger one down her back. They swayed slowly as she was working.

“Can I see it?” he asked.

“What?”

“The tail – mine, I mean,” he added for clarification.

She seemed surprised, her hands pausing.

“You’ve figured it out.”

She studied his face, a mix of curiosity and caution on her own.

“Most people freak out when we tell them. They’re confused, or scared. They scream. You seem so… calm.”

“I’m very tired,” Eyrian shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll sink in soon.”

He laid back down, resting his head on the sand.

“I’ve also met your kind before. It helps.”

“You have?”

Eyrian nodded.

“When you’ve sailed as much as I have, you tend to see many strange things. Things others assume are just fantasies, tall tales shared while enjoying a drink.”

“Hmm, I see. And would you say that belongs in that category?”

She nodded to her left, where, not far from him, something was leaning against the rock. Something metallic.

“Pretty sure that wasn’t on you when I brought you here. And yet it was in your hand as soon as we were getting started. How? I don’t think you were even conscious at the time.”

Eyrian glared at his sword, that had somehow managed to follow him here. It was never going to leave him alone, was it?

“The sage said it was magic,” Melenna continued when he said nothing. “That you were magic.”

He scoffed.

“I wouldn’t go that far…”

“Tell me about it,” she said, leaning in.

Eyrian said nothing, just looked at the gills on her neck, now very close to him, as they softly flared. Only then he realised he must have those too, and a feeling of discomfort came over him. He felt the urge to run, to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible, but could still barely move.

“Tell me, and I’ll help you sit up,” Melenna bargained, watching him struggle. “So you can look.”

He briefly glanced at the sword, the seaweed covering him, and back to her, and realised he had no other option than to stay.

“Fine.”

The sword hadn’t moved from its spot in the sage’s workspace. He had no reason to take it with him – and also no scabbard. And even if he did, it would only be in his way while swimming anyway. He didn’t need it.

Melenna observed him from a distance, while he traversed the route she’d set out for what felt like the hundredth time. Around the rocks, under the old shipwreck’s mast, up and over the ship’s deck, and back around.

“You’re getting better!” she encouraged him.

Eyrian knew she was right: the turns were getting easier to take with each try, but he still felt like she was mocking him somehow. The last couple of days he’d felt like a child that still had to learn everything about the world. Unsure about his movements, unsure about his purpose. What exactly was he supposed to do here? Sure, he was still alive – and then what? Was he supposed to stay here, live underwater from now on? Or could he leave? He knew merfolk could take a human form – this was how he’d met them in the first place – but he was also aware this could take years to master. If they were even willing to teach it to a humanborn.

That was what they called him, he’d learned. Some members of the school looked at him with distrusting eyes, not yet sure about this stranger’s intentions. Which was only fair, since he wasn’t either. He’d only been introduced to a handful of them – Melenna’s friends, he supposed – but the entire school seemed to know about him. He wondered how often they would take in humans, and if there were any here now.

“Not at the moment,” Melenna said when he asked her about it, “but there have been some in the past. The sage has performed the ceremony three times in her life. For me, you were the first.”

“Really? I’m flattered,” Eyrian grinned, seizing the opportunity to take a break from his laps.

“So, how was it?” he asked, floating up to her. “Is it difficult? How does it work?”

She thought for a moment.

“It’s a complicated process, it’s hard to explain – what do you remember about it?”

Eyrian shrugged.

“Nothing at all? You sure?”

She looked at him questioningly, then shook her head.

“Perhaps it’s for the best. You were drowning, after all.”

“I’m already remembering more than I’d like,” Eyrian admitted. “From before. I don’t think I want to know.”

“I understand. I know I’ll never be able to forget about it – I suppose that’s a good thing.”

“Why? Are you supposed to perform it on your own next time?”

“Most likely. We don’t take in humans that often and the sage is getting weaker. This ceremony took a toll on her, even if she’s too proud to admit it.”

“I see…”

An awkward silence hung between them as neither of them knew what to say.

“Why don’t we give the surface another try?” Melenna suggested. “You seem to have gotten the hang of this.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Eyrian grinned.

She looked up, observing the waves in the distance above them.

“Not here, though. The water’s too rough because of the current. But I know a place where it’s calmer.”

He followed her back in the direction of the settlement. It was hidden between the rocks, with houses built out of seaweed and what appeared to be parts of sunken ships. Planks, crates, rope, sailcloth – there was even a cannon sitting on the main square, which seemed to be used mostly by the children to play on. Their parents were nearby, going about their business for the day. Some seemed to be trading, others were crafting things out of seaweed or shells. From what Eyrian could tell, the people here used both local products and things scavenged or traded from the land. He knew Melenna had spent time on the land before, probably for those purposes. He imagined it to be a risky task, getting what you wanted while trying to avoid suspicion. A lot of humans couldn’t be trusted – he’d had his own experiences in that area.

A little while past the settlement Eyrian spotted another shipwreck. It was only a fishing vessel, smaller and a lot more recent than the wreck he’d just spent an hour swimming circles around. That one was old, almost entirely taken by algae and barnacles. This one, he estimated, couldn’t have been down here for more than a year or so. All ropes, sails and flags had been stripped from her mast; her deck was empty. He suspected the hold of the ship had received a similar treatment. The merfolk had picked it clean, claiming everything that could be of use.

He wondered if that would be happening to his ship right now. Surely they must have seen it go down, and if they hadn’t, they should have found it by now. The question was: what exactly would they find? The ship had taken quite a beating – Eyrian had no idea about the state the wreck would be in.

“The ship – my ship – is it far from here?” he asked, speeding up to swim alongside Melenna.

“I’m not sure where it is – I was a bit preoccupied at the time,” she smiled while gesturing in his direction.

Then her face turned serious.

“I’ll have to ask around. We could go see it if you want, but only if you’re ready.”

Eyrian considered the offer.

“What do you think happened to the rest of the crew?”

She averted her gaze.

“I’m not sure. When things like this happen, we do what we can. There’s an island nearby, but bringing humans there is not without risk. We try, but we can only carry one at a time. Keeping their heads above water is hard work, especially in weather like this. Without a doubt a lot of them will have drowned. The sea is simply too rough.”

Eyrian stayed quiet for a bit. He had only been aboard for one voyage, and didn’t feel like he’d really been part of the crew yet, but he’d known many of them by name. These were good men and they’d deserved better.

“Why me?” he asked after a while.

He stopped swimming, floating still in the water, waiting until Melenna turned around.

“You had an entire crew to choose from. Why me?”

“Because the goddess wanted it so.”

“The goddess?”

“Her name is Danala. She rules over all life in the oceans.”

For a brief moment, Eyrian felt like he was back in his home town, being lectured on the gods and how they played a part in every aspect of their lives. Back then, their water goddess, Dragha, was the only one he’d been even remotely interested in. She did whatever she pleased, unpredictable like the ocean itself. And most importantly: in all his years she’d never tried to bother him, as if they’d had a mutual understanding. He did not like the implications being made here at all.

“And this… goddess told you to save me? Did she appear to you?”

Melenna shook her head.

“That is not her way. She brought you to us on the current.”

“The current?”

Eyrian had to try his hardest not to laugh. Not out of disrespect, but from relief.

“The current is just a current,” he said. “Not everything is a sign from higher powers.”

“If that is what you choose to believe,” she shrugged. “I wouldn’t expect a human to understand.”

She was right: he didn’t understand. He never had. How could people put their faith into beings they only knew from stories, have their lives guided by them – even fight wars over them? Even if they were real – and he highly doubted that – they were so far removed from the everyday world, how could they possibly know what it was like to be a human? How dare they involve themselves in their lives, push them in a direction they thought was best? If this had indeed been the interference of a goddess – whatever her name may be – he considered this the end of whatever agreement they’d had so far.

“Whether you believe in her or not,” Melenna continued, “in bringing you to us she may have saved the lives of some of your crew.”

“What do you mean?”

“At the time, we did not know your ship was in trouble. During storms like this we prefer to stay near the ocean floor, where the weather can least affect us. Only after you arrived some of us went to inspect the surface. Otherwise we wouldn’t have known.”

“Only a minute ago you told me you didn’t know whether they’d survived.”

“I don’t know the exact numbers, no. But some did, and without you that number would have been zero.”

Eyrian thought for a moment.

“Why didn’t you take me to that island as well?”

“There was no time. You had lost consciousness, and from that point there is only a small window to do what needs to be done. Dragging you back to the surface would have taken too long. Our options were to turn you or to let you die.”

“But surely taking me to the surface would have been the quickest option? You told me yourself that it’s a long and complicated process.”

“You humans are so ungrateful to be alive,” Melenna sighed.

“I’m not ungrateful, I’m just confused! I don’t know how these things work!”

He paused to take a breath.

“Of course I’m grateful – I owe you my life. But this is also very strange, and I’m just trying to understand.”

Melenna observed him for a moment, as if deciding whether to interpret this as an apology, then sighed.

“As soon as the ceremony starts, you are protected,” she explained. “Which means you won’t drown until it’s finished. But when it’s started, it has to be completed. If we stop, you will die. If we wait too long, you will die. If we do it incorrectly… – you get it.”

Eyrian nodded. Even though he was unfamiliar with this particular type of magic, he knew how dangerous magic could be. You didn’t want to leave any loose ends.

“In that case I’m glad it went well,” he grinned. “I like being alive.”

“Good. Don’t make me regret this.”

Melenna smiled sweetly and continued on her way.

While Eyrian could detect no sign of ill intent in either her voice or her face, he knew he’d just been threatened, and he had no doubt she would make good on that threat. He wasn’t sure why she seemed to dislike him so much – okay, he was being a little difficult, but what else could be expected from a human going through this? From his point of view he was doing incredibly well, all things considered.

When they’d reached the surface, Melenna circled back to come face to face with him. After his last attempt, Eyrian felt a little nervous, even though he knew there was no real reason to. He couldn’t drown, it would be alright.

“Are you ready?”

He nodded.

“Alright. As you know, merfolk can adapt their bodies to live on the land as well as in the water. The most obvious way – a full transformation – is quite demanding, but there are other, smaller changes that can be just as useful – and a lot easier to manage. As you experienced this morning, right now your body is optimised for being underwater. You’re using your gills to breathe while your nose is closed off. You can also switch, meaning your nose will open and your gills will close off. It can be tricky to find the right muscles to do it at first. The most important thing to remember is that when in this form, you have to consciously switch to breathing through your nose. If you’re not paying attention, or asleep, your body will automatically switch back to using your gills – yes, even if you’re human and used to breathing through your nose.”

She paused for a moment, looking him in the eye.

“What I’m saying is: don’t fall asleep on the beach – it’s not great.”

“Speaking from experience?” he grinned.

“Perhaps.”

She gestured towards the surface.

“When you have legs, it works the opposite way – so don’t fall asleep in the water. But you won’t have to worry about that for a long time.”

“How long, do you think?”

“Couple of years, give or take. Transforming is more difficult to learn for humans.”

“Really? You would think it’d be easier.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Who do you think can manage shapeshifting faster: someone who has been capable of it their whole life, or someone who only just got the ability?”

“When you put it that way…”

“It’s not about the legs. It’s about knowing what to do to trigger a transformation – and how to maintain it. Even after you’ve managed to change, keeping your legs will be challenging at first. You’ll most likely revert as soon as a bit of water splashes you.”

“Sounds wonderful…” Eyrian sighed.

“Being a humanborn is not all bad,” Melenna smiled. “Once you’ve mastered the transformation, you’ll be able to stay away from the water for longer periods of time. Merfolk in human form have to keep their skin hydrated, humanborns do not. Sure, it’ll be uncomfortable for a while, but it will pass.”

“So, in theory I could go back to living as I did before without issue?”

Melenna stared at him for a while, with a look he couldn’t quite decipher, then sighed.

“…Yes. But I would advise sticking to the coast and avoiding dry areas.”

“Good to know – that there’s options, I mean. I don’t expect to be going anywhere anytime soon. Guess you’re stuck with me,” he grinned.

Melenna cocked her head.

“I think you’re the one stuck with me. And you have a lot to learn, so you’d better be prepared to swim in circles all week.”

“I’m used to training all day,” Eyrian shrugged. “But don’t you have anything better to do? You’re supposed to be assisting the sage, right? Do you even have time to babysit me?”

She lifted her chin.

“I’ll manage. Now do you want to see the surface or not?”

It felt good to finally feel the breeze on his face again. It was late: the sun almost touched the horizon, but in the end he’d managed to change his way of breathing. During the process he’d inhaled more water than he’d wanted, no doubt to Melenna’s entertainment.

While he drank in the view – the clouds; the sunset; the island she’d mentioned in the distance to the west – he noticed she was looking at him. He looked back, locking eyes with her, determined to not look away until she did. She kept her eyes on him, a piercing look, as if trying to find out what was going on in his head. Her eyes were dark, appearing almost black, and reflected the last rays of sunlight playing on the waves. He felt as if he could look into those eyes forever.

He flinched as a thin, translucent membrane slid in front of her eyes and then retracted. It had only lasted a split second, but it had been enough for him to lose his focus.

She grinned at him, raising an eyebrow as if to say “I win”.

“Cheater,” he muttered under his breath.

“It’s not cheating if you can do it too.”

Eyrian moved in closer.

“Really? Show me again.”

She blinked again, more slowly this time. Unlike a regular blink, this third eyelid moved horizontally across her eye, while she maintained eye contact.

“That’s really creepy,” he said, eyes still fixated on hers. “I love it.”

He attempted to imitate her, but judging from the amused look on her face he was pretty certain he was just blinking.

“They close reflexively when in contact with water,” she explained.

“That’s pretty ne–”

A splash hit him in the face.

“See?”

Eyrian spit out some water.

“…Thanks.”

He noticed his sight had become a bit blurry. He blinked and it was gone.

“I imagine it takes some practice,” Melenna said and splashed him again.

“Stop it!”

He rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t think this is making me see any clearer.”

“Not up here, no. But underwater they do. Just try to open them and you’ll see what I mean.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea of what it’ll look like. I’m used to human eyes, remember? They do not like saltwater very much.”

“How impractical.”

Eyrian shrugged.

“We can’t all be perfect.”

The sun had disappeared behind the horizon, the clouds were slowly losing their pink glow.

“We should head back before we lose the light,” Melenna said.

“Can we come back up here tomorrow?”

“…Sure. After you’re done swimming your laps,” she grinned, before gracefully diving beneath the waves.

Eyrian cast a last look at the island in the distance and followed.

#story #eyrian #2021challenge

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deadcactuswalking · 6 years

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Gorillaz’ “Plastic Beach”- My Favourite Album of All Time

I tried to write this many times and come up with many reasons why I loved this album, and love it today. But I feel the best way to describe it simply is this: Plastic Beach is the ultimate vibe album. Genre-bending wizards behind their Doncamatics incorporate different energies, emotions and atmospheres into each and every song as if they were different people entirely, and this is just a NOW! That's What I Call Psuedo-Psychedelic Music About Recycling And The Environment LP. Yes, this album does revolve around beaches being polluted and the modern wave (no pun intended) of electrical technology putting nature behind - it was overwhelming in the birth of the digital age in 2010, and the perfect balance between electronics and organic instruments on this beast just spreads that message, even without any of the lyrics. While it does show Damon's soft spot for nature, I think this shows Damon's newfound love for his iPad even more. A lot of the beats sound cheap on this album, but the crispy-clean mixing makes it sound like it was as rich as a bitter dark chocolate bar. Coupled with the orchestral elements thrown into a lot of these tracks, you can tell how this is a mess of an album that even sounds unfinished due to its messy musical palette. But isn't that just furthering the concept?

I might as well talk about the singular tracks, starting with Sinfonia Viva's beautiful orchestral intro, that sets the tone for the funky and jazzy horns backing Snoop Dogg's slick rhymes in "Welcome to the World of the Plastic Beach". Damon's monotone vocoded vocals show that even with the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble being the main instrumentalists on the song, electronics are still present, showing an even starker contrast in the relaxing intro of "White Flag" from The National Orchestra for Arabic Music, that laters becomes aggressive and intense in its many synth loops that assist Bashy and Kano's energetic bar-trading, leading into "Rhinestone Eyes", a catchy electronic rock banger with unstructured verses and an almost disastrous breakdown, as well as nonsensical tongue-in-cheek lyrics, but they all fit into a theme - throughout the whole album, the lyrics are silly but they always reference colours like blue and purple, as well as the contrasts between the sea and its radioactivity (from "Superfast Jellyfish"), for lack of a better metaphor. In its essence, the sillier lyrics on this thing make you mistake it for a Beck album. "Stylo" is a funky 80s electro-funk jam featuring Bobby Womack's soulful and downright majestic vocals, slowly rising like the breath of a dragon as he roars through the repetitive roads of nonsense that sprews from Damon's mouth in his verses about giant fish and electric love, book-ended by Mos Def's quickfire spitting.

After "Superfast Jellyfish", featuring De La Soul being hilarious, we have the second masterpiece (after "Rhinestone Eyes") of the album, "Empire Ants", with one of the most elegant twinkly string-synth leads I've heard, over a shuffling disco beat and Damon's beautiful harmonies, as it slowly builds up to a synth-melody that makes it sound like an entirely different song, one with soaring guitars and a wobbling bassline, but the disco aesthetic and bittersweet lyrics from Little Dragon's Yukimi Nagano are still present, and even more powerful over the fun but intense synthpop track. That leads us to Mark E. Smith's guest spot on "Glitter Freeze", where he rambles a bunch of nonsense prior to some morse code and stomping drum beats under a crazy distorted synth lead, that just dips your toes into some instrumental insanity. It sounds ugly but of course it does, it's a confusing mess. He's lost. "Where's north from here?" Mark cries as he tries to find his way through modern life. Then, peace is found. Lou Reed does his classic talk-croon over the chilled and steady pop-rock stylings of "Some Kind of Nature", which is some kind of fantastic and also some kind of utter nonsense, as Lou continues to mention mayonnaise being eaten by the needy in their phony clothes, and his fondness for plastic and digital foils that could wrap up the sun and protect "the girls" from spiritual poisons... ...What?

We've already experienced soaring heights and soaring lows - we've found the calm before the storm and then the storm turned into a hurricane that wrapped us up and left us in the center of erupting volcano. The amount of emotion presented in the first nine tracks is such a range that at this point, the only emotion we haven't been capable of achieving is the opposite of the phoniness that Lou scoffed at - simple heartfelt love. "On Melancholy Hill" is a new wave ballad that encaptures the feeling of love perfectly, in its drug metaphors that somehow still feel fresh and envigorating in Damon's autotuned sorrows over the sunny synths and some cute synths that makes us feel like we've gone off the deep end so much that we just feel numb, looking out on the day of another dream. But it's a good numb, it's a numb that feels like as if we're travelling through hell but not feeling the consequences. We're exceeding the limit of known obliviousness and plain joy that when we were at "Rhinestone Eyes", we couldn't feel at all. And we would never feel it again... right?

But then we hear the clashing of the bell interrupt her travels. Our string is broken. Silence. Those five seconds where we only hear the bell's echoing impact mean so much to the album, mostly because they take us to "Broken", with a melodica melody that drifts us away to the distant stars Damon describes. It's at this point that we notice that true love was never felt, what was being felt was assurance and just being content with the status of the earth. The "love" that bonds humans and the world was broken, and Damon croons about the status quo that has been shattered, mentioning that his sanity is far away in the ship of the "Glitter Freeze". Where's north from here? There is no north, there is no way upwards from this rut. So we pretend to feel okay. We drink to forget, we drink to connect to the world. We might gamble, we might deal or take drugs, we might do whatever that gets us into a place in our lives where we can feel like we're not numb, but what we're really doing is increasing our numbness to all the madness that happens before our very eyes. "Sweepstakes!" You're a winner, and you won your honorary fake smile. Our fake high lasts what feels like ages but really is just a fast blip in our lives that develops into horns and orchestras of imposterous delight. "Aim high, why not?" Mos Def says as he cheers you on. What could go wrong?

Maybe... everything has gone wrong and you can't feel it anymore. As your high fades away, the guitar chords and the distorted static noise leads you back to the album proper, and not the trip that occurs through the middle that breaks the concept down and smashes the status quo as if it were a like button. Once again, the sweet contrast of the natural twinkly synths and strings in the title track, "Plastic Beach", and its cheap, ugly synth lead emphasises Damon's confusion, which brings me to the best lyric on the album: "It's a Casio on a plastic beach."

Damon's pitch-shifted chanting grants him a realisation and conclusion - it's the "green, green dough" that's all that matters. Thanks to this, although the next few tracks may feel sweeter, they're just soured by this one lyric. The psychedelic surf-rock guitar and vocal melodies in the beginning of "To Binge", once again featuring Nagano with her beautiful verse that meshes into the instrumental as if she is really digging deep into alcoholism, which is what the song is about. Damon and Nagano aren't drunk, no, they're just looking back at the bitter tastes in their mouths with a sweet facade as Nagano pictures the coloured animals on the floor and walls. The world is by Damon's side, but he's not feeling it despite his love for the planet. At this last string of the album, we hear some more of the most meaningful lyrics in the course of the album that really shapes up our concept: "My heart is an economy due to this autonomy."

The waves are crashing down, and a storm's a-brewing. The best title for a song on this album is definitely "Cloud of Unknowing", because that should have been the album title as it is a perfect description of the album, and even uses the semantic field of weather, climate and nature that the album uses throughout, but still presents that confusion. Sinfonia Viva's strings are played over field recordings of a beach and all of its sound effects, as we hear one of Bobby Womack's last recordings prior to his death. And damn, does he sound better than ever, with a soulful performance that brings a tear or two to my eye. As the orchestral instrumental develops and advances into more powerful violin sections, Bobby just continues to sink and wait, predicting that maybe there'll be a chance of sun. Maybe there won't. Who knows? Not his sinking love for the planet, as all it has done is bring him pain. If his love was electric in "Stylo", it's at this point that the plug is pulled. And we end the album, despite all the beautiful and elegant ballads that we deal with for the last leg of the LP, with some fun bombastic trumpets in my favourite song on the album, "Pirate Jet", where Damon retrospectively looks back on his thoughts and just kind of dismisses them. It's all good news now, we don't care! Let's just embrace our own carelessness and fade away in the sands of time with the purple, the people, the plastic-eating people. On the cloud of unknowing, your world isn't as open as you may have thought.

Rest in peace to Bobby Womack, Mark E. Smith and Lou Reed, who each contributed greatly to my favourite album of all time.

#album review #song review #analysis #song by song #albums #songs #reviews #music reviews #gorillaz #plastic beach #11/10

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maultheshy · 7 years

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Part 6

@mauldeservedbetter “There’s no need to be sorry…” He murmured when she spoke. “It just caught me off guard.” He said gently. “I believe the planet I selected has a tidal sea of sorts, if that will suffice, I thi….” He was cut off as she bonked his nose, he blinked quizzically and looked up at her in bewilderment, his mouth open in a tiny “o” her laughter was like music. He shook his head in wonder. “You make it easy to talk to you, your voice…is so soothing.” He murmured he became lost in thought, snapping back to focus when she spoke again listening to what she said about her people and her query about his. He was thoughtful a moment and then spoke. “The females rule our planet, and are dominant, the males are seen as breeding stock and raise all the male babies, females that are born become nightsisters. We are almost like two different species entirely, but one. The selection process…. Is brutal oftentimes, from what Savage told me.” He drifted off before replying to her other query, thinking about his Brother. He looked up as he answered, “yes they have a city with a trade district, where we should be able to fully resupply and repair. I am not picky but my race, we are carnivores by nature just so you are aware.” He leaned back into that gentle touch, before he was forced to sit up. he needed to bathe badly, looking forward to the refresher, but before that he said to her gently. “For what it’s worth… I think you are truly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” he flushed deeply before standing and looking around for the bathroom. *Wow… did I really just pull that off?* he thought rather smugly. Almeta blushed darkly and looked down, biting her lip. “The wash room is on the other side of the kitchen, its small but it has a shower. If that is what you are looking for.” She twirled her hair around her finger, a nervous habit, as she looked away from him. “Thank you.” She told him quietly her cheeks turning another shade of red. When it came to her people Almeta was fairly average looking, her only stand features being her hair and eyes, the colors unusual for her people, so she wasn’t too use to people complimenting her looks. It flustered her somewhat, she watched him walk through the bathroom then let out a soft sigh. A squeaking voice broke through her thoughts. “You should be careful, Princess. He seems like trouble.” Triton told her as he floated to her. Triton was a one of a kind droid that Almeta made herself. He was made to look similar to her favorite deep see creatures of her home world, a mix of an eel and angler fish in looks, and unlike most droids she added a library of languages to him. He was her most loyal and closest of friends. She reached out for him and he curled up in her lap. “I know, dear, but trouble can be so much fun at times.” Triton sighed at her giggle. “He will get us in trouble.” Almeta shrugged at him. “We will be fine. He needs us and, in a way, we need him. Now hush. He’s our friend and you will be nice to him.” Triton rolled his red and black eyes at her before closing them and snuggling closer to her chest. She smiled petting along back and softly singing a lullaby her favorite caregiver would sing her. Maul nodded, smiling slightly at how quick she was to blush when looked at or complimented. She was such an enigma, that he had to somehow unravel. He brightened when she mentioned the shower, he sure as hell needed one. He shook his head slightly as he studied her, her mannerisms were … Not unpleasing to him. He chuckled softly at her reaction. “Your welcome? It’s only an observational statement of fact.” He shrugged, not really thinking that it must have been somewhat embarrassing for him to say and perhaps out of line to say to a Princess in the first place. He pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the cabinet she had mentioned, removing his change of clothes, and headed into the bathroom. He placed his gear to the side and stripped down, turning on the refresher and sliding into the heated water with a hiss of simple pleasure, he was exhausted. He washed himself and just stood there leaning forwards against the glass under the water, head bent forehead almost resting on the wall as water cascaded off of his head and horns in streams. He sighed heavily, and switched off the water, wondering idly if she assumed her aquatic form when she showered as well, suddenly picturing her in the shower he blushed and immediately shook his head to clear his thoughts. *Get ahold of yourself! Just stop now stopstopstop* he yelled at himself. She was Royalty for crying out loud there was no way she was interested in him, he was just riff raff, and was he even interested? He walked out of the shower and grabbed the towel drying his muscular form off, as he slipped into his clothes, he took extra care to dry his horns so he didn’t ruin her towel. He glared at the bony points as if willing them to not wreck shit that didn’t belong to him. *You will NOT wreck shit* he commanded them. He walked out of the Refresher and spotted the Almeta and her droid, and heard the singing, he just stood there, transfixed on the sound. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard in his miserable life, and his eyes were wide with wonder. He stood where he was afraid… If he approached she would stop. Almeta sang the last verse and looked over to Maul with a soft smile and motioned him over to her. “Maul, let me officially introduce you to Triton.” She said as Triton looked up at him, the glowing appendage that was attached to his head moved slightly as if it were waving. “Hello Darth Maul. I am Droid Triton and, as a friend of my Princess, I am at your service.” He hovered over to Maul and circled him, he got close and spoke quietly enough so Almeta couldn’t hear. “Do be careful though. I am her Droid first.” Almeta eyed Triton closely. “You be nice, Triton. As I said-” “Yes, yes. I know, he’s a friend. Be nice.” Triton hovered to the pilot’s chair and curled up in it. “Whatever he said, ignore him. He’s just protective, I did make him after all.” She patted the space next to her on the bed. “Come, sit. What should we talk about now?” She smiled at him gently. Maul listened to the melody and felt his chest tighten painfully, as he was lost in memories he could only just barely see, snippets of his Mother he thought, of the time long long before. He drifted back to reality and caught the last few bars of her song, and let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He walked over to them, his eyebrow raised slightly, he smiled gently as the droid introduced itself, Maul waved back slightly “hello Triton, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said with a chuckle, he’d never seen a droid like him before. Maul nodded to Triton respectfully. Maul froze slightly his smile wavering, as the droid whispered to him, at the warning, and minutely threatening nature in which the droid spoke to him. “Of course…” Maul said softly looking a bit defeated but, he shook it off. Maul listened to the two of them, and the word “Friend” he had never had one before. The thought made him terribly sad, he hadn’t been leading a life at all had he? He didn’t allow Almeta to notice his sorrow, or he didn’t think he did. Maul listened to her words in silence, but walked over to her, sitting next to her on the bed, trying to not notice how close they were sitting to each other. He changed the subject his brain was trying to force on him. *just don’t … Look down..don’t do it!* he snapped at himself. “You built Triton? I love modding out my ship and droid’s and my speeder bike… Partly why I was so distraught when you said… They were gone. How did you learn to make something so amazing?” He asked genuinely interested.

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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[MS] Just wrote and expanded my first ever short story. I'm really proud of this one. I would love any feedback you have!

It was an exciting day in the Village, as the Sound House, the main concert venue, pulsed. Its veins were electronica. Its heart and soul? The local punk band, Careerist, a post-punk band gone rogue. Its lead artist, instrumentalist and most notably accordionist Dale Coop was blaring a sweet melody about coffee and donuts through his aching windpipes. A flabbergasted crowd of 10 or so looked on in adoration, as Dale's sweet harmonics fused with the wails of the audience to create an orgasmic resonance. One of these audience members was Brick, a bright young upstart bopping to the ferocious power chords let off by the wild guitars. With one well-placed yelp, a "Woo", Brick unknowingly made a key contribution to Careerist's zeitgeist; the sound waves bounced off Brick's balding head into the ceiling, unleashing a shockwave throughout The Village that even rattled The Village's Spire. "I'm losin' tooouch", Careerist careened in unison, and Brick's best friend Shelton crooned with them; he was much more into the back catalogue of Careerist, in their notorious fan-christened DRK AGE. Shelton initially followed them, his ears perking in curiosity, because of their notorious pro-police agenda; back then, even their name endorsed the tyrannical Peelers, who routinely raided The Village in search of an apple with a somewhat.. unconventional form of icing sugar drifting atop. As his mind drifted, Shelton recalled a somewhat legendary incident the week beforehand wherein a 107 year old man was arrested on suspicion of heroin possession AND illegal, um, operation of a laundromat? As Shelton questioned his memory, Careerist finished their line, wailing, "I don't know what I'm feelin' anymoooore!" After the show finished, and the nearly dozens of people pooled out like a liquid made of human flesh, Brick cornered the fledgeling band. "Hey." He stopped them. "Yes?" barked their bass player, the sexy Tom. He flicked his cascading fringe to the side as he spoke through sunken eyes and black lips, no doubt enhanced by his legendary €5,000 lip growth surgery. "Steyer, right?" Brick said, in a decidedly Trumpish manner. "Yeah, it's Tom Steyer, but you can call me Tommy Steyer." He flashed a perfect grin. "Or Tommy, for short." "You are like Stan." Brick challenged them boldly and brazenly. Tommy looked at Brick with a mixture of surprise, shock and disgust. The band's hulking drummer, however, froze in his tracks. He slowly turned his buldging neck to face the young, soy-filled man challenging the band. His beady eyes quickly scanned the poor bastard's face, noting a lack of facial hair, as though it had never been able to sprout. "Uh oh". Tommy flashed a wicked smirk, catching Dale off guard and causing him to slip clumsily down the stairs. "Boot's angry...!" Boot 'The Boot' Edge turned and displayed his dominance clearly to the hapless Brick. "Who," he bellowed, "the fuck do you think you are? Mucker?" "Me!" Brick shouted. He looked like he had shat a brick. "Do you know Stan? From Eminem? Yeah. You are similar to him - and also to pottery. Dude. Yeah..." Brick's voice retreated into a squeak inaudible to human perception as he stared at Boot's hudge buldge and the terrifying build-up to his Scott Pilgrim style attack. With a warrior cry, Boot swung his mighty fist towards the shiny target that was Brick's swollen enormous head. With one mighty crack, his fist smote Brick's puny cranial matter. The impact sent a shockwave encircling his head, and what little hair he had left wafted off like trees in the face of a mighty asteroid; his head was left like a freshly waxed bowling ball, entirely round and with a few holes. As he fell over, a gentleman walked by and offered his opinion: "That kid be concussed, yo!" Boot roared at the fellow, "Fuck you dude", waving his arms. He left Brick's increasingly wavering vision. The last thing Brick saw that night was Shelton's concerned corneas gazing deep within his rapidly dilating pupils, as his vision faded to black.

***

Brick's eyes slowly peeled open; he could witness only a blurry facsimile of the real world. Only his best friend, Shelton Harry, was visible to him. "Mr. Lloyd?" he heard, muffled as though through a wall of icy foam. "Mr. Lloyd?" This time, it sounded clearer, as though projected through a Fender subwoofer. His favourite brand, Brick thought to himself. His favourite... brand? He was back. He was in the real world again. The Latina nurse bungled over whilst singing a familiar song. Brick could piece together small snippets from her beautiful wailing... "Fiesta".... he heard.... "Salsa, Quinceañera..." As he squinted towards the busty Latina, he whispered to himself, "Lunch..." he realised he was starving. The stout nurse noticed his heed, and promptly negotiated with another, more rotund nurse. He caught a glimpse of her name badge: "Mrs. Rodriguez". The rotund nurse promptly returned with a chicken, mayo and avocado bap. Man, oh man, Brick thought. That hits the spot. He salivated over the thought of the lovely chicken mayo slathering his throat, the avocado a fortified wall of flavour around his mouth. As she rushed over to Brick holding the plate with the food, Brick shouted, "Wait! Wait! Slow down, please!" But it was too late. The Nurse toppled over a lopsided chair, scattering the contents of the sandwich across Brick's hapless face. He yelped once again, a warbling cry far beyond the frequency of human hearing. An unfamiliar sensation crossed his facial skin. Something about the bones underneath felt... different. As he touched his face, fingers parting the sea of mayo and avocado, he came across an alien mound in the center of his visage. His nose felt... bigger, somehow, as though the nurses had slightly increased its size. His jawline felt more prominent. "Well, there goes my Chincel Subforum membership privileges", he quipped, and the entire ward erupted in a sea of laughter, the ocean of sustained noise breaking the sound barrier and destroying the glass apparatus protecting the delicate ward from the plagues and blizzards outside. Mrs. Rodriguez was swept off her feet as she flew out the window on what seemed like the tenth story of the building; the doppler effect ruined her beautiful melody as it transformed into a deathly scream. That scream would haunt Brick for the rest of the foreseeable future. Shelton grabbed his hand, linking their delicate arms together and quickly cupping his own ears to protect his valuable inner ear canals. He quickly ran to the in-house escalator, which descended in a dizzying spiral. The steel steps of the escalator vibrated and shook their feet to the bone, creating another harmonic resonance that gave Shelton a great sensual feeling in his spine. They finally reached the bottom floor of the Gorgeous Man Hospital in South Side Colorado, that they had been shipped to weeks ago. The deafening chorus of glee from floors above had subsumed into a low throbbing bass, and they were finally able to get their bearings. From the corner of his eye, Shelton spotted the decaying, weak body of a great rock hero he had once admired. He let go of the now-recovering Brick to pay his idol a visit. As he approached the body, a doctor with delectable skin like caramel chocolate and a bald head like the finest ceramic sphere stopped him dead in his tracks. "I'm sorry sir, but Mr. Berry is so incredibly frail that going within 10 meters of him will cause you to die in a matter of years, through the vortexes in the air created through the pockets of air still contained within his skin." Brick maintained a flabbergasted expression, before switching to an expression of joy, before switching to an expression of disgust, before switching to an expression of confusion, before switching to an expression of sombre reflection. "Who the fuck are you?" he wailed into the void, possibly to himself, possibly to the declining star on the bed. He didn't quite know anymore. The doctor said, "My name is Dr. Parkerman." Brick's expression quickly turned sour, and he ripped off his own scrubs, exposing his nubile skin and hairless chest to the entire floor. His expression turned innocent for a moment, and he gently eased his head into the doctor's chest; a singular tear rolled down his cheek, as he explained, "My father's uncle... he was a doctor. Pretty good too, but one time... he..." Brick exploded into a barrage of tears, piercing the doctor's skin like machine gun fire. Dr. Parkerman backed off with a dead look in his eyes, robotically brandishing a revolver. "You're a sick man", he shouted. "You're a sick man. Get the fuck away from me." He cocked the revolver but Shelton screamed, "NOOOOO", and dramatically leapt into the path of the speeding bullet, lodging itself firmly in his thumb. Shelton was blown back several yards by the impact of the bullet. He lay on the floor, convulsing and withering, as Brick screamed haplessly in an embarrassingly womanly tone. He lay there, atop Brick's chest, crying healing tears; his sobs had no effect as Shelton's final breaths escaped his plump lips.

***

Part 2 coming soon.

submitted by /u/awesomeaddict [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/32dJRg7

#Blogger #Story

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wellhellotragic · 7 years

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If Looks Could Kill Chapter 15

By popular demand I’m going to start posting the story here on tumblr as well as on my AO3 account.

Emma Swan is a dedicated FBI agent getting over a bad breakup. When she and her partner, Ruby Lucas, are forced to go undercover as contestants on a reality show, Emma is forced to try and win the affections of Killian Jones, a man she despises.

Killian Jones is a lost boy. Having recently been nicknamed the 'Bad Boy of Boston,' he's been living up to his moniker using women and rum to avoid dealing with his dark past. When he's forced to take the lead in a reality show, he encounters a gorgeous blonde who turns his world upside down.

Rated M for language, and possible smut later on.

Miss Congeniality meets The Bachelor

“Then why tell me?” His voice was shaky. He had an idea, a prayer, of what she meant, but he needed to hear the words straight from her mouth before he could let himself hope.

“Killian, it’s one thing for Ruby or the rest of the world to misinterpret my relationship with August. It’s completely different for you to misinterpret it though.”

But as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

“That was,” he started.

“A mistake.” Her words came out shaky. She looked terrified, but her voice was as wrecked as he felt.

“Emma.” Her name was a whispered plea on his part.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Before he could say anything more, she was already running back to the mansion. He wanted to run after her, but his legs wouldn’t move. He was rooted to his spot, unable to do anything.

He picked up the guitar and began to play again.

It was a soft melody, nothing he had ever played before. There was something cathartic about it. When he played with his band back in London, it was for just for fun, but something about this moment was different. He felt like he was finally starting to heal the broken pieces left in Milah’s wake. He hummed a tune as he played, letting go of all of the thoughts running ramped through his head. He played until his left hand began to cramp, and the pain was too much to continue.

*************************************

“I did something really stupid.”

Ruby again said nothing, waiting for Emma to open up in her own time.

“I kissed him.”

Emma heard Ruby take in a deep breath of air.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. Ruby, I screwed up everything.” Emma’s voice sounded so fragile, Ruby’s heart broke a little.

“Emma, you’re human. You’re allowed to have feelings. You’re allowed to care about him.”

Ruby pulled Emma in closer, letting her arm drape around Emma’s shoulder so that she could run her fingers through Emma’s hair.

“I don’t think that’s what you’re really upset about though, is it?”

With that Emma sat up. “Of course that’s what I worried about. Ruby, you were there; my reputation has taken enough of a beating as it is. I can’t be the agent who can’t tell the difference between pretend and real life too.”

“Emma, do you remember our first case back? The one with the poor girl who was being blackmailed into giving up her child?”

“Ashley.”

Ruby gave her an encouraging grin.

“Thank you.”

“That’s what best friends are for.”

And just like that, Emma, felt the weight dropping down on her again.

*************************************

The glamour team was becoming more and more efficient. The makeup girl had Killian’s coloring down to a science. Even so, Killian felt the way her brushstrokes lingers on his skin. She was always so close to him, and the warm puffs of breath assaulted his cheeks, making him uncomfortable. With the exception of her doing his eye makeup, Killian tried to keep calm by shutting his eyes. The woman who did his hair seemed just as interested in him as she took extra time to massage his scalp. A month ago Killian would have had them both in his bed, but right now all he wanted was for them to finish quickly and leave. At least the guy from wardrobe wasn’t quite as obvious about his affections.

Mary Margaret picked him up in her trusty golf cart and they headed to the mansion.

“So I know you’ve had a crazy last few nights. We’ll try to get all of this filmed as soon as possible with the least amount of reshoots.”

Killian gave a simple nod but kept his eyes trained at his feet.

“You okay over there? I promise not to let anyone try to drug you tonight.” He saw her grinning at of the corner of his eyes, and let out a small chuckle. “Seriously though, it something bothering you?”

This was a mistake.

The words played in his head over and over, taunting him to the point of insanity.

“No, everything is fine. I’m just a bit tired is all.”

“Yes, your highness. I promise to be on my best behavior this evening.” She blushed a little bit as she led him into the mansion. “May I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“You and David seem quite happy. Was it love at first sight?”

She eyed him carefully, sensing that he was asking something bigger.

“Actually, I rather disliked him the first time I laid eyes on him. We met through work, and I thought he was a self-righteous prick. I actually threw a paperweight from my desk at him.”

“Really?”

“Well, battery aside, I’m happy for you.”

Both of them stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for the girls to get into place, before he could make his weekly grand entrance.

#Captain Swan #cs ff au #cs ff #ouat fanfiction #ILCK

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