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foxgloveblue · 2 years

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pale in a liminal moon 🌙 chapter one

Pairing: Grian/Scar

Tags: selkie AU, steampunk AU, enemies to lovers, slow burn

Summary: Scar is a businessman, first and foremost. He's an expert in the games he has to play to maintain his power and wealth, and isn't afraid to use methods that most would abhor. However, things begin to change when he's approached with an unusual offer. He's gifted the skin of a selkie to study, opening an entire array of potential scientific advancements. It's the kind of opportunity any good businessman would dream of. There's just one problem - what to do with the captive selkie that comes with it?

Words: 3,065

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ao3 link || masterpost

The hardest thing about being a businessman was the loneliness. Rather – the hardest thing for Scar was the loneliness. Most of his associates seemed just fine. He had certainly heard enough about their families through many, many boring conversations. No, the issue of loneliness clearly had something to do with him.

The obvious solution was to settle down. Find a wife. There were plenty of people who pressured him to do so. The socialite circles he ran through whispered, his drinking buddies always joked about setting him up. Even Cub had once wryly commented that Scar wasn’t getting any younger.

The thing was, even if he did find someone he liked, he wasn’t sure that would solve the issue. It didn’t stem from lack of connection. He had plenty of people in his life – part of what had got him his empire was his ability to connect with someone, see what made them tick. No, he struggled with something… else. Something he couldn’t quite articulate.

When Scar looked in the mirror, his eyes met a stranger’s. He knew that he was Scar, of course. He just… wasn’t sure who exactly Scar was. All the different sides of him – his amicability, his silver tongue, his ruthlessness – they didn’t fit together quite right. He could see the cracks in the mirror even when there were none.

So that was the problem – an unspeakable question with an unknowable answer. But that was alright with Scar. Most things worked out for him eventually. He would just have to be patient.

_-🌙-_

The night that Scar first met his answer was a miserable one. The sky had been blotted out with heavy clouds, pregnant with their promise of a coming storm. The wind was already whipping through the tall buildings, strong enough to rattle the windows and cause debris to dance through the streets.

Scar sighed, shifting in his carriage seat. He hated weather like this. Wind always caused the sockets of the metal exoskeleton around his legs to sink, making it harder to move around. Also, he just didn’t like being cold.

He wouldn’t have agreed to come at all if this meeting weren’t so important.

The light from the gas streetlamps flickered across his hands as the carriage moved quickly through the empty streets. If Scar were being honest, he was actually somewhat nervous.

Doc had an… unusual reputation. Virtually unknown to the general public, he was a mogul in the manufacturing industry. He was constantly spearheading new technology, achieving feats previously thought to be impossible.

But there was another side to him. Scar had heard rumors about some of his “hobbies”. Mad experiments, world-destroying machines, tears in the fabric of the universe itself – anything dreamed of in science fiction, Doc had probably tried.

Normally this kind of person had “liability” written all over them, but when he had received a telegram from Doc calling him here, there was no way he could refuse. After all, if he had learned anything from having Cub as a partner, it helped to have a mad scientist on the payroll.

The carriage slowed to a stop. Scar peered out the window – it had taken him to what looked to be an abandoned apartment complex. It was only a few stories tall, with a crumbling brick façade. Most of the windows were boarded up, and those that weren’t looked dark and dusty.

Almost more concerning was the fact that he hadn’t seen a single pedestrian in the past ten minutes or so. If their meeting went very, very sideways, he wasn’t sure there would be anyone around to help.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” He asked his carriage. It jingled in response. He let out a dramatic sigh. Leave it to the hermit to pick a location like this, he supposed. “Alright carriage, open up.”

At his words, the door slid open, a small metal staircase unfurling to the street below. As soon as he stepped outside, the cold winds buffeted his form, cutting right through his silk suit. He grimaced – if he had known the meeting was going to be in a broken-down building, he would have worn something warmer.

As he approached the front doors, the carriage once again jingled as it peeled off to find somewhere safe to park. Scar almost wished he had asked it to stay, but he supposed if he was in a position where he needed to make a quick getaway, it was already too late.

Not that he would ever be caught unprepared. He gripped his cane a little bit tighter.

The doors before him were surprisingly solid considering the state of the building. Hesitating for just a moment, Scar steeled himself and rapped his knuckles against the dark wood.

He jumped at the sound of whirring metal, nearly stumbling backwards. Flicking his eyes around frantically for a sign of a trap, his gaze finally settled back on the door. A small panel had slid open, revealing what appeared to be a glass hand scanner. Ah. So this place wasn’t as abandoned as it looked.

Scar reached out, tentatively placing his palm against the cool glass. He had barely touched it when a low chime resounded, and the door swung open.

Scar resolved to think about how Doc had gotten his handprint later.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, the door shut behind him. Scar barely had a chance to contemplate how ominous that was before the room lit up in a blaze of electric glory.

He let out a low whistle, ambling into the room to get a better look at the architecture. It certainly was beautiful. The floor was made of deepslate, patterns etched into the stone at regular intervals. Chandeliers above him illuminated the room in a blue-tinted glow, casting dancing lights through the room. A soft cyan carpet cut through the center of the room, leading to the back wall, where a glass elevator sat with its doors open. An invitation to enter, he presumed.

Best of all, it was very warm. Scar was glad he went with the silk suit after all.

He entered the elevator, and after another low chime, it began to descend. Strangely, the elevator didn’t have any lights, so when it passed beyond the threshold of the floor, the tiny space was completely enshrouded with darkness.

Just as his eyes started to adjust, Scar was once again blinded, but this time with the sudden appearance of light. After blinking the stars out of his eyes, Scar let out a gasp. Beyond the doors, he could see something spectacular – a gigantic machine was laid out before him, the complexity of its design leaving him baffled as to what its purpose could possibly be. It had no casing, so Scar could see the byzantine twining of wires and cogs, gleaming sharply in the electric light.

If Cub was here, he might’ve been able to identify it, but Doc had asked for him specifically. All Scar could do was marvel.

After passing by it, the elevator seemed to speed up, descending further into the earth. Soon another floor passed, and another; as far as Scar could tell, each floor was like the first. Giant machines stored in underground warehouses, their purpose and design a mystery to Scar. If Doc wanted to show off, Scar supposed he had succeeded.

After a concerningly long period, the elevator finally began to slow once again, coming to a stop with the same low chime. The glass doors slid open, and after a pause, yet another set of doors opened as well, letting the same electric blue light spill into the hall. Scar took a deep breath, put on his best smile, and strode in.

The first thing he noticed was that there were two people in the room.

One he immediately recognized as Doc. He had never met the man before or even seen pictures, but he had heard enough – the cybernetic eye and arm glinting sharply in the low light was a dead giveaway. He was wearing a fine suit and lounging resplendently on a soft-looking couch, appraising Scar with a wide grin.

The other person? Scar wasn’t sure. He had figured Doc was more of a lone-wolf type of guy, so seeing someone else here was disconcerting. Scar supposed he could be a servant or assistant, but… he didn’t look like one.

He was perched awkwardly in a chair at the far end of the room, like he didn’t know how to sit. He was dressed in finery, dark blue suit tailored nicely to his form. And yet, Scar could see he had carelessly kicked off his dress shoes. His hair, too, was wild – so wild that it seemed someone had tried to slick it down but had been thwarted, leaving the dusty blond fringe to stick up in comical spikes.

Despite his disheveled appearance, what Scar found most entrancing was his gaze. Even from across the room, Scar could see how dark his eyes were. It was the kind of dark that pulled you in. The kind of dark that made you feel like you were drowning if you looked too long.

“Scar!” Doc called, snapping him out of his contemplation. “I’m glad you made it. Please, have a seat.”

Doc gestured grandly to a loveseat in front of him. The room was laid out in a lounge style, comfortable-looking chairs surrounding a low coffee table. An interesting choice.

Scar smiled, graciously settling into the offered seat. He kept a hand resting on his cane.

“Doc, I presume?”

“Of course!” He chuckled, mostly to himself. “I’m glad to have met you. But oh, before business – coffee, tea?”

“I think I’ll have to pass. Too much caffeine this late… I’ll be up for hours.”

Doc nodded serendipitously. He leaned over to pour himself a cup of coffee, not bothering to add any cream or sugar before taking a deep swig.

Scar cleared his throat. “Y’know Doc, if you had wanted to meet with me, I do have a secretary. I’m sure I could’ve made accommodations in my schedule for someone of your… reputation.”

“Ah, Scar, but I felt like our meeting was special!” Doc set down the cup, and Scar could see a glimmer of excitement in his face that hadn’t been there before. “You see, I’m not the only one with a reputation.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. If you don’t mind me getting right to it, I’d be happy to explain. See, ConCorp is very… ah, what’s the saying – has many pies?” Doc waved his hand dismissively. “It’s involved in many things. Lots of influence. Lots of money. And that is due in large part to Cub’s genius. But Scar… you’ve always been someone who can see the big picture. You’re willing to do what needs to be done. And I feel as though you, personally, are willing to invest in projects that most might see as too… strange.”

“Strange how?”

Doc’s smile grew even wider. “Tell me Scar, do you believe in fairy tales?”

The room was silent for a long moment. The figure in the back shifted, the slight rustle of fabric almost deafening.

Scar finally broke the quiet with a chuckle. “Fairy tales? Like… nursery rhymes? Did you find the goose that laid the golden egg?”

“Not quite.” Doc took a sip of his coffee, and Scar began to wonder if this whole thing was some kind of elaborate prank. “I have a vested interest in collecting… unusual things. Things that might change how we see the world. See reality.

“Conspiracy theories, legends, fairy tales – I’ve investigated a great deal of them. Most seem completely fake, and people have even tried to scam me before.” Doc flashed him a sharp grin. “Tried. But sometimes, these stories will have a grain of truth to them. And Scar, I have found things that you would not believe.”

Doc leaned forward, and Scar found himself mirroring the movement. “I’ve seen things that indicate the existence of other dimensions. Of creatures that were thought impossible, but have simply been lost to time. Or even creatures that are just… good at hiding.”

Scar sat back in his seat, eyes once again turning to the mysterious figure in the corner. His dark eyes glittered in the low light, and Scar was reminded of the night sky reflected on the ocean waves.

For the first time, Doc followed his gaze, turning to look back at the figure. “Very perceptive. Grian, would you like to introduce yourself?”

The figure – Grian – didn’t react at all. Doc seemed unfazed, just letting out a low chuckle.

“Grian is one of my… assets. Quite a valuable one, I might add. It’s not every day that I manage to find an anomaly alive.”

“Anomaly?” Scar parroted, unable to tear his eyes away from Grian. He wondered if he could understand them.

“It’s what I call anything that doesn’t fit our current understanding of the world. They’re quite varied in nature, you see. Most are just things – objects that defy physics, broken pieces of ancient contraptions. But sometimes I get a live one. And luckily for us, Grian is not only alive, he’s young and healthy. There’s a lot we could learn from him.”

At that, Scar finally looked away from Grian. The excited gleam in Doc’s eyes had turned to something almost mad. “We?”

“Yes, Scar, we. This is why I called you here. This is why I wanted you!” Doc gestured wildly, knocking over his cup of coffee. The dark liquid splattered across the glass table, some of it spilling onto the cyan carpet. Doc didn’t seem to notice. “I know this kind of thing is… unpleasant business. Live experiments are not, ah, popular. But I know that you are willing to do whatever it takes to turn a profit.

“I will not pretend that money is my main motive. But I truly believe that with your backing, Scar, we will be able to discover great things, things that are eons ahead of the competition.” Doc grinned. “Perhaps even things that you can use in that little war of yours. I’m sure both ‘clients’ would pay royally to get a piece of what we could create.”

Scar held up his hand, and Doc quieted. “That’s a lot of big promises,” he said coolly, “but you still haven’t even told me what you’ve found. Not really.”

Doc nodded almost absently, and Scar could tell his mind was still racing with possibilities. “I’ve found many things, Scar, and I will tell you about all of them in due time. But if you’re wondering about Grian…” he chuckled. “Scar, do you know what selkies are?”

Scar cocked his head. “Sockies?”

“No, no, sel-kies. They are…” he paused for a moment, considering. “They are shapeshifters, from the water. Seal folk, they are sometimes called.”

“Seals?” Scar asked, amused. “Aw, those little fluffy guys?” He glanced over at Grian, who met his stare unwaveringly. He didn’t seem very seal-like.

“Ah, yes, I suppose. Selkies can transform into seals by donning a sealskin, and transform back by taking it off. They have some sort of… innate connection to the skin. They can’t be too far from it for long, or it begins to get uncomfortable. I’m assuming that’s why Grian here is in such a disagreeable mood.”

Now that Doc had brought it up, Scar could see sweat beading at Grian’s forehead, and the cloth of the chair was pulled taut under his fingers. His expression, though, remained steely.

Doc steepled his fingers. “I’m hoping to find out what makes him tick, but I’m not sure I have the kind of… facility that I would need. Which is where you would come in.”

Scar exhaled slowly. “So, you want money.” Despite the strangeness of the proposition, this is where most of his business meetings led in the end.

“Well, yes.” Doc coughed awkwardly. “And believe me, I know how this must sound. So I wanted to give you something in return.”

“Oh?” Scar asked, curiosity piqued. “And what would that be?”

“Besides a split of whatever profits we make – and we can negotiate the exact percentages later, I am very open – I wanted you to have a… personal investment in this project. To let you know that I am serious, and that my evidence is legitimate.” Doc leaned in. “I want to give you Grian.”

“What?” Scar exclaimed, reeling back. Doc’s expression didn’t waver.

“I want to give you my best asset. I know you usually want collateral with major deals like this, so I think it’s a perfect arrangement. You take Grian, you run whatever tests you want so that you see this project is real, and then we can begin construction on the facility. I would ask you to please keep him alive and as uninjured as you can – I am serious about him being my best asset, and I would hate to lose him before I got a chance to study him properly.”

Scar looked over at Grian. He didn’t seem frightened, though it was hard to read his unmoving expression. If Scar had to guess, he would’ve said Grian looked resigned, as though his life being bartered away was something he had already given in to.

He bit his lip. It was true that Scar was no stranger to live experiments. ConCorp had to work very hard to keep their live weapons testing under wraps so they wouldn’t come under public scrutiny. Hosting experiments on humans, however, was not something that Scar had considered before. Well… not seriously considered, anyway.

Although… if what Doc was saying was true, Grian wasn’t actually a human, was he? He was a creature, some kind of mystical being. This could truly be a once in a lifetime opportunity.

“I will wait as long as it takes, Scar.” Doc said slowly. “You can answer a day or a year from now. But I feel that you already know what you want. You just need to take that first step.”

Scar stared into Grian’s dark eyes. For once, he was barely even thinking about the money. He could be looking at a legitimately magical creature. His heart was thundering in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time.

In defiance of all logic and misgivings, Scar was pretty sure he knew his answer too.

#scarian #hermitshipping #hermitshipblr #hermitcraft fanfic #my art #my writing #pale in a liminal moon #pialm

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shootybangbang · 10 months

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[Arthur Morgan/Reader vampire/vampire hunter AU]

[tagging @cowgirl---bebop!]

In his hand, the silver dagger. Slender as a maiden’s wristbone and yet it weighs in his palm now heavy as an iron club. Arthur turns the brass knob of the bedroom door and steps over the threshold, peers into that shrouded chamber with its windows constricted by black sheets of muslin and velvet.

Outside, beyond the tomblike shutter and rotting grandeur of this house, the orchard and garden are joyous with noonday sun, bright and lovely as a churchglass vision. But within this stifling dark that holds within it the sonorous silence of a catacomb, there burns but a single candle whose withered glow serves only to intensify the gloom. It has an unearthly flicker that pulses as though underwater, the same murky film of fluorescence that is equal parts shadow and light, and it stretches his silhouette monstrous across the curtain wrapped around the bed as he grasps it in his unworthy hand and drags it open with a rustle like stirring silk.

Within its confines, you slumber with the leaden-limbed stillness of the recently departed. Nightgown buttoned up to your throat, its mother-of-pearl buttons gleaming opaline in the momentary flare of candlelight. Scarcely any rise and fall of that breast, and he would be forgiven for believing he beheld a corpse.

Yet it had been just three days prior that he had attended you in the greenhouse that lay in the cold shadow of the manse, still masquerading at fieldhand as he watched you twine a fall of night-blooming jasmine through your fingers and breathe in their funereal scent. You crouched among trumpets of datura white as snow and strands of wisteria that hung like flowering willow. Things which, like yourself, unfurled only under the pale suspension of the moon, and with the intrusion of day hid themselves away, curling inward as all things that have spurned the condemnation of light must. Shunning that which men revere as sacred in its clarity, and which banishes the liminal to pockets of shadow and derelict crevices that crack deep into the very bowels of the earth, where no holy trace can penetrate. As such is the sanctuary of creatures who dwell in the twilit transition between certainties, and who live with the cold ichor of death bluing their veins.

I suppose there’s no way I can persuade you to extend your contract, you’d said.

Afraid not.

Probably a rather futile question on my part, considering the way you drifter types operate. Eyeteeth sharp as knives in the reveal of your smile, but the soft, wistful turn of your lips had nearly made him recant. Still, I figured I may as well try.

You cupped the head of a gardenia in your hand, and caught in lunar shine its petals seemed wrought of milk glass, or bone. It’s too bad, you continued, drawing a pair of shears from the pocket of your dress. Your eyes fixed upon your task as his fixed upon the curve of your neck, noting the faded pucker of its perforated scar. The twin blades snipped, the gardenia’s slender stem cleft twain. I’ve enjoyed your company, Mr Morgan. So do me a favor, will you?

He nodded, against his better judgment.

If ever you find yourself back in this corner of Lemoyne… your palm briefly cradled the decapitated rosette before you proffered it to him, and the exchange had something in it the flavor of transgressed folklore. A mouthful eaten at the fair folk’s table, a pomegranate seed accepted from the king of the depths, a flower gifted from a woman who imbibed men’s blood as wine. Come see me again.

In a way, he reasons, tightening his fingers round the dagger’s hilt, this is but the fulfillment of his promise.

(Does the heart beneath that gown yet beat? If he were to unbutton it and press his hand to your unmarred breast, would it warm to his touch, as marble to flesh? And if he had instead stayed, if he had cast off his vows, if he had turned from duty—)

You sigh, and he stiffens. Nearly drops the knife when you flash him a baleful, exasperated glance with one eye open and say, “You know you’ve been standing there now for about five minutes now.”

“Jesus fucking christ, how long’ve you—”

“Been awake? Only since you climbed in downstairs through the parlor window.”

He can only stare, dumb as an ox. From the yard outside, a thrush trills a few cheerful notes that seem to emanate from a layer of reality both worlds away and perilously close.

“Having second thoughts?” Both your eyes are open now, pinning him in place with irises the same dire, arterial hue as sunset. “Or maybe you think I’ll kill you for trying? Or maybe…”

You lift your hand, and as his arm jerks crosswise to defend himself the blade glints like a star swiped sidelong through the dark. But it is useless; he has miscalculated your route of offense entirely. For you raise your fingers not to his throat but to the lace collar of your dress, pinching its topmost button through its eyelet. Then the next, and the next, and the next, until the garment separates like the shores of a linen wound, and the slow window of skin that you reveal is as disconcertingly intimate as a view into the red mechanism of your entrails. You may as well have reached through muscle and bone to show him the blooded core of your very heart.

“Maybe,” you say. “You’re in need of some assistance.”

#arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #arthur morgan #fic #my work #vampire au #not sure if i'll continue this but i wanted to just get the idea out there #might put up some more fairytale-esque stuff if i can get any of it into serviceable shape

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