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husbandohunter · 3 years

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What they love about you (part 1) [Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: It was as if the universe had changed when they saw you.

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti x female reader

Part 2 here

(A/n): Okay okay I know I have some requests yet I decided to write something super indulgent. I'M SORRY! This past week I've just been writing so much angst *looks at inbox* AND MORE ANGST TO COME I really need that dose of Vitamin F(luff) 😭

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Noctua's Heartbeat (Diluc)

For a man who had the whole world in the palm of his hand

With looks, fame and all the wealth he could demand

But what stole away his breath was something not to be bought

For it was merely the calming presence of your living and beating heart.

Your heart was a dignity born for empathy, so beautiful and magnificent with the kind of charm similar to white Cecilias blooming across Mondstadt's fields. Diluc would watch from afar, admiring their glow. It shines without reservation, blissfully unaware to a fault that he couldn't help but feel afraid knowing how the real world would simply pluck you from your roots and shape you in the way they wanted to. People who were tainted souls with tainted soles roaming from the shadows, constantly trampling on other's beliefs before leaving them to rot.

Ah but of course, Cecilias are wildflowers. No matter how many times they were stepped on, they could still withsand any force nature throws at them. Whether it'd be raging storms or scorching heat from the summer sky, you were the same through it all. Love. You were in love. You were in love with the wind, you were in love with people, you were in love with the world and everything that lives in it.

And so, Diluc wonders if that was the reason why everything suddenly began to shimmer.

He treaded on a path fated for loneliness while longing for the dawn to appear out of the night horizon-- where emotions once frozen until you came in to melt the ice. He blocked his heart but you tore down those walls. Diluc swore to never feel if it meant protecting himself and yet you held onto his shattered pieces tenderly, dearly, blowing the love of life and teaching it how to beat again.

Your heart was like a fountain of all the hopes he abandoned years ago and the dreams that no one had the courage to envision, cleansing everything within it's reach and freshening them anew. You were a being so in tune with your emotions that it sang through all that you did, laughing despite your obstacles and shedding tears when overjoyed, a single drop it was but still held the depth of the entire ocean. Diluc vows to protect you for your heartbeat was also his own. He'll gladly lay down his life because losing you deemed far worse than any death he could imagine.

~xx~

The other eye of Pavo Ocellus (Kaeya)

The knight's shining armour serves only as a disguise

When beauty from the surface is one's own demise

He used it to protect himself, decorating his words with pretty lies

But unmatched when facing against your truthful eyes.

They say the eye was an open window to a person's true colours. If that were the case then the painting inside him must have been an unsightly one.

Every once in a while the people of Mondstadt would speak about their Cavalry Captain's eyepatch, whether he was injured after being sent out on a mission or if he wears it for the sake of image. No one knows, it was rather unsettling, why someone would cover their eye despite not being injured. Secrets? Perhaps. Kaeya was known to be a man shrouded in mystery after all.

Your gaze was his Death After Noon. Sparkling upon the surface yet with the tasteful allure so captivating that it was almost dangerous. Just one glance and he was intoxicated, eventually leading to a slip of the tongue, revealing what was buried deep within his contaminated essence. Kaeya hated that you had the uncanny ability to see through his mask. Your innocence so contrasting, he felt like looking into a mirror, reminding just how much of an ugly person he truly was in comparison.

But mirrors are easy to break, no?

The thought delivers a sinister smile on his face. Pitiful-- is the state where you were. Pitiful-- it's what he is. How could he think of such things when all you offered was kindness? Unlike Kaeya, you were an honest person, always wearing your emotions on your sleeve and unaware of the devil's vicinity. He was tempted by the invite to crush you and run away like the coward he was meant to be. However as he stares deeply into your eyes he realized they weren't made of glass. They were gems. The most precious gems hardened by the pressures of experience.

In the shine of thine eyes resides the stars and the moon as if stolen from the Abyss, leading to the edges of the universe that was blessed within your mind. The look of curiosity filled with rich hues all held by a soulful stare while they pierced through the armour shaped around his heart. It was your ability to recognize beauty amongst the most wretched of things that he fell so hopelessly in love with you because for the first time someone had seen him-- his flaws and his faults, his abyss painted darker than black but loved him despite it all. As he drowns himself in the world of your gaze, Kaeya prays to never be the one who will steal away those stars or moon because they looked the most beautiful on you.

~xx~

The Winged Nemesis who flew towards the Sun (Xiao)

He looks at your face as if he saw spring for the first time

An unsual encounter, wondering how could something be so sublime

The yaksha stands upon the corpses while reaching for the sky

Seeing the sun in your smile that he wishes to fly

Xiao has dealt with the cards of death and won through many of it's games. But his life was a gamble as the karmic binds may one day bring the same fate that was done upon his comrades-- insanity, murder and corruption. So he swears an oath to his god and himself, ensuring the darkness only he could bear does not seep into the light.

A gust of wind sways in when you pass by, he was struck by pensive bewilderment because happiness was a feeling unknown to him. It was the expression you made whenever you greeted him good morning. The complexion you had while charging through life's challenges. And the face you wore even during the times where there was no reason to smile. Xiao has felt the might of the sun for her light will never be exstinguished by his darkness, he could only succumb to it.

But you were not just the sun, you were the flowers that bloomed beneath her heavenly sky and the birds that chirped upon those earth-like trees. You were a whole new world he didn't dare to touch because dreams were delicate and his cursed self would only devour them until nothing was left. Still, the mighty sun shines through it all, stretching out her rays like a welcoming embrace until the universe had been revitalized, giving birth to new life after winter's storm.

If pictures told a thousand words then he had a thousand reasons and more to love you. Xiao witnessed the sweetest joy decorated by pink petal blossoms dancing around him, the one who pulled him out of his spiraling trance of darkness. The breath he takes no longer felt suffocating and instead was replaced by the smell of nature's greatest gifts: you. Stay away, he says, because there were times where you shone so brightly that he had to look elsewhere. Your rays burned him and he thinks it might drill holes into his wings. Painful it may be but if the splendor of spring could only be admired after the harsh cold snow, then maybe pain and love were only two sides of the same coin.

A world without the sun--such unfathomable thoughts--is a death he does not wish to deal with.

~xx~

A song she sings for the God of Wind (Venti)

Man lives by the power of the tongue,

Whatever Man speaks is aligned with Man's choice.

Hearken when she talks for her words are to be sung,

Because not only was she lovely but so was her voice.

-Venti

There were many reasons why Venti loved music. The freedom to express oneself when words weren't enough, allowing one's spirit to flow out of their mouth and be with the wind. It was the feeling he had when he listened to you because your voice was sweeter than any song he sang or played.

When you speak it was as if the world around you danced, bringing them to the mercy of your stage. Like standing upon the soft grass while letting the sparks of dandelions dust against his own skin, Venti would close his eyes as he hears you speak-- it was you, just you and that was all he needed. He swears that no one in the world could sound as living as you did because it was the words you say that stole his heart away.

The vibration in your tone was fleshed with kindness yet so sure and firm to the point it could even bring a god to his knees. If he were a sailor then you were the siren, enchanting him with your bell-like voice and bringing him to a territory where he can never escape from. It was the spell of your divine song, his Carmen Dei, that tricked the trickster. Venti did not mind as long as he was able to feel the blessing amongst his ears.

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zodiyack · 4 years

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Take My Breath Away

Pairing: John Shelby x Female!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, minor angst, minor violence, me not proofreading again

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace, @simonsbluee, @peakysputain, @fandom-puff

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

“Listen. There is a ball, being hosted tonight. A woman wants to find a husband for her daughter, so dress your best.”

A man opened his mouth to interject, only to be stopped by Tommy, “It’s only to blend in, so remember, we are not going to be there for women, we will be there there on Peaky business. Got it?” The men nodded as Tommy picked up his hat and put it on, walking out the door of the gambling shop.

He was right, the ball did happen, and there really was a woman in need of a lover. The Peaky Blinders walked through the front doors to the mansion, greeted by a maid who guided them to the ballroom. Tommy nodded, signaling that it was time to be serious, before they took their separate ways.

John walked along the crowd, people gathered around something he couldn’t see. From the murmurs he heard, it was the girl Tommy had spoken about. He smiled with amusement, rushing past people to get a glimpse and possibly try his luck.

There she was, the beautiful Y/n everyone had spoken of. John found himself staring, mouth agape and eyes widened to full circles. As the man turned Y/n, she caught John’s eyes, inhaling sharply and keeping her eyes on him until the end of the dance.

“Who else would try for the lady’s hand?” A man queried from behind her. John stepped up, taking off his hat and wiping his sweaty palms on his shirt.

He took her hand in his and began to dance with her. It felt like he’d been dancing forever, somehow knowing the exact moves to make. Tommy wouldn’t be happy to stumble upon John and the lady of the party dancing around when he was supposed to be doing his job.

The way she looked at him after his panicky thoughts began to appear; It was like she could read his mind.

“Nervous?” She whispered into his ear as they continued to dance, perfectly in sync and timed with the rhythm.

“A little. What about you? Must be kind of awkward dancing with all these strangers in front of even more strangers.” He smirked when she started to giggle quietly, the sound making his heart skip a beat. “You’re like a princess, ya know?”

“How so?”

He spun her around, “Well, for one, you’re gorgeous, and for two, this whole situation. You in a rich house, an expensive gown, as well as having a mother who wants to find a suitor for you. Tell me that isn’t ‘princess-like’.”

“I suppose you’re right, Mr...”

Her arms draped over his shoulders as his found her waist. They looked into each other’s eyes slowly, a spark in their hearts and butterflies, rather large ones at that, in their stomachs.

“Shelby. John Shelby, but for you, miss, it’s John.”

“Please, call me Y/n.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” John smirked, “angel.”

Y/n chuckled softly, spinning around and letting him dip her, “While meeting you is also a pleasure, my mother wouldn’t approve of a Shelby being here, not to mention marrying me off. She will learn to deal, however. Unless that was not your intentions when you had asked me to dance?”

They stopped, John finding her eyes again with a type of smile he swore he never thought he’d have. “Your mother said whoever wanted to take your hand in marriage is to dance with you, correct?” She nodded, confused by his questioning. “I danced with you, did I not?”

She smiled widely, a blush spreading across her cheeks. The two ignored the crowd, feeling as if they didn’t exist in the little world they were in, leaning in for a harsh kiss before a loud voice pushed them away. Anger filled the voice. It felt almost like a slap in the face, or a blade being stabbed into one’s heart.

“And just what are you doing to my daughter, Shelby boy?” Her mother boomed from the top of the staircase. She spoke John’s last name with venom and hatred, like most who knew of the Peaky Blinders did.

“Mother. He danced with me. Whomever I marry, it’s my choice, and I pick him.”

“A Shelby?” Her mother drawled. “You can’t be serious-”

“Yes.” She reached behind for John’s hand, holding it tightly and standing her ground. “John Shelby. Mother, he did what you asked for, and my heart did the rest. Please...” Y/n pleaded.

Her mother pressed her lips together, studying the two carefully. A few seconds later, she lifted her eyes behind them and widened her now terrified orbs. The plot twist was almost ironic, had it not been horrifying for everyone there.

“Look out!” Someone shrieked. Gasps and similar yells began to fill the room.

John pushed Y/n out of the way, taking a bullet to his stomach, and landed on the floor. Y/n’s eyes flicked to the gunman her mother had seen after he shot John, hurt and anger filling them with tears. Blood soaked through his shirt, red soaking a small part of his lower abdomen, as he coughed. Y/n scrambled over to him, tears falling down her soft cheeks and choked up sobs leaving her mouth.

Some guests held back the gunner until a copper, who’d been invited, grabbed him and escorted him out, leaving Y/n with John and the guests, and her mother, to watch. Y/n sat in the middle of the ballroom, still, crying and pleading with John.

“John! No!” She cupped his face, slowly bringing him onto her lap. Moments prior, she had received nothing but coughing as a response and it was only beginning to scare her even more. “Breathe! It’s going to be okay...just breathe...please...”

“Princess,” he coughed with a lazy smile, “You stood up to your mum... I guess um... I guess your bravery really took my breath away, huh?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, wiping tears away from her own face with a small chuckle of relief. His joke, though kind of dumb, especially to make at this moment, caught her off-guard. She helped him up, one of her hands joining the one of his that covered his wound as his other arm slung over her shoulders.

“Mr. Shelby. You- you saved my daughter’s life.”

“Guess I kinda uh,” his head titled down to their hands, covering and putting pressure on his bleeding torso, then looked back up at her, “forgot to think of my own while doing so.”

Mrs. L/n’s eyes scanned over the reddened part of his shirt, leaning over and whispering to the man next to her, the man rushing down to aid John, before talking to them again.

“That is something I will forever be grateful for. Thank you, John, for saving my darling girl. As a thank you, I can only agree to what has been asked of me, as it seems to mean quite a lot to you and her. You may take my daughter’s hand in marriage, and we will welcome you and your family into our home” John smiled, “for as long as she is still alive and thriving.”

“You will not regret this, madam, I promise.” He tried his best to be formal, despite it not being his particular expertise. Plus, the fact that he was still very much in pain didn’t help prevent him from cursing like a sailor a whole lot.

“I better not.” She had a maid escort the remaining guests out of her home and collect John’s siblings, giving her time with the Shelby family and her daughter. “You Shelbys are different from what I had in mind. I suppose some chances are worth taking, no matter the risks. Oh! Yes, one more thing-”

Tommy lit his cigarette, “And what may that be?” he quirked a brow as he spoke.

“Did you get what you came for? Although you are different, I can still tell you came here for business. Please, finish what you came to do, it’s the least I can do in addition to my thanks.”

Mrs. L/n walked next to Tommy and smiled at her daughter, who was holding John’s arm as they began to walk out of her home, “Please, tell him to take care of her, and make sure he does as he promises. That’s all I ask of him.”

“I promise, Mrs. L/n, no harm will come to your daughter. I know him well, and my brother seems to have fallen for her. You can trust him, he’d give his life for that girl, and it looks like she’d just about do the same.”

“Talk about love at first sight,” Arthur chuckled from behind his brother and Y/n’s mother.

“Love at first sight indeed.”

#i'm not sure if i like this or not lmao #john shelby x reader #john shelby #john shelby imagine #joe cole x reader #joe cole #joe cole imagine #joseph cole x reader #joseph cole #joseph cole imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders reader insert #zodiyack #x reader #all readers #reader insert

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dweetwise · 4 years

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Felix and Ace having met before. Ace won a grand prize at the table and got an executive suite. Though his next door neighbor was Felix who was here on a business meeting to design a similar casino. (I am sorry I love imagining people meeting people before the fog)

this isn’t exactly what you asked for buuuut i needed to write something for waiter ace and you blessed me with this ask uwu also if you didn’t want a ship i’m sorry but that’s what i assumed! warning for closeted felix and mentions of the s3x but nothing nsfw actually happens

word count: 1860

Felix X Ace: Strictly Business

Felix wasn’t exactly prepared for the fog to transport him into another dimension. He'd read some theories, sure, and he'd seen his father disappear into thin air all those years ago, but to experience it first-hand was another thing entirely.

He also didn't expect the world in question to be controlled by an eldritch being that forced its captured victims into a gruesome game of hide and seek, killing and resurrecting him and others at will.

But he sure as hell didn't expect to come face to face with the biggest mistake of his life.

It takes Felix a minute to recognize the man, the small camp having so many new faces and names to memorize and they’re all speaking over each other—it's a lot to take in. But then he spots a familiar face, and everything the ginger woman is trying to explain to him becomes white noise as the man he focuses on laughs at something a boy in a beanie says.

Felix’s thoughts drift back to what feels like a lifetime ago, when he was on a business trip in Austria, staying at a luxurious casino.

Him and a couple of other junior architects were invited to design an expansion to the building, and the best idea would be hired. Felix hated competition, he hated having to work on the field, and he hated the lavish, over-the-top style of the casino. But he was only starting to get his name out there, and couldn't afford to turn down any opportunities—if he played his cards right, this could be his stepping stone into more high-profile projects. Maybe he'd get to design an entire casino next time, without the twenty fake fountains and fuck-awful gold trims.

They were waited on like VIP:s while attending meetings in lavish conference rooms and bullshit marketing presentations about the brand. It was basically an all-inclusive stay, but Felix still despised it. He would have given anything to skip the unnecessary pleasantries and stay at home to draw the designs in peace.

He hated it right up until one of the waiters serving their mid-presentation coffees caught him suppressing a yawn and gave him a cheeky wink and a smirk. Felix had blinked, thinking he imagined it, but the more he kept staring, the more the waiter's smile seemed to widen.

Felix wasn't gay, but being an architect, he could appreciate aesthetically pleasing things in life. Like the waiter's symmetrical face, high cheekbones and good hairline. And eyes that sparkled with mischief even while he was outwardly completely professional.

And the way his work pants clung to his perky ass.

The waiter was suddenly a hundred times more interesting to him than the entire project. The project was predictable, and Felix once again found himself drawn to the unknown.

It wasn't a challenge to get the man's attention. He only had to linger behind after a dinner, and soon enough, there was a gloved hand brushing fleetingly against his neck as the man collected his plate. With the rest of the group having moved on, and Felix having had more than a few drinks, he'd asked if there was any possibility for room service. He was rewarded a lopsided grin and warm eyes shimmering with promise.

He always was much smoother when drunk off his ass.

He doesn't even remember what he'd designed by the end of his five-day-stay in the casino. He only remembers fucking the cute waiter against the tacky gold-trimmed headboard of the king-sized bed in his suite. And in the hot tub. And in a supply closet. It was a long week, okay?

His companion was named Luca. He'd only been working in the casino for a few months and was thinking of moving back to Italy, not being a fan of gambling or the over-the-top establishment. He had a charming accent and only spoke a couple of words of German, forcing Felix to use his own shaky English.

It was a shallow thing. Felix tried to keep his personal life private, and he definitely left out the part where he had a girlfriend back home. He'd ended up exaggerating his professional success, but wasn’t that what people did? He was just trying to make a good impression,

After the week, Felix never talked to the other man again. He got home, unpacked his bags, and freaked out. He didn't even want to think about how unprofessional he'd been and how risky it was.

And definitely not about how much he'd enjoyed it.

The more he tried suppressing the thoughts, the more insistent they got. His brain was periodically invaded by images of warm brown eyes, expressive lips twisting into a hundred different smiles, and a laugh resonating in his ear, rich like his favorite double-roast coffee. The memories had haunted him for close to a decade, and he thought he'd finally gotten past them, ready to be a good father that had his shit together.

But here he is, seeing the same brown eyes light up with the same carefree smile and the sound of the same damn laugh echoing through the air and all the memories come flooding back.

The woman next to him hollers something to the group, and the familiar face looks his way. Even with the now grey hair and added wrinkles, Felix still finds himself just as transfixed as he'd been ten years ago.

He's introduced to the group, but he only really remembers one name and the overwhelming sense of wrongness that follows it; Ace. The revelation isn’t made any easier when he notices there isn't even a flicker of recognition in the eyes he remembers so fondly.

In the following couple of trials, Felix is only disappointed further. “Ace” doesn’t have an Italian accent anymore, in fact Felix catches him instead saying something in Spanish to the woman in a blazer. He’s also very keen on gambling, and the shiny satin smoker jacket he wears in one trial could have been straight from the tacky casino they met in. Was anything he told Felix about himself true?

It takes him a while to confront the man, debating back and forth inside his head. All of his focus should be on finding his father, and he needs to keep these people at arm’s length. Ace not remembering him is the best possible outcome of their brief past together, he tries to rationalize.

But in the end, curiosity wins over rationality, and when the opportunity presents itself, Felix is unable to resist.

“You really don't remember me, do you?” Felix asks, alone in the camp until Ace returns from a trial. The man pauses, eyebrows pinching together in confusion “I didn't leave you to die on hook, did I?” Ace asks. “That happens sometimes.” “No, I mean back in the other world,” Felix explains. “We've… met?” Ace asks.

Well. If that's what you want to call it.

“Yes,” Felix simply says and immediately, Ace cringes. “I'm sorry?” he offers. “Excuse me?” “I can count on one hand the people I've encountered who remember me fondly. There's a 99% chance you hate my guts, so I figured I'd get it over with quickly," Ace explains, seeming a little wary. “I don't hate you, I just can't believe you'd forget and… lie.” “Oh, I… I do that. Did—whatever. Nothing personal,” Ace shrugs. “I really don’t remember you, sorry.” “Casino in Vienna. 2011. I stayed at the hotel for a week. You were a waiter. You said your name was Luca. We—” Felix hesitates. “…'met'.”

Multiple times on multiple surfaces.

“Vienna, huh? Hmm... Oh!” Ace's face suddenly lights up. “You were one of the suits, right? Some kind of… lawyer?” "Architect,” Felix corrects, a little miffed. “Same deal,” Ace dismisses with a wave of his hand. “So, are you still neck-deep in the closet?” “What?” Felix recoils. “That's—I'm not gay. It was a one-time-thing.” “That would be a yes,” Ace muses, almost as to himself. “So you do remember? All of it?” Felix prods. “Guess so. What, you want a repeat performance?” Ace asks, raising an eyebrow. “No! I just…” Felix falters.

‘Wanted to make sure you didn't forget me because I’ve been thinking about you for the past ten years’? No way he’s admitting to any of that, so he puts on his business face.

“Wanted to come clean. So we're on the same page. To avoid any awkwardness,” Felix says instead, and it’s definitely not as smooth as he would have liked. “Right…” Ace says, regarding him skeptically.

There's a few seconds of extremely awkward silence while Ace just stares at him and Felix looks into the fire, trying to keep his face neutral and not sweat bullets. Eventually Ace sighs.

“Look, can I give you some friendly advice?” he asks. “I… I guess so," Felix says, a little confused. “Drop the act,” Ace says, looking him dead in the eye. “The manly man, excited father, respectable lawyer—” “Architect,” Felix, again, corrects in annoyance. “—suit guy thing, whatever. It's not going to serve you any purpose in here. These people see right through any bullshit, trust me on that one,” Ace adds with a knowing smile that Felix has never seen before.

He doesn't have any time to think of a reply before they're interrupted, the girl with a beanie cussing up a storm while a young guy in a sailor uniform sits down in front of Ace expectantly and the man cracks a joke and immediately starts tending to the bloody gash in the kid's shoulder.

The wound is bleeding heavily but the duo keeps chatting without a care in the world. Felix remembers he got a gauze roll from the… blood web?—and he rifles through his meager belongings before approaching the two.

“You… um,” Felix stammers, holding out the item to Ace. “Would this help?” “Cool!" the teen chirps while Ace takes the offered item silently, regarding Felix with an unreadable expression. "Thanks—uhh, what was your name again?" the kid grins sheepishly. “Felix,” he says. “And… yours?” he asks, swallowing his pride and now hesitantly curious to learn more about his companions. “I'm Steve! This is Ace, and the moping bitch over there is Nea!” Steve exclaims with a bright smile that shows his bloodied teeth. “Dude, fuck off!" the girl, Nea, calls. “Hey Felix, anyone teach you how to use a flashlight yet?" “No, not really," Felix confesses, cautiously approaching the girl. “I understand the need for tools and medical supplies, but… what would you use a torch for?” ------------------ “So how's the new guy holding up?” Steve asks. Ace looks over to where Felix is sitting with Nea. “Allvarligt—förstår du mig inte?” Nea has apparently moved on from flashlight training to Swedish lessons. “For the last time, your Swedish sounds like gibberish to me," Felix explains. "Just because the languages are related—" “Sheiße,” Nea interrupts with a grin, moving to swear in German. “A multilingual genius, I see,” Felix deadpans. “He's learning,” Ace says, hiding his own hopeful smile behind the fluffy hair of the boy he's patching up.

(nea’s line: “seriously, you don’t understand me?”) i’m not 100% happy w this fic, esp since it’s about a new character but it’s a start at least! i also really wanted to throw in a “sure you’re hot but you were so boring i forgot all about you” line but it didn’t fit and now you just have to imagine that’s what ace was thinking

#felix richter #ace visconti #felix richter x ace visconti #dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #dweetwrites #request

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rinneganwritings · 3 years

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Never Far Away; Chapter Seven: Only The Lonely

Word count: 3,053 Summary: Tamako feels a little sad about her encounter with Itachi, but Tsunade tries to cheer her up by telling her that she's not sending her back to the village. Instead, the story of her parents is told and a new threat presents itself. Warning: Mentions of drinking, gambling and possible swearing.

Masterlist

Tamako isn’t sure how to feel as she trails behind Tsunade. While this used to be her ultimate goal, now it seems like an unattainable dream. Tamako always wanted to become a very skilled medical kunoichi, but now she felt like her dreams had been ripped at the seams. Her want to be with Itachi was so strong, it felt hopeless.

“Hey, kiddo, are you still with me?” Tsunade asks, looking back at the young woman.

“Hm? Of course, I’m here.” Tamako jogs a little further, matching Tsunade’s speed.

“Good, cause Shizune and those idiot ninjas we hired should keep your sister and Kakashi at bay for a little while. I need you to keep up so we don’t get caught again.”

Tamako thinks about what this truly means for herself. Did the hokage send Yumiko and Kakashi after her because she is a rogue ninja now or did Yumiko take it upon herself to do so?

“Don’t worry about telling me why you’re on the run. I’ve felt like running from that place so many times, that I just decided to leave and find a new place to call my home. It hasn’t been the best of times, but I do feel like I’ve been able to grow as a person.” Tsunade offers comforting words, but Tamako is silent.

They continue their journey towards a new village, not stopping in the next one that happens upon them. They know they need to continue past even the next two villages, and while it’s going to be a long journey, they also need to make sure Shizune catches up with them.

There was a certain anxiety that was wracking Tamako as they continued on. She didn’t know what to say to Tsunade, and she wasn’t sure if she should explain anything to her. It felt odd to her to have someone by her side who was willing to protect her, even though she felt like she didn’t deserve it.

“You know, your sister is only trying to protect you.” Tsunade says out of the blue. Tamako is a little surprised by this.

“She doesn’t know me anymore,” Tamako announces, and Tsunade can tell there’s some deep wounds there that haven’t healed.

“Is this about that Uchiha? Itachi?” Tsunade asks, and Tamako feels threatened by the fact that Tsunade knows what’s going on.

“How do you even know about that?” Tamako demands to know.

Tsunade laughs softly, “I’ve been in love before. I know what it can do to you. You just want to do what’s right for that person, you want them to have the world.”

Tamako huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. She hates that Tsunade is right, but she doesn’t really want to discuss what’s going on. As if Tsunade knows anything about really being in love, it doesn’t seem like she’s with whoever she is in love with.

“I lost Dan. He’s no longer with us, but sometimes, I can feel his presence.” Tears are brimming Tsunade’s eyes, and she shrugs it off so easily when Tamako looks at her.

“What was my mother really like?” Tamako asks, changing the subject. Tsunade smirks a little, knowing what she was trying to do.

“Ahh, Takani was really fun. She could drink just like the men, but she was also very sweet and caring. Kind of like you are, you know?” Tsunade begins explaining.

“I could never imagine my mother drinking. She was always so prim and proper at home when I was younger,” Tamako expresses. Tsunade laughs.

“Wow, she could almost drink me under the table. She had a foul mouth on her, and she fought very well. She was very skilled at ninjutsu, and most of the men in town feared her. She was like a wild one...Until, she fell in love with your father.” Tsunade continues, and now Tamako was listening intently.

“What happened when they fell in love? I’ve always wondered how they ended up together, but Yumiko barely spoke of that story. I wonder if she even knew it at all,” Tamako wonders out loud, and Tsunade smiles.

“Your mother was from a smaller village, but she came to Konoha all fresh faced and ready to fight anyone. She was tough as nails, and a lot of the men really loved her fierceness. She was already a jounin when she moved to Konoha, and her clan was known for being very strong. They didn’t have a kekkei genkai, but they were a force to be reckoned with.”

Takani Kokorotetsu and her clan moved to Konoha when Takani was eighteen. She was a jounin already, and most of the men who knew her wanted to get to know her better. Still, she didn’t care for them. She resented having to move from her little village to some better known village. She resented her parents, who wanted her to marry some rich guy. All she wanted to do was get drunk, gamble and get into fights.

Tsunade and Takani often got together and did just that. Tsunade was relieved to find someone who was just like her, and of course, the two formed a bond that would never be broken. They confided in each other, and when Takani met Nakachi for the first time, the person she gushed to was Tsunade.

Nakachi was from the Shōrihibana clan, who found the Kokorotetsu clan to be just a little too proud and a little too overpowered for their own good. The two clans formed a rivalry that was unmatched, and in all the land, they knew that things were tense between those two clans. Nakachi, who was meant to be the heir of the clan, grew up happy and strong, becoming friends with almost anyone.

When he met Takani, he took to her like a moth to a flame. He was smitten with her fierce attitude, her unmatched foul mouth and her ability to drink like a sailor. She was everything he could hope for and more in a woman. When their parents found out about their budding relationship, they forbade it. It was out of the question that Nakachi should marry someone from the Kokorotetsu clan, who were basically loud nobodies.

Nevertheless, nothing can stop true love, and while they kept things secretive, Nakachi and Takani eloped. Tsunade and Jiraiya both attended the elopement as witnesses, and they never told anyone. Sadly, the news found its way to both clans, and with that, Nakachi and Takani were on their own from then on.

The love between those two never dissipated, and they enjoyed each other as much as they always had until the very day they died.

Tamako turned to Tsunade, tears in her eyes. She had never really known the true story about her parents falling in love. It was bittersweet to think that they had loved each other for that long.

“Yeah, you really do take after Takani. She was wild and she would have done just about anything to be with Nakachi. He was more reserved, but he loved that wild streak in your mother.” Tsunade says, and Tamako stops.

“She was like me, and how I am with Itachi…” she finally says after a moment of silence.

“You don’t have to hide anything from me, I’m not going to send you back to Konoha.” Tsunade assures.

“Thank you,”

They continue on their journey, only to be stopped by Shizune, who has finally caught up with them. Shizune is a little frustrated, and most definitely tired. She wishes she didn’t have to be the one to fall behind, but she knew it was important for her to distract Kakashi and Yumiko.

“How did it go?” Tsunade asks.

“Exactly how you wanted it to. Although, it would seem Yumiko is a bit more concerned about her retrieval mission than helping her sister.” Shizune explains, and Tamako can feel her stomach drop. “She was quite forceful and intimidating as well,” Shizune shivers at the thought of how Yumiko was talking to her. It wasn’t what she was expecting to happen, but Shizune did know that Yumiko was really strong.

“Hmm, Yumiko did always take after her father, but there’s no way she wouldn’t be concerned about Tamako. She’s probably bluffing.” Tsunade says, and Tamako feels a little relieved.

“Anyway, the fight didn’t go exactly as planned, but seeing as how Kakashi and Yumiko are both very skilled, I had my doubts about the band of shinobi we hired. Nevertheless, they distracted them for an appropriate amount of time.” Shizune continues.

“Let’s keep going. There’s a small, almost unheard of inn somewhere around here where we can stay for the night, I’ve been there before.” Tsunade explains.

The three women follow along the path, finding it to twist and turn from time to time. Behind some giant trees and some greenery that resembles a hedge maze sits a small inn. There seems to be almost no one around, and Tsunade motions for the two other women to follow her in.

Inside, the vibe is completely changed. There are loads of people walking around in the small lobby, and they all seem like the type that would kill you in the blink of an eye. Tamako feels a little uneasy staying here, but she wants to trust Tsunade’s judgement right now. Shizune grips onto Tsunade’s jacket, yet Tsunade pays no mind to the men in the room.

“One room for the three of us, please.” She says to the host.

Tsunade pays the man, and she retrieves the key from his hands. Tsunade leads them out into the small hallway as the men watch the women.

Inside the room, it’s a bit cramped. There’s a small bathroom, but it’s not very clean. There seems to be a layer of dust on almost everything. The bedroom hardly has any furniture, and the sheets on the bed seem like they’ve been there for centuries. Tsunade tuts in disgust about the room’s condition, and Shizune looks like she might actually vomit.

“Listen, it’s just for a night or two. We need everyone to get off our asses before we even continue on,” Tsunade explains, and Tamako sighs.

Tamako walks over to one of the beds and strips it of its sheets. On top of the mattress, she places her own bedroll. It’s not very ideal, but Tamako hates the idea of having to sleep in sheets that have probably never been washed. It’s no surprise the room is in this condition considering the kind of inn this is. It’s definitely a place that attracts a lot of lowlifes and they don’t seem to care about this kind of thing.

“C’mon, let’s get a drink! There’s a good selection of booze here,” Tsunade suggests, and Shizune rolls her eyes.

Tamako drops her stuff on the bed, hoping they won’t get robbed while they are away. She wants to go drinking, but also, she’s feeling very emotionally vulnerable at the same time. After hearing her parents' love story, she’s feeling sad and just wanting to stay in the room.

“You don’t need to come with me if you don’t want to, kiddo.” Tsunade says to Tamako.

“I think I’ll opt out for tonight…”

❣

Itachi is sitting with Kisame in the Akatsuki hideout. There hasn’t been too much activity lately, and he’s been waiting on some directives from Pain and Madara. Kisame has been making some odd remarks and jokes like usual, and Itachi finds it kind of peaceful to have Kisame as his partner. They aren’t the most compatible, but the fact that they are opposites makes this interesting.

There’s also the fact that Kisame is quite the skilled fighter, but also that Kisame seems to scare almost everyone they encounter. It mustn't be easy being the Tailless Beast, but Itachi can probably think up more than one or two advantages to looking like Kisame does. Besides, Itachi had noticed more than one woman fawning over the shark-man.

“You’ve been kind of distant lately, Itachi. Are you sure you don’t have other plans going on?” Kisame inquires, and Itachi just shrugs.

“It’s not of any importance to what we’re doing here. It’s actually quite personal, but I’d rather not let the two get involved with each other.” Itachi responds. Kisame is instantly curious about Itachi’s personal affairs.

“Oh, personal you say? Would you tell me?” Kisame pleads, and Itachi chuckles softly.

“Kisame, you never fail to make me laugh. It’s nothing really important right now, let’s just wait for our leader to give us more details on our next assignment.”

Kisame pouts and is ready to beg Itachi to tell him what’s been going on, but they are both interrupted by Pain and Madara walking into the hideout. It’s very rare for both of them to visit the hideout at all, much less at the same time. Itachi worries it might have something to do with Tamako leaving Konoha, and he hopes that neither of his leaders have caught wind of this. There’s no telling what could happen if Madara knows about this.

“Itachi, Kisame,” Pain announces their presence. Both men look at Pain attentively, but Madara is quick to steal the show.

“Itachi Uchiha, from Konoha. Have you heard of that young woman who has gone rogue from Konoha? Perhaps you know her...Tomoko, is it?” Madara asks in a silly tone.

“It’s Tamako.” Itachi corrects, and he instantly regrets answering that question.

“Oh, so you do know about her! Perfect! I figured you did, but I needed to make sure before I asked you about her.” Madara says.

“There’s not much to ask about. She’s another rogue ninja from Konoha, it happens.” Itachi explains. He’s not really willing to tell Madara about Tamako.

“Really? And here I was thinking that she might be something special. Well, if there’s not much to say about her, then I guess I’ll drop the subject.” Madara says, and Itachi feels a little relieved.

Pain continues to delegate tasks to both Kisame and Itachi, while Madara begins concocting some plans in his head. He knows something is special about that girl, and with his connections with the Uchihas, he’s heard of Tamako Shōrihibana. Madara knows all about that clan, and about their hated kekkei genkai.

Madara is beginning to realize how valuable someone with such a volatile kekkei genkai could be to the Akatsuki and their plans. Without another thought, he rushes off to find the perfect spy for this mission.

In another room of the hideout, Madara finds Zetsu. It would be so easy for Zetsu to sneak around unnoticed by Tamako or anyone involved with her at the moment. Zetsu looks over to Madara, and makes his way over.

“My faithful Zetsu, I’ve got a proposition for you. I’d like you to follow this Tamako Shōrihibana, and I need you to tell me more about her.”

“Oh yes, we will find out everything there is to know about her,” the white side replied.

“Is she of any use to us, Madara?” the black side inquired.

“The Shōrihibana clan has a very strong but volatile kekkei genkai. The Static Release…if used correctly, it could be very fatal to our enemies. I’d like to look into Tamako’s control over it.” Madara explains.

Zetsu blinks, taking in the information that Madara has given him. It seems like a fairly easy enough job, but Zetsu is smart. With a volatile kekkei genkai in the mix, it could end up badly. He’s going to have to be even more sneaky than most of the other espionage jobs he’s done in the past for Madara.

“Don’t worry about it!” The white side replies.

“She’s no trouble to us,” the black side says.

“I didn’t think this would be troublesome to you at all.”

Zetsu makes his way out of the hideout, trying to decipher where this young woman could be. It’s not going to take him long before he does find her, and no matter what happens, he’ll keep himself concealed before acting out. He’s never acted out on a rash decision before, and it’s not about to happen now.

❣

In the morning, Tsunade and Shizune begin packing up their belongings. Tamako rests on the bed for a while longer, feeling dizzy and dehydrated. Despite wanting to stay in the room last night, she was somehow coaxed into drinking with Tsunade. For a while, it was going well and Tamako was winning lots of money from the gambling she was doing.

Then, she got sick and Tsunade and Shizune had to bring her back to the room. The night was spent nursing Tamako back to health, and while it barely helped, it made Tamako realize that she wasn’t cut out to drink that heavily. There was a point where she felt good, but Tsunade was quick to outdrink her.

“Don’t worry, kiddo. Your mom was like this sometimes, and even yours truly can take it too far.” Tsunade reassures.

Tamako gets up from the bed, and she makes her way towards the shower. Even though it is filthy, she decides it’s better to clean up now than later on during the day when she might be sick or sweaty again. Besides, who knows when they’ll get to shower in an inn again?

After thirty minute, all three women are ready to check out. A few of the men in the lobby have grown a little softer to all three of them, considering the women were all so charming last night.

“We hope to see you soon,” the host tells the ladies.

Once they get to the fresh air of the forest, Tsunade stops them. There’s a tension in the air, but she’s not sure if it’s an impending battle or she’s just a little hungover herself. The leaves rustle in the wind as they all listen and wait.

“What’s going on?” Shizune asks, but Tsunade shushes her. It’s a few more minutes before Tsunade finally lets her guard down.

“It’s nothing. I did feel something just now, but it was nothing.”

The three women grab their belongings and start to make their way towards the little beaten down path that will lead them towards the next village. What they never saw was two eyes blinking at them from the foliage...

#naruto fanfiction #itachi x oc #itachi uchiha x oc #tsunade #shizune #tonton #akatsuki #kisame #itachi uchiha #madara #zetsu #naruto #naruto fic

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bookandcranny · 4 years

Text

Rely On The Lighthouse Keeper

So once upon a time, the icebergs melted and the sea levels rose and people died and people lived and now there’s a lighthouse standing half-submerged a half mile or so off the shoreline. Charlotte dreams about the lighthouse every night. Not so unusual, since she thinks about it every day.

Every morning she runs the length of the docks where the fishermen call her Lottie. Her legs are long and lean and her sandals go thwap thwap thwap against the saturated wood two planks at a time. She cuts her hands climbing the tide-battered cliffside and eats clams with every meal for want of pearls. Boiled, steamed, fried. She’s trying to turn salt into diamonds between her chipped teeth and so far? Not much luck.

After her morning run, she works the floor of her uncle’s dive shop, pandering to wannabe treasure hunters.

“All kinds of hidden beauties in the sunken cities, ripe for the picking,” he tells them.

“Whatever hasn’t already been picked dry years ago, or eaten by fish. Treasure hunting is a sucker’s game,” he tells her.

He’s not really her uncle, except in the ways that count. They sell thermo-control, pressure-control wetsuits that only sometimes tear at inopportune moments and gadgets to evade sensors in the places where such activity isn’t strictly legal. Mostly their customers come back with satchels full of scrap, green with age and algae- worthless except to be melted down for raw material. Her uncle drops a few coins into their open palms, subtracting a generous finder’s fee for the equipment, and sends them on their grumbling way. They’ll be back though, because it’s a bad gamble but it’s one they don’t know how to live without, and one big win is all they need to change their lives for good

Suckers though they may be, Charlotte can’t help but feel for them. Something about the way they cycle through fervent hope and resignation in tight circles like a dog chasing its tail, she’d be blind not to see the resemblance. Every kid in this town has the exact same haunted look in their eyes, tailed by the loss of something that died long before they were born.

For dinner Charlotte boils rice in a thin salinous bone broth until it becomes pale, barely palatable mush that her uncle can press comfortably into the space of his missing teeth. She eats two boiled clams and her own porridge, marginally thicker and with some actual meat in it to make it more resemblant of a meal. They don’t speak very much as they eat, outside of the same old discussions about Charlotte’s education or the future of the shop which resolve without conclusion and will be forgotten by the next time it comes up. Neither one is much for conversation.

Afterwards the girl pours a bath as cold as she can stand and sits and scrubs and fills her lungs. Hold, hold. She can keep in her breath for over two full minutes on a good day, but it’s not good enough. She needs more practice.

Outside her bedroom window the lighthouse beacon blinks in and out of sight as it turns, winking at her where she sits wide awake in bed. She dips into sleep only long enough to get what she needs, and it comes to her in a pool of golden light and promises. Her and those suckers at the shop, they’re just the same, except where they cast about blindly in the ruins she’ll never lose sight.

In the other room she can hear her uncle groaning as he works the heel of his hand against his bad leg, trying to exorcise a memory. For people who live seaside ghosts are as common a problem as bedbugs or radiation poisoning. Everyone has a story, from so-and-so’s brother’s neighbor’s cousin who had a grandfather who died in the first tidal wave that took Long Island and so on and so forth. In most of the stories though, or at least the good ones, it’s women they see. Ghost women bobbing in the surf and dressed only in moonlight. Always naked. Sailors are so predictable.

So the story goes: “The widow of a navy marine. She went half mad when the call came in and fully mad by the time the war was over. When the waves went up she refused to retreat to higher ground, still waiting for her husband to come home. They say she waits to this day.”

So the story goes: “She loved to dance on the beach even though she knew it was forbidden. A healthy young woman in her prime, but died suddenly of a vicious pneumonia. At her autopsy they found a tiny ocean in her lungs, coral reefs growing all up the sides and freckled with starfish. Real coral, can you imagine?”

So the story goes: “Their daughters were possessed by a longing for the world that was. When at last it was more than they could take, they met under a red moon one night and threw themselves from the cliffs in despair.”

So it goes. In another month Charlotte can hold her breath for almost three minutes. Soon it’ll be four. The rising bubbles tickle her cheeks as she breathes out. Clams every day, still no pearls. Her hair is growing long now and on rainy days it slaps her back and shoulders as she runs.

A season of fishermen return to the docks while another sets sail and they don’t recognize her there anymore. She’s not Lottie to them but “that girl”. They make jokes to mask their unease. They say she runs like she has the devil on her heels. She knows though, she knows the devil doesn’t chase. He waits.

He waits for her to get slow, to take her eyes off the horizon. She’s seen it happen. As she gets older it’ll get harder to dream except for of her next spot of luck, a good business quarter or a diver with a rare bounty, and her treasure will slip away from her. The devil is a man o’ war, the devil is the scar that streaks diagonal down an old man’s calf as he tells tales of days when sharks swam the seas in great numbers, the devil is a lazy trawling net caught in a propeller. If she waits, someday she won’t wonder who lights the abandoned lighthouse at night. Someday she might not notice it at all. Just another part of the scenery like craggy cliffs and sunken skylines and the gates.

“The devil is a tall iron gate,” she mutters, disinfecting her scraped palms.

“That’s a new one,” her uncle says. “And I’m pretty sure those gates aren’t made of iron. Would rust, wouldn’t it?”

“Iron sounds more,” She casts about for the right word. “Epic.”

He laughs and his laugh is the only thing still completely dry in this shop. Then he says, “You could be a real writer if you put in the time. Didja give anymore thought to going back to school?” And the conversation is over.

The devil is the slow broadening of her hips. Three minutes and forty six seconds until she can’t take the burn anymore, but instead of resurfacing she sucks in an involuntary lungful and comes up retching. More clams come up, and a yellow starfish smaller than her pinky nail.

There’s a medicine woman in a shop a few doors down who claims a paste made from dry-earth roots will expand the chest and bellows. It can’t be any worse than pinching crawlies from the bait-box. What she really needs though is a remedy no one’s given her yet. She needs a cure for time.

Another few months and she can run from one end of the docks to the other in sixty six identical strides. Before she so much as hits the docks her legs are shooting out to the bow and stem of her like a dancer. Meanwhile her uncle can barely walk anymore. She isn’t ready to go.

The fog is so constant, so oppressive now that the lighthouse shines not just at night but throughout the day. From sat upon the cliffs she times her blinks in rhythm with the beacon and looks out on the waves, for ghosts, or just for a sign.

For five minutes this time she quiets the hurting part, the signal that burns bright and angry, and focuses on the chill of the water engulfing her.

In a year not quite to the day, while preparing dinner, she cracks open a particularly stubborn shell to find a lumpy pearl bigger than her goddamn knuckle. She leaves the pearl at her uncle’s bedside while he’s sleeping, paralleling nicely the way her mother left her once upon his doorstep, though she can’t know this. In the morning the dockworkers see a girl- a young woman they used to call Lottie, sprinting along the boardwalk so fast that she seems not to touch the ground. It’s another gray day, misty and magical, and when they tell this story to their mothers’ good friends’ nephews she will be naked with skin made of gold and ambergris.

She dances the length of the boardwalk and down to the wire fence surrounding the bivalvarium and without breaking stride she begins to climb. Right up and over, planting herself in the sand with a muddy thunk, one foot sailing in front of the other over rocks and ridges and into the chaste waters where fishermen and treasure seekers alike are forbidden. The oysters buried in the earth are singing, chattering their shells like castanets. The coastguard siren sings its angry song too. With no time to spend languishing on the beach, she wades on and begins to swim.

The current doesn’t welcome her, but she wouldn’t expect anything less. The state tried to make her go to a nice inland school once and it felt a little like this. The resistance isn’t anything personal, it’s just how it is.

“Go back where you belong, land-walker,” it says. “There’s nothing here for you but heartache.” But stroke by stroke she insists herself upon it. Somewhere someone is screaming from the shore. Whether in excitement or recrimination, Charlotte can’t hear any of them now.

Hand over hand, out of the surf and then in again. As she approaches her destination, squinting against the salt in her eyes, she breaches a final time and then nosedives to the bottom. Five minutes. The tide and the air trapped in her ballooned lungs try to buoy her back to the surface so she activates the weighted bracelets filched from the shop. They’re tricky little trinkets, only used by the more experienced or reckless divers. Once they’re cracked a chemical reaction within the donut-shaped shell makes them heavy as anchors, giving the wearer an extra bit of depth but also limiting their movement. Charlotte had her reservations about them, and still does, but right now they get her just where she needs to be.

At the base of the sunken lighthouse there’s a crack. An ordinary crack, worked open naturally by the years and the pressure. It’s down deep though and the point of entry is small. An adult burdened with lots of heavy diving equipment couldn’t fit. She squeezes in, scraped raw on all sides, struggling to release the clasps on the weights when they get her stuck in the gap.

She’s all through but her ankle now. Two minutes of air left by her rough estimation and she still needs to make it back to the surface. Panic will eat up her air faster. She knows this, she knows. She grabs one of the bracelets and hammers it against the stone until she breaks free. A small burst of blood halos her ankle as she races for the faint light above her, winking at her in a rhythm she knows so well.

There is movement in the ocean around her. Big flat-bodied fish? Monstrous mutant eels perhaps? Or ghosts. So the story goes.

She swims up and breaks through and her ears are ringing. Only now does she let herself feel the cold and the ache in her lungs and the throbbing of her muscles, and she wails like a newborn, her cries echoing to the heavens. She’s survived, and the surviving is an agony unlike anything she’s ever known, ever could have anticipated. The collision of the dream and the reality is less breaking a fever and more hurtling through a pane of glass.

“Well that was dramatic,” say the ghosts. They do indeed look like women, although they have clothes fashioned from layers of seaweed and rubbery fish skins so thick Charlotte can’t tell where it ends and they begin. Their bodies are thin but only in the way flounders are. They twist and writhe like a child’s lost ribbon floating in the tide. One sniffs and touches her wounded ankle curiously as she floats, and she doesn’t feel much like a ghost at all. She feels as plain to her as fish porridge.

So the ghosts who are not ghosts swim her over to a ledge, where the water laps upon the stair. Their ribbon tails shimmy back and forth in hypnotic rhythm and when the pale light shines upon them they glisten like jelly. Charlotte doesn’t know it but sailors didn’t always just tell stories about ghosts. It’s just that tall tales lose some of their zest once they come true.

“Since you’re here I guess you’ll be staying,” says one gilly girl, not cruelly but not kindly either. “You might as well get comfy.”

Another, smaller than the first with a bob of inky hair matted to her cheeks, tugs shyly at the hem of her top. “Did you bring anything fun with you? Oh, do you have any movies? We found a VCR the other day in the old houses.”

“It won’t work.”

“You don’t know that. I want to watch movies again. I miss having new stories.”

“Do you know my brother? He’s a bivalve farmer back on the cape. Unless he isn’t anymore. It has been a while since I saw him.”

“Is the president still a prick? I promised myself I wouldn’t be coming back until there was someone with half a brain in office. Oh hey remind me, what year is it now?”

“I have a blockbuster card in my purse! You can use it if you bring back some movies.”

Two of the girls begin to drum up a chant of, “Moo-vies! Moo-vies!” Charlotte just sits and stares.

A different one swims up to her, shooing away the clinging creatures who poke and prod and inspect her person. Her features are long and angular, more mature to Charlotte’s reckoning, not knowing how meaningless the term is here. Like describing the maturity of a fossil or an insect petrified in amber.

“Ignore them, they’re just excited,” she says. There is something moving behind her dark eyes, flitting about like a school of minnows, yet her expression is peaceful.

Charlotte, finding her voice, asks, “Are you the guardians of the treasure?”

She cocks her head. “Treasure?”

“Yes, the- the treasure!” she struggles to explain. “I dream about it every night. Treasure from the old world, a golden light, guarded by the lighthouse keeper…”

“You’re in shock, dear. You look pale. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Who’s in charge here?”

“No one is. We’re a self governing body of-”

”Who lights the lighthouse?” she demands, ignoring the fish-woman’s protests. She braces her hands on the slick stone wall and pulls herself up. “Someone must light the lighthouse, but none of you have legs. None of you can climb the stairs. So who lights the lighthouse?”

“Oh, silly girl,” the not-ghosts not-fish not-women fawn. “You do.”

So much love in their eyes. So much love living behind them, wriggling in the shiny shells of their bodies like happy mollusks.

Charlotte’s legs feel weak. The elder mermaid touches the back of her knee gently, comfortingly. When, she wondered, had anyone last touched the back of her knee, of all places. She nods up towards the stairs which spiral skywards in the shape of a conch’s crown.

“Would you like to see?"

So once upon a time, a girl chased a dream to the edge of her world and in consequence fell off of it. Not the worst outcome. Not for Charlotte, who was just one girl against a great big ocean of trouble after all. And still the sea levels rise, and still the lighthouse lantern turns around and around, reliably guiding home ships full of sailors who tell all sorts of old stories and know well enough not to try and see them through to their ends.

#short story #short fiction #fantasy #mermay2020 #mermay #mermaids #monsters #oneshot #my writing #dystopia

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iguessishouldbethankful · 4 years

Note

what do you think the sf team does in their free time? like... when they have a "day off" and get to relax? ♥️🐦

You ask me this and you don’t specify which generation of the team. SMH. Lmao I know you meant the current main one but I feel the need to kinda explore a little with all three gens? Let’s see how this goes.

Star Fox 1st Generation: (of note, it’s interesting how all of them but Pigma had established families)

James McCloud - Smoker, suave, not as energetic as his wigmate, Peppy. And yet, he had enough in him to keep following his friend around. But honestly, James interested were more quiet and work oriented. A workaholic. Mind always on the team and the responsibilities he took on. Almost a complete perfectionist with a calming nature. His hobbies outside of work were few, and most were made with spending time with Peppy, Beltino, Pigma, the Greys and their families. Forming a taste for alcoholic beverages with Peppy, and appreciating the retro military look of space ships with Pigma, and the techno babbles of Beltino. Honestly, it still surprises him that he was able to find a wonderful wife in the end considering how work oriented he was, and focused. Vixy was possibly the only thing that kept him focused outside of work the most until she passed away. Then it was just Fox. And their times together were mostly focused on military history, documentaries, a continuous path of learning and studying. It was fulfilling and relaxing for James.

Peppy Hare - A much younger Peppy would be a spry little thing. More in shape, physically stronger and beaming to high heavens. And of course, a young husband and father like James. For his free time, besides catching up with the Toads and the Greys, Peppy would usually just spend time with Vivian and little Lucy. Before them, he was mostly into bar hopping with James around Corneria’s capital. Dancing with the single ladies and flirting. He was much better at it than James, honestly. He’s also a really good dancer. But once he tied the knot with Vivian and had Lucy, his world became just the two of them outside of work. He’d take them to picnics and spoil both with flowers and stories and nothing but his time to give to them. He’d even read his newspaper out loud so Lucy would know what the subjects were. She loved the voices he’d make. His family was everything…

Pigma Dengar - First time I’m thinking about this fool before he went to the dark side. And honestly, I can easily see him being more relaxed on his own. In the hangar after a hard day’s work upgrading Arwings with Beltino’s help. A good pack of cigarettes, a deck of cards, a handful of dice or maybe online gaming to keep his mind off things. Hell, I still see him being the kind of guy that would sit down with the kids and show them how to gamble honestly. Fox, Lucy, Slippy and Bill… And both Bill and Lucy remember the nasty little betting tricks too. Pigma was very much into gambling and taking bets on his off time too. He would get a lot of money, lose a lot of it, but in the early stages, it calmed him. Working on older models of ships helped him too. It’s rather unfortunate that this is where Lucy got some of her fascination for old model space ships, because of the magazines and books Pigma would let her look at. Modding was a big part of his younger life and he enjoyed that before joining the team. It… went away when things got worse.

Beltino Toad - I headcanon that, even if Beltino wasn’t part of the team, he was still a very important external force that helped out a lot. Especially with Pigma. So I will count him into my headcanon piece. He’s into making little machine toys. Like making little machine creatures and devices. To him, it keeps his mind sharp and there is always a new project on his table to go home to that isn’t an all consuming one. In fact, it’s one he could share with Slippy when he was old enough to walk. It helped with the two of them bonding and getting into other geeky stuff. Hell, Beltino was the type of father that would get into anything Slippy wanted to get into, so after that, he was a goner. Trading card games to video games, even modding them on the computer and making his own became his hobby as much as Slippy’s. In a way, spending time with his family was his way to relax.

Star Fox 2nd Generation:

Fox McCloud - I see Fox as being rather similar to his father in many ways. At first, he didn’t have as many hobbies that were formed on his own. Most of them were things he got into with his friends, Slippy, Bill and Lucy. With Slippy, he actually tried watching some of the cartoons but instead he was into more live action fighters (similar to Power Rangers). And with Lucy, he got into model kits of space ships. He has a few still. Whereas with Bill, he got into sports like baseball and handball. Hell, all four of them were into playing against each other in any game. But once his father died, Fox became more sullen and quiet. His interests were more work focused with the occasional gaming with Slippy. His shell started to break after the war however. So gaming is something he’s into now, as well as reckless space racing which, much to Peppy’s dismay, is something he got into with Falco. And meditation. That he learned with Krystal.

Falco Lombardi - This bird has no chill. Joking, he does. Falco’s free time is dictated by what he feels like doing. Besides trying to not be the worst gamer in the team–and that doesn’t exactly relax him at all but he keeps doing it. But what he does enjoy is watching cartoons with Slippy. Funny enough, they both have an unofficial established bond over ‘anime’ series such as Dino Ball Z and Sailor Papetoon. Something about the sailors legs, man… Ahem. But out of everything, Falco is into anything that will give him a sudden rush. Flying for any reason, races, pushing his own limits in the cockpit. And outside of his Arwing, well… Falco is reckless due to him wanting that rush continuously. From bar fights to even amusement park rides. Not the best of hobbies, to want to feel the danger behind his actions, but it’s something he became addicted to in a way. Staying cooped up somewhere will only make him more aggressive due to ‘my thoughts won’t stop, I need to drown them’ so he needs to keep moving.

Peppy Hare - In comparison to his younger self, a much older Peppy is much more sullen. Quiet, always looking after the younger team. His free time is usually dictated by what he needs to show them–trying to find the patience to guide them when anything sparks off. But when things are quiet, he finds himself mostly contacting old friends such as Beltino and Pepper, especially after Vivian passed away. Sometimes he’d contact Lucy, ask her how the cadets are doing, how she is doing. However such things aren’t as often as him sitting down with either Fox or Falco to chat with them. And even then, strangely, he seems to bond a little more with Falco at times, taking the time to pry open the avian. Why? Just a hunch. They have quite a bit in common without either of them knowing. He’s also very much fond of tea. Don’t bitch at him about his leaf water, leave him be!!

Slippy Toad - Listen here. Slippy is a bucket of hobbies. When he’s not working on machinery, making new inventions for his team, guess what he’s doing? This guy is making games on his computer for fun, testing them with Falco on the side (because he knows the difficulty curve Falco secretly needs to get shit done in a game, and if Falco is able to complete a task, the games is way too easy). When not making or playing games, he is having forum/server discussions with some of his online friends about cartoons and shows he’s into. He will actually share this with Falco a lot if it’s something the avian is into as well. He will also get into online trading card games and goes into bidding wars over certain real cards that are mega vintage. He also has a toy figure collection he keeps around in his dorm on the Great Fox (most of them are at home with his dad though). He’s also into music. All of the music that slaps in the Great Fox? That’s all Slippy. Bless him. Lastly, one more thing. He owns a ukelele. He knows how to play it. That is actually the mostly relaxing thing he can do for himself when he does feel absolutely anxious. Just sit somewhere quiet, away from everyone and string away.

Krystal - She’s a bit more simple in comparison. Used to living on her own in the wilderness, most of her free time consists of returning to Sauria to help restore the planet as much as she can. Empathy work is also something she truly enjoys doing when the recipient permits her to do so. So far, Fox and Slippy permitted her to work on some of their mental wounds. And yes, taught Fox how to meditate and relax in the silence as she found out Fox was never comfortable being alone. Out of the entire team, she’s possibly the one that’s most comfortable being herself.

Star Fox 3rd Generation:

Marcus McCloud - Unlike his father and his grandfather, Marcus is actually much more active when it comes to fun. A bit of a sports jock when in school and the Academy, he very much enjoys exercise to keep himself in shape and to keep his mind off things that can get under his skin. He enjoys gaming as well, but nothing compares to Skipper and Abby. Still better than Falco though, lmao.

Abigail Hare - Possibly the edgiest out of the team. She’s into reading books because of her mother, Lucy, and most of them are dark and spooky. Why? No dad, it’s not a phase. She also enjoys cartoons and is into retro space ships like Lucy (and got to drag her father into it as well). Now, the one thing her and her little brother, Valentino Hare, share in hobbies is that they both are actual super into healthy foods. This is mostly due to the shared rabbit disease passed down by mothers in Vivian’s bloodline. After Lucy passed away, Falco helped his kids to get into a much better diet and it became a shared thing between all three.

Skipper Toad - The oldest of the Toad siblings. He had to fight his way to stay relevant and boy, he’s merciless when it comes to his energy. Non stop, naturally caffeinated young man. From video games to schematics for lunch, to learning how to hack into different systems and databases to get information in a more proactive manner, he’s pretty much into many things that keeps him busy all the time.

Falco Lombardi - Like Peppy, he’s much older now, mellowed out, widower and a father of two. Abigail is his oldest, Valentino is his youngest (and that one stays on Corneria under the watchful eye of General Peppy). Ever since Lucy passed on, he’s been much more attached to his kids than ever, constantly checking on Valentino while with the team, and making sure the new team is able to stand on it’s own two feet. He finds it amusing how he’s the ‘gramps’ now, even though he still gets guidance from Peppy along the way. Sometimes Fox as well, but most of their conversations are just casual updates on how the new generation is doing. Honestly, he’s still kind of reckless, mostly to keep Marcus on his toes and to teach Abigail how to fly much better than what the Academy taught her. Honestly, the new team itself is his free time. He’d trade his place in there for nothing in the universe.

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mythicamagic · 4 years

Text

Love Boats: Sesskag Oneshot

Rated T

Word Count: 1,400

Summary: As the fierce Captain of the Shikon Jewel, Kagome must defend it from the various dangers of the seven seas; namely the blood-thirsty Captain Taisho. Sesskag complete fluff/silly scenario for @stormielikeweather‘s Boat extravaganza

Love Boats

Water lapped at the sides of the ship, the vast ocean quiet and undisturbed save for the slight waves. No birds flew overhead. The crew sat around, eating their meals and gambling with rambunctious, breathy laughter. Kagome leaned over the side slightly, inhaling the salty sea air and relaxing, if only for a moment.

The relative peace of the breeze brushing through her hair and catching in the material of her jacket was broken by a shout.

"Captain! Starboard side!"

Her shoulders stiffened. That kind of frantic tone only happened when an incoming threat loomed close.

"I think it's the Western Voyager, they were on the horizon a moment ago I swear!"

Kagome frowned, taking out a telescope and crossing the length of the deck with a few quick strides. Sure enough, a mighty, aristocratic-looking ship gained on them. A black flag fluttered proudly for all to see, much like their own, sporting a skull and cross-bones.

"She's well known for her speed. We won't be able to outrun her," Kagome called up to the man in the crows-nest. Her attention then returned to the mighty ship, excitement curling in her stomach.

She started upon feeling her jacket being tugged, "what should we do, Captain?" Her first-mate asked, blue eyes wide but brave.

Kagome smiled, "the Shikon no Tama shall stand and fight! All hands on deck! Weigh anchor! Hoist the sails! Ready the cannons!"

A commotion broke out as every available sailor rushed to their stations, boots thundering upon the wooden deck.

----

It wasn't long before cannon fire broke out, explosions rocking each ship as debris flew into the air.

Soon the bloodthirsty pirates aboard the Western Voyager boarded her prized ship. Fighting broke out, swords striking through flesh. Kagome kicked a man away from her, swiping an arm out and leaving him in a heap on the floor. She panted, stumbling and leaning heavily against the mast. Putting a hand to her side and glancing at the plume of red leaking into her clothes, she grimaced. They had impressive numbers, she'd give them that. The only one that truly worried her, however, was their infamous Captain-

Something prodded at the spot under her ribs then, hot breath fanning over the back of her neck. "We meet again, Shikon Miko."

The way his voice lingered on her title sent a chill down Kagome's spine. The barrel of the gun pressed harder, a large hand catching her wrist as she attempted to move- trapping her arm behind her back. "In the past, you've proved to be a more formidable opponent. Perhaps it was your lack of time to prepare that made you such a sloppy, easy target," he purred in silken tones.

"Captain Taisho," she grit out. "You think your battle plans are superior, huh?"

Something fluttered in her stomach when lips grazed her ear. "Naturally, unless I'm supposed to be impressed by your crew's incompetence."

Sesshoumaru spoke in the tone one would reserve for a lover, quiet and soft. Kagome twisted in his hold, shooting him a glare. A calm, half-lidded smirk was painted upon his cruel, handsome face, and Kagome had to catch her breath slightly at how...intimate it all felt. Silver hair slid forward from behind his ear to mingle with her own. He always knew how to pluck the right chords within her to stir a response.

That smirk grew when she felt her face getting hot, but she repressed it. Focus.

Her lips tugged up at the edges, causing him to raise a brow.

"Captain!"

Her first-mate stood on the Western Voyager's railing. Oddly enough, it seemed as though her entire crew had crossed over onto the vessel, fighting his men.

Captain Kagome stamped down hard on the pirate lord's foot, swinging her elbow back into his chest and stumbling out of reach once she was freed. Backing up, she pulled out a match from within her jacket. "Maybe you should check what's at your feet before questioning my tactics."

Golden eyes narrowed, sliding down to the deck.

"That's right. It's gunpowder," she pointed out the obvious dramatically. "I guarantee it leads below deck to dynamite. One clumsy twitch of my hand and we go boom," Kagome smiled.

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?" She arched a brow in challenge, staring him down. "We're the only ones here, I don't have anyone to protect right now. Your ship is pulling away. I could rid the world of one of the most fearsome pirate lords of the seven seas and my men will claim the bounty on your head, setting them up for life. They could put this all behind them."

"You'd do that at the cost of your own life?"

Kagome didn't flinch, the very ocean waves seeming to roll and crash through the thunderous blue of her eyes. Slowly, she nodded.

Sesshoumaru glanced at his departing ship, which looked to have been taken over by her crew. He then shifted, putting the gun away.

Kagome grinned in victory, a second before he drew his sword- striking an arm out. The match was sliced in two, falling to the floor and instantly igniting the trail of gunpowder. Kagome gaped, "you lit the fuse!"

Appearing in front of her, her opponent brought his sword in to block off her escape at her back. "Indeed," his breath danced over her lips, mingling with her own. "What a dramatic way to die."

Kagome blushed and shuddered as that tempting mouth of his skimmed the line of her jaw. Slowly, she relaxed against him, waiting for the end…for the explosion of terror and fire to rock the-

"Mamaaaa," her first mate whined, putting small hands on his hips ina very unimpressed manner. "And you too, Papa. You're being gross again."

"Mn?" Kagome blinked dreamily. Tilting her head to look at their son, she bit her lip at the sight of him leaning against the plastic helm, pouting. The vast seas surrounding them melted away in her mind, replaced with the park. The playground was quiet today, the skies overcast and the weather slightly chilly. Kagome shifted her feet on the large fake boat that took up residence in the centre, feeling her face heat up. "W-we were just being uh…"

"Authentic," Sesshoumaru uttered. Strong arms tightened around her, his 'sword' actually a stick.

Their son, Touma, huffed. He then crossed his arms, "what does that mean?"

Sesshoumaru's teeth scraped his wife's sensitive neck, causing her to jump and giggle. "It means that even in an alternative universe, your mother and this one would act the same."

Kagome squirmed and grinned, swatting his shoulder playfully. "Cheesy," she kissed his cheek.

Touma shook his head with dismay, turning to go play on the swings instead. At least they wouldn't start a torrid love affair in the middle of playtime. It was quite frankly unprofessional.

His parents remained as they were, a little enamoured despite having found each other again years before. City life could get so busy, her Time distracting and loud in comparison with the feudal era, but they never allowed their attention to stray too long.

"Speaking of authenticity," Sesshoumaru's velvet tone lifted as though amused, fangs scraping her jaw, followed by his lips. "I am quite certain pirates did not use matches."

"We're playing pretend with our kid, doesn't have to be completely accurate." Kagome smoothed her hand over the demon's shoulder. "Would you have really waited for the ship to blow up? Doesn't seem like your style."

"No, we were interrupted from the part where this one picks you up and flies away. We could have watched the explosion from miles away."

Rolling her eyes, she grinned. "Pirates can't fly, Sesshoumaru."

He huffed, nipping the shell of her ear. "This one can," he claimed her lips in a kiss then, gathering her closer. "Your plan was quite chaotic and self-sacrificing to the point of idiocy. How did you intend to benefit from it if I'd flown away and left you to perish on your ship?" He mumbled against her mouth, running blunt nails down her back.

Kagome brushed her tongue against his, leaning into that familiar, steady warmth she'd become so comforted by. "Oh, you wouldn't have done that. Like you said, even in an alternate universe, we'd be the same way. And…" she pressed her forgotten stick or 'gun' into his shoulder blade. "After you rescued me I'd have a demon lord to play enemies to lovers with. Sounds like I'd have a lot to benefit from."

His eyes flashed, lips curving as fangs lengthed to close down on flushed skin, leaving a love bite.

End

#sesskag #sesskagboatday #sesshoumaru x kagome #Sesskag fanfiction #Sesshoumaru #Kagome higurashi

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thomasstalsworth · 4 years

Text

Failure

Funny the way life changes.

Tom held that piece of concept in his mind, rolling around and around for hours. He couldn’t shake it away. The expanse of time before and the rolling hill of it ahead seemed intent on pinching some kind of influence to his brain. There were days where he had trouble telling which way was which; what way went forward and which went back.

Blinking, he tried to recall the last time he cried. No -- sobbed. There was a distinction. He knew the prick of tears rather well. Hardly a man to avoid such things, he embraced the fullness of emotion. Keeping a ‘manly’ face was no concern, surely. He had spent evenings face down in pumpkin patches and felt no squalor or shame. Tears were easy.

But sobbing was different. When the whole of the body retched and twist and gave no quarter. When the mind was so entirely lost, so fully hurled to some void or pain or -- whatever. Or whatever it was. When there was nothing left you could possibly do but spill yourself.

He tried to recall the last time he sobbed.

Was it when he died? -- Which time? That thought alone curled up a knot of some unknown power within his gut. It paid its own pennymeal to the doubt that was so very constant his companion. Yet he always came back. Long he thought that a blessing, an insurance to do as he was want to do. Years a sailor, a laborer, a man who slept in pumpkin patches.

A joke.

Across the gentle Springtide waters which lay their hands upon the shore, he stared. There was not much else to do any longer. He had heaved and sobbed and screamed, tried to slake his pain with drink and found it all the worse than without. A shame and a hate that it felt good to push himself -- again, again once more and again -- toward drink to calm his unsteady heart.

Whatever much was left of it. Perhaps he came back wrong. Or the returning was some punishment? A playstroke of divine comedy. Babble. He knew that, it was just babble to think about. Maybe he was hoping that there was something exterior he could use to blame his unerring consistency to fail.

And fail.

The water did feel good. It was calm and cold, no longer swollen with Winter’s ire and not yet running and hardy with Summer’s joy. Springtide. A pleasant in-between that he knew. He had met that yearly whisper of tide for over four decades. A long life, moreso for the times it should have stopped.

Standing was not as easy, but stand he did. Both feet in the sand, letting the water lick at his toes. It was alarming how fast the nostalgia came back to him for when he was a boy, on the shores of Westfall and stood with his feet just the same, in the sand while --

Foot.

He looked down.

The water moved in all the same course it always did. Unerring, consistent, not unlike himself. But buoyed with natural purpose and he could not imagine what would provoke any soul to say that the water, the ocean and tide failed -- that it even could. It had no goal or task. It was, it existed, and that was all that was required.

He remembered when he was that way. It was simple. And lonely.

But was loneliness worse than the shame? The embarrassment? The failure and the doubt that tore at his gut and left him retching as though he could discard through his throat the heart that kept betraying and breaking and just -- really, really giving him a shit hand of cards.

A shit hand.

That was not right either. Again, he wanted to blame the exterior. His lips whet from a passing of the tongue in a moment of reflection on that. Had it only been hours ago that he had hollered and punished and raged at his daughter for doing the same. Not taking responsibility for her choices. Maybe he had no leg to stand on there.

Just a peg of wood.

Tom ran his tongue along his teeth, jaw flexing. He moved his glass up to his lips and drained it to the drop, letting it rattle as he put it back on the table. One hand moved up to scrape over his face, stubble rustling audibly from the motion. A finger moved out politely, despite his expression, toward Sigurd. "Sig -- y'can stay or not. Elsewise I should like ta' catch a drink with ya' in the city ta'night. Been a minute or two since we had cause ta' catch up."

He shut his eyes, occluding the brief harmony of the ocean ahead.

Of course he justified the anger that followed. It was easy to. He still held the pit of a righteous father’s rage in the low of his belly. He had given her chance, after chance, after chance. All the time in the world, he conjured, to ask for help. To answer him. To make a choice for the many instead of playing martyr. An impossible task, it seemed, to make her see that.

Perhaps he would not see it either were he in her place. How could he? He did not yet know. The world was bigger, scarier, more full of such broad and such tiny variables. An awful game of mathematics especially when one had to call to account for life.

Standing in the tide always helped with the pain.

At the time he had justified that too. The lost limb. He had to, it was that or die. Another account to pay for life. Tides knew, Light knew, all out in the Great Dark knew well enough that he had accrued an unsightly debt to that accord. How many more times could he gamble on coming back? It had failed once already. An exchange only made in the end by such an unrepeatable set of circumstances.

Standing in the tide always helped with the pain.

It helped his mind to see the water, to feel it trickle and roll over his one bare foot. It helped make that constant, unyielding sensation of the ghost of his lost limb. Always it felt like water. Water running over it, pouring over it, wet and cold. Looking down he felt better -- it matched. One foot felt it, so must the other. It helped.

Tom extended one of his sausage-like paws toward the middle of the table, elbow cocked. He opened it, flexing his fingers as he began to count down off of them. "Y'wont let me help ya'. Y'wont let yer' crew help ya'. Th'fuckin' demon, folk-fog genuine Red fuckin' Lord is out fer' you. Y'disappear fer' damn well on a month, then come back after all hell breaks loose n' press yer' ass into a squat in Stormwind."

There was a color to Tom's face, bright and not unlike a tomato, all the moreso for his gingered stubble. “I got a first mate -- an excellent sailor n' damn good friend -- nearly tortured ta' death. I got an apparent snake-heel faux-man, an elf, almost torn inside out. I got a whole crew who are so fuckin' terrified I have ta' hear worry about it through the damn dockhands because they're shakin' like fiends after not one, but two near-entire fatalities a' vessel” He kept counting off on his fingers as he went on.

Abby slammed her hand on the table getting up at -that- mention. “I did m'fuckin' best t'keep that from happenin'! T'keep it from happenin' again!”

He shut his eyes and inhaled. Sea air was good for the lungs, good for the soul. It had to be true, all the wives and fishermen and old sailors always said it. Why not let it be true?

Maybe she did.

Maybe she did her best, alone and without demand. Maybe that was character to celebrate, despite the result. Maybe things would have been worse had she done as he would have done.

Tides knew things tended to end up worse when he did what he did. It was a pattern that could have made him laugh were it not such a bellow to the fire of his shame.

“Y'had a damn chance t'talk -- sit down.”

He did give her a chance. More than one. More than just tonight. What else was a father supposed to do? Stay away, do nothing, be the absent coward. Do something, act on your wisdom and experience whatever it is, be the overbearing demon, the controller and the suffocator. Do little, but stand at the ready, a lighthouse and a pillar -- that was what he had tried to do. Give her at least one port in the storm. One place to run to. One place that gave when she needed, and held ready when she did not.

Be her father. Be better than his was. Be there.

“Now yer' playin' murder mystery here in th'Lionseat while th'whole world is tryin' it's damn hardest t'recover from what may end up bein' the bloodiest war what ever rocked th'planet. I got a good ship sittin' on its keel, in th'moors, with a first mate who gets winded goin' up the stairs, and now a captain who torches wildlife ta' blow off steam. -- An' you wont talk ta' me. Y'wont talk t'yer crew. Wont let neither help you with whatever th'fuck it is you've got goin' on. Still got no fuckin' idea why y'were gone a month, nor what happened, nor what y'decided ta' take it upon yer'self t'surrender to the RED FUCKIN' LORD WHILE I HAD CANNONS READY!”

An awful sort of mathematics, life was -- that much he had grown to understand.

A lighthouse was no aid to the sailor who kept far from shore. No light could reach those who were stubborn in their course and refused to turn away from the storm.

Tom burned a hole with his gaze, leaning back from the table.

“Moray,” Abby spoke. “Claude. -- How many more did you want me to add to that list? If I hadn't gone... that list would have been a lot longer.”

“NO -- no you -think- it would have been. Y'wanna spit yer' way through this life like you know every fuckin' thing an' all possibilties? Y'can do that. That's yer' business. Yer' a grown woman. But you can do all that one yer' own, if that's th'choice you want ta' keep making.”

What else was there to do but extinguish the light?

Fresh pain came to him. He had not thought another tear was left in his haggard skin and weary bone. But a few more. A few more he seemed able to manage. Had he done right? Had he been a father as he ought to be, as he wanted to be?

Maybe he was just like his own, just turned a few degrees of the compass. A different sort of failure.

“Righ' b'fore I lost m'stone, I said I was sorry.”

Tom took a valiant moment's effort to fill his lungs with air, “Sorry?”

“I told you that they threatened th'crew.”

He interject, “Yer' fuckin' sorry?”

Tom stared at her, genuinely waiting for something better.

“The Red Lord was at Hag Bay, and on account of me. He hurt my crew, on account of -me-. I wasn't going to drag them further in the mess, Pa. They already survived him once .... Most.”

Abby closed her eyes.

“Most survived him, most.”

Tom mealed up his mouth, tongue running hard against the inners of her teeth.

Abby opened her eyes to look back to Thomas, “So yes, I went alone after Moray. Yes, I made the deal to go and oblige so that the rest of the crew got out safe as well. So that they didn't need to die.”

“Y'lookin' for my pity right now? Martyrdom does not win you this argument, child. Nor does it give you a fuckin' leg ta' stand on when I know you are fuckin' smarter than that. Alone? Y'went alone? Same crew yer' spittin' fightin' words for, willin' to: shuck life for, were stuck tryin' desperately to hold their fuckin' ship together. No Captain, no First. Y'went alone? Y'left them alone.”

“Fine. Then punish me.”

And so he did.

Until the very end with blood in his face and harsh words and scraping teeth and anger and disagreement -- until the very end he wanted her to say something to him. Perhaps vile and perhaps sad and perhaps weak but he wanted her to say that maybe she could have used him. Just maybe things would have been better if she let him help her, let him at least be a wickie to point her compass true.

But no -- no.

Somehow, and by some means despite every ounce of love he had and want he had to be a father and to be a good father and to raise a daughter who trusted her Pa, trusted her family, or at the damn least trusted her crew --

He failed.

It seemed that was what he did best.

A seagull squawked at him as it passed. So late in the evening, on into the pale-grey settling where it was not quite night but not quite morning, it squawked at him. Mocking? Maybe. But maybe not. Even he knew better than to wallow in that much self-pity.

He sighed, and moved his toes in the water. Just like when he was a boy. Westfall. The first coast he had ever seen other than Crestfall. A hand came up to rub his jaw.

The anger was wrong. He knew that. Any Captain worth running sail under knew that. Anger did not make a sturdy crew, a stalwart crew, a family. But she was his daughter and despite everything, circumstance and oddity and the unending bivouac of life, he wanted so badly to help her, to keep her safe. To have that refused over and over .. he knew no answer other than resignation and the familiar sting of failure or anger. Anger felt good at the time.

It did not now.

Tom stared at her a moment, his eyes wide and no lighter the anger in them. But he exhaled, relinquished his hands from the table and stood up with a grunt.

Abby looked at him.

Tom spoke, “A'right. You wanna be on yer' own, deal with everythin' yer' own damn self, not let family, not let -crew- help you. Y'wanna be an island? Fine. Be an island. Yer' grounded an' stripped. Moray'll helm th'Dolphin back to Stormholme fer' reassignment. In th'time you've been sittin' here at harbour we could have sent two round trips from Barrowfield ta' Stormholme an' had grain ta' feed the refugees around Warfang's holdouts. Y'can add those lives to yer' martyr-list.”

It had hurt worse than his leg. It had hurt in a way that he did not know he could hurt. Life has a powerful capacity, he had begun to understand, to inflict ever worse punishments to the soul. In all the manners of darkstroke humor and irony that he could conjure, and more. And even giving in to that hurt wounded him all the more, as it was selfish. Selfish to feel pity for himself, to feel as if he did not deserve it. Maybe he did. It was all just mud anymore.

“Admiral.”

Abby stared him down.

“I ain't yer' Admiral anymore, child,” he cut back.

“Father.”

“So now it's time ta' talk like family?”

“It's never been time to talk like family because you don't want to -talk-. You want to lecture. You want to get mad.”

Maybe she was right about that too.

Tom held up a finger, “No no. Put that martyr, that victim card away. Ain't no use here at a table with adults. You want t'argue I'm unfair? Argue.”

Abby clenched her jaw.

“Very well. I will have my effects removed from the Dolphin by morning. -- And return to the Red Lord within a few weeks end, I'm sure.”

And there it was. Even to the bitter end, he tried to give her the chance. Take the rope, take the rope, please Tides almighty I know I know just please take the rope --

Then she left.

Then he left.

Then he found himself standing in the tidewater just before the break of dawn, unable to sleep, spending the entire night retching and screaming and sobbing and wanting so desperately and pathetically to wither in on himself so he did not have to face the fact that he was, to the bone, a failure. A failed father, a failed Admiral, a failed man. And to somehow come to terms with that, and the responsibilities that he still had despite such.

He looked back to the little inlet, the beach head and small cove he had tread to from the harbour. North of the Stormwind lighthouse, a little fishing nook he knew well. High tide never quite reached it and he had slept there his share of times. But now it was his wife sleeping there with him. The only real lighthouse he knew: his anchor. He used to think he was hers as well.

Maybe not an anchor, maybe just dead weight.

Elaianna jogged forward to catch up once more and gently tried to pluck the bottle free from his grasp. "-Thomas Stalsworth,-" she breathed exasperatedly. Tom stopped in his step, not about to fight with his wife over a simple bottle of rotgut, “I'm not doin' it. I'm not doin' this right now, a'right?”

Elaianna hooked her finger in the collar of his tunic so he could not pull away.

Tom did not fight off her hand, but he did not move.

“You're frightening me, Thomas. Not in a spooky sort of terror, but it's a different sort of fear. Just look me in the eyes and tell me everything will be alright. Can you do that for me?”

Tom whet his lips slowly, fat tongue lolling out. He exhaled, draining all the air from his lungs until he was barren of it. A man on the bottom of the sea. He actually had cause to understand the sensation now. He would have preferred to be back there, in some ways. "Everything'll be fine. Jus' as it's always fine. I'm fine. Aye? There it is."

He tried not to think about what they had said next, what he had said. The weakness.

But she had comforted him, consoled him no matter how hard he tried to make her leave and let him sit in his sorrow in the tidewater alone. It was more than he deserved, he knew that.

The bare glimmer of a false dawn started. He could tell the difference. Enough years at sea, staring out at the horizon -- it became second nature. A false dawn, not quite the first light. In his diminished, damaged state he found it quite appropriate.

@abighail-atwater

@elaianna

#RP #Canon #Difficult #Too Old

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littlemisskookie · 5 years

Text

Loveless: Chapter 5

Loveless: Index Ship: Reader | OT7 Description: Spy/Men in Black!AU | You worked at an institution that dealt with aliens- aliens that were the fictional creatures we were told were from fairy tales. The job entailed love only for it, and nothing else. That’d all change when a mission goes wrong. Warnings: Smut!! Finally!, Sub/Dom Themes, Choking, Hair Pulling, Rough Sex, Oral, Fingering, Spanking, Pussy Spanking, Slapping, Dirty Talk, Sir!Kink, Degrading Names, Intercourse, Comedy Word Count: 5,652

"Dang, now I wish that I was the one who waited in the car."

"Taehyung did, too, you idiot. You don't see him getting laid, now do you?"

"Guys I'm right here."

You opened your eyes, blinking as you tried to get used to the light. You were faintly aware of the body you were pressed against you, your form hugging Namjoon's, who was still in a deep sleep, soft snores escaping his parted lips. Surrounding your bed were six men.

Your vision cleared, seeing a few of them scruffed up, with bandages or wounds, but nevertheless alive.

"Oh my god!" you exclaimed, jumping from Namjoon's side to hug the men, wrapping your arms around each as you cradled their faces and examined their wounds, a rush of relief and happiness filling you. "I'm so glad you're ok! I was so worried and I tried to convince Agent B and V to go back because I didn't want to abandon you and I didn't know if you were alive and I- fuck, I'm just really relieved."

You wrapped your arms tightly around Jungkook at that moment, turning back to examine his face. "How's the leg?" you question, your thumb brushing over his busted lip. It wasn't much, just a bit of a cut, and he's had worse, but you couldn't help but fret.

Jungkook simply chuckled. "Good as new. Jin snuck me into one of the medical centers and got it taken care of."

You should've figured. Bullets were nothing for someone as brilliant as Jin, and you had no doubt he'd be able to fix all the scrapes and cuts you eight had gotten once you settle in.

Namjoon coughed from behind you, seemingly awake from when you had gotten up. "Er, Y/N, I'm sorry to tell you this but I think you ought to get back into the covers."

"What?" You look down, realizing you're still in the panties and shirt you had slept in the night before. You hadn't thought of it last night, simply grabbing clothes that were prepared in the drawers, and you didn't even think of it when you went to Namjoon's room or talked to Taehyung, seeing as it was dark and everyone was too tired to realize.

You dive back under the covers, your face red, slowly realizing what the conversation earlier was about. "Uh, that wasn't what it looked like. Nothing happened last night."

"Sure about that? I know Agent B here can be quite the perv when he feels like it," Hoseok comments, hitting Namjoon lightly on the shoulder.

Namjoon scowls, red-faced as well. "Uh-huh, sure. Seriously, she just couldn't sleep last night, so-"

"You kept her occupied?" Jimin snickered.

"Helped tire her out?" Jungkook joined in.

"No, trust me, nothing happened. I know from my mission with Agent B in Columbia that he doesn't exactly know how to keep quiet," Taehyung assures everyone.

"As if you were any better in Australia!"

"Look, I had a crush on Ariel when I was younger. What else was I supposed to do when I was face to face with a mermaid? Not fulfill my fifth-grade fantasies?"

"You jacked off to The Little Mermaid when you were ten?" Yoongi questioned.

"Actually now that I think about it, it was Ursala. But I didn't come across any squid ladies in Australia," Taehyung corrected himself. "And no, I didn't jack off to a Disney movie!"

"And all this time I thought Jimin was the one with the tentacle fetish," you whisper to yourself.

"I do not have a tentacle fetish!" Jimin fired back.

"I saw the anime girl body pillow, Jimin. I know you watched tentacle porn."

"Everyone's watched it! It's just one of those things you look at out of curiosity. Kind of like 'Why do people get turned on by this?' the same way you wonder how someone finds feet or pissing sexy. It was a one-time thing and I didn't get a boner from it. Also, you keep Jabami Yumeko out of this!"

"Literally everyone in Kakegurui is gay, idiot," you say, rolling your eyes. "She even wears the lesbian ring."

"What's a lesbian ring?" Jungkook asked.

"If a woman wears a ring on her thumb she's gay."

"I don't think her wearing a thumb ring makes her a lesbian," Jimin cut in.

"Yeah it does, look it up!" You huff, shaking your head. "The whole point of that show is gambling lesbians."

"Man, you guys are weebs," Hoseok grumbles under his breath.

"Whatever, she's hot, ok?" Jimin rolled his eyes.

"You're just saying that because of that one scene where she acts like a cat," Taehyung cuts in.

"Dear god, not you too." Hoseok facepalms.

"That scene was pretty hot. Not that I'm a furry or anything," you admit.

"GUYS!"

Everyone turns to Yoongi, his gaze burning as he glares at everyone. He pulls out a thick stack of paper, tossing it onto the bed. "If everyone here is done talking about the newest 'waifu' or whatever it is you losers call it, I think it'd be best to discuss what we've brought back from the agency. More accurately, stolen."

You pick up the first piece of paper, furrowing your brows. "Yoongi, what are these?"

"Your medical records. AKA test results."

It was a weird sight, seeing eight people sitting on the ground, surrounding a coffee table, paperwork covering every inch of surface area. One might think it was a college study group. But no, each letter contributed to describing the torture and pain you went through during the experimentations, detailing your DNA and comparing past records. It described everything from the new strains caused by whatever had been injected into you to the consistency of your discharge. You had to give it to the EAA bastards- they were thorough.

You were in the middle of wondering when they held a ruler up to your vagina to measure it in centimeters when Namjoon cuts in. "At least we can confirm what had happened that night. It appears here that Jashwi injected her own DNA into Y/N."

"Like her own venom or something? Did she infect her like a vampire?" Jungkook pondered. "Like Twilight?"

"I don't think so." Hoseok shook his head, glowering down at the paper in his hand. "If that were the case she'd be fully changed into one of them. She's still human, but it does appear that she's slowly changing. Or at least a part of her is. Kind of like combining if that makes sense?"

"Is that why she doesn't seem to be getting any better?" Jin held up a particular document, though you didn't bother trying to strain your eyes to read the tiny print from a distance. "According to these, they tried to revert her and cure her with anything they had. She didn't seem to benefit from any nutriment, from food to medicine."

"Maybe it's because they're looking at it from a human perspective," Yoongi wondered aloud. "You said before she was changing, or at least a part of her has. What if what changed, or at least one of the things, was what she fed on?"

"Well, she doesn't seem to feed on food. So the bright side at least is that we have more rations for ourselves," Jin shrugged.

You socked him in the arm. "Gee, that's one way to look at it, asshole."

"What? We've got to be optimistic!"

"We have to remember everything Jashwi told us about her people. About the Anancites," Namjoon hums. "Does anyone remember any information that might be useful?"

"She's a scientist who used to rule her planet apparently. And her boyband was called a rapture," Taehyung offered. "Oh, and they shared a telepathic bond. Apparently."

"They're able to manipulate elements and have powers. Jashwi possessed the power of water, so if you're going to get any superpowers, Y/N, it'll probably be that." Jimin smiled at the thought. "Hey, you'll be like an avatar!"

"I don't think I have the strength in me to even walk down the block, much less bend water," you tell him truthfully.

"Anything on feeding?" Namjoon questioned.

"She said it was mutually beneficial for both parties. So I doubt it'd be anything like cannibalism or sucking blood. We can rule vampire out," Hoseok offered.

"What if we look through the documents and see if they list any similarities between the newly injected DNA and a species we're familiar with?" you questioned.

"Brilliant!" Namjoon fished through some of them, but it turned out to be Taehyung who found the right sheet of paper.

Taehyung analyzed the information, taking it in as he tried to decipher it. He was an engineer, not a biologist by any means. "Ok, I think this is it. I'll look for what's the most similar. She's definitely not a mermaid, but if she is able to bend water that would be close enough, in my opinion."

"Negative towards any ghosts. That includes poltergeists, ghouls, and banshees. Same for anything of the fairy clans. Rules out gnomes, pixies, elves, dwarves, and whatever tiny freaks you can think of," Jungkook continued, leaning over to examine the paper from behind Taehyung's shoulder.

"Skip to what seems closest, why don't you?" Yoongi inquired.

"Closest seems to be the succubi and incubi. Sirens are close as well." Taehyung's brow furrowed. "But the Anancites didn't look anything like those..."

"I think you've got to look at what seems similar. What do they all share in common?" Hoseok asked.

Silence consumed the room. Everyone thought the same thing, but no one wanted to say it.

"Sex," you say. "It's obvious. The succubi and incubi feed off of sexual energy and having sex with humans. Sirens sing to sailors about love and sex to draw them to kill themselves."

"But none of those species benefit the other when they're feeding." Namjoon wore a puzzled look on his face, as though trying to wrap his head around the idea. "The sex demons feed off the humans and take their energy from them, and sirens eat the dead bodies of the sailors who jumped overboard."

"That's why the Anancite DNA isn't completely similar, perhaps. There are small differences. Besides, sex typically, or at least should be, beneficial for both parties," you offered.

"Wait let me get this straight," Jimin said, pausing. "You're trying to say that instead of feeding off of food or blood, there's a possibility you feed off of... sex?"

Your face turned red. "I mean, this is a whole new species, Agent P. We're lucky it's even something that is... obtainable. Besides, I never said that, but it's a possibility. And a high one, at that. You never know until you try."

There's another moment of silence. At that moment you wanted to die.

"So... one of us will have to have sex with you, is that it?" Hoseok questioned.

"Don't say it like it's going to be a burden!" you snap.

"I don't know, you're pretty bony right now. You'll probably poke one of us in the eye," Yoongi chuckled.

"I'm not going to elbow anyone doing doggy style, you absolute twat," you fired back.

"Wait, so we're seriously going to do this?" Jungkook questioned, his eyes wide as he looked about the room.

"I mean no one's running a train on her or anything. Not yet," Jimin joked. "But from the looks of it... yeah. I doubt we'll just be able to walk out and get her a guy. It'll have to be one of us."

"Why don't we ask her then?" Taehyung looked over to you, and at that moment you realized you had to answer.

"Oh, ok, so... Fuck, it's weird with all of you staring at me!" You made eye contact with each man, their gazes pinned on you. "Look, to put it lightly I wouldn't mind it being anyone. I like all of you equally, as friends and... in an attractive way. I'm not opposed to anyone, so..." You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you buried your face in your hands, embarrassed by your confession.

"Alright... That's good to know," Namjoon said, coughing awkwardly.

"Alright? Dude she said she wanted all of us to nail her!" Jimin whisper joked.

"Not at the same time, idiot!" You tossed some papers over to him but were unable to stay mad at him for long, despite his ribbing.

"You sure that wouldn't be weird for you or anything? Like, sleeping with a coworker?" Jungkook questioned.

"Former coworker. And no, I slept with Jimin," you answered.

"You too?" Taehyung offered a hand, and you high fived him.

"Wait, what the fuck?" Jin questioned, eyes bugging out of his head. "You both slept with Jimin?"

"Technically three," Yoongi offered, raising his hand slightly.

"Wait, who here has slept with Jimin?" Hoseok questioned, having you, Taehyung, and Yoongi raise your hands.

"Guys, can we not reveal my sexual exploits?" Jimin whined, face beet red.

"You deserve it, asshole," you tease, sticking your tongue out.

"Where'd you do it?" Taehyung asked, his eyes glimmering with questions.

"Office, over the desk. You?"

"I was drunk so it was behind the bar. Not bad, though."

"Nice," you offered, nodding as you turned to Yoongi. "And you, Agent Dick?"

"Uh, I don't kiss and tell," Yoongi grunts.

"Thank you!" Jimin lets out a rush of relief, a sigh escaping his lips as he prayed for you and Taehyung to quit oversharing.

"Sure thing, bottom," Yoongi responded.

"He was a bottom for you?" you and Taehyung questioned in unison, shocked.

"Ok, enough about Jimin whoring himself out to everyone in the agency," Hoseok interrupted. "Aren't we supposed to talk about... er... Y/N?"

It was silent again.

"Alright, I'm going to go to my room for a bit because I think this is a decision you guys should make on your own. I have a feeling it'll be even weirder if I'm here, and I know I won't be able to make the decision. Seriously, though, I'm completely cool with whoever, so surprise me or whatever. It's not weird unless we make it weird, right? I'll let you guys decide amongst yourselves. Surprise me!"

You departed, leaving the boys to themselves.

"So... I guess we should ask first if anyone doesn't want to..." Namjoon trailed off.

"Sleep with Y/N?" Yoongi offered bluntly.

"Er- yeah," Namjoon coughed awkwardly. There was no show of hands, and he only sighed. "Guess that doesn't make anything easier. Figured."

"Wouldn't the logical choice be Jimin if they already had sex?" Hoseok questioned. "They already had sex, that would make her more comfortable with it, wouldn't it?"

"Things got a little awkward afterward," Jimin admitted. "We survived, of course, but... Well, my concern is if everyone would be alright with the prospect of something like that? It'd be weird, wouldn't it? A group and two of them are screwing. Seven guys and one girl."

"I think it's a bit too soon to propose a gangbang," Jin admitted. "Besides, I'd like to think most of us will be able to handle ourselves. We're adult men."

"But what if feelings get hurt?" Jimin questioned.

There was a moment of silence.

Taehyung could feel a few eyes on him in particular. He glowered, staring back. "As though any of you are any better. We're all here for a reason, so don't be hypocrites. Besides, I could separate my feelings from helping. There's no guarantee."

"No one said anything about that," Jungkook said, embarrassed. "And we know. We'd all have to separate our feelings. It'd be unfair to Agent Q otherwise."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"What about you, Namjoon?" Jin questioned. "You've known her longest."

Namjoon blushed, his ears turning a bright red. "W-W-Well, I mean, I... Well, what about you? You've been flirting with her and telling her you wanted to nail her for years."

"I'm not denying it," Jin said, raising his hands in defense. "And I'm not going to say no if it's me, either."

"But?" Yoongi inquired.

"But I think there's a few in this group who would... I don't know, be more deserving? That sounds wrong, but you know what I mean. She's not a prize, and we shouldn't attach our own reasons or feelings to this, but there are better options I guess."

"What do you mean by that?" Yoongi pressed on, narrowing his eyes.

Jin sighed, giving up at trying to figure out his words. "I don't know... Wait, why do you want to do this anyway? You bicker with her all the time. You act like you hate her anyway."

"I clearly don't hate her if I'm here. Besides, as much of a dumbass as she can act once or twice, I'm attracted. It's purely biological," Yoongi shrugged.

"Alright, it definitely can't be you," Hoseok said, shaking his head.

Yoongi shrugged again, uncaring. "I'm alright with whatever, same as Agent C. The difference is that I don't think anyone has more right to this 'opportunity' as some of you might think of it to be. The fact is we all are attracted to her and I'm not going to call anyone out but everyone here has feelings or something strong enough to have brought them here in the first place. We'd want to sleep with her regardless. It's only a coincidence this could help. I do think we have to try to separate our feelings, however. Jungkook was right- it's not fair to Y/N. You heard her- she can't pick between any of us. I don't think even sex will change that. We can't pretend like we just want her as a piece of meat either since we all care about her. We aren't dimwitted enough to believe that lie, and neither is she. So we'll take what we can get and keep going along. The most important thing though will be to act civil, regardless of who it is."

"Yoongi's right," Namjoon nodded. "About all of that. No one is more or less deserving. The important thing is to do this without feelings and act civil. Like it's all just business."

Jungkook raised his hand, earning a sigh from Namjoon. Once he had the attention, he coughed, clearing his throat. "We still need to decide who it is, though."

Hoseok sighed, "We're well aware."

"So why don't we just... not pick?"

"What do you mean?" Taehyung questioned, furrowing his brows.

Jungkook pulled out a stack of cards, pulling them out of the box to shuffle them. "Does everyone here know how to play Speed?"

"I've gotta admit, I'm a little surprised you're the one they chose."

Hoseok shrugged, closing the door behind him with his foot. "You won't like the method we used. Trust me when I say it wasn't a vote."

"Oh?" You quirked a brow, interested. "How'd you guys decide?"

"We played cards."

"Let me guess- Agent Z?"

"How'd you know?" Hoseok questioned, truly impressed.

You simply shrugged, "Lucky guess, I suppose."

"I like the robe, by the way," Hoseok said, pointing to the fluffy white robe you adorned. He felt his ears get pink, knowing that you were more than likely wearing nothing underneath.

"Thank you! Provided by the hotel instead of the CIA, though they've got an old lady outfit stored inside the fake plant in the bathroom, so there's that. I'm sure if I spend a bit more time I'll be able to find at least five more prepared disguises. And just so you know I completely intend on stealing all the shit I can in this hotel before we have to skip ahead to the next one."

He nodded understandingly but was only half listening to what you were saying. Typically he was a very good listener, but he was still trying to process what was happening. The fact it was him of all people. Jin had been flirting with you since the beginning of time. You knew Namjoon first, and you had already slept with Jimin. Taehyung had basically been in love with you since the two of you met. Sure, Hoseok was very attracted to you, (and more) but he wasn't familiar with the act of screwing a colleague. He had determined long ago that wouldn't happen between the two of you, yet here he was.

"Sit here," you say, patting the spot next to you on the bed. Hoseok does so, nervous but compliant. You squint your eyes, your hand coming up to hold his face as you analyzed him. He suspected you would kiss him, but instead, you keep staring at him, as though searching.

"What're you doing?" he questioned, confused.

"Reading you."

"What, like a psychic?"

"No, it's just..." You paused, licking your lips before flitting your eyes back to his. "Hoseok, you can do anything you want to me tonight."

He froze. That was not what he was expecting.

"I'm giving you full control," you continue, taking one of his hands in your own before bringing it to the back of your head. He lets his hand rest on the back of your neck for a moment. "I want you to be in charge. I'll do whatever you say, and you can do whatever you want. No restrictions."

"Didn't think you'd be into this kinky stuff," he said nervously, heat rising to his cheeks.

"Didn't think you'd be, either," you say. Before he can analyze or read into your words, your lips are pressed against his. His lids flutter closed, your lips bruising against his with a certain amount of ferocity. He feels himself getting into a rhythm, his hand slowly snaking up your hair. You keen at his touch, moaning into his mouth when he makes a tight fist, yanking at your hair.

His eyes bug out, and he lets go. "Shit, sorry, I-"

"Do it again," you say, returning his hand to your scalp.

"W-What?"

"I meant it when I said I wanted you to take control," you tell him, staring him dead in the eye to show how serious you were.

"Yeah, but I don't want to hurt you, and I respect you and-"

"I know that A. I do. It's because you respect me that I want you to take control. I want you to dominate me. To hurt me," you inform him, sighing at the sight of him frozen at your words. You take a deep breath to explain yourself. "Have you ever felt as though you weren't in control? Like many of the choices in your life weren't really made by you, but for you? Like you're sort of just following others' whims?"

"Yeah," Hoseok admitted, thinking back to his mistakes. His parents dying. Stumbling upon a secret agency. Having his childhood ripped out from under him as he was trained not to feel, but to kill. "I have."

"So wouldn't it feel good to exert a bit of control over one aspect of your life? Even if it's just for a few minutes? Even if it's just over sex?"

What you were saying made sense. "What about you, though?"

You smiled, as though expecting the question. "For me, I put the control in someone else's hands. They get to have the control and I won't have to deal with it. I put myself in the hands of someone I trust."

"You trust me that much?"

"I do," you confirm, a coy smile on your lips. "I meant it when I said you could do whatever you wanted to me. I'll do whatever you say. I want you to take control. To dominate me. To hurt me."

"Fuck, you're a masochist," he hissed, finally getting a firm grip on your hair and tugging it back, making you arch into his touch as you hissed in pain.

"Only if you're a sadist," you responded, your lips returning to his in a searing hiss.

He groaned, flipping over to roll on top of you, continuing to kiss you as he pressed his body against yours. It was messy, a clash of teeth and tongue, and he keened at the feeling of you following his movements, letting him control the movements.

He had sex with women before but never before were they so blunt and open about what they wanted. Typically they just assumed he'd know or communicate small things. He'd have to guess he was doing something right, listening to what little they'd give him.

But you... it was as though those few seconds that were spent staring at him, reading him, were put to good use. It was as though you had read what carnal desires he had suppressed deep down, and unleashing it.

You moved your hands to touch him, but he slapped your hands away, pinning your wrists above your head. "Don't touch me," he growled. A bit of panic spread over him, unused to talking to you, one of his closest friends, in that manner.

Instead, you looked at him in a lustful manner, your eyes glazed as you nodded obediently. "Yes, sir."

Fuck, he felt his dick twitch at that.

He let go of your wrists, and true to your word, you kept them in place. He straddled your hips, slowly undoing the knot on your robe and opening it. He sucked in a breath, seeing you fully naked. The number of times he had jerked off to the thought of you like this, naked beneath him, was stupendously high. He couldn't believe that all of his darkest fantasies were coming true. You, so submissive, so unlike yourself, ready for him to do whatever he wished with you.

"You're beautiful," he whispered beneath his breath, slowly spreading your legs wider as he shuffled between them. You were wet already.

"Didn't take you as the mushy type."

You yelped, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as he swatted your mound, the sound of the harsh slap echoing throughout the room. You attempted to close your legs together, but he kept them spread open with his own, giving you another punishing slap.

"Would you rather I call you a dirty slut?" he questioned between gritted teeth.

From the way you bit your lip, letting the tender flesh roll from between your teeth, he took it as a yes.

He gave you one more firm smack before he started rubbing his hand up and down your folds, gathering your wetness. He hummed, pleased, letting your engorged clit slide between his fingers as he continued to tease you. "I think you like me spanking your pretty pussy. Calling you a slut."

You nodded eagerly, hips bucking up for a bit more friction in contrast to his light touch.

"You'll take what I give you," Hoseok growled, his other hand coming to your lower stomach to pin you down as he inserted a finger, pumping it into you. As expected you gasped, trying to buck your hips again, only to have Hoseok keep you pinned to the bed. "Understood, slut?"

You failed to answer, moaning as he inserted another finger, scissoring you.

Hoseok glared at you, the hand on your stomach reaching up to your throat, squeezing lightly as a warning. "I believe I asked you a question. I expect an answer."

You hummed, and he could feel the vibrations against the palm of his hand. "Yes, sir," you said, compliant once again. "I'll take what you give me."

"Good girl," he said, letting go of your throat. He went down, laying on his stomach as he hitched your thighs over his shoulders, pulling you closer to him. He maintained eye contact with you, his lips making contact with your bud. You gasped at the feeling, eyes rolling back at his movements as his tongue ran through your folds. "Eyes on me," he reminded you, nails digging into your thighs.

He continued, tasting every drop you had to offer, amazed with how good you tasted. Your heels dug into his upper back, trying to draw him impossibly closer. He enjoyed seeing you like this, trying to maintain eye contact despite how you yearned to toss your head back and let your eyes roll to the back of your head. You let out wanton moans with every swipe of his tongue, mewls escaping your lips as he sucked harshly on your clit.

He removed one of his arms from under your legs, inserting two fingers inside of you once more, making a come hither movement. The stimulation of your g-spot with the feeling of his mouth on your clit was becoming too much. Your hands reached down, curling into his hair as you tugged at his scalp similarly to how he did yours.

"Fuck, I'm go-gonna-"

Suddenly it all stopped, Hoseok pulling back from between your legs, watching as your orgasm was ripped from you, dying with each second he didn't spend buried in your head. He watched how desperate you seemed, staring him in the eyes as he licked his fingers of your arousal, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Helplessness was a good look on you, he had to admit. It made his cock twitch in his pants, seeing you like this, knowing it was all because of him.

"I told you before: you take what I give you." He's quicker than you can process, flipping you over on your hands and knees as he gathers your hair in a ponytail, cranking it back as his hands give bruising slaps to both cheeks. "And I also believe I told you not to touch me."

"I'm sorry, sir!" you wailed, the battery continuing as he made sure to redden each cheek, the spanks raining down on you. You were sure you wouldn't be able to even sit down properly tomorrow, each seat you take a reminder of his reprimand. "I won't do it again sir! Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry!"

"I know you are," he said in a soothing voice, rubbing soothing circles in the places where he did the most damage, his voice soft. He gently rolls you over, wiping away some of the tears that had come along with your punishment. "You took it very well. You're such a good girl for me, aren't you?"

"S-Sir, please," you sniffed, enjoying the feeling of his thumb wiping away the tears as you tried to compose yourself.

"What is it?"

"I want you to fuck me."

"Anything for you." He was quick to pull his pants off, with his boxers following closely after. You spread your legs invitingly, a sound of impatience escaping your lips as he teased you, running the head of his cock along your folds. Finally, he slides in, both of you letting out a moan of pleasure. He could feel every ridge of you as you squeezed tightly around him, and you focused on the pleasurable burn of him sliding into you for the first time.

"You're so big," you cooed, your lids fluttering. It had admittedly been a while since you slept with anyone. Partially because of business and partially because of the fact you were kept in a fucking lab.

Hoseok begins to pump himself into you, his grip tight on your thighs as he fucked you with earnest. You wrapped your legs around him, your heels pressing into him as though to drive him deeper into him. He was already impossibly deep, kissing your cervix with every push. It was when he began to stimulate the bundle of nerves that you were really becoming undone.

"Fuck, Hoseok, Hoseok, Hoseok!"

"That's right, scream my name," he grunted, drilling deeper into you. He reached behind, his hand sliding behind your head to yank at your hair once more, a knowing smirk gracing his features as you let out a familiar hiss of pleasure. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be my little slut?"

"Yes, sir, fuck!" You were becoming depraved, mouth gaping open as your eyes rolled back. "Harder, please."

Your wish was his command, and before long his hips slammed into your own, no doubt with a bruising force. Hoseok's hand wrapped around your pretty little throat, squeezing harder than before, restricting airflow.

"Are you gonna cum for me?" he questioned, his other hand toying with your clit as he maintained his pace, brutally abusing your g-spot. It came up to give you a slap across the cheek, his cock twitching inside of you at the sight of you letting him. "Are you gonna cream all over me and get nice and messy for me?"

You nodded eagerly, thighs shaking around him as you tilted your head back, back arching with grace as you came. Hoseok fucked you through it, letting go of your throat. The influx of oxygen only increased the pleasure, the orgasm having been built up from being denied before.

Hoseok now chased his own high, using your body as a toy as he felt himself nearing climax. You simply stared at him with that hazy look in your eye, letting him use you, true to your word.

Let go, Hoseok.

He felt himself spill into you, his breath heavy as he drained himself into you. You took all of it, eyes trained on him as he collapsed beside you.

He looked over to you, his fingertips brushing over your neck. "Damn, you're definitely going to have marks in the morning."

You shrugged. "Let them know I like choking. Who doesn't? I'm pretty sure it's in with the college kids nowadays. Besides, if you think that's bad, you should see what you did to my ass. I won't be able to sit for a week."

"Sorry, was that too much?"

"Not at all," you cooed, toying with the strands of his hair. "It felt good to let go, didn't it?"

"Yeah, it did."

"I'm going to pee, and I suggest you do too. Then round two."

"Yeah... Wait already?"

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lizablee · 4 years

Text

Choices (Linked Universe) pt 3

Characters derived from the Linked Universe AU by @jojo56830 (@linkeduniverse) --> tws in the tags, shit gets real.<--

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Time felt the air shift and looked to the sky. The lightning was still flickering, but the thunder didn’t follow as it had before, and the rain had slowed to a drizzle. The storm’s moving away.

Something moved in the darkness. He turned quietly, drawing his bow. The world was silent for another moment, then a torch appeared, a tiny light weaving its way through the long grass. He relaxed as he saw Four approaching, drenched from the rain and flushed with exertion.

“Where are the others?” Four began quickly.

“Legend and the captain have gone to the bay. Our ranch hand and Sky abseiled down.” Time glanced at his bow. “I’m keeping watch.”

Four took a deep breath, nodding. “I got more out of the kid after he calmed down. He watched our champion fall. He never deployed his paraglider, he just… disappeared.”

Time frowned. “So there’s no point in searching the bay then.”

“Unless he was able to swim there,” Four suggested. “It’s a ways to go, but he’s tough.”

“He’s not the strongest swimmer,” Time mused. “If he had the energy, he’d be more likely to climb up, or at least to hold on to the cliff face.”

Four looked down into the ocean. It really was just as Wind described - darkness. He focused hard on the water, trying to see any signs of his friends.

A ripple of light went through the waves. Four’s eyes widened. A sword beam?

“I think they’re under attack.” He exclaimed. Time gritted his teeth. Nothing I can do.

Four noticed his silence. “Old man. Are you alright?’ he asked, searching his face.

Time dragged his eyes away from the sea. Four looked calm. This irritated him, but he didn’t know why.

“I can’t help them.” he murmured. “Not from up here. I’m useless.”

Four crossed his arms. “You’re not useless. You’re on guard.” Time ran a hand through his hair, frowning. Four sighed. “I get it. I want to be down there too.”

A chime rang out from Four’s tunic, startling the hero. He pulled a glowing object from his pocket, opening his palm to reveal a stone glittering with blue light. The Pirate’s Charm!

The pair cringed as the device projected a harsh crackling sound. The noise morphed into a familiar voice.

“Hey sailor, can you hear us? It’s Sky!”

“We hear you, Sky. It’s just me and the old man. The kid’s resting up. What’s your status?”

“We’re in a cave. We found our champion. He drowned, but he’s OK now.” They heard a harsh cough in the background. Four and Time exchanged a look.

“Well, I mean, he’s alive.” Sky said. There was a rustle, and the sound coming through the charm became muffled. Sky’s voice was soft. “He’s not looking great. There was a monster down here that wounded him pretty badly. We can’t see the full damage, but he’s saying… things.”

“What kind of things?”

---

Twilight held the Sheikah Slate like it was about to bite him. The blue light running through it danced over his fingertips and cast a soft glow through the cavern. It was a poor substitute for a fire, but Wild hadn’t been conscious enough to do anything beyond activating the device.

“Can you lean in a bit closer,” Sky grumbled. “I can barely see as it is, holding that thing way over there isn’t helping.” The Master Sword sat unsheathed next to them, its own glow pulsing gently.

“How about you hold it up and I’ll bandage him then?” Twilight said testily. Wild made a small noise. “Shut up, you.” Twilight muttered. “It’s not happening.”

Twilight’s first move after Wild had been revived was to disappear into the darkness, exploring how deep the cave was and searching for enemies. Sky thought it was a horrible idea, until Twilight came back with the Sheikah Slate in hand. The lizalfos must have surprised Wild in the cave.

The first thing Twilight said when he returned was that he could smell blood.

Wild’s wound was severe, a laceration circling his torso and cutting deep into his abdomen. He was in a lot of pain. Sky had to remind himself of that. He was in pain, which must be why he was saying those things.

The storm clouds had begun to clear, leeching away into the night. A hopeful haze of moonlight broke through, touching the waves and giving the world shape. Sky looked out to the water, reaching and pulling at the sandbank inside the cave. It had seemed so deep and wild not so long ago. He knew his optimism was driving the ranch hand crazy, but he was truly starting to feel like their luck had turned.

As if on cue, voices rang out from the ocean. Sky looked at Twilight in surprise. The ranch hand dropped the Sheikah Slate and waded into the shallows, pushing against breakers. He peered out of the cave mouth, then threw himself backwards with a shout.

In a rush, a raft tore through where he had been standing. Legend was crouched low behind the mast, rapidly retracting hookshot in hand. Warrior held a shield between them and the wind, a lit torch fluttering in his hand. Their mouths fell open as they flew past the cave and vanished. Twilight felt the wash ripple around him.

“Help has arrived,” he said weakly.

The raft made its unsteady way back to the cave, its passengers haphazardly waving Korok leaves at the unfurled sail. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to use the hookshot,” Warrior argued. “You nearly ran over our ranch hand!”

“My mistake, I forgot waving leaves could make boats move.” Legend deadpanned, flapping his leaf faster. The raft came to an abrupt stop, digging into the sand, sending the pair stumbling forward. Warrior lifted his torch, flooding the cavern with light.

“Oh,” he said numbly. “You don’t look so good, champ.”

Wild was a mess. The cloth Sky had been pressing to his midsection was soaked through with seawater and blood. Warrior wasted no time, handing his torch to Twilight and falling to Wild’s side. “Help me sit him up. We need to wrap his whole abdomen.” His tone was grim.

Legend pulled out a dagger and began to cut away at Wild’s tunic. Wild caught his wrist in a surprisingly firm grip. “Wait,” Wild said softly. “It’ll be OK. Just let me die.”

Legend reeled. “Have you lost your mind?” he demanded.

“He keeps saying that.” Sky said sadly, helping Warrior to pull Wild into a sit. “And talking about someone called Mipha.” Legend’s eyes widened.

“You don’t get it.” Wild groaned. “This happens all the time. S’ok.” Legend shot Twilight an incredulous look. Twilight looked like he was ready to break something.

“What about potions?” Warrior interrupted.

“He won’t take them.” Twilight muttered.

“He’s choking on them.” Sky clarified. “He was just drowned.”

Twilight growled something under his breath. The torch flickered as he paced, agitated. Shadows swirled around the cavern. Legend drew out a bundle of fresh bandages. In a quick movement, he pulled the soaked cloth away from the wound. Wild bit back a shout. For a brief moment Legend cast his eyes over the laceration before pressing a fresh compress down hard. Wild cried out.

“This is bad. He needs a fairy.” Legend said grimly. He got to work quickly, bandaging as tightly as he dared.

“I’ll call the old man,” Twilight said, tossing the torch to Warrior. He snatched up the Sheikah Slate and paced towards the cave mouth. Warrior held the torch closer to Wild, hoping the warmth would make some difference.

“We need to get out of here and get some help.” the leader spoke. “Fastest way is up. Any ideas?”

“Same way we came down.” Sky piped up. “We strap him to my back and use my clawshots to get up. He’s not that heavy. If I’m careful, I can make it with both of us.”

“Do those clawshots work in this weather? The rain has died down, but there’s still wind,” Legend pointed out. Sky nodded.

“Those trees are strong, they fight against the sea all the time. I can use them, and move with the wind so we don’t hit the cliff face.” Sky sounded confident. Wild opened his mouth to speak, but his voice dissolved into harsh coughs. Legend shushed him while Sky patted him between the shoulderblades. Wild groaned.

“The rest of us should take the raft back. It’s too dangerous to scale the cliff in these conditions.” Warrior decided.

Sky and Legend finished tightening Wild’s bandages. The hero had gone pale and quiet, watching them work with glassy eyes. Twilight returned, attaching the Sheikah Slate to its place on Wild’s belt.

“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t lost my other clawshot, I could take him up.” He looked to Sky. “The old man’s going to meet you both at the top with a fairy.” His eyes flickered to Wild, meeting the fallen hero’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” He said more softly. “I know this isn’t what you want.”

Wild’s eyes drifted shut. Twilight’s face fell.

“Kid?”

You’re not going to like this, but I can’t put you guys at risk.

“Hey, you with us?”

Wild felt the world spin. He hoped he’d acted quickly enough. He hoped his gamble would work.

The dagger fell from his fingers.

“What’s happening?”

“Did his wound reopen?”

“This reminds me of the first time we met. You were just a reckless child... always getting yourself hurt at every turn. Every time I would heal you, just as I'm doing right now.”

“Hey, stay with me! Open your eyes!”

“No matter when, or how bad the wound... I hope you know... that I will always protect you.”

Something was forced into his mouth. He struggled, gagging, breathing in something that burned, swallowing bubbles of cool liquid. The object was torn away with a shout. He gasped for air.

“Stop! He’s choking!”

“It’s working!”

“You know what usually goes through my mind...it helps when I think-when I think about-”

“There’s no more time. Go now!”

“Do you really remember me?”

I don’t know.

I’m sorry.

#linkeduniverse #fanfiction #tw: suicide #linked universe #jojo56830 #angst #first fanfic

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cruelangelstheses · 4 years

Text

in the salt and swell

fandom: dragon age rating: T characters: merrill/isabela words: 1.9k additional tags: historical au, mythology au, fluff, first meetings, flirting, mermaid au description: after she and her crew end up shipwrecked, isabela encounters a mermaid. a/n: hi!! this was written for day 2 of @merribelaweek (which was yesterday but it’s fine lmao) using the prompts “ocean” and “mythology”! title from “the ocean” by against me!

read it on ao3

—

Sailing into the storm was a gamble, she’d say about it later.

And what a gamble it was.

But they’d had little choice, being chased by three French ships hellbent on getting their goods back. They’re pirates, not Vikings, and rather than get their asses thoroughly handed to them in a naval battle, Captain Isabela had decided to sail directly into an oncoming storm, figuring that it would either scare the French away or do them in, too.

She was right about that part, and they got away with several famous paintings, all worth her weight in gold, that she’d promised a former acquaintance in exchange for freeing his slaves. The storm wasn’t finished with them, though, and while Isabela has sailed through her fair share of typhoons, none made their mark quite like this one did.

The tumultuous ocean, the uncontrollable winds, the horrifying crack of lightning that split her eardrums and sent the mast crashing down onto the deck—all of it is a blur of adrenaline in Isabela’s memory. She remembers clinging desperately to the wheel, at first to try to steer the ship, but eventually just to have something to hold on to. She remembers the way it popped off its hinges and took her with it.

She and her crew all survived, luckily, albeit quite a bit worse for wear and having lost a few barrels of cargo. The paintings survived, miraculously, having been stored in a large, watertight crate. Her ship, however, was not as fortunate.

The Siren’s Call. Her baby. She had smashed against an outcrop of large, jagged rocks, launching them all onto the rough, unforgiving shore. When Isabela first looked up and saw the damage, the splintered mast, the torn sails hanging limply, it felt as if she’d been gutted, like she’d lost a part of her. I don’t know if she can be fixed, Varric had said. Isabela almost slapped him.

As it turns out, she can be fixed—for a price. There’s a shipbuilder in the town closest to where they wrecked, a quaint port city just off the coast of Wales, who offered to repair it as long as they could pay the fee. With all the damage sustained, it cost almost as much as it would to just have a new ship built. After a heated debate with her crew in which more than one suggested just stealing a new ship, they decided to just pay up. It wasn’t like they were short on money, anyway, even after losing some of their cargo.

So now Captain Isabela and her pirate crew have to search for things to do to pass the time while they wait for the Siren’s Call to be repaired. They spend their first few nights gambling and cheating at cards, easily winning back some of the money they had to spend on the ship. During the day, though, they all go off on their own, taking strolls through town or day-drinking to ward off the pain from their injuries. Isabela, for her part, always finds herself drawn back to the sea.

It’s been less than a week since the shipwreck, but she already misses sailing more than she misses her own mother (which is not much at all, but the point still stands). She misses the sea spray on her face, the view of endless ocean on the horizon, the gentle rocking of the boat on open water. For now, though, she contents herself with walking along the shoreline, letting the waves lap at her toes and watching crabs skitter across the sand.

It’s during one of these excursions, while she’s standing up to her knees alone in the water and breathing in the salty air, that Isabela notices something out in the distance.

The first thing that catches her attention is a splash, and when she squints, she can see droplets of saltwater flying up into the sky and then falling back down again. It’s probably a fish, she thinks, but if so, it’s quite a large one. Then she sees it: a green, fan-like tail at least the size of a dolphin’s. Every few seconds, it pops back up above the water with a splash, each time closer to Isabela than the last. By now she can see a dark silhouette beneath the surface, and it’s headed straight for her.

Isabela takes a few steps backward and reaches into her coin purse, where she’s stored a small but effective dagger. If this were a shark, she’d probably just run, but she has no idea what this creature is. She’s never seen anything like it.

Before she can make a decision, a head pops up out of the water, and Isabela almost chokes in surprise.

It’s a girl.

Granted, she has strange markings, almost like tattoos, all over her face, and her ears are shaped like fins, but nonetheless, Isabela is undoubtedly staring at a person.

A person with a fish tail.

“Hello!” the girl says in a lilting Welsh accent. “Are you and your friends alright? I saw the shipwreck a few days ago. Nasty one, that was.”

For a few seconds, Isabela just stares, dumbfounded. Then, snapping back into reality, she shakes her head and replies, “I, uh—yes, we’re all fine. What is—who—what are you?” If she didn’t know any better, she’d think she was hallucinating, but she didn’t drink that much last night (the more sober she is, the better she is at cards), and she hasn’t drank at all today. Two equally distressing thoughts cross her mind: One, she shouldn’t be hallucinating; and two, she’s fairly certain that she isn’t.

“Oh! Sorry,” the girl says. “I take it you’ve never met a mermaid before? I suppose you wouldn’t have; we mostly keep to ourselves.”

Isabela blinks a few times, but the girl—the mermaid—doesn’t disappear. “No,” she says indignantly. “I’ve never even heard of you except for in stories. Fictional stories. You know, mythology and such.”

“All stories contain some element of truth in them,” the girl replies, matter-of-fact.

Isabela frowns and thinks back to when she and her crew first ended up on the beach. Captain, I know you’ll never believe me, Varric had said to her, but I think I saw a...a siren or a mermaid or something. When she called bullshit, he’d added, I was underwater, and then I felt these soft, small hands grabbing my wrists and pulling me to shore. When I opened my eyes, I swear I saw some half-human, half-fish thing diving back into the sea.

She hadn’t taken him seriously, of course, but why would she? Even if she’d believed in mermaids, Varric is always making up fanciful tales; in fact, that’s about all he does. How was she to know that he might have actually been telling the truth for once in his life?

“You...you saved one of my crewmates,” she says out loud.

The girl nods. “Right, the stout one with all that chest hair.”

Isabela lets out a short bark of a laugh. “You noticed that?”

The girl shrugs. “How could I not? He seemed to practically have it out on display. But I thought maybe the storm had just messed his clothes up.”

Isabela shakes her head. “No, he wears all his shirts like that.”

The girl puts her hands up to her mouth and giggles. Isabela can’t help the astonished smile that creeps onto her face. She’s having a conversation with a mermaid, and quite a beautiful one at that.

“Oh!” the girl says suddenly. “I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Merrill.”

It’s a lovely name, even lovelier when she says it with that pretty voice of hers. “You can call me Isabela,” Isabela says. “Well. Technically it’s Captain Isabela, but I don’t exactly have a ship to captain right now.”

Merrill grimaces. “Yeah, it was in pretty bad shape last I saw it. Is it getting fixed up? I noticed the shipbuilder investigating it the other day.”

“It is,” Isabela says, and then she laughs again as realization strikes her. “Do you know what I named it? I named it the Siren’s Call.”

Merrill snorts. “See, you were bound to meet one of us sooner or later.”

Isabela takes another few steps backward and sits down in the shallow tides, not even caring that she’s getting ocean water and wet sand on her clothes. Merrill swims up to her and lies down on her side a few paces ahead of her, letting the waves crash over her.

Up close, Isabela can see the way her torso gradually shifts from human to fish. The lower half of her body is one long, large fish tail that shimmers with bright green scales. Her top half is the same as a human’s, save for the ears. Isabela can’t help but notice that Merrill isn’t wearing any kind of covering, not that she really expected her to.

“Must be nice,” she says, eyeing her companion’s chest, “being able to just bare your whole self like that. We humans have societal norms that make it socially unacceptable for me to run around nude. Or even just in my smallclothes.”

Merrill giggles and makes no move to cover her breasts. “So I’ve heard.”

For a moment, they both just stare, each taking the other in. Then Isabela asks about the thing that’s been on her mind the moment Merrill stuck her head out of the water.

“So mermaids are real, huh?”

Merrill smiles. “Still in disbelief? That makes sense. Like I said, we’re quite reserved. We’ve been hiding for thousands of years, right under you humans’ noses. We’ve seen what your kind can do when you discover something strange or different. Besides, for a long time there was never really much reason for our paths to cross, us living in the ocean and you all living on land.”

Isabela narrows her eyes. “Then why did you save Varric? Why are you even talking to me?”

“We save sailors every once in a while,” Merrill explains. “They’re usually unconscious by that time anyway, or they think whatever they saw or felt was a trick of the mind, especially when they’re alone. As for why I’m talking to you…” She drums her fingers thoughtfully against the wet sand. “You seemed...different. I saw the way you’d sit out here for hours, just staring at the sea. I could tell you longed for it. You reminded me of...well, of a mermaid. You belong to the ocean, just like we do.”

Isabela’s mouth curls into a soft smile. “I suppose you’re right, Merrill,” she says, staring dreamily into the distance. “I suppose you’re right.”

After a short pause, Merrill adds, “Your looks didn’t hurt, either.”

That snaps her back immediately, and when she glances back over at the seemingly innocent sea maiden, Isabela notices a playful glint in her wide green eyes.

The smile on her face shifts into a delighted smirk. Two can play at that game. “Tell me, kitten,” she says, the nickname springing to her lips and sounding perfect as soon as it leaves her mouth, “how would one go about pleasuring a mermaid?”

#dragon age 2 #merrill #isabela #merribela #merribelaweek #da2 #my fics

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duhragonball · 5 years

Text

Dragon Ball Z 159

Trunks, Vegeta, and Cell just noticed that the androids and Krillin are on the same island, so all this talk about Cell absorbing 18 just became a lot less hypothetical. Just to recap everyone’s positions on Cell absorbing 18:

Cell: For. Very much for.

Vegeta: For. He wants a better challenge than the Cell he’s been whoopin’ on for the past three episodes.

18, 16, Trunks: Against. Goodness gracious why would we want this to happen.

Krillin: Against, but not willing to kill 18 to prevent it.

This raises an interesting question: Would 16 kill 18 to stop Cell? I’m pretty sure he can’t right now, but if he were at full strength and there was no other way, would he do it?

So now the battle lines are Vegeta and Cell vs. everyone else, and Trunks is the only one strong enough to fight either of them. His strategy is to take out Cell quickly before anything else can go wrong.

16 just wants 18 to leave by herself, because he’ll only slow her down. By now, I think it’s clear that 18 just can’t bring herself to abandon 16, even thought it makes a ton of sense. She’s clearly fond of him, and that sentimentality is what’s made this whole saga possible. If she had left the island four episodes ago, she could have blended in with a human population and Cell would never be able to find her. But she would be leaving 16 alone and defenseless, and she can’t bear that idea. Still, in this episode, she seems to finally go along with the idea, maybe because Cell is actively pursuing her again.

But Cell manages to cut off her escape by burrowing underground to avoid Trunks. Kind of neat to see Krillin and 18 side by side like this.

Trunks tries to rescue them, but then Vegeta divekicks him to save Cell.

So now 18′s trapped. Krillin and 16 stand in her defense, but let’s face it, they’re no match for Cell, who now has Vegeta backing him up.

That’s it, that’s the whole show in a nutshell. Remember way back when Krillin had Vegeta dead to right and Goku convinced him to let him go? Because Krillin does.

So Krillin says “fuck it” and jumps on Cell anyway. Krillin’s nuts. You can say this is because he’s a man in love, and he’d do anything to save 18 now, but let’s not forget he took on Cell back in Episode 146, and that was for some lady he’d never seen before. And there weren’t any ladies on the line when he chopped off Frieza’s tail back on Namek. Big. Brass. Balls.

Of course, Krillin doesn’t last long, so then 16 tries the same thing, and he has no more luck than the last time he took on Semiperfect Cell.

Finally, 18 tries to fight the guy, which is probably a bad move, but t this point it’s all or nothing. Right now she is the strongest of the three, I suppose, but that doesn’t get her anywhere.

Nearby, Vegeta and Trunks are still arguing about this. Vegeta asks if Trunks isn’t curious to see how strong Perfect Cell will be...

... and Trunks is all “hell no”. He’s seen what it’s like to lose to the androids, and he’s not gambling the fate of this world just to satisfy Saiyan battle lust.

Of course, Trunks can only enforce that viewpoint if he’s willing to fight both Cell and Vegeta, and Vegeta doesn’t think he can bring himself to do that. Trunks is too human, too sentimental, too weak--

You were saying?

Hyperbolic Time Chamber Update: Gohan is still apologizing for sleeping. As far as he’s concerned, every minute he hasn’t learned to become a Super Saiyan is screwing up Goku’s own training, and that’s what’s most important here. Goku keeps telling him it’s okay, but clearly he isn’t getting through to the kid.

I get the sense that this is one major reason why Chi-Chi never wanted this for Gohan. At least if he drives himself too hard studying, the worst thing that’ll happen to him is he gets writer’s cramp, or maybe he has a nervous breakdown on a big test day. Here, Gohan pushing himself too hard could be fatal.

Back at the fight, 18 tries a last-ditch attack on Cell, but it just doesn’t work.

Cell readies his tail, and Krillin can’t do anything but watch. This is the end.

But not yet. Not if Trunks’ foot has anything to say about it.

Okay, so why doesn’t Trunks just kill 18 here? We know why Krillin won’t do it, but Trunks has been fighting this lady his entire life. Even if he thought she might have a shred of decency to her, would he even let that stop him? Well, for whatever reason, he doesn’t attack her, and instead he tells her to GTFO.

Trunks vs. Semiperfect Cell is kind of a minor battle in this show, but it’s still pretty good. I mostly like that he’s trying to finish him off quickly, because he knows he’s on a clock. Once Vegeta recovers, he’ll lose his chance to end this on his own terms.

Another swift kick to Cell’s head. I’m really digging these.

This time, Krillin offers to carry 16 and help them escape, rather than waste time trying to convince 18 to flee on her own. What a good lad.

Over in the ocean, Vegeta realizes that Trunks made him bleed his own blood, and he’s kind of sore about that.

As for Cell, he sees 18 making a break for it, and he realizes that this is his only chance to get her. Then he comes up with a brilliant idea. He runs from Trunks, but instead of following 18, he goes up, positioning himself in front of the sun, and then he uses the Solar Flare.

This blinds everyone, allowing Cell to move in on his target unopposed.

Krillin tries to protect 18 one more time, only to get swatted away again, and then 18 goes down swinging, but she can’t even land a blow.

And then Cell gets her. You know, this 18 absorption scene inspired a lot of hentai crap, and I never really understood why. On the other hand, the animators spent a lot more time lovingly showing 18 kicking and screaming while Cell’s tail draws her in. 17 got absorbed with a lot less fuss.

Krillin jumps back in for one more try, but it’s already too late. There’s just nothing he can do.

Vegeta was kind of sore about getting Solar Flared, but now that his vision is coming back, he likes what he sees.

Nice shot of Cell transformng, surrounded by the Dumbass Squad who basically allowed this to happen. We’ll get into their respective blunders next time.

A lot of smartasses always ask “Durrrr, why don’t they just shoot the guy while he’s in da middle of transformin’, Mista Loothor?” Well, Trunks decides to try it, because what else can he do at this point?

And here’s your answer: It doesn’t fucking work. That’s why they don’t try it. It won’t work on Sailor Moon, it won’t work on Super Saiyan 3 Goku, it doesn’t work on Perfect Cell. You just have to stand back and wait for them to finish. No one ever asks why they don’t punch Optimus Prime while he’s transforming.

“If only there had been some way to stop this!” say three people who could have done several things to prevent this from happening.

They can feel Cell’s power all the way on New Namek. Dende asks Moori what’s happening on Earth, and Moori points out that this crisis is way bigger than just the Earth. “Remember how Frieza was really terrible, Dende? Well this new power we’re sensing is way more awesome and cool than that ever was. I bet this menace makes Frieza look like a pathetic joke.”

And there we are. Say goodbye to Semiperfect Cell.............. for now.

#dragon ball #2019dbliveblog #perfect cell saga #cell #semiperfect cell #vegeta #krillin #android 16 #android 18 #trunks #goku #gohan #dende #moori

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mtraki · 5 years

Text

I’ve debated whether to post this or not, but I saw this subject as an ask for another writer and figured ‘why the heck not?’

It was a slow Wednesday night when the cowboy came in.

She’d never forget it. She’d take the memory to her grave. It was so surreal. That stereotypical scene from all the old westerns spliced into the small, smokey space of the dive bar named The Dandy Bear Saloon: The door opened and in he came, boots thudding, spurs jangling, black hat tipped low over his brow, covering his eyes. Everyone stopped and turned to stare-- all five of them, herself included. She swore the old jukebox skipped, Bob Segar’s ‘Beautiful Loser’ (“a perfect lodger--a perfect lodger, a perfect guest”) playing quietly in the corner for the sixth time tonight. It was Terry’s favorite and she was having a hard time with her mom and husband, again.

Immediately, the cowboy saw them staring, feeling the abrupt change in the air, and could sense the antagonism. She’s sure only she could see the briefest hesitation in his stride as he continued toward her where she stood behind the bar.

He’d crossed half the distance with his purposeful, swaggering stride before she noticed the guns. One revolver slung slow on his right hip, the other across the left side of his belly in a cavalry draw, rounds in the belt between them. A bandolier across his body and over his right shoulder housed old brass shells for the double-barrel slung over his left shoulder. At the same time, she noticed the smell. That was the other thing she’d never forget: if seeing him had been surreal, it was smelling him that made the situation all too real.

He’d smelled like horses, and all things associated with horses, leather, and the inside of the men’s locker room at the gym the week the a/c had been out.

Dick and Roger were watching the cowboy warily, giving her looks she figured were asking if they should call the cops or if she had the situation in hand. There were only five of them. If this guy was a psycho, rolling in here with loaded guns, he could kill them all without having to reload.

But she didn’t think he was a psycho-- despite the way he looked, despite the way he smelled, there was something very lucid in his steely blue eyes flecked with green when he leaned his elbows on the bar, looking her in the face.

That was the other thing. He looked her immediately in the face, deliberately ignoring the generous cleavage provided by a good push-up bra and neglected upper buttons of her blouse.

“Hey Tex,” She grinned at him, quelling her rolling stomach. He stank like he hadn’t bathed in a year.

“Miss.” He returned quietly, his voice cordial, but his expression was controlled.

“You want something to drink?”

The emphatic answer led her to believe that his evening was going perhaps as well as Terry’s, “Yes.”

“Great. I’m gonna need you to hand over the iron first, though, partner. Before one of my off-duty cop regulars rolls in and loses his shit…”

“... Loses his what?”

She beckoned, “No, seriously, hand over your guns. You’re scaring everyone.”

Turning his head, he looked at the four others. Dick and Roger stared back evenly. Terry was gathering up her purse and jacket to leave. Oscar had his back to the rest of them again, smoking the last nub of his cigarette over his beer. Obviously none of them were armed. State law allowed licensed concealed carry, and Clark had a pump action shotgun under the bar just in case, but most people in town just didn’t carry. The cowboy looked back her way and drew the off-hand revolver with his left hand, sliding it across the bar, grip toward her with one hand, drawing the other with his right to do the same.

They sounded like real metal, they looked real, and when she reached for one to tuck it under the bar, she noted the weight.

“Jesus,” She whispered, “it’s real…”

And loaded.

“Sure it’s real.” He answered quietly, unflustered, still looking her in the eye, though his gaze flicked toward the muzzle of the weapon, as if worried she might turn it on him.

Snatching up the other revolver, she ducked and stowed them under the bar, taking his shotgun-- also very real-- when he handed it over. The weapons all showed signs of use, but nothing very recent, she thought. She wondered what kind of insane convention he’d come from. She wondered how he’d made it down the street without getting stopped by every patrol car.

“Great… So I can get those back to you when you leave, I guess… mister…?”

“... Morgan. Arthur Morgan.” He’d said it like he’d debated saying something else.

“Mister Morgan… Unless you’ll let me call you ‘Arthur’?”

“... Sure.”

“What can I get you to drink, Arthur?”

“Anythin’...”

“Don’t say that.” She grinned, jerking her thumb to the full shelves behind her.

“... Whiskey, then.”

“... You’re killing me, Arthur.” And she indicated the shelf of whiskeys.

“Christ!” He sputtered, staring at it as if it were some incomprehensible thing.

“Want me to…” But she didn’t finish her question. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, he was looking over her shoulder, reading the labels. She watched his lips move ever so slightly as he did so, and the blood ran out of his face. She couldn’t imagine why.

“... You okay?” “... I dunno, no more…” Was his very soft confession, voice no longer steady, “... Can y’pour me somethin’? Please…?”

“Sure. You opening a tab--” She reached back for a bottle at random--Jack Daniel’s No 7-- and was turning around again when he put two large coins on the bar. She looked at them, then looked him in his pale face and finished, “... What the fuck is this, Arthur?”

“Money…?” He seemed even more genuinely confused than she was, which only made her all the more uneasy, and therefore irritated.

For a moment, she strongly considered throwing him out or calling the cops-- or throwing him out AND calling the cops-- but then she exhaled slowly out her nose and slid the coins over to inspect them. They were good sized silver coins, one side depicting a seated woman, the other an eagle with the words “UNITED STATES OF AMERICA” across the top and “420 GRAINS. 900 FINE. TRADE DOLLAR” along the bottom. The year for one was 1883, the other was 1875.

The smell was real. The guns were real. Maybe the money was real too? And whereas two dollars in coins wasn’t going to cover what she’d been about to pour him, if they were real, they were probably worth a great deal more.

It was a weird night, and she’d been willing to gamble.

She poured him two fingers and slid the glass over, “I’ll open your tab. Try that, see if you like it at all. You mind if I send some photos of your coins to a friend of mine?”

“... What for?”

“To check their authenticity.”

“Authen-- you tellin’ me my money ain’t good here?!”

In her most placating-without-backing-down tone she said, “I’m telling you I don’t know. Try the No. 7.” “... Check the authenticity…” He muttered, picking up the glass, “Will it take long?”

Pulling out her phone and setting the whiskey bottle down, she snapped a photo of the coins on the bar, turned them over and snapped another, then sent the images to Paul from the pawn shop two blocks down, who knew more about collector coins than she did.

“Nope.”

“... Is that a camera?” He wanted to know before shooting the whiskey. Then he frowned at the glass. “... What kinda…?”

“Sure.” Shrugging she said, “You don’t like Jack? I got Jim, Jameson, Makers, Crown, Johnnie, Wild Turkey… I could probably find some Seagrams for you somewhere…”

She went through the whole shelf without finding something he liked. Meanwhile Paul was texting back that if the coins were legit, they were in fact worth good money, and that he knew a guy who could take a look at them for her. Curious, she poured the cowboy two fingers of moonshine-- against her better judgement, really, and he announced that it tasted like something he was used to.

“I keep pouring you that, Arthur, it’s gonna be a short night for you and a long one for me.” “Ah…” He waved off her concern, but admitted he’d like to try the Jim Bean again.

She recognized he was drunk when he pointed at her arm and said, “... What’s all over yer skin…?”

“You mean my tattoos?”

“‘Tattoos’?” He echoed, as if tasting the shape of the word, trying to find out if he liked it or not, “... So yer a sailor?”

“What?”

“A criminal?”

“Excuse you?”

“Well you ain’t a princess…” And he grinned at her.

It was the nicest thing anybody had ever said to her, really.

“Only sailors, criminals, an’ royals-- or folk tryin’ t’copy royals have tattoos, I hear tell…” He explained.

She leaned on her elbows, running her fingers along the dark, twisting lines of ink on her forearm, “Well, Arthur, you heard wrong. Lots of people have tattoos. You probably passed three parlors on the way here.” “... Strange town you got here…” He confessed, brow furrowing as he fiddled with his glass.

“I guess. Usually it’s pretty boring,” She raised her hand in a wave as Oscar stumbled out into the night, mumbling about his ride.

“Sure.”

The drinks had relaxed him and put some color back in his face, but she couldn’t help but think she was pouring whiskey for a deeply traumatized man, and that she ought to maybe be calling an ambulance or a police car instead.

“Think we better call it a night,” Roger said, climbing to his feet along with Dick.

Standing back upright, she went for the register, “I’ll close out your tab then.”

They shuffled out their payment-- Roger always paid with Visa, Dick always paid cash-- and Roger kept his eye on Arthur who paid him no mind while Dick leaned in toward her, eyes wide and serious.

“You gonna be okay here, Cat?”

She smiled and patted his arm with her other hand while taking his cash. They were nice men, both of them with kids not too much younger than herself. While they often came here together to get away from the noise of their respective houses, they still insisted on trying to quietly look after her. Whether that was for sentimental reasons, or just to preserve the sanctity of their bar, she didn’t dare say for sure.

“What was that li’l thing…?” The cowboy asked her after the old regulars had left, leaving her alone with him at the bar.

“What do you mean?”

“That mean-faced feller gave you a thing… Din’t look like no money…”

“You mean his credit card?”

Waving his hand at her, Arthur pushed his glass forward, “... Credit from a bank? With a card? Can you buy drinks wit’ that?”

“Credit from a lending company-- Wait, okay… seriously.” She laughed at herself, “Arthur, what’s your deal?”

“Whad’ya mean?”

“It’s a good act, partner, but it’s gotten a little stale. I’m about to close up the bar, so you’ll have to mosey on somewhere else for the night…”

“... Weren’t aware I was puttin’ on…” He sighed and shook his head, “...Y’know a place… a… a hotel or someplace?”

“Sure. Two or three right around here, closer to the freeway.”

“... Freeway?”

“This is what I’m talking about Arthur,” She rolled her eyes, “You know what a freeway is. Do you have some modern money to close out your tab? I can take anything except a check…”

Frustration started to crease his brow, “Th’hell you mean ‘modern money’?”

“Money from this century, cowboy.”

His finger jabbed the bar wood with a thud by where she’d left the trade dollar coins, “These is from this century!”

Looking him in the eye, she was aware once again of the lucidity in them. He was drunk, not crazy. Or if he was crazy, it was a deep-seated crazy he’d operated all his life with. He also thoroughly believed in the veracity of his words.

“... Arthur, no hotel is going to accept this money. I can’t put this money in the register.”

“Why the hell not?!”

“Because it’s over a hundred years old.”

“What the hell is wrong wit’-- What are you playin’ at?!” His fingers scrambled a minute before he picked up one of the coins to try and read the date, squinting at it in the light and his drunkenness, “... Th-this says ‘1883’. It’s only seven years old!”

“...Okay.” She said simply, blinking at him. “Forget the tab. I’m closing.”

He watched her at the register as she closed out the log, swiping her own credit card to zero out the balance. Clark was going to give her hell about it, but it was just easier.

She’d gambled and it was only right she paid for her losses.

Arthur was still watching her as she started to wipe down the counter for the final time of the night, so she looked at him. “You need to go.”

“... Right. Sure. Thank you… for the drinks…” Unsteadily, he pushed away from the counter, turned around… and couldn’t seem to find the door again. “Um…”

“Oh boy… Come on.”

She walked him out, and he went docilely enough. The Dandy Bear opened out into the alley, and he still seemed lost, so she pointed him toward the main street and stood there to watch and make sure he left.

He made it to the corner, almost swaggered into oncoming traffic, stumbled back and fell on his ass. Cursing to herself, she hurried over to make sure he wasn’t hurt and to pull him to his feet. She really should have called the cops earlier…

“Are you hurt?”

Slowly, in ratcheting movements of his neck, the cowboy looked at her, though his haunted blue eyes seemed to look past her. He looked at the headlights of the next car coming through, at the buildings towering high above, and then finally at her again. “... My Lord…” He murmured gravely, “... This is Hell. I’m in Hell…”

“Not quite…” She sighed. “Come on. Stand up.”

After getting him up, he took hold of both of her arms, his hands careful, as if he couldn’t trust his own strength, “... Get me outta here, miss.”

She knew that sentiment. She knew that in her bones. In the depths of whatever soul she might have.

Get me outta here...

That was how he ended up in her apartment, she figured.

It was a weird night. She couldn’t explain her logic to herself, it just felt like something she needed to do. It just felt right that she bring this crazy man home and dump him in her bathroom. Her family always said she had a self-destructive streak.

He stared open-mouthed at the tile and porcelain, doing a bit of a double-take in the mirror on the wall.

“Get yourself washed up. I’ll get you a towel.” She instructed.

“... What?”

“Please take a goddamn shower so you don’t make my place smell like death warmed over?”

“... Miss I…” He gestured at the room, then at her, “...I dunno what yer… tellin’ me…”

“...Okay.” She replied in an even tone, “Let’s take this slow, then… You need to wash. So I’m going to let you use my shower. Over there.” She indicated the shower stall with the curtain pulled aside, “The plumbing is pretty decent in this building, thank God. So see this? This turns the water on…”

She demonstrated, and obediently, water started coming out of the shower head. Arthur stared at it, then asked, “... Somebody pouring…?”

“What? No. It’s the plumbing… The pipes in the walls… Is this seriously a conversation-- Nevermind. No. Nobody is pouring. Look, you can control the temperature of the water that comes out. This way for hot… This way for cold. To turn it off, you just push it back in like this.”

“... It’s amazin’!”

“... Sure, cowboy. Think you can handle that?”

“Sure, I guess…”

“Great. I’ll find you a bar of soap and a washcloth because I don’t have the energy to try and explain shower gel…”

“... ‘Shower ge’--”

“Exactly. What about shampoo?”

His blank look told her all she needed to know, “... It’s soap for your hair. Comes in a small bottle. I’ll bring you some. Put it in your hand, massage it into your scalp, rinse it out. You won’t need a lot.”

She paused, “... You do know how to use soap, right?”

He scowled at her, “Of course I know how to use soap, what do you take me for?”

“... At this point, I have no idea…”

He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. She rubbed her hands together, “... Anyway, I’ll go get that stuff…”

#my mic #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #time travel au #in which Arthur equates the future of the world to actual Hell #but at least he might finally get stinkin' rich

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