#after I take a nap.. perhaps pirate AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hongism · 4 years ago

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 31

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 9.4k (._.) ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act four ➻ part six

“Need help with the dishes?” The voice catches off-guard, and you nearly chuck the ceramic plate in your hands across the cramped kitchen in your surprise.

“Shit, you scared — oh.” You don’t mean to sound so shocked but seeing San standing beside you at the sink is the last thing you were expecting. He just offers a weak smile, one that is strained and wavering but present nonetheless, and that gives you a little bit of hope about the ensuing conversation. He has effectively cornered you, and while you could make a daring escape and leave him to do the dishes on his own, that would be both suspicious and unnecessary when San isn’t showing any signs of anger at the moment.

“Is that a yes or no?”

“Oh, um, be my guest, yeah. I’d… I’d appreciate the help,” you mutter, pulling your chin forward again to focus on the steady stream of water from the faucet. San settles next to you without missing a beat; he snatches up a dish towel and begins to take the dishes you’ve set out on the drying rack, carefully drying each one with methodical twists of his wrists. You aren’t sure how best to make conversation with him given the tense exchange you had earlier, so you opt to say nothing at all in hopes that San will be the one to initiate the confrontation. It works in your favor (the only thing on your side at the moment it seems) and after a few minutes of awkward silence, San finally speaks up.

“Earlier… when we were on the mission, I – I was unfair to you.”

“You were well within your right, San,” you respond as quickly as possible, not giving yourself a chance to think twice.

“That doesn’t mean it was right.”

“I don’t hold it against you.” You pause to heave a deep sigh. You’re running out of dishes far too quickly which means that you’ll actually have to face San rather than hiding as best you can with the dishes in the sink. “To be frank, I figured you would still be upset with me.”

“I don’t think I realized the weight of the decision on your shoulders,” San explains. Ceramic hits metal before he can speak again, and you both tense from the sharpness of the sound. San inhales with the noise then shifts the plate he just hit on the side of the counter to set it down properly. “We put the responsibility on your shoulders because you’re the only one who knew of the serum and experienced it firsthand. Looking back, it seems foolish of me to say that I should make the decision rather than Mingi. Not because he made the decision I wanted but… because the moral weight of choice is heavier than what’s good and what’s not. At least it should be.”

You set the plate in your hands down to face San, twisting at the waist at the same time he does, and the sudden eye contact causes your mind to go completely blank in the blink of an eye.

“Uh…” Squeezing your eyes shut, you desperately attempt to bring the thought back but it’s already too far gone and you’ve forgotten it completely. San offers a patient and gentle smile, eyes folding into soft crescents as he does, and a quiet laugh slips from his lips.

“Sorry for hitting you with the heavy stuff right after dinner. I just didn’t want to let it sit and stew for too long.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I don’t mind. I’m – well, I’m a bit curious about something.” you shut the water off for the time being so that you can better focus on the conversation at hand, and the remaining dirty dishes lie forgotten in the sink.

“What’s that?” San tilts his head to the side. You find yourself distracted by the way a few strands of black hair slip to frame his forehead and how his dimples slip away as his smile fades a bit, but you’re quick to pull yourself back.

“Yesterday you asked me whether I would be okay with using the serum if you asked for it. But I wanted to know… if our positions were switched, would you be okay with it?”

“You mean if I were the one who had already taken it once before?” San inquires, head falling further to the side. You’re quick to nod in response, and he follows up with a gentle hum. “I can’t pretend to know what that experience was like for you or how deeply it affected you. If I were the one who had used it before, and I was aware of it like you, I know that I would be selfish at the end of the day. I have mentioned it before but I wish to cling to you for as long as I can. And though it’s – though it goes against my morals, I would not want you to take the serum because I can’t bear the thought of you forgetting who I am and how I feel about you. I know that sounds a bit bold, especially given your relations with Seonghwa, but… I would say the same to any member of the crew — save for Yeosang perhaps. You all are special and valuable to me in unique ways, and the thought of any of you losing any memory we share is too much for me.”

Your breath catches a bit in your throat, and San’s kind smile returns in full force. When you next speak, it doesn’t feel as though the words are coming from your mouth at all, but more like someone has taken over your body and decided to say them instead.

“Would you expect the same of me in return?”

“I would only ask that which I would ask any of the crew. To do what is right by your own standards and not by anyone else’s. We’ve all been slaves to other people’s whims and desires for too long. I would never wish to put anyone through that again, and even something as simple as pushing my opinion onto you would be unfair. It may be in our nature as living, rational beings to seek out the things that bring us the most comfort and to try to create a space around us that provides that comfort. Thus we are by nature selfish and striving towards personal satisfaction. We can’t break free of that selfishness unless we really stop to think about things. Hongjoong told me that once, and it hasn’t left me since.”

“Ah, so he can be reasonable,” you remark through a small smile, breaking a bit of the heaviness lingering in the air around you two. San laughs in response.

“Only when he’s sober and fully rested, but he’s rarely not one of those things.”

“Hey, Y/N, I brought more dishes for you to—oh I didn’t know you were in here too.” Both you and San whip to face the newcomer as he steps into the already cramped kitchen.

“Oh, hell no, Choi Jongho, I am not washing all those dishes for you!” You protest immediately upon seeing the stack of plates and bowls in his hands.

“What do you mean you won’t? It’s not even that hard! Seonghwa’s food doesn’t stick to the plates. All you have to do is give it a quick scrub!”

“Okay, then you do it!”

“Why would I do it?”

“You just said it’s easy! That’s basically signing up to do dishes.” You jab a finger in Jongho’s direction before he can say anything else and effectively shush him.

“She’s got you there,” San chimes in. Jongho rolls his eyes in response but comes closer to the sink to take your place.

“This is just mean. I’m the only one here who hasn’t had a nap today, and yet I’m being forced to stay up later? Disgusting,” Jongho huffs through his teeth. You pat his shoulder with a thin smile before stepping around him to leave the kitchen.

“Don’t pout so much, Jongho. I’ll stick around to dry the dishes for you.” Jongho merely grumbles in response to San’s offer, earning himself a sharp slap to the back of the head. “Ungrateful little shit.”

“Bigger than you th–”

“Oh, so you want to do them alone now?” San scoffs. You laugh over your shoulder before stepping out of the kitchen to return to the mess hall. It’s cleared out considerably already; Wooyoung and Yeosang have disappeared, as has Mingi, and the only two left are Yunho and Seonghwa, who stand at the edge of the room engaged in a conversation that’s loud enough for you to hear even at your distance from them.

“Would you go up to check on Hongjoong? At least make sure he sleeps even for an hour tonight?” Seonghwa asks, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the bridge.

“You’re not going back up tonight?”

“No, contrary to popular belief, I actually need rest too so I’ll be turning in earlier tonight.”

“Hm, unbelievable,” Yunho huffs, but there’s a small smile pressed over his lips as he says the words. His gaze flits away from Seonghwa’s face to find you standing at the edge of the kitchen, and in an instant, his expression shifts to one of surprise then a hurried glance down to the floor the moment you make eye contact. Seonghwa mimics the motion of his eyes, following their path back to you. He passes you a soft smile, and you return it with your own strained one, too focused on Yunho at the moment. The doctor continues to avoid your stare though and drags his attention back to Seonghwa instead. “Um, yeah, I’ll go up and see him. We’re long overdue for a talk anyway.”

“A talk?” You can’t see Seonghwa’s expression but the tone of his voice tells you enough, and Yunho sucks his lower lip between his teeth before tilting his head to the side.

“Is that jealousy I hear, Lieutenant?” He arches a brow as he speaks, arms coming up to cross over his chest in an almost defensive manner.

“Are you trying to pick a fight, Healer?” Seonghwa counters. The lightness in the conversation disappears in an instant, and Yunho’s eyes blaze at the accusation hurled his way. “I’d advise you not to comment on things you don’t understand, Yunho. You might be a doctor, but that doesn’t mean you know everything. It’s no good to be so deceived by those things, no?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you’re the one trying to start a fight, Seonghwa.”

“Merely reminding you not to cross certain lines. I believe we had discussed that in the past already, and yet… here we find ourselves having to have this conversation again.”

“And I thought you learned your lesson when Hongjoong threatened to put you out the airlock.” Yunho’s tone is far too hot and scathing for your liking, and you shrink further back against the wall in an attempt to hide yourself as best you can. He seems to have forgotten about your presence already in the heat of the argument, which you’re thankful for but you don’t feel any more comfortable being stuck in the room. Especially because of what happens next when Seonghwa’s hand darts out to catch hold of Yunho’s collar. He swivels the taller man as though he weighs nothing and presses him hard against the wall. The impact is enough to draw a grunt out of Yunho but he keeps his head up to glare back at Seonghwa.

“I wasn’t the one who started fucking someone else less than a month later. I guess you both have that in common then. Did you even wait for the ashes to grow cold before you were rolling around in the captain’s bed like some cheap wh—”

Seonghwa doesn’t get to finish the thought, and part of you is grateful that you don’t have to hear the rest of it. The other half is horrified because Yunho’s fist careens into Seonghwa’s jaw, knocking him off the taller man. Yunho swings a kick at Seonghwa’s feet next to push him all the way to the floor, but the other man is too quick and shoves Yunho’s leg away before it can hit him.

“I’m not going to fight you, Yunho,” Seonghwa hisses, slipping further back to put more distance between him and the healer.

“Then let me beat you up for having the audacity to act like you know what I was going through!”

“Yet you stand here and act like I’m the bad guy and the one who did the wrong thing in saying that his obsession was killing him.”

Yunho forces his way back into Seonghwa’s personal space, chest heaving as he brings his hands up to the other man and shoves harshly. Seonghwa manages to maintain his balance and stay on his feet despite the force behind the attack, but that only serves to anger Yunho more because he sneers and repeats the motion once more to knock Seonghwa into a table. Seonghwa grabs onto the edge of the metal to stabilize himself. Yunho takes advantage of the distraction and swings his fist back into Seonghwa’s face, hitting him across the cheekbone this time, and the hit is so hard that blood comes off on Yunho’s knuckles when he pulls his hand back.

The sight of crimson spurs you into action, and you push off the wall to rush over to where Yunho has Seonghwa pinned against the table.

“Yunho, that’s enough!” You cut in, reaching out to snatch Yunho’s arm before he can deliver another hit. He fights against your tight grip to the best of his ability and manages to pull free only to swing his hand back at you. You barely register what happens next but Seonghwa’s reaction is clue enough to help you figure it out, along with the burning sting across your left cheek. Seonghwa shoves Yunho’s weight off him, and the taller man stumbles back in shock. He blinks down at his hand as though he can’t believe what he’s just done, but you have no time to pay attention to that because Seonghwa steps in front of you, hands coming up to cradle your face.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need ice?” He rambles as he examines your cheek with a worried gaze. It’s as though the blood on his own cheek doesn’t exist and he just continues to thumb over your face.

“I-I didn’t mean to — I swear, I promise I wasn’t thinki–”

“Fuck off, Yunho,” Seonghwa hisses over his shoulder. “Before we both do something we regret.”

Yunho leaves the room in the direction of the bridge in a way you can only compare to a wounded dog scampering off with his tail between his legs, and once he’s completely gone from sight, the adrenaline of the moment begins to wear off. You release a shaky exhale, nearly trembling in Seonghwa’s grasp. He swallows once.

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved,” he murmurs a few seconds later.

“And let him beat you to a pulp the day before a mission? I think not.” You reach up to grab onto one of Seonghwa’s hands, pulling it away from your face.

“I would have been fine. You, on the other hand—”

“What?” You interject. You have to bite back the sigh that threatens to leave your lips. “On the other hand what? I’m fragile?”

“That’s not – I didn’t it like that. Please… Y/N, please don’t fight with me on this. That’s not my intention.” Seonghwa clenches his fingers around the ones that still reside against his palm, and you let him cling to you without complaint for the time being. “Had he done anything more to hurt you, I fear what I might have done in response, and I – I truly did not want to fight with him. I let my emotions get the better of me in the heat of the moment.”

“What’s done is done, Seonghwa,” you mutter in response. “Let me at least clean your cheek and get some ice on it. It’ll do you no good to have a swollen face tomorrow.” Seonghwa huffs out a laugh but lets his hands fall away from you and rest limply by his sides.

“If it makes you feel better, then you can do whatever you like.” You can’t keep from smiling at his words, the soft smile he wears easing your anxiety quite a bit, and you shake your head.

“Don’t tell me that. Who knows what unsavory things I could come up with?” You tease through a laugh.

“I’d hope for at least a few ideas.”

“Okay, tiger, maybe you got hit a bit too hard.” You swat weakly at Seonghwa’s arm as he just chuckles and pulls away to move towards the exit. You fall into step with him, gnawing at your lower lip for no other reason than to busy yourself as the two of you walk to the medbay. “You don’t—” you cut yourself short before the thought can finish and bite down hard on the tip of your tongue. Seonghwa blinks down at you with expectation shining clearly in his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to but… what exactly was it you two were arguing about?”

Seonghwa hums to himself and glances down at the floor for several moments before lifting his chin again.

“I have never attempted to purposefully hide it from you as that would hardly be fair to you. But I can explain things better once we’re in the medbay.”

You nod quickly, gaze trailing over the side of Seonghwa’s profile in your peripheral. He doesn’t offer further conversation, but it’s clear that that is only because he is deep in thought on the short walk to the medbay. Even as you step into the blindingly white room, he stays quiet and seats himself on the edge of one of the beds while you busy yourself with searching for supplies to clean his bleeding cheek. You come back to him after grabbing some soap and a bottle of water then set a pack of white cleaning pads next to him on the bed. He shifts his chin to expose his cheek further to you. You murmur a quiet thank you, fingers dancing over his face to keep him in place. Whether by instinct or intention, Seonghwa’s hands dart up to secure on your hips. He keeps you firmly set between his knees, and you try your best to ignore the sudden tightness in your chest as he holds you.

“Hongjoong and I…” Seonghwa starts, his tone so quiet that it is nearly drowned out by the hum of the air conditioner. You wet one of the cotton rounds in silence. You don’t dare to look him in the eye, focusing on the task at hand while he continues to speak. “We used to be in a special sort of relationship. We weren’t romantically or sexually involved right off the bat – it took quite some time for that to happen. In fact, it was only after there was a mutiny that we decided to explore those parts of our relationship, and initially, it was just my way of offering him comfort in the aftermath of that mess. Things, of course, got more complicated as feelings arose on my side. I found myself to be quite jealous in certain regards, and that jealousy blinded me to the bigger picture more often than not.”

You drag the damp round over Seonghwa’s cheekbone, and he winces from the impact.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter quickly, pulling your hand back, but Seonghwa reaches up to guide your hand back to his cheek.

“It’s fine. You can continue.” You nod through a rough swallow. As you continue to wipe at his cheek, Seonghwa continues with his story. “The man who led the mutiny was… Hongjoong’s lover to put it simply. I had always loved Hongjoong but it wasn’t anything more than a platonic love until after we started having relations. He wasn’t ready to let go of the past though, and I-I was blindsided by jealousy one night to a point where I threw out some of that man’s belongings one day. When Hongjoong found out, he was furious, of course, and that was the first and only time we had a physical fight. That’s what Yunho was referring to when he mentioned Hongjoong threatening to kick me off the ship and into space. Even after we recovered from that struggle, it never stopped because Hongjoong would tear himself apart over the mutiny. He got more and more obsessed in the next couple of months, and I decided that I couldn’t handle it any longer. So I gave him an ultimatum: stop being sexually involved with each other or stop being involved altogether. It’s clear which option he chose.”

“I sense a ‘however’…” You murmur, leaning back to admire your work on his cheek. Seonghwa huffs out a laugh, and his fingers twitch against your waist.

“Less than a month later Hongjoong was fucking Yunho right under my nose without a care in the world.” You inhale sharply, fingers wavering against Seonghwa’s jawline. “Didn’t even care that I knew, didn’t care to hide it from me, didn’t see any issue with it at all. On one hand, it felt like a jab at me for catching feelings the way I did because he could just… fuck around with Yunho and separate emotions from it whereas I couldn’t. But then I confronted Yunho about it, and he told me that Hongjoong only ever asked for sex when he couldn’t get out of his own head. Needed someone to fuck his thoughts out of him. I was glad that I didn’t have to be that person for him out of a selfish desire to preserve myself but… I was used to being the one who had the duty of protecting him and helping him through whatever issues he was having. It just took a look time to work through that on my own, and I couldn’t very well ask Yunho to talk about it with me because of a misguided arrogance.”

“Do you…” You lose confidence halfway through the question, and your tone falls flat. Seonghwa waits without saying a word for you to continue the thought. “Do you still love him?”

“Not in that way any longer,” Seonghwa whispers. His lips barely move, but you hear the words as clear as day. “I see the parts of him that I loved elsewhere now… but I’m quickly finding new things to love in that same place that I couldn’t see in him.”

Your jaw stutters dumbly as you try to process the words.

“Oh,” you exhale, too overwhelmed to come up with anything else.

“And if she would let me, I would do my best to show her new things to love in me as well.”

“I… is there another w-woman on the crew I don’t know about?”

Seonghwa smiles. His teeth bite into his lower lip as he struggles to hold back a smile, and his hands slip further around you to hold you tighter. You only realize how dumb your question sounds at that moment.

“I, um, I me-meant tha—” The tightness in your chest is too intense for you to finish your sentence, and the weight of his words hit you full force at last. You don’t even realize that tears have begun to fall until Seonghwa’s brows knit together in concern and one of his hands reaches up to brush them off your cheeks.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay, Y/N,” Seonghwa murmurs. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, Y/N, what’s going on?”

You need to communicate, to explain to him what’s going on in your head in words and be honest with him, but every word feels like lead on your tongue. Your lips are wobbling as you cradle Seonghwa’s face in your hands, eyes scanning his face in search of answers to all the questions running through your mind. At one point you truly thought that you saw Jisung in Seonghwa and that that was the only reason you felt yourself so drawn to him. Yet standing here the way you are now, you cannot see even an ounce of similarity between him and Jisung. Even the endless care Seonghwa provides for you is far different than the kind Jisung gave you. You cannot reason why Seonghwa pulls your heartstrings in such a way, but it’s only now that you realize that it has nothing to do with Jisung in any way.

“A-As much as I – as much as I don’t w-want to let go of the past, I… I find myself wanting to move forward… to you. I want y-you.”

“Then I’m yours for as long as you want me, and I won’t go anywhere until then.”

“I swear on my life that I’ll never leave you.”

“Don’t promise not to leave.” Your words come out in a rush, but Seonghwa understands them nonetheless. Your eyes flutter shut as you speak your next words. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, just… tell me that you’re here. For now. For as long as it lasts.”

Before you know it, Seonghwa’s breath invades yours, and you feel the heat of his lips centimeters away from yours.

“I’m here now, Y/N.” You can hear the unspoken words on his lips, the promises that wish to spill out about how he won’t leave you and how he will stay, but he does exactly as you asked him to do and doesn’t let those empty promises reach the air between you.

“Show me,” you whisper without hesitation. That’s all the incentive Seonghwa needs to slot his lips against yours and suck the breath from your lungs as you exhale into his mouth. And when his hands slip down your back to hook around your thighs, you welcome it, letting him pull you forward until you are seated comfortably on his lap. You can’t even bring yourself to care that you are in the medbay of all places — a place far from the security that a bedroom would provide — but the enticement of Seonghwa’s lips pushes that thought out of your mind.

It’s almost poetic in a way: the way Seonghwa shifts to ease you back against the pillows of the bed and snakes his hands down to the band of your pants, tugging them lower and lower until you’re shed of them completely. It’s just as your first time together and yet the feeling behind it is so vastly different that you can hardly wrap your mind around it. And while he doesn’t take the time to drag his tongue over your folds this time, he does pepper the insides of your thighs with endless kisses and press two fingers to your entrance once he has rid himself of his own pants as well. Once he has pushed himself back up to be eye level with you again, you greet him with a kiss, tongue slipping between his lips in a rush to taste him. He hums into your mouth, and you can feel the corners of his mouth pulling upward as he smiles a bit.

“Hurry up,” you mutter, separating your lips with a wet pop.

“Always in such a rush, princess.” The nickname sends a surge of warmth through your chest, and you can’t keep from huffing out a laugh.

“You only say that because you’re so slow, pretty boy.” Seonghwa presses his lips back to yours as a counterattack, and he slips his fingers out from your core. Next thing you know, he is teasing your folds with the head of his cock, lips leaving yours for a moment as he hesitates there.

“Give me permission,” he murmurs. His eyes search yours for any sign of denial, and you hook a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down until his forehead collides with yours.

“It’s already yours.” With that, he buries himself all the way to the hilt in one quick thrust, and your lips part to release a silent cry of pleasure. Seonghwa braces his hands on either side of your head, palms sinking into the pillows and causing you to sink further back against the bed. He moves with you, and his weight pins you to the mattress. You give him a breathless command to continue his movements, which he follows like it’s the only thing that matters. And in the moment, it does feel like it’s the only thing that matters because all you can feel is Seonghwa. He rocks his hips against yours, member sliding over your velveteen walls with just the right amount of friction, and each thrust puts stars in your vision.

It’s a blinding pleasure that the two of you chase, a pleasure that is only heightened by the warmth of the emotion in your chest, and Seonghwa lets his eyes flutter shut as he fucks you. Whispered praises fall from his lips, and they’re spoken with such care and gentleness that you almost find yourself getting emotional again.

“So beautiful–” he shifts to kiss the apple of your cheek “–so, ah, perfect. You’re so so perfect, princess.” You moan loud into the shell of his ear, a sound that causes visible goosebumps to rush over his skin and a throaty groan to tear from his lips. The slight growl to his tone has you clenching hard around his cock, and a burst of arousal shoots through you. It nearly brings you to the precipice of pleasure but you force it down so that you can hold it off just a little while longer. Seonghwa sits up, and the warmth of his body leaves yours as he slips his hands down to your hips and kneels over you. He pulls your body up to meet his thrusts, and you can do nothing but cling to the bedsheets and release small whimpers of pleasure as he hits deeper with each drag of his member inside you.

“S-Seonghwa, oh fuck, I – I’m close, I’m close, I’m close,” you babble, back arching off the bed. Seonghwa dips back down to press a kiss to your sweat-slick temple.

“Cum for me, princess. You have permission.”

“Thank you, th-thank you, thank you.” You fall apart under his touch, eating up every breath of praise he showers you with as you reach your high, and your orgasm crashes hard over you. The clenching of your walls around him spurs him to cum himself, and he exhales a shaky groan as he does. The strength leaves his body at the same time. You can only huff out a gasp as his chest hits yours, arms reaching up to wrap around his neck and hold him close to you in the aftermath of your orgasms.

It creeps up on you as you’re lying there basking in the glow of pleasure. Whereas before you thought you never wanted to experience the feeling again, this time you welcome it and let yourself be surrounded by the warmth it provides along with Seonghwa’s presence filling your every sense. You tangle your fingers in Seonghwa’s hair just to pull him back so that you can look him in the eye.

“D-Do you feel that?” He looks confused for a moment, unsure of both what you mean and what you are trying to say. Then you reach down to place a hand over Seonghwa’s heart that’s guarded by his shirt still, and he seems to understand what you’re after. A gentle smile overtakes his lips.

“I’ve felt it for a long time, Y/N.”

…

Nothing about the situation feels right in the slightest. The tension in your shoulders has reached impossible levels, and you can’t sit still for the life of you even with Wooyoung’s hand gripping your thigh like a vice. Yunho sits to your right although you can’t even bear to look in his direction at the moment, the heated embers from your argument yesterday still smoldering in your gut to a point where you can’t even hear him breathe without feeling enraged. But Wooyoung hasn’t let you go since the moment you sat down, and you can’t blame him because the scenery is far from pleasant.

You have never been to such a place — the arena looks like something straight out of myth with its climbing walls and seats that line the whole circle in rows. Carnage lies far below you, and you are grateful that Hongjoong didn’t ask you to move any lower than you have: a safe midpoint in the seats with a canopy above your heads to shroud the blinding daylight from your eyes. San and Jongho are somewhere across the way, lost in the mess of the crowd and bodies, and Mingi is safely secured in the bunker Seonghwa mentioned previously, according to Jongho. The older Berserker was also apparently more than happy to stay put there but only after Hongjoong agreed to let him have an earpiece of his own so that he could hear what was going on during the mission. While there was no shortage of doubts about that idea, Mingi had assured Hongjoong that he would be safely locked inside the bunker with Bloodletter crew guards just outside the door, and that was all it took for Hongjoong to relent a bit.

The final trio of Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Hongjoong reside closer to the upper edge of the circle. Even at a distance, you can clearly see the wide, extended platform that stretches forward into the arena. It bears a tall gilded throne square in the middle of it, and you’re positive that the man with long white hair sitting atop it is none other than Vladimir the Bloody. He looks quite different than the time you saw him last with his face etched messily onto a bounty paper and dropped before you prior to a mission, but no one else would put himself on such a pedestal other than that man.

“You haven’t aged a day in years, Vlad. I see life has been treating you well then,” Hongjoong greets after a few breaths of silence over the comms channel. He receives a loud scoff in response, and that’s the only sound that echoes over the earpiece for quite some time, nearly drowned out by the ruckus bubbling around you.

“Save the niceties, Kim.” Vladimir’s fingers drum against the side of his armrest, long nails tapping along to no particular rhythm. “You wouldn’t come here for anything less than business.”

“I can’t pay an old friend a visit now and again?”

“Not with those two at your side… tell me – where is your prized Berserker?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.” Hongjoong’s voice comes across a bit more guarded this time, and it’s more than clear who Vlad is referring to despite Hongjoong’s question.

“Come now. We both know which one I’m referring to. Look around us, Hongjoong. This arena, these people, my fighters – they were all built on the blood and bones of the Brute of Kebos. Did you by chance bring him along with you? Or is it merely the three of you?” That last question causes your breath to hitch, and you stop yourself from reaching for Wooyoung’s hand at the last second.

“Of what interest is that to you, Vladimir?”

“Curiosity. Merely that and nothing more.”

“He doesn’t know we’re here,” Wooyoung whispers, leaning closer to you to keep the words as hushed as possible. You shake your head in agreement with his statement, but something about the way Vladimir’s head shifts tells you that he’s searching the arena for any sign of a familiar face amongst the crowd. As do the guards lingering near the edges of each row of seats. You can’t possibly feel safe yet – not when he has so many men watching and lurking around you.

“You’ve done surprisingly well for yourself, I must say.”

“Rearing a new generation of arenas?” Vladimir chuckles as he says the words, white hair billowing around his head. It looks almost transparent in the gleam of the sun, and the canopy above his head must have a hole in it because of the way the light trickles through.

“Striking a deal with the military is far more intriguing,” Hongjoong remarks without missing a beat.

“Look at these people, Hongjoong. They all claim to hate fighting, to run away at the sign of conflict, not be able to stomach the sight of blood, and yet they all find themselves here. Why do you think that is?”

“Because they crave it?”

“They crave control. They see me standing in a place of power, with a grip over life and death… and they crave it, Hongjoong. Just like you and me.”

“You think it’s control I seek?” The question is a farce and you know it, but something tells you that Vladimir is aware of it as well.

“Would you be searching for your mutinous crewmate otherwise?”

Mutinous crewmate.

“There was a mutiny,” Hongjoong states as if it’s the most normal thing in the universe. “They thought that I couldn’t lead and wasn’t suited for it. Mingi killing Cass only solidified those feelings. My highest in command after Seonghwa led the mutiny. Before he left the ship with half the crew, he swore that he would get the treasure first along with the Sirens.”

“I need information. I need to know who my information broker really was, why they lied, why I was given a dead lead, and where the hell Jin is right now. Be it luck or fate, Y/N has given us precious time to get the answers to these questions. If anyone is going to have those answers, it’s going to be Vladimir.”

“Ah, so you do know why I’m here.”

“As unhappy as it might make you, you are quite an easy man to read, Kim. And yet despite all your desires for control, you still fail to grasp it. I wonder — is it because you’re a failure? Or because of something else?”

You can’t see what Hongjoong is doing from your vantage point, but he doesn’t offer up a response. Yunho shifts beside you, a creak to the wood legs of his chair and gaze still glued to anything but the arena down below. Then —

“After all this time, you still look at your damn lieutenant the same way.” A breath of hesitation, and you choke on air at his next words. “Like he’s your treasure.”

“I came here for business, Vladimir,” Hongjoong hisses out, but it’s too late to keep anyone from hearing what Vladimir has said.

“I know you did. You want information. Information I cannot provide.” Hongjoong scoffs at that.

“What’s your cost? Name the price and it’s yours.”

A shrill laugh echoes through your headset. The hand clasped over your thigh tightens a little, and you find your own hand sneaking towards it with a sudden churning of anxiety in your gut.

“What I want isn’t money, Kim. What I want is your prized Berserker down in my arena.”

The pit in your stomach deepens to an impossible degree. Wooyoung stretches a hand towards yours, moving off your thigh to clasp your palm tightly.

“No. Not a chance.”

“Then I suppose your information isn’t so valuable after all.” Vladimir leans back in his throne, dipping out of the streams of light to be concealed by the shadows once more.

“Why do you want him so desperately?”

“Because, Hongjoong, I am just like each and every single one of these people. I crave it. To control that beast.”

“He isn’t yours to control.”

“And I suppose he is yours? Hongjoong, you’re a mystery to me. I’d think that after all those years in chains, you would see freedom differently.” Vladimir sighs a clear and defined sound that comes across in an almost condescending way.

“Freedom is a farce.”

“No, freedom is what you make of it. In my eyes, only one thing can truly be freedom, and that is death. We are never free from our chains, Hongjoong. They stay with us until we die. That’s the meaning of freedom and the meaning of death.”

Vladimir moves slowly, but his bright regalia gives away his shifting feet as he stands up and approaches the balcony, red cloak billowing behind him like a bloody shadow. A dark hand rises, glove masking the skin underneath, and he extends it out towards the crowd.

“Would that I could grant everyone that freedom.”

The cacophony of shouts heightens as he draws all fingers into a tight fist and straightens his thumb.

“You expect me to be cruel, Hongjoong, because you believe everyone to be cruel. You hope for them to be cruel so that you can have an excuse for being that way yourself. I’m afraid life doesn’t work that way though. I am not cruel. I am the body and the hand of the people. An instrument of their desires.” He tilts his hand, a blurry and hazy movement given the distance. “Their song in the silence.” The screams halt as though by cue. Bated breaths holding onto nothing except one man’s hand. “Their light in the darkness.” He jerks and points his thumb to the ground. The din resumes in an instant. “I am their voice, Hongjoong. Merely that and nothing more. Whether you consider that to be cruel or not… it is on your shoulders.”

“If it is blood you want, then put me down there.”

Yunho looks up for the first time, eyes staring directly at the seat where Hongjoong sits as still as ever. Wooyoung lurches as well, and his hand squeezes almost painfully around your thigh.

“Hongjoong, no–” Seonghwa’s voice is the one to cut across the feed, but Hongjoong doesn’t let him continue the thought.

“Take me in Mingi’s stead.” The words feel almost heavy on your ears.

“Ah. What an intriguing turn of events. What could you possibly offer me that that Berserker could not, Hongjoong? Do not pretend to be anything more than an ant among giants when it comes to my gladiators.”

“You said it yourself. It’s about control. Not about winning or losing. Control.”

“You would hand your life over that easily? I should’ve tried this years ago.”

“When I come out of there alive, then you will give me every last bit of information I desire,” Hongjoong demands, not wavering in the face of Vladimir’s mockery.

“That confidence hasn’t left you a day in your life, has it? Still… I’ll accept your offer.”

“No,” Yunho exhales, hands gripping the arms of his chair so tight that his knuckles go white. “He can’t be serious. He can’t be doing this. It’s – it’s suicide.”

“Come out alive, Kim Hongjoong, and I will give you all the answers you seek. Should you die, I will grant the rest of your crew safe passage back to your ship, as well as deliver your body to them untouched. Would it be that this is a fitting end for you, Scourge of the Black Sea.”

“We have to go. We have to stop him before he does this!” Yunho exclaims. He pulls himself to his feet, forgoing the people around you in favor of his urgency.

“Yunho… we can’t,” you utter. Defeat radiates through your tone. The odds of Hongjoong coming out of that hellhole are slim to none. Yet the odds of you guys stopping him from going in there are even lower.

“My men will escort you down to prepare for your fight. Do not expect me to be easy on you when I select your opponent.”

“That’s the thing, Vlad. I have your gladiator.”

“What is he saying? Has he gone fucking insane? Is that what this is?” You tug on Yunho’s sleeve gently in an attempt to urge the man to sit back down.

“I will fight for myself down in the arena, and my opponent shall be my own Berserker, Jongho.”

“You've truly lost your mind then, is that it? You would pit yourself – someone as weak and fragile as yourself – against a Berserker? Not only that, but one of the most dangerous Berserkers in the universe?”

“Yes, I would. Because that's the only way you would agree to these terms, isn't it?”

“How very insightful of you, Hongjoong,” Vladimir hums. “You are absolutely correct.”

“My men and I will be heading down now. You can save your escorts for our return.”

“Hm, I would advise you to be wary, Kim. An ego like that makes for an even harsher fall. You would be wise not to gloat too much before your fight. Nonetheless, I look forward to seeing you test your mettle in my arena. An ode to older times, no?”

Hongjoong leaves the man without another response, and Vladimir must not be pressing for one because he lets Hongjoong turn on his heel and leave without a fight. The silence that ensues is so thick and palpable that you nearly choke on it, and it lasts for far too long before Seonghwa’s voice is ringing harshly in your ears.

“You have legitimately lost your mind this time, Hongjoong,” he hisses out, and though the words are spoken in spite, you can clearly hear the wavering tone of worry in them.

“I have a plan.”

“To die?”

“Teams, reconvene at the base tunnel of the arena. Just follow the smell of blood and you’ll be able to find it without any trouble.” That order brings you to your feet in a heartbeat, and Wooyoung’s hand falls away from your leg as you rush to stand up. He stares a bit blankly up at you, body refusing to move from its place on the bench, and you grab for his hand to yank him upward.

“We have to go, Wooyoung,” you urge. Wooyoung nods but still he doesn’t budge, eyes glazed and hazy as he struggles to come back to reality. “Wooyoung, please.”

“I… Y/N, I-I…”

Whatever thoughts are running through his head die on his lips because he can’t manage to finish the sentence. You tug him to his feet with a bit more force, and he finally relents enough to get up and follow you. Yunho has already gotten to his feet and started making his way to the end of the row, and you trail after him with hurried steps. Your heart is thrumming hard against the confines of your chest, beating like a drum in your ears. All you can see is the broad expanse of Yunho’s back as you walk behind him, and you frankly have no idea if he knows where he’s headed but you still follow him blindly. Wooyoung shifts his hand to fit into yours. His fingers slip between yours, and you cling to the warmth just as hard as he does. It’s only when you start descending the stairs to reach the place where you entered earlier that Wooyoung decides to speak again, although part of you wishes he hadn’t said anything simply because of how heartbreaking his words are.

“I c-can’t watch him die, Y/N.” You twist to look him in the eye, regretting it in an instant, but you push through the pain of seeing his trembling lip and watering eyes.

“You won’t have to.”

It could be a lie for all you know but it’s enough for the time being, and Wooyoung falls silent to let you continue to pull him along. San and Jongho are waiting for you at the mouth of the tunnel, eyes wide and unblinking as the three of you step down the last of the stairs to meet up with them. There is no sign of Hongjoong and the others yet, but you know that it’s only a temporary relief for whatever hell is about to come.

Yunho steps in front of Jongho, hands coming to rest on the young Berserker’s shoulders. “Jongho—”

“Don’t,” Jongho interjects. “Don’t even try to say anything.”

“No, it isn’t fair of him to put you in this position. He shouldn’t—”

“Shouldn’t what?”

Again Yunho does not get to finish the thought, but this time it isn’t Jongho who interrupts him. You turn to face the source of the voice, knowing full well who it is, but seeing the captain standing at the edge of the stairs with his hand loosely gripping the wall does nothing to ease your worries. Yunho’s gaze softens minimally upon seeing Hongjoong. He doesn’t let it last long before the fire returns to his stare. Hongjoong doesn’t waver in the slightest.

“Shouldn’t force Jongho to fight you like this!”

“You think we haven’t had this conversation before?” Hongjoong asks, arching a brow in Yunho’s direction. He steps closer to the five of you. Seonghwa and Yeosang trail in behind him, and the moment the latter comes into sight, Wooyoung drops your hand to rush to his side. He hits Yeosang hard, nearly toppling him over with the force of his body, but the blond manages to catch his weight with little struggle and latches onto his waist with one arm. Hongjoong motions towards Jongho – a single dismissive wave that lasts less than a second. “We discussed this yesterday after you all left the bridge.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me — the rest of us?”

“As far as I’m concerned, this only truly affects Jongho. The rest of you will remain here and not be able to see what’s going on inside the arena until we both come out — alive. This is a show, Yunho. I’m not asking you to understand or agree with my reasoning, but I am asking you to comply.” Hongjoong steps around Yunho and continues down the tunnel, moving on towards the center of the arena, and he beckons for Jongho to follow him with a single finger.

Yunho darts a hand out to block Jongho’s path before he can follow after the captain.

“Vladimir won’t give you anything if both of you come out alive!”

Hongjoong comes to a halt where he is, and he heaves a deep sigh before turning around to face Yunho once more With several hesitant steps, Hongjoong returns to stand in front of the healer, eyes blazing as he reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a small lidded vial that has a murky white liquid in it. Yunho blinks down at it for a few seconds before he seems to recognize what it is.

“The hyacinth root? When did you…?”

“After you mentioned bringing some back from the market.” You hardly remember that day in the marketplace since it seems to have happened so long ago, but Hongjoong’s words jot your memories of what Yunho had told you that day.

“You can crush them up with peppermint leaves to create a paste that, when consumed, will slow your heart rate but keep you alive. It makes you seem dead when in actuality, you aren’t. It typically lasts between seven and ten minutes. Good for getaways or dupes.”

“Hongjoong, I don’t have the supplies for this. I won’t—”

“Yes, you will. The second we come out of there, Vlad’s guards will hand over Jongho’s body to you. Seonghwa will accompany me back up to see Vlad, but Yeosang must stay down here with Jongho’s body, or else they’ll be more suspicious than they already are. It’s just like what you did on Yuki—”

“I had supplies then! I was prepared for that! Not to mention I almost failed last time, and you nearly died, and that was when I had all the necessary supplies.” Yunho exclaims. “I can’t get the paste out of him without a decoction of violet stems and at least three other seeds and ground spices. I don’t know how you expect me to get it out of him in time without those things, and I especially don’t understand why you failed to mention this last night!”

“You say that like I didn’t try to mention it. You’ll have plenty of time to figure something out while we’re in the arena, but now we have to go before Vlad’s men come get us.” Hongjoong slips the vial back into his pocket, and this time when he turns, Yunho doesn’t try to stop him – either because he’s conceding or he truly doesn’t know what he can say to stop Hongjoong. Jongho steps around Yunho’s outstretched arm and follows after the captain without a word. He doesn’t wait for them to be out of earshot before whipping around to glare Seonghwa down with fire in his eyes.

“And here I thought your duty as lieutenant was to prevent him from doing stupid things.”

“Now is not the time for this,” Yeosang says, pulling a bit away from Wooyoung to step between the two.

“Preach all you want about how much you care about him and how you would sacrifice anything for him, but the reality is that you don’t give a shit about his well-being!” Yunho continues to berate Seonghwa and pays no attention to Yeosang’s interruption. He jabs a finger at the lieutenant’s face, but Seonghwa reaches up to sway the offending hand away in an instant.

“Sacrifice and trust go hand in hand,” Seonghwa says, managing to maintain a surprisingly steady tone in the face of Yunho’s rage. “I would not let him set a single foot in that arena if I did not trust his promise to come out alive. And would he let me, I would be the one going in there.”

“Vladimir expects them to tear each other apart!”

“These risks are no greater than the ones we have experienced in the past. They will both come out of there.” Hongjoong must have said something to Seonghwa on the way down for him to suddenly be so sure of this. Either that or Seonghwa is forcing the words out in a desperate attempt to believe it himself.

“And do you not care that this could kill Jongho? If I can’t figure something out before they drag his body back in here, he will die because of this!”

“Then you ought to stop arguing with me and start thinking of a solution to this issue. Or perhaps you should have listened to Hongjoong last night when he tried to tell you what the plan was.”

“When he dies, the blame will be on your shoulders for not doing more to stop Hongjoong,” Yunho hisses.

“How so? You’re so quick to push the blame off yourself already, yet the responsibility to save him falls on your shoulders, Yunho. I’m not going to stand here and fight with you over this. You have the ability to save Jongho even without those supplies. The only person doubting you right now is yourself.”

“I don’t doubt my own abilities. Jongho will not fight back in there. Don’t you realize that? In order for this to be believable, Hongjoong will have to beat him down to near death. Jongho’s body will reject whatever treatments I try to give him without the decoction as a method of protection, but that will only end up killing him because I won’t be able to get the hyacinth paste out of him in time.”

“Captain won’t hurt him.”

You don’t need to turn to see who has just stepped in, but you do nonetheless at least for the smallest semblance of confirmation. It doesn’t make it any easier to see who stands at the edge of the tunnel, bright light cascading around his tall form and casting crude shadows across the floor as he walks closer to the group. You swallow around nothing in anticipation although nothing could prepare you for what Mingi says next.

“Because I’m the one going in there, not Jongho.”

✧✧✧ a/n: yall idek what even happened to be honest my brain is NUMB also i wrote the smut scene last so if it’s a lil bit weak im sorry T-T also lemme know what you think a whole lot happened again :o

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @takitaro @vampire-jimin @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @felixity

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

381 notes · View notes

writing-the-end · 4 years ago

Text

LoL Chapter 51- Fallen Angel

(Sorry this is late! i got my vaccine and it mcfucking knocked me out lol)

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits return to Eremita from a restocking trip, to discover they have been raided. And one hermit has been taken.

Warning: Capture, slight torture scene

_________________________________

Eremita has become their safe haven, the last bastion for the guild. Even when the arcane guard chased them all the way to the water’s edge, no sane person would dare follow the hermits into the Ashioll sea. Which is exactly why they lived in its mysterious, misty embrace.

They could no longer simply fly off upon the backs of sky turtles, or even teleport into the towns they frequented. Now, when the hermits absolutely had to go into public for supplies they couldn’t make or grow themselves, they sailed in on Cleo’s pirate ship. And when they had to leave, they made sure that if anyone was following them, they took a roundabout direction back to their home. It adds time, weaving between the islands and through the mists, but ensures no one can guess where they live.

Cleo’s pirate ship beaches up onto the sand, nestling back into place as a wrecked vessel once more. The dream magic fades, revealing broken oak boards, seagrass growing through seams, and splintered masts of the ghost ship Cleo commands. Hypno blinks free from his sleep, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Already? Man, my dream was just starting to get interesting.”

With the help of rattling skeletons, their bones held together by magical muscle and sinew, the hermits unload food, meats, fabrics, and more. Enough for months, as if they were preparing to be snowed in after a massive blizzard. Almost all the hermits were a part of the flow of supplies.

Almost. Only three hermits stayed behind. Zedaph had an accident with his two explosive friends, and while it wasn’t the first time, Grian wanted to keep an eye on the burns in case the magic lingered. Mumbo stayed behind as well, but for very different reasons. One, he was easily recognizable. Everyone knows the multimage that Dolios wants captured alive. Him and Grian are the only two who Dolios demands be captured alive. He also was in the middle of inventing some new contraption, and was not about to leave it behind and lose all his progress. Last Cleo saw of him, he was extinguishing burning locks of hair. She wonders if he’s made any progress, or if he’s burned all his hair away at this point.

Once Impulse and Tango have unloaded their share of the shipment, they go in search of their friend. Both still feel bad for burning Zed, even if it was by accident. And they’ve all been burned at this point in all their years together. But it doesn’t mean they don’t feel bad, especially leaving Zed behind. At least they brought back a caramel apple from his favorite stall in the market, as well as fresh hay for his barn and animal friends.

“Zed? We have a surprise for you!” Tango calls, his voice twinged with mischief, as if they plan to prank their friend rather than give him a gift. No response comes from the flat roofed barn, except the distant bleat of a sheep. Tango looks at Impulse, fiery hair remaining vertical even as his head tips to the side. “Could he be taking a nap?”

“You know Zed and his sleep schedule, he wouldn’t interrupt it, even when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed.” Impulse waves it off. “He probably just isn’t listening, or maybe pulling a prank of his own. Let’s go in.”

Impulse waves Tango through the gate, careful to keep the sheep, goats, and other farm animals from getting between Tango’s feet and causing his hair to ignite the dry hay in his arms. A horse nips at the bale, but Tango keeps it well away from catching fire. He’s relieved to lighten the load he’s carrying as soon as they're inside the barn. Both mages look to the bed tucked in the corner, but no Zedaph. Tango tosses the haybale aside. “He should be resting.”

They clamber over the piles of hay, searching every nook and cranny for Zedaph. Even his cookie stash, which they let him believe is still a secret. But Zed is nowhere within the barn he chooses to live in.

Concern pales both Impulse and Tango’s face, and Tango’s hair reacts in kind to the revelation. “Perhaps he’s being treated by Grian?”

Tango doesn’t answer, already following the path across the width of the island, from one shore to another. Grian’s floating cloud, the quartz tower with large archways and a glass domed roof. Perfectly built for a sky angel, his wings and speed. Not so perfect for his roommate, and all of Mumbo’s redstone machinery, his own lanky body climbing up onto the solid cloud and stairs to sleeping quarters.

The redstone workshop at the base of the building has been cleaned up, though a few vials seem to have rolled away, as if they were grabbed then subsequently dropped. But, just like the barn, no sign of Mumbo.

But there is a sound. Echoing from the glass dome, a sniffling, stifling cry escapes from above, followed by a gasping, shuddering breath. Impulse runs up the steps as fast as possible, each bounce from stair to stair accentuated with a tiny explosion to give him more speed. Tango blazes behind, fire burning bright as the sun as energy courses through him. He notices on the way up grey streaks against the pure white quartz.

“Zedaph?” Impulse breathes, screeching to a full stop. In the center of the room, Mumbo and Zed are huddled close, holding on tight. Their eyes wild with fear, and in Zed’s eyes he can see a shared memory. A shared trauma him, Impulse, and Tango all share. Two hermits, holding onto each other like its their last hope.

Only two. “Where’s Grian?”

Mumbo opens his mouth, but a strangled cry only escapes. Tears fall from both their faces, shaking like leaves. Something bad has happened to their friend. Tango slides across the floor, grabbing Zedaph and Mumbo. “What happened? Where’s Grian? Are you hurt?”

They both shake their heads, but finally Mumbo gathers enough of his voice to speak. It’s weak, broken apart like glass shattering. “He took him.”

__________________________________________________

A cold, wet air fills Grian’s lungs, biting into his skin like ice on a cold morning. When he tries to open his eyes, the dull ache of his skull becomes sharp, forcing the angel to screw them closed again. Grian grimaces, trying to figure out why he has such a terrible headache. Did he hit his head in training? No, he wouldn’t have been allowed to sleep with the hermits hovering over him. Perhaps he drank too much. Once again, impossible. Grian knows what his hangover is like, and it’s not this.

He realizes he’s definitely hanging, but not from drinking. Cold, hard metal presses flat against his wrists, suspended over his head. The iron bites into his skin, all his weight rubbing his wrists raw.

“Good, you’re awake. I was starting to get bored waiting, though I do quite enjoy relishing in finally having my prize thirty years in the making.” The snide, even tempo of Magistrate Dolios’s voice hurts worse than any headache or wrist, and Grian finally manages to open his eyes. The cavern he finds himself in is foreign, not even remotely similar to the brick and iron dungeons where he last woke up in Dolios’s clutches. So long ago, it feels like. The Championship. At the time, he felt like he was at the top of the world. Now? Now he feels like the world was crushing him.

Grian resists his bindings, but even when he kicks outward, his feet don’t even scrape the dank floor. He tips his head back, until the crown of his head collides with a smooth, hard material. Just at the touch, he can feel the oppressive energy of the crystal. In his vision, he sees the sharp tip of the massive gem. Each wrist is locked tight against the crystal, the nails buried deep in the crystal lattice.

He looks around, searching for other hermits. For Mumbo, the last face he remembers before…

The memories flood in, cascading alongside the fear and panic. He remembers everything, every terrifying second. Leaving Zedaph to meet with Mumbo, he remembers the scent of marigolds on his hands, just after crushing the petals to make a paste for Zedaph’s burns. The quiet island, most of the other hermits gone. He remembers patting his pocket, the note from his best friend telling him to meet at Iskall’s place.

But when he arrived, Mumbo was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t unusual, Mumbo tended to get distracted and be late. So he waited, plucking orange petals from his clothes, hair, and hands. He should’ve noticed the way the wind shifted, becoming cold and stale, before disappearing completely.

He should’ve realized something was very wrong when the grey stormcloud appeared. But he didn’t. He was so focused on waiting for Mumbo, then on getting rid of the flowers in his feathers, that he didn’t see the husks crawl their way free of the ocean. At least, not until the husk of a soldier came barreling for him, empty glowing white eyes and ashen, flaky form charging with halberd drawn.

Grian squeaked, dodging the attack. Stumbled over the writhing form of a cactus cat, the fading spines still quite sharp, he was saved by a pair of not-grey arms.

Not grey arms draped in wine red fabric, the hems decorated in gold thread. He realized who it was immediately, and scrambled to try and get away. But Dolios’s magic kept a strong grip, vines of black twisting and tying Grian’s wings to his back, while a hazy fog had grown around them.

He remembers the feeling of Dolios’s hands in his hair, pulling him to his feet as he struggled and fought against the vines and the fog that filled his mind. Hands clawing at his binds, even biting the magistrate at one point. He remembers the taste of blood, iron on his tongue and Dolios swearing, blasting Grian with magic.

And the last thing he remembers, before being knocked out and torn away from his home, was Mumbo’s face. Rounding the corner, completely oblivious to the fight occurring. It was at that moment that Grian realized, when his eyes locked with Mumbo’s that it wasn’t him that sent the letter. The confusion, of seeing Grian, the surprise on his face. He was walking towards the infirmary, dropping the box in his hand upon seeing the sight before him.

The fear on Mumbo’s face matched Grian’s own, as he was dragged into the sea. A second later, a swift burst of sonic energy knocked him out.

And now he’s here. Dolios saunters across the room, gathering ingredients and writing down notes. Grian swings his legs, and summons his wings to try and be free. But as soon as the blue and white feathers appear, they crumble into ash. Crushing weight sets in on his head, his shoulders, his lungs, and his magic, and the crystal he’s trapped against hums with power. “You’re quite different from the last angel I hunted. At least you fought back, but in the end they left me without the gift of their magic. This time, I’m not letting anything go to chance.”

The magistrate sets his bowl of guts aside, approaching the crystal and Grian. His hands are clasped behind his back, shoulders straight and head held high. The weight of the oppressive dark magic doesn’t bother him. Grian’s not ready to give up just yet. He attempts to kick Dolios, but the dark mage stands mere centimeters out of reach. So Grian decides to use his words. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?”

“I’ve been told that once or twice before, yes. But the rest of Lairyon loves me. And why wouldn’t they? I’ve brought prosperity to this kingdom, done more than that stupid rainbow king could ever do, and all of this because of my power.” Dolios sweeps his hands, vapors of dark magic swirling from his fingers as his fingers clench to fists

“Stolen magic. If the citizens knew, they’d hate you just as much as I do.” Grian reels back his head, and does the best he can to annoy Dolios. He spits on him. The glob of spit lands on Dolios’s cheek, the magistrate flinching, then reaching up and wiping it away. A fresh anger in his eyes.

“And who would believe you? An outcast mercenary orphan? The last of your kind?” Dolios stoops low, plucking a husked feather from the floor. He walks back to the table, mixing the components and ingredients from his jars of death with Grian’s feather. “Your power is rare. Angelic mages are always powerful, a power I crave. You will be a wonderful addition to my collection of magic. The last of the angels to complete my set!”

A fearful shiver ricochets down Grian’s spine. “You’re going to turn me into a husk?”

“Oh, gods no!” Dolios laughs, so loud that it echoes off the cavern walls as he throws his head back, brown curls dancing across rich fabric. “I wouldn’t dare waste such magic to become simple energy for me and my beast. No, no. Do not fret, little bird, you will become so much more. I don’t plan to drain your energy. I plan to steal it.”

The hunger in Dolios’s eyes as he turns, the concoction in his hand, Grian realizes what he's seen all this time in Dolios’s eyes. Hunger. A madman hellbent on taking what he sees as rightfully his.. A predator stalking his prey. And Grian was cornered, pinned. Unable to fight back, unable to fly away. Fear is replaced by terror, a sensation Grian struggles to fight back. He needs to think clearly if he hopes to survive.

“The last angel died before my powers were…” Grian pauses, seeing the coy smile on Dolios’s face.

“I always had a-” Dolios pauses, waving his hand nonchalantly before marking the ground around the crystal spires with dark seal. “-fascination with angelic wizards. A dear friend of mine in my youth was one. Ever since then, I knew I had to have that kind of magic in my collection. So strong, each and every one of you. With magic even the ancient ones revered. And now?”

Dolios steps back, casting his magic circle. Rather than emitting color and light, it absorbs all color to make the pattern of his magic. He raises his hands, and two satellite crystals awaken. Darkness swirls in the lattice of the gems, mist eeking out through pores and filling the cavern with darkness. When the mist reaches the seal surrounding the crystal Grian’s chained to, the spire behind him, pressed against his back, activates. The pressure on his body, his magic becomes unbearable, breaking into pain. Like a harpoon through his chest, the dark magic takes hold. Biting down, biting in.

And slowly, agonizingly stealing his magic. So intrinsically tied to his soul, hsi lifeforce, it feels as if his very being is being dragged from every inch of his body in contact with the crystal. He writhes to escape the painful magic, but the bonds hold firm and he struggles to catch his breath. Dolios steps back, basking with ravished delight at the scene before him. Enjoying the pain that tears at Grian’s skin, soul, and spell. “Now the magic will soon be mine.”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #light of lairyon #wizard au #wizard hermits #lol #wizard grian #wizard cleo #wizard zedaph #wizard mumbo #grianmc #grian #zombiecleo #zedaph #mumbo jumbo

22 notes · View notes

carewyncromwell · 4 years ago

Photo

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, So we'll know where you are -- Gleaming in the skies above, Lead me to the one who loves me...”

~“The Second Star to the Right (cover),” by Simone

x~x~x~x

HEY PETER PAN ANON! I MADE YOU SOMETHING!! 8D

Hahaha, yes! This is Peter-Pan!Orion and Wendy!Carewyn (Carewyndy?). No, I won’t be writing this AU before the Tangled AU at least (and yes, I should have that up hopefully by next week)...but I couldn’t resist doodling these and talking a bit about the daydreaming I did based on this concept. Orion’s ripped pants were kind of based on how the pants are ripped in the 2003 Peter Pan’s costume, but I just couldn’t resist giving him his canon fingerless armwarmers. (I see them being forest green just like his pants, though, while his tunic is a light tan.)

Basically I see eternally 12-1/2-year old Orion Amari taking a strong liking to 10-year-old Carewyn Cromwell when she comes to Neverland. Even though she does act a bit too grown-up sometimes, it’s largely because of how deeply she feels for other people -- she’s determined to protect others, whether from bullying or actual danger, and she hates the thought of anyone feeling alone. She actually is the only person who’s ever asked Orion if he was lonely, being the only child who was destined to never grow up. And as much as Orion will airily state that “to die would be an awfully big adventure,” he finds that it’s Carewyn who believes this most, for the idea of growing older doesn’t frighten her the way it does her grandfather, the man now called Captain Hook. If anything, what makes her saddest about leaving Neverland is not for her sake, but for Orion’s -- she, Jacob, Charlie, and Bill were all going home to London, along with a good chunk of Orion’s friends among the Lost Kids...and Carewyn hated the thought that she’d never see her friend Orion again. So she reminded Orion that she would always have her window open at night, if he ever wanted to come and visit, hear her read a story or two, or even just listen to her singing while she did her evening chores. Sensing Orion’s hesitance, she reassured him that she’d never forget him.

Orion proceeded to return to life in Neverland, embarking on those same old adventures that make the days blur and make it easy to forget things. Forgetting was part of Neverland’s magic -- even Bill had almost forgotten he had a new baby sister back in London, when he, Charlie, and Carewyn had been there with Orion and the Lost Kids. But, as Orion would often tell himself, adults forgot things in the other world too: they forgot the joys of childhood, they forgot the freedom and the simple pleasures and the bottomless daydreams. All of them, every last one of them, eventually forgot how to fly.

But perhaps because of Carewyn’s final promise, every time Orion thought of how easy it was to forget things in Neverland, and therefore how easy it was to forget things outside of it, Carewyn’s face and words always returned to his mind. And so, the memory of her conviction and caring never strayed too far from his mind...and with it, other thoughts would crop up too. How stable things had been, when Carewyn was around. How well she understood him and how easy it was to talk to her and trust in her. And it was then that Orion realized that he really, truly missed Carewyn. It was a feeling he’d never really experienced that deeply before, not even for the other children who had eventually returned home to their families. Even Bill and Charlie, who Orion likewise grew reasonably fond of, didn’t make him feel like his stomach was always empty, no matter how much food he ate -- like his heart was scraping at the inside of his chest like a hungry animal desperate to devour something outside its cage. And that feeling only intensified when his fairy guardian Merula would try to urge him to go challenge Torvus and the centaurs to a race or splash around with the mermaids, even when Orion wasn’t in the mood to do so.

Orion felt restless, unsure of quite what was wrong with him and not knowing how to explain his muddled thought process to McNully and his remaining Lost Kids. One day Orion was eventually persuaded by McNully to lead an expedition to find a lost chest of pirate treasure, and for a short while, the Boy Who Never Grew Up was simply able to enjoy pulling one over on his old enemy and sharing the loot with his gang. That changed, though, when Captain Hook crashed the party.

Orion and Hook traded as many blows as ever, throwing insults at each other like they always did -- but this day, Hook said one barbed phrase that stuck in Orion’s ear more than he ever would’ve admitted.

“Already forgotten my dear Winnie, I see. But I guess I can’t be surprised. After all, the only thing that can break through Neverland’s curse -- that thing that makes everyone forget...is love. And you -- ha -- you don’t know anything about that, do you, boy?”

Love. Yes. That was the thing that made Carewyn remember her lost brother and mother, even while she was a Lost Girl. That was the thing that had made Charlie remember his parents, even after he’d forgotten London altogether. That was the thing that made Bill remember his other siblings, once he remembered how his baby sister Ginny would always cry after her afternoon nap until he came home from his newspaper route and bounced her up and down for a minute or two. That was the thing that had made Jacob remember his little sister in London, even after he was kidnapped by Hook and commandeered into piracy. And, Orion realized, it was the thing that he missed most about Carewyn -- her ability to love more deeply than anyone else he had ever known...like a mother would, and yet like an equal...a companion, more than just someone to go on adventures with.

Orion tried to broach this topic with Merula, but the huffy little fairy put up her walls and stubbornly refused to let them down. Feelings were grown-up things, and Orion didn’t need grown-up things! Orion wanted to agree, but the feelings he felt were becoming heavy -- so heavy, in fact, that he found it harder for him to find his center, to think thoughts happy enough that he could fly to any height he wanted. He actually found himself hovering and floating more than flying...and this troubled him. It made him more anxious than he could remember ever being.

Then the thought struck him -- why didn’t he just go and visit Carewyn? She said he could, whenever he wanted. She could tell him some stories and sing some songs for him -- maybe she could even sew him a new pocket for his shirt! These thoughts perked Orion up a bit, and he decided to leave for London straightaway.

He hadn’t expected it to be so cold -- for you see, in Neverland, it’s every season all year ‘round, all except winter. It was a fact Carewyn had lamented, for winter was her favorite season. She loved the Christmas holidays and how everyone would gather around the fireplace with warm food together and sing Christmas songs and tell stories. It had actually sounded kind of nice to Orion, when she described it to him and the Lost Kids -- but on this day in London, Orion didn’t think the cold was so nice, nor the gray, dreary city itself. There were buildings that had been crushed and holes in cobblestone streets, made by bombs that had been dropped by German Zeppelins, and just about nobody raised their heads enough to look skyward. The adults prowling the streets were just as lacking of joy as Orion had always imagined them to be, yet it wasn’t due to stupid grown-up things like wearing a tie to work or paying bills. Instead there was exhaustion, sadness...pain. Orion hated these people’s wrinkles even more than the ones he’d see on the pirates’ faces, from dwelling on mindless things like how much treasure they had or what their daily duties were.

But none of that mattered, of course. What mattered was seeing Carewyn. But alas, when Orion arrived at the Weasleys’ house, it was still daytime...and the window to the room Carewyn, Bill, and Charlie once shared was locked.

Orion rattled at the window desperately, slapping the glass and pulling at its handles as he cried her name. All logic left his mind -- his breathing became raspier and weaker even as he shouted louder.

She had to be there -- she had to be there -- she couldn’t have forgotten -- she wouldn’t have forgotten -- she promised -- she promised she wouldn’t forget him -- love was what kept someone from forgetting -- Carewyn knew love better than anyone -- she loved her brother -- she loved the Weasleys -- she loved the Lost Kids and Torvus and the mermaids and the fairies -- she loved Orion -- didn’t she love -- ?

As Orion’s anxiety spiked, the magic of Merula’s fairy dust began to abandon him. He found himself becoming heavier. He tried to cling onto the windowsill, pulling at and smacking the window, but it wasn’t wide enough for him to hold onto while it was closed. Soon enough he found himself falling slowly, like someone drifting down to the bottom of a pool...and when he landed on the ground, he landed on his knees, shaking. He clasped his hands together, his eyes wide and hollow upon the frosty ground as wintry condensation fell from his panting lips.

He’d lost his happy thought. He’d lost it.

He tried to fly. He tried desperately to fly, only to fall and scrape his knees and hands. Never in his life had Orion Amari ever been so frightened, shuddering from head to toe in the freezing cold.

He shakily got to his bare feet and, barely knowing where he was going, he walked. He wandered aimlessly, his eyes glassing over as he gasped for air, searching every revolted and anxious face that he passed as the faces’ owners cringed at the state of his long hair, ripped clothes, and lack of shoes.

Orion wandered for what felt like hours, until at long last, as if by fate, he ended up not far away from a Church-funded school, which taught both elementary and higher-elementary-level students. One of those such students was a girl with a ginger braid and almond-shaped blue eyes, walking home with several classmates, including a black-haired girl with glasses carrying a bunch of books, a rather pretty blonde with pigtail braids, and a rather cowardly-looking boy with blond hair, brown eyes, and a very thick sweater and mittens over his Church-provided uniform. The ginger-haired girl herself was wrapped up in a rather thick old dark blue blanket she’d turned into a shawl after it got ripped and had been holding it tightly around herself when, all of a sudden, she heard her name being cried by a misty, and yet anxious voice.

“Carewyn! Carewyn...!”

One can only imagine what Carewyn’s school friends Rowan Khanna, Penny Haywood, and Ben Copper thought, seeing such a scrawny, ragamuffin street boy running toward their friend. Rowan actually tried to step in front of Carewyn as if to protect her, while Ben made as if to cling onto Carewyn’s arm in terror. But Carewyn herself, her eyes very wide upon the boy, immediately tore away from both Rowan and Ben and ran to Orion without a single shred of hesitation.

“Orion?!”

She barreled over, whipping the shawl off her shoulders and wrapping it around his instead.

“Orion, what are you doing here?! You’re going to catch a death of cold!”

Orion hadn’t been able to stop shaking for an instant, but her shouting his name, rushing to take care of him -- her remembering him -- it made his heart feel like a beast craving food again. Her concern wet his appetite. He wanted it. He wanted her caring. He wanted her love...

She was as tall as him. She’d been so tiny before...

“Carewyn...you know this boy?” asked Rowan, looking bewildered.

“Yes,” said Carewyn, glancing over her shoulder, “he’s a friend. Rowan, this is Orion. Orion, this is -- ”

“You’ve...grown older,” Orion’s absent mumble cut her off.

Carewyn fixed him with a faintly reproachful look. “I’m afraid that does happen, in the span of three years...”

Thirteen. She was thirteen. ...She was older than him.

Carewyn’s eyes welled up with concern as she looked Orion over. She turned to her friends quickly.

“...I’d better get him inside and warm...I’ll see you all tomorrow, okay?”

She quickly bid her friends goodbye, before wrapping an arm tightly around Orion’s shoulders as best she could, rubbing his arm through her shawl in an attempt to warm him.

“Orion, what were you thinking?” she whispered, her voice full of concern as her eyes stayed locked ahead at their path. “Coming here in broad daylight, in this cold...”

Orion had started to shake again, his hands clasping more tightly.

“Your window was shut,” he mumbled.

Carewyn looked very upset. “...My old window, you mean? The one I shared with Bill and Charlie? Oh, Orion, I don’t share a room with Bill and Charlie anymore -- I share with Ginny now. Girls’ room, you know. Charlie and Percy actually share that room now...Bill’s sharing a flat with several other boys, closer to the newspaper’s headquarters in the East End...”

Her eyes rippled with pain.

“...Ginny’s and my room doesn’t have a window,” she explained. “I’ve told Charlie and Percy to keep their window open for me, but...well, Percy’s grown up way too fast. He must have closed it to block out the air raid sirens last night and forgotten to reopen it...”

Orion didn’t understand half of what Carewyn was saying, but the tone she spoke with held such reassurance and remorse that it soothed the racing anxiety that had so paralyzed him. He closed his eyes as the adrenaline his anxiety had built up ebbed away, leaving him oddly drained and colder than ever. He was so out of it that he barely seemed to acknowledge that his head flopped down onto her shoulder.

“Orion?” said Carewyn, startled and worried.

But Orion merely inhaled and exhaled slowly. Her caring fed that beast in his chest. He wanted a bit more.

“Carewyn,” he murmured, “did...did you think of me?”

He felt Carewyn adjust her arm around him.

“Of course I did,” she said softly. “I told you I would never forget you.”

The tenseness in Orion’s clasped hands and face loosened its grasp. “...Because you love me.”

Carewyn looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “What?”

But Orion barely reacted -- as if he didn’t think what he’d said was the least bit weird.

“There’s only one thing that can prevent someone from forgetting...and that’s love. For once you love someone, your heart never really forgets them. Instead they become part of you...an indispensable piece...that would make you feel incomplete, if it was ever removed.”

Orion slowly opened his eyes, his lips spreading into a small, rather soft smile that made him look a bit more like his usual self.

“...It’s what helped you remember your brother and the Weasleys, while you were with me...and your brother remember you, while he was with Hook,” he said. “It’s something I know nothing about...but I know you know it very well.”

Carewyn considered him for a moment, before returning her gaze back to the road. Plenty of people passing by gave her and Orion the side-eye, but she didn’t care.

“I don’t know if I’d say you know nothing about it,” she said at last. “You remembered me just as much as I remembered you, did you not?”

Orion’s smile faded from his lips as his eyes widened ever-so-slightly. Then his expression slowly relaxed.

“...Perhaps...”

His black eyes trailed over her arm around his shoulders and her hand rubbing up and down his arm hesitantly. His arm beside her chest twitched slightly -- then, very, very tentatively, he tried to wrap his arm around her shoulders in return. It was a bit awkward, with the shawl wrapped around him...but once Carewyn sussed out what he was doing, she adjusted enough to give the shawl enough slack that he could successfully hold her in return. Once he had gotten his arm around her, he seemed oddly proud of himself, his smile spreading and his eyes closing again as he leaned into her, his head beside hers on her shoulder.

They stayed that way for several blocks, walking in silence and simply enjoying each others’ company. Orion felt his center of balance returning to him. It was like having this stable place, with his arms wrapped around Carewyn’s shoulders and hers around his, was the earth he needed under his feet to launch himself back up into the air. He felt like he might even be able to fly again at some point...maybe not yet, but soon. Time always moved more slowly in Neverland than in London anyhow, so no one would mind if he took his time...

“...Carewyn?”

“Hmm?”

“I...don’t know if I can make it back to Neverland,” he confessed.

Carewyn looked at him, her eyes once again flooding with concern.

“I fell, when I failed to open your window,” Orion explained. “I’ve only ever fallen like that once before...when...”

“...When Grandfather made you think unhappy thoughts,” Carewyn finished grimly. She turned away from him, facing the road again.

Orion nodded. His black eyes flickered across her face, even though she was no longer looking at him.

Hook had taunted him then that Carewyn had no reason to stay in Neverland -- that she preferred the thought of growing old and dying to staying with him -- that he could never meet her high standards. He’d taunted that one day, Orion would go back to find her window locked and barred -- a grown woman who’s forgotten all about him, about Neverland, about how to fly...who’s replaced all of it with adult things Orion could never understand. Ambition. Family. ...Husband.

Carewyn wasn’t an adult yet, but she certainly wasn’t a child anymore either. There was a practicality to her posture -- a steadiness and gravity to how she walked. There was a neatness and meticulousness in how she handled her appearance. And yet even so, her hands were still so warm and her eyes were still so soft...and the sincerity in the little wrinkles that creased her brow and eyes and kissed at the corners of her lips was just the same.

Carewyn raised her head in Orion’s direction, but her eyes couldn’t quite reach his. Instead they landed vaguely on his shoulder.

“...I never told you...Grandfather was wrong, did I?” she asked quietly.

Orion tilted his head. “...I suppose it depends on which thing he said that you’re thinking of. You did say you’d never forget me, or Neverland...or how to fly.”

“Yes,” said Carewyn, “but I didn’t say that he was wrong, that you’d never understand ambition or family. That’s definitely not true. Ambition isn’t just an adult thing -- you dream of never growing up, of never losing your freedom or your independence...your spirit. That’s a wonderful ambition. And you have a wonderful family too, in Neverland. The centaurs and mermaids -- Merula and the fairies -- the Lost Kids! You take care of them as if they were your family.”

Orion stared at her for a moment, his face very unreadable, but his black eyes rippling with a strange emotion. Then he curled his fingers into the puffy white sleeve of her shirt.

“...And...the last thing?” he asked softly. “‘Husband?’”

Carewyn frowned deeply. “Is marriage something you even want to understand?”

“No!” said Orion instantly, looking revolted. “No...but...well...”

He swallowed, his own gaze drifting away. “...If you grow up...you’ll eventually want one, won’t you?”

Carewyn cocked her brows coolly. “It’s possible. But honestly, marriage seems like a bit of a bother. I’ve had to answer to plenty of adults in my life: I’d hate to have to answer to one more by choice. Especially if it means I have to give up Jacob, my friends, and my dreams just to make him comfortable.”

She said this so huffily, and yet it comforted Orion more than he could ever properly express. His own chest seemed to lighten and he felt better able to breathe again. His eyes softened upon Carewyn’s face.

“...I see.”

The two finally reached the Weasley home again. Orion noticed the house across the street that Carewyn had once pointed out was hers and Jacob’s had been boarded up.

“It’ll get torn down soon,” said Carewyn, noticing Orion’s gaze. “The family that lived there had their house ransacked, just because they were German...”

Her eyes narrowed.

“...It’s disgusting, how they were treated,” she added to herself. “They were very nice to Jacob and me, when we first came home...”

“Where is your brother?” asked Orion.

Carewyn deflated.

“...The war front,” she said sadly. “He’d been saving up so we could move into our own place, but...well, the army needed soldiers, so both he and Mr. Weasley signed up. Mrs. Weasley let me stay here, so I wouldn’t have to struggle to find a place to stay myself.”

Orion felt something oddly like pity prickling at his chest. “You mean you’ve lost him again, after only just getting him back?”

Carewyn didn’t answer as she opened the door of the Weasley home and bustled him inside. Once the door was closed, she guided him over to the main room and into an armchair, wrapping several more blankets around him.

“Wait here,” she said. Her lips spread into a fuller smile. “I’ll make you some hot cocoa -- that’s sure to help you fly again.”

Orion felt his heart give a somersault.

“Do you remember?” he said very quickly, before she could leave the room. “...Do you remember how to fly?”

Carewyn beamed.

“Of course. All you need is faith and trust, and to have been brushed with fairy dust. Then you think happy, wonderful thoughts, and...”

She spread her arms, and -- amazingly -- her feet actually came up off the ground.

Orion’s black eyes widened. Then his mouth slowly spread into the fullest, brightest smile as he found himself coming up off the ground himself. He floated just below her, spreading both of his arms too so as to take her hands and hold them out on either side of them.

Even when the world was so miserable -- even when she had so much reason to forget...Carewyn still knew how to fly.

“You’re flying,” said Carewyn with a warm smile.

Orion’s eyes sparkled as he guided her around in a circle, just as he had when they danced with the fairies. “I found a happy thought.”

“Did you? What is it?”

“A person whose company makes you feel stronger, when you’re at your worst.”

Carewyn smiled. “I believe that’s what’s called a ‘friend,’ Orion Amari.”

Orion’s midnight-black eyes gleamed.

Yes. A friend. Not just someone to go on adventures with, or look after, or play make-believe with, or give direction -- but someone to be your shoulder to lean on. To listen, to comfort...to love. That was a friend. As much as he cherished the Lost Kids, he was the one who had found them -- they answered to him, seeing him as leader, since there was supposedly no one else who could.

This friend...he wanted this friend by his side forever. “Forever,” as Carewyn had once reminded him, was an awfully long time -- but he didn’t hesitate in this thought at all.

And so, not long after, the Boy Who Never Grew Up returned to Neverland. He passed his mantle of leadership onto Lost Boy McNully, said a quick goodbye to all of the members of his Neverland family...and decided to leave for good. Even his short trip back to the Second Star to the Right took up a few weeks, but when he returned to London, his friend was waiting for him. And Orion and Carewyn grew up together, as close of friends as teenagers and later adults as they were as children. Orion grew more than just a fraction of an inch -- he soon towered a good head over Carewyn once more. He even grew a mustache, and a beard too! And yet even with this, it was never beneath his dignity to climb a tree, nor to engage in food fights, nor to read adventure books about pirates, nor to crow like a rooster upon winning a game. No matter how much his other classmates at school would frown, and no matter how much the adults would disdain and scold him, Orion never cared -- and neither did Carewyn, or Bill or Charlie, or any of the other friends he made over the years.

So you see, even if Orion grew older, he never truly grew up...for all children grow up, except one. And one day -- many, many years down the road from when Orion first made the choice to stay -- he looked at Carewyn and realized that his first and dearest friend had become something even more precious: a friend he wished to love, cherish, and live beside far longer than forever. A friend he would call “lover.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #peter pan au #my art #my writing #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #damn it I didn't mean this to be so long but I just couldn't stop XD #my two favorite peter pan adaptations are peter pan (2003) and hook so that DEFINITELY influenced this #I'm sorry but I think peter finding a reason to grow up is sweet #I know there's the whole fan interpretation of peter guiding dead children to the afterlife and all but...#well we see kids leave neverland not just the darlings but the lost boys #and honestly hook is right in the 2003 version -- peter IS a tragedy as he is!#in the end he'll always end up alone #so really eventually every child *should* grow up...it's a scary thing but something that must be faced anyway #because through that hardship one can find even more fulfilling happiness #because it's happiness that's fought for #that's my two cents anyway XD;#geez orion looks so different without his facial hair LOL

14 notes · View notes

wordsdrippinginink · 5 years ago

Note

ShanksMakinoBenn first meeting in an AU where they meet somewhere other than Dawn Island

“Gramps is stubborn,” Ace says frowning as he crosses his arms over his chest, watching the Melody gaining on them. “Should I throw something else, Miss Makino?”

“He’s too far out,” Makino answers, leaning over the shoulder of the navigator they had picked up two islands back. He claimed to be the best, but Makino’s heard enough claims of that to be cautious. “Tell me there’s an island near by that we can loose him at.”

The navigator snorts, maps spread across the table as he flips between them and looking at the log pose, “If I had something, we’d already be shifting course, Captain.”

“Let me know if anything changes.”

Makino pinches the bridge of her nose as she steps to the railing to join Ace, “Is Luffy below deck?”

“Nap time,” Ace answers curtly, politer since she’s proven to be a trove of stories about his mother. “I told him if I’m not there when he wakes up to stay in his room, but,” he shrugs.

“That sounds like Luffy,” Makino sighs.

The Melody isn’t gaining on them, but neither is it falling behind and that is the worrying part. Schooner isn’t made for the rougher waters of the Grand Line, but there’s not been time, or funds, to try and get something better. Not on the run from Garp.

“Is he gonna make us go back?” Ace asks softly. “You won’t get in trouble, will you?”

Makino laughs, “I’ll worry about that Ace, it’s nothing to be concerned about. Not yet.”

Ace’s mouth purses into a thin line and Makino thinks sadly of Rouge for a moment before ruffling his hair, pushing the hat that Luffy had found two ports back and gifted him into his face to watch him sputter.

“Check and see if we’ve got anyone else in bound, please? We can’t afford to escape Garp and roll right back into a fight.”

“Right.”

Crocus snorts, joining her with his spear resting on his shoulder, “He’s far too serious a child. Nothing like his father.”

“His father wasn’t hunted before he was born,” Makino shoots back, because as grateful as she is for Crocus’ help escorting them deeper into the Grandline, he is still one of Roger’s men first. And she’s not sure Roger’s crew deserves to know about Ace. “I don’t suppose you have any allies around here?”

“No, I don’t think that I do. And even if I did, most of them wouldn’t come out to help.”

Makino nods, nails biting into her forearms as she tries to make a plan.

“Ship off the starboard,” Ace shouts and Makino drops her head onto the rail before pushing herself up and over to join him, accepting the spy glass. “It looks like either Red hair or a rookie. The wind makes it hard to see the scars.”

“Good eye,” Makino mutters, checking the flag herself and wishing the wind wasn’t quite so active. They’re making better time than Schooner and Melody, it’ll be on them in minutes. “Go below deck and make sure Luffy doesn’t try to involve himself.”

“I can help,” Ace pouts, stubborn if nothing else. “Please?”

“You are helping, helping me by keeping Luffy safe and making sure that no one makes it below deck.”

“Next time?” he tries, because they both know this isn’t the time to argue.

“We’ll discuss it,” she answers, knowing he’ll accept it. “Take Kotatsu with you, he’ll get underfoot.”

Ace clicks his tongue, grinning with the tiny ball of razor claws and sharp teeth scrambles across the deck into his arms, “Can I have a dagger?”

“Remember, the sharp end-”

“-Goes into the enemy,” Ace finishes for her, grinning widely. “Thank you!”

“I can’t believe you let that boy run around with a knife,” Crocus groans. “Do you know how many children get knife wounds because of things like this?”

Makino smiles, sharply as she twists her spear to press under his chin, “Do you know that Ace used to fight wild animals at least twice his own size to be able to eat? I don’t want to hear it from a man resting on his laurels while the child of someone he cared for suffers,” she spins it back to her side. “Get ready for another attack.”

The other ship seems to inch closer, the fear of an attack on both sides lingering until it waves a flag of parlay when it reached level with the Schooner, a member of the crew swinging over to speak.

“Benn Beckman,” he introduces himself. “Of the Red Hair Pirates. May we ask what you’re doing in our territory?”

“Would you believe running from the marines?” Makino offers avoiding her own name, gesturing to where the Melody still lingers. She doesn’t think it’s gotten closer yet, but if it has, it’s not enough to notice. “I’ve upset a very powerful one.”

Benn whistles, raising an eyebrow as he watches the Melody, “That looks like Garp the Fist’s ship.”

“It is. I’ve upset him, you see.”

“How could you upset Garp the Fist? Steal his crackers?”

“His grandsons actually,” Makino answers, shifting her stance when Benn’s hand moves to his gun. “But he wasn’t very interested in them anyway.”

“That doesn’t mean you kidnap-”

“Ace, I thought you were going to stay below deck.”

Ace grins, too wide as he sits on Benn’s shoulders, the dagger she had given him pressed to Benn’s throat, “Luffy went back to sleep after I gave him a snack! He was gonna attack you, Makino.”

“Benn Beckman, please meet one of Garp’s grandson’s Portgas D Ace. Ace, we’re not going to fight.”

“Fine,” Ace sighs, standing upright and jumping onto the deck, hurrying to her side once he lands. “Is he going to make us go back?”

Benn watches Ace curiously, “Do you want to go back?”

“No. Makino’s lots nicer. She makes sure Luffy and I get to eat and she’s teaching me to fight. Gramps only visits sometimes.”

“And your parents?”

“I don’t think that’s your concern, Benn. After all, you labelled this kidnapping, not me. I just offered Ace and his brother a place on my ship.”

Benn sighs, “I suppose that I did. However, my Captain will want more answers, he’s very against kidnapping. A deal perhaps?”

“A deal?”

“Our assistance with your tail and then you provide us with more information on why you decided to pick up Garp the Fist’s grandsons?”

Makino nods, “Deal. But if you turn on us, expect the boys to kill you faster than I could.”

Ace grins, all sharp teeth and fire eyed, the same thing that got his father taken seriously so quickly, to prove her point.

“Deal.”

#makino (one piece)#portgas d ace #corocus (one piece)#benn beckman #op fanfic #canon au #makino sailed with rouge #and after her captain died #she went home to dawn island #where she eventually found both of garp's 'grandsons'#and got really upset about how they were being raised #she stole them and is going to raise them herself #garp is not amused #shanks doesn't actually show up #but this is eventual shanksbennmakino #he doesn't have to show up yet #wordword #minister-of-silly-walks

81 notes · View notes

melonkooky · 6 years ago

Text

you should have listened [hwang hyunjin]

requested

word count: 1969

genre: tiny amount of angst (it’s not really angst...), mainly fluff, sick!reader, college!au

warning: something sexual is only suggested near the end, but that is it.

author’s note: so the title makes it seem like this one shot is angsty as hell or something...it really isn’t. all it is is the reader gets sick 😂😂. but a message to the person who requested this, i’m sorry about you being sick. i hope this one shot makes you feel better in some way. 💜💜 also, sorry for the last few lines of dialogue... anyways, enjoy!!!

you knew you should have listened to your boyfriend.

- flashback -

you were starting to experience many headaches throughout the day. at first, you assumed it was because of your schoolwork. school had taken a rather large toll on you recently, so it made sense that on top of all the assignments you had to do, headaches were come and go. you didn’t feel the need to be concerned as they were only headaches, nothing that you weren’t used to.

the next day, however, you started to feel pain in random places in your body. first, like the previous day, it was your head. your brain was practically pounding into your skull and it was becoming painful. but then your joints were beginning to hurt, and that was quite unusual. you had never felt anything similar to something like this before. when you got back to the apartment from a class, hyunjin was in the kitchen looking for something to eat.

“hey, how was your class?” he asked, opting for a small bag of his favorite chips.

you only sighed. “i would have been fine, but today my body is just aching terribly.”

hyunjin’s eyebrows knitted together. with a concerned look on his face, he walked over to you. he grabbed your hand and gently pulled you over to the couch. he put his chips aside so that his full attention was on you. “did you pull a muscle or something?”

you shook your head. “i can’t imagine how i would. but this pain, it’s really odd. right his it’s my knees and my legs. it feels like i just walked a million miles.” you released a fatigued sigh before falling back against the couch, feeling relief flow throughout your muscles and bones. although typically the cheap, stiff cushioned couch hurt your bottom, today it felt like you were laying on an array of clouds.

hyunjin layed back with you, still looking at you. he was eating his chips again. “maybe you’ve just been on your feet a lot recently.”

you nodded. “yeah.”

you did not expect anything new to happen. you were used to the headaches, and had just assumed that your legs were only sore from walking around the campus, but a few days later, it finally struck you. you felt nauseous, and when you stood up to take a shower before you had to leave, it felt like the apartment was tilted sideways, back and forth like a seesaw. you groaned as a stabbing pain came just behind your eyes. what was going on with you?

hyunjin walked into the bedroom. he had made breakfast and was coming to grab you for it. but instead he found you holding your head while trying to stand. now he squealed weirdly and hurried over to you. “baby, what’s wrong?”

a sharp breath left your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut. “my head hurts.” you panted. “and i feel really sick.”

hyunjin, not really sure of what needed to be done, swallowed hard. he gently grabbed your shoulders. he almost withdrew them though when he felt how hot your skin was. feeling your shoulders, it prompted him to place a hand on top of your head. he gently brushed some stray hairs away before pressing the back of his fingers to your head. “ah…” he mumbled. “i think you have a fever.”

after deciding so, hyunjin directed you to lay back down, helping you under the covers. as you rested for a few minutes, the pounding in your head began to seize. “wait, hyunjin.” you said sitting up. “i want to go to school still.”

hyunjin sat down on the edge of the bed. “i don’t think that’s a good idea. you felt pretty hot. besides, recently you’ve been working yourself really hard. it would explain your headaches and pain, so i think today you should just take the day off and rest.”

you sighed. you really didn’t want to. you would be missing an important lecture, and you hated having to do makeup work and catch up on anything. it only added to the stress of college. hyunjin smiled sympathetically at you. “stay in bed, okay? i’m going to get you some juice and food in the kitchen.”

hyunjin made sure that you were tucked in and comfortable in the bed. he also, as he said, brought you some juice as well as some water. he knew it was best to stay hydrated when you were sick, so he made sure that you had plenty to drink while he was attending his short class schedule. he was only going to be gone for a few hours.

“when i get back,” he explained to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “i’m going to make you the best soup you will ever have. and then we’ll watch some movies.”

you smiled. you would have blushed if it weren’t for your already red cheeks from being sick. hyunjin smiled at you, almost considering on taking the day of himself to spend it taking care of you. but he then hurried out of the apartment, yelling rather loudly, “goodbye, my love!”

you laughed a bit, before your throat began to feel scratchy. once he was gone, you rolled over onto your side in order to take a nap, but in the back of your head, school was nagging your mind. you still had time, you thought to yourself. and before you knew it, you were executing your bad idea. you hurried into the bathroom, despite feeling like you were walking on a pirate ship sailing the sea. in a way, the shower helped relieve you. you felt a bit better, and looking in the bathroom mirror, you looked a lot better. your face was still red, but it wasn’t too noticeable.

after getting dressed in comfortable, not wanting to work yourself too hard, you grabbed your backpack and started towards your class. you couldn’t miss this class. you told yourself, if you got through this class and felt terrible afterwards, then you would go home. then hyunjin would get home hours later without knowing that you left the apartment.

you were walking there. as soon as you were outside, however, the sun beating down above seemed to trigger you. you felt worse under the sun. it made you feel even more sick, more sick to your stomach.

as you were walking, more like stumbling at this point, your best friend rammed herself into your side. “ah!” she yelled happily, “i thought you were ditching without me.”

you shook your head, attempting to smile and work through the nausea. only, suddenly your knees were buckling underneath you, and you fell onto the ground. your friend screamed, only the noise was simply a quiet murmur to you. you saw you face above you, concern and worry written on her face. her mouth was moving but you couldn’t hear a single word she was saying.

your eyelids felt heavy, your entire body felt heavy. it wasn’t long before you allowed yourself to give in. you closed your eyes and passed out in a second, causing your friend to quickly yell for help.

----

the was the first thought you had as soon as you felt yourself begin to come to. you should have listened to your boyfriend. what did he say?

“...i think today you should just take the day off and rest.”

as you began to wake up, you began to feel the presence of your body more. your legs were still sore, but it wasn’t as severe. you were actually feeling hot now. perhaps your fever was finally breaking.

you groaned as you tried to readjust yourself on the bed, your eyes slowly opening in the progress. “y/n?” you heard.

you looked over at your right side. you were surprised to see your mom and dad, looking at you with wide, worrying eyes. your mother was holding your hand, waiting patiently for you. “how are you feeling, dear?” she asked quietly.

“not so great.” you admitted. “are we at the hospital?”

both of your parents nodded before your mom began to explain, “the doctor called us saying that a friend of yours brought you here.”

a flash memory went through your brain. you remembered her face hovering above you, blocking how the blazing hot sun. “oh.” was what you managed to say.

you felt guilty. you should have listened to hyunjin. you should have just stayed in bed and rested, something that needed to be done when one was sick. if you had stayed in bed, you wouldn’t have worried everyone around you. you probably wouldn’t even be in the hospital. you sighed heavily, still feeling a bit fatigued.

“the doctor said you had a fever.” your mother said.

you nodded. “yeah, hyunjin said that too.” a small smile came to your face at the thought of hyunjin when he had taken care of you that morning. “but, i don’t know if this is stress related, but i’ve been having these headaches, and recently my body started to feel sore, even though i haven’t been doing anything out of the ordinary.”

your mom nodded. “maybe it’s stress, maybe it’s apart of your fever. we’ll tell the doctor when he comes back to check on you.”

suddenly the door was thrown open. your eyes were wide with surprise when hyunjin burst into the room at the speed of light. his forehead glistened with sweat, causing the edges of his light-colored bangs to stick to it. he was breathing heavily, looking as if he had just ran a 5k marathon. he stared at you while placing his hands on his hips. “jesus christ.” was all he managed to say before doubling over to take a breather.

your mom grinned at your boyfriend while you felt a blush creep into your cheeks. “i’m sorry.” he spoke. “as soon as [friend’s name] told me about you in the hospital, i was ditching class. i was running here but then i thought i’d get you some snacks and drinks.” he was still panting, but trying his best to explain himself. he turned to your parents. “mr. and mrs. [last name], i don’t like ditching class, i’m a great student, i swear.”

everyone in the room laughed. “hyunjin, it’s okay.” you said, reaching your free hand out to him. “take a breather.”

he nodded and pulled a chair over to your other side, gripping your hand tightly. “jesus, y/n. i heard from minho and seungmin that someone fainted outside on campgrounds, but i almost had a heart attack when your friend told me it was you.”

you blushed. “i know. i should have listened to you.”

your mother squeezed your hand. “what were you doing outside anyway?”

you sheepishly looked at everyone, a guilty smile presenting on your face. “i didn’t want to miss class.”

“y/n!” your mother yelled. “you put your health and life at stake.”

“i know but i didn’t want to have to do the makeup work. it’s different than sitting in a lecture. i feel like i miss important information.”

and so, you, hyunjin, and your parents all talked for a while in the hospital room. after an hour, your parents decided to give you and hyunjin some time alone together. their excuse was they wanted to go run some errands, but the weird smile on your mother’s face told you otherwise.

once they were gone, you turned to hyunjin. there was an innocent look in your eye, and pout on your lips. “i’m sorry for worrying you.”

“i’m forgiving you only because you’re sick.” hyunjin replied, playfully rolling his eyes. “next time you’re sick, i might have to tie you to the bed.”

you narrowed your eyes. “wow. kinky.”

“y/n!”

#stray kids #stray kids hwang hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin one shot #stray kids one shot #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenario #stray kids fluff #kpop

78 notes · View notes

toughaqua777 · 5 years ago

Text

Weird (& Disturbing...?) DQXI AUs

So…I have 2 (3?) AU ideas but I’m not writing them because I’m still writing an AU story and I don’t got the time to start another one. Spoilers for Dragon Quest XI Postgame and the story in general!!!

So, I had a really stupid idea.

Y’know Calasmos? What if when the majority of his power was sealed and all that was left of him was that Tockle, he lost his memories in the process? Like, I dunno, he knew his name and the strange hatred of Morcant/Mordegon. Along with the theory that he needed to find this “Luminary,” whoever tf that was.

Then the shit in Dundrasil happens, and somehow, the little fucker snuck into the Luminary’s shadow, thus getting stuck with him forever, and while they don’t interact often, he’s actually kinda helpful all the way through, gaining his memories as they go along their eventual adventure (using his string appendages and somehow growing bigger, even able to take hits for the kiddo) and, through sheer luck and stealing Jasper’s Orb (Calasmos’ appendages) prevents Act 2 from happening.

Then Calasmos remembers, “Wait o shit I’m supposed to kill him” and goes “Aw hell na” but after Mordegon goes deaded, his full power (w/out the shit in the Lantern), he starts to lose himself and leaves quietly without disturbance, allowing the Luminary to finish what they started when they met in the previous life. Eleven is NOT okay with this when he finds out.

OR AN ALTERNATIVE

Calasmos never lost his memories, but still managed to end up in the hero’s shadow, intending to keep him safe so that he can grow to kill Mordegon. He refuses to get attached to the boy (which may or may not happen anyways), but he still helps out, pretending to be an ally.

Again, prevents Act 2 from happening, but after Mordegon dies, he tells the Luminary they need to go to the desert immediately, but when he does, he attempts to force the Luminary to bring down the Lantern: the Darkspawn would be created! Just in time, Eleven resists, somehow separating himself from the dark god and getting tf outta there, warning his friends. This would still happen if Calasmos got attached to the Luminary, there would just be hesitation that he would despise (o fuk I got attached 2 the mofo how tf shit fuk).

SPEAKING OF DARKSPAWN

Darkspawn Luminary.

This idea has been floating around everyone’s head, I’m sure. What would happen if he was the Darkspawn? And how would that work? Well, some aspects of the story would have to change for the worse, the darker, the torturous, all aimed at the hero’s psyche, eroding it until his mind snaps. Here’s what would have to happen, though:

1) When Heliodor locks him up in the dungeon, he would be chained and beaten pretty bad by a few of the knights. This will cause him trauma and become terrified of the knights, and if I know anything, fear is usually the first step into darkness. On the flipside, Erik calls out the knights before they break anything, and Erik doesn’t find out that Eleven is the Luminary until he unchains him and sees the Mark.

2) Hendrik didn’t stop Jasper at Cobblestone. Remember, it was because of the former that everyone from there survived. But what if he didn’t show up? What if Jasper went through with his plan? Then there would be bodies littered throughout the burning town…and all Eleven can do is look around at all those he cherished and realize: Heliodor murdered them. And it’s all his fault. Despair, and perhaps rage; two more steps into darkness.

By this point, Eleven is just depressed and haunted, but there’s a part of him burning up, a part of him that wants Heliodor to pay. But he had to remember Chalky’s words. He had to…

3) Events in Gondolia got worse. Erik gets captured still, but while Eleven and the party tried to rescue him, Jasper was torturing him; he even took out an eye, the eye being the one Erik would have an eyepatch over in his pirate getup. By the time the party gets there, he’s bleeding and unconscious. And Eleven’s pissed. More rage, losing faith that there’s any humanity in Jasper…or even all of Heliodor. It doesn’t help that he found out that Jasper cursed Placido and (basically) hired a monster to stop his companions.

At hearing that last bit, he found himself thinking that he should’ve finished Jasper off when he had the chance; whether or not that’s an intrusive thought or not depends on preference of writer.

4) Dundrasil. Just. Dundrasil. It was destroyed…Rab lost everything…Jade lost everything…so many people died…and the only person Eleven knew to blame was himself. Hendrik attacking Jade because she associated herself with him did not help. Hearing about Mordegon didn’t help either; he probably wouldn’t have attacked Dundrasil if he wasn’t born there, or so he believes.

This is where his mind accuses him of actually being the Darkspawn (intrusive or not). And he actually considers the words stated. Are…are they right? Should he really become what everyone claims him to be? Would it be better than the agony of being the Luminary? These thoughts continue…and they’re scaring him. Yet…a part of him wants to keep thinking about it. Which is even more frightening.

5) Phnom Nonh was another nail to the coffin for the dimming Luminary. Bazza and the others who go to the mural are pushy (Bazza literally; he pushes Eleven out of the way at the entrance into Phnom Nonh and in the mural), and he takes offense at their hypocrisy and single-mindedness. For example: “Stop tryin’ to hog all the good luck, ya selfish so-and-so’s!” Says the guy hogging the area along with the others. “We deserve a chance to get rich too!” What is it with people and their greed? This is where he starts to lose faith in not only Heliodorians, but humanity as a whole; people actually think like this? Did they even deserve a Luminary?!

The whole thing with Dora did nothing to help; as a little girl, Dora took advantage of people’s innate greed and selfishness, and for those few people who didn’t have that, she manipulated their kind natures with pity/sympathy. Like his. Like his friends. And he does not take that well.

By this point, he’s either gone or barely hanging on to whatever light is still left. If he’s not gone, dark (perhaps intrusive) thoughts keep replaying through his head over and over again. Emotions keep flowing through him over and over again. And he hates it; he had to hold on, there was still good in the world. He had to hold on for dear life He didn’t want to be the Luminary…but he doesn’t want to be the Darkspawn either. But he’s become so fragile in heart, mind, and soul. One last push and his light could wink out. Or perhaps a dark spell would do the trick…

But if he was pushed to the breaking point…that’s it. The light has faded from his eyes, his heart, his mind, his very soul. And from there…who knows what could happen next?

In either scenario, the party will more-than-likely notice his turmoil throughout the entire time. They attempt to reach out to him, calm him, soothe him, literally anything to keep his light from shattering. Does it work? …Maybe. But who can say when he’s suffered so much in such short time with little time to grieve?

im gonna take a fukin nap probs wont remember typin this

#dragon quest #dragon quest 11 #dragon quest xi #dqxi #dq11 #dq11 au #dqxi au #dragon quest xi au #dragon quest 11 au #alternate universe #spoilers #major spoilers #dqxi spoilers #dq11 spoilers

19 notes · View notes

black-wolf066 · 7 years ago

Text

Rock-a-bye Mermaid

Summary: Killian and the crew stumble upon a treasure chest (looted from other pirates), that isn’t a treasure chest at all, but a crib. And inside, is a small infant mermaid. The decision to keep it and the chaos resulting from that decision ensue.

Words: 1431

((((A/N: This fun idea came from [this post] and half the credit goes to @theonceoverthinker for being the devil I mean angel talking in my ear. Even if I was the one to write it, most of this wouldn’t have even been a thought if it weren’t for her. Also, she gets credit for the title as well because I couldn’t think of anything else. Don’t think too much into it because seriously it’s strictly a fun little one-shot born from the comic and our ideas; so I guess it’s a crack/AU fic if you wanna call it that.)))))

Rock-a-bye Mermaid

It was quite by chance that Killian and his crew stumbled upon the barnacle-crusted chest in the stores of the ship.

Captain Flint—a sorry excuse for a pirate if Killian were wholly honest—had thought he could overpower him and his crew and commandeer the Jolly. Flint wasn’t the first sorry sap to meet the sharped end of his cutlass, and Killian knew he certainly wouldn’t be the last. The Jolly was truly a marvel of a girl to sail realms with, and the enchanted wood she was built from only made her appeal that much greater to everyone else.

As he walked around the deck, he sneered at the vessel Flint had the audacity to call a ship. It was dirty and unkempt—which wasn’t surprising with the way the men smelled (He and his crew didn’t always smell like roses either but at least they knew the importance of health and hygiene). Just from the sorry state alone, Killian highly doubted there would be much worth taking and keeping (didn’t stop his crew from trying).

“Cap’n! You might want to take a look at this.”

Strolling across the deck toward his first mate, he regarded Smee with a raised brow but said nothing as he followed him down the steps below. He scrunched his nose at the smell that assaulted his nostrils, but uttered not a sound; Smee hacking and complaining enough for the both of them as they made their way toward the ship’s stores.

And that’s when he saw it, the large treasure chest that looked to have been scraped right off the ocean floor. The iron was old and rusted, and what wood he could see not covered in algae and barnacles, was dull and rotted. There wasn’t even a lock, which led to Killian believing the thing worthless and a waste of his time.

He was just about to round on Smee and the two others in the room, the question on the tip of his tongue when Smee nervously interrupted.

“Cap’n, neither Jamison nor O’Malley could get it open,” Smee nodded for Jamison—who stood beside the trunk—to try the lid again, and heralding the same results.

Killian’s brow rose in intrigue.

Perhaps there was something of value here after all.

He moved to inspect the chest, Jamison backpedaling to stand with the others while he circled around the deteriorating container more than a few times. With a quick look at the hinges, Killian knew—for all intents and purposes—that there should have been nothing preventing the lid from opening. The hinges were barely hanging on by the rusted nails.

The only other logical explanation was magic.

Circling back to the front, he studied the lid and its lockless latch, when he saw it. Using his hook to chip away at the sea life; he slowly revealed an inscription written in Greek.

Vessel with the makings of a true heart: are ye worthy? He translated quietly. He snorted and despite seeing the fruitless results from Jamison, moved to test it out for himself.

The lid opened.

(***)

What the hell were they going to do with a baby mermaid?

That was all Killian could think as Jamison and O’Malley gently placed the chest down on the deck of the Jolly.

They could have left it.

“Tis bad luck to have it on board; we’ll surely sink by the night's end.” O’Malley had vehemently spat his opinion on the matter.

But Killian had taken one look at the tuft of red wispy hair on its head, and the innocent grey eyes—currently scrunched up in discomfort from being disturbed—and knew that wasn’t an option. It may have been a part of the creatures that lured sailors to their deaths, but an infant was an infant, and Killian still had a code.

So here they stood, with a tiny creature that none of them knew quite what to do with.

“Cap’n, is this wise?”

“We can’t exactly leave her, Mr. Smee.”

“But what are we to feed it?”

“She, Mr. Smee.” He corrected. “She’s not a complete monster.” Not yet, was the unspoken afterthought. “And what do most found in the sea eat? Fish.”

(***)

Preparations were quickly made before they sailed off, with the chest being moved down to his quarters (he didn’t trust O’Malley not to go against his order; the older man’s superstitious nature strong enough to give Killian the doubt). For the most part, the babe was still peacefully sleeping in the water that sloshed gently inside the chest, and could only wonder how long it was in Flint’s possession and if her parents were out there searching for her.

With the lid propped open and nestled against the front of his desk; he was just about to head around to begin working on the logs when an inhuman screech penetrated the air and threatened to make his ears bleed. He whirled around to stare in horror at the tiny creature the sound was coming from, her mouth wide open and her pudgy arms and glimmering purple tail splashing wildly as she threw a fit.

Smee came running in moments later. “Why is she screeching!?”

“I don’t know!” he yelled back. “Perhaps she’s hungry.”

Food was quickly brought to them; the leftover raw strips of fish for the stew hopefully a quick and easy solution to get her to calm down. Only it didn’t. Her kicking grew stronger and her noises louder, as she moved her head away from the food.

“Maybe she can’t eat the fish!”

Killian shot Smee an exasperated look.

(Smee was right in the end, fresh kelp—ground into a fine paste—had been the solution they were looking for).

(***)

Earwyn Melody Jones.

That is what Killian and the crew had taken to calling her.

Weeks and months of fumbling had slowly transitioned to surety the longer they took care of her. And as Earwyn grew; she began to steal the hearts of his men without even trying (eventually even winning over O’Malley)

She had long since outgrown the chest, which led to his copper tub to become her new bed, and the creation of the large wooden basin—settled at the front of the Jolly—a make-shift play-pen for her to stretch out her tail.

Speaking of the play-pen.

Killian turned his attention away from the horizon and down toward Smee currently struggling to carry his surrogate daughter up from his quarters. And by the looks and sounds of it, Earwyn wasn’t at all happy to be awoken from her nap; her tail swishing tail shimmering in the sunlight and highlighting the pinks and blues usually hidden within the purple scales.

“Come now, Earwyn, it’s a beautiful day; can’t go wasting it away inside now can we?”

“Tub, unc’a Smee, Tub!” she squirmed and though he couldn’t see her face, Killian knew she was pouting.

He listened as the back and forth continued; highly amused that his first mate was losing to the tenacity of his four-year-old.

Only when Earwyn flicked her tail to hit Smee in spite, did Killian step in.

The rest of the day went without incident.

(***)

“Earwyn! If you don’t come back up here this instant; you’re grounded for a month!” Killian yelled down at his teenaged mermaid-of-a-daughter currently swimming laps around the ship.

“Why must I, papa? The waters are so calm and warm today!”

“These are shark infested waters, Earwyn!”

“I can swim faster than some nasty shark!”

Correction: his spitfire mermaid-of-a-daughter.

“Get. Back. Up. Here. Now!” he gritted out; the infamous jones’ temper starting to take hold the longer she defied him.

Her head shook before disappearing below the surface, and Killian was all but ready to jump after her and haul her back himself.

He was getting too old for this crap.

“Earwyn, please?” came Smee from the other side of the ship; his hand going up to halt Killian’s intentions of coming closer and hearing the conversation. “It’s not safe right now and there is always tomorrow.” His other hand rose to dangle the enchanted necklace Smee had long ago procured to give Earwyn her land legs. “If you continue with your course of action; there might not be a tomorrow.”

Smee stood a little straighter in triumph and dropped the necklace overboard and moments later, Earwyn was up and quickly being wrapped in a nearby sheet.

Killian gave her an exasperated look. Earwyn stared defiantly back.

May the gods give him strength for when the inevitability of courting came into play.

#killian jones #william smee #mermaids #silly but fun idea #ouat ff #once upon a time fanfiction #my fanfiction #half the credit goes to theonceoverthinker #crack fic #ouat au ff

11 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 8 years ago

Text

Fic: Trouble on the Way - Chapter 4/4 (Ao3 link) Fandom: The Flash, DC’s Legends of Tomorrow (total AU) Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart Series: Sequel to Bad Moon Rising Warning: explicit adult content

Summary: It occurs to Len that maybe he’s been willfully ignoring reality when it came to Mick’s new condition. Oh, sure, he’d done the basic research, the public stuff, but he’d been so determined not to make Mick feel like any more of a freak than he already did that he’d perhaps skimped a little on some of the details that were turning out to be more relevant than he’d originally thought.

Time to fix that.

A/N: Will only make sense if you’ve read the first one in the series, as it follows straight on it, but I think the first one is one of my best standalones, so I’m making this a sequel instead

An executive decision was made that (in the spirit of the first one) this series is going to be like a minimum of 70% kinky smut, because we can always use more of that in this fandom, so, uh, mind the full set of warnings on Ao3.

———————————————————————————–

Len slouches back against the wall of the bar, hand wrapped around a pint of beer. He's feeling pretty good, all things considered. Sure, the place is loud, rowdy, and smells bad, but the beer is surprisingly decent and the air isn't too smoky. He's found himself a nice corner where he can have his back safely to the wall and he’s all wrapped up in his parka and two layers beneath it, just as he likes it.

Both layers are actually Mick's, actually. Len would've had to be blind to miss how Mick kept sniffing at Len and smiling, especially when Len's in bed or sitting by Mick, not to mention his appreciative comments the day before about Len answering the door for him, so Len had made the obvious calculation and grabbed a button-down Mick had worn a few days ago and dug up an old sweater of Mick’s to go on top of it.

It’d been very successful.

He smirks, remembering how Mick's jaw dropped in a very satisfactory manner when Len strolled out wearing that get up and announced that they were going out to get a drink.

"You've got no fear, do you?" Mick said, shaking his head, getting up and heading towards Len. “Crazy bastard – it’s only the day after the moon –”

"You know you want to go," Len purred in response. "Wanna show me off, don't you?"

Mick groaned and dropped to his knees, crawling forward. "You drive me nuts, Snart," he growled.

Len gulped, watching Mick crawl to him. "Now, Mick," he half-heartedly protested. "We're meant to be heading out."

"Oh, we'll go out," Mick said, running his hands up Len's legs. "We'll go out all right. But I ain't gonna show you off; I don't need to. You're gonna show yourself off, aren't you? Control freak."

Len shrugs. He's a bit of a control freak, it's true.

Mick laughed. "I bet you will," he says fondly. "You're my prize, best in the box." He ducked his head, nuzzling Len's inseam, working his way up Len's inner thigh. "My partner," he rumbled. "Len..."

"I guess we can take a little extra time before going," Len conceded.

"Stick 'em up," Mick said. "And keep 'em there."

Len laced his fingers together behind his head.

"Good."

Mick's fingers made quick work of Len's jeans, popping open the button and unzipping, pulling Len out. He rubbed his cheek against Len’s cock, smirking as Len groaned, and then, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Len’s, Mick leaned down, forgoing any delicacy to wrap his lips around Len’s cock.

“Fuck,” Len croaked.

Mick hummed happily and just went for it. No neatness, no tricks, no subtlety, just Mick doing his goddamn best to drive Len insane.

Len’s knuckles went white keeping his hands behind his head. Turns out years of being able to hold that pose while being searched by angrily policemen who kept smacking at him with batons to try to lure him out of position so they’d have an excuse to beat an allegedly hostile suspect down is absolutely useless when it comes to resisting an amorous werewolf with a wicked sense of humor.

The worst part, of course, is that every time Len’s fingers so much as slipped even slightly out of position, Mick stopped until Len got them back into place.

The challenge somehow made it all the better.

Goddamn Mick. And he says Len's a control freak.

Of course, once Len was done, Mick had gotten all revved up, and well, Len firmly believes in the equality and reciprocity aspects of a good partnership.

Suffice it to say that it'd taken them a good extra hour to get out of the house.

Clearly the answer to Len’s introversion and dislike of loud, rowdy gatherings is to get him into an appropriately mellow post-orgasm-and-brief-nap languor. Len smiles at the memory and shifts a little in his chair. Time to change the direction of his thoughts or else he’d start having trouble sitting still.

Though the idea of pulling Mick into the bathroom for a quickie is intensely appealing...

A trail of iridescent bubbles float into Len’s face, forcing him to wave them off and glare at the offending nereid, who blushes and looks away.

On second thought, maybe this isn’t the right bar to be having quickies in. It's a super bar, which meant that the whole variety of supernatural creatures in Central was on display: wolves and vamps and dryads and selkies, everyone and everything.

No lightning spirits, but Len’s not surprised; the Flash had left a garbled voicemail on Len’s phone saying something about gorillas which Len isn’t touching with a ten-foot pole. Why the Flash is dealing with a zoo problem, Len doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know.

He suspects it’s because the Flash has been particularly protective - read: absurdly over-invested in everything - of Central City ever since his battle royale with that other lightning spirit had spurred on a large black whirling cyclone over the city, destroying large swathes of it. Some people had called it a black hole, which was just frankly ridiculous.

Magic is magic, but you get that close to a black hole, nothing’s going to help you, in Len’s view.

“What’re you thinking?” Mick asks, draining his own beer.

“…nothing much,” Len replies, his mind having wandered off into thinking about how some supernaturals didn’t seem to need to breath the way humans did and wondering about whether supernaturals could travel in space and maybe-not-maybe imagining him and Mick in dashing sci-fi uniforms pirating the galaxy.

“I don’t want to know?”

“No.”

Not until Len has a chance to visit a costume store, anyway.

“Want another drink?”

Len looks down at his still half-filled beer. “You want to start a fight,” he predicts.

Mick beams.

Len shakes his head and slides his beer over to Mick. “Finish that, then get me another,” he orders. “Oh, and tell the bartender I want some fries.”

“Fries it is,” Mick says, finishing Len’s beer in a few swallows. “Oh, and some of those cheese things.”

“Can’t go wrong with cheese,” Len agrees, then watches appreciatively as Mick heads over to the bar. He can’t help but feel a slight frisson of excitement; he’s always enjoyed watching Mick fight when there’s nothing else at stake – a nice bar fight’s always been his favorite part of going out to bars at all – and Mick’s clearly feeling it tonight, smug and satisfied after the moon going so damn well. It’s going to be beautiful.

Sure enough, Mick makes it to the bar, puts in his order, and starts getting into some shit with one of the tough guys hanging out there, some guy in a leather jacket that doesn’t make him look nearly as tough as he thinks it does.

Of course, with Mick, it’s even odds if that’s going to end up in a fight or in Mick finding a new friend, because Mick does that. He’s ridiculously good with people, even if he doesn’t think that he is; it’s all a matter of putting him in the right context.

"Heeeeeeeey," someone says not too far away from Len.

Len tries not to roll his eyes. C'mon, man, at least give her a pick-up line to go with that.

"Hey? I mean, excuse me?"

It takes that long for Len to realize that the person being so badly approached is him.

He turns his head slowly, disbelievingly.

"You're a college student," Len says flatly.

"...I'm into older guys?" the kid tries. He's brunette, short, kinda twink-y. He's got a hearing aid, and his clothing practically screams rich boy. "And I actually graduated early, so..."

"No. Just - no."

"If you'd give me a chance, I could show you -"

Len holds up a hand and, when that doesn't work, pins the kid with a look that cuts him off mid-sentence. "Kid," he says, because he remembers being young and dumb. "Just stop the embarrassment now and move on. For both our sakes."

"But -"

Len's eyes narrow. "Kid, do you know the phrase 'no means no'?"

"...yes?"

"I'm saying no. Now leave before I make my ‘no’ even more clear - and in case that was too subtle, I mean 'before I break your bones'."

The kid slinks away, though not without some sincerely longing looks back at Len.

Len shakes his head in amusement. Guess there's always one. Len knows he's pretty hot, he uses it often enough in trapping marks, but he's not sure how Mick hanging all over him earlier hadn't been clear enough. Hope springs eternal, he supposes.

That first kid was funny.

The next four people who sidle over to hit on him are not.

"You're popular," the stormster who's been sitting a few seats down the bar comments.

"You noticed," Len says dryly.

"That last woman was pretty smoking. Just saying."

"I'm taken," Len says, trying to see where Mick had gotten to - ah, the pool tables, showing some rube what's what. Good man. Fight must've gotten derailed.

"You're Cold, aren't you?" the stormster asks.

Len actually looks at him for that one. "That's me," he says, eyes narrowing until a name pops into his head. "Mardon, is it?"

"Yeah."

"Did you actually try to tsunami the city?"

"Not my finest moment," Mardon concedes, coughing a little in embarrassment. "Anniversary of my little brother's death."

"Tough. My sympathies."

"Thanks."

"Try it again and I'll ice your balls off."

"I have no doubt," Mardon says, wincing. "And you’re not the only one to make his feelings on the subject known. Say, you planning anything coming up? I'm not short or anything, nothing desperate, but, well, ever since the Flash came around, it’s been harder to find good jobs..."

"I might," Len allows. "Why you asking me?"

"You're one of the few people with a good record of pulling shit off against the Scarlet Sparkplug. Figure I'll get in with someone who knows what they're going."

Len hums thoughtfully, thinking about it. On one hand, a supernatural crew would be pretty cool, and Mick never said that their pack had to be wolf-only. On the other hand – tsunami.

“If it changes anything, I’ve hooked up with a wolf myself recently,” Mardon offers. “He’s got some banshee blood, good with electronics, sonic stuff.” He winces a little. "Pretty sure he tried to hit on you earlier, but he's normally better than that."

"Gimme your contact info," Len says. "I'll consider it."

Weather manipulation - you could do a lot with that. Sure, Mardon was clearly more emotional, but if Len could manage Mick, he could easily manage Mardon. Bringing along a tech guy would be good, too, especially if Mick was looking for more wolves. That would also add a new element to Len’s battles against the Flash, which could be interesting…

“Hey, pretty. This seat taken?”

“Yes,” Len says without looking. “Buzz off.”

A heavy hand falls down on Len’s shoulder and spins him around with inhuman force. The guy in front of him is a giant – not literally, since Len supposes it's possible those also exist, but he's a head taller than Len, and Len's not a short man. Even without that, the man has supernatural strength, and Len of course does not. This is a rather unfair match.

Len's favorite type.

"That wasn't very nice, pretty boy," the wolf - and it is a wolf, like Mick, practically half shifted given how goddamn hairy he is, or maybe he just looks like that normally - says, growling out his words.

Len is unimpressed.

The wolf mistakes Len's disdain for fear, or something of the sort, as he then grins, over-long tongue lapping out to lick his lips. "So," he rasps, running the thumb of the hand still clapped onto Len's shoulder along Len's neck, "how you plan to make it up to me?"

Len is deeply unimpressed.

Still, Mick likes this bar. Len will try the diplomatic approach.

"You came up to me," he says flatly. "You asked a question, you got an answer. Now if you know what's good for you, you'll do what I told you the first time and buzz off."

Len never said his diplomatic approach was particularly diplomatic.

The wolf laughs nastily. "I don't think so," he says, still going for the raspy voice. "I think -"

"I don't have any Tylenol on me," Len interjects. "But there's a drugstore down the way."

The wolf blinks, off his stride. "What?"

"For that cold of yours," Len says helpfully. "You keep doing this thing with your voice." He coughs as demonstration.

Mardon sniggers into his drink. He's not the only one.

The wolf's eyes narrow and he tries to rally. "You won't be laughing long," he says, low and threatening. "Not after I drag you down and fuck you right here on the floor, fill you up like a bitch like you needs -"

"As if I'd sleep with anybody so crass as to be half-shifted in a super bar before the fighting's even started," Len says, because his patience for being hit on has gone down to basically nothing, and his patience for threats was never all too great to start with. "And even if I was so stupid, I feel like the bartender might object."

"No one'll object once you're moaning beneath me," the wolf says confidently.

"I won't be," Len says. "Last chance to buzz off before I put you in your place."

The wolf laughs nastily. "You're expecting your dumb brute wolf of a partner to come rescue you? Well, I don't think -"

"You don't think," Len says, his voice cold, because being rude to Len in an attempt to start a fight is entirely understandable, but insulting Mick is just uncalled for. "And you clearly don't listen either, since I said I would put you in your place."

"You?" the wolf scoffs. "What could you do to me?"

"Well," Len drawls, "you're a big strong werewolf, stronger and faster than I'll ever be, and little old me's got nothing -"

The wolf smirks and tries to speak.

"- except a gun aimed at your hip and loaded with amped up silver rounds, of course."

The wolf straights up immediately, his eyes dropping down to Len’s lap where, indeed, Len has pulled out his regular-style gun - more subtle than the cold gun, luckily - and is aiming it at the wolf with all appearances of casualness.

Len’s an adrenaline junkie, not stupid. Why in the world would he go to a supernatural bar, filled to the brim with creatures that prey on mankind, in order to start a bar fight and not bring a weapon specifically tailored for the supernatural?

"I'd shoot you before you got a step closer," Len says meditatively. "Since wolves aren't anywhere near faster than guns, I’d hit you, too. And while you'd stagger back, trying to rip it out of your flesh - you'd succeed, of course, this bar's got a no-killing-whatever-reason banning rule - I'd pull out my cold gun, which can freeze lightning in its tracks, and I'd see you well you fare for a month or two re-growing that foot of yours from frostbite."

The wolf is gaping at him. Len lets his eyes flicker across the room, taking its measure - they have an audience, but they mostly seem neutral or in Len's favor, good, and then adds, "But I'm not going to do that."

"You're...not?" the wolf says, clearly puzzled. Possibly a little hopeful that it meant that Len was softening to his beyond-terrible approach, because he clearly doesn't have any intelligence whatsoever.

"No," Len says, and leans back onto the bar. "See, my 'wolf of a partner', as you call him, has been wanting to get into a fight since we arrived, and -" here Len smirks "-he's coming up right behind you."

The wolf spins around just in time for a few hundred pounds of enraged Mick Rory to hit him dead on.

There's roars and shouting all around as they roll away from Len and into the middle of the crowd, spectators rushing in to watch and cheer.

Len leans back triumphantly and gestures to the bartender with the hand that isn't holding the gun - he doesn't lie about guns unless he has to. "Another beer," he says to the amused looking djinn-of-many-bodies' closest incarnation. "And I believe my partner put in an order for fries and those cheese things?"

"Coming right up," the bartender replies, shaking his head in amusement.

"Thanks, Damian."

"It's only going to make it worse, you know," Damian tells him before disappearing, likely to join up with the version of him that works in the kitchen.

Len's not entirely sure what he means, but Mardon's nodding along. "Good luck," Mardon says before Len can think of a way to react. "I'll look you up in a few days for that job - if I can get past the line at your door, that is!" He roars with laughter.

Len dearly wants to ask what the hell Mardon thinks he's talking about, but he doesn't because Mardon wants to work with him, and that means maintaining an air of competence even when faced with unexpected insinuations of knowledge.

Mardon drains his drink and salutes Len before heading out the door. Len nods at him, then starts brainstorming what it could possibly mean.

Presumably Mardon's talking about all the people hitting on Len. Maybe the sorceress' malediction backfired off of Mick and onto Len in reverse, making him irresistibly attractive to people instead of making Mick irresistibly attracted to them? But if so, how could Mardon tell? He didn't seem affected.

Was there some sort of guidebook supernaturals got when they turned? Because damnit, Len needs one of those.

"Pardon me," a chirpy voice says. "I don't mean to interrupt, but that was a most impressive display."

You've got to be kidding. Not another one already.

Shit, if it’s related to the malediction, Len'd better take this to STAR Labs sooner rather than later, embarrassing as it might be.

He turns to tell the guy what's what, then stares. "Do you have a death wish?" he asks Mr. Beige-and-Pastels from the day before. "First you come to my door, now you come up to me in a bar? You stalking me or something? Because I will put an end to that, you hear me-"

"I am sorry about yesterday," the guy interrupts apologetically. He still sounds chirpy and cheerful. Len didn’t even know you could sound apologetic and chirpy at the same time. "It was the moon, and I wasn't thinking clearly."

Len would hurt him right now if he wasn't so obviously oblivious. And almost professionally good-natured sounding. He's got to be in some sort of sales position; no one naturally has that type of smooth yet bland cheeriness. Oddly familiar, actually.

"Don't see how that's my problem," Len points out.

"I understand entirely, and it's my fault for burdening you at that time -" Well, an apology is always appreciated, Len supposes. "-but I was hoping that we could start again fresh, on a better foot."

People actually say that in real life? Len had thought it was just sitcoms.

Also...

"You remember that I pulled a gun on you, right?" Len asks skeptically. "I don't see why you're so hot and bothered to be making my acquaintance despite that."

"No, no, it was perfectly understandable! You were defending your home base from intruders."

Supernaturals support 'stand your ground' laws; Len is not even a little surprised. Territorial bastards, the whole lot of them - though he guesses it helps to have rapid healing abilities when it comes to forgiving people for being trigger-happy. You forgive a lot more if you’re not dead.

"Uh-huh," Len says, crossing his arms and giving the guy a skeptical look, hoping to convey that this conversation was going nowhere.

Though this guy did keep reminding him of someone he swears he's met before.

The guy coughs a bit. "Yes, well," he says. "That's in the past now. I was just hoping to introduce myself, properly this time - my name is Dan, and I -"

Wait.

Wait a goddamn second.

"Hotline Dan?" Len asks, because that voice is goddamn unmistakable now that the guy’s not high up on moon-day hormones. "What the fuck?"

The guy - Dan, freaking family-friendly telemarketer hotline Dan - looks just as taken aback as Len.

“You’ve called the supernatural assistance line?” he asks, blinking. “Well, that’s forward-thinking of you.”

“We talked literally the day before yesterday! You hung up on me!”

“I did?”

Len resists the temptation to say 'Yes! You did!' because he has the feeling that they'd just end up going in circles. "I asked some questions about sexual practices and new mates," he says, pinning hotline Dan with a glare. "You called me a pervert and told me to get stuffed."

Dan blinks rapidly. "I - uh - I mean – well, regardless, it seems to have gone very well for you, I'd say?"

Len's jaw drops a little. This guy is an idiot. He's not actually trying to say –

"After all, you and your mate have certainly had a very fruitful and enjoyable full moon, it appears,” Dan says, trying on an ingratiating smile.

Yes. He's actually trying to comment on Mick and Len's sex life. In public.

Len wonders for a wild moment if him killing the guy would qualify for the Darwin Awards. Surely this counts as an intentional attempt to remove yourself from the gene pool..?

"It's quite obvious he's, ah, treating you well," Dan adds, clearly totally misinterpreting Len's expression and deciding to dig that hole of his a few feet deeper. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea, we can all smell how thorough he was -"

"I showered twice," Len says, vaguely horrified. It’s not that he cares that people know – he’d be wearing a turtleneck if that were the case, because his neck currently resembles a goddamn disaster zone for how many hickies Mick worked long and hard on – but…seriously?

Dan coughs. "Well, it's your first moon," he offers. "After a few, when the mating bond settles down, your scents will merge and it will be less obvious. Well, that or -"

"What's this about the mating thing not having settled?" Len asks, interrupting. He doesn't like the sound of that. He’d thought things were settled – he and Mick were going to keep being excessively co-dependent partners, as Lisa likes to say, except with the addition of regular sex, backrubs and pancakes. Mick's not going with any goddamn pack. "I thought - what more does there need to be?"

Dan blinks. "You don't know?"

"No, I don't know, that's why I'm asking," Len says. Years of keeping his temper in the face of aggravation are the only reason he’s not ripping off Dan’s head right now. "You're the hotline guy, so talk."

“Huh, I would have thought you would,” Dan says, and seems uninterested in continuing.

Okay, that’s it.

“Well, I don’t, so why don’t you tell me?” Len snarls, catching Dan's arm and reeling him in closer. His answers are right in front of him and guess what, hotline Dan? You can't hang up on a guy in person.

"...you're very attractive when you do that," Dan croaks.

"Seriously?!"

"It's not my fault! Mates are measured on a certain scale of desirability and you - well, you're very desirable."

Len scoffs. He knows he's hot; he doesn't need fluffing up. But after the first glance, most people figured out that he was a notorious violent criminal-slash-supervillain and dropped it. The guns and his general misanthropy usually helped with that. "Yeah, to a very specific audience."

"No, generally!" Dan insists, looking surprised. "You must know - to a wolf, you're really something very special."

Len rolls his eyes. Very special, his ass, what sort of pick up line –

"Wait," he says, suspicion rising up in his mind. "Has everybody who's been hitting on me been a wolf?"

"Well, I'd imagine so," Dan says. "You're in competition."

"I'm in what?!"

"A pack is judged by the strength of the wolf and the will of the mate," Dan says. Len vaguely recalls him saying something like that on the phone, but it hadn't seemed all that important, more metaphorical than anything else, really.

He'd forgotten that to supernaturals, metaphor often was reality.

"There are a number of established packs in the city," Dan is continuing. "Most wolves are involved in them because of the social instinct, the need to be a part of something, and because the competition between packs is pretty fierce, and violent."

"No shit," Len says. "They're beating out the gangs for the most territorial scuffles this year."

Not to mention the Families themselves, which is pretty impressive. Len never thought he'd see the day when there was any organizations more persnickety about maintaining territory lines than the goddamn Families.

Of course, the fact that the relevant organizations are werewolf packs goes a long way to redeeming it in Len's mind.

The police's as well, since unlike the gangs or the Families, the wolf packs generally fight with tooth and claw, not guns, and had a lot less collateral damage as a result. Really, as long as you didn't run straight into a wolf brawl you could walk down the street across from one without fearing for your life.

Scared the rubes, though. Central City homeowners wondering how to deal, please press one.

"Well, that's the danger in starting a new pack, you see," Dan says. He's incredibly earnest. Almost painfully so. "A new pack with no members starts at the bottom - unless they can find a mate that's strong and proud and willful. That'll give them a leg up."

"You're joking," Len says, unable to resist his skepticism. "Finding a girlfriend - or a boyfriend, or a non-binaryfriend, whatever - is no substitute for strength in numbers."

Dan shrugs. "For wolves, it is," he says. "That's why you're so desirable. You're strong and your will is -" His eyes drift a little closed. "It's really something..."

"You are being used as an information source," Len says. "Nothing more. Stop hitting on me."

"You can’t hold me responsible! You took on another wolf!" Dan protests. "Several, even! By yourself!"

"Not in an actual fight,” Len points out, even though he’s got the feeling this argument is well and thoroughly lost.

"Physical strength is only half the story," Dan says dismissively. "The will is what's important - you defended yourself, your homestead, you stood steadfastly by your mate -"

"We've been partners thirty years," Len says. "Well before the werewolf crap. Of course I'm standing by him."

"Most wolves don't have that. It's why he was able to claim you as a mate - a declaration that he's starting a new pack, a brazen challenge to the rest of the wolves in the city, to the established order."

Brazen challenge to the establishment. Yeah, that sounded like Mick.

"And, naturally, the competitive instinct of the remaining wolves gets fueled by that, and everyone simply had to go see you and judge you, to see what sort of pack is being formed."

Len sighs. He remembers Mick said something about showing off Len. He'd thought Mick meant more in the strutting about and preening about getting laid on the regular going forward sense, which he supposes this is just a more elaborate version of.

“And then, of course, you reacted so excellently – it was clear to all who looked that any wolf that won you for their own would be able to form a strong pack, and thus the competition began.”

“Competition for me,” Len says flatly.

“It’s traditional,” Dan says.

“For me. Because they want – what? To date me for independence and pack-power? Everyone wants a new pack?”

“Well,” Dan says, flushing a little, “if you were to mate with someone who was already in an established pack, your power would be added to that pack’s power, and therefore there would be a readjustment of the power dynamics regardless…”

“Now you’re definitely fucking with me,” Len says. “You can’t expect me to believe the power dynamics in Central City get reshuffled every time a wolf gets laid.”

“No, no! Just mates. Mates are – it’s different.”

“So why’s the competition for me?” Len asks suspiciously. “Wouldn’t getting Mick to join a pack work just as well?”

“It would,” Dan says. “Though if a wolf has claimed a mate – it’s quite rare, actually, the commitment involved on both sides is immense and necessarily mutual, far more like a marriage than a relationship –”

Len got werewolf-married because of a sex spell?

He’s never telling Lisa.

She’ll die laughing and then resurrect herself just to make sure he never lives it down.

Not that he objects to being married to Mick – they’re already married for tax and testifying purposes, after all, and now they get to add sex to the mix, so no harm, no foul – but still. Something that should’ve probably been mentioned.

Though in fairness, Mick was somewhat distracted at the time...

“– and of course assuming the mate is considered widely desirable, the likelihood of a wolf in the midst of competitive fever, with his focus fixed on pleasing and winning his mate, showing off that he’s the best, would agree to join a pack at that time…”

“Not high,” Len says. “Good.”

“I don’t suppose you would be amenable to meeting a few –”

Len gives Dan a Look.

“…I suppose not.”

“No. Now, one thing I still don’t get. How does dating someone – fine, marrying someone – make you more powerful?”

“It doesn’t,” Dan says. “But if a mate is filled with magical strength -"

"I don't have magic," Len objects. He's one of the few of the Flash's enemies that doesn't, in fact; it's well known.

"But a wolf does," Dan says. "And it would be reflected in the strength of your character. Not in terms of your virtues as regular civilization would have it," he adds hastily, foreseeing Len's obvious retort. "But in what wolves see as attractive. Your sharp mind, your observant eyes, your ruthlessness, your violence, your protective instinct, your loyalty, your wariness -"

"My paranoia is a selling point now?"

"We're wolves," Dan points out. "We may be men, too, but some of our instincts still harken back to the forest."

"But real wolves don't kill or be killed," Len insists, recalling some of those goddamn Animal Planet/Discovery Channel documentaries Mick's gotten into. "Their structure allows for -"

"That's 'cause we're not real wolves," Mick says, panting a little from exertion, sweating, but grinning broadly. He's clearly the victor - Len can see the other wolf limping away, scowling and nursing his well-deserved injuries. "We’re men, too, and mankind’s the most vicious, territorial bastard species on the planet. What're you talking about?"

"The fact that I'm apparently the newest hot girl in school," Len says dryly.

Mick loops an arm over Len’s shoulder. “That you are,” he says, grinning with a bit of teeth at Dan, who skitters a step or two backwards in a way that even Len can tell is respectful and please-don’t-rip-my-head-off-for-flirting-with-your-mate. “My hot girl. Or guy. Or neither. However you’re feeling today.”

“And all this apparently has some sort of impact on pack politics in Central,” Len says pointedly.

“We’re going to have the best pack,” Mick says happily, totally missing Len’s attempt to flag to him that maybe they should have talked about this. “Relax, Snart; it’s me beating up people who hit on you. You like watching that anyway.”

“Point,” Len concedes. He does like watching that. Mick in action in Len’s defense has always had appeal – almost a feudal sort of feeling, a man fighting in your name and for your (mostly non-existent) honor.

Yeah, that wasn’t so bad. Len could live with that, a few fights by Mick, giving them time to collect the best pack in the city – like Len would accept anything less than the best –

Though Len’s not getting caught flat-footed again. He and Mick are going to be having a long chat about what to expect next, and Mick’s not getting out of it with pancakes this time.

Actually, now that Len thinks about it –

“Say,” he says. “How long is this whole competition thing going to last, anyway? Till the next moon?”

“Oh, no,” Dan says. “A season or two, at least.”

“Half a year?”

Dan nods happily. “Yes, of course,” he says. “Possibly up to a year. Or until you get pregnant, of course, that would quite settle the issue.”

Len snorts. “Not sure if the competition’s starting to get to your head, but I’m still a guy.”

“And we’re wolves,” Dan says, sounding puzzled. “Supernatural biology utilizes a magical capacity for childbirth in order to enable pregnant individuals to continue fighting without significant impairment; any supernatural being, regardless of gender, is capable of impregnating any other being, regardless of gender.”

"Well, that seems like something that ought to be on the hotline before getting hung up on -" Len starts to say, snide and insulting, before it hits him.

Specifically, the very hot but – he’d assumed – theoretical dirty talk Mick had been pouring into his ear the last few days.

Dirty talk that accompanied the also very hot but very unprotected sex they've been having.

“Mick!"

"What? What'd I do?"

Len groans. This is going to take a while.

#dccoldwave #my fic #mick rory #leonard snart #bad moon rising #werewolves

30 notes · View notes