#and how that shit highlights exactly how far away people are able to stray from logic when they're deep in the middle of things like this

[quirkle2]

[zombie au] the image is too big for tumblr i had to cut it in half GVEAUYGV (please for the love of god zoom in)

[chopper-witch]

AWOMOD: An Appeal to Humanity (Ch 11)

Characters: Loki x Ashira, others 

Warnings: fluff, angst

Locations: some random ass planet 

Word count: 2,900+ (short, I know)

Summary: Hazy memories confuse Loki; nothing good ever lasts.

A/N: I am so sorry for taking so long. this past quarter was actual hell. Sorry for any mistakes. 

AWOMOD Masterlist

Previous

He didn’t intend to pry into her mind. It just happened. 

Sincerely. One moment Loki was peacefully asleep, not even dreaming, and the next his head was filled with hazy visions from someone else’s mind. 

And they wouldn’t stop. 

These memories were not ones Ashira had previously described. No - they seem old. Not like she was young, but these were a nearly a thousand years before they met. Nearly as old as he. 

Memory after memory went filing into his mind, all in order, it seemed. None were ones they discussed together. They were not painful; they were not terrifying. In fact, they were almost calming. 

Too fuzzy to see clearly, the general shapes gave way to Loki figuring out what was going. From Ashira’s eyes he saw what appeared to be her training someone else. And from he could feel, she enjoyed training. She enjoyed the one-on-one fighting, the sprinting, the obscene challenges, all of it. She didn’t laugh victoriously when she won like people on Asgard did, instead jumping around ready to go again most of the time. No loud grunts or howls to indicate moves, just near silence like she showed him before, sliding and jumping around with such grace it seemed like she was a dancer instead of a warrior. 

It is fun to watch it from her view. Besides the few times he has snuck into his brother’s - no,  not his brother - and those fools that person calls friends’ minds, he’s never really seen what it is like to fight from someone else’s view. From his it is always tiring when he cannot be stealthy, useless when he cannot simply use magic. From hers it truly is like dancing. Sometimes. Working with, not against the way the enemy moves. Others it is just brutal. Every time it is relaxing. 

The person she is training is far clunkier and only grows more so as they age in this hazy past. But they are still very strong, easily landing solid hits that send her flying back multiple times on multiple occasions. Hits that makes his body wince as he relives her experience, lightly. She recovers quickly, but he’s never been hit like that, and he’s had Mjølnir slam directly into his gut at near full speed. 

But beyond the physical elation she gained from it, guilt surrounded each moment. It’s an overlay, a delayed emotion. Something after the fact made her add guilt to what used to be fun, something she seemed to genuinely enjoy. 

So he brushes it off at first, assuming she just felt bad about something involving a fellow citizen. The other person is purple after all. Much, much taller, but purple. Loki isn’t quite sure of Aresian biology given she is so short yet built while Selene is nearly his height and insanely slim. Seems to be like Asgardian, but he doesn’t know. He’s seen exactly two in his lifetime. 

Yet the memories keep coming. Never clear enough to truly see what is happening; only just enough information to know she trained this person for over 900 years. And that she regrets ever even teaching him to properly stand during a fight. 

Eventually the memories stop. 

Loki wakes only minutes after her. As soon as her eyes shoot open the walk through history stops for him, not even a stray thought in her mind is left for him to access. An entire shutout from her mind leaves him disorientated where he otherwise would be able to wake immediately as well. Rarely is he kicked out so harshly. Most of the time he is not dealing with people who have their entire minds completely walled off. 

Ashira stands, reaching up to stretch her back, then just flops as she folds over, slamming her head into her knees. She slept dreamlessly for once. Suspicious, but hey, she’ll take it. 

Her head looks to her left, out towards more trees and plants, eyeing the fox-like creature as it silently weaves between the plants. Her head then turns to the right, first focusing on the golden prairie being highlighted by the morning golden hour. Then Loki makes a hiccup-esque noise and she tilts her head just a little more to look at him. 

Loki is squirming a bit as his face twitches. It’s a bit odd to watch as she’s never seen him do that before. But hey, maybe leaning against the side of a metal ship to sleep did a number on his muscles. 

When he does wake up, she is still beside him, staring out at the sunrise. The morning gold, more yellow than the red of the evening gold, reflects on her skin in a way much different than the silver of the moon. Those little silver freckles he noticed now look black, the darker streaks in her hair look more matte than shiny. It’s as if new day has the opposite effect on her than a new night.  

“Near the capital,” she suddenly speaks, “was prairie land. The only place on the whole planet where a prairie was and it stretched for miles. I always loved it more than the forests or swamps or whatever else. Something about prairies was always so… calming.” 

“That sounds beautiful.”

“It was.” She looks down at her feet. “It was really beautiful.”

After a moment of just the morning animals speaking, she looks towards Loki. 

“You’ve told me so much but I’m still curious. Anything like this?”

“Asgard is mostly mountainous. Jotunheim is mostly mountainous, just covered in ice.” 

Ashira shakes her head in disbelief. “That’s boring.”

“It is.” 

Ashira turns back to where the sun is still slowly rising. 

Loki finally stands. Gently, of course. His body is still a bit off from suddenly being drop kicked out of her mind. 

The sun continues to rise as they stand in silence. This planet is quite beautiful, as is the sunrise, but Loki is watching the way Ashira seems to sway with every gust of wind as if she is paper thin and not a strong, heavy warrior. It is fascinating how she seems to lose herself to nature. 

“May I have this dance?” Loki blurts out. 

Ashira’s eyes widen nervously as she turns. “What?” 

“Dance with me.”

“I-I don’t know how.” She laughs. It’s not those high pitched flirting laughs he has been subject to his entire laugh. It’s loud and all over the place in pitch and genuine. More genuine than all the other laughs she’s laughed before in front of him.

“I don’t believe that.”

“Well.” She crosses her arms. “There’s no music.” 

“You don’t need music to dance.” Loki extends his left hand out. Ashira looks down at, still skeptical at the whole idea.  “If you really want, we can play some music. But you don’t need any music to dance.” 

She looks back up. “How is dancing relevant?” 

Loki huffs. “It doesn’t matter how it’s relevant. Just take my hand, dammit.” 

So she does. 

And she was somewhat right. 

She is a terrible dancer. For someone who so gracefully fights, she can’t seem to predict where is foot will be when it is going to the same place it was a moment ago. Even when just swaying and gently moving their feet, she either steps on him or trips over her own two. While it is clear that she may not quite get how to dance the way he does, still she smiles and giggles at her own missteps. 

At one point Loki is tempted to just tell her to stand on his feet so she will stop accidentally stepping on him, but he is reminded by another stomp that she is nearly twice his weight. An accidental stomp is less painful than constant weight upon his feet. 

After five minutes she finally figures it out. Her focus moves from the ground where she had been intently staring up to Loki’s face. Loki does not move his focus from where it was, looking down at her. As soon as their eyes meet a grin breaks onto her face.

“I think I figured it out,” she laughs. 

Loki nods slightly. “I think you did. It wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Harder than a lot of things for me. But no, not so hard.”

She leans her head into his chest then and sighs. It’s been years since she has been able to have such a quiet, intimate moment with anyone. 

Loki has never had such a quiet, intimate moment with anyone before. At least not like this. Rarely are his offers taken up to dance at an actual ball. No one has ever taken him up on his offer to just sway in silence. 

“You’re heart is beating really fast,” she murmurs. 

“Is it?” He replies quietly, looking out towards the prairie. 

“Mhm. But I get it.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, you are in the presence of true fame. It’s nerve-racking to be around such a celebrity.” 

Loki laughs. “Is that right?”

“Mhm.” 

She looks back up at him and he looks down. With the sun now risen, her dark eyes transform into a color like that of trees’ bark in the forests back home. Deep in tone but soft in nature. The sun makes his eyes brighter as well, the turquoise-green becoming lakes of ice blue. 

They both stop moving. 

The rustling of the grass and chirping of birds fades to silence.

The warming heat from the sun feels like nothing against their skin.

Even the fox that comes brushing between Ashira’s legs is ignored. 

Their only focus is the other and their eyes as time seems to stop.

Loki has read enough books about love to know exactly where this is going. And it’s not that Ashira doesn’t know, but she’s never been in such a story book perfect moment before. It’s a weird feeling.

Ashira brings herself to push onto her toes while Loki tilts his head down. 

With eyes still open, lips barely an inch apart, they can already taste each other. But as they reach that awkward distance, the one where they hover for a moment while they decide whether or not to actually kiss, a ship enters the atmosphere. It nearly covers the sun as it does, looming menacingly over the pair. 

Ashira recognizes it immediately.

It’s the Sanctuary II. 

Her heart stops fluttering and opts to freeze entirely. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” She shoves Loki away from her, nearly throwing him into the side of the ship on accident. “Loki, get inside. We need to get moving.” 

Loki blinks in shock as he struggles to stand back up. “What?” 

“Loki we will die if we don’t move now!”

It’s too late. 

The bomb has already been launched. 

As her fingertips reach out to the open entrance the bomb perfectly hits the engine, exploding the ship and knocking her back. 

__

She isn’t entirely sure how long it takes for her to come back to. About ten minutes is what she estimates based on where the heat from the sun seems to be. 

She feels the weight of thousands of pounds of metal crushing her right leg after her mind finally somewhat recovers. Her eyes are barely open, focused more on the dark sky than anything else, but she knows most of her mangled ship must be atop her leg. The whole world spins as she tries to go through any other injuries she may have, so she stops trying to go through possible injuries and opts to just get her leg uncrushed. 

Ashira yanks her leg out from beneath the twisted metal. The screech of the totaled ship is nothing compared to the snapping noise reverberating from her now confirmed shattered right shin. Blood is spilling from the open wound where a sliver of gray bone is poking out. The pain, however, is not from the rip in her skin and muscle. Instead it’s from the burning bright purple heating up around the wound, pulling her skin apart even further, stretching it beyond its limit. 

Her eyes are still blurred for a second as she regains her bearings; ears are ringing as she attempts to hear again. With all of her strength available she turns her body towards the muffled voices talking behind her, a rippling, shooting through her entire body from her ribs outwards, a stroke of purple energy bubbling beneath her skin like an after-wake. 

A good fifty feet from her stands a group of people, she realizes. 

A group she’d know anywhere. 

“… real power.”

“Loki don’t listen to him!” It’s supposed to be a yell, yet comes out more like a whimper as her lungs work to expel the debris and smoke in them. 

There’s a lot more than she realized. 

“Oh look, the princess awakens from her sleep,” Ebony Maw teases. 

Loki glances just barely behind himself. From the outskirts of his vision he sees Ashira stumbling towards them. There is blood coming from her nose, dirt stuck in her hair, a cut visibly bleeding from her right side, and her right leg is mauled. The worst part of her look is something he has never seen in her before. He notices it, barely, on her face: the fear. Over these past several months he’s seen her sad and happy and brave and scared but he has never seen fear on her face. 

True fear. 

“We have gift for you, princess,” Thanos announces, pausing anyone else before they can speak. “Proxima, if you could.” 

The woman reaches into the black wood box by her feet. A bodiless head, being dangled by what is left of their brutally chopped off dark gray hair, proceeds to practically pour blood back into the box it came from. 

Selene. 

Ashira exhales shakily, trying not to cry out. 

“Gamora, Nebula… please,” Ashira begs. Her voice cracks loudly as she speaks.

There are precisely two people in his Children who may not yet have their humanity wiped. Gamora and Nebula, both taken as young children, both pitted against each other constantly, both cybernetically enhanced, and both not fans of their ‘Father’.

They will claim otherwise if asked. 

Their eyes betray then every time. 

“She was most helpful in finding you. Ship logs that didn’t quite line up that your parents asked me to personally look at to see if you were on the other end of it.”

Ashira turns back to him. “You didn’t have to kill her.”

“Didn’t I? I don’t reward failure.” Thanos lets a small smile pull his lips. “And if I didn’t, you know what they would have done to her.” 

“But you don’t.” Her voice cracks loudly as she speaks, too many tears stuck in her throat.

Loki pulls his attention away from Ashira. If he doesn’t he will crack, any desire on avenging what was done to him would crumble away. 

Thanos does so as well. He doesn’t care for Ashira in this moment. 

“You crave a crown, do you not?” Thanos confirms. 

Loki adjusts his posture. “I do.”

“You seek vengeance on those who have hurt you?” 

“Loki, don’t listen to him,” Ashira sobs, finally.

She knows these words he is using intimately. The glimmer of the Scepter in the hands of The Other only makes it worse. She knows how this works. 

But it’s possible to stop it before it starts if he just listens to her. 

“You desire power, possibly unlimited?” 

“I’m telling you don’t listen.” Ashira hobbles a step closer. “He lies, he kills, it’s all he does.” 

“Sh...” Ebony Maw wraps metal around Ashira’s mouth, muzzling her. 

She screeches against, knowing Loki will otherwise ignore her entirely. 

Loki tries to pretend the sounds of her struggle aren’t there, her voice being drowned out by whatever else is happening behind him.  

“I do,” he replies, voice finally wavering. 

“Then come with us. I have a position you’d like.” 

Ashira cannot let this happen. She stumbles forward as fast as she can as the group begins to move quickly away from her. Her body is burning up, her skin ripping apart, but she’s barely paying any attention to the pain. 

Her emotions are too high; any control she may have had is obsolete. 

So as she trips from her imbalanced walking, crashing violently into the ground, a burning bout of purple light flashes across the surface of the planet. The ground tremors beneath all of them, so much so that the younger of his two ‘Children’ nearly fall over. Plants that were once gorgeous and sturdy are kicked up into the sky and turned to nothing more than ash, cascading down on all of them.

Thanos, of course, planned for this. The same shield that was used in that stupid fighting pit to prevent the observers from being hurt is now surrounding everyone around the Titan.

He grins, evilly narrowing his eyes at her. Loki, on the other hand, as soon their eyes meet, quickly turns to the ground. He can’t look at her. Not her broken, quivering, crying form that is still pleading with him in silence. His eyes can’t handle the sight of desperation across her face as her lips open to call out to him, hands clutching her bleeding side. He simply cannot handle the emotional pain looking at her causes; witnessing the disbelief and betrayal she is clearly feeling as she kneels naked and scorched in the blast zone. 

It’s too late now anyway.

“I’ll be seeing you later, princess,” Thanos claims.

The blue beam of a Q-ship takes them all away. 

“No, no, no...” Ashira crawls towards the outside of the crater she created. “No...” 

_______

Next

_______

Taglist: @illogicalfangirl @tarynkauai 

[dfnm-mnfd]

i haven’t seen you in forever, but you still feel like home

Inspired by this post by @xandertheundead

“We’ll keep in touch, Eds.” That’s what Richie had said. “I’ll call you every night, maybe even video chat for those more risqué conversations.” Even now, Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle at Richie’s antics, even though he hadn’t talked to the boy in eight years.

He and Richie had been best friends for as long as he could remember, meeting on the first day of elementary school, bonding immediately over a shared fascination in the way their teacher’s mole on her lip moved when she talked, and, since then, they’d always been at each others’ sides. Until ten years ago, that is.

Eddie had always dreamed of becoming a chef. He’d always been fascinated in cuisine, and had been forced to cook for himself since he was a child- due to his mother’s inability to function as a normal human. So, when he received an offer to spend five years in France learning how to master French cuisine up-close, how could he say no?

Apparently, that was Richie’s exact query. In high school, the two boys had gotten even closer than best friends. Richie had crossed the line of platonic love, stepping into the zone of romance, and Eddie had been more than happy to let him. The boys were happily dating for a good few years, they even moved into an apartment together in the summer before their freshman year of college. All was going splendidly- the two boys had never been more in love, until-

“Richie, oh my gosh, you’ll never guess what came in the mail!” Eddie practically skidded into the living room of their apartment, waving an envelope in the air, eyes glowing with excitement. On the floor, where he had been absently plucking at his guitar, Richie looked up curiously, a few stray curls hanging over his forehead. Even in his excitement, Edie couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was, the morning sun streaking through half-closed blinds to highlight the flecks of gold in his green eyes, to accentuate the freckles scattered across his pale skin. Richie cocked his head, blinking up at Eddie in silent (for once) question. “I got a letter from Le Cordon Bleus!” Though it was clear Richie had no idea what that was, he fed off of Eddie’s excitement, a large smile growing across his face. “It’s a french cooking school,” Edie explained, “they offered to let me transfer there for five years!” Just like that, Richie’s smile was gone.

“They- like, you’d go to… France? For a whole five years?” Eddie blinked.

“Well, yeah. Is that a problem?”

“N- no. I mean. I’m proud of you!” Eddie could tell that his smile was fake, the sadness in his eyes betrayed him. “I’m just… five years is a long time, I’ll miss you, Eds.”

“Oh.” Eddie blinked, and, just like that, all of his previous excitement was gone, like someone had flipped a switch, draining all of it from him. “Shit- Rich. I didn’t even think about that…” The sunlight didn’t look so pretty in Richie’s eyes anymore, all of the pain in them was drowning out the gold flecks. He wished that he could say he wouldn’t go, to make all of that pain go away, but his was the opportunity of a lifetime. He wasn’t about to pull a Rachel from Friends and ditch a golden opportunity for a man, was he? When he looked into Richie’s beautiful, sad eyes, he wasn’t so sure. He had waited his whole life for something like this to pop up, sure. But he’d loved Richie for his whole life, too. It was an impossible decision, giving up one dream for another.

“I- It’s all right, Eds. We can make it work, right?” Eddie wasn’t so sure. He’d heard all the horror stories about long distance relationships- the cheating, the distractions, the emotional distance. It was hard to believe that, even though he and Richie were close, they wouldn’t be affected by such things, and Eddie’s anxiety definitely wasn’t helping the situation. “We can call every night, text all the time. It’ll be just like it is now, but… really far apart.” Richie tried to make that sound less depressing than it was, pairing it with a meager smile. And Eddie, being the lovesick fool that he was, let Richie convince him.

Looking back, he would try and curse himself, he would try and wish that he had decided to stay. But he couldn’t deny that he loved his life now. Sure, he refused to date anyone, or even think about romance, but hey, that was just because he was so busy all the time, right? And when he saw pictures of Richie and his band- which had gotten to be quite popular over the  past few years- pop up on Instagram, or even in magazines, his heart didn’t hurt so bad that he wanted to rip it out of his chest, right?

Okay, maybe Eddie could think of one way that his life would be better. But he was doing swell! After moving to France, Eddie had adjusted to life there easily,  making friends in his classes, winning the favours of his professors. He managed to get good grades all the way throughout university, and snagged a well-paying job at a fine-dining restaurant. His life was packed to the brim, busy with exciting opportunities and happiness. Too busy for Richie, it turned out.

Richie had broken up with him through an email, of all things, breaking countless social codes, and Eddie’s heart, in the process. Though it wasn’t exactly out of the blue, that didn’t make it hurt any less when Eddie opened up the email, and blinked back tears as he read it. It didn’t make Eddie’s chest ache any less as he sobbed on the floor of his dorm, curled up for hours.

Eventually, Eddie stopped checking his phone for cheesy good morning texts when he woke up. He stopped leaving his ringer on at night, in case Richie decided to call him, forgetting about the time-zone difference. But, somewhere, though he hated it, he knew that he never stopped loving Richie.

Now, ten years after he had moved to France, Eddie was back in America. Having saved a decent amount of money over the years, he was opening a French cuisine restaurant, a high class one at that. He spent months perfecting everything- from finding the perfect location, all the way down to selecting the cutlery. And, having finally realised his plans, he was able to open the restaurant.

His restaurant was amazingly successful, generating loads of people, and bringing in thousands of excellent reviews. It wasn’t entirely unusual for the occasional celebrity to even wander in, and Eddie couldn’t have been happier.

About a month after Eddie had opened the restaurant, on one of the less busy days, a popular band arrived in a black car. Of course, as Eddie was in the back, cooking, he had no clue what awaited him. Even when an order for beef bourignon and chocolate mousse was passed back to him, which had always been Richie’s favourite things for him to make, Eddie suspected nothing. He let himself get caught up in the memories of cooking for Richie, sure. He let himself remember when Richie’d somehow managed to get chocolate mousse all over himself, and how Eddie had playfuly licked some off of his neck. Eddie’s cheeks reddened a little as he remembered what happened after that, and, by then, he was on to the next order, quick to be pulled from his nostalgia.

Eddie was in the middle of making a dessert crêpe, one of his favourite, and easiest, recipes, when he was called to the dining area by a somewhat flustered looking waitress. Compliments to the chef, she’d said. Though compliments weren’t entirely rare, Eddie was still incredibly pleased, and made sure he looked somewhat presentable before following her out.

He saw Richie just a few seconds after walking out of the kitchen, freezing in his place with wide eyes. The waitress turned to look at him, head tilted inquisitively, but Eddie couldn’t even begin to form words to explain himself. As a matter of fact, he could hardly breathe. And, fortunately or not, Richie noticed.

If Eddie hadn’t been silently wheezing and regretting all of his life choices, they probably would’ve made romantic eye contact, maybe ran into each other’s arms sobbing. However, Eddie felt like he was literally about to die, and probably looked like it, too, and so Richie just kind of stared at him, eyes wide with shock.

The entire restaurant was watching them now, several forks suspended mid-air on their way to some pompous customer’s mouth. But Eddie hardly cared, eyes huge as he stared at Richie, and Richie stared right back. They stayed frozen like that for a good few seconds, Richie’s bandmates all looking at their friend in confusion and concern, their bewilderment increasing as Richie pushed himself out of his chair, and strode towards Eddie, his shocked expression melting more into, what- intrigue, maybe? Eddie let him take his arm, and lead him back through the double doors of the kitchen, still hardly processing the situation he found himself in.

“Eds.” Richie’s voice was breathy, as if he could hardly believe that this was real. To be fair, it hardly seemed real. From the far end of the kitchen, the sous chef stared at them curiously, not that either of them noticed.

“Hi, Richie.” Eddie marvelled at how his voice didn’t shake when he spoke, despite the anxious churning of his stomach, and the panicked screeching that had become background noise in his mind from the moment that he saw Richie. For a while, they just blinked at each other, taking it all in.

Richie’s style didn’t seem to have changed one bit since Eddie last saw him- he wore an obnoxious hawaiian shirt over a Hozier shirt, paired with bright orange jeans and an entirely different shade of orange converse. He still wore his yellow-framed glasses, and his hair was still a beautiful curly mess. In other words, Richie was still absolutely hot and a complete dork, it seemed.

Eddie figured he probably looked much the same as well. As far as he could tell, his sense of style hadn’t changed much- his wardrobe was still comprised of oversized sweater and mom jeans. And, physically, the only change was that Eddie had gotten maybe half and inch inch taller. Basically, he was still exactly the same. Richie, it seemed, shared his sentiments.

“You look the same.” Eddie noticed how Richie’s hand seemed to twitch towards him. “I- I mean. You look great. I’m glad you look the same,” he stumbled over his words, wincing a little. “Not that I would be upset if you looked different, change is good! But-” Richie took in a deep breath, his words deflating. “I just… missed you, is all.” Eddie couldn’t help but smile at that, a whole flurry of butterflies taking flight inside him at Richie’s words.

“I missed you too, ‘Chee.” They both blinked at the pet name that slipped from Eddie’s lips, almost startled by the familiarity of it all. It was like they were suspended in air, wrapped in this careful conversation, and one wrong breath could send them crashing back to reality, back to when they hadn’t spoked for years, back to how Eddie had sobbed all alone, and how Richie had stared numbly at his ceiling, itching to call Eddie.

“Are you… um.” Richie took in a deep breath, and Eddie could tell that he was nervous. “Are you seeing anyone?”He smiled, letting out a relieved sigh when Eddie shook his head, and the butterflies that fluttered around inside Eddie multiplied. Did Richie still feel the same? It seemed that way.

“Are you?”

“Oh, god no.” Richie shook his head adamantly. “I haven’t been with anyone since we-” he blinked, uncertainty in his eyes as he looked at Eddie, his words falling short.

“Me neither,” Eddie said, his tone cautious. They slipped into silence, a million unsaid words hanging  in the air between them.

“Are you-

“Would you-” They both spoke at the same time, breaking off with a few awkward laughs.

“Sorry, you go,” said Eddie, looking up at at Richie, who shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. Seeming nervous, Richie shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. You go, Eds.”

“I-” Eddie stuttered, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he gaped up at him. “No, no, it’s not important. You… you can go.” Richie, seeming to understand that literally nothing on Earth would make Eddie talk, sighed, nodding.

“Ok, um” He shifted from one foot to the other, wetting his lips. “I was uh… just wondering if maybe you’d like to go get dinner with me sometime?” Eddie beamed, eyes lighting up.

“I’d love that.” Richie beamed as well, his forest green eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Awesome! I can pick you up on Friday, if that works.”

“Yeah, sure.” Eddie couldn’t agree quickly enough, nodding emphatically.

“Great!” Richie nodded, eyes alight. “It’s a date, then.”

“I can’t wait.” He smiled up at Richie, and the two stood there for a few moments, just beaming at each other until Richie blinked, lifting one hand in the air to point vaguely at nothing.

“Ah! Well.” He let his hand drop. “I believe I have an absolutely delicious beef bourignon waiting for me, so I must be off, but um…” He shot Eddie a crooked smile, taking his breath away. “I can’t wait for Friday.”

“Me neither.”

[itsclydebitches]

Diving Deep

Hello, @badluckcharm-exe! It’s finally done! Sorry this took forever and a day. Inspiration decided to take a vacation for a while... Regardless, I hope you enjoy this. I’ll be sure to get it up on AO3 tomorrow 💚

Prompt was for a Mermaid AU. 

“Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream! Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily life is but a dream. Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream—”

“Holy shit, kid, you’re twelve. Don’t you know any other songs?”

Oscar blinked, finally drawing his gaze away from the aquarium. The hallway they stood in had water on both sides as well as above, a dome that never failed to leave Qrow’s stomach queasy because good god what happened if that glass ever broke? Oscar had no such reservations. He pressed right against the barrier—things with teeth passing him by—until the water rippled off his skin and there was a green tint to his eyes.

“I’m fourteen,” he said, head cocked strangely against the glass.

“That’s worse.”

Oscar shrugged. “I like it. The song I mean. Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream. If you meet the kelpie’s eyes then don’t forget to scream.”

…What the actual fuck?

It wasn’t the first time the kid had said something totally off the wall. Qrow leaned on his mop, watching Oscar tap the glass until, coincidentally, a bright orange fish swam up to where he stood. Qrow had worked at Atlas Labs nearly a year now and knew that, no matter what Ozpin claimed, they were only surrounded by a bunch of dumb animals. You couldn’t train a fish to come when called, no more than he’d been able to train Oscar to be marginally less annoying. Honestly, what the ever loving hell was a kelpie?

“Hey.” Qrow tapped his boot until Oscar finally looked his way. The fish immediately swam off. “If you’re just gonna stand there how about you help me wipe down the glass?” That way Qrow didn’t need to go near all that nonsense. “All boys your age should have chores. Builds character. Or something.”

For reasons unknown to him Oscar’s eyes strayed to the bucket full of water next to Qrow’s feet. He split into a grin.

“Nope! Tell Dad I said hi!”

And Oscar scurried off, boots squeaking on the tiled floor as he disappeared around a corner. He’d left smudges on the glass and a scuff where he’d stood. Great. 

Another bug-eyed fish bumped against the glass parallel to Qrow’s head. He scowled.

“What the hell are you looking at?”

***

Atlas Labs. Renowned world-wide for their cutting advancements in marine biology. Not exactly the sort of research that got Qrow all hot and bothered, but what could he say? People were weird. Apparently while most looked to the skies for answers to Earth’s problems, the real scientists were turning to the many mysteries of the seas. Our origins, future, even a chance at immortality—all of it was hidden somewhere beneath the waves. At least, that’s what Ozpin claimed.

Not that Ozpin was any less weird than his son.

“Your brat says ‘hi.’”

Lithe and tall enough to hit his head on the occasional hanging lamp, Ozpin Pine presumably had his picture printed next to the dictionary definition of ‘eccentric.’ Qrow had never seen him in anything other than a wrinkled green suit (not the same one every day… surely?) and a lab coat stained with all sorts of things that he never needed identified, thanks. A mop of white hair looked perpetually windblown despite the fact that the man rarely stepped outside and Oz wore these teeny tiny glasses that couldn’t possibly help a flea see, let alone a grown-ass man. He wore rings on his fingers, a long line of earrings, and had hidden tattoos that Qrow sometimes caught peeking out from beneath the cuff of his shirt. It hurt to look at him. In the same way it hurt to look at an ongoing car wreck while being blinded by the sun. Ozpin was, simply put, an oddball.

And Qrow would have laid down his life for him.

Heh. Not to be dramatic or anything, but there weren’t many world-renowned scientists in this place who’d design to speak kindly to their janitor. Or speak to him at all. His first day Ozpin had slipped a sweet from his pocket into Qrow’s hand, made some horrendous joke, introduced Oscar as “My much beloved offspring” (what?), and capped it all off with the warmest smile Qrow had ever had the privilege of soaking up. Those scraps of kindness would have bred devotion on their own, but Ozpin genuinely seemed to like him, as ridiculous as that seemed. Qrow had thought this job was going to be the worst of the many he’d grabbed in the last three years. Instead it was…

Interesting. Yeah. It was something alright.

Ozpin had no inkling of Qrow’s inner judgement. He was too busy comically looking around the floor, or roughly around the height where a pint-sized teen might stand.

“My brat?” he asked, smiling so wide the florescent lights glinted off his back teeth. He took another candy from his pocket and munched it, seemingly thoughtful. Qrow had heard the other scientists bitching about Ozpin bringing food into the labs, claiming that it would attract animals. Like they weren’t already surrounded by animals. Duh.

Qrow eyed the tank in the far corner of Ozpin’s office. Like every other room in Atlas it was a space with aquarium tendencies, though this tank wasn’t listed on any of the public tours. The fish in there were clearly some special experiment of Oz’s, with bright neon strips on top and transparent bodies below. Qrow caught a glimpse of fish skeleton and swallowed back a gag.

“Yes, your brat. He kept bugging me while I cleaned the entryway. Don’t you have a leash for him or something?” Qrow started emptying the trash bins while Oz watched, gaze so focused it seemed to sizzle a hole in the back of his uniform. He did a lot of that. Watching. Qrow had also heard the other nerds complaining about Ozpin’s overly observant nature, saying he wasn’t just intense, but downright creepy.  

Weren’t science types supposed to be curious about everything though? If Ozpin wanted to examine the slope of Qrow’s ass, then by all means.

He bent a little farther while picking up the next can, just in case that really was what Oz was interested in. Gray slacks and beige boots weren’t exactly the height of style, but Qrow was confident in his ability to work even the saddest of outfits. Besides, it wasn’t like Ozpin had room to judge. Today he had a stack of jelly bracelets on his left wrist and an octopus pin on the collar of his coat. The man was a hodge-podge of strange adornments, wearing each and every one like they were actually fashionable.

Months he’d been at this job and Qrow was still trying to figure out if the man was just that dense or just that indifferent. Besides, none of this even touched on Ozpin’s tendency to—

“I’m afraid not. I tried a leash of kelp once and Oscar slipped right out of it. He always was such a nimble little fry.”

—say weird shit.

Like father, like son. Apparently.

Qrow paused in the act of dumping five billion used tissues into his cart. He pinched the bridge of his nose. It was 10:00 at night and he didn’t have the energy to tackle whatever the hell a kelp leash was. Instead Qrow raised a single finger, letting it flop. “Nimble fry? Should I serve Oscar up with ketchup tomorrow?”

Which resulted in Ozpin throwing his head back and laughing—literally, like something out of a cartoon. His desk was a mess of papers covered in rainbow highlighting and the bookcase next to that was organized by color rather than genre. Or heaven forbid, last name. Between those and the fish (and his iffy fashion sense) Ozpin was surrounded by color in the otherwise sterile room. It was like this wherever he went. Ozpin blended in with the vibrant life of the tanks around them; always looking like he was more at home with the water just out of reach. Qrow supposed that was a good thing for a man who’d devoted his life to marine biology. It did make one wonder about stupid, sappy things though. Like fate maybe. What kind of man was born with eyes the color of sand and a smile that lit you up like a glimpse of the horizon?  

Sometimes Qrow wondered if he’d hear waves if he listened for Oz’s heartbeat. Would he taste salt on his lips?

Right now Qrow had neither. All he could smell was trash.

“A fry is a juvenile fish,” Ozpin said, still wiping tears from his eyes. “Ah, but you’re a fry too, aren’t you, Qrow? So very young. I wouldn’t expect you to know such things.”

Ozpin came up and actually gave his cheek a pat, like some doting grandmother humoring her young charge. Qrow got a close look at his unlined face and could see how soft his hair was, with none of the wiry texture that usually accompanied gray strands. For a man who loved teasing him about his age (not nearly as young as people tended to assume), Ozpin didn’t look a day over thirty himself. It was just one more of his oddities. Qrow had stopped bothering to count them long ago.  

Instead he leaned into Ozpin’s touch when his hand decided to rest on his cheek a moment, like some rare bird designing to visit. Ozpin’s fingers were cool as their pads lightly took in the texture of Qrow’s skin. He thought he saw Ozpin’s pupils dilating, blowing black against brown, though that may have just been a trick of the light.

“Is anyone gonna let me do some actual work around here?” he finally groused. A moment longer and Qrow might not have let Ozpin go.

“You should be very proud,” he said, voice carrying a touch of awe that didn’t sit right with the rest of the scene. Ozpin was looking at a bio waste bag. “You have such a wonderful job.”

Qrow stared. Then he looked down to make sure that yes, he was still a janitor and yes, those were drops of day-old coffee on his shoes. A smear of something vile-smelling on his sleeve. Everything else was disinfectant.

“I do?”

“Of course! Why, it’s a service. You keep things neat and sterile. You help make sure my family has a lovely home to keep coming back to.” Ozpin rested his hand on the tank and all the fish congregated around his reflection. Must think it was time for food or something. Qrow was used to the term ‘family’ getting thrown out when Ozpin was speaking and slimy, big-eyed fish were involved. That hardly fazed him nowadays.

The idea that someone found janitorial work impressive? That was something out of left field. Qrow could feel the blush now staining his cheeks.

“Guess I’m not the worst at it,” he muttered, taking up his bag again because damn, he couldn’t look Ozpin in the eye when he got like this. He was expecting another non-sequitor into the new book he was reading, or maybe the fact that Oscar had started collecting forks again (don’t ask). Instead Qrow felt a touch at the crook of his arm, as gentle as when Ozpin had touched his cheek. He stepped closer. 

“You truly are marvelous,” Ozpin whispered.

“…Do you hear the stuff that comes out of your mouth?”

“Oh yes. Sometimes I’m the only one who hears. Except Oscar, of course…and you. You’ve always heard me, haven’t you, Qrow? Tell me, do you enjoy the music?”

Must just mean music. In general, like. Qrow suspected that Ozpin was foreign, slipping articles in where none where needed because there certainly wasn’t any music playing now.

…Right?

He wasn’t holding the trash bag anymore. It was thrown haphazardly across his cart, now replaced with Ozpin’s cool, surprisingly smooth hand. Qrow stared  down at the appendage, reeling, wondering when that had happened and why. How many times was the man going to touch him tonight—freely—when he’d kept some sort of distance all these months before?  

“You do hear,” Ozpin murmured, seemingly to himself. “And Oscar is so very fond of you…why, we both are.” His contemplative look suddenly split like ripe fruit, revealing a blinding smile beneath. “Come, Qrow. Let me show you.”

“Show me what?”

Don’t ask too many questions. You’ll spoil the fun. Ozpin had said that to him once when Qrow had feigned an interest in all his nasty fish, figuring that maybe he’d have some sort of chance if there was a shared interest between them, even a faked one. Instead his words had been rebuffed, Ozpin seeming to stare through him to the lie beneath, finding it all very humorous. Qrow wasn’t surprised that his questions weren’t answered now.

Instead Ozpin led him down the long corridors of Atlas labs, their steps echoing and their breathing overly loud. The aquarium around them shifted with dark blues and greens. The fish seemed to follow, waiting.

It occurred to Qrow then that they were the only ones here. He was the late-night janitor. Ozpin was the workaholic who never seemed to sleep. The only thing that broke the isolation was Oscar’s voice drifting faintly down the hall as he sang that insistent song. Row, row, row, your boat. Where to though? They were the only ones here and suddenly that seemed as much a possibility as a threat.

Don’t forget to scream.

Qrow opened his mouth, but all that came out was a soft, devoted sigh. He stepped into the water.

…water?

“There you are,” Ozpin said. It came out as a coo. “Quite lovely, isn’t it?”

He’d taken him to one of the wading pools. Into the wading pool, where the wildlife swam free, providing the scientists with a place to get up close and personal with their research. A tiny part of Qrow’s mind expressed surprise that Ozpin had stepped in with him—he and Oscar had always had such a strange aversion to touching water, despite their love of it. Filled boots. Wet pants sticking to his ankles, now his thighs. A slightly larger part of him was sending off panicked signals, claiming that he never ever wanted to be this close to a bunch of fish. There were little guppy things scurrying about. Rays with long tails. What might have been a small shark. Everything circled around them as they moved forward, a whirlpool of all the things Qrow had wanted to avoid since taking this position.

Except for Ozpin. Qrow waded deeper, moving towards him and him alone.

“You heard, Qrow. Do you see too?”

Dumbly, Qrow stared down at their still clasped hands. There were membranes between Ozpin’s fingers now and when he smiled his teeth had grown sharper. He’d grown more.

There was a ledge where the pool connected to the tank, a space between the two worlds just large enough for the kinder animals to slip through. Or perhaps two men. One man and… Ozpin; who pulled Qrow under with a forceful, determined tug.

He’d always thought it would be boring under the water. All dark and silent. Far from it though. When Qrow first jerked in panic Ozpin was there, his tattoos, his scales bright within the pool’s gloom, casting little prisms between them. His tail pulled Qrow close while his pupils narrowed into slits. There were tender, clawed hands bowing his shoulders.

There was a moment of suspension then, poised somewhere between bobbing and swimming. Qrow caught Ozpin’s gaze and gave himself up to drowning in those eyes.

Well done, they seemed to say. A mouth filled with teeth and fierce possession leaned in for what might have been a kiss.

Qrow had always taken his chances. He met Ozpin halfway and what do you know.

He tasted salt.