#i needed to draw a self indulgent sad looking wet soldier

[gingacd]

somebody called you something sweet once

[sanjuno]

For self-indulgently tropey ideas - Time travel in either direction, big Ace meets little Ace? Could be in TWFF (in which case depending on the timeline, little Ace and Luffy might even be the same age) or in canonverse or some other happy AU. I'll be Pi Anon!

(Ideas of March Prompt Fill 10/15)

Fire burns. Fire is stubborn about clinging to life, lurking in sparks and embers until a touch of wind sends it blazing up again. There is fire in the earth, warming the roots of the trees. There is fire under the waves, escaping in bubbles of steam. There is fire in the sky, in the sun’s rays and the lightning carried by the clouds.

There is fire in a human heart.

The body of Portgas D Ace burned. Not on a pyre or a funeral barge, but on the deck beside the body of his chosen father. Marco doubled over with the force of his sobs, cursing Akainu and the Marines and understanding to the depths of his soul the rage that drove some Morganeers to inhuman malice.

Marco’s brother would never have a proper sendoff. All that was left of Ace, by the time they got the the island where fallen Whitebeard Pirates were laid to rest, was his hat and his knife. They only had even that much because Ace had been stripped of his things before the execution.

So Marco wept, and Ace burned.

/…/

Grey Terminal burned.

Ace woke up with a roar, voiceless and agonized. Explosions drove the flames higher as caches of blackpowder and oil were consumed by the blaze that covered the shanty town.

Another scream, high and thin and desperate. The air rippled, discoloured by pressure as that scream drilled rage and denial into every mind within hearing distance. The flames hung frozen as the world paused, bowing down to the Will of a Conqueror.

Ace was the fire consuming the dump where he had grown up, still reeling from the blow that had killed him. Ace was desperately fighting to keep his little brother alive as a man who was older and stronger was determined to kill them.

This nightmare again. The reason why Ace had worked so hard to master his fire powers. The day he had lost Sabo, the day he had almost lost Luffy. This nightmare that would never let Ace go. The only reason Luffy had lived back then was because Dadan…

… Where was Dadan?

The fire swirled in confusion, drawing back from the paths the people of Grey Terminal were using to try and escape. The guards waiting outside the fire to kill the fleeing ‘vermin’ raised their guns as the first figures escaped from the flames. Those guns exploded in their hands as the fire lashed out, daggers of flame cutting through the barrels and searing into their flesh.

Strangers in cloaks stepped up and started leading the escaping people away. Ace’s attention flickered over a tall man with facial tattoos who seemed to be in charge of the evacuation. Familiar not familiar who was he?

Not important. Where was Dadan?

There was fire in the trees, in the forest on the Mountains, set by more of the hired soldiers from High Town as the tried to burn out the Bandit nest. Dadan was up there with her men, frantic and fighting with a savagery Ace had only seen once before. Machete in one hand, wood axe in another, Curly Dadan killed a man with every swing. My boys where are my boys they’re supposed to be home soon no I won’t let you where are my boys I won’t let you touch them won’t let you take them no no no ACE! LUFFY!

No. Wait, that was… that was wrong! The bandit camp was safe! Dadan was supposed to be here, in Grey Terminal! Ace needed Dadan’s help to save Luffy!

Don’t touch my brother! LUFFY!

Reeling in confusion, Ace screamed, chest burning with pain and rage and heartbreak. Sabo had died in this fire. Ace refused to let it take Luffy too!

When Ace was a skinny, malnourished, touch starved ten year old, Bluejam had been a monster. As an adult with three years on the Grand Line under his belt, Bluejam was nothing.

“KEEP YOUR FLITHY HANDS OFF!” The other pirate’s face caved in with a wet crack as Ace formed out of the flames, blood sizzling as it hit the heated stone under his feet. Bluejam went down hard, and Ace stomped down hard on Bluejam’s neck to make sure he would stay down. “Don’t ever, touch my little brother.”

Chest heaving, Ace spat to the side, ignoring the way the spittle was mostly blood and sparks. He was pulling on the fire around him, drawing it into himself at the same pace he might eat after starving for awhile. It was all backwards. Ace had made flames from his body before, but he had never turned it around to make his body out of normal fire. Still, he kept doing it, because it was saving his life. The organs and bone destroyed by Akainu’s blow were being repaired, flesh and blood filling in faster than he was loosing them. Give it another five minutes and Ace would be able to live without needing a fire the size of an entire city as makeshift life support. Another ten minutes and Ace would be entirely healed.

“… brother?” The tiny voice behind him was rough from screaming and smoke inhalation. Ace spun, and stared into grey eyes that were far too familiar for comfort. Too old for the young face they were part of, tired and worn down after a too-short lifetime of being told they were a monster who deserved death. Skinny arms, scraped raw and covered in burns, winched tight around their little brother’s too-limp body.

There was blood on Luffy’s face.

Breath hitching, eyes burning with tears, Ace swallowed hard and carefully knelt down by the past versions of himself and his baby brother. “Hey. You’re Ace, right?”

“Who are you?” The smaller Ace growled, pulling Luffy closer and shoving back with his heels to try and put more space between them. “You came out of the fire! Why do you look like me? Who are you?”

“Hey… little brother, it’s okay.” The choice was an easy one to make. There was no telling how this had happened, but Ace was not going to waste his second chance. “The name’s Portgas D Riot. And I’m your big brother.”

“… what?” The boy looked shocked, but his grip on Luffy never loosened. “Why are you here now?”

“It took me this long to find you. I was only eleven when you were born.” Formerly-Ace-now-Riot shook his head and sighed, not wanting to grab Ace when he knew how badly the kid would take being touched by a stranger, but they needed to get out of the blaze. Even if Riot could keep the fire from burning them, Ace and Luffy still needed to be able to breathe, and the heat was dangerous to such small bodies. “Please, Ace, I’ll explain everything later, but we have to go. I need to get you and… and our little brother somewhere safe.”

Ace swallowed, the movement harsh and dry. Grey eyes flickered down to Luffy and then back up to Riot, clearly suspicious but also clearly desperate. “… promise you won’t hurt Luffy?”

“I swear Ace. I swear on our mother’s grave, I won’t let either of you get hurt.” Riot held out his hands, praying that it would be enough because he was not risking Haki on kids this young. “Please.”

“… okay.” Ace leaned forward, eyes closed as his exhaustion and the stress caught up to him all at once. Riot moved without hesitation, scooping the kids up into his arms in a tangle and racing for the nearest exit into the woods.

“Hang on, little brother.” Riot sucked in flame as he ran, building up his reserves in anticipation of the next few days. “Big brother’s here now. I’ve got you.”

/…/

The day after the fire was mostly taken up by arguments between Riot and Ace. Luffy just watched them go at it, head swivelling and eyes wide as he looked from his-Ace to and even bigger Ace who was actually Riot. It took some careful editing of the truth, but Ace eventually believed that Riot was his older brother. Luffy required no convincing after the first hug. Riot knew that he was going to take care of Ace and Luffy in order to give them the happy childhood Riot had always wanted more of for himself. Mostly this involved hugging Luffy whenever he did or said something cute, and making exaggerated sad faces at Ace when Riot’s miniature-dopplganger refused cuddles.

Two days after the fire, Riot allowed the kids to convince him to stay at their treehouse while they went to check on the bandits. Riot knew what was going to happen, what they were going to learn when they got there, but there was nothing kind about hiding the truth from them. Riot knew how much it hurt to lose a brother, and the age you were when it happened did nothing to soften the blow. All Riot could do was be there when the boys came back.

So he was there.

Riot was there when Luffy stumbled out of the bushes, sobbing to hard to see and clutching Ace’s hand in a death grip as the other boy pulled him forward. Riot was there when Ace never broke stride, barrelling into Riot’s chest at full speed. Riot’s arms closed around both boys, Ace’s back shaking as he ground his forehead into Riot’s collarbone. “… Ace?”

“… Sabo’s… my brother… Sabo’s dead.” Voice cracking around the truth, Ace sobbed. Once, a harsh, guttural noise, and then he howled. The same raging storm of grief and agony that Riot remembered suffering through while tied to a tree. Luffy’s tears turned into wailing, and both boys clung to Riot with all their strength.

“I’m here. Ace, Luffy, I’m here.” He could remember losing Sabo as a child, and Thatch as an adult. Riot grit his teeth against old pain, his tears silent as he held his little brothers close and let them grieve. They needed this, and they needed to feel safe enough for this. Riot could give them this much.

/…/

A week after the fire, after the worst of the storm of grief had passed, Ace looked up at Riot and asked the question that would change everything. “Do we need to stay here?”

“Eh?” Riot looked up from where he was butchering their fourth alligator of the day, to look at his little brother. “What do you mean?”

“You must’ve had a life before coming here. You know what’s out there. You said you’ve been to the Grand Line.” Ace always sounded like he was accusing Riot of something when they talked. It was one of the most adorable things Riot had even seen. Seas and shells, no wonder Pops had done nothing but laugh when he was recruited. It was the cutest fucking thing when that little freckled face scowled at him. Riot tamped down on the urge to giggle and just raised a brow at his brother. Ace huffed and crossed his arms. “You can’t really want to stay here.”

“You… want to leave Dawn Island.” Riot put down his knife and sat back on his heels to consider the new concept. It had never occurred to him that he could take Ace and Luffy away from their home island before they turned seventeen. “What about you, Luffy? What do you want?”

“… Wanna be a pirate. Wanna be free.” Luffy rocked a little on the stump he was seated on, clapping his feet together and staring at his toes. “I’ll miss Makino, but I hate bandits and Sabo…”

“Fucking Celestial Dragons.” Riot spat to one side, going back to preparing their meat with a vengeance. “Only thing on the seas worse than the shitty fucking Marines is them and their gods damned slavers…”

Ace blinked like Riot had said something new, and then grinned. Dark and sly and far too evil for his tiny body. “Shitty gramps will probably arrest you if he finds out you’re here.”

Freezing under the surge of sheer existential dread, Riot could feel every muscle in his body lock up. Oh shit no he had forgotten about Garp.

“Pack your bags!” The boys cheered and Riot knew the rictus on his face was probably communicating exactly how pants shiningly terrified he was over the idea of Garp the Fist finding out Riot was going to steal his grandsons. “We need to leave right now.”

Fuck, okay. Maybe not right now right now, since according to his memory they still had something like four weeks until Garp actually showed up to check on them, but as soon as possible was the goal.

/…/

He hated having to do it, but it was necessary. The only good news was that the scars left on his back and chest had left the Whitebeard jolly roger an unrecognizable twisted smear. Even if the likelihood of an East Blue back ally ink shop knowing Whitebeard’s flag was a slim chance, Riot knew it was a good thing that the jolly roger was gone. Riot was simply not going to risk someone noticing the wrecked tattoo and trying to puzzle it out. It would put his little brothers in danger.

So even though it broke something inside him, Riot had a new tattoo layered over the old one. It extended further than the jolly roger had, covering the scars and working with the remains of the Riot’s old allegiance. It was impossible to leave the past behind entirely though, so he picked the phoenix image knowing full well what it meant to him. The firebird covered most of his back, curling around his ribs on a field of hibiscus flowers and ocean waves to taper down his stomach.

The finished product was art and Riot cheerfully and with great relief took immense pleasure in forgoing any and all shirts for the rest of their journey.

/…/

Two years later, Riot was the Captain of a Pirate Crew again and he was still not entirely sure how. He was sure, however, that he had given Ace and Luffy some really interesting views on how to recruit their own future crews. Which Riot had decided would still happen even if he had to drop the little shits off on Dawn Island himself the day they each turned seventeen.

So there. Casualty could suck salt.

/…/

“Hi!” Pirate Bars are not usually a place where on encountered children. Pirate Bars in the New World are absolutely the last place people should allow their children to hang out. Marco blinked at his tankard and wondered if it had been spiked with seastone powder. The Phoenix looked down into wide dark eyes all but shining with excited curiosity. “You’re that bluebird Niichan has a crush on!”

Thatch spat out his drink, choking on his giggles as the rest of the Whitebeard Pirates seated nearby started hooting with amusement. Marco was going to make all of these idiots pay for witnessing this. He was the First Devision Commander, he had the power.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here, yoi.” Marco told the kid, hoping he would just take the hint and go away so he could start the bar fight his brothers were sorely asking for. 

The kid blinked in innocent incomprehension, and the door to the bar crashed open. “Portgas D Luffy!”

“Oops.” The kid looked like he was contemplating hiding behind Marco’s chair when a strong hand clamped down on the back of his vest and lifted him straight off the floor without any apparent effort. “Hi Niichan!”

“Luffy, what have I told you about speaking with other pirate crews?” The long-suffering tone was at odds with the colourful body tattoo and the aggressively orange hat. Marco was still trying to find his brain, because his libido had taken one look at the artistically tattooed musculature on shameless display and punted his higher thought process out of the way to wolf whistle aggressively. Marco would break his own rule about not sleeping with fans more often if they all looked like this. Silver-grey eyes turned to Marco as the dangling boy giggled, and the man sighed. “Hey, sorry about him bothering you. The little shit’s too friendly for his own good sometimes.”

“He was no trouble, yoi.” Marco was impressed with himself, he had never dealt well with speaking to people who attracted him. As long as he kept his eyes up he should fine… oh no he had freckles they were adorable. Shifting in his chair, Marco leaned back and nodded at the kid. “Might want to keep a better eye on him though. Kids can get into bad trouble out here.”

“This little shit can take care of himself.” The man was still holding his little brother off the floor with one hand. “It’s the bar I was worried about.”

“Aw, Niichan.” The kid pouted, crossing his arms. “I just wanted to meet the bluebird! Does he really look like the one on your back.”

“How the hell should I know? Not like I’ve ever seen his zoan transformation.” Thumping the kid down the older brother shoved his head down into an approximation of an apologetic bow. “Sorry for interrupting you drink.”

“Sorry!” The kid chirped, still laughing. Man, that was one happy kid. Marco relaxed a little. No kid could be that honestly happy with someone who would hurt them.

“Luffy getting in trouble again?” The new arrival was an identical, smaller version of the man Marco was still subtly enjoying the sight of. Minus the tattoos and about ten years of age. Must be another brother.

“Ah!” The smaller kid wiggled free and bounced over to the older child. “Ace is mean!”

“Ace isn’t the one who gets kidnapped every week because he can’t stay out of other people’s business.” The preteen snorted and thumped the younger boy on the head. “Now come on, Niichan’s taking us hunting and you’re wasting daylight in this stupid bar with a bunch of has-beens.”

Thatch started choking again and Marco tried to figure out if a twelve year old had really just insulted the strongest pirate crew in the world to their faces.

“Ace, stop being an instigating little shit.” The tattooed man, who Marco still had no name for, grabbed both of his younger brothers and dragged them bodily out of the bar. Marco stared at the red and gold firebird that stretched across the man’s back and firmly reminded himself that drooling was inappropriate, even if the man was all of Marco’s private fantasies come to life and already wearing Marco’s sigil. The door was kicked open in a mirror of how the man had arrived. “I swear the two of you do this deliberately just to see me get into fights. I think we’re going to do some Gramps style training…”

The door slammed shut just as the boys started protesting the oddly labeled punishment.

Thatch finally managed to catch his breath and paused, face creasing in thought. “Aren’t the animals on this island the ones resistant to Haki?”

/…/

“You’re an interesting man, Wildfire Riot.” Whitebeard examined the young Captain glaring up at him from where he stood in front of his crew. The younger brother’s Marco had spoken about were standing just behind their older brother with bared teeth. “From an East Blue no-name to a potential Warlord in only a year.”

“If you know that much you know that I also told the Marines to fuck off.” Despite being confronted with the Strongest Man in the world, Riot was relaxed. Not insolent, simply unconcerned, as if he knew that he had nothing to fear from Whitebeard. The younger Captain grinned and tipped his hat. “Speaking of which, Whitebeard. Care to tell me why you’ve decided to ambush me?”

“Well, it’s come to my attention that you have an interest in my First Division Commander.” Whitebeard grinned as his first child whipped around to stare at him in horror. “What are you intentions towards my son, Wildfire brat?”

“Pops!” Marco’s attempt to interfere was thwarted as he was dogpiled by his siblings, who very much wanted to see this play out.

Riot blinked. Looked from Whitebeard to the scrum between Marco and the rest of the Commanders. Gave his delighted little brothers a warning look. Turned back to Whitebeard and raised his chin. “All due respect, sir, but the fact that I want to bang Marco like a screen door in a hurricane is none of your goddamned business.”

Marco wheezed, collapsing under his brothers and hiding his face in his hands. What the fuck had he done to deserve this? Who even said something like that to someone’s father.

On his part, Whitebeard’s eyes were wide with surprise.

“What’s your problem now?” Riot crossed his arms with a grumpy scowl. “I answered your stupid question.”

“Maybe it’s because he’s old.” Picking at his ear, the smallest of the Portgas D brother’s offered up his explanation as the rest of the Anarchy’s crew nodded along.

“Yeah, his hearing is probably going.” The middle child added, hands laced behind his head as he smirked. “People start loosing their memory when they start loosing hair, don’t they?”

A deep, agonized sound of suffering escaped from Marco as he covered his entire head with his arms. He should never have let Thatch see him check out Wildfire’s ass. Never.

“Are we done?” Riot demanded loudly over the sound of the Whitebeard crew loosing their collective shit. “Because if your son isn’t up to dicking me down I’ve got meat to eat.”

Despite himself, Whitebeard is impressed. The brat has guts.

/…/

(Spoiler: Even after the most embarrassing confrontation of his life, Marco is totally up for dicking Riot down.)

[spitefulpumpkin]

Moonshine Lake; Ch.1: Strangers

Mirror on AO3

Self-indulgent as hell AU fic about a boy meeting a fish creature and their unusual love story. Co-plotted with @jyagantz

Trigger Warnings: Homophobia, Bullying, Animal Cruelty, Drug Abuse, non-explicit Interspecies Sex Unbeta’d, mostly written on mobile!

The Junkenstein family was a small institution. In fact there used to be a whole clan attached to the name, but only three of them were left behind in the small town of Adlersbrunn. Those would be the traveling merchant Lord James Richard Junkenstein, his wife of over twenty years Camilla and finally, their God given gift, their little son James, lovingly called Jamison. The Junkensteins loved their son, as for over a decade they had tried to conceive an heir to their name and land. The more they treasured the boy, fed him well and kept him proper. And like a true mother Camilla saw only the best in Little James. "He is such a smart child. He leaned to walk so early on and he could already write his name at tender three years old." she had cooed with former servants of the household. Much to her husband's dismay, who loved their son just as much as she did but was more grounded in his world view as a former soldier to the Adlersbrunn guard. "He might be smart but he will need a proper education to put his talents to use."

After he was able to talk Jamison got home schooled. The teachers were pleased with him but everyone working in the Junkenstein household knew the boy was a force of nature. Outside of his mother's guarding eye he would climb on furniture, draw on walls with ink or steal kitchen tools to make himself armor to fight against the neighbor's German shepard as if it was a dragon. Jamison was full of energy and it drove his parents who were both already in their fourties to their knees. They confused avoiding stress with taking care of their son, secluding him from the outside world more and more. The boy grew awfully lonely, surrounded by servants and teachers, his parents growing busier with every year and his frustration over it turning the once energetic child to a timid little soul who prefered books over human company. But then, one night - Jamison was nine years old - he found his first ever friend. In the most unlikely of places.

That night Jamison snuck out of the house. It was way too easy for the boy to avoid the guarding eyes of the servants and the door in the kitchen that led to the garden was old enough for a child to unlock with a simple old spoon. He liked the garden at night time. Mother's flowers would shimmer in muted colors through the night and the herbs were let to grow wildly, filling the late spring air with the gentle scent of lavender and basil. In the far back, past the old willow tree with his swing set and the white rose bushes, was the boy's favorite spot in the garden. Framed by large bushes with evergreen needles was a white fountain, carved out of stone. It looked older than the house, even though this couldn't possibly be, as Father kept saying he bought the house with the fountain back in the day. The water stains left it looking withered and used, and Jamison really liked that. People barely went into the far back of the garden, as its fence of green shuttered it from initial sight. Sometimes the gardener came through to remove weeds, and to see if the water still ran, but that's it. Jamison liked this spot. He spent many days watching the water of the surprisingly deep fountain run and reflect in the light. He liked the noise of the water hitting the stone and the smell of wetness. This was chosen isolation, not the one forced onto him by his parents. The kind of isolation he wished he was able to share... The boy barely touched the cold stone to sit at the edge of the fountain, when a noise startled him. Something was beyond the bushes. Jamison had climbed through a hole between the needles before, he knew of the little bit of forest behind it, as its trees grew higher than the roof of his home. He inched closed and peaked through, seeing only vague shapes. The little boy took a deep, brave breath in before he dug through the bushes, scratching his hand on a twig. He couldn't ignore the noises, because he knew these noises way too well: Crying...

The crying became louder the more the forest went down a little steep. Jamison held on to the trees as to not stumble over the roots poking from the ground as he made his way down. He saw water running. That's right, there was a river running through this forest. Maybe this was where the fountain got its water from. Once by the water Jamison looked around, trying to locate the crying. He followed the stream downward, until he was close enough to make out a bundle laying on the ground near the water. The boy gasped. At first he thought it might be an otter or another animal, but it was way too big for that. With green-blue scales shimmering in the moonlight, Jamison saw what looked like a little boy with large blue fins on his neck sit near the water, crying his eyes out. Jamison tried to close his mouth from the awe. He had never seen a creature like this before. Curiously he came closer. The fish boy had no hair and his scales looked weirdly dull. Maybe he was covered in mud, Jamison could barely tell through the darkness. He also noticed that little tail that reminded him of a frog's tadpole tail. And then he saw the blood. The side of the boy's leg was scratched open, as if he cut himself on a stone. "Oh no." Jamison spoke up and regretted it, because the fish boy spun around, his enormous dark eyes staring at Jamison before snarling and hissing, showing an impressive set of teeth. The boy raised his hands. "No, no, no, please don't be scared!" The fish child twitched, his face turning to a confused one. Jamison swallowed his own spit. This wasn't what he had expected would ever happen to him. This was...exciting. Slowly he lowered his hands and inched towards the scaled boy. The cut didn't look deep but it was dirty and probably still hurt a lot, given that the fish was still weeping, his almost black dark green eyes shimmering from tears. Jamison went on his knees. "Come. I carry you." The fish boy shook his head as Jamison tried to touch him to pick the smaller child up. So he did understand him. "You sure you can stand? It looks bad." Jamison returned but the fish child, somehow managed to get onto his one, very shaky leg. "I'm....warrior..." came out in heavy voice, even for a kid. His tongue wasn't used to so much strain. Jamison got up again and hopped over to give his unusual find support. "There's a fountain in our garden. We can wash your leg in it." The fish wanted to protest. He obviously didn't like getting help forced onto him, but he barely had a choice. Jamison was sure, if an adult had found him the poor fella would be tossed into a circus, or worse, end as someone's dinner.

The way up was a struggle, mostly due to the fish's limited mobility and Jamison's lack of fitness. Still, they got up, even when it meant Jamison's pants would be stained with mud and grass. No one will never know though if he hid them lower in the laundry pile. Once through the bushes Jamison helped the fish sit down at the rim off the fountain. "Here you go. You can clean your legs in the water." He pulled out a handkerchief from his back pocket, that was big enough to wrap twice around his head. "Then I cover it up with this." The fish boy hummed and while he did turn to bath his feet in the fountain he didn't clean out the wound. He just moved his feet around in the water. Jamison removed his large glasses for a moment, wiping them clean on his shirt. "You, uh...who are you?" The question came out sheepishly. The naivety of a child can be strong, every when faced with what others would call a monster. The fish boy glanced up, the sad features slowly soften as his hand reached to his wrist, a little bracelet made of seashells hanging on it. "Ahm...I am..." Curiously Jamison climbed next to the boy, undoing his muddy shoes. "You look like a fish." he commented. The big, translucent fins of the boy flailed up. "I am no simple fish! I am a warrior! My flock is the best along the Cold Shores!" "Sssshhh!" Jamison leaned in with his finger against his lips. "My parents are asleep..." The no-simple-fish boy held his mouth shut with both hands. A glance over the hedge, praying no lights were on. The darkness was a relief. Slowly the blond boy rolled up the legs of his pyjamas to slowly sink his feet into the cold water. "Okay. Warrior. Got it. But...do you have, like, a name?" "Everyone has a name." came as a reply, as if Jamison's question was the most well known thing in the world. The blond boy giggled a little. "Sure, but what is your name? Here, I'll tell you mine, too, if you tell me yours." He reached out his hand. "I'm James Junkenstein." With big eyes the scaled boy looked at the hand in confusion. He poked Jamison's palm with one of his cool fingers, causing the boy to twitch back and giggle. "Hey! That tickles." Fins flailed up again and something akin to a laugh bubbled up from the fish boy. He then raised his hand to pat his own shoulder twice. "Akande." Jamison rubbed his palm before he started to smile. Was that a greeting? He mirrored the motion, knocking with a flat hand again his left shoulder and the boy's eyes started to gleam.

[spitefulpumpkin]

Moonshine Lake; Ch.6: The Doctor

Mirror on AO3

Self-indulgent as hell AU fic about a boy meeting a fish creature and their unusual love story. Co-plotted with @jyagantz

Trigger Warnings: Homophobia, Bullying, Animal Cruelty, Drug Abuse, non-explicit Interspecies Sex Unbeta’d, mostly written on mobile!

Gossip spreads best between candle light and stone walls. The recent events in Adlersbrunn had reached the university late, three days after, and they tossed Jamison into a panic. Autumn had barely started and already the young man was on a carriage back, praying none of his worries ring true.

One of them wasn't. Despite the close proximity of their mansion to the woods, it and Camilla were unharmed by the bursts of fire that had spread over the surrounding greens of the town. At dusk, he decided to move along the stream. Praying his second worry wasn't true either. The story was bizarre. Farmers, craftsmen and soldiers grouped up and marched up the Moonshine Meadows, leaving behind a trail of dirt, soot and ash. Locals rumored almost a fourth of the Lord's lands are now gone. As Jamison lurked across the familiar path, he saw nothing familiar anymore. The trees were bare black skeletons made of coal, the grass was stepped flat and dead by too many feet and he was pretty sure he could smell burnt flesh from somewhere. He pushed the nightmarish thought aside. His lungs were aching from the smoke that still hang in the air when he reached the lake. Blood splatters covered the stones by the shore, the ripped nets floating on the surface. He was shaking. In the grass lay a bracelet. He recognized the seashells immediately. He collected them for Akande himself.

A scream broke through the evening air, shaking those who could hear it. And drawing up a smile on the features of the witch, who watched from the furthest corner of the dead forest, that from now on would be known as the Wilds by the locals.

At first he refused to believe. He would roam the woods and fields, every time he returned, trying to find clues, but only finding animal carcasses and broken eggs. More of them. Monsters. Bastards. Every single one in this town. They deserve no sympathy. They deserve pain. None of his bottled messages got a response. Even when he desperately tossed them into the ocean. Without a drive to return home, the man dove into his studies instead. Manically trying to keep his mind busy he tried to master whatever he could touch. Engineering. Biology. Chemistry. One of those coated him a leg. Foolish. It was worth while. He became one of the best students the university ever had. A doctor with barely thirty years old. And already graying. In the same year, Camilla had to be laid to rest, next to her beloved husband. The day after her funeral, the last staff who stayed with her until the end left the mansion as her son moved in. That was the day, on which Jamison became Junkenstein.

The doctor spent his life secluded. Even let his food be delivered rather than going out on the market himself. The only time people saw him was when he looked too deep into the glass at the tavern or when he tried to sell his ideas to a noble. He can't live off of the family's saved riches forever after all. The Lord of Adlersbrunn, who reigned over the town and its surroundings, was a gentle man. However he had little faith in the doctor. He knew his story: A former weakling, picked on by his peers for talking to himself. People called him crazy. Bewitched, even. He mostly tolerated the scientist, gave him funds to work on his weird "robots" as he called them. A promising addition to his military force for sure. This is how it would go. For over seven years. And still, the witch waited patiently.

...

It was quiet at the tavern that October night. Only the old soldier and his alchemist friend sat in their usual corner as Junkenstein bent over his notes. The secret project that had been taken form in his basement still required parts. And he would need to find a way to get those. "Evening, doc!" He twitched, glancing at the bard of the tavern. A bright young man with an even brighter smile. "What's that face about, man? Got the boot from Wilhelm again?" "If you wanna put it like that." he scoffed back, pushing his empty glass away. When Lúcio started talking to him, Junkenstein knew it was a slow business day. The bard set his lite aside. "Hey, have you heard the rumors?" "Which ones? This bloody town does nothin' but gossip." "About the swamp monster, man! The hunter has seen it. Like, two and a half meters tall, almost as wide, blue skin, sharp teeth..." "McCree talks a lot when he's tipsy. And even if, it might just be some stray mer. One of those these bastards haven't killed..." "Wait, you say there are mer people around here?" Lúcio was not originally from the town. Might explain his less superstitious attitude. "Last living ones I saw was fifteen years ago." Junkenstein hummed and left coin next to his spot on the table as he packed his books. "You saw them?" Lúcio seemed to beam in excitement. "Saw. Note the past tense, bard. They are not around anymore, because a bunch of scared farmers slaughtered them and their offspring. Those you spot nowadays probably only pass by on their way to the oceans. Like many sea creatures do." "Wow! You know a lot about them. You learned that in academia?" "Most of it." He lied. His backpack was heavy from his utensils. "...McCree saw them in the swamp, you say?" Lúcio nodded. The doctor hummed quietly before pulling his hood up.

He had become a night owl by now, using the safety of the darkness as a shield for what felt like a definite crime. The doctor often roamed the Wilds, musing in vague memories and lost dreams as he eyed the dead trees. Rain fall and decay had turned the surroundings of the old lake into a field of morass. Too quick for the doctor's liking, almost as if magic had it hand in it. But that couldn't be the case. The barren nature of the Wilds made it attractive for vagabonds who hope to find a short cut in the muddy paths. But the quicksand-like gunk had claimed countless lives by now and it still will, until it finally dries out. Junkenstein would seek out these corpses for his project, even the ones of clueless animals. It felt more tactful than raiding a graveyard, but no less illegal or ethic. Armed with a shovel and a bucket Junkenstein would slip around the trees, too familiar with the surroundings to trip over a root or fall into a puddle. Sometimes he would nick a berry from a bush here and there. A small sign that life was slowly returning to this husk of a forest.

He must have been too deep in his thoughts. Or maybe he underestimated the fatality of the darkness. But somehow, he ended up falling and not finding grip. Instantly, Junkenstein felt mud run into his boots, sucking him deeper into the wet soil of the swamp. Already knee-deep within seconds. The doctor tried not to panic...but by now, panic had become his second nature. He wound himself, trying to find a root or a tree arm he could pull himself out of. Only to drop deeper and deeper. Thighs gone. Hips gone. The metallic arm got stuck, too, drawn down by a gentle yet strong force. This can't be normal quicksand.

"Help...help!" His voice echoed. Screaming, as if he didn't know no one would hear him. He felt his body tremble, sad last attempts to free himself. The trembling followed a weep. A sob. He began to cry. Is this really how he would go out of this world? Eaten by a bog, like the people who's bodies he used to steal from here? Would he meet an angry mob of ghosts by the pearly gates? Would he meet his parents there? Or maybe even...

Through teary eyes and sad thoughts he barely noticed the muddy footsteps coming from behind his back, as well as the shadow looming over him. He only took actual notice once an enormous hand took hold of him. Following the hand that held him the doctor's eyes trailed along a strong arm covered in dark green and blue scales and many old scars. A tiny voice in him screamed in excitement. Eureka, he was right! There was a mer living in the swamp. His eyes kept wandering, but before he reached the mer's face, the large hand dragged and tugged at him, pulling him out of the sand. The doctor lost one of his shoes, but that was little damage. He sat against a large root poking out of the ground, trying to catch his breath. "Tha....thanks..." He muttered, looking up. The mer was leaving already, heavy steps taking it into the darker parts of tge woods. Junkenstein hopped up. "Oi! Wait a minute!" The creature gave off a low, rattling noise. He could barely make our their features in the shadows of the trees, but what Jamison did notice was a large gauntlet hanging from their arm, that seemed to be made of crustaceans and sea shells. He took off his glove and the scientist showed off the jewelry underneath it. His and Akande's intertwined. Slowly he raised that hand and tapped himself two times against the shoulder. "I won't harm ya. I'm a friend of ya people." The mer's eyes couldn't break through the darkness but Junkenstein felt eyes drill into him.

"Leave."

"What?"

"Leave this place. And never come back."

The mer's voice crawled under Junkenstein's skin as they inched away, disappearing in the darkness. He began to shiver. He knew that voice.