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wallwriterstuff · 4 years ago

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Her Reflection ||Marcus Volturi x Reader||

Warnings: Angst city central, descriptions of grief and depression

Words: 2741

Taglist: @royalvolturisblog @thelastemzy @ferb13 @raindancer2004 @a-avaunce @broskibowser @alecvolturiswifeforever @college-is-coming @perfectcolortreestudent @volturidoll13 @vamp-army

Summary:

A request for @like-rain-or-confetti

Marcus is resolute in his grief, so much so he has refused Corin’s gift many a time. When you show up, he can’t help but realise that perhaps his centuries of suffering were enough, that the contentment you offer is far more permanent than Corin’s. Maybe, just maybe...Didyme sent you to him to give him one last chance at the happiness she loved to spread about.

You were a wonderful find.

Aro had been delighted to see you in his thoughts. He had been forced to leave the safety of Volterra for a business trip, the accounts of their business front needing attention every few decades to keep up the ruse of a modern, evolving company with changing leadership and new blood in its crew. The journey to Rome had been uneventful until they found the rogue little newborn tearing holes in a small residential area they had had to pass through. Demetri had quickly found the little fiend and as Aro took his face in his grasp, the images had raced through his mind, the regret he hadn’t taken your offer to help him strongly resonating through his body as it was mercilessly torn apart.

“Oh…Demetri…find this one.” He had murmured. Demetri did, and you had been amongst the guard now for eleven months. It had been a surprise to Marcus when you showed up with his brother as you didn’t seem to fit the Guard’s image – he wasn’t sure you knew how to be intimidating. It was clear you hadn’t come of your own volition, you were far too intelligent to be deceived into thinking Aro’s offer to join was real and clearly saw you actually had no choice at all, but still you came with a gracious smile, like you’d rather be nowhere else. After so many centuries of living and travelling as nomad you had confessed to Marcus a place to settle was nice, and despite so much time on your own you had a warm and welcoming nature that just drew the others to you.

It was all too easy to find your place when your place seemed to be everywhere and anywhere. As bitter and cautious as they were, even the twins seemed to warm to you rapidly after a few discussions. Marcus was mildly intrigued at first, but he didn’t really see enough of you to form any solid opinion on you. He only knew what he had heard, and what he had heard was that you were helpful and kind, quick to soothe pain and anger in others even if it festered in yourself. It sounded so awfully familiar to him that the raw ache in his chest, one that had never really gone away, throbbed so badly he was forced to turn his face to avoid your visage when you entered the room. Still, your voice was sugar sweet, melodic and soothing, it was a balm somehow to that pain. Months later he couldn’t say he was rid of it, he never would be rid of the pain he was sure, but it had dimmed somewhat.

His intrigue had turned to infatuation quickly when he finally let himself cast a glance at you. You were attractive to him, very pleasing to the eye though not in an exaggerated way. What made you beautiful was your personality, and it was what brought so many to your side in their efforts to win themselves a chance at capturing your affections. You turned down one after the next, the bonds you chose to make with the rest of the Guard purely founded on friendship and nothing more. Even when you grew those you coveted most it never came close to anything romantic and he was somewhat glad of that. He didn’t want to be the reason you never knew happiness, but he couldn’t help but wish that perhaps you might find it in him. There were other complications with that of course, because how could you ever give yourself to someone so broken? Was he even capable of love? How did you find happiness in someone devoid of it? He had felt it once before and this was so similar…

You had shown up more and more in the throne room, guarding them as they read. If you ever noticed his stare you didn’t say or make it obvious, but you did catch his eye once or twice and the smile you gave him warmed him inside. It had felt awful the first few times because how could he betray Didyme like that? How was it right, how was it fair, that he might get to feel any semblance of joy after his mate had gone unavenged? Was it even possible to fall in love again? Perhaps the centuries had worn away that original bond, but even that felt like a disservice to Didyme’s love, her kindness. It was enduring in ways that nothing else was. Then it hit him, you reminded him of her. The bond he could form with you was not so different to the one he had shared with her, you were too similar for it not to be.

Didyme’s gift had been happiness, the aura so inviting she had infected everyone around her with it, and while you didn’t share that gift you shared that personality. Marcus understood then, why the colour had returned to the halls as he walked them, why the sunshine seemed warmer on his skin as he passed by windows. It was you. Yet more complications came with that revelation because he was growing ever more restless (in his own lethargic way) and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hide it. How did he tell you he had grown to love you for the very same reasons he had loved her? It was like looking at her reflection distorted in a mirror, a different face and different person but the same kind of heart. You had different passions and opinions and a slightly lethal edge to your physical prowess that he found gave him comfort, for it reminded him you were not her and you were able to defend yourself in ways she hadn’t been able to, but it also finally gave him the courage to admit that yes, he did love you, he did love you and he loved you because though you were like her you were not her.

Marcus didn’t want you to think about Didyme though when you spoke to him, he didn’t want you to see yourself as a replacement for a great, epic love. Unbeknownst to him, you had enquired about the sad king the moment you arrived. Marcus’s entire being radiated such grief and pain that it had been impossible not to ask about him, and given your easy to talk to nature (and the fear of what would happen to you if you unknowingly stuck your foot in your mouth) many a guard had happily told you the reasons for his depression.

“Didyme was beautiful.”

“Didyme was always so kind.”

“She made a whole room light up when she walked into it.”

“It was the greatest love story our kind have ever seen.”

Every statement had only made your heart hurt for the man more and more. His pain was so palpable, but his interest was also obvious. For a man so broken by the loss of such a momentous love it was surprising to say the least, but you also weren’t complaining. You had no desire to see anyone feel like he did, to be so trapped in darkness, and you had made it your mission to make the throne room feel a little lighter whenever you walked into it. Marcus was rather attractive in his own way, even with the corners of his mouth pulled down and his eyes so devoid of light. You were sure with a real smile he would look radiant as his eternal youth dictated he should. The day you got to see that first wisp of a smile was the day you became more determined to see it more often. Most people had gotten so used to overlooking Marcus unless he was called upon that you were able to share subtle looks and smiles from across the room with nobody really noticing – you smiled so often it wasn’t an unusual thing to see.

It was getting close to an important anniversary, important in Marcus’s mind anyway. You had been with the Guard for almost a year and people had started to notice the effects on the quiet King. Marcus had taken to wandering the halls more often than before, enjoying the library and the music room. The Gardens would be off-limits for a while yet, the tree planted in Didyme’s honour still blooming strong every year due to Aro’s careful upkeep and too much for his heart, his eyes. It was while admiring a painting in the hall that he came across you.

“Surely, after the length of your stay with us, you have seen this piece before?” his voice was soft, a slight rasp from the disuse and lack of satisfaction in his life that had lasted so long it was difficult to get rid of it. He felt like a schoolboy when you smiled at him, and for once he embraced the feeling rather than trying to shun it.

“I have, still it amazes me.” You confessed.

“There are larger pieces.” He mused.

“Size does not guarantee quality.” Your response was accompanied by a cheeky smile that made his own lips twitch upward, that ghost of a smile upon on his lips making you sigh contentedly. Twice in one day? It must have been vampire Christmas. For a while, you stood in silence and contemplated the painting before you. It was a simple piece of artwork, the Tuscan countryside interrupted by a quaint little cottage.

“What do you see?” Marcus asked you quietly. Head tilting, you hummed thoughtfully.

“I see peace.” You voice was decisive and he couldn’t help but frown. Peace? He had studied art a lot over the centuries and he had to admit, he had never once looked at this piece twice as something he could profoundly evaluate. It was a field, it was a cottage, it was…something that felt very literal in what it was.

“Peace?” he questioned.

You hummed. “The colours are so warm, and the hills just keep rolling. This landscape stretches forever, an endless path of golden light. There is always something to look forward to ahead but so much beauty around that cottage that you would be equally as happy to stay in that moment. To be able to see the beauty in what’s around us…that is the key to peace to me.”

Marcus could only stare at the painting, trying to see what you saw. He had seen nothing but grey for so long that the warm colours still felt faded. He couldn’t really remember what true peace felt like until he became brave enough to stand beside you. You radiated it. You were so content in life it was impossible not to feel the peace of mind you carried with you everywhere you went.

“What do you see?” you asked him. He didn’t dare stare into those wine-red eyes, sure his words would flee him. Marcus cleared his throat slightly, contemplating what to say. The truth was, he hadn’t seen anything in art ever since he began to study it. He had never seen metaphors or symbolism. Art had the potential to be beautiful and breath-taking but he had lost his ability to see it, until recently. There was…something, he realised, the more he stared at it.

“I see a cottage,” he said slowly, “But it is plain. Plain yet…surrounded by warmth. Isolated, and yet beautiful…it is…it feels as though, it could be home.” There was a deafening silence after he spoke, his words carrying more weight than he had first realised, weight you clearly felt. Marcus had lived in darkness, in agony and despair, in shadows, but with you there was light, joy, and beauty. He could live that way again if you allowed him the chance to. He could find that beautiful home in you. His hand was slow, reaching for yours. For a while the tip of his little finger touching the side of your hand was all he felt, not brave enough to go any further but so desperate to. When your fingers twitched, curling around his own to link your pinkies and hold his hand loosely, he knew instinctually that you wouldn’t let go. You would help him take that last step into the light. He didn’t need to be afraid.

“Master-“

“Marcus,” he amended softly, “I wish for you to call me Marcus.”

You nodded. “Marcus, then.”

A startled little laugh escaped him, because Didyme had once said the exact same thing to him. Unknowingly, you had replicated their very first exchange. Surprised red eyes stared up at him – you had never heard him laugh before. He seemed just as shocked since he wasn’t sure he was capable of such a sound anymore.

“You…you are so like her.” he sighed wistfully. In an ideal world she would be here, but…wasn’t this ideal? A second chance was unheard of amongst their kind and he was desperate to grasp it with both hands, but he feared holding too tight and shattering the hope he was unknowingly placing in you.

"Her? I...oh...Marcus..." you trailed off. Marcus finally met your eyes, the depth of sadness in his expression something you knew now you would never be able to fully alleviate, but you could meet him in the sea of his despair and keep him afloat, couldn’t you? This kind man deserved better.

“Forgive me. I had no wish to startle you, but you remind me so much of…of Didyme.” He whispered. Your expression softened, but there was no pity there, no sympathy, only gratitude. His honesty was applaudable and the courage it must have taken to say her name, that he felt safe enough to attempt such a feat with you of all people…you were grateful. Grateful to share this quiet moment with a man you had come to greatly admire, grateful to be held in such high esteem by him.

“That makes me truly happy to hear.” you confessed. Marcus frowned, looking confused.

“It does?” he questioned. You smiled, giving your interlocked fingers the slightest squeeze. Marcus slid his palm against your own, fully taking hold of your hand now he was more confident his affections were not about to be rejected.

“The day I arrived you looked so sad. I asked around, not wanting to say anything I shouldn’t and upset you further. The tales I heard, the descriptions I was given…it is an honour to think I might remind you of her in even the smallest of ways.” Your reassurance was like a warm blanket. Feeling cocooned and safe, he lifted your intertwined hands to brush the lightest of kisses against your knuckles. The tender gesture would have made you blush if you still had the ability.

“She was truly a miracle in my life, yet for all the ways you remind me of her, you seem to have just as many differences between you two,” he murmured, “I confess…I admire the reflection of her I see in you, but I love the little things that mark you as separate from her. It felt wrong to do so, yet I could not help it.” Pursing your lips, you tried to calm your racing thoughts as Marcus watched you for any hint of reaction. He had been open and honest, taken a brave step, and he needed you to meet him halfway lest he retreat back into the shadows. Living in hope was no foreign thing for you and you didn’t just meet him halfway, you anchored him in that hope so he might never retreat again.

“It would be a privilege to help you remember what it is like to be loved.” You assured him. Marcus gave you another small smile. Over time, those smiles grew and grew until they crinkled his eyes at the corners. Some days he laughed. On one rare occasion you had gotten him to dance with you in the music room to the record playing on the gramophone. Bit by bit the light returned to his eyes until he beamed so brightly when he saw you that it was obvious to everyone the Marcus they had once known had been partially revived. Grief was a constant companion but it no longer crippled him, and in the safety of your embrace Marcus felt so far from the shadows he was certain for the first time in centuries that he was finally free of them.

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #the volturi #marcus volturi #x reader #marcus volturi x reader #aro volturi #angst #fluff #he has a whole wardrobe of business suits for the specific purpose of business trips in rome and you cannot tell me otherwise

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agentcherricola · 3 years ago

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cherri with 6-23, poison with 12-17!

i'm gonna do the poison ones first and then put the cherri ones under a readmore bc it gets long!

what is the fastest way to upset them? if you even hint that you're making fun of poison to their face (unless you are a VERY close friend), they are going to tear you a new one. she's built up a very high image of herself and does not like being the butt of a joke

what is something that makes them uncomfortable? the texture of crushed velvet makes their skin crawl

what is something that never fails to make them excited? dancing! they love hitting up dance parties and just twirling around the room when their fave song comes on the radio. they're known to grab whoever's closest and make them join in, too

have they ever had their hair washed by another person? yes, they take a lot of showers with ghoul to save water and they'll wash each other's hair. there's a spot if you rub at the base of poison's skull that basically makes them purr like a cat when ghoul gives them a little head massage in the shower

what is the most romantic thing someone has done for them? when they and jet were dating (not too long after poison left the city for the first time), jet took them on a long drive just around the desert and pointed out all of his favorite places, cool sights, and other places to know. they drove until it got dark, and then they just parked and laid together on the roof of the car so poison could see the stars clearly for the first time. that's where she and jet had their first kiss, too. it's a memory she'll always hold fondly in her heart.

who is their favorite person(s) to spend time with? kobra, hands down. even if poison has a partner, kobra is still her best friend and someone who understands her in a way no one else ever will.

cherri cola

would they trust anyone with their secret? cherri keeps a lot close to the chest, either out of fear or showing weakness or just out of not wanting to burden others. but newsagogo knows a lot about him that no one else does. only when the burdens become too heavy

any family scandals? does your character know about them? cherri doesn’t know much of his ~birth family~, but his chosen family goes through all kinds of scandals. what makes it worse is pretty much everyone he considers family has a microphone and access to a radio wave, so his scandals can easily become everyone’s scandals

is there anyone they currently aren’t speaking to? why? (twitter canon) there have been plenty of times when poison (and the rest of their crew in solidarity) would give him the cold shoulder if he and her got into a fight, but it usually gets resolved (read: ignored) pretty quickly. post-sing he didn’t talk to dr. death for a while because he couldn’t take the no-questions-asked care the good doctor was trying to give him without feeling insanely guilty </3

what is something that would break them emotionally? newsie getting hurt :^((((

sacrifice the one to save many, or save the one no matter the cost? sacrifice the one for sure. and if the one happens to be himself? so be it

do they have any illnesses? i mean he has the PTSD that most killjoys have, plus anxiety on top of that. in terms of physical illnesses, he probably dealt with all kinds of fun infections when he lost his arm before he got cleaned up by the city

what is the fastest way to upset them? lying to him. you don’t have to be nice, just don’t lie. you don’t like him? fine, but just say it.

what is something that makes them uncomfortable? being touched suddenly by people he doesn't know

what is something that never fails to make them excited? cherri loves hitting that long stretch of route guano on a motorbike and just gunning it as fast as he can to feel the wind in his hair. racing kobra just the two of them down the road makes his heart race

have they ever had their hair washed by another person? yes! newsie and eventually chimp (when she and newsie have been dating for a while). newsie would wash it for him when it’s been a long time but cherri’s arm is hurting or he can’t get himself out of bed. the first time someone else did, newsie couldn’t wash his hair because they had been sick or injured. but chimp came by to take care of them, and when she was letting them rest, she gently coaxed cherri to the bathroom to wash his hair in the sink. she hummed while she did it and he almost fell asleep from how soothing it was.

what is the most romantic thing someone has done for them? kobra wrote him a poem for their one year anniversary and read it over the radio for him to hear for the first time. he stopped whatever he was doing to find kobra immediately afterwards and kiss him silly.

who is their favorite person(s) to spend time with? doctor death-defying.

neck kisses or shoulder kisses? neck. shoulder kisses are saved for being wrapped around your lover’s back when you both sleep, and he doesn’t usually do sleepovers.

how do they feel about public displays of affection? twitter canon/pre-sing, he isn't the biggest fan (unless for the purpose of winding his partner up). after getting out of the city though he doesn't waste a chance to give someone a hug or just squeeze their hand a little.

would they be the one to propose, the one hoping for a proposal, or no interest in marriage? cherri doesn't really think marriage is necessary. as a desertborn, most of his knowledge of "marriage" is from his city friends. but he sees his friends/partners very equally (the only difference being the kind of love they have for each other), and he doesn't think prioritizing romantic love is necessary.

do they prefer giving or receiving gifts? answered!

how indecisive are they? not very. cherri trusts his gut and knows what he wants.

what do they want most in life? to live unrestricted.

#autostrad #party poison #cherri cola #cherripoison #funpoison #jetpoison #kobracola #literally thank u for sending all these sorry it took so long!!

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simonxriley · 3 years ago

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OC lore part 1 of 7 for @gear-redfield

Since I have a ton of ocs I’m gonna start off with the ones that are in different fandoms and then work my way through the fandoms I have multiple ocs for. I think I’m gonna do 5-6 HCs for them so it won’t be a mile long. The other ocs I’ll go into more details (maybe).

Riley Sanders (Metro Series)

Has three Watchers for pets, they’re her babies. But there was barely any room on the Aurora for them until they ended up getting the other rail carts. They tend to sleep anywhere they want, mostly in place where they stop people from moving around the train.

She’s not very talkative, likes to keep to herself for the most part. The people she talks with the most is Ulman, Artyom, Anna and Duke. That was until Katya and Nastya joined them.

Being able to breathe fresh air was kind of liberating for her. It made her happy that there were placing where you can live and breathe on the surface, not stuck in the dark, cold and damp metro.

Besides her and Ulman, Nastya was the first of the Aurora crew to hold their son.

Her brother wasn’t with her when that whole issue on the train occurred. He has no idea if she’s alive or not and she vice versa. She’s hoping she’ll be able to see him soon and have him meet his new nephew.

Amazing at stealth. Can sneak by a group or camp in a matter of minutes without killing anyone.

Kenadee “The Viper” Taylor (Ghost Recon)

She joined the US Army right out of high school with her high school sweetheart, Maverick. They married a year later and a year after that had their daughter Addison.

Joined Delta Force at the age of 24. That whole selection process was rigorous but very rewarding.

She has a very happy outlook on life, always bubbly. You wouldn’t think she’s apart of Delta. It throws people off every time.

Lost her husband in the field when their daughter was 5 years old. She retired after that and moved back to her hometown of San Diego where she could raise their daughter in a better environment.

Joined Nomad’s Ghosts five and a half years later. All thanks to Midas, who she met because their kids go to school together.

Carries around a knife coated in snakes venom, only uses it during interrogations.

Anja Kovic (Uncharted)

Was born to Borislav Kovic, a General Major in the Yugoslavia Ground Forces and Svetlana Kovic, a former nurse. Also the younger sister to Vladimir.

She grew up in a highly abusive household under her fathers rule. He had that mindset of the men work and the woman stay home, then add on the strictness of being in a military family.

Wanted to be a nurse growing up but those dreams got shot down when her father married her off to the war lord Zoran Lazarevic at the age of 18.

Marriage to Zoran was horrific, she was just happy he spent more time in the field than with her. His death did not sadden her whatsoever.

Lost her mother to suspicious circumstances when she was twelve. Leaving her and her older brother at the will of their father.

After Zoran’s death she was finally free. She left for Serbia in search of finding her brother and during that time gave birth to her and unfortunately Zoran’s son, naming him Dragan. And yes, she did find her brother and became the nurse she always wanted to be.

Evelyn “Evie” Hazelton (The Order 1886)

Was born to Edith Hazelton and an unnamed father in London, England on October 1st, 1860. (Her mom was a prostitute)

She lived in a brothel up until her mom’s murder. She loved it, to be surrounded with so many women that helped her through her life, gave her advice and helped molded her into the woman she is today.

Sir Percival/Malory gave her a spot on the Order after her mom’s death and she became the protege of Sir Galahad/Grayson. There she learned how to fight and shoot a gun.

The first time she ever saw a werewolf she thought it was a big dog. It was late at night, she was young and couldn’t tell since it was in the far distance.

Has a scar going down her back from being scratched by a werewolf during a fight.

Very protective of the people she cares about. She was the only person who pleaded not guilty during Grayson’s trial because she knows him. She knew he wouldn’t have worked with the rebellion if it didn’t suit a good cause.

Lydia Wilson (Call of Cthulhu)

Her parents were apart of the cult that was trying to bring back Cthulhu. However, they left Darkwater when Lydia was five and moved to Boston.

No matter how much her parents tried to make her forget the past, she didn’t. She still has memories of the cult, what the uniforms looked like, the masks. It never left her.

Started hearing the voice of the Leviathan in her dreams once she hit her late 20′s. Eventually she caught wind of what he wanted and she set sail for Darkwater, a place she hasn’t been since she was five.

Her father ran a tailoring shop and she helped a lot through her childhood.

When she spaces out she has a resting bitch face. It makes her loo unapproachable according to her mother.

The first time she saw the Shambler she though she was hallucinating. That wasn’t the case and she never wants to deal with it again.

Lily (MCU)

Born on the planet Prometheus. A planet cover in lush green grass and waterfalls.

Ever since she was a child she had this fight in her. She use to find a decent sized stick and pretend to fight a tree.

Was married to Thanos for over 20 years. The only good that came out of it were her kids.

Joined the Avengers after Thanos’ death. It was nice to be around people and strike up conversations. She just loved learning about Earth and she would talk about her home world.

She was the first owner of the scepter until it was given to Loki. That made her angry, she really loved that scepter.

The first person she befriended was Carol Danvers because her youngest daughter, Lotus really liked her.

Ashlynn Davenport (Tomb Raider)

Was born into Trinity. Her father was a sergeant in the Trinity army and her mom was a nurse.

She liked her life for the most part, loved her parents and friends, but the more she found out about Trinity and all the harm they do she wanted out. Unfortunately they didn’t happen when she was being married off to the Trinity field commander, Konstantin.

Being married to Konstantin meant moving around a lot, never really staying in one place for too long. Once the mission was done then they moved on. She didn’t mind it, not at first. She liked traveling around and seeing the world, but the stuff Trinity did put a bad taste in her mouth.

Ash can be quite manipulative when she wants to be. It was something she learned from her dad growing up.

She helped Lara take down Trinity from the inside when they were looking for the divine source. No one figured it out, all of thinking it was Lara.

Ashlynn actually loved Konstantin, she just thought his mind was corrupted by his sister and was trying to make him see what was right. So when he died she was pretty pissed and was going to say her true feeling to Ana. Unfortunately the Trinity sniper got to Ana first. Leaving her with a bunch of anger inside her.

Sawyer Monrow (TLOU)

She was 12 at the time of when the cordycepts outbreak began. Her life was pretty great as well and then over night everything changed.

Her family ended up at the Hartford QZ, where her and her younger brother went through military training (just like in Boston) to teach them how to kill infected and other humans if necessary.

Met Joel and Ellie in Pittsburgh. She was with Henry and Sam at the time and after their deaths she stayed with them and made the trek to Jackson.

She can be very standoff-ish at first glance. It’s how she acts in this apocalyptic world, more so to protect herself and because she doesn’t trust people.

Started a relationship with Joel a year and a half later. He was the first person she really let in and was happy for the few years they were together. She even considers Ellie like a little sister.

She lost her family when the Hartford QZ fell. She tried to save her brothers, but couldn’t. That still haunts her to this day.

Phaedra Alexeyev (Werewolf The Apocalypse)

She’s very good at backstabbing and manipulating people. All thanks to her former caern. A part of her hates it, but the other knows how in handy it can be.

She was born at the Shadow Lords Thunderstrike Sept, Ural Mountains, Russia. Close to the city of Chelyabinsk.

Phaedra and Cahal became a surrogate family after they both had to kill a family member.

Always the first ready to jump into the action. When there’s a fight she’s on the front lines, she’s not going to miss out. And she just likes to fight in general.

She born under a full moon making her have the Ahroun Auspices.The Full Moon makes the Ahroun the living weapon of Gaia. They are the warrior among a race of warriors, the champion of a martial people. Ever ready to kill, and to die if need be.

Her name means Bright Defender.

Emma Ross (Stargate Atlantis)

Joined the Marines to help pay for her college tuition. She surprisingly enjoyed it and continued to serve as she got her degree in science.

Lived a very mundane life growing up. Had two wonderful parents, a good upbringing, nothing exciting really happened. Which might have been the reason she joined the military.

The hardest thing she has to do is lie to her friends and family when she was transferred over to the Atlantis expedition. Being so far away from them sucks, but with the Daedalus she has more of a chance to go visit them.

As much as she’s in danger, she’s never felt more alive than being on Sheppard’s team. All the action just makes her blood pump.

Ronon calls her ‘red’ due to her being a red head. She finds it kinda funny.

She’s very friends and loves to strike up conversations whenever she can. Getting to know more people on Atlantis made living there easier.

#gear-redfield #oc riley sanders #oc kenadee taylor #oc anja kovic #oc evie hazelton #oc lydia wilson #oc lily #oc ashlynn davenport #oc sawyer monrow #oc phaedra alexeyev #oc emma ross #long post

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peachnewt · 4 years ago

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Midnight Snack - Gingerbread 2

Midnight Snack - Gingerbread

by peachnewt

Part 2

Will held out his hand, shaking, hoping the trappings of manners would stall the frosty giant's appetite. A few "hello, how are you"s could do wonders. He'd even offer to take the giant out for dinner if it would take himself off the menu.

"Hungry," replied the giant.

Oh hell, that didn't work.

Will screamed as the giant tossed his head back and dropped him inside a steaming, wet mouth as easily as a grape. Going from dry, biting cold to a moist inferno left Will in a daze until the mouth tilted. Will kicked his legs, trying to gain purchase on a tooth or gum and launch himself back out into the cold. He could handle the cold if it meant the chance of escape.

Instead the giant grabbed his boots, tilted his head back more, and then pushed Will further inside. Towards a dark, slick throat that seemed to unfold the closer Will got to it. He shoved at the insides, only for his arm to get pulled in, drawn further towards the dark.

"No! Please! I'm sorry!"

Will twisted, trying to kick out of the giant's grasp as his head and torso became enfolded in tight heat. His arms were crushed to his sides as he felt the esophagus take in his hips, thighs, and then his booted feet.

Like a sock in an overheated laundry chute, Will was pressed onward and inwards. At a point in the journey he could feel an unyielding drumming from a side of the fleshy chute.

The mad bastard's rotten heart! Will twisted as much as he could in the tiny space he had, and kicked it.

He didn't get the satisfaction of beating up a giant from the inside for long. Once his body dropped into the open chamber of the giant's stomach, the heat hit him, stifling his breath. Hot, dark, damp. The change from freezing cold to melting heat overwhelmed him and he passed out.

***

Louis gulped down the human with a barbaric gusto that would have made his mother smack him with her cane of iron oak. It was worth it. The human tasted of salt, spice, fear, and the dusting of sugar from the gingerbread circle. And feeling the wriggle inside launched a fervid fever to his cold fingers and toes. Even the kicks against his heart made him gasp. It hurt, but the feeling of being touched so deeply set off a nerve.

A rancorous indulgence. Indecent. Sordid.

Louis kept gulping "William James Rowe from Brex" down until he felt the weight of the human slide into his stomach, ending the aching hunger that had been pestering him for five days. The human stilled. Louis sighed. Satisfied.

His fury for violence and revenge quelled, Louis looked at the remains of his little gingerbread house and stifled the urge to cry. He tried to set the walls back up. The white frosting crumbled.

At the last family meeting, Louis' mother had given him and his brothers a message from the Frost Empress. Each giant of eligible age was encouraged to build a gingerbread house and bring it before the Frost Empress during Solstice. Whomever made the best gingerbread house would gain the praises of the Empress and a favor from the visiting Witch-Queen of the Purple Marshes.

Of course, a mother's "suggestion" was law. Louis' brothers, both taller, wider, and more crafty than him, took up the challenge with gusto, grabbing supplies and promising to bring back the most glorious gingerbread palaces for Solstice. His father had shook his head at their bravado, but looked proud.

Louis had been given his bag of supplies with an encouraging smile from his mother.

"Just do your best, my storm cloud. And have fun with it."

The gingerbread rubble had been anything but fun. For three weeks he had been trying to make a gingerbread house. The spiced rubble at his booted feet was a reminder of his failure.

Louis hadn't time to sink into depression as the medallion around his neck flashed an amber glow. A summons from the rangers that guarded and maintained the mountain passes and roads.

"Frosty shit, this better be an emergency!"

***

Will, upon waking inside the heated stomach of a giant, rightfully freaked out. He kicked and screamed in the dark, thrashing like a trout in a net.

"Height's sake, knock it off," the walls around Will grumbled, sounding breathy.

"I don't want to die!" screeched Will. "Let me out!"

The giant hissed as a tender spot was hit.

Will pounded at the walls again, eliciting another moan from the walls. "Let. Me. Out!"

"No! Shut up, I'm working!" the giant hissed.

Will froze, perplexed. "Working?"

***

A caravan, lost, half buried in the snow, and unable to move due to a broken axel, was an emergency. If it hadn't been for the blizzard, the local wainwright could have handled it.

"We couldn't see the towers of Wax Wake," said the caravan leader to the ranger, glancing up fearfully at the giant towering above them. "Usually they can be seen in any blizzard."

Louis scrunched his shoulders up in guilt. He should have agreed to clean the damn light-towers this year, it would have saved him the trouble of fetching caravans lost in the snow. But he had been busy, stressed, and... driven to the point of eating a human live and whole.

Who was still kicking. Thankfully not screaming. But muttering more and more colorful profanities as the evening went on. Infected end of a skunk's rear indeed.

Louis's attention shifted back to the caravan leader when he mentioned one of their crew that had gone missing when looking for help.

Ah... shit.

"Ah, named William?" asked Louis.

"Yes!" nodded the caravan leader. "Will, have you seen him?"

"Uh, I think I found that guy under some rubble, freezing. Had to put him someplace warm."

"You liar!" A swift, and pointed kick to Louis' insides made him hitch a breath.

One of the rangers dared ask, "You okay?"

"Indigestion," growled Louis.

Everyone turned back to the task at hand and minded their own damn business until the caravan gathered and informed each other of the plan. Louis would carry the broken wagon, minus a few fragile items, and the horses. He would then lead the way to Wax Wake and better roads by shuffling his feet, making a path for the other wagons.

Wouldn't be the first time Louis had to blaze a path for people that couldn't travel when the weather was better.

***

Will pressed his ear harder into the wall, trying to hear more over the sound of squishing, hungry intestines and a thundering heartbeat. When he heard how Louis was going to lead the way to Wax Wake, he stilled.

Why is the giant nice to them, but wouldn't give me the benefit of a doubt? Jerk.

Will huffed, wanting to rail and pound the walls again, but stilled as the reality of his situation caught up. He was in a hot, steam stomach, but somehow he still had air. And he didn't feel the tingling of acid on his bare skin.

Was the grumpy giant somehow merciful? While being a bastard?

Probably.

Will kicked, receiving satisfaction as the giant's breath hitched again. "Indigestion my ass."

***

Louis led the caravan to the edges of Wax Wake, setting the broken wagon down closer to the walls of the city. The wainwright would be able to tow it to the shop later. Louis mentioned to one of the rangers that patrolled closer to Wax Wake that he would come back later to clean the tower windows. Like he should have done earlier, but no one mentioned that.

"What about William?" asked the lead of the caravan. "Did you drop him off here?"

Fuck, thought Louis. He'd have to do some fast talking. No need to spread that he'd lost his temper. Again.

"Uh... I had to find a warm place quick. He's at my home. I'll bring him down tomorrow," rushed Louis. He turned away from Wax Wake and started his trek towards the Greyfells and his bed.

Tomorrow. Hopefully enough time to convince William James Rowe from Brex to keep his mouth shut. Gentle persuasion wasn't one of Louis' strongest talents. He might have to bribe the human.

Another kick from the inside. "Liar!"

Scaring William to stay silent was also an option.

Hope ya’ll are enjoying this Midnight Snack! Feel free to support my writing by re-blogging, commenting, or via my Ko-fi! ^_^

Part 1

#Giant/tiny #pred/prey #soft vore #v/ore #g/t writing #peachnewt #midnight snack #inspired by how friggin cold it is here

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heyitsani · 4 years ago

Text

When the Dark of the Night Comes Alive

Word Count: 9214

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Zombies? But you don’t really see them except one part

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson, Roy Harper/Koriand’r

Summary: It's been three years since the world went to hell and zombies became a thing of reality and not just fiction. While out on a supply run with his usual crew, Jason picks up a stray that will change the course of everything.

Notes: This was supposed to be for JayDick Week, but life happened and I wasn't able to finish it. It's still technically not finished since there's an epilogue coming. But I wanted to post those two separately. So here is the main part of the story. Enjoy!

Also, I did next to no editing on this. I'll go back and clean it up. So sorry for any mistakes.

You can also read it on AO3 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jayjay,” the familiar voice rasped. “Jayjay you need to remember, okay? Don’t forget.”

“Don’t forget what, Mama?”

“Don’t forget that the cure is in the blood. Don’t forget. The angels, they said it. They said you would know. You would do it. Don’t forget.”

“I don’t understand, Mama.”

“Don’t forget, Jayjay. The cure is in the blood.”

“Boss,” a firm, but quiet voice broke through the hazy dreamlike memory, a hand on his shoulder shaking him awake. Blinking up, Jason let his eyes adjust to the dark room enough to see one of his men leaning over him. Since it was still night, that meant something had happened or was happening.

Sitting up, he ran a hand over his face. “What is it?” Kyle gave him a curious look before he straightened and glanced over his shoulder. “Rayner, the fuck is it?”

“Someone’s in the house.” That snapped Jason to full alert and he immediately stood to his feet, quietly grabbing his gun that was sitting next to his sleeping bag. “We didn’t engage, they’re in the kitchen.” Which meant they were probably hungry. Not surprising given the state of the world the past few years, but it was still a dangerous headspace to be in. Desperate enough and you would probably easily kill the first person who had food to steal.

He was curious how the person had managed to slip pass their watch, but that was a question for another time. First, he had to deal with whoever it was that had stumbled upon the exact house he and his crew were staying in for the night. Which meant he was walking down the stairs, trying to make no noise to give away the fact that someone else was in the house.

He gave a nod to Rose, who was crouched behind a chair in the living room, watching whoever it was with her gun in hand. And whoever it was had no qualms about being quiet because Jason could hear the person shoving things around as they searched.

With a careful click, Jason pulled the safety off his gun but keeping the barrel pointed at the ground, glancing around the corner to see the back of what looked like a man from the short cut hair in the back and the cut of his body hidden beneath the black leather jacket and dark jeans. From what he could see, Jason couldn’t make out any weapons and for that he was glad. He didn’t particularly enjoy fighting with those who were not infected.

“Show me your hands,” he growled, raising the gun to aim at the man who was crouched near the ground as he dug through a cabinet. “Now,” he ordered when the person made no attempt to move. There was a huff followed by two hands raising in the air, both empty. “Stand up and turn around slowly.” With a grace that Jason wasn’t sure he had ever seen before, he watched the figure ease themselves upright and spin slowly, as requested. And then Jason was face to face with the most beautiful man he had ever seen.

And he wished that were an exaggeration.

But the hair that was cut short in the back, hung in the man’s eyes in the front. Eyes that even in the dark, Jason could tell were a startling blue. Cheekbones that would probably cut glass, and miles upon miles of golden skin. And though the leather jacket added bulk to his form it didn’t take away from the lean, strong line of his body beneath it. It had been a long time since Jason had felt so attracted to someone right off the bat, but damn if he didn’t want to lower his gun just on the man’s looks alone.

“Who are you?” Jason asked instead of following his instincts. He had people to protect.

“Name’s Dick.” Jason waited for more, but when nothing else came he gave an annoyed sigh.

Dropping the gun down to his side, he clicked the safety back on but didn’t tuck it away like he would have if the threat were eliminated. He watched Dick regard his motions curiously, head tilting to the side. And though Jason dropped his weapon, Dick kept his hands up almost in appeasement. But something told Jason he didn’t exactly need a weapon to take down a man. “What are you doing here, Dick? Are there others with you?”

“I’d like to think it’s pretty obvious what I was doing,” the man said with raised eyebrows. “And as for the other question, just me. Been just me for a while now.” With narrowed eyes, Jason looked him over and wondered why he didn’t look worse for the wear then. He looked almost…healthy. It wasn’t how solos usually looked when they came across them.

“Suspect, Boss,” Kyle muttered behind him and Jason just grunted. He got what the man was implying, it was suspicious. But something told Jason to trust Dick. Something deep in his core said it was okay, just this once, to follow his gut. Not that his gut had ever been wrong in the past.

“At ease,” he called out to the three others in various places behind him. Tucking the gun into the back of his pants, he relaxed his shoulders and watched Dick carefully lower his arms. But the fact that he hadn’t dropped eye contact with Jason put the man at ease. He wasn’t looking for others to jump in and help him. Rarely did pairs or groups mean good people. Jason had never had luck with anyone riding in pairs or more. “I’m Jason,” he said, moving forward and holding out a hand. Dick took the offered hand and gave it a firm shake, Jason tried not to think about the power he could feel in the grip. Instead, he released it and turned to the others. “That’s Kyle, Biz, and Rose. Don’t let her name fool you, she’ll lay you out in a heartbeat.”

Dick gave the others a nod, eyes lingering on Rose curiously and Jason resisted the urge to sigh. Men always thought they stood a chance with her and then they realized that she was too big a handful for them. For once, he had been hoping to come across a man who didn’t look at Rose that way. He glanced over at Rose to see her watching him just as carefully.

“I know your father,” Dick said suddenly, and Jason whipped his head to look back at him, finding him still looking at Rose. Jason felt himself frowning as he turned to look at Rose again and found her standing there with wide eyes. Her reaction was curious enough but the fact that a supposed stranger had a connection to one of his crew, that was suspicious.

“Like I said…” Kyle spoke up before heading back up the stairs to most likely resume his watch from the second story window that looked out onto the street below.

Rose didn’t move for a moment and Jason took a step toward her but then she was brushing past him and heading over to the newcomer. Jason kept his distance as he watched the pair whisper to one another. He was tempted to move closer and try and catch some of the conversation, but he knew better than to push something Rose didn’t want to talk about. All he knew was her father and her were estranged and that he was “dead to her”.

He wondered what kind of relationship Dick had had with someone Rose so thoroughly hated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, Kyle said the stray you picked up should have a spotter.” Jason looked up from his work to see his best friend Roy walking into the lab. “Said he didn’t trust the situation that brought him to us. And said you went about it in a way that wasn’t normal for you. He also mentioned that he knows Rose’s dad, who none of us know anything about except that he’s bad news.”

“Oh, is that all Kyle said?”

Roy let out a snort and Jason just rolled his eyes. “I told him to fuck off and that you’ve never put this camp at risk.” Jason just shrugged, because what could he say? Roy was right. He wouldn’t risk the people they were charged with keeping safe. Not even for a pretty face. “But want to tell me why he thinks you’re thinking with your dick and not your head?”

“Cause I turned him down for a quick fuck the night before Dick stumbled into the same house as us and he’s pissed,” Jason admitted. Pulling his glasses off, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose and sat down on the stool behind him. “And I don’t want to hear it,” he said, pointing his glasses at Roy. Who held both his hands up in a placating motion, despite the amused twinkle in his eye. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, come on,” Roy laughed, leaning both his arms onto the counter where Jason had various vials and a few microscopes out. “I’m not that big of a dick to rub your face in the fact that I was right about him being a clingy bastard who doesn’t understand the no strings attached rules.”

“Fucking shit, Harper. Just couldn’t resist, could you?”

“Nope.” Roy laughed and Jason shook his head, letting out a chuckle of his own. “But seriously, he’s acting like a jealous ex-lover and that means he picked up on something.”

Jason put his glasses back on and pointedly didn’t respond, leaning back to look at the slides on the scope in front of him before jotting down some notes in his notebook.

“Jay.”

“Fuck off.”

“He is definitely a good-looking man.” Jason continued to ignore him despite knowing he was playing right into Roy’s hand. “And helpful. Kory said he immediately jumped in to help with some of the new buildings and asked around to see how he could help the others.” Jason only grunted in response. He liked knowing the man wanted to pull his own weight without having to be asked to do it. “He also asked if he could be on the crew that goes out to scavenge next.” That was curious, enough so that Jason actually looked over at Roy. “Strange for someone to want to go out so soon, huh? Of course, it was only after hearing that you were the one who always lead those ventures.”

“Got a point here, Harper? I’m working on something for your wife, and I doubt she’d appreciate me taking longer because of you.”

Roy just laughed.

“Seriously, Roy. What are you implying here?”

“Just that maybe you should get out of the lab and take a walk around the East Bend. Might find something a bit more enticing than…Rayner.” And though the implication was heavy, Roy didn’t wait around to make sure Jason understood. He simply turned and headed back out the way he came, leaving Jason to wonder what the fuck he was thinking making Roy his best friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Supplies are good boss,” Kyle commented as he and Biz presented the checklists they were tasked with every week to make sure each division of the compound had enough to get them through the next month. Though it was overly cautious, Jason liked the men to check every two weeks to be sure everyone had what they needed. In the beginning there had been too many times when their supplies had run out and they had desperately gone on supply runs that had ended in someone’s death or near-death. They had come a long way in the three years they had been in this location.

But still Jason liked to be sure they didn’t get in a bad spot again. “What about Kory? Did she say she needed any supplies for the upcoming frosts? It’s getting to be that time of year and she needs to protect the plants on the West rooftop.”

“I can answer that,” a voice sounded near the entrance of his lab and Jason couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Dick filling his doorway. “Roy is currently helping reenforce the plant beds, but he and I have been building greenhouse structures to erect around them before the frosts actually hit. We should have them done in the next day or so.” The man walked further into the room and Jason ignored the way Kyle seemed to tense up next to him as he did.

Dick didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Whatever it was, Jason wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Instead he took the paper that Dick held out to him. “What’s this?”

“A list from Kory. She said you’d know what to do with it.” Jason furrowed his brow as he unfolded the paper and read Kory’s elegant handwriting. Fertilizer. Yeah, he definitely knew what she needed. He knew he had everything, but he was running low on a few things. And that meant a supply run in the next couple of weeks.

“Thanks Dick,” Jason gave the man a nod as he folded up the paper again and looked over at Kyle, who was watching Dick with narrowed eyes. Jason could see Biz regarding the interaction curiously, but knew the man would keep his thoughts to himself for the time being. “Rayner, we’re going to need to do a run in the next two weeks. You and Rose can plan out the route while Dick, Biz and I get the packs together.” That snapped Kyle’s attention away from Dick. And though Jason knew exactly what the man was thinking, he simply raised an eyebrow as a challenge.

“Sure thing. You’re the boss,” Kyle grumbled before grabbing the lists in front of his and heading toward the door. Jason sighed at the sight of Dick jerking when Kyle bumped into him on his way past, rubbing his forehead in exasperation.

But it was Dick’s reaction that was curious. The man watched Kyle go with a thoughtful look on his face before turning back to smile at Jason. “I could help him and Rose, if you like? Show them where I was before I found you all. There had been a few pods of infected that had infested some of the surrounding cities and towns.” And though Jason thought that was smart, he knew better than to antagonize Kyle that way.

“Nah, Biz and I could use the help. Packing for five is more complicated than packing for four. We’ll get started tomorrow. It’ll take Kyle and Rose a few days to get the plan worked out and I have a few projects to finish before we head out.” He waved the paper from Kory as proof. Dick seemed to take it all in stride, nodding and glancing around the lab.

“I’ll head back out then. Biz, Roy and I could use some muscle,” Dick smiled at the large man and Biz chuckled before clapping Jason on the back and heading toward the door. “See you later, Jay,” Dick called out over his shoulder as they headed out, sending a smirk to the man before walking out.

Remaining in his spot at the table, Jason sighed and shook his head. He wasn’t sure bringing Dick along on a supply run that Kyle was on was a good idea but he had to admit that he wanted the newest addition to join them. He had been enjoying the time he had been spending getting to know the raven haired man. The way it seemed like everything was a brand new experience and how he found joy in the simplest of things. It was a refreshing take on life, one Jason hadn’t seen in a very long time. And though Kyle was still trying his cards, Jason had to admit that his sights had settled on Dick and didn’t seem to want to stray.

Which made things a lot more complicated than Jason wanted to admit. The casual thing with Kyle had brought a mess to his feet. But he didn’t want casual with Dick. No, there was just something about the man that had him wanting to stay up late talking about the stupidest of things. Or laughing over more coffee with sleep-mused hair and wrinkles clothes.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted that with someone. It should have worried or frightened him, but it just made him hopeful.

“Eh Boss!” Jason sighed at the sound of someone calling for him from outside and pushed the thoughts of Dick away so he could handle whatever it was that he was needed for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason watched from a distance as Dick and Rose spoke to each other near one of the more abandoned areas of the compound. It had been a complete accident that he had stumbled across them, having just gone out for a walk around the perimeter for some fresh air after having been cooped up in the lab for the past couple of hours. It was late afternoon and the majority of the citizens of the compound were finishing up their daily tasks and preparing for dinner.

But Dick and Rose were clearly in a serious conversation.

And that made Jason wonder if this had something to do with Rose’s father. He hadn’t gotten the chance to bring it up to the woman when they had met up to discuss the next trip beyond the walls earlier. But he had planned on it before they had packed to leave. Because it the curiosity was killing him.

And he wanted to know more about something Rose always kept so close to her chest. No one knew anything about her family. Or her past before the virus. No one except Dick.

“Jason!” Dick turned, smiling brightly at him. Jason narrowed his eyes slightly and looked between the pair before raising a brow at Rose. He rolled his eyes when she shut her features down and went blank. The universal Rose sign that she wasn’t saying shit. “Enjoying some fresh air? Rose and I were just talking about the possibility of setting up a training ground out here. I saw Roy has some weapons that people might benefit in learning.”

Closing the distance between him and the two of them, Jason looked out over the open field. He had always assumed they would expand the gardens out here when they outgrew the rooftops Kory had established. But he could see the idea having merit. “I mean, you can ask him. It’s his specialty. He worked security before the outbreak and his adoptive father was big on the bow.”

Rose gave a grunt before Jason watched her and Dick exchange a look he couldn’t decipher and she turned to leave without saying anything to either of them.

“Is that really what you two were discussing?”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Not even close,” he said. “I just know Rose well enough to know she plays her cards pretty close to the chest. And the fact that you know her dad takes a little of that power away from her.” Jason watched Dick’s face darken slightly, his smile turning to a frown as the shadow passed over his features. “So, he’s really that bad.”

Dick pursed his lips and looked out into the distance, looking like he was considering how to answer that. “He is…he has caused a lot of harm. But the harm he caused was…” Dick paused and Jason wondered if he was about to be lied to. “It was how it was supposed to happen.” Jason frowned. How the hell was harm ever supposed to be what should happen? “It is hard to explain, but Rose is right to hate her father.”

“You know that makes absolutely no sense, right?” Dick hummed and turned, starting to walk back toward the main part of the compound. Jason took a moment to study the man before hurrying to join him.

“It is not my story to tell.” He wanted to growl in frustration. He just couldn’t understand why people couldn’t just say the truth and be done with it. “I will tell you my own experiences with Slade have been uncomfortable and ones I would very much like to forget ever happened. At his core, he has the potential to be a good man, but he has been corrupted and it has changed the man Rose knew into the man I know.”

And even though Dick didn’t say what he meant by the word “uncomfortable”, Jason had a pretty good idea what it meant. And it made his blood boil.

“I won’t push,” Jason promised as they made their way back into the center of the community, “but if you need to talk…” He saw Dick look at him out of the corner of his eye but kept his forward and allowed the man his emotional space.

“You are an extraordinary man, Jason Todd. You are a gift to this world.”

Furrowing his brow at the odd choice in wording, Jason looked over at Dick and found him looking skyward. The image he presented, head back with his raven hair having fallen out of his eyes and golden skin practically glowing under the late afternoon sun, Jason would have sworn he was angelic.

“Dick!” A voice from somewhere called out for the man, pulling both their attentions.

“Hey Tim,” Dick smiled before looking over to Jason. “I’ll see you at dinner, I’m sure.” Nodding his head in response, he watched Dick walk away to talk to the young man who had called for him. He observed Dick throw an arm around Tim’s shoulders and lead him away, chatting animatedly. Such a contrast to how he had been speaking with Rose just moments ago.

But Jason knew when he wasn’t going to get his way. So he told himself to drop it and headed back to his lab to get a bit more work in before the call for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Have you ever tried drawing the blood of an infected?” Dick asked as he sat down across from Jason with his plate of food. It was such a random question, but something about it made him pause. Something familiar about it. Dick must have assumed his silence was confusion and waved a hand. “I mean, do you know what the disease looks like when you see it on a molecular level? Kory said you’re the resident expert on this sort of thing.”

Straightening up in his chair, Jason furrowed his brow. “It is and I have. I have samples of it in the lab. Something about what you said…” It was one of those moments where something was right on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t figure out what it was for the life of him.

But there was definitely something he was supposed to be remembering that lined up with this.

“Wow, I can’t tell you the last time I had pasta and meatballs,” Dick muttered, taking another bite of his food. When Jason looked at him, the man had a spot of sauce at the corner of his mouth and without pausing to think of how epically awkward he would make things, he reached across the table and thumbed the sauce away. It wasn’t until his thumb was in his mouth that he noticed Dick’s eyes had gone wide and a faint blush had spread across his cheeks.

“Uh…sorry.” Jason gave a shrug and ducked his head in embarrassment, cursing himself for not thinking.

He only looked up when Dick cleared his throat and reached for his drink. “So…the blood.” Jason nodded as he watched Dick drink his water, ignoring what the sight of the man’s Adam’s apple bobbing did to his stomach. Or lower regions. “Have you ever isolated the virus?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ve got some slides. The thing is,” Jason latched onto the subject like air, “it needs a host. None of the cells have survived for long without blood to latch onto. It was one of the first things I tried to do. If I could isolate it then I could reverse it, right?” Dick leaned forward and nodded, listening more intently than anyone outside of Kory ever did. “But it dies too quickly to do it.”

He watched Dick’s eyes narrow and brows merge together, almost as if he was suspicious of something. But then the look smoothed out and he looked back down at his plate to fork another bite. “Well, have you ever tried to attach it to fresh blood? Like draw a vial of your own and see how the virus latches on? I’m not a scientist, but maybe it has more to do with blocking the progress than reversing the damage.”

The cure is in the blood, Jayjay.

Jason’s hand froze with his own fork halfway to his mouth when the voice of his mother filled his mind. For years he listened to her drug induced rambling about some cure and how the blood was important. He made promise after promise to never forget because the angels had told her that he needed to know that. That he specifically had needed to know the cure is in the blood. But why did Dick’s idea make him remember that?

“Jason?” Looking across the table at Dick, he found the man frowning in concern. “You okay? Did I step on your toes? I really don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s just something someone said once. Ignore me.”

Pushing to his feet, Jason shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I…” He glanced around the room for a head of fiery red curls, zeroing in on them at the far end of the room. “I need to go. Thanks, Dick!” He grabbed his plate and quickly handed it over to one of the people on kitchen duty for the day before rushing over to Kory. “I need you in the lab,” he breathed out, sending Roy an apologetic look for interrupting their dinner. The man just frowned, and Kory stood without questioning the request.

“I’ll take care of it, Babe,” Roy said when Kory went to pick up her tray. Jason started heading out as they said their goodbyes, knowing Kory would catch up with him.

“What is it that you need?” She asked when she appeared next to him just as he was heading outside. He shook his head, not sure if he even knew the answer to that.

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a piece of crumpled paper and a pen he kept with him at all times, and tried to write as he walked. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Dick just said something to me and I’m not even sure what it means. But I know it means something.” He scribbled a formula down and passed it over to Kory, who looked at it before looking back to him with a raised brow. “I know! I know it looks crazy, but maybe…”

He scratched the back of his neck as they walked, thinking of drawing his own blood and some of Kory’s to do a side by side. Maybe watching the virus latch to different samples at the same time would reveal something. But something inside him told him it had to be his own blood.

The cure is in the blood, Jayjay.

He knew his mother had told him that on multiple occasions, but how could she have known about all of this? She had died so many years before he had even decided to pursue biology as his field of study. There’s no way she could have. It didn’t make sense.

“I know your idea face when I see it, Jason,” Kory interrupted his thoughts. “You are rarely wrong when an idea hits you. Do not smother it because you don’t yet understand it. I trust your instincts. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Kor. This one is going to be a dozey.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” a familiar voice broke through his writing, pulling his attention from the calculations to see Dick walking into his lab. Jason couldn’t help but smile at the man as he made his way over, hands in his pockets and glancing around at all the various equipment Jason had out to run the most recent round of experiments. “It’s been a few days since I’ve seen you, so I thought I’d check and make sure you’re still being fed and watered appropriately as humans need to survive.”

Snorting out a laugh, Jason set his pencil down and removed his glasses. “Kory and Roy both make sure I get my three-square meals a day and stay hydrated. Though, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to take over a shift or two.” Dick paused for a moment before continuing to close the distance between them, stopping on the opposite side of the desk Jason was currently using. Jason watched his eyes scan over the pages spread out over the desk, head tilting as he paused to read one in particular before moving onto the next. “Do you understand any of it?” He asked curiously.

Dick hummed and shook his head before leaning a hip against the desk. “I am not a person of science,” he admitted. Jason had a feeling that was the case, given the way Dick had presented him with the idea. As if it had been someone else’s and his imagination had just run with it. But he had been right. Or mostly right, at least. “The human mind is an incredible place, isn’t it? A mass of tissue and electricity running the show.”

Jason let out a surprised laugh. “That’s��.that’s definitely one way to describe it. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone put it so plainly.”

“But at the base that’s all a human is, isn’t it? Ruled by a mess of electrical currents up here,” Dick tapped his temple and flicked his eyebrow upward. Jason supposed he was right and gave a nod. It was curious when you tried to think about it, but he doubted anyone would ever really know how a human really functions at their core.

“Have you had success then?”

Looking down at his papers for a moment before looking back to Dick, Jason nodded. “Yes, but not in the way you’re probably thinking. There’s something in my own blood that seems to repel the virus. But when I drew Kory and Roy’s blood, the reaction wasn’t the same.” Jason shifted through his papers to find the ones where the findings were noted. “There is something within my own blood that seems to fight the virus. An enzyme maybe? I’m not sure. But if I can figure it out, I can try to reproduce it. And if I can reproduce it…”

“You can mass produce it.”

“Exactly!” Jason smiled, giddy at the prospect. “A cure. It could be a cure. Not for those who have already turned but for those who have been bitten? It could prevent them from turning. It could be a miracle.”

The smile on Dick’s face looked almost relieved and Jason wanted to question him about it, but then there was that fondness that had become so familiar in his gaze and Jason couldn’t help the blush that spread across his cheeks.

“I suppose I should leave you to it then,” Dick spoke softly, his fingers tapping the papers in front of Jason. “You have a race to save.” Jason laughed and shook his head, the hope bubbling up inside of him at the prospect of being able to do this for humanity. “You’re a gift, Jason Todd. Don’t ever forget that.” And though Dick had said those words a few times before, they seemed to have a different meaning this time. Almost like Dick had known this would be the outcome all along. But the man was gone before he could bother to ask him about that comment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How do you test it? Do we just have someone get bitten and then see if it works?” Roy asked as he zipped up Jason’s bag for the supply run that was leaving in a few minutes. Jason had been slacking on his pack but thankfully Roy had noticed and taken care of it, since Jason’s mind was obviously elsewhere.

With a shrug, Jason took the pack. “I have no clue. It works on the blood samples. The virus is completely gone on infected blood. But unless someone just happens to get bitten, I won’t have a human test subject for a while.”

“But it works on the samples?”

“Completely gone, Roy,” Jason confirmed. He pulled the pack onto his back and walked with his best friend over to where Rose, Biz, Kyle and Dick were waiting for him. “Like a fucking miracle. I almost want to get myself bitten to see it work in a human body. But from the samples, I’m not even sure the virus would work on me at all.”

“And it’s not fucking worth putting you at risk.” Jason knew Roy was right. Just the four people waiting for him a few paces away were enough of a reason. But they weren’t the only reason. Too many people counted on him for various things. And he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to lose what little family he had managed to patch together.

And he didn’t want to never get the chance to shoot his shot with Dick. Not that he had any plans on that account, but eventually. Once his mind wasn’t over occupied with this cure.

“Ready to go, Boss?” Kyle called out, looking at him impatiently. Jason rolled his eyes and gave a wave of his hand.

“Take care of them all while I’m gone.” Roy gave Jason a nod before they exchanged their customary hug.

Jason had fallen in step next to Dick when Roy called out, “Don’t get too distracted out there, Jay! You know what I mean.” When Jason turned and threw a glare at the man, he wasn’t surprised to see Roy laughing. So Jason simply threw a middle finger up at him and turned back around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dick! Oh god.” Jason went running the moment Kyle took out the last of the zombies surrounding him and Dick, who was now on his knees with a hand pressed to the junction of neck and shoulder. He had been too far away from the other man when they had ended up surrounded thanks to a backfire on the car Dick and Kyle were attempting to get running. Too far away to stop the zombie from sneaking up on the two men and taking a bite out of Dick’s shoulder.

Falling to his own knees, Jason looked at Dick with wide eyes. For having been bitten, the man looked far too calm. If anything, he just seemed annoyed. “Dick?” Jason rasped, reaching out to pull his hand away from the wound so he could see if it actually broke skin or not. Crimson red told him all he needed to know. “Fuck. Fuck! We have to go now. Can this drive?!” He looked desperately up at Kyle who had his eyes locked on the wound.

“Boss?”

“Kyle! Can the car get us back to the compound?”

“Yeah….but….”

Jason ignored whatever it was the other man was going to say and turned back to Dick, tearing a sleeve off his shirt and folding it up to press against the wound. “You gotta keep pressure on it. We’ll get you back home, to the lab. The cure works. I know it does. We’ll get it in you in time.” He grabbed Dick’s hand and pressed it back over the wound to hold the cloth down.

Dick looked at him with furrowed brows and tilted his head and the sigh made something clench in Jason’s chest. That weird confusion that Dick always seemed to have whenever something normal seemed to happen. “I’ll be fine.” Now it was Jason’s turn to be confused.

“You were bitten Dick. It broke the skin; we have to get you back. Come on,” he ordered, pushing to his feet and tugging Dick up with him. “Get the others,” Jason told Kyle who looked like he was about to argue with him. But Jason just growled out, “Now.” And the other man gave a curt nod before running off to collect Rose and Biz. “It takes at least a few hours for the fever to show up but we won’t be back to the compound before morning if we drive through the night. So you just…you gotta hold on, okay?”

“I promise I’ll be fine, Jay,” Dick spoke softly, his gaze taking an amused look to it. And damnit if Jason didn’t hate how not seriously he was taking this situation. “I promise.”

“You will be because we’ll get you back to the lab in time.” Dick smiled at that and sighed, leaving Jason to wonder what the hell was wrong with the man. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t something they could just brush aside and yet he was acting like he wasn’t hours away from becoming one of them.

Like Jason wasn’t hours away from losing yet another person he loved.

“Boss,” Kyle’s voice broke through his internal panic. Turning to see the man standing a few feet away with Biz and Rose right behind him, Jason raised a brow. “Gotta talk to you real quick. They’ll get the car packed.” Jason huffed a breath out through his nose and followed the other man, glancing back at Dick to see Rose taking a look at the bite and speaking lowly to the man. Once they seemed to be out of earshot, Kyle stopped and turned to face Jason. And Jason did not like the look on his face. “We can’t take him with us. You know we don’t have enough time even if we had enough gas to get us through the night.”

“No.”

Kyle sighed and looked over Jason’s shoulder before looking back to him. “Jason, I know you don’t want to hear this. I know you want to save him. But what are we supposed to do when he turns in the middle of the drive? What then?”

“I’m not leaving him, Rayner. I can save him. I know I can. I have the cure. We’re wasting time discussing this. Let’s go. Now.” And despite knowing Kyle had a good point, he knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave Dick behind to become one of them. And he couldn’t kill him before the bite took just to put him out of his misery. Shaking his head, he turned and walked back to the car where Rose and Biz had already taken up two of the seats and Dick was leaning against the outside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dragging Dick into his lab and shoving him down onto the exam table, Jason rushed around and gathered the supplies he needed to administer the injection. He didn’t know how Dick hadn’t developed the fever yet, but he wasn’t going to waste any time. Dumping everything on the table next to Dick, he tugged the leather jacket off Dick and pushed the sleeve of his gray shirt up.

“Jason, stop,” Dick spoke softly, ducking his head down but Jason ignored him. “Jay. Stop.” His voice took on a firmer tone and it was enough to cause Jason to pause and look up at him. “I’m fine. I don’t need this. Don’t waste it.”

Jaw dropping, Jason stood frozen with an empty syringe in hand ready to draw Dick’s blood before he injected the cure so he could have a sample before and after. “You are not fine! Why are you not taking this seriously?!”

He watched Dick sigh and moved back when Dick nudged at him so he could get off the table. Without dropping eye contact, Dick tugged the collar of his shirt away from where the bite was and revealed skin only blemished with dried blood.

But no bite.

“What?” Jason dropped the syringe and lunged forward to examine the skin more closely. “How is this possible? There was a bite here! We all saw it!” Kyle had told him to leave Dick behind for crying out loud. Looking back to Dick’s face, Jason shook his head. “This is not possible.”

“It is.”

“No, it isn’t. No one is immune! No one! We would have heard about it.” Dick frowned and Jason watched as he tugged his shirt off, revealing far more golden skin than anyone should have ever been allowed to have. And if the circumstances had been different, Jason would be thanking the powers that be for this display of a man. But he was freaking out. “Dick-what-?” He watched Dick move around the table and reveal his back, which was covered in the most beautiful wing tattoo Jason had ever seen. Brilliant white wings, so vibrant Jason wasn’t sure how the artist had managed to make it stand out so vividly on his golden complexion, that looked as though they had been dipped in blue dye at the tips and the color had crept up the feathers to fade into the white. And somehow the wings were drawn in such a way that they almost seemed to flutter with Dick’s muscle movements.

Then Dick’s long fingers were brushing up the back of his neck where three symbols were drawn and he was muttering words in a language Jason had never heard but thought felt right. But before he could dive into why that might have been, he was stepping back and grabbing the table behind him as a flash of white seemed to center from Dick and a pair of wings that matched the tattoo were springing forth from the man’s back. Jason gasped at the sight of the massive wings that spread out wide, as if stretching, and then relaxed as Dick turned to face him again.

“This is why.”

But Jason still didn’t understand. All he knew was that Dick suddenly had wings and Jason was questioning his sanity even more. Maybe he had been the one who had been bitten. Maybe he was losing his mind after all this time. But he could feel his heartbeat in his ears and that was enough to tell him this was really happening. “What are you?” He managed to gasp.

“I am Seraph.”

“You’re an angel?” Jason questioned, mind trying to grasp what was happening here. “Of course you are.” He thought about all the things that had happened since he had met Dick in that kitchen all those months ago. “So much is making sense right now.”

Dick tilted his head to the side and watched Jason as he processed. Jason ignored the man for a moment, stepping away from the table he had been clinging to so he could pace and process. The weird comments, acting as though he had never done common activities, or eaten certain foods. So much of it made so much more sense.

“Jason,” Dick’s voice called to him and Jason paused his pacing, frowning at the almost melodic sound of the man’s voice now. Looking over at Dick, Jason let his eyes trail over the expanse of the large wings behind him, from just brushing the floor with the blue feathers to standing high above his head in stark white.

But the sound of a door banging open stopped him from saying anything, pulling both of their attentions to Rose rushing through the door. “Oh!” She paused, eyes wide as she looked at Dick.

“Rose,” Jason stepped forward to keep her from rushing out of there because he got the feeling that Dick didn’t necessarily want everyone to know what exactly he was.

“So you told him. I told you you wouldn’t be able to keep it hidden much longer.” Stopping mid stride, Jason looked from Rose to Dick and then back again. Turning to look at Jason, Rose shrugged a shoulder and gathered up her hair, turning to show him the back of her neck. The symbols there were similar to the ones on Dick’s and Jason felt his world bottom out again. “I’m not Seraph, but I am Nephilim,” she explained as she dropped her hair and turned back to face him. “And so are you.”

He heard Dick sigh behind him, but Jason felt frozen again. He was what? She was what?

“I hadn’t gotten to that yet,” Dick murmured and appeared next to Jason. Allowing himself to be turned, Jason looked into the sapphire eyes he thought he had known so well. “What Rose is so tactlessly telling you, is that your father was like me. Just as her own father is Seraph as well. That is how I know him. He was close to my ranks before he fell.”

Rose’s snort was telling. “He didn’t fall. He plummeted.”

“Wait, my father?” Jason thought of the man he had known. The drunk who beat his mother until Jason was old enough to pull the man’s attention from her to himself. He remembered waiting each night for him to come home and lay into him. Until one night he stopped coming home. And neither he nor his mother ever knew what happened to Willis Todd.

“Willis was not of my ranks but was tempted to fall by a very bewitching demon. He promised him power and wealth. But gave him neither,” Dick told Jason, placing both his hands on his shoulders. “We are not meant to sire children with mortals because the transfer of power can have detrimental effects on the human who carries the child. Your mother was addicted to drugs, was she not?” Jason nodded. “That was how she drowned out the voices. The ones who whispered about your destiny. Rose’s mother…”

“She died of cancer.” Glancing over at her, Jason tried to read her expression but wasn’t sure what it said. The woman was so good at keeping her emotions to herself, he always failed to really grasp what she was thinking.

Looking back to Dick, Jason furrowed his brows as he tried to comprehend what was being told to him. “I don’t have the symbols,” was what his brain decided to spit out instead. Dick smiled and he could hear Rose chuckle next to him. “What?”

“They are not something Nephilim are born with on the surface. You have to bring them forth,” Dick explained. “The creator gives them to their Seraph, but only a Seraph can show a Nephilim how to bring their own forth.”

“Wait. What do you mean my destiny?” Jason demanded, mind finally grasping onto that piece of information.

He watched Dick sigh and send a look to Rose that had her rolling her eyes and leaving without a word. Or sound. Jason made a mental note to ask her about that skill. “It’s time we have a very serious talk, Jason. Shall we go somewhere we won’t be interrupted again?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So let me get this straight,” Jason said, pacing the length of his room as Dick sat leaning against the headboard of his bed. “Rose’s dad is the one responsible for the virus? The creator told all of you that one would need to fall and release the virus in order to save humanity?”

“In the broadest of terms, yes.”

“How is killing us like this, saving us?”

“Your planet was dying. It would not survive much more in way of population. Your atmosphere had begun to crumble, and drastic measures were needed.” Jason scowled at that. How could Dick just be so blasé about the death of billions of people? He’s not human, a part of his mind reminded him. But even though he only had Rose to compare to, Dick seemed more human than Rose. “Some of us were against the idea. That there had to be another way, but Slade volunteered before the discussions could go further.”

Shaking his head, Jason paced the length of the room one more time before dropping down in the chair at his desk. “This is a lot.” Dick nodded but remained silent and Jason was thankful. Because even though he was glad Dick was answering his questions, he didn’t want the man to try and sway his opinion into the positive side of things just yet. He needed to examine the situation from all angles. He needed to see all possible outcomes to this before he came to a conclusion. “Was it part of the creator’s plan for you to find me?”

“No.”

Jason waited for more, but when he was met with nothing but silence, he looked at Dick with a raised eyebrow. But the man, angel whatever, seemed to miss what he was silently asking him to expand upon and it just made Jason sigh. Almost in fondness. Almost.

“If it was not in their plan, why are you here?”

“I broke ranks because humanity has suffered more than enough, and you are the cure to that suffering.” He watched Dick sit up and look at him seriously, almost uncomfortably so. “I have watched you for years, since before the outbreak. I knew of you long before you were even born. I have been tasked with protecting humanity for centuries because our creator is not the “God” so many believe in. They are kind, loving, and they do not require worship or devotion. But they also want you to have the will to choose what path you take.

“You are a good species at the core, despite those who have been whispered to by the demons of the world. You would have come across the answer for the cure on your own, but it would have been a few years from now after having lost far too many and those closest.” Jason’s mind flashed to Roy and Kory, knowing that’s exactly who Dick was referring to. Deep in his soul, he knew it was them. And he couldn’t help but feel so incredibly grateful that Dick had gone against his kind to prevent that. “You have lost enough. Everyone has lost enough.”

Taking in the words, Jason dropped down into his desk chair with a sigh. It was a heavy weight, knowing that he had been the key to fixing this all along and that if Dick hadn’t prompted the idea that day in the mess hall then he would have taken a while longer to figure it all out. He could have saved millions but he was supposed to have allowed countless more die before he made the sure. Dick allowed that. Dick disobeyed his orders because he didn’t want anymore suffering, he didn’t want Jason to endure anymore suffering.

Dick had chosen him over his own kind. “Will you be punished?”

“Perhaps,” Dick shrugged. “But perhaps mercy shall be gifted to me because I wanted mercy for mankind.”

Jason didn’t like the idea that Dick could be harmed because he had chosen kindness over indifference. He didn’t know what it meant to be Seraph and how it impacted basic human emotions and instincts, but he knew Dick. And he knew Dick loved people. The way he laughed with Tim while they discussed various topics. The way he worked with Kory in the gardens, singing soft songs in a language Jason now knew to be angelic. The way he walked side by side with Roy and discussed the best way to protect those within their gates and walls. People he was now invested in just as much as the rest of them.

“And if you aren’t granted mercy?”

There was silence and Jason watched Dick sit there, eyes narrowed and a furrowed brow marring the beauty of the angel. “Then I suppose I will be left to walk the earth among the people of this planet and protect you from within your ranks.” The lines smoothed out on his face and Dick gave him a smile that was brittle, but honest. “I do not feel my duty will change should the creator choose to remove me from my service to them. I will still wish to protect those who cannot protect themselves. It is all I have known.”

“You will always be welcome here,” Jason offered without pausing to think about it. If he thought about it, he would never say it and regret would burn bright. “With me.”

He tried not to fidget under the intense gaze that Dick turned on him, but it was difficult. The depths of the sapphire eyes spoke volumes and while Jason loved to look at them, the intensity made him a bit nervous. “Despite the lies?”

“I don’t appreciate the lies, but I understand them. Well,” he let out a chuckle, “as best as my human mind can.”

Dick’s smile was almost blinding.

“Your mind can understand much more than even you will ever know.” The blush that colored Jason’s cheeks was no something he was proud of, but he knew it was something he couldn’t exactly control. “You are a gift. Don’t ever let anyone try to tell you differently, Jason Todd.” He had gotten used to hearing Dick use those words in his regards, but now he supposed he finally understood exactly what it was he meant. He was a gift, or his blood was.

“What happens now?” Jason asked curiously, watching Dick lean back against the headboard again. Jason let his eyes trail over the other man, enjoying the sight of him so comfortable in Jason’s space. It felt right. It looked right.

But the look on Dick’s face pulled him out of those fuzzy thoughts. “I need to go.”

“What?”

“Now that you have uncovered the cure, I need to return to my ranks. I need to face my punishment, if there is to be one.”

But Jason didn’t want him to leave. Not when he still hadn’t gotten around to making any kind of move. Could he really just let Dick walk out of his life, potentially for good, without even trying? Did Dick even have any interest in him? Was he just seeing things that he wanted to be there.

“I would like to stay though. I would abandon my ranks for good, if I could convince myself it was the right thing.” Dick’s gaze turned to Jason and he found himself getting lost in the intensity of the sapphire eyes. Intensity that told Jason he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t imagining things and he wasn’t the only one who wanted. “I will return though. If you’ll have me.”

Nodding, Jason tried to say something in response, but he couldn’t form the right words. Not when those eyes were still looking at him like that. Not when his heart was pounding so loudly in his chest that he was certain it would either burst from within or Dick would point out how loud it was.

“I will be gone before morning, but I will be back.”

And Jason hoped that Dick wasn’t just telling him that to make him feel better. He really hoped it.

#jaydick #jason todd #dick grayson #roy harper #koriand'r #kyle rayner #rose wilson #slade wilson #tim drake #jaydick zombie au #angels/demons

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faetxlity · 3 years ago

Text

Here’s A Health To The Company

@save-a-witcher-bingo Prompt: At Sea Characters: Witcher Gerd, Togeir the Red, Jerome Moreau

Torgeir was looking up at the ruins of what had once been his home. What was his home. Is. The flames were spreading quickly, Fort Tuirseach was all but destroyed. Like the Jarl who had filled its halls with laughter and mead- ruined.

At his side, stained in blood, sat the Witcher Gerd. His jaw was tight, his hands were fisted in the fabric of his own filthy shirt, but his eyes were clear. He did not watch the ruin of his adopted home, rather he watched the blood seep from the bandages that he had wrapped around Torgeir’s leg. Already they were in need of changing but they had no fabric with which to do so, his original job had been so hasty... Unless they ripped apart the sails there was nothing to be done. But to do such a thing as that was a death warrant.

The little ship they had taken was not meant to go much further than around the cape but they had set out for sea with no choice. They had with them five men and a woman, of whom only two were well enough to take up oar, not counting the Witcher who had rowed them the first half hour from shore nearly on his own with eyes blacker than coal.

The Witcher rested now though, so much as he could with his life burning on the shore.

“We will die out here.” The Jarl said, voice was devoid of emotion. Gerd looked to his friend’s face then, to his lover’s eyes. The anger, the grief , all the emotions he had expected were nowhere to be found.

“No.” Gerd replied, “we will live. We will see them pay for this and you will see it rebuilt.” He received no answer, no acknowledgement as the jarl’s hand did not return the gentle pressure that he put upon it. Gerd looked at the island they were sailing from, the land they may never get to set foot on again.

They would live; he would accept no other outcome.

~seven days~

For seven days the ship rocked, sailing for some imagined safe haven on the mainland but without hope or half a crew. One man had succumbed to his wounds on the first dawn and another had followed two evenings after. Torgeir had said nary a word since his ominous assertion of their fate, his leg had steadily grown worse over the days and it left him with little ability to do more than lay down and sleep. When awake he stared across the sea as if expecting death to appear to him with an outstretched hand.

Gerd had taken over easily enough, tucked Torgeir into the captain's quarters and spent both days and nights looking for either a miracle or their end.

On the seventh day it came to them in the form of a ship thrice their size. No man aboard their own was fit to fight but still Gerd drew his steel and braced himself. The dark hull of the incoming vessel felt like an omen and he was flanked by Andrea and Koll, the only two who remained in good health- though weak from hunger they would die on their feet. Of that they were sure.

A figure leaned over the edge of the ship above, their back was to the sun and so Gerd could not discern any features. “Are you in need of assistance?” The voice was, clearly, not Nilfgardian and that alone was enough for the man on Gerd’s left to sag. Andrea looked to the Witcher, her eyes wide and hopeful.

Please, let this be a mercy.

“Yes!” He called up. “We are!”

The ship called itself a merchant’s vessel though a pirate’s den is what it looked. They had been pulled aboard with canvas and rope, the men of the ship quick to provide them with fresh water and food while their medic checked each refugee for wounds. If the crew were upset to have a witcher in their midst they did not voice it. Their captain was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh dear.” The medic said, in his hands were the bandages that Gerd had re-applied to Torgeir’s leg on the third day of their voyage, made from scraps of a shirt found in the captain’s chest.. The odor once they were removed turned even the Witcher’s stomach. “I need a knife.” Gerd tensed but produced his own blade, edging closer to see what was going on.

Torgeir was sweating, his skin deathly pale and feverish as he had been for the last day. In that moment though the jarl’s eyes were wide open- “Where’s Gerd?” It was slow and slurred but clear enough.

“I’m here, Torgeir.” He sank to his knees and took one scarred hand in his own. With his other hand he brushed the tangled mess of the jarl’s hair back from his forehead. The infection was nasty, but it hadn’t spread far. He smiled though surely it was more of a grimace, “Just here.” It took all his strength not to snatch the medic by his throat when the knife began to cut away flesh. It took nothing at all to blame himself for the state of the wound. He was a witcher, he should have known better.

You had nothing on hand to help. You did what you could. He reminded himself. It could have been much worse, the beam that had splintered and slashed the jarl’s thigh had nearly taken his head instead.

Green eyes rolled back and the man’s labored breathing evened. “Witcher?” The medic hedged, “I’ve patched what I can but he will need someone to keep an eye on the wound. We’re still some ways away from the next port but we’ll find a proper healer there.”

“I’ll look after him. Thank you…” he pushed himself to his feet. “Where is your captain?” The men pointed him across the deck to where a slight man was coiling rope, seemingly unconcerned with the new arrivals. He was dressed in a loose fitting shirt and a pair of garish calico pants.

“Cap’n.”

The supposed captain turned and Gerd’s first impression of the man was ‘pretty’. He had light brown hair and blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He was handsome in a plain sort of way, surely a charmer in any tavern he wished. The bear’s second impression was Witcher. Which couldn’t have been right.

There was no such thing as a blue eyed Witcher.

“Jerome Moreau.” The man-maybe witcher introduced himself as he passed the rope off to a deckhand. At the silence he continued, “Maybe we should speak somewhere private.” Gerd followed him across deck, listening to the slow beat of his heart. The captain’s quarters were decently large and Gerd had the ability to put space between himself and ‘Jerome’ once the door was closed and the lantern lit.

“As I said, I’m Jerome School of the Griffin.”

He wasn’t sure why he snapped. Perhaps it was the time at sea, trying to hold together men on the brink of death while the only one who he could have turned to for help laid on a cot in pain. Perhaps it was how long it had been since he’d seen another of his kind. Perhaps he simply needed to hit something to keep his meager sanity. Perhaps, it was because there were no witchers with blue eyes.

It was a laughably short fight. An embarrassingly short fight that Arnaghaf himself would have thrown Gerd from the highest mountain peak should he have witnessed it in his youth. Seven days at sea with limited water and only small bites of food to stop the hunger pains had done him no favors: against a man he would have been fine, perhaps even against two or three by sheer luck of size. But against a witcher? He hadn’t stood a chance. The Griffin-turned-pirate ducked his blow and tripped him backwards, before he could hit the floor a strong hand pushed against his chest and slammed him against the wall, pinned him there on the floor while the stranger watched him with those blue eyes. Jerome bared his teeth and Gerd found himself far too close to fangs unlike any he’d seen before, a feral snarl tore from the other’s chest like a beast. It was a sound that the bear could do without hearing ever again. But, just as quickly as the anger came, it left and the Griffin spoke softly,

“I am not your enemy. Do not bring such strife onto my ship or I will not hesitate to feed you to the first kraken that threatens us. You and your men have been through a lot; I can see that.” Jerome shifted back on his heels and eased the pressure on Gerd’s chest. “If I cared about having another Witcher on board I would have left you to die. We Griffins are not quite as fickle as your lot.” he smiled as if sharing a joke. “Well, you are here, so tell me your name.”

“Gerd.”

“And your friend is Torgeir the Red then.” The Griffin moved away so that they were both sitting on the floor, Jerome with crossed legs and Gerd with legs akimbo from his fall. “Don’t worry, your safety on this ship is assured so long as I’m alive. We’ll reach a port in a week’s time, you’re welcome to go ashore and we won’t expect any payment for our help; though we’ll discuss other options later. For now, I think it best if you have a meal and rest. You can answer my questions once things have settled.” It was a very one sided conversation but Gerd had both too many questions to begin with and not near enough energy to ask them. If most of them were about the captain himself? Well,

He was a strange thing, even for a witcher.

Gerd was given a water skin for himself and Torgeir and the captain put them in a private room that was used to store trade cargo. It was empty for the next weeks, as had been explained to him by a young lad, and therefore made for a good place to rest. An extra cot had been dragged within. Torgeir’s fever broke after some hours and in the darkness Gerd watched him crawl from his heavy slumber. He hadn’t allowed him to get a word out before pressing the water skin to his lips.

“Drink.” He urged and the skin was nearly empty by the time Torgeir pushed his hand away.

“Where are we?” The room was black as pitch once the sun went down. “A ship came through to help us. We’re a week from port. Your leg… we’ll get you medicine for it soon.” “What?” Torgeir asked. “Fucking thing got infected. They’ve got a decent healer on board though. Stitched it up fairly nice.”

“Fucking great-” the red head pushed himself up and Gerd was quick to move closer and support him. “The others?” “We lost Ragnar and Beorn. The others are having dinner and resting. No sign of Nilfgaard chasing us so far.” With his lover awake and clear eyed Gerd felt the weight of the last week and a half hit him in full force. His eyes drooped and he began to list to the side like a sinking ship.

Torgeir shifted and pressed their shoulders together more firmly. “Come on, y’ bastard. Lay down.” “Can’t.” “You said we’re as safe as we can get. When’s the last time you slept?” Torgeir’s hand squeezed his thigh, kitten weak compared to what it should have been. When Gerd didn’t have an answer for him the jarl sighed. “Tha’s what I thought.” Gerd let himself be poked and prodded until he was reclined against the hull of the ship with rags and old feed bags piled behind him as a comfort. One leg stretched out in front of his while the other hung over the side of the cot, Torgeir laid between them. It was a familiar enough position even if the environment around them was not. He had planned to meditate again, afraid that if he slept then he would not wake for quite some time, but the moment that he had Torgeir’s weight against his chest his eyes closed and sleep dragged him under.

He woke when light spilled across his face, feeling only half as rested as he should have and mortified that he hadn’t been able to fight off the slumber.

Jerome was standing in the doorway, a white shirt half open across his chest and a look on his face that was far too soft. “Your crew demanded that I bring you something to break fast with. Andrea, I believe? She said that if you didn’t take it, I should send her in here in my place.” Again, that smile graced his lips. “I can leave it here and let you sleep.” It sounded good, to be able to close his eyes once more and sink into slumber. Perhaps to wake only when they were docked. He extended a hand instead.

“I’ll take it.” They were hunted men for all he knew. They would need their strength.

“Good,” as witchers they did not need to light an oil lantern and Jerome closed the door behind himself, some sunlight crept in from above. “While none here should voice any judgement, I would advise you to keep any overtly forward displays within this room or in my study should you need it. My men are good but they have loose lips in port, drunkards are not half as lovely.”

Gerd was handed bread and a bowl of thin porridge. It was meager for a man his size and even more so for two. But, they were a week from port and The Hawksea, as the Griffin’s ship was called, had not been prepared for five more bodies on board. Particularly not those of warriors and witchers.

“Thank you.” The words were rough.

“Don’t mention it. I’ll be putting you to work before long. Lots of things to do here that could use a witcher’s strength.” Jerome sat on a crate, one leg pulled up to his chest with his arm draped over it. “Can’t have any freeloading going on, might start talk of mutiny.” His eyes crinkled at the edges as if he’d spent a lifetime laughing rather than fighting monsters. Maybe he had, with a face like that.

“I thought you Griffins were supposed to be chivalrous bastards.” Gerd grunted.

“Chivalrous? Yes. Bastard? Most certainly.” Those fangs were flashed at him again. “I was under the impression you bears were the loner sorts.”

“We are.” Gerd didn’t miss the way Jerome’s eyes lingered on the redhead asleep on his chest. Caught even longer on the scarred arm wrapped around the human like a shield.

The Griffin hummed, “I see.”

The witcher left them alone with their breakfast and somewhere above them a man began to sing.

#witcher #witcher gerd #fic #my writing #sawb

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cozycryptidcorner · 4 years ago

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Abel the Asrai (slight lemon)

This was April’s patreon story, which I forgot to post here, my bad, folks. Looks like it’s going to be a double event this evening.

There is a particular taste to the mist swirling around the beach, salty, new, the earth so still that you feel like it’s… off. The water of the ocean gently laps at the sand, though the waves are barely anything more than a small, muted ripple. Neither animals or bugs make any calls, an eerie silence descending on the landscape, save for the noises you and your crewmates make as you pull the rowboat to shore.

Your legs are wet, right up to your thighs, boots sloshing with an uncomfortable amount of water as you finally make it to the edge of the land, the oddness of the atmosphere slowly crawling under your skin, making you nervous. Quietly, you let out a breath, then turn to your crew members. “Same as we talked about on the ship. Scout only for food, do not talk with anyone here without coming to me first. We don’t know who to trust.”

A small murmuring of yes, captain lets you know that they hear and understand, so you have everyone split up, directing each group a certain direction. You don’t need any of them getting lost, so no one is allowed to stray far from the coast, especially since this is an unknown island. Leaving two of your gunslingers alone to guard the little rowboat, you head closer to the edge of the foreboding forest, large, green trees rustling quietly when you approach. There, you see a thin dirt path leading into the dark, so you take the liberty of moving deeper into the island.

The battle with the navy has left your crew in nasty shape, you need to find something to put into their stomachs. Hungry personnel tends to lead to unpleasant situations, and you’d appreciate avoiding those until you can get your people back to base. You take a moment to sit, pulling your shoes off and letting the water slosh out, then slip them back on. It’s still uncomfortable, but better than doing nothing.

There’s a biting chill to the air, even though it should be midday. Still, only the barest hint of sunlight peeks out from the foggy air, showing you the vaguest outline of the path, and after a few more minutes of nothing, you’re tempted to call it quits and head back to the beach. If there is a village tucked firmly into the center of the island, it might be too much trouble for you to go looking for it.

Turning around, you almost run into a man.

And that is strange, because you’re typically very, very good at discerning when someone is sneaking up on you.

He’s not particularly remarkable looking in his dull-colored, nondescript clothing, with a hood pulled up to his forehead. And he’s staring at you, his eyes wide, like he’s looking at a ghost.

You realize that maybe, with your rugged, choppy appearance, gun on your holster, machete in hand, blood staining the shirt that you haven’t bothered changing since the battle, he might feel a little threatened. Slowly, you lower the weapon, giving him what you hope is a decently friendly smile. You don’t want him running off screaming to the navy, because then you’d have to kill him, and you’re awfully tired of taking lives today, so you try to reassure him that you mean no harm.

“Hey,” you speak softly.

He’s slim, taller than you, but visually soft, you know you’d be able to take him on if it comes to that. Slightly shakily, he folds his pale, slim fingers together, and you can see his brain processing what’s happening. “Hello.”

A strange, weird pause.

You clear your throat, trying not to make any sudden movements, “Hi, um, I was just looking around for some fresh water and food for me and my crew. We, uh,” you glance down at the hastily tied bandage on your arm that was already coming free, “hit a rough patch a few miles out.”

“You’re human,” he says, almost in awe.

“Last I checked,” you say, trying not to sound too impatient.

“Is your crew human, too?” He asks,

“For the most part,” you say, slowly, “yes.”

He looks downright fascinated over that revelation, and before you have a chance to prod further, says, “you have a ship?”

You bristle, but do not sense any sort of malice coming from him. No, just a disturbing amount of… excitement, and that somehow also worries you. “Yes,” you say, slowly, not wanting to get into too much detail.

“Do you charter people?” He asks.

Ah, you see where this is going. “For the right price.”

He pauses, a bit of wind blown out of his sails. “What price are you seeking?”

“Gold, preferably. I’m willing to barter, though.” You look him up and down, more closely, eyes narrowed. What kind of person would need a sudden departure, and on that thought, what’s he even doing out here looking like some kind of… fancy vagrant?

“We would have to leave now,” he says, with a tone of urgency in his voice, “if I return for money, someone might suspect me of leaving.”

“So there is a village around here,” you say, turning around to see if you can find any hints of civilization. “Can you point me in their direction?”

“You don’t want to go there,” he says, frantic. “There’s a stigma against humans- you wouldn’t be welcome.”

“Why not.”

“All outsiders are… um, forbidden.”

There’s something else, something that you’re suspicious about. You don’t know what it is, yet, but you’re willing to indulge him in the idea that you’ll let him on your ship, even without knowing a lick about him. “Fine, what can you offer for me to give you safe passage?”

“I- uh,” he’s thinking now, brow furrowed, and you’re almost showing your impatience as he wastes your time. “I can… do stuff. On the ship, I mean.”

“Give me your hands,” you say impatiently, looking over his smooth, blemishless skin. “You’ve never worked a day in your life, have you?”

“I’m a fast learner,” he says, almost indignantly.

“I’m certain,” you say dryly, not entirely believing him, “but learning fast doesn’t mean you’re physically capable of work.”

He stares down at his hands like he’s never been so impossibly inconvenienced in his life by his own self. Another moment passes, still startling silent, and you’re just about to move around him before he says, quietly, “I can make clean water.”

You stop.

“Clean water, you say,” you muse, crossing your arms.

“Yes,” he sees that you’re listening, and that seems to get his hopes up. “Drinking water, straight from almost anything liquid.”

You mull the possibility over. No, it’s not unheard of, but it’s an incredibly rare trait that usually lands people with the ability one only the best, high paying ships, and that’s a luxury you and your scrappy crew can’t afford. Charting someone only on the promise of clean water? Unheard of. Most ships pay those who can travel with them.

“Okay,” you say slowly, “let’s say that you can- which is something you’ll have to prove before I let you on my ship. Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere but here.”

He’s desperate, which means that you can take advantage of that. Not too much, though, the last thing you need is an angry member of your crew capable of poisoning everyone with the one thing necessary for basic survival.

“Fine.” You gesture for him to follow you. “We’ll test your skills on the shore, then, if it’s satisfactory, we’ll discuss your end of the deal.”

He seems remarkably happy, following almost uncomfortably close as you make your way back through the forest. Luckily for you, it seems that most of the scouting groups have also made their way to the rowboat, most of their hands empty. The moment you’re within their eyeshot, you see them tense, eyes piercing the figure behind you, both you hold your hands up to communicate that there’s nothing to worry about.

Two of your best scouts have arms full of large, leafy greens, which you suppose probably would taste unfortunately horribly bitter, but will at least keep some of you going. The cook is known for their miracles, anyway, so they might be able to do something with it.

“Is this all?” You ask, struggling to hide your disappointment.

“It’s what we could find without venturing too far into the forest, captain, but…” your scout eyes the newcomer, “it seems that there’s a village.”

“One where we will be unwelcome to, according to him,” you say vaguely, though you’re giving them the same amount of information that you know. “But the good news is that he claims to be able to purify water, and he’ll do it in exchange for safe passage to our destination.”

There’s a shifting ripple moving through your crew, and you don’t blame them because that’s a tall fucking claim. To prove it, though, you take a couple dozen sloshing steps into the ocean, tugging him along, until the both of you are waist-deep in water.

“Do it,” you demand, glancing back at your crew to make sure they’re watching.

“Um,” he shifts, eyeing your crew nervously. “Is there something I can put the water in?”

At your hard stare, everyone pats their pockets down, but no one was holding an empty flask or stray goblet for him to use, so with a defeated sigh, he cups his hands, settling it below the surface of the mirror-like surface of the ocean. His eyes are closed in concentration as he raises his arms back up, and a soft, warm blue glow slowly illuminates his fingers as whatever magic he uses cleanses the salt and infection. After a moment, his eyes open again, and the glow is gone, and a puddle of perfectly clear water in his hands.

Oh, right. You’re going to have to test this.

“Christ,” you mutter, raising his hands to your lips and sip. The water is cold, despite the heat rising to your face, and go figure, absolutely no trace of salt. Calmly, you take another sip from his hands, letting the water swish around in your mouth for a moment, just to be sure. Then, as a precaution to make certain he’s not fucking with you, you dip two of your fingers into the sea and lick. Augh, yes, that’s salty as hell, there’s no way that he can pull a fast one on you like this. You turn to your comrades. “It’s clean.”

“So we let him onboard?” One of your navigators asks.

“Yeah, we’ll put him to work filtering out clean water.” As you say this, you notice the last of your scouts approaching, though they are empty-handed for a few roots and such. “Everyone, get onto the rowboat.”

He seems pleased, at least, but not the kind of smug pleased that you loathe. Like he’s deeply relieved, as though you’ve saved him from some horrendous fate. He sits, almost primly, in the center of the boat as you and the rest of your crew work to move back from the island.

Steadily, inevitably, the waves slowly kick back up, as though slowly breaking through a damn, and the mist of the island recedes to reveal a bright, blue, almost cloudless sky. The fog hangs over the island like a thick, viscous shield, obscuring anything within from passing sailors. No one sane would want to attempt to traverse such an unmappable area unless they’re ridiculously desperate, like you.

He’s tugging at his hood, pushing it back as the sun begins to radiate down harder, and you don’t blame him. Without going back to get anything else to wear, he’s unfortunately overdressed for the grueling work you plan to put him through. The energy he’ll have to output is ridiculously high, especially to keep up with the demands of a full ship and its crew, even more so because a portion of your freshwater barrels had been spilled and toppled by the cannon fire.

Your ship is in bad shape, it’s easy to see the damage as the rowboat approaches, burn marks along the wood marking where some dicks from the navy went ahead and tossed over some flaming cocktails. Glancing over at your new passenger to gauge his reaction, he seems none the wiser about the seemingly dire state of everything, and instead looks over at you, a spark of unrecognizable joy in his eyes.

Once all of you are on the deck, you have one of your crew fill a bucket full of seawater, then direct your newcomer to clean, so they all see. So long as they understand that he has a vital part to play, they’ll be less likely to give him the almost ritualistic hazing that most new, low-end recruits end up saddled with. However, even as your best navigator takes her first sip of water, you know that they’re still going to rag on him.

“He can sleep with the rest of the crew,” you say in passing, waving in his general direction.

“Did you make an official deal?” Your second asks, their brow furrowed.

“Not yet, but he seems willing and able to filter water. I figure once we get to our destination, he can either stay on as a crewmember as long as he wants, or leave once we reach the ports.”

“I can write up an airtight contract,” your second offers. “He looks fae, he should be biologically required to adhere to it.”

You look over at him, and you find that your second is right. Long, pointed ears extend out from his neatly braided hair, his eyes are just a tad too large and innocent-seeming for someone roughly your age. His odd fascination towards your species makes you wonder if he’s seen your kind before.

“That’ll be great.”

The injured are not in exceptional shape, but with clean water, at least, gives them a much better chance to make it through than otherwise. As he helps you haul a few buckets down to the lower deck, you ask, knowing full well the fae’s common abhorrence towards names, “is there something you want to be called by?”

He thinks it over for a moment. “You said something earlier, that I was… um, willing, and able?”

“Yes?”

His movements are smooth and graceful, his posture so perfect that you wonder where he learned it. “I like those words. Willing?”

“Um, what about Abel?” You suggest instead, placing the buckets down on a table.

Those bright, brilliantly blue eyes become unfocused, if only for a moment. “Yes,” he says, faintly, “Abel will do nicely.”

Your crew is slow to trust him, and you hardly blame them. There’s something just… a tad bit uncanny about him and his behavior, the way he stares at things, unblinkingly, for just a little longer than necessary, how his long, slender fingers feel out the textures of things he touches, as though he’s experiencing those things for the very first time, and how he seems to always just happen to be in the same room as you, all the time. Your only reprieve from him is your own private quarters, where no one is allowed to go unless specifically invited.

A rule he breaks within the first couple of days.

You find him standing over your dresser with a bucket of water, his eyes brightening when he sees you enter. After letting out a frustrated breath, you strip off your coat, tossing it senselessly onto your bed, and unbutton the top of your shirt. “Abel, you’re not supposed to come into the captain’s quarters unless specifically invited.”

“Oh,” he says, as though this is the first he hears about it (it’s not), “well, I filtered the water for you, as requested.”

You wait. He doesn’t move.

“Thank you,” you say, begrudgingly, “you can leave it outside the door next time.”

“It might get tipped over, then I’d have to start from scratch.” A pause, then. “And I’m getting a bit fatigued from doing this all the time.”

“Alright, fine,” you allow, knowing that water purifying is a demanding chore and that you’ve been pushing him harder than he’s likely ever been before, “you can bring it straight to my quarters.”

Seemingly satisfied, he leaves, and you give yourself the sponge bath once you make sure the door is locked tight. Your hair is choppily cut and always away from your face, though you don’t spare much care to it beyond the occasional brushing. Your goal for sponge bathing is usually only dedicated to making sure everything isn’t rotting from lack of amenities, being at sea and exposed to the grimy elements can leave a body feeling… gross, for lack of a better term. Every time you dock somewhere, you take a full day for yourself to clean... everything up.

Every day, right after dusk, he’s waiting in your room with a bucket of water. You don’t even know how he gets in, you’re very good at remembering to lock your door when you’re not in there. When you ask about it, sullenly, he smiles and gently reminds you that you’ve given him permission to leave the water when he’s done purifying it.

Then Abel asks to wash your hair for you.

You’re so caught off guard by the offer that it takes you a moment to fully process what he said. “I’m sorry, you’d like to what?”

“I’d like to wash your hair if you’d like,” he says, “I know how.”

You have to mull it over, like with most of his downright bizarre requests. “You’d like to wash my hair. And you know how.”

“Yes,” Abel nods, “with the powdery stuff. Back home, I would get my hair washed by- uh, and it felt nice.”

You conveniently don’t mention the part where he skipped over who specifically washed his hair, and cross your arms over your chest. “And why exactly are you interested in doing that for me?”

“It’s a relaxing experience, and you look stressed.”

“Really.” You don’t believe that’s it. “And no other reason.”

“I mean, not in a bad kind of stress,” he’s backtracking now, “you’re not shambling around like the undead or anything, but this might help you with everything else.”

You give it a moment of thought, trying to come up with every single reason he might have for sidling up close to you. Does he want better rations? A cut of the bounty? Less water duty? You narrow your eyes and look him up and down, wondering if the place he comes from has the same set of you work hard to earn rules and that he can’t just flirt his way into a better position.

Maybe you can give him this lesson the hard way.

“Fine,” you wave your hand, sitting in front of your desk. “You can wash my hair.”

He smiles, wide, but not threateningly, more… happy? Satisfied? Pulling the bucket closer to his position as he comes back behind the chair, and runs his fingers through your hair, once. “You’re quite tense, captain.”

It’s a struggle for you to relax, your jaw usually tightly gritted, shoulders tense, and ready to fight. Still, though, you don’t think that Abel would try to do anything, even with the clause in the contract forbidding him to hurt anyone in your crew, including you. Quietly, you lean back in your chair, stretching your neck as you look up to the ceiling, hands tightly gripped on the armrests, your breathing calm and controlled as he begins.

Abel’s fingers run through your hair, soft, but firm, nails gently scratching at your scalp. It feels good, despite the fact that you’re not so sure if you enjoy this show of intimacy, but you don’t voice complaints. It’s been a while since your hair got such a thorough washing, and he seems to know what he’s doing. Section by section, he works, parting your roots away, rubbing the baking soda in with the pads of his thumbs in soft, swirling motions.

Slowly but steadily, he works his fingers down your head, his knuckles brushing against the nape of your neck. Shivers run through your spine, an odd feeling churning in your stomach. The coolness of the water as he begins to rinse your hair gives you something else to focus on other than his closeness.

You try to get your voice to work, if only to think about anything but how his skin feels against yours. “Why did you want to come with us?”

He pauses, his entire body seemingly just stopping, fingers still tangled in your hair.

“If it’s because of something bad, we likely won’t care,” you try to prod, “most of us are murderers and thieves, anyway.”

“I-” his movements resume as he struggles for the words, “I didn’t want to get married.”

“Oh, that’s it?” The shadiness of his actions made you think that he committed patricide or something, not escaping an arranged marriage. “Half of my crew are dodging familial obligations, too. My second was almost sold off to a man with six wives.”

“I just couldn’t go through with it,” he’s almost defensive, though you suppose he wasn’t expecting such an anticlimactic reaction, “I didn’t even like my fiance… don’t get me wrong, she was a nice girl, but she was so-” he fumbles for the word, “dry.”

Your hairbrush isn’t something that you use beyond a couple of swipes in your hair, but Abel takes his time with it. Almost moving strand by strand, he makes his way from one end of your scalp to the other, brushing out any remnants of grease and powder, dipping your hair in water every so often to keep it soaking wet.

“There must have been an easier way for you to leave,” you say.

“None with such ease and without the high likelihood of getting caught,” he clears his throat, “I saw my chance for escape and took it.”

“That’s understandable,” you say, closing your eyes for a moment. “Are you happy with your decision?”

There’s a pause, telling you that he’s actually thinking over your question. “Work is difficult, but,” he adds quietly, “I prefer it to being an idle husband.”

You’re silent, thinking over his statement. “I can understand that. The life of a field worker wasn’t quite for me, either.”

He waits until your hair is all the way brushed out, then wraps a cloth around it to absorb the water. “May I do this again?”

Again, your suspicion flares. “Why?”

“Because I enjoy your company… and you don’t seem to pay me much mind when I’m with the other crew.”

“Jealous?” You ask, mostly joking.

“Very,” he says, and you’re not sure if he’s serious or not. “Sometimes I just want you all to myself.”

“I… suppose if you’d like to.”

“Good,” he says, “I get bored with nothing more than the water for company.”

You’re standing, rubbing the cloth into your locks to help it dry faster. “Do none of my crew interact with you?”

“I don’t think they trust me… even with the contract.”

You let out an impatient huff. “I’m sorry about that, they’ll warm up to you eventually. Or we’ll hit land first, and you’re free to go.”

There’s a long, drawn out pause before he agrees, “right.”

Washing your hair every single day would result in in you getting sick of how close Abel wants to be with you every time he does it, and would leave your hair dry and brittle. The powder is suitable for sucking up the oily grease that permeates your scalp after a few days, and it’s good for a complete purge once it gets out of control, but definitely shouldn’t be used regularly. Still, he makes sure that it’s a weekly event, and every Thursday evening, he’s in your room, bucket on your desk.

You figure out quickly that he doesn’t like talking about himself. He instead seems entirely focused on you, your life as a pirate, and before, though he answers your questions in that odd, monotone voice he uses when he’s not enjoying himself. Abel also struggles to acclimate into your crew, as most of them aren’t readily accepting passengers who plan on flouncing off the moment you hit land. However, he doesn’t seem to give any indication that he is planning on leaving. So you ask him outright.

“What are you going to do when we dock on land?” You ask as he slowly works his fingers into your hair.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to stay on as a member of my crew, or are you going to leave?”

He stops for a moment, all you can hear are the ripples from the water bucket as the ship slowly makes its way up and down with the waves, and his breathing.

“Are you okay?” You ask, peeping your neck a bit to get a look at him.

“I’m fine,” he reassures you, getting back to work, “I didn’t realize that I had an invite to continue on as a water purifier.”

“Oh, I guess I should have mentioned it more concretely before.” You lean back again, closing your eyes. “You’ve done more than adequate work, Abel, you’re more than welcome to stay on board and receive a cut of our bounty.”

“Really?” He asks like he can’t believe it.

“I’ll have to have my second draft up another contract, but yeah, Abel, you can stay if you’d like.”

“Say my name again,” he says, and you can hear a smile behind those words.

“What, Abel? Why?”

He lets out a satisfied sigh. “I just like it when you use my name. It sounds nice with your voice.”

You try not to snort. “Okay, whatever you say.”

Silently, he continues to work, as he usually does, parting your hair into neat little sections, going over them with a few pinches of baking soda, letting his nails gently scratch at your scalp. You’d never admit it to anyone, much less Abel, but you do feel better after each of your little sessions together, whether that be because of the cleanliness, or because of the company, you’re still having an internal war with yourself over.

A part of you doesn’t really want to admit that you’ve let him get under your skin, that you’ve started to care, because you’re not supposed to show favoritism towards any single person within your crew, but unfortunately… unfortunately it seems that he’s growing on you, rapidly, like mold on room temperature meat that’s been left out for a few days.

“I saw you flirting with your second in command,” he says, quietly, “are you and she together?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Juliet? No, she’s great and all, but not my type. We were just joking around.”

“What about that navigator?”

“Which navigator?”

“The one with the puffy black hair.”

“Oh, you mean Alexander,” you resist rolling your eyes, “he and I are just friends.”

“What about the-”

“Are you going to go down the list of my crew members to see if I’m in a relationship with them?” You ask, almost sourly, wondering what’s gotten into him.

“Are you? In a relationship, I mean.”

You sit up, out of his reach, your wet hair dripping and soaking into your shirt. “What does it matter?”

He’s trying not to look flustered, but there’s a telling blush in his dusty blue skin. “I was just wondering, out of curiosity. You seem- uh-”

“I seem what?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me. I seem like what?”

“Like someone who can have whoever they want, when they want.” He says, almost sheepishly.

“Who, me?” You think he’s joking, he has to be joking, but his kind cannot lie.

He’s even more flustered now, backpedaling so hard he might snap his proverbial neck. “I just mean- um- you have this aura of confidence, captain, it exudes from you, and I thought that you might currently be… well, involved with someone.”

You squint at him, trying to see where he’s taking this. “So what? Does it matter if I’m involved or not?”

“No- no, of course not, stop looking at me like that, it was a stupid question.”

You settle back down, a tad bit tenser than you were before, though mostly from being caught off-guard by his question. Feeling like someone’s swept your legs from under you, verbal or otherwise, is uncomfortable, you never like it when someone has the upper hand. So, in the same fashion, but more casually, you ask, “what about you? Besides your fiance, have you seen anyone?”

“Not… particularly.”

“Hm, not particularly?” You do the thing where you take where the conversation is going and get there twice as fast to regain control of the situation. “No one caught your eye? You’re not allowed to take any lovers?”

“Not before-” he mumbles, something you can’t hear.

“What was that?” You ask innocently.

“That was a no.”

“Was it,” you smile serenely, “because it sounded like something about your wedding night?”

Abel sounds like he wants to throw himself into the sea. “I can’t... until the wedding night.”

“Who told you that you couldn’t have sex until the wedding night? What’d they say would happen? Hairy hands? That’s a myth, you know.” God, it never crossed your mind that he might never have been intimate before, especially with how fixated he seemed on you as if you might be his next conquest. Not his first. That definitely changes things.

The massaging slowly comes to a stop. “Where I’m from,” Abel says, slowly, “they have ways of making certain that it happens.”

You almost choke on your own spit. “I’m sorry, they have what?”

“They have ways of guaranteeing purity until the marriage night.” His voice is soft, but gruff, as though he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“That- that is so awful,” you feel pity, yes, but also empathy for a story that you’ve heard before- if in less extreme circumstances, but you’re suddenly overcome with your desire to solve other people’s problems in the hopes it might help fix yours (it never does). “Do you remember the direct wording of the curse?”

“I can’t forget it.” He sounds tired, like he’s had this conversation before. “I cannot feel the euphoria while in someone else.”

“You can’t feel euphoria while inside someone else? That’s it, exactly?”

“Well, no, I cannot… spill, inside someone.” He sounds even more sheepish than before, his voice so quiet you almost don’t hear.

“That’s all?” You ask, frowning. “You can’t spill while inside someone else, but can someone else spill inside you?”

“No.” He says quietly.

“Alright,” it doesn’t take you too much of you to fully process and work to come to a new solution, “but if someone doesn’t spill inside you,” you try not to grimace at the language used, “can you… um, spill so long as you’re not inside anyone? Like touching yourself?”

He mumbles something, you take it as a soft yes.

“If someone enters you without spilling, do you think you might be able to try… um, the whatever?”

“I don’t know.” He looks like he hadn’t thought of it before. “Perhaps? But how would that happen?”

“Alrighty, then,” you try not to feel the heat in your cheeks, “have you ever heard about pegging?”

#slight lemon #asrai #fae #faery #asrai/reader #monster/reader #fae/reader #monster lovers #exophilia

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mr-and-mr-diaz · 4 years ago

Note

First off, you're an amazing person w/ gr8 blog. Second of all, I hope you don't mind me saying it? If it's weird or creepy, please, disregard. Don't want to make you uncomfortable. Third of all, I came to your tumblr from ao3 and specifically the pirate fic and ma'am (sir? Neither? Wanted to use honorific and "my kind dude tends to not be *that* universal, sadly). It. ROCKS. If by any chance you feel like continuing it, I'd be forever in debt. Also hope you don't mind reviews via anon tumblr? ♥

ANON!! My answer to this ask is so long overdue I literally have no words. When I first recieved this ask in my box I was warmed through--thank you so much for your kind words! I determined to myself I would NOT send an empty response, would only publish this with the chapter in hand!! And then life picked up like crazy and I never seemed to have a spare BREATH to sit down and write this AU well enough that it would be worth reading. AND NOW I FAINLLY HAVE IT!!! Two more chapters for ya, I really hope you enjoy!!

P.S. Also, I refuse to be called ANYTHING except My Kind Dude from now on, that is the best address ever!

The Damned Disgrace--Buddie Pirate AU, Chapter 2

"Dios mio, you're useless."

Buck looked up from where he'd been struggling to swab the deck and met the glare of Captain Nash's angry first mate--Diaz, and sighed. He'd already been on the ship a fortnight, and while Chimney had fit right in, used to hard work and quickly picking up the vernacular of the other pirates, Buck stuck out like a sore thumb. He wasn't used to manual labor, having spent his life behind books and papers, and had no instinct for it. He tried, oh did he try so hard, but his clumsy hands struggled to complete work that someone else had to repeat later to make sure it was done right. And the pirates who didn't ignore him were usually laughing at him. What few acquaintances he'd made in his past life had been in academic circles. These men had no patience for or interest in unusual trivia about far away lands, or wonderings about what the world would be like if mankind lived under the water and fish lived on land.

Buck was red with sunburn, blistered all over--on his back, his forearms, and face from sunburn, and his hands, fingers and feet from work. He ached everywhere.

He looked away from Diaz and went back to stubbornly pushing the mop around the deck.

I won't be useless! I won't go overboard. I'm going to work hard and they'll help me find Maddie and bring her home! and if I get to shoot that thrice-damned Commodore Douglas too, well that would be a boon from God--

"Stop. Just stop."

Buck stopped, his heart sinking. He dared not look Diaz in the eye again, already knowing the derision and anger he would see there.

Sure the other pirates ignored him or laughed at him behind his back. But Diaz? Diaz detested him. This was the first time he'd ever spoken to Buck but definitely not the first time he'd loomed nearby, sneering at Buck's pathetic efforts to work as part of the team and fit in.

"We should've left you back at the port."

"What? No! No, I swear, I'm learning--"

"Learning what? How to smear muck around so someone else has to clean up after you? Again?" Diaz sneered, kicking at the mop. Buck's hands twitched around it, every blister flaring up painfully. Diaz's eyes caught it and he suddenly leaned forward. "Show me your hands."

"What...?"

"Show me!"

Buck carefully placed the mop against the rail of the ship and carefully unfolds his hands, wincing as the skin flares in pain with each motion.

"Dios...! Come with me."

"Wait, but I have to finish the--"

"NOW!"

***

Buck followed Eddie down into the ship, down down, past Buck's sleeping berth with the other sailors.

Buck looked around in trepidation. Is he taking me to the bilge? To the brig? The bilge was full of seawater, the brig a confined, rat infested cell where only the most unfortunate went.

They kept walking.

"Uh, Diaz, I... I swear, I'll work harder, I just--please don't--"

"You're not working any more today." Diaz replied shortly and threw open a door. "Hen, I've got the cabron for you. Destroyed his hands and he thinks he's magical enough not to get gangrene or something. Can you fix him up?"

The woman inside raised her eyebrows. "You don't usually bring me people, Eddie." She was dressed like the rest of the sailors but her clothes were neater and better kept.

"They aren't usually this stupid." Eddie growled.

"I... sorry." Buck mumbled, defeated.

"Don't worry about this one. He's always angry about something." Hen chuckled, and Diaz's scowl deepened. "What's your name?"

"Ah, Buck. Well, Evan Buckley, but... just Buck is okay." He felt another twinge in his heart as he said it. It was Maddie who had named him Buck.

"Buck it is. Come sit and we'll have a look at those hands."

Buck chanced a sideways look at Diaz, who was still standing there, muscled arms crossed. "Is he...?"

"Eddie was just leaving, weren't you, Eddie?" Hen's tone brooked no argument, and to Buck's surprise, Diaz obeyed.

Buck sat and held his hands out. Now that he had a moment to focus on them they hurt even more, and he could feel some of the injuries oozing. "I'm sorry, I tried to-- but--" he stopped abruptly as he felt his throat thicken and his eyes started to wet. You are already the most pathetic creature on this ship, you will not make it worse by whining about it. Silently he held his hands out, head down.

Hen sucked in a breath. "Eddie was right to bring you here. If you let these wounds get any more infected than they are and gangrene set in I might have to remove one or both of them."

Buck swallowed around a sob. As a teacher and writer, his hands were his life.

"I'll clean and wrap your hands for you." Hen continued softly. "That should be able to prevent it from getting worse, so long as you promise not to use them for the next few days and come down here every day for the next week so I can make sure they don't get worse. Okay?"

Buck nodded silently.

"Buck."

He looked up at Hen. She was wearing a kind smile and that was enough to completely undo him. A single tear slid down his cheek and he reached up a hand to stop it, but Hen wouldn't allow it. "I need to wrap these first." Her eyes and smile were all compassion. After two weeks in a foreign world with no friends on board it was a balm to Buck's soul. He kept his head bowed as she cleaned and wrapped, let the tears fall silently, unchecked. When she was done, she reached out a hand and clasped his shoulder. "The sailors are used to losing people and because you’re greener than most, they're expecting you to die. They don’t want to get close to someone they’re gonna lose. But if you stay alive they'll warm up eventually, don't fret it."

"Then.. why are you...?"

Hen snorted. "I walk to the beat of my own drum on this ship, Buck. Always have. And I've decided I like you, dumbass hand damage and all."

Buck sniffed. "Thanks."

Hen nodded. "Go to the captain and tell him that I've ordered light duty for you--no using your hands except to carry light objects. Errands only for you for the next two weeks."

"But Captain Nash said--if I'm not useful--"

Hen chuckled. "His bark is bigger than his bite. Besides, I'm pretty sure he's taken a liking to you too."

***

"Buckley."

"Uh, Captain. I... Hen, the doctor--" Buck choked off with a derisive snort at himself. Did I really just stop to explain to the captain who his doctor is? "Uh, she said I should tell you that I'm..." He held up his bandaged hands. "Light duty. Errands."

Captain Nash's face clouded and his brow furrowed as he took in the state of Buck's hands.

"But I swear, I'll be useful, I don't--please, don't throw me off the ship--"

"Buckley." One firm word and Buck silenced. "You'll rest today, and starting tomorrow you'll work as an errand boy around the ship. Messages, parcels, meals for sick crew. And anything Hen or I asks you to do, you do without question."

"I--yes. Yes, sir. Captain."

Nash looked up at him, his eyes showing the smallest glint of kindness. "A teacher's hands are his life's blood, Buckley. See to it you take care of them." Nash turned to gaze out the window of his office and sighed. "If you're very lucky, you'll need them sooner than you think."

Buck's pulse heightened. "Are we near Commodore Douglas's ship, sir?"

Captain Nash sighed. "Not as close as I’d like to be." He turned back to Buck. "Dismissed."

Buck nodded and left for his hammock.

Chapter 3

The next day he showed up bright and early at Captain Nash's office only to be sent down to Hen. Hen took one look at him and started loading a crate with various medicines and infusions, talking rapidly. For each bottle, Hen explained what it was, who it was for and why. Buck paid careful attention so he could keep up. Rote memorization and processes? He was back in his comfort zone.

"...garlic and chamomile for Wes, he ate something at port that we're still trying to get out of him. Then cat's claw for Lea, her knuckles are hurting her again. And that's all." Hen hesitated, thinking for a moment. Then she mumbled something under her breath before grabbing a few more vials. "Actually, got a few more. These are to be dropped off outside Eddie's quarters."

"Diaz? What are they for?"

"Eddie knows what to do with them." No further explanation came and Buck nodded at the dismissal and left, running around the ship to deliver the medicines to each ailing person. When he arrived at last outside Diaz's door, he paused, looking over the bottles. It made no sense to be bringing so much medicine to Diaz’s quarters. Buck had seen him just this morning, looking as healthy as ever, muscles rippling while he hauled canvas with the men. What is this for? Buck shook his head to clear the thoughts--no use risking his newfound equilibrium by prying. He hastily dropped the bottles outside Diaz's door, knocked and departed.

He followed this routine for the next week, deviating at times in the afternoon to run errands for the captain. But every morning started the same--Hen dropping several bottles and vials into a box for him to deliver around the ship and he running around as fast as he could to get it done quickly and efficiently. Each time, he would find himself hesitating outside Diaz's door, awash with curiosity at what the medicine could possibly be for. It wasn't hard to puzzle out the various vials, even though Hen hadn't identified them. Some were the same bottles he delivered elsewhere, others he recognized from his studies. Willow bark, cat's claw and ginger--pain relief.Chamomile, dried cherry, valerian, and peppermint--muscle relaxers. It was a mighty amount of herbs for the average aches of a day's work even as strenuous as the work Diaz did.

So who is it for? Buck wondered again as he approached Diaz's door to drop off the bottles. He had just turned to leave when he heard a thump on the inside of the office followed by a yelp of pain.

Good God, that's a child. There's a child in there!

Horrible images came to the forefront of Buck's mind as he imagined why Diaz might be holding a child prisoner. A child who would require so much pain relief. His skin paled in horror and he dropped the box.

I need to help! But his hands were still tightly bandaged and the door was latched shut from the inside. Buck thumped against it with his shoulders to no avail. The sturdy wood would not give.

If only I could unlatch it from the outside... Then he had an idea. He picked up one of the envelopes he was delivering for Captain Nash. It was thin but strong. Carefully, he eased it between the door and the latch, pressing the envelope between his bandaged hands to keep his grip.

With a click the latch came free and the door swung open.

Buck braced himself for what he might see and ventured inside, closing the door behind him.The room looked like the captain's, if smaller and simpler. Diaz's bed was neatly made, and soaked in sun from the window. His desk was neat and cleared off. The room was empty.

But I heard a child, I know I did!

Buck started looking around, when he heard a whimper of pain from the direction of the desk. Quickly he hastened over and pulled out the desk chair.

There, curled in the desk well and looking nothing like the skinny, dirty, or abused waif Buck had expected, lay a child. He looked clean and healthy, if in pain. He regarded Buck with large terrified eyes, his hair clean and curling every which way.

He was adorable. And as sure as grass was green, he was Diaz's own child.

So what is he doing hidden away in here?

The child whimpered again, obviously still in pain and Buck lurched away, back toward the bottles and vials he'd brought from Hen. "Here, let me help you, Hen sent me with a bunch of..." He fumbled with the bottles, pulling out the chamomile and the willow bark. "Here, this should help." The child shied away from him, curling deeper into the desk well with awkward jerky movements that only seemed to hurt him more.

"Oh God, please let me help, here, let me..." Buck backed up far away to give the child room and then gently pushed the vials at him. "Here. They're directly from Hen, don't worry. I haven't opened them or anything. See?" The child looked between Buck and the bottles, but didn't say anything.

"And--here, I'm leaving okay? Nothing to be afraid of, I'll leave you so you can climb out of that desk. It looks--God, you look like you're hurting so badly, is there anything I can do to help?"

The child still didn't respond, only regarded Buck with the same terrified eyes and Buck took it as his cue. He hastened to his feet and hurried to the door, away from the room. He was about to step out when he heard the child gasp and whimper again. He froze.

The child won't let me near him, but I can't leave him like that.

Diaz! Diaz can help him!

"I'm going to go and get your father, okay?" Buck took another step toward the door.

"Don't!" A small plaintive voice called, and Buck paused again.

"I can't just leave you like this... Wait, did your father do this to you??"

"No, no!" came the small cry. "He's the best papa ever. And..." the child paused then continued in a stronger voice. "He'll kill you if he finds out you know about me."

Buck's body froze in place. "Surely not--" The child cried out again, and Buck hastened back to the desk. The child was panting now, but still wouldn't move. "Oh, for the love of God, please let me help you!"

"Can't... don't... trust... you." Christopher panted in between pained gasps.

"Oh God, please--" Buck's voice broke and he felt himself start to cry. "I can't--you're hurting. You... I was a schoolteacher before I got onto this ship, I love kids, I swear I just want to help, please!" He reached out his bandaged hands toward the child. "Look, see? I couldn’t hurt you even if I wanted to! I--I swear I won't tell anyone about you on this ship, I'll never speak to you again. Just let me help you settle yourself more comfortably, you need to take some herbs for the pain..." He was blubbering now, his view of the child obscured by tears. He tensed as he felt small hands grasp around his bandaged hands.

"Please help." The boy whimpered.

He sobbed in relief and crooked his wrapped hands so they became large hooks to grip the child and carefully, oh so carefully pulled him out of the desk well. By this time he heard the child begin to cry as well, still on the floor. Buck quickly swiped his eyes with his threadbare sleeve to clear them. "There now, that's a bit better, I'm sure. Let's get you settled into the bed and I'll mix some medicine with water to relieve the pain.”

Buck carefully lifted the child, who whimpered at being jostled. Carefully he laid the boy on Diaz's neatly made bed and hastened back to the bottles and vials, pulling corks out with his teeth and pouring a the various powders into a tin cup. He filled the cup the rest of the way with water from a pitcher on the small wash stand and stirred it to mix before offering the cup to the child.

But the boy only shook his head, crying more."Don't want it. It tastes h-horrible." The child's big eyes were red from crying and Buck's heart broke.

"Oh, shh, there there. Yeah, I won't lie to you, it’s going to taste pretty bad. But once you drink it, you'll stop hurting so much and then you can relax and sleep or play." Buck clumsily rested a wrapped hand in the child's hair. "How's that sound?"

Still the child shook his head.

"Okay, how about this?" Buck took a theatrical sniff and wrinkled his nose. "I'll drink some and then you have to drink the rest, okay?" None of the ingredients were harmful to someone who wasn't in pain. "Deal?"

The boy looked at him, surprised. “Really?” Buck nodded and the boy sighed. "Deal."

Buck grinned, then made a big show of sniffing the contents of the glass. "Ohh blurggh," he shuddered theatrically, and heard the slightest huff from the bed. "Oh boy, here we go." He took a sip then screwed up his face and shook it rapidly back and forth like a dog. "Heaven and earth, but that's awful!" The child giggled and Buck continued with his performance, making gagging noises and funny faces. "You must be the strongest kid I know to drink this every day."

"That's what Papa says, too." The boy smiled.

"Well, he's right. I don't think I can handle any more." Buck made one more funny face and the boy laughed again. "Okay, you ready? I'll count to five, and then you drink it all as fast as you can, okay?"

The child hesitated. "How much is five?"

Buck turned to him, eyes wide. "You don't know...?" Then he paused. No use making the boy feel bad for something that wasn’t his fault. Besides, this was Buck's specialty. "Five is a number, you'll see. I'm going to count a few numbers, and when I say five you drink that down as quickly as you can so you barely taste it, okay?"

The boy nodded. "Okay."

"One, two, three, four... five, go!"

With Buck's clumsy assistance, the child drank down the mixture, screwing up his face just like Buck did. "Urgh."

Buck laughed. "I think you made a funnier face than I did." The boy reminded Buck of his own students. He missed children, their bright-eyed optimism, their enthusiasm for exploring the world around them. "I hope I don't die for meeting you, kid. You're just about the nicest person on this entire ship."

The child smiled. "Christopher."

Buck returned his grin and held out a bandaged hand. "Nice to meet you Christopher. I'm Buck." Christopher reached out in jerky movements and shook Buck's hand, both of them giggling at how clumsy the exchange was.

"I hope you don't die either, Buck." It seemed that the medicine was starting to work. Christopher was relaxing and his smile wasn't edged with quite so much pain anymore.

"In that case, I should probably run before your father finds me. those big strong hands of his would tear me in half like paper." Buck stood, patting Christopher on the head once more before turning away.

"...Buck?"

"Hm?" He turned back. The boy was starting to fall asleep.

"Can... Can you come back and visit me again?"

What a terrible idea. "Of course, Christopher." Buck rummaged up a brave smile. "I'd love to see you again." An idea occurred to him suddenly and he straightened his shoulders. "I'll even teach you how to count to five all by yourself if you want?"

The boy's tired eyes lit up. "Yes. Yes please..." His eyes slipped closed and he fell asleep.

Buck smiled, feeling warmed for the first time in weeks. Carefully he gathered the scattered items for the rest of his errands and slipped from the room, latching it behind him.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan budckley #eddie diaz #9-1-1 #pirate au #christopher diaz #Anonymous

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shakespeareanwannabe · 4 years ago

Text

Drowning

Santiago Pope Garcia x F!OC/Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Rebecca Cooke

Summary: Santiago follows through with his escape plan, only to find that his freedom comes with a heavy price.

Warnings: Drinking/Alcohol Consumption, Swearing, Benny being Benny, references to war time injuries, references to Anxiety if you squint, ghosting, nightmares, crying

A/N: Hey y’all. Sorry it’s been a while. Some stuff came up, but I was inspired to write this chapter anyway! Here’s chapter 6. Please enjoy!

**********

Santiago Garcia was one of the best of the best. One of the top ranked soldiers in the US Military. Delta Force, Special Operations…his team was the one you called when things got bad. And things often got bad.

Tom ‘Redfly’ Davis oversaw the team. Laser focused in the field and a brilliant tactician who always seemed to be able to get his team out of tight spots, Redfly saw Delta Force through multiple missions, as well as two tours of Afghanistan and Iraq.

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia was his right-hand man, his second in command. Where Redfly focused on the minor details, Pope was able to see the big picture. Combined, their abilities to plan and execute earned them the respect and admiration of their team.

William ‘Ironhead’ Miller was third in command. His cool head and philosophical manner ensured cohesion in the group of macho men. While the team was busy fighting the enemy, Will was busy making sure there was no fighting amongst the team.

Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales was the pilot. The most intelligent of the bunch, he was often overlooked when it came to lauding praises, even if Pope would always claim that it was because of Frankie’s skillful maneuvering and calculating nature that they made it back in one piece.

Benjamin ‘Benny’ Miller was the youngest of the team, the most hotheaded, and the most emotionally vulnerable. Added to the team after their original fifth member was killed in action, Ironhead automatically took it upon himself to protect his baby brother, while the rest of the team protected Ironhead.

Together, they were the most successful, most ruthless, most cunning team to ever wear the United States flag on their shoulder. Ironhead, Catfish, and Benny trusted their fearless leaders to see them through any mission, no matter how bleak. Where they led, the team followed, no questions asked. Well, on the battlefield, that is…

“You fucking what!?!” Frankie exclaimed angrily while Benny and Will stared at him in astonishment.

Santi felt himself shrink. While he knew that his plan of action wasn’t the best, he didn’t know what else to do.

“I can’t drag her into all my bullshit, ‘Fish,” Santi sighed, dragging a hand down his face before chugging from his nearly-empty beer bottle.

“So, you thought that ghosting her was the best thing to do?” Benny exclaimed, leaning around his brother to get a good view of his former lieutenant. “Are you fucking stupid, Pope?”

“Ay, watch it, kid!” Santi grumbled. “You’ve seen her! She’s fucking perfect. I’m not ruining her. No way, man.” Santi chose to ignore Frankie’s mumbling in their shared mother tongue and cast his fishing line out into the lake once more.

It had been two weeks since the wedding, 13 days since the last time he saw Rebecca, and it was killing him, even if he knew it was for the best. So, when Will had offered up his fishing cabin in the woods for a boys weekend, he had jumped at the chance to get out of that big empty house, away from the clinic that he was slinking around under Charlie’s hateful glare, and far enough away from Bex’s building that he wasn’t tempted to just get up and drive there and beg for her forgiveness. It would be good for him. Clear his head. Get her out of his system, even if he was waking up every morning hard as a rock with thoughts of her smile and her softness and her heart at the forefront of his mind.

“Well, that fucking explains why Charlie went from crying over your speech at the wedding to asking me if I’d be okay burying your body in the backyard,” Frankie finally spoke in English.

Santi winced. After a week of actively ignoring his phone whenever it lit up with Rebecca’s name and smiling face, he supposed that Bex had asked Charlie what was up. And, since Charlie knew him well enough to know what nothing was actively wrong, he’d spent the last several of his physio appointments having to shield himself from his friend’s icy glare.

“What are you doing, man?” Will sat back with a sigh. “She’s the best you’re ever gonna get. You know that right?”

Santi clenched his fist around his fishing rod. “You think I don’t know that? She’s fucking perfect! Sweet and kind and unselfish and loving and sexy as all fuck! Who wouldn’t want that?”

“So, you’re either really fucking stupid or really fucking scared…” Benny muttered, leaning back to fetch another beer.

Santi felt something inside him burst. He was doing what was best for her, even if nobody in his life seemed to agree.

“Fuck this.” He threw his fishing rod to the ground and stood up. “I don’t have to deal with this shit. I’m going home.”

Frankie slowly stood up next to him with a few crackles and pops of his joints. “I drove you, dipshit. And you drank an entire six pack on your own. I’ll take you home.”

Frankie ambled over to give his goodbyes to Will and Benny while Santi stood with his arms crossed, staring out into the distance. He had thought Frankie and Will would understand. Frankie, who had to fight tooth and nail to keep the woman he loved after getting his license suspended. And Will, whose fiancée had left him six weeks before the wedding day, claiming the war had changed him and that he wasn’t the same man she fell in love with. Benny, who had loved more people than he could count, had never experienced that kind of love and loss before, and Santi hoped he never did. Everyone around them got sucked into their bullshit, and he wouldn’t let that happen to the most wonderful woman he had ever met.

“Hey,” Santi startled when a warm, gentle hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to meet Will’s warm gaze and placating smile. “We just want you to be happy, man.”

Santi sighed and nodded slowly. “Yeah, Will…I know, but—”

“But nothing, man,” Will interrupted gently, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “She makes you happier than I’ve ever seen you, Santi. Don’t lose that, or you’ll spend your life regretting it.”

Santi watched him walk away as Frankie came up beside him and started ushering him towards the truck.

**********

The two-hour drive home was longer than expected due to traffic on the highway, but the length was exasperated by the silence that was dragging out between the two men. Unlike the drive, the silence was atypical. Santi, who had grown accustomed to Frankie’s quiet calmness, usually filled the silence with stories to get Frankie talking or laughing. Now, the tension between the two was palpable, and Santi wasn’t about to try to break it when he had so much on his mind.

After almost three hours in the car together, Frankie pulled into Santi’s driveway and killed the engine.

Santi sighed, both in sadness and relief, and went to open the door. “Thanks,” he mumbled, hand resting on the handle and the door partially open.

“Listen, man…” Santi turned slightly to see Frankie had removed his cap and was rubbing at his forehead. “If she doesn’t make you happy, that’s fine. No point in making yourself miserable trying to drag out a relationship that just ain’t gonna work. But if that’s why you’re doing this, or if you’re doing it because of some bullshit protector instinct, then why are you so miserable? If she makes you happy but you’re worried about infecting her with your shit, then protect her from that by staying close and working hard.”

“I…” Santi swallowed. “I don’t want to hurt her, man.” He got out of the truck and stood next to the open door. “I won’t hurt her.”

Frankie fixed him with a glare, and Santi saw a flash of the old Frankie for a moment. “And what exactly are you doing right now, cabrón?”

Santi let the door swing closed as Frankie peeled out of his driveway and down the road.

**********

It took another week for Santiago to get his act together. The day Frankie dropped him off, he spent in his backyard, grilling and listening to music. If things were normal, it would be the day the whole gang got together at Frankie’s for food and fun and laughs, but things weren’t normal, so he settled in for some solo grilled chicken and some alone time. He woke up with nightmares around midnight, and when he woke up again around 2 a.m., he moved into the living room and resigned himself to crappy early morning TV until the sun came up.

The next day, on a whim, he started drafting a proposal for a private security company. He still had enough money from selling his weapons collection in Colombia to put together a decent business proposal, and it was better than sitting on his ass drinking all day, so he put his famed planning skills to work. Got Your Six Security would provide state of the art security systems as well as armed guards for those who desired them. The fees would be reasonable, they would cater to both private homes and public settings, and, best of all, they would only employ military or former military personnel. Luckily, Santi had kept in contact with a couple of the surveillance techs from his time overseas, and he knew that a small crew of them had been working on a state-of-the-art closed circuit security system and were looking to market it to high end customers. They had already agreed to work with him, he only needed to get a business plan and a small loan to get it up and running.

The day after that, he had a meeting with the bank, who had met his proposal with enthusiasm. (It helped that it was a company employing veterans, run by a veteran, who already had some capital to put up upfront.) All they asked was that he find his first customer before they signed off on the loan.

So, the following Monday, he straightened his suit and tie and headed into the last place he wanted to be: the art museum where Rebecca worked. It was the only business that had availability as soon as possible, they were willing to pay top dollar, and they seemed fairly desperate.

He met with two of the higher ups of the museum, Douchebag Derek’s mom and the owner of the building, and soon found out why they were so desperate.

“One of our paintings got stolen two nights ago,” Derek’s mom sighed. “We don’t know how, or why, but somebody got in, stole one of the Blair’s, and walked out with it. Our security guard claims that he didn’t hear anything, but the police are looking into it.”

“The point is,” Mr. Carlisle butted in. “We need something more high-tech than a retiree aged security guard. We need something that can send an alarm to the police if someone does get in, but also a few highly trained guards to watch the museum at night, in case someone does get in and the police are too slow. It seems to me that a military grade security system and some highly trained former soldiers are the perfect thing to protect the priceless works of art we house here at this institution.”

“Was anyone in the building when the painting was stolen?” The words escaped his mouth before he could even think. “I mean, besides the security guard.”

“No, thank god,” Mr. Carlisle replied. “Jerry, the security guard, says he saw out the last employee in the building before locking the door.”

“I’m just happy that nobody got hurt,” Derek’s mom simpered, and Santi caught a glimpse of her son’s douchebaggery in her voice.

“We’d be happy to help,” Santi smiled once he regained control of his voice, his shoulders relaxing at the news that Jerry had been alone in the building. “We’ll just need 50% of the cost of the alarm system up front before installation, then we can discuss how many guards you want on premises during the day and at night. Once we’ve got a number, we can go through the applicants together and we can find the ones who best suit your needs.”

It was after they dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s and Santi had received a firm handshake from Mr. Carlisle that it happened.

He was exiting Mr. Carlisle’s office, still facing the occupants of the room as he thanked them for their patronage, when he turned and bumped into something hard but soft and comforting and, even worse, familiar.

“Oof!”

A chill ran down his spine at the sound, the same sound she had made when he spanked her ass that morning.

“Shit, I’m…I’m, uh, I’m sorry.” Rebecca stilled in her crouched position, one hand on one of the loose sheets of paper he had knocked out of her arms. “Uh…here, let me help.”

He started to lower to the ground, wincing at his knees crackling, when she snatched up the paper he was reaching for and stood up. “Don’t bother.”

Already crouching, he let his head hang. He didn’t know how he expected their first encounter to go, but it certainly wasn’t that.

**********

A flash…a painful scream…his legs caught in quicksand…red pooling on the pristine white marble floors…the dull thud of her body dropping…the faceless thief escaping into the edges of his vision…cradling her lifeless body…

Santiago sat bolt up in bed, his heart racing and his chest heaving, his curls drooping onto his forehead with accumulated sweat.

Three nights of the same dream. Three nights of not being able to save her from the art thief. Three nights of sitting in bed, trembling while staring at her picture on his phone, his thumb hovering over the ‘Call’ button but always unable to take that final step.

First, she had bewitched him. Now, she was haunting him. One short, angry interaction was enough to bring her to the forefront of his mind (not that she was ever far from there), and now he couldn’t sleep.

Maybe Frankie was right. Doing the right thing shouldn’t make him this miserable. His heart shouldn’t ache when he thinks of her, he shouldn’t be so depressed when he sees couples together, and he really shouldn’t be dreaming about her death and waking up in tears.

He didn’t think. About any of it. Instead, he acted on instinct, throwing on a pair of threadbare sweatpants and a white vest and collecting his wallet and keys before hopping into his truck and driving the path he knew by heart.

**********

Bang Bang Bang!

Rebecca’s first instinct was to shout at whoever was knocking on her door at three a.m. to fuck off or she would call the cops. Her second instinct was to grab the baseball bat in her front closet and scare the intruder off herself.

She blamed the pint of Cherry Garcia (flavor chosen ironically, of course) and the three glasses of red wine she had drank before falling asleep on the couch for her poor decision-making skills as she stumbled off the couch and grabbed the bat.

“What the fu—”

“Holy shi—”

Santiago ducked away from the door, hands out in front of him as if to calm a wild animal.

“Bex! It’s me, Jesus Christ!”

She huffed. “Yeah, and? After the shit you’ve pulled, being met with a bat is the least of your concerns.” She rubbed her eyes. “What the hell do you want, Santiago?”

He winced at the full name. “C…Can we talk?”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, bat hanging loosely between her fingers. “You’ve had three weeks to talk to me, asshole. What the fuck could you possibly have to say to me?”

Santi turned to look down the hall, wincing and apologizing as one of her neighbours shot him a dirty look. “Can we talk inside? Please? If you don’t like what I have to say, you can kick me out or call the cops. I really wouldn’t blame you. Just…please?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes, poking her head out. “Sorry, Mr. Chen. Tell Cindy that it’s the asshole boyfriend come to grovel.”

The man nodded knowingly and retreated into his apartment.

“I deserve that,” he mumbled, looking at her pleadingly.

Rebecca considered him for a moment. “You look like shit.”

“And I feel even worse. Baby, I…”

Rebecca cut him off. “If you seriously want to do this right now, I’m gonna need more wine.”

She turned her back on him and retreated into the apartment, leaving the door wide open. Santiago followed her after a beat, making sure the door was locked tight behind him.

“Baby, I—”

Bex held up a finger, pouring herself a large glass of red wine and sitting as far away from him as possible, draping a grey throw blanket over her lap before fixing him with a glare.

He met her eyes and felt himself deflate. “Fuck,” he groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. “I had it all planned out, every word I was going to say to you, and now I’m lookin’ at you and it’s all…” He made an exploding motion with his hands. “Poof. Gone.”

Rebecca burrowed further into her blanket. “Well, try. Because from where I’m sitting, you’re the one who needs to do the talking here. I’ve done my talking. On the half-dozen voicemails I left on your phone, in the dozens of texts I sent you, and in the email I wrote because I was panicking at the thought that you had gotten into some terrible accident and that was why you weren’t responding anymore. Because that is the only reason I could think of that you would suddenly stop talking to me.”

“I know. I know, you’re absolutely right. I fucked up in a major way, and I am so sorry. I know I messed up, but I need you to know that I never meant to hurt you.” Rebecca scoffed. “I’m serious, honey. In my own backwards as fuck way, I thought I was protecting you.”

“From what?” she asked angrily.

Santi felt something snap inside of him. “From me! From this forty-year-old fuck up sitting in front of you! Because I’m not a good man! Because I was shooting people and detonating bombs when you were still in grade school! Because I’ve killed people, good people…innocent people. Because my life is a mile-wide shit stain, and you don’t deserve to deal with that. Because…” Santi took a raggedy breath. “Because when I look at you, I see everything good about the world. And I know I’ve got blood and death on my hands, and I couldn’t live with myself if I let any of that effect you in any way.”

“Don’t you think that’s my choice?” she countered in a cold voice. “Don’t you think I should get to decide who deserves to be in my life? I might be a hell of a lot younger than you, Santiago, but my life hasn’t been all rainbows and unicorns. I know my worth. I know who belongs in my life. Not my narcissistic mother, who used my accident for sympathy from whoever she could get it from. Not my best friend from high school, who managed to turn everything into a fucking competition and only got bitchy when she ‘lost’. Not Douchebag Derek or fucking College Boyfriend Ben. And like it or not, I chose you. You with the bad knees and the greying hair and the blood and shit on your hands. God help me, but I chose you.” She chugged the rest of her wine, placing the glass harshly down on the coffee table.

“I know, sweetheart. God, you’re so fucking amazing, you know that?” he blinked back tears in his eyes. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t get emotional, that he would lay the facts out for her, but just being in her presence screamed safety to him and he could feel everything he had pushed down rising to the surface. “Y…you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, okay? And I know that’s a shitty, corny line, but it’s the truth. When I met you…I was in a bad place. My life had been one shit storm after another, and I thought coming home would fix that. Being around Frankie and Charlie, getting to bond with Mateo, having a home of my own for the first time…I was doing better. And then you crashed into my life, and all of a sudden everything felt good again. Like…the sun was shining on me but all of a sudden I could actually feel it and, for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of getting burned. You turned my whole plan upside down, and I was actually okay with it.” He chuckled, swiping at his cheeks as the first few tears started to fall. “I thought I could live in your orbit and just circle around you, not hurting you or effecting you in any way. But then…” he smiled softly. “Christ, that morning…Fuck, I realized that I was in so deep. Way deeper than I ever thought I would get. I was honestly, genuinely happy for the first time in years, and it was all because of you. And you were smiling at me all soft, and I realized something. I realized that living with you, spending the rest of my life with you, was something I could easily do and desperately wanted. And that scared the shit out of me. Because guys like me don’t get the happy ending. The credits start to roll just as we start dealing with the aftermath of whatever shitshow we just lived through, so that the audience doesn’t have to watch everything fall apart again. I…I couldn’t put you through that. Not when you’ve already got all your own stuff to deal with. Adding my own just felt selfish. And I know that’s a cop out, but it’s the truth. I honest to god just wanted to protect you.”

Rebecca’s gaze softened as her voice enveloped him. “So, why now? Why come to me now, if you’re so set on protecting me?”

He met her gaze. “The break in. At the museum. I-if you had been there, if you had gotten hurt…I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle it. That, plus some of Frankie’s patented wise wisdom, woke me up to what an idiot I’ve been. If I want to protect you, I’ve got to do it by being with you, and god baby, that’s all I want. And I know I fucked up. I basically did the same jackass thing that your college boyfriend did, only ten times worse because I promised I wouldn’t. I know I don’t deserve you, but I swear to god, baby, if you let me back into your life, I will work with you. I won’t keep anything from you, and I’ll always be honest with you, and when I try to protect you, I’ll do it by standing by your side and letting you know that I’m here. Even…” he gulped painfully. “Even if it’s just as a friend.”

Rebecca considered him carefully as Santi waited on bated breath. Finally, she spoke. “You really hurt me, Santi.”

He nodded, clenching his eyes shut. “I know. I know, baby, and I am so, so sorry.”

“Everything I was scared of, happened. I let you in, and you made me fall in love with you, then you left. You fucked me then fucked off. And you didn’t even have the decency to tell me why. I agonized for weeks over what I could have possibly done wrong.”

“No, baby,” he took a chance and shifted to sit next to her, gently cradling her hand in his. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. This is all on me, okay?”

She played with his fingers, rough and callused from his time handling firearms. “It is,” she nodded. “It is all on you…but when I ran into you at the museum, I felt like I could breathe for the first time in weeks. I wanted to be angry at you, but I just felt sad because…because I wanted you to do some stupid, corny, romcom level bullshit like fall to your knees and beg for my forgiveness or sweep me up into your arms and say that you would never let me go again.”

Santiago cupped her cheek, carefully brushing away the stray tear meandering over her cheekbone. “What are you saying?” he asked, trying desperately to keep the hope from his voice.

She sighed. “It means…that I’m too tired to deal with this right now.” She stood, not releasing his hand. “C’mon. You can sleep here tonight, and we can figure this out in the morning.”

He stood hesitantly. “Are you sure? I can sleep here on the couch?” He eyed the leather distastefully. “Or I can go sleep in my truck. I…I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

She was already shaking her head. “No, then I’ll just feel guilty. That couch is not comfortable and your truck with play hell with your neck. You can stay in my bed. Just…don’t worry about it.”

She padded silently into her room, tugging him behind her. Swiftly, she tugged down the meticulously straightened sheets and slid into her side of the bed, Santiago following after a short pause.

He laid there for what felt like hours, staring up at the ceiling, thanking god that he was there with the woman he loved and praying for a chance to make things right.

For the first time in forever, his prayers seemed to be answered quickly.

“I can hear you thinking,” Rebecca mumbled as she rolled over and placed her head on his chest. “Stop thinking, Santi. We can figure out everything in the morning.”

He carefully wrapped his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair, eyes drifting closed to send him into the deepest sleep he’d had in a month.

**********

He awoke the same way he’d fallen asleep, wrapped around Rebecca like he was afraid that, should he let go even an inch, she’d disappear.

He pulled back a fraction of an inch to gaze at her peaceful face before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

She released a soft, sleepy mewl before her eyes blinked open.

She smiled softly at him. “Hey…”

The words poured out of him before he could even think. “Move in with me.”

She crinkled her brow. “What?”

He caught her hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing her palm. “I love you. And I want to prove to you that I’m in this for the long haul. You’re it for me, Rebecca. So, move in with me.”

Her sleepy eyes took him in for a moment, and Santi’s breath caught in his chest. But before he could backtrack or explain further, he felt his heart stop.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

**********

Tags list (open): @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @rae-rae-patcha, @himbopoes, @sophoclese, @phoenixhalliwell, @buckstaposition, @who-talks-first, @hkmultifandom, @youhavereachedtheendofpie

#santiago pope garcia x oc #santiago pope garcia x rebecca cooke #triple frontier fanfic #not another fairytale ending fic #santiago pope garcia #frankie catfish morales #Oscar Issac #Pedro Pascal

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ink-and-blood-goddess · 4 years ago

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Somebody To Call Friend (Larry Purvis x Reader)

I don’t own the rights to the picture used above

Reader POV: With the military ship, U.S.M. Auriga, under lockdown after a half dozen Xenomorphs escaped from containment, the reader find themselves lost and alone amongst some other survivors of the attack. Some of them aren’t as friendly since there’s no trust upon one another. That’s when the reader meets one of the survivors and starts making a friend amongst the chaos happening everywhere…

Non-Request: I wanted to write something where to bring in the short lived character from the movie itself and see how he would interact with the reader themselves if they were put into this type of situation.

Warning: Swearing/language, mentions of gore and violence, wounds, and blood

“Hey get away from us you rat! We don’t want anybody infected near us and being killed by what was put into your stomach,” a large muscled soldier shoved you really hard, that your head had banged against the steel grate floor. Some of his other soldiers pals were chuckling and while another group was backing off. Your vision came back after the hard shove and the same guy spit out a nice sized saliva ball and landed upon your left cheek. The others laughed and began to move away, while the frightened group went the other way in the split off corridor.

How did it come to this? You asked yourself over and over again. Just a couple days ago, you were in your one person bedroom sound asleep after fixing a problem with one of the medical equipment in the med bay, until a blaring alarm came and the sound of Father’s voice came up over the blaring alarm. “Attention. Attention. Containment breach of cell blocks: 1, 4, 6, 9, and 15. Please be advised.” Half of the soldiers and security detail were torn to shreds or were taken by these Xenomorphs. This made most of the others stay or flee off of the ship in the escape pods. Almost anyone that stayed became more lethal and dangerous with high tech military weapons.

Nasty rumors began to go around that these things were somehow laying eggs inside unexpected people and bursting sometime later. This made you be more cautious around these assholes that have itchy trigger fingers and ready to fire at anybody that comes anywhere near them. “Be more careful around here (y/n). They’re becoming more skittish by the second,” a familiar voice popped up from above. It took a minute or two to look who was talking to you and found out to be Private Vinnie Distephano. He gave off a warm, welcomed smile and held out a hand to help you out. You smiled back at him and took his hand as he lifted you off of the grated floor. “Thanks Distephano. I need help anyway.”

You lift your left hand to rub the back of your head and feel a jab of pain in the process. Taking your hand away from your head, feeling something wet and warm, and looked to see there was blood. That soldier that shoved your earlier must’ve done it much harder and cracked your head open. Distephano winced, as the blood dripped down off your hand. “Let’s get that taken care of before anything else happens around here.” He took out a piece of cloth from one of his pockets and gave it to you to stop the bleeding. Both you and Distephano headed down a deserted corridor, where there were loads of bullet holes and long claw marks along the stretch. “What are you doing all the way down here? I thought you were with the other goddamn cowards trying to get off the ship,” Your own voice was a bit strained when you spoke up. He looked over at you, while still holding up his weapon. “No. I was getting orders to go look for any survivors stranded anywhere else on the ship and bring them back to the mess hall. You’re very lucky I found you while I did. This is going to be the last round I make I do around this level before going back out with backup. I’ll get either Gediman or Wren to look at that for you.” Looking back and you smiled at him.

Distephano was the only soldier you liked amongst the others and the most friendliest too. Both of you help one another on the ship, even when the danger itself is much more serious now. Then the two of you finally made it to the mess hall where a few dozen others are. That included the crew of the Betty, sitting over by the exercise equipment on the far side of the mess hall. One of them was in an automatic wheelchair and you heard that his name was Vriess. The only two doctors that were attending to the wounded were Johnathan Gediman and Mason Wren. One of the survivors had a nasty gash across his bare chest, with blood seeping through newly cleaned bandages and another had half of his head wrapped up and from his right shoulder all the way down to his hand.

“Shit. I still need to keep pressure on him. Gediman find more gauze if there’s any left in other med kits,” spat Wren. Gediman swore heavily under his breath and gave a fist full to Wren. Gediman went back to treating the captain of the Betty, Frank Elgyn. Elgyn had his chest exposed to treat what looked like acid that burned only one layer of his skin. “Docs, I found another one on the upper levels. Just a minor head wound from a fall,” Distephano lowered his weapon as the both of you entered down the several steps of stairs. After Gediman was finished with Elgyn, he came over, taking his very bloody gloves off in the process, and taking you by the right arm. He sat you down towards a cleared off table. Dried blood was staining the steel top from the other wounded survivors.

Six were very well patched up by both Gediman and Wren. Gediman sat behind you with a fresh pair of gloves and a med kit by his side. You liked him the same as Distephano. The only two people that made friends with you on the entire ship. “Alright, let’s take a look at this wound then.” You moved your hand away with the piece of cloth that almost soaked all the blood up. Then you felt his rubber, gloved hands examining the wound on the back of your head. “Doesn't look too bad. Just some stitches and patch it up nicely for you.” Gediman sighed with such relief. After patching you up, he gave a hefty pat on the back, and went back to where Wren was waiting for him. You felt the stitch work pulled against your scalp tightly. At least the blood stopped.

Looking around and seeing half of the security personnel and a few other soldiers got just minor cuts and bruises. “Did you see what happened Privat Terrence on level 8? Half of his guts were pulled out, when that thing bursted through his chest and disappeared into the air ducts.” One soldier with really short dirty blond hair was talking with three others. Out of the three a black soldier, with a bandage over his right eye, nodded his head in agreement with the other one. “Yeah. One of those things popped out one of the vents and grabbed Sergeant Barnes by his ankles and dragged him all the way down, with Barnes screaming his lungs out.” Saying in a very deep voice.

Almost everybody had someone to talk to, except for yourself. Your heart starts to race very rapidly at this point, meaning a panic attack starts to set in. Your heart starts to feel very very heavy, breathing in and out very fast, and cramps form in your stomach. Almost everything and everyone starts to blur out from your vision. You were about to fall over due to the immense pressure putting onto you, until something grabs you by both shoulders. “Hey, are you alright? You don’t look so good.” A soft voice came into view. You looked up to see who it was.

“Take it easy right now. Keep calm and breathe slowly.” You didn’t even recognize who this person was. He had a dark brown buzzcut, hazel brown eyes, hardened features around his face, and rounded frame glasses. A couple of dark grey blankets were wrapped around his slender shoulders. “Here take one. It looks like you really need more than I do at this point,” letting go of your shoulders, taking the top blanket off, and laying it on top of your shoulders now. The blanket that was underneath fell off half way over his left side. This person was wearing a really dark brown zip up jacket. On that side was a small name tag with only six letters stitched onto there: Purvis it read. Then it was coming back. He was one of the civilians that was supposed to go to Xarem in those life pods, but were stolen and were brought aboard this ship sometime later.

As the dizziness faded away at last, you got the chance to ask Purvis, “why are you the only one still here? I thought you were getting off in one of the escape pods,” raising both of your eyebrows. Purvis bit his bottom lip, “ I was going to, but something else had changed that plan for myself and everybody else getting off the ship.” He started to unzip his jacket to a deep colored green shirt underneath and then lifting it up in the process. Both of your eyes widen to see almost a fully healed surgical scar across his chest. But mostly it was covered in gauze bandages which were lifted up to show you.

“Purvis! Why are you up and standing around? Go lie back down, before the bleeding starts again,” Wren looked over to where he was. Purvis glared at him and put both his bandages and shirt back down over his chest. “I had one of those things growing inside of my chest. They removed it just yesterday. Still feel the pain, but goes on and off most of the time.” He flashed you a small smile. You smiled back at Purvis. Something inside of you leapt to life when you saw a much friendlier face among the crowd here. A warmer kind feeling you never felt before in your entire life. Purvis sat next to you on the table and a sudden jolt went through you.

Purvis looked at you, “don’t let the panic consume you. With everything going on, think of something better to go away from that.” Pulling the blanket closer around your shoulders, making you feel more secure at the moment. Keeping calm and thinking of something else were the only two words he said. Maybe Purvis was right. You thought of when you first met Gediman in the med bay, fixing one of the x-ray machines on your first day on the ship. Distephano showing you combat training and defending yourself. Now meeting somebody new, while all the fucking chaos has been going on. You breathed a sigh of relief after thinking of those two moments and while making on a new moment in the process. Purvis’s smile grew a bit wider and you smiled back.

“You know, if this ever gets over with? You and I can walk off together if we survive this whole ordeal or aftermath,” you chuckled and Purvis did the same. Now you’ve found somebody to call a friend through all of this…...

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This is the first character x reader story I’ve written, so please no hateful comments :)

The reason why I chose this character, because I wanted to start off small for the blog and work my way around this guy and other characters I’m gonna be using in the future

#character x reader #leland orser #alien resurrection #larry purvis #larry purvis x reader

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danwhobrowses · 4 years ago

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One Piece Chapter 995: Initial Thoughts

And the count drops to 5 After a long week break One Piece is back to continue the back and forth of the Onigashima Raid, looks like Chapter 1000 may still remain in Act 3 which is...concerning, since Act 4 is meant to be the tragedy parts But for now, we see what 995 has to offer Spoilers for Chapter 995 of course, Support the Official Release Too!

It was a bit strange seeing a chapter cover after the whole Bege story ended XD But Luffy with an owl teacher is fun, and the squirrels

We however start on the outskirts, Big Mom vs Marco, and he’s kinda holding his own. It is worth noting that his fire seems to hurt Prometheus and Zeus looks out of commission still

Marco stating that he ‘doesn’t know his role yet’ is a bit of a worrisome flag, bug I do have an idea

BM does pin Marco down the easy way though, just grab him. Seems that Perospero’s alliance was super short lived - alliances and betrayal going hand in hand

But he gloated too much and Wanda and Carrot jump in in their Su Long forms! Peros is lucky he isn’t blinded, I mean he kinda should be, he has enough scars

‘You crazy furry’ - I don’t care if Viz changes that this is the canon line and hilarious!

BM seems to recognize Carrot though, which continues to bode the question: why didn’t she get a bounty for rinsing a line of a Yonko’s fleet? Franky did less in Enies Lobby and got a bounty

Wanda’s Su Long is kinda expected, but it’s good to see that she wants to avenge Pedro too, despite Peros’ objections. Gotta worry a little though, very easy to lose one of them in a 2v1 situation

Big Mom bouncing is strange though, she’s basically ditching her eldest injured son. What she says is interesting too, she doesn’t have any souls to use against Marco, meaning at this current point she’s somewhat weakened in terms of damage output

Carrot and Wanda are letting Marco make chase though, however the Ice Demons is where I expect him to gravitate towards

The Apoo chase is for the most part turning everyone against him, but in that manner also turning Kaido’s lesser forces against him

Tonfa is a unique choice of weapon for Apoo, maybe the extra joints allow more movement with them, but he should not last long against Drake and Zoro both going at him

Zoro vocally noting that he wants to support Kin’emon is telling, Oda is intentionally keeping Zoro away from Kaido

Drake though having no filter ‘I’ve always hated you’ - like cold blooded

Queen though seems to have eyes on Zoro, but he’s gonna be very rudely awakened if he tries it thinking that he’s merely the ‘3rd best fighter’. His musing about Sanji is interesting though, he doesn’t say Germa or the Evil Army, he says ‘Judge’s Son’ - implied familiarity? Oh lord what if Sanji’s uncle is Queen!? Both are blonde scientific geniuses

Brook being immune to Ice Oni does make a lot of sense, it may also become a key factor in getting to Apoo or Queen but he’s basically now a walking infection that he may be able to use, but Chopper is mulling how the virus works

And doesn’t notice that he’s got it too! Strange he didn’t feel it though huh? There is of course now the worry of ‘Healer Down’ but Chopper can change his shape to limit the spread, this also gives him a chance to self-treat an antidote or just allow a Pineapple to heal him with his healing flames

I do have worry about that Number-shaped shadow on the panel where Brook is saying he’s invincible, it’s got its eyes on Chopper

We finally get over to Usopp and Nami vs Ulti and Pay-Pay...though it’s turned out to just be Usopp vs Ulti and Pay-Pay.

Interestingly, Usopp seems able to handle Ulti from range, but with both it is a struggle. Ulti’s heart though

Unfortunately he seems to be on the end of ‘another’ headbutt. An Alabasta-esque Fatality showing Usopp’s skull very much cracked...surprised he has any bones left in his nose

Ulti turns her eyes to a felled Nami, but we’re shown Beast Pirates fleeing from outside, which should’ve really given away that an ally was coming

Nami definitely doesn’t want to die so pulls the bargaining, but Ulti wants her to retract Luffy’s statement about being Pirate King

PANDAMAN SMILE! Just...wow

I’m a little let down by Usopp though, even if it’s lying to stay alive to be okay with Nami saying that Luffy won’t be Pirate King doesn’t sit well, it feels like it contrasts his Alabasta moment as well when he refused to allow Luffy to be insulted

But Nami won’t say it, she says that he will, so it’s nice that Nami gets that moment too

And here to save Nami is Komachiyo rode in by Tama!

Sweet Child it’s cool that you’re here but this battlefield is not safe for you!

So yeah, really good chapter regarding developments, the picture does continue to become clearer. Big Mom is back on the loose, but without Zeus and Prometheus she is weakened. Marco is becoming aware of the Ice Oni - which Brook and Chopper are infected with but only the latter subject to its damage. Queen looks to eliminate Zoro. Carrot and Wanda are to fight Perospero and Tama has come for support right where Usopp and Nami are facing Ulti and Pay-Pay.

It all leads to interesting routes, of course Zoro vs Queen is a big one but I do see Drake jumping in on that, maybe even Hawkins, Apoo, Brook and/or Who’s Who, he isn’t the most popular of All Stars after all. I do still think Marco will save Chopper and the floor from Ice Oni, Chopper will be able to uncover the key part of it before fully turning, but through that Chopper can get that W over the Plague. I worry about Carrot and Wanda vs Perospero, I think Peros may get some help, he has a whole crew at the bottom of the Waterfall loaded as Chekov’s gun, but with the rest of the Minks falling back from the Dome as well it could be Minks vs Big Mom pirates. I worry most for Wanda because she is another one of Carrot’s close mink friends, she could easily lose a lot from this especially from the clock of Su Long. Seeking vengeance rarely goes the way people expect, I kinda hope that Carrot gets clarity and returns to support Luffy and co, mainly because I am Carrot4Nakama - I doubt she’s got her fill from adventure and she could easily get a bounty post-Wano (I even think her nickname of ‘Moon Rabbit’ would be suitable). While I thought that the title would relate to Shinobu, I did correctly predict Tama rolling up in my Mini-Theory Mashup Wano Edition (Link Here), she is far too much of a pivotal character to be kept away from this, she is a key factor as well. Not only will her arrival kick Usopp and Nami’s protective senses into gear to potentially get the W against Ulti and Pay-Pay (who while I enjoy their dynamic it’s a rough spot when they’re fighting people I like) but she also has influence factors with Luffy and Big Mom. She can be the later kick up the ass for Luffy to remember what he is fighting for but for Big Mom she can be the changing factor, Tama is who drove O-Lin to Udon, whether Big Mom has memories of Tama could in turn prove beneficial for the alliance in having BM turn on Kaido, if she runs in on Nami and Usopp too this could lead to Nami gaining an advantage by reclaiming Zeus.

But yeah, a lot of this was what others are doing aside from the Luffy, Yamato and Scabbards situation, we still are due to see Caribou, Team Law, Team Kid and Hiyori and who that shadowed person is (still think it’s Moria) but we still have 5 more chapters to go fill the big 1000

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of-tatooine · 4 years ago

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mercy. | chapter 6 - life

you shoot first and ask questions later.

Obitus.

Death. It had been one of the first basic Latin terminology you had learned all those years ago in nursing school, back when you had thought memorizing ancient words related to your studies was the hardest thing ever. Waking up early for clinical trials and cramming through the tests, sometimes crashing on the library couch were most you could remember from those simpler times but above all the memories, etched deep within your very soul and mind had been your remarkable professors - how much they valued life.

Human or not, all forms of life had always been sacred and should have been protected at all costs - those were the teachings they all tried to instill into young minds, doctors and nurses alike. People who were going to dedicate blood and sweat into treating others in need. The recurring doctrine echoed in your mind relentlessly through the years - if you were going to save lives, you were going to do so by not harming life itself first. Every single medical procedure performed, no matter how unimportant and mundane they seemed, had to do with protecting and letting prosper, and thus was sacred in some way of thinking. If needed, and it often was, you were always ready to completely sacrifice your own health and well-being if it meant doing good for the ones suffering.

Nothing ever came close to the pure happiness and wonder, knowing that you saved the patient in the operating room who would die had it not been for your help - an almost daily feeling back in a better time.

It seemed like you took more lives than you helped live these days. The sacredness of the profession you had chosen for a lifetime had slipped through your fingers when you had first pulled a trigger on a human being, the very creature you had sworn to protect, turned or not. Killing became the new norm in the cruel world, and it contradicted the very essence of your soul. Saving lives had been a losing game in a world full of bloodshed and mayhem, you would learn over years of pain. One you could play only for so long before you succumbed to your own demise.

For the time being, it had to be another one's death in exchange for your life.

It was just the way the world worked.

"Fuckin' hell!"

The residual echoes of the loud gunshot rang in your ears combined with the panting and gasping of the other man. Waiting only a split second to see the guy on your right crumble down on the ground with a sickening thud, blood and brains splattering around the cream walls, you ducked back to cover fast. Faint smoke rose up in gentle waves from the barrel of your gun, your chest heaving up and down in anticipation of what was to come next.

It would have been great if you had a fucking clue yourself. The honed survival instinct within you had screamed less heads the better, and it was a rule you had found yourself following often lately which explained the freshly-dead, bleeding body somewhere in the living room. What the instinct did not tell you immediately was how to deal with a damn Firefly whose best friend you had just murdered in cold blood, who maybe knew you or about you - neither of them increasing your chances of survival against this enemy. Seemed like you would have to improvise once again, you had been doing that an awful lot lately that led you to this fucking mess to begin with - yet you had no other choice but to trust your muscle memory and the leftover bullets in your handgun to get you through this.

The lingering soreness in your injured thigh was making that trust run out in a pretty steady pace.

Mutters of the approaching man could be heard as he took a couple of steps that made the hardwood vibrate, no doubt glancing at his fallen friend for any vital signs. Not finding any hope, you would hear him cursing out again, frantically breathing as a metallic click sound echoed.

“I'm gonna find you, you fuckin' hear me? Come out!”

The knuckles clutching around the revolver in your hands became white from exertion, the grip becoming vice-like as the creaking sound of the wood under his heavy feet made stealth impossible. Coming closer and closer, you could hear his rugged breath - terrified because of the unknown source of death looming.

Holding your breath in haste of what was to come, the adrenaline coarsing through your veins was what made you slowly slide up the wall and land a violent, well-placed kick to the man’s calf as the toe of his boots showed up through the archway, sending his gun go sprawling off with him collapsing in a loud growl.

The blow to his tibia would not be enough to break it, but it was a well-executed one to send him to his knees. Eyes sparkling with determination, a couple grunts of your own slipped past your lips from sheer effort as you took quick steps approaching the man clutching onto his lower leg, left panting, one hand trying to reach towards his gun over at the edge of the wall.

“Alright, now,” slipped out of your mouth, words rather uncharacteristically laced with some form of cruelty as your military boots pressed onto his wriggling fingers in a sickening crunch which made him scream his damn lungs out for all the neighborhood to hear.

“You fuckin’ bitch! I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!” he drabbled in his last stand, spittle on the corners of his mouth, body twisting and turning, trying to claw at your leg. He did manage to, his hand reaching up to tear the bandage on your wound, dirty fingers digging into the sore ache of a scab through the fabric, sending you howling in pain. Without thinking, you would slap the butt of the handle onto his tugging hand through gritted teeth, your leg buckling and threatening to collapse. Your supporting one swung in a desperate attempt to kick the guy in his guts, landing and knocking the air out of him for only a second, giving you enough time to sit yourself down on his stomach, straddling him with a hand viciously pressing against his windpipe.

The pain in your leg as you knelt was fucking killing you, sending warm waves of agony all over your body. You prayed the wound did not pop open again - if it did, you were worse off living than dead. It had been no time to lick your wounds and worry about possible blood infection - with the cold barrel of your gun pressed against the man’s throat, your hand cutting off his circulation bit by bit. He must have been a new recruit, somewhat young - his face did not ring any bells from your old days and maybe it was for the best.

“Here’s how this is gonna play out,” you ordered, voice dripping in dark, dark venom, eyes boring daggers into his terrified expression. “You’re gonna tell me who the fuck you were searchin’ for around here,” the words continued, causing the man to gulp and cough dryly, his foot tapping onto the ground helplessly.

“Or you can join your little friend over there.”

In a matter of seconds, his blue eyes seemed to be damn near exploding out of their sockets as he took a good look at your face, making you raise an eyebrow ever so slightly as you clenched your jaw. “Please let me go,” he started to beg this time, frantically, the taunts he used to throw your way long gone, writhing under your grip. “Promise I won’t fuckin’ give anything away… not a word outta me. Just let me go.”

Not able to comprehend just what the hell the man was rambling about, you did what you knew best to do - pressed the barrel tighter against his neck, tilting your own head as you inched closer to his face.

“What the fuck are you squirmin’ about? Give what away?” you asked, your patience growing thinner by the second. The hand on his windpipe eased just the right bit to allow him to form words.

“We were lookin’ for you,” he confessed after a moment of silence, beads of cold sweat descending his cheeks, voice cracking and hoarse. The shock on your face no doubt readable from his stance. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you would let out a growl, pushing the man more.

“Who the fuck sent you?”

“Who the fuck do you think? Marlene. She said she needed you and sent us over,” he gave out, pressure the barrel on his neck making the veins bulge on his temple. “There. I gave you everything. I swear to God I don’t know nothin’ else. Let me go,” the man would plead, not even giving you a moment to reflect on the new information you acquired that dumbfounded you, to say the least. He would stare at you from his position, see the unbelieving glints in your eyes.

What on earth did the Fireflies want with you again, let alone send men to gather you up? It seemed like you were pondering for a moment, mouth agape only for a second before you came to your senses and gave him a firm nod of your head.

“I believe you,” you would say before you pulled the trigger, sending one right through his throat as red splattered on your face from the impact, sending his head limping backwards as he gargled on his own blood in a relatively quick death.

“Christ...” you muttered to yourself, your brain running a hundred miles a second as you lifted yourself up and away from straddling the dead Firefly. It previously occurred to you that once you left the compound and got discharged from their service, you had been a free woman. That the Fireflies had way more to worry about than a surgical nurse who had escaped from their group. You had managed to get by on your own years after you left, and figured it would always be this way, only hearing about your old crew from the bombings in zones and the wanted posters. Why did the Majesty herself need you so damn badly, then out of all the moments, to the point that she sent actual men after you to your last known location?

Your thoughts were interrupted right away as the tall man and the small girl, who let out a loud fuck the moment the door swung open, stood in the doorway with Joel’s arm shielding her lightly from going further - until he was sure all danger had been gone, his other hand pointing his own revolver. His face that scanned the room intently, was a mixture - shocked, relieved, somewhat disappointed, and scared. It was some expression you could not discern but it gave away more than his usual demeanor - it did not take you much to realize they had stepped in after hearing double gunshots, maybe checking to see if you were dead and if they needed to finish the job themselves, though you had this hunch he had an eye on you as you infiltrated the house, watching from the windows.

It was ironic that a part of you wished you had been killed right there and then, after all. Any demise would be considered paradise compared to getting hunted down by your ex-kin, with you outnumbered and alone.

Yet the lone-wolf survivor in you, no doubt still running high off the pumping adrenaline, told you to put one in between both their eyes and just drive the fuck out of there, it was a good chance as any, but one quick lingering glance at Ellie who stood rigidly alert behind Joel - halted you.

Instead, you took deep, heavy breaths, with a bloody hand clutching onto your overworked recovering leg, all you could do was send a shaky, wide-eyed nod to the pair.

“You’re safe,” you would announce the visible fact in a breathy voice, as if you were trying to make yourself believe in that rather than them. “The keys should be around somewhere.”

Only after those words echoed in the house now littered with fresh corpses, Joel would lower his gun only slightly yet did not holster it, letting Ellie move a little move freely as he tossed you a brief nod.

Replying with a nod of your own directed his way, you let the pair rummage through the empty living room while you made your way back to your latest victim, kneeling beside. Crimson oozed in a lazy haze down what was left of his throat, coating the hardwood, the smell of copper sulking. His outstretched hand left in a sickening angle due to his broken fingers under your firm step. It was routine to search corpses for any goods that could help you survive, but this time, it scared you to death knowing what you could find inside those pockets of his.

“Found it,” you would hear Ellie announce with her innocent voice that should not belong in a world full of sins, the jiggling of a metal key ringing in the air much to all comfort.

Just as she found something in the means of her survival, you would come across the bane of yours, something you tried to bury so desperately in your past. From the breastpocket of his jacket, with trembling hands, you extracted the chain, its familiar twinkle surrounding you as the round pendant partially covered in dry blood rested in your palm before you tucked it in your pocket hastily.

And it proved all your fears, seeing that it had your name carved on it, in capitals.

#oh boy oh boy #mercy #val writes #joel miller #tlou joel #joel miller x reader #joel x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us joel

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years ago

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Fic: Forged Through Fire (7/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

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Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] AO3]

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Note: So, just in case you read the previous chapter before I edited it, a note on timing. I managed to mix up centuries and millennia because… wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff. To clarify, Xerxes was destroyed about 450-500 years prior, like in canon. Not 50 years prior, like my brain decided to originally write…

Also, Atticus was picked as a random Ancient Greek name, there’s no deeper reasoning behind it.

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Forged Through Fire

Seven

Riza looked up from the counter as the bell over the shop door tinkled and Gracia entered.

“Hey Riza. How’s he doing today?”

Riza laughed. “He’s stopped rambling and he’s now annoying everyone, so I think he’s getting better. I know that Chris can’t wait to get him off her hands, but we’re a bit concerned that someone might try to shoot him again if we let him out of our sight.” She went and flipped the closed sign, locking the door. The speakeasy was still doing limited trade in order to keep the money coming in, but it was only open to trusted regulars who had forewarned that they would be coming in advance.

Gracia followed her down into the bar. For all she could joke about it, Riza could feel the tension in the place. Hughes had stumbled upon something so big and so secret that it would affect all of them in the long run.

As suspected, it now appeared irrefutable that Bradley had the military alchemists working on creating the Philosopher’s Stone. So far, they’d had several failed attempts, but a recent covert expedition to the ruins of Xerxes had uncovered some interesting documentation. Barely anyone could read it, but it was nevertheless causing a lot of excitement among the upper echelons of the military.

Or, to put it simply, Fuhrer Bradley was trying to make himself immortal.

“Can you think of anything worse than an immortal Bradley?” Hughes was saying as they entered his sick room. Roy was in there too, sitting in the office chair with his feet up on the end of the bed. There were papers scattered everywhere.

“No, right now I don’t think that there’s anything worse than an immortal Bradley. Hi Gracia, hi Riza.”

“Hello Roy. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I’m very hard at work attempting to bring down a conspiracy in the military!” Roy protested, gesturing around at all the papers. “And no. Officially I am taking a leave of absence to care for my sick aunt.”

Madam Christmas, who had entered the room behind them, gave a pathetic cough.

“See, my sick aunt. I’ve got Havoc and Breda running interference and Fuery’s been sending all kinds of mixed message telegrams. The top brass are so concerned with trying to work out whether or not Hughes is dead that they shouldn’t be paying too much attention to my whereabouts.”

“Right.” Riza shook her head in despair as Roy swung his feet up off the bed, leaving the room with her and Madam Christmas to give Gracia and Hughes some time alone together.

She waited until he had poured himself some coffee from the large pot that had been left on the bar and they’d settled down at their usual table before she spoke again. “Have you found out anything new?”

“Bradley nearly declared war on Xing as an excuse to get in there and try to find the Philosopher’s Stone, but even his closest allies decided that would be a bit much and it would be better to try and create their own.” Roy took a long sip of his coffee. “You know, I wouldn’t put it past him to just lead a one-man charge on the place, he’s certainly bonkers enough.”

“Is it even the kind of thing that can be created twice? I mean, I know we should all take myths and legends with a pinch of salt, but at the same time, all the bits and pieces I’ve read about it talk about it as The Philosopher’s Stone, as if there is and can only ever be one.”

“Well, I think the military are certainly testing that theory.” Roy sighed. “The worst thing about it is that I have no idea what kind of unethical experiments they’re getting up to and as an alchemist I could be dragged into them at any time. I mean, my specialism sort of keeps me safe unless they need to burn a bunch of stuff but considering the lengths they seem willing to go to in order to both keep the secret and try to succeed, I don’t want to rule it out.”

Riza inched a little closer to him, chancing to put an arm around his back, and he leaned into her side, head drooping onto her shoulder.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he mumbled to her. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

He gave a little huff of laughter. “That’s my line.”

“Well, maybe it’s time for me to take care of you for a little while. You’ve taken care of me enough in the past.”

“Thanks for following us out the other night, as well. I was so frantic; I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there being calm and wonderful.”

Riza laughed. “I’m sure you would have survived somehow.” She held him a little tighter, and he burrowed in closer.

“It feels like everything’s been turned upside down. Except you.”

He looked up at her then, his dark eyes so sad and tired, and Riza’s heart went out to him.

“We never got to finish our conversation from yesterday,” he said.

“The ‘What happens between us now?’ conversation.”

“Yeah. That one.” Roy sighed. “I know that we’ve just ended up in a potentially really dangerous situation, and I know that this is the worst time ever to be talking about it, and thinking about it, and God forbid thinking about the future. But I also know that you’re the only person I would ever want by my side throughout this whole thing, and if we all end up skewered through with one of Bradley’s not-at-all ceremonial swords tomorrow, then I know that not taking a chance with you would be my only regret.”

“Oh, Roy.” Riza leaned in to kiss him softly. “There’s nothing like people being shot to put things in perspective, is there?”

“Nope.” His hand came up to cup her cheek and he returned the kiss, gently and a little hesitantly, but with definite hope and want behind it. “Perhaps I’m starting to see that sometimes the universe just really wants to screw us over, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Exactly. It’s time to let go of the guilt, Roy. There’s nothing anyone can do about it.” She found herself stroking his hair as he resettled against her shoulder.

“We make quite the pair, don’t you think? Both broken up in our own ways.”

“Perhaps.” Riza kissed the top of his head. “But we’ll stick ourselves back together. I think that’s the one thing that I’ve learned the most since leaving home and coming here. The sticking myself back together part. Because I haven’t been sticking myself back together, not really. I’ve had you and Rebecca and Madam and Hughes and Trisha and Hohenheim and all the rest of the crew helping me stick myself back together. And when you get broken, I’ll help you stick yourself back together as well.”

“Thank you, Riza.”

They stayed like that for a long time, and although her arm was going numb, Riza didn’t mind at all. She was enjoying this easy closeness. They had been so close back when he had first known her – perhaps they had never been this physically close, but they’d been so close as people. A part of her had always known that they would end up like this somehow. Maybe not as romantic partners, but definitely as friends.

It was only when Madam Christmas came out into the bar to take over serving and gave them a knowing look that Riza realised Roy had fallen asleep on her, and she just smiled. They’d had a fraught couple of days of it, what with everything Hughes had found out and the aftermath of that; she wasn’t really surprised that it had taken it out of him so much. She was just glad that he trusted her enough to be this vulnerable around her. Well, she trusted him that much, and she guessed that it went both ways.

Madam Christmas came over with a glass of wine; Riza took it with her free hand. It was her favourite, and she savoured the rich taste.

“On the house.” Madam Christmas winked. “I think we could all use a little pick-me-up right now. It’s been a day. I had Rebecca on the phone earlier, she’s been picking up all kinds of stories at the paper.”

Over the last few months or so, Rebecca had become a great friend to them in giving inside information as to what kinds of propaganda were about to be sent out to the general population. Of course, most of what she wrote herself ended up cut and censored by the government-employed editors by the time it appeared in print, but the unredacted versions were always circulated through the speakeasy to great interest. Riza had been happy to set her up with Havoc.

“Good stories or bad stories?”

“A bit of both. Everything’s being swept under the rug, though. As far as Central City’s citizens are concerned, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happened in the park two nights ago.”

“Huh.” Riza felt the uneasiness beginning to creep back in. “I don’t like how that implies that people do know that something out of the ordinary happened in the park two nights ago.” She thought back to Hohenheim and the frighteningly powerful alchemy that he’d performed on Hughes, something unlike anything she’d ever known before, and in turn she found herself thinking back to the day she’d burned her back, and his warning that removing her tattoo completely would be too traumatic.

If that was what he would have had to do, she could well see why. Hughes had been unconscious and on his last breaths; she wouldn’t have wanted anything like that to happen if she was anything other than at death’s door.

“No,” Madam Christmas agreed. “It’s worrying. I’m just hoping that there’s nothing that can tie it all back to this place. Rebecca doesn’t think that there is, and she’s running as much interference as she can. Still, I think keeping a low profile for a couple of weeks will be a good idea.” She glanced at Roy. “Are you comfortable like that?”

“Not really. My shoulder’s gone dead. But I don’t mind.”

“Oh, to be young and in love once more. Don’t deny it, Miss Hawkeye. I’ve known you long enough.”

Riza shook her head, but she didn’t respond. Something good would come of it all. It had to.

“Do you really think that Bradley would risk wiping out the entire population of Amestris in order to gain immortality? I mean, surely the whole point of him gaining immortality is so that he can remain Fuhrer and rule over us forever. It wouldn’t be much fun being immortal if he was literally the only person in the country.”

Two more days had passed, and the rag-tag bunch of investigators had become a full-on research force, although they weren’t any closer to finding out what was going on in Central Command than they had been before. Every new piece of information they uncovered just seemed to be adding to the confusion without clearing anything up.

“I mean, if the legends of Xerxes are anything to go by, then he’d get wiped out too.” Hughes brushed some peanut shells off the table and slammed down another piece of paper. “Take a look at that.”

Riza looked up at the clock; it was almost eleven but none of them showed any signs of stopping. The entire crew of Roy’s friends from Central Command were gathered in the bar, and Madam Christmas had closed up shop temporarily to allow them more space to spread out in the main area rather than everyone being cramped in the office that had been Hughes’s recovery room. Hohenheim had given him the all-clear earlier in the day, but he still hadn’t actually left the speakeasy and gone home. Gracia and Rebecca had joined the party as well, and although Madam Christmas was trying to remain as aloof from it all as she could, more concerned with keeping them all safe in the bar than with the military conspiracies going on, she was offering insights wherever she could.

Hohenheim and Trisha had gone home. Riza hadn’t seen all that much of them since the night Hughes had been shot, and she got the impression that Hohenheim was trying to avoid everyone in the wake of what he’d had to do. Not that anyone who had been there and who knew what had happened held his strangeness against him, quite the opposite in fact; they were all extremely grateful that he’d managed to save Hughes’ life. Still, if he wanted space then they would give it to him.

Riza craned over the others to take a read of the paper that Hughes had put down, but the writing was too small for her to make it out.

“What is it?”

“It attributes the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone to an alchemist named Atticus, who was the King of Xerxes’ personal alchemist. But it also says that Atticus died in whatever catastrophe wiped out the rest of Xerxes, so even if Bradley does succeed in creating the Philosopher’s Stone again, it won’t leave him any better off than when he started.”

“Just another hunk of rock in an empty country waiting for some Xingese merchants to take it home to Tim Marcoh,” Roy mused, and Riza couldn’t stop herself from bursting into laughter.

“Sorry, sorry. I know it’s really not that funny. I think I need more coffee.” She extricated herself from the gaggle around the table and went over to the coffee pot. Considering the vast array of alcohol that was available behind the bar and the fact that the coffee pot had never seen all that much use before the night Hughes had been shot, it was certainly earning its keep now. They’d been refilling it almost constantly all day.

“Hey.”

She looked up to find that Roy had followed her over. They hadn’t really had the chance to spend all that much time together since they’d had their talk. Well, that wasn’t strictly true since they’d spent most of the intervening two days in each other’s pockets whilst trying to work out what on earth was going on in the country, but they’d always been surrounded by other people. This moment leaning on the bar was as close as they had come to having a moment to themselves.

“Hey yourself.” She smiled at the memory of the other night. Roy had been so embarrassed when he’d woken up, and it had been sweet to see him so flustered. Naturally, she’d had to kiss him to stop his litany of apologies for falling asleep on her.

He helped himself to another cup, draining the pot. “How are you holding up?”

“All right, I guess. It’s just so surreal that I’m having trouble believing that it’s all happening and I’m not in some kind of crazy dream. More like a nightmare, actually. How come none of this has ever come to light before? Something this big and all-encompassing, surely someone would have found something out.”

“Someone probably did,” Roy said grimly. “And that someone, and all the someones who came before and after them, probably met the same fate as Hughes would have met if he hadn’t had a handy Hohenheim around.”

“It just boggles the mind. Who would even want to be immortal in the first place? Can you imagine having to live on and watch everyone around you grow old and die?”

“I don’t think psychopaths like Bradley really see it in that way.”

“But what about his wife? Their child?”

Roy shrugged. “I don’t think he sees it that way. If you want something badly enough, then everything else falls by the wayside.” He paused. “I… No. Sorry. That’s not an appropriate train of thought.”

Riza raised an eyebrow. “Well, now you have to tell me.”

“It’s about your father. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

Riza nodded. Although her feelings for her father remained complicated, the time and space between them made it easier to look at things through a more neutral lens. She didn’t think that she was ever going to forgive him for what he had done to her, but at the same time, she was no longer wasting her energy being angry at either him or herself. He simply wasn’t worth the emotional investment she had given him for so long.

“I was thinking that I can see certain similarities between Bradley and your father.” Roy glanced at her, but she nodded for him to continue. “There’s something about them both, that single-mindedness and that disregard for others. Your father’s desire to protect his complex array above all else, his willingness to completely destroy your life in order to achieve his own ends… I can see that same drive in Bradley, and I dread to think what would have happened to you if Hawkeye’s goal had been immortality instead of anything else.”

Riza shuddered. “Yes. When you put it like that, I can see why Mrs Bradley and Selim wouldn’t cross his mind at all. I don’t even want to think about my father being immortal. He did enough damage in the fifty-three years he had.”

Roy reached across and took her hand. He didn’t apologise; perhaps he knew better than that now. After so many years of carrying guilt around, Riza had hoped she’d made it clear that he didn’t have to anymore.

“At least it’s over now.”

Riza nodded. “Yes. It’s over now. And in the end, I don’t think my life has been completely destroyed. I mean, it might be if Bradley does something drastic, but I can’t lay that one at my father’s door. I think that I’ve still found something good in spite of him and his disregard for everything.”

Roy smiled, and Riza could see the colour coming up in his cheeks. It was sweet to see it; the persona he wore within the military and when he was around the rest of the customers in the bar was always confident and self-assured, an easy-going ladies’ man, but Riza had known him long enough to know that the real Roy was just as flustered around her as she had been about him when she had first realised that she liked him as far more than a friend.

They were settling now, having put the cards on the table the other night, and Riza knew that, if the circumstances in the outside world had been easier, they would have been moving ahead with the relationship without any concerns. But the circumstances were what they were, and with danger lurking in every corner, it felt premature to be making any kind of long-term plans beyond the fact that they wanted to be together right now in case they never got the chance in the future.

Roy’s fingertips brushed her face, touching the frown line between her brows.

“It’ll be all right.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Somehow, it’ll be all right.”

It wasn’t the firmest or most confident of statements, but it gave Riza some hope, and she smiled, knocking her coffee mug against his in a toast before they went back to join the others. Breda and Fuery were pouring over a book so old it was practically falling apart, and Riza wondered if it was stock from the shop upstairs.

“Can you make out this transmutation circle?” Fuery thrust the book at him. “Armstrong doesn’t recognise it, but he thinks it’s a forbidden one.”

Roy grabbed the book and turned it this way and that, before his eyes widened.

“I think that’s for human transmutation.”

“Ah.” Breda and Fuery exchanged a worried look. Even the layman most ignorant of all things alchemic knew that human transmutation was the ultimate taboo, not just in Amestris but in general.

“So, once we get our hands on someone who can read Ancient Xerxian, that one could prove to be a game changer,” Breda muttered. He shoved it on the ‘keep’ pile of documents, and Riza went to sit beside him and take a look at what they had so far.

She had only just settled down when she jumped out of her skin as a pounding against the door began. It was the back door that led out into the alley with the garbage, the door that Madam Christmas brought all the booze in through; the door that would serve as their emergency exit if the speakeasy ever got raided.

No one used that door on a regular basis, and Riza felt her blood going cold. She looked over at Madam Christmas, who, although as guarded as ever, looked genuinely concerned. She gave Riza a nod and reached under the bar, grabbing the rifle that was always kept there in case of problems and tossing it to her, and the two of them made their way through the bar towards the door. Roy followed them, pulling on his gloves and getting ready to strike. The pounding was not letting up, a steady and frantic hammering, and as tense as the noise was making her, Riza thought that the fact it wasn’t being punctuated with ‘open up in the name of the law’ and threats of the door being blown in meant that they weren’t being raided.

“Please!” The voice was muffled through the thick wood and obscured by the constant pounding, but Riza could recognise it in an instant, and ice ran through her veins afresh. “Please let me in! Please!”

Madam Christmas unbolted the door and threw it open, catching Trisha as she fell in through the doorway.

“Trisha? What’s going on?” Riza rushed to help her back on her feet.

“They’ve got Hohenheim!”

#FMA:Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Royai #Riza Hawkeye #Roy Mustang #Fic: Forged Through Fire

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