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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

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His Good Sweater: Chapter 13

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.7k

Recommended song: "Cupid’s Chokehold/Breakfast in America” by Gym Class Heroes

"I have to go."

"Can't you stay five more minutes?"

"I wish."

"Come on, just a few more minutes to cuddle." Pierre flings back the fluffy duvet and holds out a hand. "Please?"

"I have an exam," you say with a sigh but bend to press a kiss to his upturned palm. "I can't skip."

Pierre groans and slings an arm over his eyes. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

"I don't have a sim but I have an old PlayStation you're more than welcome to use. I think I still have one or two games."

"That won't keep me busy."

"I'm sure you'll find something. Just stay out of trouble okay? I'd like to get my security deposit back when I finally move out of this hellhole."

"Okay," Pierre grumbles, sitting up to give you a quick kiss. "What time are you getting back?"

"Four. We can go out to dinner or something." You smooth a hand over his hair, smiling lightly. "Or we can go for a picnic and take a walk through Saint James Park."

"Sounds like a plan." He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I'll be counting down the minutes."

You roll your eyes but your smile contradicts the sass. "I'll be home before you know it. Love you, champion."

"I love you too, mon coeur."

He was endlessly grateful for how easily the two of you had fallen back into each other. When he had shown up at your doorstep he had expected there to be awkward pauses and minutes of tense silence, but there had been blissfully little of either. As the days bleed into each other, your relationship only gets steadier, closer and closer to what it used to be. Maybe it was because you had been the one to break the silence or maybe it was because he had thrown himself into his career into someone's bed- whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He was simply grateful to be welcomed back into your life. He didn't plan on leaving any time soon.

Pierre allows himself a half hour of lounging in bed before forcing himself to get up and shower. Off weeks were hard; all he wanted to do was rest and recharge but he still had to follow his workout regimen and sleep schedule or he risked falling out of the habit, making it that much harder to get back in the groove come race week.

First order of business: clean the clutter you had shoved in closets and the spare room prior to his arrival the day before. Folding the three baskets of clean laundry took an hour, washing dishes another thirty minutes, and vacuuming the entire flat took twenty. Once the counters are spotless and there isn’t a stray sock to be found, he takes stock of your pantry and notes what staples you were running low on.

Two hours later he trudges back up the three flights of stairs to your apartment, arms laden with reusable bags packed to the gills with food. His legs burn and he's slightly winded from the excursion; at least that could count as his work out for the day.

He's just about to start slicing vegetables for dinner when his phone chimes with a text from his PR agent, Sylvie.

You're supposed to be in an interview now. Where are you?

"Oh shit." He scrambles for his laptop which of course was dead. He manages to plug it in at the dining room table and angle it so the background is mostly neutral, just a band poster framed behind him. He checks his hair before logging into the interview.

"There's the star," the interviewer says, far too chipper to be entirely genuine.

"Sorry, I was having connection issues." He queues up his signature sweetheart smile that gets him out of any squabbles. It works, the woman's irritation melting into a more easy expression.

"Let's just get right into it. Since we're low on time I'll jump right in, if you don't mind."

Pierre leans back. He had an inkling where this was headed. "By all means, please."

"We just saw news of your deal with Christian Horner- if you take seventh in this year's drivers championship, it looks like you're at Red Bull Racing next year. How does that feel after being publicly demoted mid-season in 2019?"

A smirk tugs at Pierre's lips. He had known this exact question was coming. He had debated how to answer it without starting waves and still remaining truthful. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to be diplomatic when others may have let their egos get in the way.

"Obviously I'm grateful that Red Bull has recognized the hard work I've been putting in at Alpha Tauri," he starts. "I think I've been able to push the car as far as I can but I still have pace in me, personally. So moving into the Red Bull would let me loose, so to speak, and give me a chance to prove that Red Bull is where I belong."

"Right, you have had quite a spectacular season so far with a race win under your belt and a few podiums for good measure. What do you attribute that success to? Why is it so different now in an Alpha Tauri versus that coveted second Red Bull seat?"

Pierre purses his lips. The answer he was expected to give wasn't one he was willing to voice. Instead he opts for neutral. "I've been able to focus and hone my driving this season. I've found a groove that works for me and with it has come an insane amount of confidence, which is something I struggled with for awhile after going back to Torro Rosso. I think it's really just that I'm finally comfortable in the car and with my team and that makes a huge difference."

"Thank you for that," the journalist says and Pierre nods. "Shifting gears, I have a few questions about your personal life if you don't mind."

This was the part he always dreads. Questions were often prying and he had to subtly skirt around them in a way that offered a satisfying answer without giving away too much. It was an art he liked to think he had perfected over the years but still didn't enjoy.

"As long as you don't mind me staying silent if I don't want to answer."

The woman laughs, the sound sharp and grating. "Of course. Unless I can bribe you into giving me an exclusive."

"Likely not. But you ask the right questions and we'll see."

"You've been seen hanging around a certain London neighborhood lately- that wouldn't have anything to do with you and your lovely lady, would it?"

He had been waiting for that one, too. When the two of you had returned from Red Bull headquarters he had noticed the man taking pictures across the street. He hadn't said anything to you at the time because really, there was no point in getting you worked up when he had a plan to handle it.

The question played right into his hand, in fact.

Pierre sits forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Actually yes. We recently got back together and if you'll let me, I would like to make a request."

The woman leans back and checks her notes. "Well it's not quite what I had planned but please," she gives a flourish with a hand, "you have the floor."

"I know driver's personal lives are something that a lot of people are interested in and that's great. I don't mind sharing things with my fans or letting them get the inside scoop, but there's some things I would rather be left alone. My relationship is one of them. I know you all took note that she hasn't been around the past couple months and if I'm being honest, it's because of comments and press coverage that invaded her privacy. I think some people forgot she was more than just a name on a screen."

Pen poised to take notes, the interviewer prompts, "You said you had a request?"

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage he had already undoubtedly done. Sylvie was probably already on the phone doing damage control with every news outlet she could get her hands on, if her muted and black square at the bottom of the screen was an indication.

"All I'm asking is that you leave her alone. If you have questions or comments you have to make, just direct them at me. Don't follow her around asking about me. Don't comment on her posts unless you're capable of being a decent human. Just… let her live her life in peace."

Maybe he was a love sick fool, but honestly he didn't care if he lost some support from fans. If they had such strong opinions on his personal life, he would be better off without them anyway. And his team could cut him and even if he was unable to secure a seat in Formula 1 after next season, he would survive.

But if he lost you again, he would be broken. It had taken being apart from you for him to realize it and he'd be damned if he was ever disconnected from you like that again.

"That's quite the speech."

Pierre shrugs. "It was. She's the most important thing in my life, right up there with racing.” Now that he had started down the road of truth, he found it impossible to hold his tongue. “I lost her once because people couldn't be bothered to remember that their words have consequences. I won't let it happen again."

"So you see yourself with her for a long time then?" The woman's eyes glitter with the potential of getting an even juicer tidbit from him.

Pierre’s jaw sets, muscles feathering. "That's not something I'm prepared to discuss."

The woman purses her lips and tips her head to the side. There was clearly more she wanted to say. "Well, I have to thank you for what you've given me here. My boss is gonna love the exclusive. I won't push any further. Thanks for your comments, Pierre."

"Thanks for actually being respectful."

“We aren’t all monsters.” The woman shrugs. “I can’t say I haven’t had my moments but I try to be straightforward.”

“Right, yeah. I get that you have a job to do.”

“Anyway. I look forward to seeing what you can do the rest of this season. Good luck.”

He signs off and instantly anxiety washes over him. If she twisted his words he was screwed. Sylvie would be on the phone as soon as the article was printed, no doubt trying to soothe sponsors and investors. She'd give him an earful about being respectful and not poking the bear but he'd tune it out like he always did.

The sooner he got away from Red Bull, the better.

Instead of dwelling on it he busies himself with cooking. It was one of his guilty pleasures. He always requested a full kitchen when he was staying anywhere more than a few days so that if he had the chance to make a home-cooked meal, he had the option. For tonight he had selected his favorite recipe. Parmesan-Cesar chicken wasn't normally something you would ever touch with a ten foot pole but as long as he was making it, Pierre knew you'd at least give it a try.

Music blasting in the background, Pierre sings along quietly as he unpacks the rest of the ingredients and gets to work. He does a little spin between the island and the sink, rinsing the dishes and putting them right in the dishwasher as he uses them. A clean kitchen is the mark of a great chef, his mom had told him, drilling the phrase into him when he was young.

In the middle of cutting potatoes Pierre gets a call. He only has an hour until you're home so he doesn't bother stopping, just puts it on speaker and continues measuring spices.

"Hey Daniel."

"Heard you're in London," Daniel says, Australian accent thick. "And a little birdie told me you and your lady got back together."

"We did," Pierre says, a smile splitting his face. "Finally."

"Thank god, now I don't have to listen to your drunk woe-is-me rambling anymore."

Pierre laughs and sets aside the measuring spoons. "It's not that bad."

"Oh please." Pierre could practically hear the eyes rolling. "The number of times I had to send an uber to a bar after a grand prix is insane. Charles and I should be entitled to financial compensation with the amount of babysitting we've been doing."

"I can handle myself!"

"Not after a martini you can't."

He was right there. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Oh right- I'm actually in town today too, got some stuff to shoot for McLaren before we head to Austria for the race next week. You guys wanna come out with us tonight? We're heading to a bar or two."

"I actually had something planned-"

"She already said she's coming!" Dan's girlfriend shouts in the background.

“Well then why even ask me?”

“To be polite,” Daniel offers with a laugh. “We’re meeting at the rooftop bar at the Trafalgar hotel at seven. That give you enough time to do whatever you had planned that’s apparently more important than seeing your best mates?”

“We’ll be there,” Pierre says and hangs up. He finishes seasoning the potatoes and pops them in the oven, finally getting a chance to sit while they cook alongside the main course.

He's on his feet a few minutes later, decluttering the last bits of mess around your flat. It was clear it hadn't had a decent cleaning in quite awhile- hopefully you'd keep it tidy now that the effort had been made. The guys would tease him endlessly if they found out he was acting like a housewife.

You arrive home just as he’s setting the table. “God, it smells amazing in here.”

“Salut, mon amour.” Hands full with hot dishes, he settles for a kiss to your cheek. “I made dinner.”

“And you cleaned,” you observe. “You were a busy boy.”

“Pyry would kill me if he found out I was laying around all day. I had to do something.”

You hang your backpack on the hook behind the door and take a seat at the table. “Well remind me to thank him again when I see him. This looks delicious.”

Pierre grins over his shoulder at you. “Me or the food?”

You throw your head back and laugh, loud and unrestrained. “The food, you goof.”

Pierre quirks a brow. "Is that the honest answer?"

"Okay, maybe both."

The meal is filled with your ramblings about your exam and your new hobby- this month it was hiking. You went into detail about all the few trails in the city you’d been on as well as the more challenging ones that dotted the countryside. Pierre just nods along as you talk, already planning on staying up late to learn what he could about the topic so he could be a better conversation partner.

The pair of you work together to tidy the kitchen and put away any leftovers. “Did you bring something semi nice to wear tonight or do we have to make a quick trip to the store?”

“I’ve got some Tauri stuff I can wear. And not just team gear,” he adds when you groan. “You know that cream sweater you love? The one with the logo debossed on the front? I’ve got that.”

“Oh,” you say before biting your lip. Your eyes trail down his frame and back up like you’re imagining it on him. A tingle travels up his spine under your assessing gaze. If you kept that up, neither of you would make it out of the apartment tonight. “My favorite. Yeah, wear that. It’ll be on my floor by the end of the night.”

Pierre places his hands on your waist and grins. “Will it? And what will be on the floor from your closet, hm?”

“Your favorite dress.”

“The orange one?” He realizes half a second too late that you would never know how much he adored that dress from the gala. It had hugged your curves in all the right places and left your back exposed, which would leave him free to trace patterns on your soft skin whenever he pleased. He had missed out on worshipping you in it that night and he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to do so now.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t wear that to a bar.”

“Says who?” Pierre nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing you in. A light undercurrent of sweat from your walk home from classes mingles with the usual bright scent of you, only serving to rile him up further. Never in a million years would he have guessed that a simple scent could do him in, and yet here he was, completely wrapped up in yours.

“Says me.” You sigh, tipping your head to the side when Pierre’s nose grazes your skin.

His lips follow until he reaches your jaw before he pulls back. “What one are you wearing then?��

“Does it matter?” You cross your arms, the smirk playing on your kissable lips tempting him.

“I have to mentally prepare myself.” And if whatever you chose was too sexy, he would need to get his handsiness out of his system before the pair of you met up with Daniel and his girlfriend. The last thing he needed was to be on the front of some seedy gossip column when his plan was to ease back into it.

You smile up at him, broad and unrestrained as if knowing your answer would affect him greatly. “The cobalt blue one that makes you stutter.”

The dress in question was just as form fitting as the orange one, but shorter and decidedly more distracting. It fell mid thigh and the spaghetti straps left your shoulders exposed, which coupled with the low back displayed a downright sinful amount of skin. You had worn it at a Torro Rosso event a couple years back and he had scarcely been able to get a full sentence out around you all night.

“That one’s a close second.” He follows you to your room, leaving you to hunt through the closet while he digs through his suitcase, thankful that he had the foresight to check out of his hotel on the way back from Red Bull and bring his things here.

Because there was no way in hell he was missing a second of being by your side while he was in town. Every moment had to count when he had no idea when he would be able to sleep next to you again, not when the season was nearly over and there were two double headers between now and winter break. When so many variables stood between him and you, he had no problem prioritizing you over a routine workout or a full night’s rest.

Pierre changes into the sweater and a pair of dark skinny jeans well before you emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t bother responding to Dan’s text that includes an address and reminds him to be on time, instead opting to scroll through his instagram feed. He likes a handful of posts from his fellow drivers, including one of Max actually smiling at something off camera.

“Well?”

Pierre’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. The phone falls from his hand when he drags his eyes over your body, head to toe and back again.

Oh, he was so fucked.

Maybe it was selfish, but with your hair done like that, the barest brush of makeup lining your eyes and in that stunningly blue dress, he didn’t want any other man to have the privilege of laying their eyes on you.

No, you were all his.

The moment you’re within reach, Pierre places his hands on the back of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your barely covered ass. You chuckle and tap your fingers under his chin. “Close your mouth; you’ll catch flies.”

“Just so you know, if you wear that dress I can’t be held liable for my actions.” Up to and including scaring off anyone that wasn’t Daniel or his girlfriend. No one else deserved to be blessed with your radiance. Hell, he didn’t deserve it, and yet here you stood.

“We’ll see about that.”

**********

Daniel and his girlfriend had already made their way through a round of drinks by the time you arrive. It wasn’t Pierre’s fault he couldn’t keep his hands off you and wound up getting distracted on the drive over.

"Late as always," she greets, kissing your cheek. "Dan got us here fifteen minutes early because he wanted the table with the best view."

"Like our names wouldn't have gotten us the table if we asked," Pierre says, wrapping Daniel in a one-armed hug before kissing his girl’s cheek in a traditional French greeting. "The view is pretty great though."

You were already leaning on the glass partition, hands curled over the edge and undoubtedly leaving behind fingerprints on the pristine surface, completely unfazed by the fact that the other patrons were staring. You had eyes only for the London skyline and Trafalgar square lit up below. The bar with its white marble tabletops and strict dress code was absolutely not a place that you should be standing on your tiptoes for a better view, but there was no way he could condemn you when your face lit up like that.

Pierre just places a hand on the small of your back and shoots a look at the bartender currently glaring in your direction, daring the smartly dressed man to say anything. He only raises a brow and resumes filling drink orders.

"You guys know how to pick a place," you say, "I could stand here all night."

"Right," Daniel's girlfriend says, rolling her eyes at Pierre who shrugs as if to say what do you want me to do? He was powerless to deny you anything that brought you a semblance of joy; your smile was everything to him. “Love, why don’t you come tell us about uni? You’re the only one of us currently enrolled, and I’m sure the boys would love to hear about all the drama.”

You and Pierre share a secret grin. You shake your head but allow him to guide you back to the cocktail table. “Drama? I’m an engineering major. The closest thing we have to drama is someone grossly miscalculating a structural load.”

Dan shoots Pierre a mischievous grin. “I heard Stroll might be moving next year-”

Both you and Daniel’s girlfriend groan at the same time. “No racing talk when we’re around tonight,” she says. “I’ve heard enough lately.”

“What’s new in the publishing world?” You ask, leaning into Pierre when he wraps an arm around you. He only half listens to her explain the so-called “top secret” project she’s currently working on, instead opting to get drunk on you.

The light breeze filtering through the surrounding buildings ruffles your hair. You lift a hand absentmindedly to tuck it behind your ear in an attempt to keep it out of your face. Everything you do is amazing to him, snagging his attention even when he should be listening to whatever it was his friends were saying. Your gravity was simply too strong to bother resisting.

“Enough talk,” Daniel’s girlfriend says, waving a hand. “You need a drink, and I want to dance. Let’s go.” Before Pierre can protest, she’s dragging you away to the glass top bar. You throw an apologetic glance over your shoulder and Pierre just winks. He was fine watching you from afar for now.

Pierre’s gaze drops to your perky ass when you lean in to let the bartender know what you want, likely shouting to be heard over the music, your dress riding up a bit with the movement. For having such a strict dress code, this place sure did feel like an upper class club.

You hook your thumb over a shoulder, the bartender’s gaze darting to Pierre before the man nods. The only explanation you offer is a wink, followed by a note on a cocktail napkin and a beer delivered a few minutes later by a server.

This is supposed to be the best beer they have. Just try it.

Leave it to you to constantly push him outside his comfort zone. Pierre tentatively sniffs the foamy glass and shrugs before taking a sip. Not bad, but he still preferred his usual whiskey.

Setting the glass down, Pierre turns back to Daniel. “Congrats on extending your contract with McLaren by the way. Should give you a decent shot at keeping up with the big boys and landing some serious points.”

“Seems like most of us are moving around, doesn’t it? Sainz to Ferrari, Seb to Aston Martin... The only one with any sort of long term commitment is Max and now me I guess.”

“And Charles,” Pierre adds. “He’s stuck in that red monstrosity for the foreseeable future.”

Daniel laughs, taking a swig from his glass. “And you’re moving too, huh? Austria should be interesting,” Daniel remarks, watching the girls at the bar nursing their own drinks. “What with the news of your new contract breaking and all.”

“Potential contract,” Pierre corrects. “Not for sure yet.”

Daniel scoffs. “Come on mate. You won’t have any problem getting up to seventh by the end of the season. Perez is slipping and the news that his seat is in jeopardy will only help your cause.”

Pierre takes a sip of his amber beer and nods. “I’m sure Perez doesn’t appreciate it, but he’s always been a good sport.” You catch Pierre’s eye and lift your fresh flute of champagne in a mock salute. Dan’s girlfriend drags you out on the dancefloor and immediately spins you. Your laugh is nearly audible, the memory of it fresh in Pierre’s mind as he watches you.

“Mate, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel shakes his head and drains his drink. “I really don’t know how it took you two this long to come together. You’ve been dancing around each other for years but neither of you would admit it.”

“I could say the same about you two.”

Daniel shrugs. “Fair point. At least we got it all worked out in a weekend though.”

Pierre rolls his eyes and shoves his friend’s shoulder. “Whatever. Not all of us can have a perfect love story.”

The grin Daniel shoots Pierre is pure sunshine. “How long are you planning on waiting before you ask her to marry you?”

“What?” Pierre sputters, nearly choking on air. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Oh come on,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “We all know it’s coming eventually.”

Pierre would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But he wasn’t sure if it was the time for a proposal, not when you had just gotten back together. The last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of losing you again because he was too forward.

“One day at a time,” Pierre says finally, dragging himself back to earth. “I just got her back a few days ago. I don't want to scare her off by proposing just yet.”

“Right. Well you might want to get a ring on that hand sooner rather than later,” Daniel notes, gesturing to the two men who had approached the girls. “How long are we gonna let that go on before we step in?” Neither of you paid the men any attention, instead enjoying each other’s company, but the men’s eyes roaming over your body sets Pierre on edge.

“They can handle themselves,” Pierre remarks, shifting on his feet. The weak attempt at self assurance didn’t do much to negate the red tinting his vision. “They’re fine.”

“Her sharp tongue will hold them at bay,” Daniel says, winking at his girlfriend. “For a while at least.” Props to Daniel for possessing inhuman amounts of restraint, but Pierre’s muscles were coiled and ready to interject at the first sign of trouble.

He has to pause to remind himself he doesn't own you. You could make your own decisions about who you spoke with and who you entertained as long as he was the one to take you home. He didn't care if you wanted to flirt; he knew it meant nothing and if you got a free drink out if it then so be it. But those were the rules: flirting, no touching. He'd step in if need be if someone took it too far.

But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Pierre watches tight lipped as you politely chat with the man, your body language closed off and dismissive. Pierre hates that you even speak a word to him. He knows it shouldn’t bother him because he trusts you, but the stranger is a wild card. Pierre watches like a hawk as the man inches ever closer, slowly interesting himself into your personal space. He waits for you to take a step back, to grant him that silent permission to come over and insert himself in the conversation and get his hands on you, this proving you weren't on the market.

One of the men shouts something at you over the music and you leer back at him, clearly disgusted at whatever he had said. Whirling on him, you open your mouth, likely to snap out a profanity lined retort, when his hand latches onto your arm.

"Oh, fuck no."

Half a second later, Pierre is stalking across the dance floor, no thoughts other than teaching the asshole a lesson. His hands are already curled into fists, ready to swing if the man hadn't moved by the time he arrived. Tolerating someone hitting on you was one thing, but blatantly ignoring the clear dismissals and laying a hand on you? No way in hell was he standing by and letting that happen.

The resounding crack of your open hand hitting the man’s face has pride swelling in Pierre’s chest. That’s my girl. You’d solved the problem before he’d even arrived. You jab a finger in the man’s face, Daniel’s girlfriend right there with you to back you up.

“Fuck off,” you were saying as Pierre approached, “or do you need to go back to kindergarten and learn to keep your hands to yourself? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before laying a hand on a taken woman- or any woman, for that matter.”

Driving your point home, Pierre slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in until your back is flush to his chest. You crane your neck up, the tense muscles beneath his fingertips and the fury contorting your features confirming just how rattled you are.

The lines creasing your brow are soothed away when you realize who holds you. You open your mouth to say something but Pierre places a hand on your throat, thumb and forefinger framing your jaw as he cuts you off with a kiss, his eyes locked on the guy still standing off to the side holding his cheek.

You taste like the champagne you’d been sipping all night. It’s the only thought in his head outside of the jealousy licking through his veins like wildfire as he claims you then and there in front of the crowd. Mine, his heart sings. He flexes his fingers, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to slide his tongue against yours. Mine, mine, mine.

Pierre lets you be the one to break away, lips curling in a smug, kiss-swollen smile as you address the men. “In case you still don’t get the picture, I’m not interested. And neither is she.” You jerk your chin, indicating your friend and Daniel, who had indeed followed Pierre and since mirrored his possessive stance, one arm wrapped tightly around his own girlfriend.

The two men reluctantly slink away after mumbling something unintelligible but undoubtedly indecent. It had been a week and a half since he had been on track and he had plenty of pent up aggression to get out. He didn’t normally opt for using someone’s face as a punching back as a stress reliever, but rulers were made to be broken. Your hand splayed on Pierre’s chest is all that stops him from following and asking them to repeat themselves.

“Just let me hit him,” Pierre says, voice far more level and put together than he had expected it to be. “Just one punch. That’s all I would need.” His knuckles smart like he had already connected them to the man’s face.

“And let you throw away your contract? I don’t think so. The last thing you need is a blurry photo of you knocking someone’s teeth in hitting the front page of every gossip mag in the country. I’m fine, so you can cut the bravado.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“I was wondering how long you were gonna leave us out here,” you say, trying to regain Pierre’s attention. When it doesn’t work, you grasp his stubbled chin and force him to look at you. “I didn’t expect to be stranded for so long.”

The eye contact is what finally calms his racing thoughts. Seeing the trust reflected in your face is enough to have his grip on your waist loosening to allow you to face him. “Someone convinced me you could fend for yourself. And while it seems that’s true, I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Your satisfied hum is swallowed by the pounding bass but Pierre feels it rumble in his chest. “Sometimes even a queen needs saving.”

Though his point had long since been proven, Pierre’s hand slides down your back to rest on your ass nonetheless. “I knew you going out looking like this would cause trouble.”

You tip your head to the side, feigning innocence as you press your hips to his. You grin, noticing the hard on that had been bothering him all night. “Looking like what?”

“Drop dead fucking gorgeous,” he says, accentuating his point by sliding his hand up your thigh and under the hem of your dress. “You know I’m tearing this off you the second we get home, right?”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

The sound that escapes him is primal and possessive. The presence of bystanders does nothing to prevent him from palming your ass and kneading the flesh. He presses his lips to your neck and mumbles between kisses, “To torture me.”

You push lightly at his chest, laughing although your eyes dart around the space in search of cameras. Old habits were hard to break. “That may have been part of my motivation. But you’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen Dan in forever and I would actually like to have a conversation with him before we sneak off somewhere.”

At least you knew he wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to get between your legs. “Fine,” he grumbles, hands settling on your hips. “Only because I love you.”

You beam up at him. “Love you too.”

Arm still slung around your waist, Pierre nods at Daniel and follows the other couple back to the table.

After two more drinks, you and Daniel's girlfriend are singing along to the music in lilting, off key voices, simply enjoying the night air. A stray breeze catches your hair just as you turn to look at Pierre and his heart damn near leaps out of his chest.

To his credit, Pierre’s cheeks are rosy from more than just the charged glances you throw at him as the night wears on. He was on his fourth beer, far more than he usually drank these days, and the buzzing in his head was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. When he has to squint to tell the time on his watch, he figured that was enough.

"I should probably get going mate," Pierre says, turning to Daniel. "Early flight."

Daniel laughs and beacons for the girls. He kisses his girlfriend's cheek when she returns with you in tow. "Are we leaving already?" You pout, and Pierre had half a mind to stay simply have your smile make an encore appearance.

"Car coming," he murmurs, dipping his head to give you a proper kiss. God, you were stunning in that dress- he might not be able to string together words coherently, but he knew that much.

"Fine." You cross your arms for a split second to convey your feelings on the matter before wrapping your friends in a hug and saying your goodbyes.

Pierre's hand is already on your ass before you're in the uber. Get a few drinks in the boy and he let his guard down. You laugh and pull out of his embrace to usher him into the sleek black suv. If he had been coherent, he probably would have chatted with the driver about the specs of the engine or maybe even racing if he was a fan. Instead the ride is filled with stolen touches and sloppy, wet kisses to your neck.

"I can't wait till we're home," he mumbles. "You're gorgeous. How did I snag you? You're so far out of my league. No way should you be with me."

"I have a thing for guys that go fast in circles on the weekends."

"Really?" Pierre frowns. "Should I be worried?"

"No. You're the only one I have eyes for." His head is fuzzier than when you left the bar but your laugh breaks through, his stomach flipping at the melody of it. "And we are home."

Pierre blinks, realizing he does indeed stand in your kitchen, with no recollection of climbing the three flights of stairs between the street and your flat. "Oh. When did that happen?"

"After I half dragged you up the stairs." You bend over to undo the straps of your heels, giving him the perfect view. He lets out a whistle that ends in a hiccup.

"Take me to bed, lover," he says in what he thinks is a husky voice. It should be impossible for you to resist.

You roll your eyes and wrap an arm around his middle. "That's the plan. I'll take you to bed, strip you out of that sweater, and you'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow."

"Nnnnnno," he protests, hand sliding down your exposed back to settle at the base of your spine. "I wanna make the most of tonight. I leave tomorrow."

"You don't leave until noon," you point out. "Plenty of time to nurse your hangover and have fun before then, after you drink some water and get some sleep."

"But baby-"

"No buts. Do as I say or I'll send you off tomorrow without a goodbye kiss."

Even in his half drunken state he knew it was a swiss cheese lie, spotted with holes and completely stale. You'd never let him leave without a kiss goodbye because neither of you knew if it would be the last time. He was a race car driver after all, and that came with risks.

But he sighs anyways and slips off the cream sweater, letting it fall to the floor. At least one of you kept their promises.

After confirming he was settled into bed, you retreat to the bathroom. His heart aches at the absence, even though you're mere feet away with nothing but a thin door separating the two of you. He registers the sound of the tap turning on and your soft, off key humming of the last song he remembered hearing before getting out of the uber.

"Mon amour," he croons when you re-emerge in a set of silk pajamas. He reaches out his hands for you and you slide under the covers, immediately slotting your body against his. A leg hitches over his hip, tugging him closer until your middles touch.

"Mmm," he mumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "Je t'aime. Tu es l'amour de ma vie et nous vivons d'amour et d'eau fraîche."

"I have no idea what you're saying," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "But I like it. Feel free to keep going."

"Tes baisers sont du feu et je fond à ton toucher." He presses his lips to your neck before resuming his mumbled French. "Je pense toujours à toi. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Tu as mon cœur et je ne voudrais pas qu'il en soit autrement."

"I like the sound of that." You press a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead. God, that tenderness was why he loved you. That, and your personality, and your eyes, and your… everything. "Dormir, my love. I'll be here to listen to your pretty words in the morning."

The single word of his mother tongue on your lips has him smiling. "Oui, tu le feras. Parce que tu es à moi et je suis à toi."

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verai-marcel · 3 years

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Of Dragons and Love (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Arthur didn't want to come to Strawberry, didn't want to help a certain sniveling rat escape his cell. So he decides to explore the town instead and runs into a mysterious woman whom he can't let go.

Author’s Notes: I’m gonna take a moment and lean hard on my heritage to pull some inspiration from an old Cantonese opera. And we're gonna leave Micah in his cell because nuts to that guy. So pretend this takes place in chapter two when Arthur was supposed to go rescue him, but decided to do a side quest instead. This was written for the RDR Mini Bang! @rdrbigbang

Tags: Arthur x F!Reader, spoilers, Chinese mythology-inspired, alternate timeline, mild exophilia, insta-love, magic, smut, HEA

Word Count: 6,378

Accompanying Artwork: @danger-r-98-5 has made some wonderful art for this fic!

AO3 Link is here.

--------------------

Arthur stepped into the small town of Strawberry and immediately wanted to turn around. He could pretend Micah was dead. He could just bide his time and wait for him to hang.

As he rode through the small town, he passed the small jail and kept going to the visitor's center. Seeing the map of the nearby area tacked onto the wall next to the entrance, he hitched his horse and walked over to take a better look.

"Welcome to Strawberry, good sir!"

Arthur flicked a tired glance at the boisterous man before continuing his casual perusal of the map, waiting to see if he would leave. When the man remained beside him, he sighed, exasperated.

"Hullo," he said without looking at the other man.

"Are you here for business or pleasure?"

"Uh, just passin' through." It sure as hell wasn't for pleasure, and his business was his own.

"Ah, I see. Well, please keep us in mind if you ever want to spend a day relaxing in our lovely town. This hotel is the coziest in West Elizabeth," the man boasted, gesturing behind him. "And the scenic Mount Shann and Owanjila Dam aren't too far from here."

"Alright."

"And Big Valley, just past the mountains, is a beautiful place to hunt and camp."

"Uh huh."

When Arthur continued to look at the map without any further inclination towards interacting with him, the man gave up on his sales pitch. "Well, I'll be inside if you have any questions."

"Ayup."

Finally alone, Arthur focused on the path that would take him to Owanjila. He'd been meaning to do a bit of fishing and commune with nature. Seemed like as good a place as any.

Anything to postpone the reason he came here.

***

You weren't sure how you lived so long, not knowing what you were. You had been living with your mother for two decades, not knowing who your father was. Your mother didn't talk about him, and the one time you asked, she had simply said one thing.

"He disappeared."

You didn't know what that meant exactly, and she did not explain.

Until one day, on your twentieth birthday, he appeared. A large, scary looking man came to your door. Your mother paled and tried not to react, but when he held out a necklace and told her how sorry he was for leaving her alone, she broke down and cried.

You found out that when she was young, your mother lived in a small house by a waterfall that fed a large lake. There was a growing town not too far from there, where she worked as a waitress.

One day, on the other side of the lake, a group of Chinese workers made camp as they worked on the railway that was coming through town. They were not welcomed in the town by most people, but your mother took pity on them and sold them food and other groceries, for a delivery fee.

Somehow, your father had caught her eye, and they developed a secret relationship. When her parents discovered the love letter your father had written to your mother, she was kicked out of the house, without anything of hers to take with her. When your mother had gone to the camp to look for your father, it had been abandoned, the workers having left hours earlier to the next site.

Broken hearted, your mother had thrown the necklace he had gifted her into the lake and left town, moving to Strawberry and giving birth to you. You had grown up here, made friends, had a few short dalliances with boys here while you grew up.

Strawberry was a small town, but there was a creek running through it, and when you had free time, which was not often these days, you loved to follow the creek to a waterfall and watch the water. You always felt an affinity with the water, felt like it always pulled at your very soul. You had learned how to swim with ease; your mother had said you were like a fish.

Your father explained why he had left, and why he had finally come back.

"I am a Dragon," he had said. "Great-great grand-nephew of the Dragon King of the North Sea."

He was an immortal creature, drawn to the belief of his people in a foreign land, looking for something to comfort them while they worked in dangerous conditions to make money to send home to their families. He protected them, guided them, and thus, had to follow where they went. When the camp left suddenly, he had no time to say goodbye and was nearly dragged away, the pull of his people’s belief taking him with them.

But now he was free, his people having finished their jobs. They had dispersed, either leaving for China or moving to San Francisco, where other Dragon Gods held domain and took over the belief of his former followers. So he started looking for his long lost love, who still cared for him deep in her heart, and traced the thread of emotion leading back to her.

He promised to take care of you and your mother from now on, and he made good on his promise. For the past five years, he had worked alongside the two of you, making your small farm plot healthy and fertile.

It helped that he could make the sky rain whenever you needed it.

He had also trained you in your small powers. Because you had been untrained for so long, your powers were weak, but over time, and with practice, they grew steadily stronger. You could breathe underwater. You could swim faster than humanly possible. And while you couldn't transform into a dragon, your hair became teal and your skin could shift into a bluish-grey tint. It was a bit unsettling the first time you did it in the mirror.

But your most favorite power of all was the ability to shape nearby water to your will. At first, you could only move a small amount of water in a mug. But over time, you could move water in pitchers, basins, buckets, barrels, and even water troughs for animals.

At this point, if you entered a pond, you could easily create ripples and small waves just by focusing on your energy and sending it outwards from you.

Five years had passed since he had come back, and you had learned so much. Your life was so peaceful now that it came as no surprise when your parents announced that they wanted to move back to their hometown. Of course something had to change; that was the only constant in life, after all.

But you didn’t want to leave. You loved Strawberry. This was your home.

Your father had let out a breath, then smiled, much to your surprise.

“Owanjila does not have a spirit to guard it, since it’s a new body of water. Perhaps… you can become its guardian.”

“But I’m half-human,” you had said.

“So is Owanjila,” he said.

You nodded and smiled. Now you knew why he had been training you so hard all these years.

***

Arthur was pleasantly relaxed for the first time in a long time. He had spent all day fishing and gathering herbs after he set up a small campsite tucked away in the thicker part of the forest. It was quiet on this side of the lake, since all the travelers would go across the dam to take in the scenery. He was glad he picked a spot that was farthest from, for he didn’t have the energy to even say hello.

With a couple of large fish, he made his way back to his campsite, cooked up a fine meal with his freshly picked herbs, and spent some time writing and drawing before looking up at the stars before he fell asleep, the campfire quietly dying as his snores melded with the rest of the night.

***

It had been three months since your parents had left you here. They had sold the small farm and used the money to help you fix up a small abandoned fishing cabin out here on the far side of the lake, where you could hunt and gather on your own, trading furs and fish in town. Ever since you had become the guardian, the fish had spawned much more frequently and grew faster than normal, keeping you well fed. You figured it was a side-effect of the lake having a guardian spirit now.

You looked at your hands; yesterday, you had tripped on a step as you walked back from town, getting some small cuts on the palms of your hands as they had scraped against the gravel. Today, they had healed so quickly that there were no scars; you had never healed so quickly before. You wondered if your powers were growing and had walked into town earlier today to send a letter to your folks, letting them know what had happened.

It was late; the moon was high in the sky, and as bright as the electric lights in St Denis. You were roused from your sleep by the pull of the moon, and knew that it was time.

You took off your clothes and set them on your front porch. Walking to the water’s edge, you slipped into the water without a sound, the liquid embracing you as if you were an old friend.

“Hello, Owanjila,” you whispered as you walked deeper and deeper until you were completely submerged. Then you transformed, your skin turning bluish-grey, your hair shifting to a beautiful teal, and your gills appearing near your collarbone. You kicked your legs and swam gracefully through the water, spinning and twirling as you joyfully moved through the water as easily as you could walk on land.

Once you reached the middle of the lake, you bolted upwards, your legs kicking in unison with such speed and power that you broke the surface easily, your body shooting into the air. You let out a whoop of excitement, for it was only during full moons that you could fly this high out of the water; you had certainly tried other times. For a moment, the starry sky and the bright moon seemed impossibly close, and you held out your hands as if you could gather them all up and hold them tight forever.

Flipping backwards, you extended your hands in front of you and dove back into the water with barely a splash.

***

“Huh, whuzzah,” Arthur muttered as he was jolted awake by the sound of someone yelling. Immediately on alert, Arthur reached for his pistol and carefully made his way out of the tent, looking around. Seeing nothing but trees and rocks after circling his campsite twice, he was about to go back into his tent.

Another yell echoed through the trees. It didn’t sound like anyone in danger, more like… elation?

His curiosity piqued, he quietly made his way towards the lake, following the sounds of the water sloshing around as if someone was swimming. Coming to the shoreline, he saw the full moon, reflected in the water, with ripples circling from the center of the reflection.

Unable to stop himself, Arthur found a nearby rock and climbed it to better see the center of the lake. Squatting down, he peered out at the water.

Something shot out of the water at breakneck speed, surprising him enough that he fell onto his ass.

For a split second, he saw everything clearly.

He saw her nude form, water glistening off her skin, the moon bathing her in a silvery light. He saw the look of ecstasy on her face as she looked up at the moon.

He saw her eyes as they met his.

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.

Then she was gone, diving back into the water like an arrow, hardly disturbing the surface.

Sitting up, he crawled to the edge of the rock and peered at the spot, waiting for her to return. Part of him wondered if he had imagined it, and part of him hoped she was real. He had felt like he had seen something so evanescently ephemeral that his heart fluttered like a child seeing fireworks. He wanted to experience that sparkling feeling again and again.

When his knees ached and his joints complained, he finally gave up, climbed off the rock, and returned to his tent. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but it didn’t come quickly as his heart continued to race. When he finally managed to nod off, his dreams were filled with a mysterious woman with an expression so filled with euphoria that he could almost taste her joy.

***

You were mortified. A man was camping around your lake and you hadn’t noticed? Granted, you were in town most of the day trying to sell some rabbit pelts, and then you had written your letter at the post office since you had run out of ink and bought some at the general store and didn’t want to walk all the way back to your cabin.

But still, you hadn’t noticed. You supposed it was because he had no ill intent. It wasn’t that you could sense people, that wasn’t how your power worked; it was more you could feel out harmful intentions. People who came and went on the dam were usually harmless tourists and you took no notice of them. But occasionally that greedy mayor would come up here and consider building some cheap cabins out on the lake as tourist traps, and you would cause the lake to be extra choppy that day, splashing water on him if you were nearby. It was usually enough to change his mind.

You stayed at the bottom of the lake, waiting long enough before you slowly swam up again, moving towards the edge of the lake before you poked your head up from the water.

He was gone.

You sighed in relief and swam back to your cabin, looking around once more before getting out and back onto your porch. Grabbing your clothes, you got inside and dried off, thinking of the man’s shocked expression.

But what came to your mind most of all was that in the moonlight, you had managed to make eye contact. In that moment, your heart had pounded like you had seen something beautiful.

Despite your embarrassment at being caught naked and in your half-dragon form, you wanted to see him in the daylight. You wanted to find out who he was, and why your heart had finally moved after all these years.

***

Arthur came out of his tent, bleary eyed as he yawned. He hadn’t gotten a whole lot of sleep, but he was, for better or for worse, used to it. The sound of a crackling of a fire and the sight of a figure sitting with their back turned was also something he was used to.

Until he realized that the fire had gone out last night and he had come to this place alone. Reaching for his pistol, he stopped when he heard her speak.

“I mean you no harm.”

Arthur, suspicious, for people who had said that to him before often would turn around and shoot him, put a hand on his pistol, but left it in its holster. Coming out of his tent and rising to his full height, he walked around to face the woman at his campfire.

When she looked up at him, he felt like he was hit with an arrow.

Those same eyes from last night met his, and he felt like the whole world slowed and became silent. All he saw was her, and he didn’t care about anything else.

***

His eyes were beautiful, like gemstones sparkling in the morning light. His hair was tousled from sleep, but it made you think of him in bed next to you. You swallowed. Why were you thinking of waking up next to him? You barely knew him!

But you couldn’t ignore the heat in your veins as your eyes traveled down his body. His very tall, muscular body. Oh gods, you felt your heartbeat quicken as you suddenly had a mental image of him climbing over you, his naked body above yours, his big hands holding your hips as he thrust—

“Can I help you, miss?” the man finally asked, his voice rough from sleep. His voice was like whiskey, flowing smoothly over your body and making you burn with need. He swallowed, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat. Oh, to lick that sun-kissed skin…

You shook your head, both in answer to him and to clear the lustful images from your head. “I’m alright, I just wanted to share your campfire.”

***

“Oh?” Arthur asked, sitting down beside her to hide his body’s reaction to meeting her eyes. When he had met her gaze, he was hit hard with desire, the sudden image of her beneath him, legs spread, her expression of ecstasy for him and him alone.

For a brief moment, he wanted to take her, to guide her to the ground and thrust wildly inside of her like an animal.

But instead he reeled himself in; he wasn’t that kind of man. He didn’t even know why he had such a visceral reaction to her. All he knew was that she was sitting here with him now, and she was beautiful. When she turned away, he felt like he was suddenly lost, and wished for her to look at him once more with those mysterious eyes. He observed her as she poked the fire with a stick, wondering what she was thinking.

“So, uh, you live around here?” he asked, berating himself immediately for such an awkward question.

“I do, just down the shoreline,” she replied.

“Oh.”

She turned to meet his gaze, and he felt it once more. A pull, stronger than any he had ever known, as if she was hypnotizing him with just one look. Unable to stop himself, he leaned in closer, her lips beckoning him.

“What are you doing?” she asked curiously.

The spell broken, Arthur quickly leaned back and sputtered, “I, uh, I don’t know, to be honest.”

The woman smiled at him, and he felt his entire world light up with fireworks.

“What’s your name?”

“Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur.”

She told him her name, and he repeated it just so he could say it out loud. He loved the way her name rolled off his tongue. He had shivered with desire from the way she had said her name.

“So you saw me last night,” she said after a few moments.

He smiled nervously as guilt wracked him. “Uh, yup. I’m sorry, I didn’ mean to peek.”

“It’s alright, I should’ve been more careful,” she said, a wry grin on her face. “Usually no one camps here.”

Silence stretched between them as Arthur wondered what he should say, if anything.

She brought up her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “And there’s not much to look at anyway,” she said self-deprecatingly.

“You were beautiful,” he blurted out suddenly. He couldn’t believe she’d think that. He wanted to burn the sight of her coming out of the water into his memories so he’d never forget.

She turned her head to look at him, and he felt the pull once more, but it was tinged with melancholy. It made his heart clench. He reached out and put an arm around her, pulling her into his chest, desperate to ease the pain. “Yer beautiful,” he repeated.

***

Surrounded by warmth, you sank into his chest and breathed in his scent. His natural musk, layered with balsam and leather, was soothing to you, made you feel safe and protected. No other man had affected you like this. Was this how your parents had fallen for each other? Was it an instant attraction?

You had been taught to follow your instincts, and something about this man made you want to keep him forever. To hold him tight and never let him go.

So you reached back out to him, wrapping your arms around his broad torso. Looking up at him, meeting his surprised expression, you leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were chapped but pliable as you pushed forward, pressing your body against his.

You were met with a startled grunt. He let you go and backed away, like a shy lady from an all too amorous man.

“Y-you barely know me,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Sorry,” you said, shrinking back on yourself. Maybe you misread him, maybe he was just saying you were beautiful to make you feel better. Maybe you were just lonely and wanted to connect with him, the first man who had made you feel something in years.

“Look,” he said, leaning forward again, “it’s not that I don’t want to, I just think, well, maybe we git to know each other a bit more first before, uh, well…” He trailed off, gesturing blandly.

You laughed. Of course. He was shy. Standing up, you reached out to him. “Will you stay a while? My cabin is small but it’ll protect you from the elements better than your tent. And it’ll be warmer at night too.”

Arthur stared at your hand for a moment before standing up on his own. “Alright. I’ll pack up first.”

***

Arthur wasn’t sure how he was convinced to stay in a cabin with a woman he hardly knew, but every time he met her eyes, everything else fell away and all he wanted was to be with her.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, maybe a few days, maybe weeks. But he had never been so content to just fish and hunt and spend time with his sweet lady. He learned about her parents, who had been small-time farmers near Strawberry before they moved to her mother’s hometown, leaving her to live on her own. When he had asked why, she had said it was because she loved it here and didn’t want to leave.

He understood why; after the first few days of just roaming the land, living off its bounty, he was quite content to just stay and forget his troubles. She would go into town and sell his furs and pelts, and when he wasn’t hunting, he would help upgrade her little cabin, fixing up small things here and there to make her more comfortable.

He had insisted on sleeping on his bedroll on the floor beside her bed, at least for now. He felt like he was working up the courage to bed her, even though she clearly had given him an open invitation to her bed.

Every night he thought about it.

And every night, he trudged to his bedroll and slept beside her bed like a faithful pet dog.

***

14 days had passed. The new moon would be out tonight, and you were itching to go for a swim.

But with Arthur here, you hesitated. He had seen you that first night, sure. But he hadn’t seen you clearly. He hadn’t seen your skin and hair color change, your gills at your collarbone, your preternaturally fast swimming.

As you stood at the end of your little fishing dock that was connected to the porch of your cabin, you sighed. Watching the setting sun streak its beautiful orange rays across the water, you internally debated if you should show him so you could freely act as the guardian once more. You had been feeling stifled as of late, only able to use your powers while he was out hunting, and only in secret in case he might come out of the forest at any given time.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?”

You smiled. He had started calling you his darling or his sweetheart after a week of gentle caresses as he walked by, or even a casual kiss on the cheek as you went into town on an errand. No matter how much he said it, you melted every time. It was endearing and charming to you, even though they were simple words. The way he said them, the love and care he put into those pet names, was everything you wanted to hear.

Turning to Arthur, you saw that he was dressed in his usual blue shirt and black ranch pants, looking concerned. Seeing the care he had for your well-being made you come to a decision. He deserved the truth of you.

“I need to show you something.”

***

Arthur swallowed as his sweet lady began to disrobe right there on the dock. He was shocked to a standstill, unable to move as he saw every inch of beautiful skin exposed to his view. His pants grew tight, his throat dry, and his internal instinct to protect surged through him.

“Darlin’, what’re you…”

He couldn’t utter another sound as he watched her usual skin shimmer and then shift to a blue-grey tint. Her hair became teal colored, and slits appeared above her collarbone.

“Gills,” she said as she pointed at them, shrugging shyly. “I’m a dragon spirit. Or half of one.”

Arthur could only nod in both shock and awe. He had suspected she was hiding something, but he would have never guessed it was something like this. He took in her form, human and yet not, familiar and yet bizarre. But still beautiful, wonderful, her.

“Do… do I disgust you?”

“No!” Arthur said, quickly taking two steps to stand in front of her. “Yer still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

Seeing her smile shyly and look away, his need to assure her only grew stronger. “That why you could swim so good?” he asked, reaching up to caress her neck, right above her gills.

She nodded again.

“What’d you mean by half?” he asked, curious.

“My father, he was a dragon, the great-great grand nephew of the Dragon King of the North Sea.”

Arthur nodded. “Oh. Okay then.” He didn’t understand what that meant, but it sounded a bit important.

She tittered. “I don’t really know how important that is either,” she said, answering the unspoken question. “But I can swim real fast, breathe underwater, and I can control water a little bit,” she said, her excitement growing with each word. She turned to the water and put out her hand.

Ripples started to appear, and they grew into small waves, rolling across the surface of the lake.

She turned back to him, a happy glow to her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re not disgusted by me.”

“I’d never be,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. His gaze traveled along her face, admiring her hair color, her bluish-grey skin, and the gills at her neck, before looking at her smile, full of self-confidence. She was radiant and it made her all the more alluring.

“You’re beautiful, no matter what.”

***

This time when you kissed Arthur, he kissed you back, unafraid, bold, confident. He quickly took over, his fingers gripping the back of your head as he pulled your body closer to his. You felt the rough fabric of his shirt sliding along your sensitive nipples and moaned softly.

He suddenly wrapped one arm around your waist and one around your ass before picking you up with ease.

“I need you darlin’,” he murmured before turning from the dock and walking determinedly towards your cabin. He maneuvered you inside and shut the door, not wanting any interruptions. Laying you down on the bed, he stepped away to light the lantern before returning to you, taking off his hat and flinging it aside.

You shifted back to your human colors, your gills disappearing.

“Yer magical,” Arthur whispered before resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, a wry grin on his face. You kissed him back, smiling in return, acknowledging his silly word choice and accepting his sentiment for what it was: a compliment. He shared your gaze for a few moments before kissing you back as he unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it open while he climbed over you. You could feel his impatience as he pressed his bare chest against yours, his kisses heating up and becoming demanding.

“Arthur,” you breathed as he moved down to kiss your neck, his lips tracing lines where your gills had been.

“Why’d I wait this long,” he muttered, mostly to himself, as he ran his fingers from your hip up your belly. His touch was feather-light, almost ticklish as he skimmed the underside of your breast before tracing circles around your areola.

You writhed, whimpering softly. He looked at you, keeping his gaze locked with yours as he leaned down and took your nipple into his mouth.

"Oh, yes," you moaned as his tongue played with you, distracting you just long enough for his other hand to caress the inside of your thighs. You parted your legs eagerly.

You felt Arthur smile against your skin before he switched to your other breast, giving you the same pleasure as his hand slid between your legs, his fingers exploring your slit.

"This honey fer me, darlin'?" he asked in a low, husky voice.

"All for you," you whispered.

He let out a soft growl of satisfaction before dipping a finger inside of you. Your hips lifted up towards his touch. Moving away from your breast, he kissed his way up your neck, to your cheeks, then to your lips once more. He took his time tasting you, his tongue languidly caressing yours as his fingers delved inside of you, his thumb brushing against your bud, each stroke driving you higher and higher towards your peak that was approaching rapidly.

You moaned his name, muffled as it was by his mouth on yours. He growled in return, pumping his fingers faster, his thumb stroking you with determination.

"Ah, ah, Arthur!" you cried out as you climaxed. As you felt the pleasure zip through your veins, you buzzed with power for a moment before it faded.

You didn't have time to think about it, for Arthur climbed off the bed and took off the rest of his clothes. He was such a big man, with muscles from hard work, scars from a rough life, and a dangerous grace to him. He had power and knew how to use it.

And right now, he wanted to make you release over and over again.

He climbed over you, just like in your fantasies, and spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist. Taking his hard length in his hand, he slid the tip around your entrance, slicking himself up as he watched you tremble beneath him.

"You sure 'bout this, darlin'?" he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice, as if he was holding back. He didn't stop sliding the head of his cock along your slit, up and down in a slow rhythm.

"Yes, yes please Arthur, just take me!" you begged. He was driving you mad with his gentle strokes. You lifted your hips up, causing the tip of him to slip inside.

"So needy, sweet girl," he crooned before he pushed forward, driving himself deeper inside of you.

You writhed and winced as your body stretched around his girth. He was sweating, holding himself steady as he waited for you to regain your breath before inching forward some more. Patiently, Arthur watched your every reaction, taking great care to control his movements until his hips finally came flush with yours.

He murmured your name, his lips brushing against yours before he kissed you. His hands cradled your face as he grinded against you, the heat of his body warming you up like a thick quilt. Deepening the kiss, he angled your head so he could devour you. A low moan escaped him as his hips shifted, building a steady rhythm of short thrusts.

"More, Arthur," you said when he finally let you take a breath.

"I'll give you whatever you need," he replied before lifting himself up, letting the cool air touch your body. He pulled his cock out almost all the way and waited for an eternal moment while he stared into your eyes, the lust blowing out his pupils.

Then he slammed back inside of you.

Your pleasure-filled yell was stopped short by Arthur's swift uptick in pace. He was hammering his cock inside of your tight, wet channel, and he couldn't get enough. Not saying a word, he only moaned and panted as he drove into you relentlessly, taking just a split second to adjust his angle before continuing.

"So good," he moaned before he got up onto his haunches, taking your hips in his big hands, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fucked you like a man possessed. He growled, a feral sound of pleasure, before he reached down and stroked your clit.

"Need… to… see… you… let go…" he panted.

You tightened your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts with your own enthusiastic motions, reaching for your breasts and playing with your nipples before him.

"Oh darlin', you look so pretty like that," he grit out, his face contorted in an effort to control his desires. He was so close. So very close.

"Give me everything!" you gasped, your body shaking, on the edge of a precipice so high that you almost felt fear.

Feeling your body grip him so tightly, Arthur let out a passionate shout before he spilled inside of you. His eyes were wild as he stared at you, his mouth open as he drew in breath after ragged breath. He moaned as he thrust one last time before crushing his hips to yours, keeping his shaft inside of you for as long as possible.

As he spent himself inside of you, you felt your core suddenly overflow with ecstasy, your body shuddering as you came around his thick cock. At the same time, your power unleashed, making your body glow a bluish hue.

"Darlin'!?" Arthur panicked, sounding winded, his brow creased with worry.

The power that had unlocked within you gave your vision a strange overlay of colors. And within the warm orange glow of Arthur was a black cloud in his chest. You reached out through the haze of your afterglow and pulled at it.

He gasped and coughed.

You pulled again. Now that you had touched it, you knew it was bad. It needed to get out of his system before it did permanent damage.

Arthur grasped his chest. "What…" he trailed off as he coughed a few more times before you managed to heave out the black cloud from his lungs. You quickly quashed it in your hands.

Looking up at him, you put your hands on his cheeks and kissed him, pouring the last of the glowing power inside of him. On some instinctual level, you knew you had healed him of something. Whether it was an old lingering illness or a new one that was just about to form, it was now gone from his system.

When you finally pulled away, Arthur looked bewildered. For a few seconds, or a few minutes, you weren’t sure how slow or fast time was flowing, the two of you could only stare at each other, lost in that foggy place between dreams and reality.

"What'd you pull outta me?" Arthur finally asked, still a little breathless.

"Something bad. An illness, I think,” you replied. You took a deep breath before squeezing his hand. “Whatever it was, it will no longer hurt you."

Arthur smiled and pressed his forehead against yours. "Thank you, sweetheart."

***

Arthur left a day later, telling you that he'd be back once he had taken care of some people.

You didn't see him for a long time.

Four months passed before you saw him again. He looked ragged, skinnier, as if he had been through hell and back. But when he saw you, he rushed over and fell into your arms, holding you tight as if you were the only real thing in his world.

***

He told you everything. He confessed that he had been the one to help that criminal escape and shot up the town. That he had been chased all over three states with his gang. That he had stolen money from several trains. That he had been on a ship that had sunk and was stranded on an island for days before finding a way back.

He told you about John. He told you about how he had helped him escape the Pinkertons, had ran with him all the way down the mountain before telling him where to meet his family. Then Arthur had set off, the long way around through the wilds of Ambarino so he could lose the men who were chasing him, just so he could get safely back to you.

You saw now that his eyes were unclouded, having seen his world for what it was. You saw pain and regret in his eyes, but you also saw understanding and a clarity that was not there before. He appeared to have finally found wisdom at a heavy price.

After he had told you everything, you cooked him a meal of steamed fish and herbs. He ate quietly, as if his confession had stolen all of his words from him.

He finished his meal and sat in silence for a few minutes before looking towards you. "I ain't a good man—"

You shushed him. "You are more good than not, Arthur," you said. "We all make mistakes. You were just trying to do your best. That's all any of us can do."

Reaching for his hand across the table, you grasped it and pulled it to your chest, placing it over your heart. "Will you stay?"

Arthur smiled hesitantly. "You… still want me?"

You stood up and leaned across the table to kiss him. "I'll always want you, Arthur. I love you."

He kissed you back. When he looked at you, his gaze full of gratitude. "I love you too, my sweet darlin'. Thank you fer believin' in me."

--------------------

End Notes: I had to end it on a sappy note, of course. Hope you enjoyed that little romp with some folklore!

#rdrbigbang2021 #arthur x F!reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #rdr2 #fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic

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fandomout · 3 years

Text

Neville Longbottom X Reader

One day in class, Professor Sprout had motioned you over at the end of class.

“Evening Y/N.”

“Evening Professor Sprout.”

“I called you over here because your grade is suffering. You just aren’t doing so well this year. You’ve been a bit preoccupied?”

“You could say that. Your right. I should pay more attention and try harder.”

“I like that attitude. That’s why I will be putting you with my best student.”

“Wait, you mean, Nev-”

“Yes. Neville. I have arranged for you two to come here at the end of you classes today, so you can catch up a bit.” You simply nodded and headed out of the classroom unsure of how to feel about the situation. You didn’t dislike Neville. You actually thought he was really nice and seemed like a decent person, but you also didn’t know what to make of him. He was the center of sprinkles of chaos. He always managed to end up in terrible situations. In all the times you’ve ever talked to him, he hardly said a word, or he’d end up talking about class, which would make you think it's hard to get to know him. It is; however, through observation you came to realize he’s reserved, kind, smart, and shy. After countless attempts at friendship, you gave up as you thought it was pointless. You decided to just not put anymore thought into it since it probably wouldn’t do much good.

Later that week, after all of your classes had finished, you and Neville met in private. Professor sprout expressed her utmost faith and trust in both of you , especially since she believed Neville was so familiar with everything. As you and Neville were left alone, you waited for him to say something. After a minute, you decided that wasn’t the right way to go.

“Neville, how do you want to do this?”

“Uh...Well, what don’t you know?”

“Uh...I don’t know.”

“Do you remember the past few lessons?” You let out a sheepish laugh and shook your head and answered, “No...”

“What do you remember?”

“I think I left off on our lesson about that one weed that gives you gills or something like that.”

“Gillyweed.”

“That’s the one.” You smiled at him. He seemed to avert his eyes immediately from you and answered, “That helps.” He walks over to one of the shelves wordlessly and presents a few herbs you didn’t recognize. He began to state their name and uses and quiz you on it throughout. This went on for two weeks, which allowed you to get closer to him as he got more comfortable. He’d mention a hobby here or an incident there. You were starting to be thankful for not getting a good grade in case since it allowed you this rare oddity of time with Neville. He was a lot different from the students and friends you’d come across. Thus, after getting better in herbology, you decided to just study with him as you were worried that without the tutoring that he’d stop having contact with you again. Along with this new hint of friendship to look forward to, you started to get love letters. They appeared a few weeks after the tutoring thing. At first you were unsure of what to make of the sweet words. Quickly, after receiving a second one, you started looking forward to them. Sadly, you were unable to find the secret admirer in the past few weeks as there was no pattern to be found from the fact that the letters came at random times of the week, sometimes more than three. In the morning, you had received one. It was earlier than usual for you, so you were taking your time reading out the words. You happened to be outside on the benches, big mistake. As more people began to crowd the courtyard, Fred and George were a pair of them as they snatched the note out of your hand. You let your things fall to the ground not caring where. You reached for the note, but their heights were at an advantage here. Not to mention, even if that weren't the case, they were casting spells to float the note back and forth, and you were caught in the middle.

“George-” You dash over to Fred. “Fred-” You dash back to George. ”Give it here, you nimwits!”

“Is that a love letter?” George taunts.

“You guys are gonna wreck it!” Fred lets out a small chuckle and begins to say , “We are not gonna-” You interrupt his words as you use a spell to interrupt their spell. The note flings downwards. All three of you are rushing for it. Fred and George get there before you. One of the twins uses a spell, but they trip and the spell ricochet and hits the letter. It rips in pieces. You rush over. The twins stand with a guilty expression. “Sorry, Y/N,” They both say.

You simply take the scattered pieces, get your now muddy books, and dart away from the vicinity. You find yourself in the garden area as the class wouldn't start for hours, and you just wanted to be alone. You start to cry a bit at the note and try to read it out. Suddenly, you hear a noise in the back. You walk over to see Neville organizing things. You wipe your eyes a bit.

“Sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here. I’ll go.” You say to him. You stop walking away as he says, “Why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing. I'm not crying. You are. I’ll go.”

“No. Stay.”

“I-”

“Just tell me. I won't say anything…”

“I know you won't...Find…” You pull out the shredded note and present it to him. “Just my letter….”

“What is it?” He stood up straighter with intrigue.

“Someone dear in my heart wrote this for me. They’ve written me= countless words. I was taking my time reading this one when Fred and George were messing with me and this happened. I can barely make it out.”

“But, I mean if you have so many others-”

“You might find the reasoning silly.”

“No. I won't.” He said dead serious, which almost made you laugh.

“It’s just. There’s this person that’s writing all this nice stuff about me. Making me feel good and warm in ways no one ever has. I cherish letters to begin with, but something about these...Anyway...One of them got ruined...I don't’ know I feel guilty…”

“Guilty?”

“I mean I would never treat these words without any respect or care because they do matter...Feeling anything less feels like a brutal or disservice to the secret admirer. I mean what if they found out about this...maybe they'd stop and think I’m not worth it...”

“You got all that from accidentally getting it torn?”

“Yeah….See? I knew you’d think it was silly.”

“It’s not!” He opened his eyes a little wider with a raised voice. He’d never pegged you as someone to ever really yell. He looked at you bug eyed and a little flustered. Fidgeting began. “It’s meaningful…“

You nod. “Yeah. you get it.”

“Let me see it.” You hand it over to him. He lays it on the table and tries to set it together.

“The letter reads, Dear Y/N, you’ve been shining a bit brighter these days. Of course, your natural glow is still nothing compared to a beautiful smile on your face. To see you happy, it makes me happy.” The last of the note seems to be covered in dirt; you can’t make anything out of it, so it surprises you that Neville keeps reading, “I know you're probably curious as to why I started writing these letters. The truth is, I’ve had thoughts like this before I started to do this. They were small thoughts as I saw your kindness and nature. As I hope you smile and are filled with warmth, I hope you stay that way until the next letter, so you can stay happy. From your Secret admirer.” As he read in a heartfelt and sincere manner, it felt like they were his words. You look at his expression, and he was tomato red. He was physically this way, despite his unwavering read? Suddenly, you think you realize something. You say, “Neville?”

“Yeah.” You grab his face with both hands. Since he starts to freak out, he rushes backward into the wall a little roughly. You don’t grab onto him again, but you take a step up to him.

He fidgets and asks, “What-What are you doing?”, uneasy.

“Are you my secret admirer?” His eyes leave yours immediately and he looks to the sky. “You are! You are!” You smile brightly at him

“No?” He answers, still not meeting eyes.

“Neville?” He swallows visibly. “Will you look at me?” He hesitantly meets your eyes. He sighs and speaks so lowly that you don't hear him. ”Sorry, Neville, you're going to have to repeat that.”

“You weren't supposed to find out. At least if you did, not-not like this...”

“Sorry?”

“I had some kind of plan.”

“Really?”

“You seem...Happy?”

“I really am. Did you not just hear what I said about the secret-What I said about your letters. How they made me feel? Now, that I know it’s you, I just feel a little bit happier than when I read the letters.”

“This is all wrong. I just didn’t plan for this…” He scratches at his head nervously.

“Well, that’s okay. I didn’t plan for this either. This doesn't have to be complicated Neville. You like me, and I like you, simple.”

“I-Wait, here.” You waited patiently. When he came back, he handed you an assortment of flowers.

“No one ever brought me flowers before….”

“Do you not like them?”

“...I love them, thank you.” You reached out to hug him, but you stopped yourself. “I assume you’d want to take things slow.”

“Yes…”

“Can we be together?”

“Yes.”

“Can I at least hold your hand as we head to class?”

“Not as we head to class. It would be a little odd.”

“What about for a few minutes now before we go to class?”

“That’s alright.”

“Yay!” You instantly grip his hand. However, you both notice how dirty your hands are by now. You from earlier, and him from the letter. He led you over to the sink.

“Why don’t we wash our hands? Your books are wrecked too. I’ll help.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to.” He gave a small smile, and you blushed at him. Maybe thanking Fred and George were in order since it led to this beautiful time.

Hope your day got a little better

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fluff #harry potter imagine #neville x reader #neville fluff #neville imagine #neville #neville longbottom #neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom x you #neville longbottom x reader #fluff #cute #imagine

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atmilliways · 3 years

Text

Dethentine’s Day 2

February 9th - In the Style of Disney/Studio Ghibli

Inspired by but not closely following The Little Mermaid. Charles is a merman, Nathan is a human, they... meet and stuff.

Blood Ocean

When it storms over the open sea, flashes of lightning illuminate the upper reaches of the depths in a pale facsimile of sunlight. It lasts for only an instant, and below the surface the sound of thunder feels like the impact of whale sonar. But when the lightning comes thick enough, it takes on the strobe effect of a stop-motion picture show.

A man falls into the water, followed by the downed mast of a wounded ship.

Impact.

The man is sinking faster than the debris around him, weighed down by his heavy boots and coat. He moves his limbs, but sluggishly. Too slow to make any difference, at the rate he's going.

Impact.

Tiny bubbles stream from the man’s mouth as he fights a losing battle to hold his breath. In the inky blackness below, just at the outside range of the storm’s light, something is beginning to dart upwards.

Impact.

The man is gone.

Charles doesn’t know what possessed him to do this. He hadn’t liked the Water God’s order to destroy any ships that ventured through their waters. That’s what the rest of the patrol are off doing, and tearing the throats out of any sailors trying to swim to safety besides—he can taste it in the water even at this distance.

But he swims on, balancing the necessity of speed with the difficulty of keeping an airtight seal between his mouth and the now-unconscious human’s, sharing oxygen and releasing the creature’s exhales through his gills. This one must have been smart enough to try and climb to safety, and fell with the mast when the ship finally capsized. If Charles hurries, he can throw the man up onto the nearest accessible bit of shore and race back before he’s missed.

The place he finds is rocky, but not so shallow that he can’t swim up to it or too steep that the human won’t be able to climb back to its people. Getting the man onto it takes some effort—he’s very broad, and overburdened with approximately the same amount of muscle as a blue whale. No wonder you nearly drowned, Charles thinks with an irritated frown, and gives one final heave—there, he’s up. Should be fine. The tide isn’t due to come in for another hour.

He prods him, just to make sure, with the heel of one hand. The human groans and coughs up sea water. Yeah, he’ll be just fine.

Suddenly a big hand closes around Charles’ wrist. “Hey,” the human he’s just rescued mumbles. “Hey, you . . . saved my life. . . .”

Charles feels his dorsal scales prickle in alarm. This isn’t good, the human wasn’t supposed to wake up. Humans aren’t supposed to know that merpeople exist, let alone go around thinking that they’re particularly friendly towards them. In spite of what Charles has just done, it wasn’t because he liked humans, it just . . . didn’t seem right, clawing holes in the bottoms of their ships as the Water God had ordered. It was like shooting birds in an air bubble.

“No, I didn’t,” he hisses, panicking and yanking his wrist free. “And, ah . . . don’t tell anyone about this!”

The surf is trying to push him past the rocks into tide pools but Charles kicks off hard, both hearts hammering and doesn’t slow down once he’s out over deeper water. He still feels a phantom of that hand on his wrist, and he doesn’t understand why any more than he knows why he saved the man in the first place.

He does not see the pale shape following at a distance.

It takes Nathan a while, but he does manage to make his way up the rocky incline. Doesn’t help that it’s February, and that between his already wet clothes and the rain he’s shaking almost too hard to stand by the time he reaches the nearest town, but still, he gets there.

No one believes him when he tries to explain how he survived the wreck.

He spends the next several days in bed, still shivering. From time to time he rambles about shapes in the water and being rescued by a man who had a tail in place of legs, and people are pretty nice about it but they clearly think he’s touched in the head. By the time the fever breaks even he isn’t sure if what he thinks he remembers is actually what happened.

Once he’s recovered enough to move on, Nathan decides to stay. It’s a nice enough town, and he’d been on that ship in the first place because he was leaving his parent’s home to find his place in the world. The town butcher needs an apprentice and has a room to rent above the butcher’s shop for cheap. He makes friends with the town drunk, who knows some guys who’re great on string instruments. They’re thinking of putting a band together. There are a lot of things that make hanging around worthwhile. . . . None of them are why he actually stays.

Every night, Nathan dreams of his mysterious rescuer. Of hazel eyes and a blur of skin and scales. Of a mouth on his, breathing life and a heavy taste of salt into him.

“‘Course ya dream about it,” Pickles tells him one night, when they’re both wasted past the point of Nathan being embarrassed talking about what might just be a vivid remnant of fever dream and possible head trauma. “Yer the sole survivor of that shipwreck, dood. If someone or something saved you, yer connected to it now. Gonna be until that debt is repaid. So, y’know, meybe that is why yer still here, yer all . . . connected to somethin’ by one’a those strings of fate or whatever.”

Nathan squints in conversation as he slowly absorbs this new idea. His hair falls across his face—it’s getting long, but it doesn’t bother him much so who knows when he’ll bother to cut it. “You mean like . . . an anchor?”

“Sure, either that’r survivor’s guilt.” Pickles shrugs, belches, and signals for the barman to bring them new pints. “I’d say it’s a fifty fifty chance that one’a those is true.”

That percolates in Nathan’s thoughts for a while, and in the meantime he finds himself picking his way back down to the rocky beach every day, rain or shine, and looking out across the water.

Where are you? Nathan wonders. What are you? It had spoken to him with the voice of a man, so it, he, obviously had some reason. Nathan wonders if he has a name, and if so, what it is.

He knows he’s obsessing. But if it’s fate or whatever, then what choice does he have?

Charles is going about his business, updating the abacai records for his patrol, when a great white behemoth of a merman crashes through the shell-curtain door of his office cave. Only a last minute dive saves him from being barreled into, but not before he gets a good look at the gnashing rows of teeth that belong to one of the Water God’s watchsharks. This one looks to be half Great White, and is wearing a misshapen piece of welded metal as a mask over the top half of his face.

Fuck. This is because of that damn human, he just knows it. He’d thought he’d been so careful, and in the days since nothing had happened, reinforcing his sense of relief. . . . until now.

The other merman has a crude knife, one of his own long teeth strapped to a handle with. After the first miss he turns—slowly, Charles notes—and lunges again.

Everyday patrol schools are usually only taught minimal hand-to-hand combat skills, focusing mainly on hunting outer ocean game, targeted destruction of ships, and techniques for drowning struggling humans. But Charles had mastered the latter skills years ago and had, out of boredom and perfectionism, made a thorough study of the former in his free time. It’s something his colleagues often tease him about.

Who’s laughing now?

He waits until the last second before darting to the right, counting on his own agility—and catches the arm with the knife, kicks into a spin, and pushes the razor-edged tooth into his attacker’s own side. The sand-rough skin scrapes at his palms, but if that puts any of his own blood in the water it’s definitely covered by the red gout billowing from the other merman, who Charles shoves ruthlessly into the wall before slipping out of the cave and swimming for his life.

Leaving as quick as a riptide, for Charles, isn’t simply a matter of skipping town. It’s not just that he left without any of his personal effects until all this blows over. He knows his absence will be quickly noticed, and that means goodbye career. Between that and the watchshark—who could be dead or could have survived, there’s no way to know now, but even a corpse would tell a damning story—it’s goodbye colony as well. If the Water God has it out for him, no one will dare to take him in, not in any colony. He’s completely alone.

Charles tries not to think about this, focusing instead on more immediate problems such as shelter and food. The further he gets from the colony’s heat vents, the colder the water becomes, so he’s forced to stick to the relative shallows along the coast, where there’s less chance of something spotting and ambushing him from below.

Where he’d left that human.

Somehow he proves harder to avoid thinking about than all the rest; when Charles floats awake at night in whatever new crevice he’s found to hole up in, he pictures the man’s face. Strong, stubborn jaw and high cheekbones. Heavy brow overshadowing eyes that are a deeper green than seaweed, with the dark depth of an ocean except without a trace of blue. Black hair that had streamed straight back during the hurried swim. Charles’ hand had brushed through it when first grabbing him and again when grappling to get him onto the rock, but out of the water it had clung to the man’s head and shoulders like an oil slick.

He can still feel where the man had grabbed his wrist, an indelible handprint. Sometimes he catches himself rubbing at it absently. Still has no idea what possessed him to save someone only to lose everything, but for some reason he can’t move past that blankness of not knowing into being angry about it—at himself, at the human, at anything, because it just feels so . . . inevitable. As though he’d had to do it, no choice in the matter.

This does not help him sleep, but eventually he does drift off.

In some underwater caves there are pockets of air that were trapped tens of thousands of years ago when the sea levels rose. They sit, without light or wind, and do not wait because they expect nothing.

But this one has light. This one has wind, and a smooth beach of solid rock against which Charles wakes, half out of the water. Using his lungs instead of his gills, which is more odd than uncomfortable. The air tastes clear and he smells the greenness of above-water plants. He has no idea how he got here; it’s definitely not where he fell asleep.

A human man stands above him. Not his human—Charles realizes he’s thought this an instant after doing so and feels his dorsal scales prickle—but an old man dressed in dark red and black robes.

Somehow the old man knows that Charles is alone, an outcast in hiding. He introduces himself as Ishnifus Meadle and offers a way to escape pursuit for good.

Naturally suspicious of both the offer and this whole set-up, Charles asks what the price is.

Ishnifus tells him.

Charles listens in dawning horror. It’s not the answer itself, but the scope of it; a coral outcrop that, upon further inspection, has formed an entire reef that he had until now mistaken for bedrock. Ishnifus knows things that no human should know. He knows things about Charles’ own life that no one could have possibly told him. Somehow it’s all connected, and the feeling of inevitability rises in Charles again like bile—but ultimately what Ishnifus is offering is an explanation.

“Do you accept?” Ishnifus asks in his whispery voice.

Impact.

Charles takes a deep breath, slides down the rock shore briefly to wet his gills one last time, and says, “Yes.”

Impact.

The merman is gone.

On his daily visit to the rocky beach, Nathan finally sees something. He makes his way carefully but as quickly as he can down to the edge of the water, where a figure is sprawled on one of the rocks. It is in fact, he realizes when he gets there, the same rock he’d found himself on after the shipwreck, unexplained miles from where the ship actually went down.

The naked figure is pale and hardly moving, cold and clammy to the touch, but Nathan helps him sit up because he recognizes him. Except for having legs instead of a tail, it’s the same mysterious hazel-eyed stranger who saved him from drowning.

“It’s you,” Nathan says stupidly. He hesitates, but the guy is so weak from cold that before he even realizes he’s doing it he’s got his shirt off, a paltry offering but it’s better than nothing. It drapes hugely from the man’s damp, smaller frame, but after getting it on him Nathan feels like he’s at least provided some protection from the cold sea breeze blowing in from across the water.

He scoops the man up—there’s something so weird about this, like their roles are reversed and how he has to stumble through the roll of rescuer like some sort of bumbling idiot with no experience in this sort of thing. But he manages to get them up the rocky incline and into town, into his room above the butcher’s shop without attracting anyone’s attention. Wraps the man in blankets and gets the kettle going until the bath is filled with steaming water. When the tub is full, Nathan turns back and sees the man struggling to unwrap himself, straining to get to the water on his own power.

“I can do it,” the man rasps as Nathan helps him, but it’s like watching a baby deer try to walk for the first time. This guy seems to have no control whatsoever over his shaking legs. But Nathan gets him stripped down again and into the hot bath, and he sinks into it with a sigh that borders on indecent.

Nathan doesn’t know what to do with his eyes. It’s just the one room, and there’s not much to it, so it’s kind of hard to ignore the naked dude in his tub. Plus, he’s already seen everything the guy’s got to offer while carrying him in. So he settles for sitting on the end of his bed, shirtless and holding his wet shirt, and just . . . staring. He watches the man in the tub carefully pull each limb into the water and then dip under the surface, completely submerged, and stay there for a full minute.

When he comes back up for air he uses the water streaming off him to slick his short hair back from his forehead and sits, nose just above the water to breathe, and stares at Nathan.

“You, uh,” Nathan starts awkwardly. “You had gills before. On your neck. Right? Or did I hallucinate that?”

The man in the tub doesn’t answer, just stares at him.

“What’s your name?” Nathan tries. “I’m Nathan.”

There’s a long pause, and then the man in the tub lifts his head just enough that his lower lip is out of the water. “Charles,” he says hoarsely, then coughs and dips down to sip from the tub.

“Shit, don’t—You don’t know what I’ve had to scrub in there, don’t drink that. Hang on.”

Nathan gets up and pulls on a shirt to go back out into the hall again, and returns with a glass of water. He hands it to Charles and watches him slowly try to sip from the middle of the glass.

“It’s, uh, you gotta put the edge to your mouth and tip it,” he offers, miming it.

Charles—fuck, it’s just so weird to finally have a name attached to the face, but a good weird, the reassuring Okay so I’m definitely not totally crazy after all kind of weird—gives him a skeptical look, but mimics the motion and successfully gulps the water down. Soon the glass is empty, and he hands it back.

They stare at each other.

“So, uh,” Nathan says, “you saved my life.”

“I did,” Charles replies. “And I, ah, think you might have just saved mine.”

For some reason, Nathan wants to deny this. Here he’s been, thinking about Charles literally every day for a while now, feeling at the very least like he owes him some sort of debt, then the minute he shows back up in his life they’re suddenly even again and that’s it? No. He shakes his head. “Nah, I just helped you get up the hill. You could’ve done that on your own.”

They stare at each other again. Nathan gets the distinct impression that they’re both fully aware that what he just said is all bullshit; Charles couldn’t even make it into the bath on his own.

Charles says, carefully, “In that case, I, ah . . . I could use a place to stay.”

“You got it,” Nathan replies instantly, and is he really offering to share his small room and small bed with some stranger who he’s pretty sure is an honest to god merman, an actual mythic sea creature, no questions asked?

. . . Yeah. Yeah, he is. He’s not totally sure why, but he really means it, too.

Charles is going about his business, updating the accounting book in the back of the butcher’s shop. Word has gotten around town that he’s good at this sort of thing; he’s due at the bakery first thing tomorrow morning to go through their books and make sure all the math is correct, and then in the afternoon the grocer wants him to perform an audit to make sure that none of the employees are stealing from the till. He actually much prefers this bloodless work to patrols.

But he still practices hand to hand combat in his free time. Now that he’s found his land-legs it seems even more important to maintain whatever physical prowess that he can in this dry, non-buoyant environment. Nathan is helping him get better at lifting weights, and they both benefit in their own ways from the bar fights Nathan and his friends get into and that Charles finishes.

At night, they share Nathan’s narrow bed. Charles is never cold anymore with Nathan there, although the man is strangely shy whenever he mentions this—some strange human hangup, he assumes, and doesn’t press the issue. He’s become unexpectedly fond of his human, more than fond if he’s really being honest with himself, but hasn’t yet learned the culturally appropriate way to act on this yet.

Sometimes when he’s waiting for sleep to come, or when the figures on the page and flowing from the nib of his ink pen become so tedious he needs to tear his eyes away to stare at nothing for a moment, he thinks about what Ishnifus told him before giving him this above-water life. He wonders if it’s for the best that Nathan remains oblivious to all of it, Charles’ feelings included.

There’s a storm coming, and Charles hopes that, if it comes to that, he’ll be able to save his human from drowning again.

#metalocalypse #dethentines 2021 #my fanfiction #narles #nathan explosion #charles foster offdensen #metalocalypse au #metalocalypse fanfic #pickles the drummer #mma #ishnifus meadle

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codynaomiswire · 5 years

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TTS/RTA - “Destinies Collide” Initial Reaction

Note: Spoilers and some unpopular opinions ahead.

Ok, so...I’m going to go ahead and be honest right away. Overall...I didn’t actually like this episode very much. Not all of it was bad to me, but I also can’t say that I thought it was very great. Here are some of my general thoughts and opinions on it at this point for those interested:

Things I did like:

- As always, the animation, voice acting, and soundtrack were all really good in this episode. Kudos to the animators, VA’s, sound design team, and music team for all their hard work on it! You all did a great job!

- Special shoutout to Zachary Levi for his vocal work on Eugene’s song!

- Lance figuring out that destroying the statues would stop the ghosts from re-spawning! Such a great moment for him, and he was honestly one of the best things about this whole episode in my opinion. (Also the little acknowledgement between him and Adira was cute, and his complimenting Cass on her bravery when she went to retrieve the gondola from the middle of the gorge was really nice. Was great to see those fleeting but sincere moments of him reaching out to other characters he doesn’t talk to all that often when he’s on screen. It was a nice touch!)

- Adira running around like an old-timey cartoon character to catch Pascal as he was falling. That was cute and funny! xD

Things I didn’t like so much:

- The fact that the episode was stuffed to the gills with plot twists and red herrings. Like a lot of fans, I do love a good mystery, and plot twists when implemented correctly are terrific. But a lot of the twists in this episode felt really forced in my opinion, were too heavily concentrated, and the overall plot felt really rushed and chaotic. Especially when we get such big developments as Eugene finding his long-lost father and Cass going turncoat, I think it would’ve been worth it to spread out those plot elements a bit more and to flesh them out better over the course of more episodes perhaps. Probably would’ve been good on that note to take out some of the other non-plot-related episodes earlier in the season (ex. “Goodbye and Goodwill,” “Curses!,” “The Eye of Pincosta,” etc.), and instead give more time and attention to other plot-related elements that could’ve used it. (It also feels to me like Disney in general has been trying to chuck out a TON of plot twists in their latest works, and that’s starting to get a bit wearing in my opinion. Creators shouldn’t be afraid to use clichés or linear story lines if they happen to work out for the best. Not everything has to be super surprising or edgy in order to be satisfying or captivating to the audience. Don’t force it if it doesn’t work.)

- Eugene being revealed as the Dark Prince. Ok, ok, don’t get me wrong here. I don’t totally dislike this development. I do think it’s good that the series has endeavored to give us more of Eugene’s past, and yes, I do congratulate those fans who figured it out/had the theory before the big reveal. (Way to be observant guys!) But I personally do feel like there are a few problems with this development:

Was it just me, or did Eugene seem surprisingly...unfazed by this latest discovery? I mean, yes, he did have a song about having an identity crisis over it, but even then, I felt like he seemed to get over it pretty quick? I know he’s been increasingly unfazed by all the weirdness of their adventures, but man, this takes the cake on that point. He also didn’t seem to question it for very long (which is kind of odd, especially when Edmund himself is...a bit strange), he didn’t seem the least bit miffed with Edmund about sending him away when he was a baby, or really show much emotion at all over things save for a few words and shifts in expression. I’m sure all this needs time to sink in for him, ok, but still. His reaction wasn’t very realistic to me.

The fact that King Edmund seemed to just send baby Eugene away in the care of his nanny and...that was it. Like, I know the show can’t go into tons of detail on things, but honest to goodness! It looked like King Edmund just sent baby Eugene away into the wide, dangerous world with only his nanny to take care of him and to guard him. Like, there were no other guards with her or a foster father as well or anything! Nope. Just send your kid off into the wide world with minimal security and resources and hope for the best. Way to ensure a secure future for your child Edmund. Way to go! xP

The time spent on this development felt super rushed. I think it would’ve been better if there had been a whole episode dedicated to Eugene’s past as the Dark Prince, and not just have it as a B plot for the season finale. It is supposed to be kind of a big deal, right!? I think it would’ve been worth it to give this development its own episode.

I also find it strange that Edmund identified Eugene as his son simply by looking into his eyes. I mean...sure, I do think I see a resemblance between Edmund and Eugene, so it’s probably right anyway. But I do wish there had been a bit more of an explanation or more evidence for the truth of this theory instead of just, “We have the same eyes.” (Who knows, maybe we’ll get another twist in season 03 where we find that Eugene was not actually Edmund’s child, and he had been mistaken all along. But yeah, at this point, I would not be fazed by that.)

It seems like this development came along in order to bring about some sort of deep conflict for Eugene, but honestly...I don’t feel like it brings a whole lot of conflict at all? I mean, sure, it’s great that he’s come to find that he has a family and whole lineage that he can now learn about, and that’s a big change for Eugene on a personal level. But otherwise it doesn’t really do much to change the trajectory of his life or anything. I mean, if the Dark Kingdom were still a functioning place, I can see where this would present a conflict. Eugene could’ve felt torn between his obligation to rule the Dark Kingdom as its heir, but then his love for Rapunzel would be the opposing pull that could tear his heart in two over the whole thing, and cause more tension between himself and King Edmund who would’ve wanted him to stay to rule, etc. But that’s not really the case. The Dark Kingdom is dead, and everyone has left. So there really is no Dark Kingdom left to rule. So...Eugene can just go ahead and marry Rapunzel and live his dream in Corona anyway. No conflict really.

I also feel like the development does do a detriment to how Eugene’s character was played up in the Tangled feature film. One of the things that Eugene’s character was supposed to do in that movie was put a twist on the original fairytale, where instead of a prince saving Rapunzel from her tower, it was a thief that people assumed was just a good-for-nothing nobody. But he became the hero of the story through his own bravery and self-sacrifice, and not because of any royal blood in him. So yeah, I kind of feel like this development undermines that whole aspect of the original film.

And just a quick personal opinion: I feel like Cassandra being revealed as the Dark Princess would’ve been more compelling than having Eugene as the Dark Prince. Could’ve also been another reason why Cass seized the Moon Stone for herself, if that was the trajectory the writers would’ve taken things in any event. If she was the heir to the kingdom in charge of guarding the thing, it would make sense that she could see it as a kind of birthright for herself or something.

- And thus leading into the biggest one for me...the whole Cassandra plot twist. I know some fans think this is a fantastic plot twist, but I don’t really like it. Here are my reasons as to why:

It feels like a rehash of Varian’s betrayal, but bigger, with a lot less buildup, less reasoning behind it, and fewer sympathetic qualities. Now, I’m sure that something big happened to Cassandra beyond that mystery door in the shell house, and I do kinda hope that we’ll get to see just what exactly happened in season 03. But wow, I gotta say, it’s going to have to be something super compelling in order to excuse this degradation of Cassandra’s character. Especially after Cassandra had so much character development throughout both seasons 01 & 02, this really felt like it came out of nowhere and didn’t make much sense at all. I know there’s a theory that it’s not really Cassandra (that she’s either a clone/doppelgänger or is somehow possessed by some evil entity), and that may be right. Heck, with all the crazy plot twists peppering this series, most anything could be a possibility at this point. (She could be Zhan Tiri’s vessel, or Mother Gother retroactively reincarnated before she fell out of Rapunzel’s tower, or a young Mother Gothel before she time-taveled back to the past or something. Who knows at this point!?) But from what we know right now, it just seems to be a spiteful action with purely selfish motives on her part. (“I’m fulfilling MY destiny!”) We don’t even see her struggle with her decision (unlike Varian, who did have his moments of second-guessing), or show any signs that she’s making it out of interest for others. I mean, yeah, who knows? Maybe we’ll get yet another twist in season 03 where she did do it to protect Rapunzel somehow, and it was necessary for her to be perceived as an awful person in doing it for...some reason? But...sigh. (Especially when her solo song before this point was largely about her wishing she had the glory she felt she deserved...that whole thing just really rubs me the wrong way. Again, don’t get me wrong, I feel like “Waiting in the Wings” sounds amazing, and I would sympathize with some of the lyrics talking about missed opportunities, feeling like you’re meant for something more but not being there yet, etc. But it seemed like Cass was increasingly becoming some sort of glory hound, and nobody admires that or finds that sympathetic. (“Selfishness has never been admired.” ~ C. S. Lewis) At least Varian was trying to save his dad in what he was doing. Yes, he was going about it poorly, and there were some elements of selfishness in it to be sure, but at least he was understandable in his motives. Not excused for sure, but there was at least an explanation that made sense and was beyond “Me me me me me.”)

It’s also strange when Cass’s life was really pretty good before that moment, so what could she have hoped to gain from taking the Moon Stone for herself? She had her friends, a loving father in the Captain, a loving community back in Corona, a steady job, a dream to work towards, etc. It just...makes no sense, and feels more wrong than epic to me as a big reveal. Again, maybe there will be a good explanation for it in the future, but from what we know right now, it just seems to make her character a twist antagonist for the sake of having another one, and it just feels frustrating currently.

The weird transformation sequence when Cass grabbed the Moon Stone. I mean, I can certainly can get behind the glowing white-blue hair and eyes (something that the moon![insert character name here] theorists got right!), but...wow, the crew really went anime trope on this one. Which I’m not totally opposed to. I think anime references are cool. But this one just...felt a bit weird? I mean, I know the Moon Stone is way more extra than the Sun Drop, so sure, perhaps the alterations it makes to someone’s appearance when being infused into them could’ve been a bit more than just a change in hair color. But I think it would’ve made more sense if the armor Cass already had on became a different color or something (btw, RIP knight!Cassandra and armor, you were short-lived and will be missed), but instead it gave her what basically looked like a moon superhero jumpsuit. From a purely aesthetic perspective, it does have a great design, and Cass did look quite striking in it. But even though it looks great on a purely aesthetic level, I also don’t feel like it fits the tenor of the rest of the TTS/RTA aesthetic. I just..feels kind of out of place to me.

On a personal note: I also think it makes more sense for Varian to have been the moon vessel/the one to take the Moon Stone in the series, so this development also honestly had me disappointed in that way. I know, I know, yes, there is a bit of a bias to this opinion, but I also do think that Varian’s character had a TON of evidence to suggest this would’ve been more than plausible for his character, it could’ve tied into his motives to free his father, and he already had deeper connections to the Dark Kingdom than we’ve ever seen of Cass, and it would’ve been a great way to reintroduce him into the series.* And hey, if not Varian, I feel like it would’ve made more sense for Eugene to take the Moon Stone instead of Cassandra, with Eugene being all, “I’m sorry Rapunzel, but I can’t let you do this,” or something like that. I think that would’ve been way more compelling than Cass just doing it because of “destiny,” which she believed she had because of...reasons? Perhaps I’ll be proven wrong, but as it stands right now, I don’t think Cass was the best choice to go turncoat and to become the vessel for the Moon Drop. Or at the very least, they probably should’ve shown some sort of conflict in her over the decision. I know she’s not a very warm character, but pure malice doesn’t seem to fit her either. Just...weird.

*On the topic of Varian, I also have my opinions regarding how he as a character and a lot of the Varian fans have been treated in the aftermath of season 02 (by both other fans and some of the TTS/RTA crew members actually), but I won’t talk about that in this post as it’s not in the actual contents of the episode itself. And while I may get into it more in another post, I don’t feel like getting into that drama right now, especially when things are so fresh off the tail end of the finale. Just wanted to drop this note here though, as it’s another unpopular opinion I have related to this episode and to season 02, and I feel like the fandom and crew members could’ve done better in their responses to Varian’s fans. Just saying.

So...yeah. I guess that’s about it for now for my initial reaction to this episode. You don’t have to agree with me on it, but these are just my own honest thoughts on the topic for anyone interested.

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howardlinkedin · 6 years

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Debriefing (And Other Bad Jokes) Part 4

Part 3 here: x

Next, Part 5: http://howardlinkedin.tumblr.com/post/168953427738/debriefing-and-other-bad-jokes-part-5

Summary: Slightly less ridiculous chapter about museum heists, unless your name is Howard Link, in which everything is still ridiculous, while Allen asks the Important Questions.

There are only three people who know the entire story of how Yuu Kanda went from absolutely loathing Allen Walker to something like positive, relationship affirming emotions. (No one can make Kanda admit things like “love” or “romance,” even if they threatened death. Honestly, even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to succeed, seeing as the man would break the idiot who dared make threats in the first place inches away from death’s door.)

First there was the Bookman- which should be obvious given his skill set. The redhead even bragged about knowing the two were bound to become...whatever they were long before they even knew it. This bragging usually got a sword uncomfortably close to his crotch.

Next was Lenalee, who was Allen’s best friend and confidant. She actually had a front row seat to the drama that was Kanda’s and Allen’s relationship coming to a head. This was something she often reminded Allen when he was being particularly annoying, due to the fact that she had recorded most of it on her phone, and she was not afraid to use it.

Last, and probably the most baffling, was Johnny Gill. Baffling, because the forensic examiner hardly even made an appearance at the Department, choosing to spend his time at the Crime Labs. Lenalee and Lavi often wondered how the smaller man fit into this equation, since he was never around when the officers in question usually interacted.

Argued.

Violently flirted.

Everyone else working in or associated with the Black Order Police Department were simply secondhand observers. Many got whiplash when word actually got out that Kanda and Walker were A Thing.

---

Whatever Thing the two decided to be, was the question of the century. Only Allen and Kanda knew what, exactly, they were to each other, but it was there and sometimes it was less violent and more on the sweet side.

If you squint.

---

Noise Marie was the Order’s top surveillance specialist. At every stakeout, he was there, hidden away in a van, abandon building or any other nondescript location to listen in on the goings on with the officers under his care to watch.

Or rather, not so much watch.

Noise, legally blind that he was, could only listen. Which made his name rather ironic, which he was very well aware of, thank you very much.

The lack of proper sight never stopped him from being the best at what he does, however. No one questioned how his unique skill set works, but altogether accepted at the Order regardless.

So when the tell-tale buzz of the speakers tickled in, he responded immediately.

“This is Marie.”

“Allen here-” (In the background, Noise could hear the new Detective Inspector chide. “Walker, don’t give your name out in the middle of a job!” The chiding was moot considering Link just also have out the rest of the officer’s name.

“Okay fine, Eagle One-” “I’m Eagle One.” Kanda grunted over his own communication. “Darling, only when I let you.”)

“I’m listening.” Marie tried not to sound amused. It was hard, but he was a professional and this was a job.

A high stakes job.

---

Once again, Link was able to actually do his job, and this time it looked more promising to be solved than the current murder case.

He listened and traded notes with Inspector Galmar, who had, up until now, been the only detective assigned to the Phantom G case.

(At the debriefing, Allen had commented that it was a rather cute name for a thief. Allen also though Kanda was cute when on the verge of homicide, so Link decided the officer’s opinion of anything was to be mad ravings of a crazy man.)

“And you say that somehow, anyone arrested during this case has been framed?” Link flipped through the stack of prints of the literal dozen fingerprints uncovered from every scene of the crime.

Galmar sighed heavily. “Yes, the problem we don’t know how or have any evidence besides obvious intuition. Unfortunately, the law can’t let anyone free from arrest just on those grounds.”

Unfortunate indeed, considering that all who were arrested claimed to never have been near the areas where valuables have been stolen. But, as far as the law was concerned, fingerprints don’t lie.

“So.” Walker, who had been a silent observer, until now, leeched himself at Link’s side and stared at the images. “This kid is able to lift copies of multiple prints from several officer, who happen to always be on site during a stake out, plant them and then make off with the loot?”

Link’s brow ticked at the loss of his personal space and elbowed the officer away. “Walker, let me work.”

He paused, narrowing in on the other’s comment. “You said ‘kid.’”

Allen grinned like a cheshire. “I did.” “And why,” Link’s suspicion once again rising. “Do you believe the thief is a kid? Clearly this level of skill is not something a mere child could do.”

Shrugging, Allen had the gall to look innocent and doe eyed. “No reason.”

“Walker.”

“Howard.”

Howard Link decided then and there he needed to make a doctors appointment for the amount of migraines he continued to suffer.

---

“I thought you were supposed to casing the layout of the museum.”

“I did.” Allen chirped. The Detective Inspector pinched the bridge of his nose. “Walker, you literally have been standing behind me this entire time. What part of that is casing anything?” Phantom G, as the acclaimed thief signed their M.O as, was most often known by the many notices they leave announcing their future plans of theft. The most frustrating aspect of their taunts was that they always delivered them to the scene where they threaten to loot, and always naming said object they are wanting to steal.

No matter the security, the Phantom always, always got away with it. With false fingerprints left behind, the accused unconscious with the very same mask as the Phantom over their face.

It was a wonder the entire team working on the case thus far hadn’t quit out of frustration.

Especially considering how utterly ridiculous the masks were. What with the bright, flashy neon yellow.

This time, the threat was at the local museum, which happened to house a very expensive and very historical crown.

“I saw the glass case where the crown was.” Came Allen’s cheeky reply, as though that was all he needed to see.

And maybe it was? Because Link was beginning to believe that despite all of Walker’s oddities and nuances, they always worked.

---

Link took a glance around the open space of the museum. “Where is Officer Kanda?”

Allen waved a hand as if to portray ‘don’t worry!’

“He’s doing a better job than I am at canvasing the entire area.”

Because that’s what Kandas do, apparently. And Allens just pester and waste time around actual hard working investigators.

---

“Anyway,” Allen continued over the communication to Marie. “Quick question, and it’s very important that you answer.” “Yes?” Noise turned a dial at his soundstation, making the frequencies of the white noise in the area more clear.

“What are you getting me for my birthday?”

(“WALKER.”

The surveillance specialist could hear Kanda sigh over the detectives reprimand.)

“Because I’ve been thinking of a hat. A large fluffy warm hat. Maybe a matching scarf.”

(“Walker, we are WORKING now is not the time to-”

“Jesus Christ shut up, both of you.”)

This is when the museum alarms are set off.

---

Arrested was yet another framed officer, with the crown missing and Officer Allen Walker-

Well. He was engaging in an actual chase with the presumed true thief.

On the rooftops.

Link had to at least admit that the other man was dedicated to his job.

---

The thief- Phantom G, in all their neon glory, hopped, jumped and mauvered the rooftops with the skill only someone who understand the layout could accomplish.

“Hey, you know maybe bright colors weren’t the best idea in this situation.”

Unless your name is Allen Walker, in which case he somehow managed the ability to maneuver just as, if not more, fluid after the thief and the crown.

Said thief gasped, and nearly tripped when the officer swung from a railing and landed just in front of them. They made an attempt to dash to the right, but Allen, quick as he was, flashed the crown at the Phantom’s face.

Well, assumed face anyway. It was hard to tell, what with the huge mask and all.

“Sorry, but this is mine now.”

“WALKER! You can’t keep stolen property!” Link chose that moment to leap to the roof also.

Phantom G took the momentary distraction of the Detective to leap from the side of the building and slide down the emergency fire exit.

Allen put the crown on his head and followed suit, all smiles.

And Link? Well Link followed after because Walker You Can’t Put That on your Head It’s Valuable!

---

Once on ground, the thief shot their arm out and Allen yanked the Detective with him to slide down the ally and out of the way.

Inspector Howard Link did not squeak, he most certainly did not, no matter what Officer Allen Walker says. (Noise Marie caught it all on tape, and he is very sorry for the man’s dignity and pride.)

The wall where they had landed was sliced through with thin threads, almost invisible if not for the moonlight.

Allen’s smile dropped off his face.

“You know, a lot of people just had their lives ruined by you. Do you really want to add manslaughter to the list?” “Shut up!” Finally, the thief spoke. They sounded young, too young.

Link didn’t have time to analyze further, and took the moment to dash out and kick their legs from under them and slapped one wrist with handcuffs. They yelled in surprise.

“Link! Move!”

The detective barely had time to flinch away before the same threads as before shot from the Phantom’s free hand and into Link’s shoulder.

With a grunt, the blonde rolled away, holding the wound to stave the bleeding. The threads were very sharp indeed.

Suddenly, the threads were sliced through, and Kanda shot out like a bullet from seemingly nowhere at the thief. “If you want to play like an adult, then play with me.”

The other man had a grin what Link could only describe as maniacal.

The thief, no the kid, which was what they could only be, because they were too small and wiry to have been an adult, and their voice too, too young, let out a sudden screech in fear at the swordsman. They leapt up and clambered over window sills in an attempt to escape.

Their retreat was cut short when Kanda sliced the wall nearest their hand, impaling his sword clean through. “You really should rethink your actions right now.” The officer was as serious as they ever were, and the warning in their words were as sharp and dangerous as his sword.

The air was quiet for exactly two seconds before it was filled with sharp wailing. The Phantom Thief G slid down to the grown, heaving. The mask was becoming soaked with tears.

“Jesus Christ you’re loud.” Kanda complained, which was not really the time or place, but still altogether a very good observation.

The wailing and crying was indeed very loud and very shrill.

---

With the mask off, Phantom Thief G, as deduced by Allen earlier that day (and Link still demands to know how the officer figured that, much to his ever mounting frustration) a kid.

No more than nine years of age, identified by Marie as Timothy Hearst, was cuffed and placed into the awaiting police vehicle.

With Allen, who deemed it acceptable to coddle the criminal, and let himself be sobbed on in the back of the car.

“Walker, kid or not he’s still a-” “Shh Link, you’re scaring him.”

“NEED I REMIND YOU that he could have very well killed us, and managed to stab my arm.” The Detective hissed. His arm still hurt, mind. Miranda, who was also on standby, had wrapped it. The kid’s wailing only intensified. “I’m- I’M SORRY!!!” He bellowed.

“See, he’s sorry.” “Walker.”

Kanda ignored them all and snached the very expensive and valuable crown from his partner’s head and handed it over to Inspector Galmar. Allen ‘awed’ in disappointment.

Everything was too ridiculous anymore.

---

Timothy had cried himself to sleep in the Order’s jail cell. Wrapped in no less than three blankets and five downey pillows piled around him.

No one commented on this.

In his office, Commissioner Lee read over Link’s report. “How could a child have this level of skill?” He inquired.

Allen, who commandeered the room’s only couch, piped up before the Inspector could respond, literally taking the words from his mouth. “He had help. No kid could ever pull this off without proper training.”

His silver eyes were far off, and Link didn’t like it. He also did not like how Walker obviously knew more than he let on.

Link was the detective, it was his job. Yet Officer Allen Walker was able to deduce just as fast and as much as he could.

“Training?” Still, he pressed on. Confrontations would happen later.

The white haired officer hummed, eyes flashing back to the present. “Yeah. Those needle threads aren’t something easily handled without being trained in them. No normal nine year old would ever have a working knowledge of them.”

“I see.” And Link did see. He also agreed. “I believe also that Hearst had help. To pre plan exactly who to frame and have them be an officer that would be stationed during each and every heist? There’s someone else working in the shadows.”

Commissioner Lee scowled at the thought of a kid having been wrapped up in this mess. It left a sour taste in his mouth. “Do we have any leads as to who, though, is the question.”

The Detective Inspector was at a loss there.

“Sheryl Kamelot.” Allen named, looking for all the world the most serious he has ever been. “This reeks of Noah, and Sheryl would be our best bet.”

Komui straighten at the names, and leaned on his elbows. “Explain Officer.” He demanded of his subordinate.

Allen also leaned forward, unconsciously flexing his scarred hand. “Sheryl’s pride in the Noah consists of finding kids who show talent, any talent really, and exploiting them in anyway.

Stealing, information gathering, murder - there’s no limit to what he’d train a child to do. My guess is that Timothy is rather new into the fold, which was why he was scared easily enough to surrender. Anyone worth their scuff in the Noah would have needed a lot more to put them into submission.”

Howard Link frowned, scowled, and tensed the longer Walker spoke. Because, how, how, how! How does the young officer know this? Where did he get this information? To have such an understanding of one of the Noah, was nothing short of terrifying.

Did he learn this during his arrest of Tyki Mikk? Or was it before during investigation? But, as far as Link knew, Walker was not assigned the Noah case first hand. That was General Cross Marian. Did Walker learn this from his mentor? Was Cross actually reporting directly to his adopted son, and both were keeping quiet?

Why wasn’t the Commissioner demanding these details?

There were too many questions surrounding Allen Walker, and Link despised the lack of answers.

---

Once away from the Commissioner’s office and steps down the hall, Link demanded his answers. “How? How do you have such knowledge?” His voice was thick with distrust and accusations that he hadn’t outright stated. The implication was still there, regardless. “And for that matter, how are you able to follow thieves across rooftops and spy those threads? You said it yourself it takes training. What are you hiding Allen Walker?”

They had both stopped their descent down the hall.

Contrary to their pause, Kanda was making his way to them, but by his movement he was in no hurry.

Allen only smiled that alarming and guileless smile of his that renders everyone around him defenseless but also paranoid at the same time. “Oh Link, you should have put the pieces together by now. You’ve read my file after all.”

If Link believed in in such things, he could have sworn the air turned chill and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

He couldn’t even deny it, not with Kanda now directly behind his partner, like the shadow he always was. Tucked at his arm was Walker’s file, which had been stolen from Link’s apartment nights before.

#ashlee writes #dgm #link ur in deep shit now boi #kind of #next time we meet more assholes and tim cries some more #allen to parent tim y2k #kanda is like lmao lets chase and scare children this is the most fun ive ever had YOLO #link is So Done #hey there marie HOW YOU DOIN BOY #allen walker #yuu kanda #howard link #timothy hearst #tbh I still dont know what ship to tag this as its all over the place #but its mainly Kanda/Allen #Yullen #with Link watching and lusting and WANTING NONE OF IT so he tells himself #sorry its been A While PEACE OUT NERDS

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racingtoaredlight · 4 years

Text

Random Thoughts On Led Zep

"Obviously, it can get to the point where it gets past being a compliment and it can be rather annoying. When you've got things like Kingdom Come actually ripping riffs right off, that's a different thing altogether."

-Jimmy Page

My reaction after the jump.

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***

“[A]s far as my end of it goes, I always tried to bring something fresh to anything that I used. I always made sure to come up with some variation. In fact, I think in most cases, you would never know what the original source could be. Maybe not in every case– but in most cases. So most of the comparisons rest on the lyrics. And Robert was supposed to change the lyrics, and he didn’t always do that– which is what brought on most of the grief. They couldn’t get us on the guitar parts of the music, but they nailed us on the lyrics.”

-Jimmy Page, from a 1993 case brought on by the band Spirit for ripping off their song “Taurus” for Led Zep’s “Stairway to Heaven.” Screenshots below are from that first video embedded above. It’s pretty clearly the music that got Led Zep into the most legal trouble, and it’s pretty hard to suggest fresh variations on a blatant ripoff, while alternatively saying it was lyrics that got y’all in trouble, when in this case there weren’t any lyrics.

From the same 1993 court filing...

“Page’s attempt to shift blame from himself is not quite fair to Plant as Page repeatedly took entire musical compositions without attribution, in addition to Plant lifting the lyrics and melodies in tandem. This includes Zeppelin’s Dazed and Confused which Page took note for note from Jake Holmes’s Dazed and Confused; Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love which was taken from You Need Love by The Small Faces who were covering Willie Dixon (but giving proper credit); and Zeppelin’s Babe I’m Gonna Leave You of which a nearly identical song by the same name was written by Anne Bredon and sang by Joan Baez (again with proper credit given).

There is no way any rational reasonable person listens to these songs and can conclude anything but that they were lifted, as Page and Plant admitted. Yet, Page, Plant, and Jones often dishonestly took full credit for themselves and dissembled at length in their depositions on the subject, refusing to take responsibility.”

Jimmy Page complaining about someone ripping him off is like Martin Shkreli complaining about pharmaceutical prices.

-Jimmy Page

Led Zep kicks ass no matter who they stole from. Stealing in music, as I’ve discussed before, is not a bad thing in the slightest, as long as full credit is given. Do you begrudge Jimi Hendrix for covering “All Along the Watchtower” or “Hey Joe” or “Day Tripper?” FUCK NO. Those are totally original takes on other people’s songs that he gave full credit to.

Do you have any idea how music has been stolen over the years? I don’t have the resource able to be cited, but one of those stats that has always stuck with me from my musical history classes is that the entirety of pop music can be traced back to the same 35-40 melodic motifs that were first written down in the 1600′s.

“Stairway to Heaven?” That blatant ripoff of Spirit? It’s not that much of a ripoff when you consider that courts have ruled that the particular melody and harmonic progression is technically public domain, since it was first used in 17th century parlor music.

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This might not sound like landmark shit, but it absolutely is. Look at the stat I referenced above...

...the entirety of pop music can be traced back to the same 35-40 melodic motifs that were first written down in the 1600′s.

If we’re able to circumstantially trace music back to an origin point centuries ago, music that is now public domain, to the point where it’s legally upheld, these types of lawsuits might never happen again in regards to the actual music. Lyrical content is another story entirely, but in terms of the nuts and bolts of the music itself...pop musicians are going to have a difficult time proving the originality of their music, if ripped off by others, for no other reason than everyone’s ripping off the same shit that’s been ripped off forever.

Jazz musicians laugh at this, because it’s almost impossible to plagiarize a music that’s improvised, and living and breathing to the point where standards can change their being on a night to night basis. Awhile ago I posted five versions of “All the Things You Are” by Keith Jarrett, and each one was drastically different from the next, even tho the melody and chords were identical. And, most importantly, in jazz...due to the canon being based tremendously on “standards,” i.e. songs composed by others as vehicles to improvise over...songwriting credit is always given to the proper source*.

*It helps that jazz is so unpopular that there’s no monetary incentive anymore to go to court over songwriting royalties lol

Rachmaninoff composed a piece that was a direct ripoff of Paganini’s main themes, but again, not an issue because it was titled “Ode to Paganini,” even if everyone recognizes it as a definitive Rachmaninoff piece. I’m working on my vocals with the bandleader in my new band, and we’re doing Beatles harmonies (kindergarten music is a good place to start for a kindergarten singer like myself)...and they’re almost identical to 4-part Bach choral pieces in design and execution.

*Classical music is so beholden to the concept of protecting intellectual property, it hasn’t evolved for a century because you’re going to see BEETHOVEN or WAGNER or MOZART as much as you’re going to see whatever soloist or orchestra, despite its canon being largely public domain.

The difference is, Led Zep clearly passed off plagiarism as their own work. It wasn’t the theft of others’ music...it was the theft of songwriting credit...and ultimately, the original musicians’ income. You cannot make the argument that if Joan Baez or Bert Jansch were given legitimate songwriting/arranging credits, they’d have had quite a bit more in royalties coming from a band the gigantic size of Led Zep.

No, the problem here is the theft COMPOUNDED by the denial of it when faced with overwhelming evidence. That’s why Led Zep is a problem while Jimi is not. They give proper credit, and all those things Page said about “bringing something fresh” or “coming up with variations,” ring true. Unfortunately, that’s not the case here.

Why do I hate James Horner for his ripoff of Shostakovich in his Troy soundtrack, but don’t have any issue with John Williams ripping off Dvorak’s “New World Symphony” for Jaws? Because of all those notes that follow...Troy was nothing more than lazy musical plagiarism for a lazily executed movie, Jaws used Dvorak’s theme for inspiration that perfectly fit the film and was a legitimate fresh variation. Troy just ripped off Shostakovich, put it over Brad Pitt doing one of the worst accents ever captured on film, and called it a day.

Theft in music is not a matter of intent, and it’s not an indictment on an artist’s creativity to do a variation on another’s work. It’s not even an indictment on a musician’s execution of another’s work. Lets use the seven deadly sins as a framework for nailing down the issue...

Lust - Lusting after another’s creativity? Success? Maybe...but truthfully, I feel like LZ ripped those musicians off out of admiration and loving their music. They wouldn’t play music they think sounds like shit, it’s not like this was commercially successful stuff here.

Gluttony - I struggle to find anything gluttonous with the songs they covered...Rachmaninoff’s Ode to Paganini? THAT is musically gluttonous. That dude packed that piece to the gills with variations.

Sloth - Nope...it’s more difficult to rip someone off that specifically than it is to play your own music that comes out of your brain organically. Stealing music in this fashion is not lazy.

Wrath - I find it hard to believe that Led Zeppelin would harbor any animosity towards any of these artists. Why would you want to waste your time by playing music you hate?

Envy - Don’t see it. Why would LZ be jealous of artists with lesser commercial success? If anything, the envy is on the other side (even if those artists won’t admit it, trust me, they’re jealous)...Led Zep made those songs exponentially more commercially successful, and didn’t share their spoils with the original artists, which brings us to...

Greed - Bingo.

The sole reason this type of behavior is unsavory comes entirely down to green. Green was a typo, but I’m going to keep it because it hits on the issue...if Led Zep had simply given some credit to the original artists, claimed arranging credits, this would be a complete non issue. If anything, those artists suing the band, would likely be thanking them for bringing a new perspective, audience and increased awareness to their own stuff.

But this reeks of a money grab. There’s no other reason to exclude the original artists for anything other than money coming in via songwriting credits. Over decades and decades, for a band like Led Zeppelin, we’re talking tens of millions of dollars here. Tens of millions of dollars that would likely be only somewhat lesser if they gave credit to the musicians they pilfered from.

To deny, obfuscate, and stubbornly contest damning evidence is merely digging a deeper hole. We all know they stole, and we don’t care because the music was so awesome. And even when they reveal themselves to be Grade A dicks, we still don’t care. It would have been just so much easier and better for everyone to have done this the proper way legally...the music is what it is.

What Jimmy Page brought to the table was JIMMY PAGE. His style and aesthetic is impossible to truly mimic, and when he brought that creativity and verve to his music, it was legitimately elevated. By giving credit, he removes this stain of plagiarism and denial, and elevates himself as a musician even more. But instead of choosing to be Robin Hood for lesser known musicians, he decided to be Mr. Burns.

And that’s the problem with all this. Spirit was ripped off, but Spirit’s version aint anywhere near as awesome as “Stairway.” By behaving the way they have in the face of fairly overwhelming, damning evidence, they’ve lessened their art when the high road would have been a far more rewarding route to take.

Think about it for a second...think about all the money Led Zep has likely burnt on legal fees and the damage to their reputation...wouldn’t it have been easier from the beginning just to throw the original artists a bone? Do you think they probably netted out the extra cash they earned by fighting all this in court over the decades?

No idea, but it’s an interesting way to think about it. It’s not ripping off anything if you give the original person credit...it’s an homage at that point. Led Zeppelin just chose a different approach.

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oneweekoneband · 7 years

Video

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Ninety One, “Mooz” (мұз), from Qarangy Zharyq, 2017

(Warning: flashing lights around two minutes in; also, some violence. Here’s the audio-only video.)

But, like, it’s still just a band: they were never actually protecting anybody or setting anyone free. (from a post by @whitehotharlots)

To make a long story short: about five years ago I fell in love with a pop group. Like spending-hours-on-Tumblr-learning-all-the-in-jokes love. Like imagination-run-wild love. Like as-opposed-to-grief, as-opposed-to-despair love. But once the initial euphoria-through-learning-through-euphoria phase had run its course, the love was a static thing, directionless. One of the great pleasures of love is doing things for the beloved; but what, exactly, was I supposed to do?

The company, and the performers themselves, said: buy our albums! Stream our songs! Help us win awards at music shows! Come to our concerts! And I did those things; but trying to think of them as expressions of love left me feeling inadequate and a little sordid. Other options were to leave messages and hearts on their livestreams, and I occasionally did that too, using Google Translate to turn “I hope you’re doing well” and “Thank you for your hard work” into Korean, but thousands of other fans had the same idea, and the resulting rush of love felt impersonal, statistical. They, the performers, had no way to know who we, the fans, were; and furthermore any attempts on our part to make them know would be so forced as to violate the very spirit of love that had prompted the attempt in the first place. Each of us was speaking singularly and truly, but the sameness of our language, and the volume of our messages, flattened us out.

What can I do? I kept asking. Which is another way of saying How much power do I have?

We (who have the ability to get online) have a strange relationship to power, in this day and age. Entire books have been written about how people with ostensibly enviable amounts of power might not feel secure enough to actually accomplish anything. (The late Benazir Bhutto apparently once said: “I’m in office, but I’m not in power.” The quote came up in a discussion of Aung San Suu Kyi’s responsibility for stopping the ethnic cleansing of the Rohingya.) Meanwhile those of us with less formal titles are nevertheless capable of possibly destroying people’s reputations with a single Tweet, or perpetuating unjust systems simply by growing up in them. It feels like we have a great deal of power, wanted or not, to do harm; and seemingly much less power to do good.

That becomes even more pronounced in pop fandom. We want to believe, so badly, that we have the power to do good things for our faves, or at least make them feel loved and valued. But our attempts at exercising our power frequently add up to very little, at best. We also want to believe, so badly, that we can do good with pop music, support the virtuous and punish the wicked; but that, too, carries the risk of being much ado about nothing, or degenerating into a series of sniping wars where everyone’s fave is problematic and no one has any self-respect left.

That pop group I fell in love with wasn’t Ninety One, by the way. When I started writing about Ninety One I said cheerfully to friends: “Oh, I’m not, like, emotionally involved here. These guys are fun and cute but this is just a fun intellectual activity, a side way of getting at some of these questions I’ve had. I’m not crying or anything, thank goodness.” Please remind me I said this next time I try to give you a stock tip.

In my defense, I said it before “Mooz” came out, which is to say before I realized Ninety One was thinking about power and doing good too.

***

I haven’t seen the movie yet. Reportedly NTK, a channel with which Ninety One has struck some sort of deal, is promising to put it online at some point (most likely with Russian, but not English, subtitles). I assume bootlegs are traveling around YouTube. A lot of the footage in the “Mooz” video was already featured in the two-minute trailer uploaded to Ninety One’s YouTube channel in early August.

It’s the story of the first couple years of Ninety One, but not a documentary; rather, it’s a docudrama, with scenes acted out by the guys themselves months after the fact, but everything based on What Actually Happened--90% true, I’ve seen Kazakhstani Eaglez say. I’m not sure how great an idea it was, mental-health-wise, to have the members re-enact confrontations with would-be rioters during the 2016 tour, let alone whatever happened to prompt AZ to put a gun to his head. But even if I’m right (and I’m speaking with my own understandings of what happened and how it got processed, which could very well be way off the mark), something can be emotionally costly to create and still be worth it.

Without knowing about the 2016 tour, “Mooz” is hard to understand, since it’s not a typical believe-in-yourself song. It’s subdued. Ace has the chorus, but he sure isn’t belting. Bala has “I have a dream,” but he prefaces his lines with a little chuckle, as if he’s somewhat amused by all the twists and turns this star-in-a-pop-group idea has taken him on. AZ’s rap is pure lament. Alem at one point just flat-out stops lip-syncing and simply stares into the camera, looking devastated and unsure.

There’s a sense of uncertainty in the wake of damage done. Ace keeps singing, Мүмкін күн шыққанға дейін, бірге күте тұрамыз? The official English translation is “Let’s wait together until the sun rises.” The Russian lyrics, similarly, drop the question: Может вместе подождем, пока солнце не взойдет. “Maybe together we’ll wait until the sun rises.” (Says Google Translate.) But in the original Ace is asking a question: can we wait together until the sun rises? Is that even possible? And AZ continues: the whole world, in fact, we are strangers to each other? The members’ collective sense of their own ability to proceed forward--to do good--has been called into question.

Moreover I think the uncertainty stems not just from the experience of having had their concerts shut down, though that’s the most extreme (and audience-pleasing) culprit. The trailer actually begins with black-and-white footage of masses of Eaglez screaming at concerts. In the interview this summer the members say, no no we’re glad that we’re not The Band That Spawned a Thousand Thinkpieces right now, we don’t want to be regarded as just controversial attention-getters, we want fame on our own terms. All according to plan, Bala says in the song; but “the plan” calls for greater fame, and greater fame is going to mean less and less power, in terms of their ability to control their own images.

Here I am thinking of a video I’ve seen but won’t link to, of Ninety One at some kind of industry dinner at the beginning of the year. Alem sees the camera first, as he’s about to go into the dining hall, and he waves, throws a V sign, seems happy to have the attention. But the camera continues inside, and when ZaQ and Bala catch sight of it they’re clearly uncomfortable; they’re not looking to be public figures performing for fans right at that moment.

Thinking, also, of Rana Dasgupta’s recent essay, “Notes on a Suicide”:

The problem was that, for the most part, it did not matter how widely broadcast your discontent was: no one cared. The great majority of celebrities – in this new world where even nobodies were celebrities – were lacking in that basic attribute of the celebrity, which was fame. They were half-creatures – unfamous celebrities, anonymous superstars, VIPs like the entire rest of the world – and unlike their fully formed counterparts, the world did not gasp when they expressed their thoughts and feelings. Everything was lost, in fact, in the infinite cacophony….

In the world of social media, where everyone becomes a celebrity, they do not inherit merely the life force of stardom – its beauty, achievement and sex. What is transmitted also to these faceless ranks of superstars is the inner knowledge of death. For, as all true celebrities discover, the media image feeds parasitically on human energy, starving them and removing them, slowly, from the realm of the living.

Even setting translation issues aside, the odds that Boss Yerbolat and Ninety One read Desgupta’s essay before filming the video for “Mooz” seem pretty low. But seeing the brief manipulation of ZaQ’s face into that of an old man’s, I wonder if they haven’t had similar thoughts about what they have to lose, in staking their accomplishments on the awareness of strangers.

***

And yet, and yet, and yet.

They keep yelling Eaglez! It’s practically a trademark: Сәлем, Eaglez! Part of that may be marketing. Part of it. Not all of it.

There are a lot of directions they could have taken with “Mooz,” and didn’t. They could have chosen to laugh off or minimize the disruptions, reassure fans that nothing can touch their commitment to Ninety One. They could have refused to address the uncertainty altogether. They could have done more easily sellable songs about love and relationships, as they did on Aiyptama. They could have put out something more upbeat and generic.

Instead: Неге бəрі мұз? The English translator on duty has Ace’s line as “Why is everyone so cold?” But мұз actually means ice. A better translation might be “Why is everyone frozen?” To continue the metaphor from “Su Asty,” and spell it out: even with gills, you can’t breathe in frozen water.

Ace says, can we wait together? AZ says, and why am I still hugging my knees? Alem says, I don’t know who is who, but my heart continues to believe. ZaQ says, Either their judgment will crush me, or I will pass by not noticing them. Bala says, I will not give up so fast. To me it adds up to, continuing on in the face of profound uncertainty. That they don’t know exactly how to love Eaglez back en masse but they’re going to keep trying. That they can’t be sure this will all work out to their benefit, but it’s still worth doing.

And then, for the first time in their discography, they switch to English:

When you feel alone You can breathe with the world Just keep our rhythm One love, one rhythm

And because now is not the moment for subtlety, Ace looks at the camera for the first time, and Bala makes a heart gesture record-setting in its sincerity.

It’s grandiose. Of course it is. It’s a grandiose idea to begin with, to say, This was my experience, and I think you had an experience like it, and here’s what I want to tell you, this helped me, I think it will help you too. It’s grandiose to think you can talk about the meaning of true happiness in a pop song. It’s grandiose to talk about love and one rhythm to millions of people you’ll never meet.

It is grandiose, in truth, to assume you deserve enough power to be able to do good.

***

There have been times, putting this week together, that I’ve wondered if it hasn’t been a gigantic waste of time, or worse. Quite a lot of time flew away while I happily wrote, and then I looked up and the doubts crowded in. Everything from Are you sure this is worth taking time away from your kids for? to It’s just a pop group, after all to You’re just flattering yourself into thinking your consumption choices are somehow “deep” or “ethical” to Who gave an ignorant American woman first dibs on writing about a Kazakhstani pop group anyway? to Even if you do somehow succeed in getting Ninety One more publicity, that’s not necessarily going to make them more comfortable or happier to All this time, and no one’s going to read it, and meanwhile you still haven’t washed the dishes.

You have to understand: I come from city planning. As a discipline we’re swamped with two things: people who enter with the fervent, heartmost desire to do good, and examples of the road to hell being paved with good intentions. And as a general rule of thumb, the bigger the intention, the less predictable and controllable the consequences.

I think Ninety One want to be famous with their work, the way most people who like to create original works (myself included) do. I think they want the power of visibility for themselves, their genre, and their country; more specifically to beat back the powerlessness that comes with invisibility. And I think they want to do good. “Mooz” feels like an acknowledgment that none of this is simple, that the power to do good is hard to get and harder to use; and a resulting combination of resolution and humility. The desire to reach out, still; to use their song to speak; but their promise is small. When you feel alone, not “you are not alone,” not a promise of connection they can’t deliver on; but, you can breathe with the world. That’s all. Just breathe. Such a small thing.

What was the superpower ZaQ and AZ boasted about in “Su Asty”? We have gills, remember? Simply breathing underwater. Breathing.

That’s it? Ace asks. That’s it, Bala says.

Why did I even start getting so obsessively into pop music and its stories in the first place? To feel less alone. And then to marvel at the idea that people on the other side of the world, speaking other languages, coming from experiences fully foreign to mine, were willing to offer enough of themselves to cameras that I could, in fact, feel less alone; even if there was absolutely no way of my being able to do half as much for them in return.

As best I know Ninety One hasn’t seen this. I don’t know how to show it to them--I don’t even know what would be the best platform for jumping up and down and yelling HEY GUYS LOOK WHAT I WROTE AND IT’S ALL ABOUT YOOOOUUUUUU, leaving aside any issues about queue-jumping in front of other Eaglez who put time and energy into their own presents. I don’t know how to tell them that I find them lovable and inspiring, or that thanks to them I’ve had a great deal of fun learning about Kazakhstan and Kazakhstani music. I don’t know how to say thank you--рақмет сізге, or maybe Спасибо--loud enough for them to hear it; and even if I did, there’s no good reason why I should be the one who gets heard and not some other fan.

But it’s still worth doing.

introductory post / all Ninety One posts

#ninety one #mooz #qarangy zharyq #91 movie

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raendown · 7 years

Text

Chapter 61

The latest request for the Soulmate Collection actually gave me both the pairing and the au and I realized that even in a modern universe my favorite way to write the Akatsuki is as a gang of criminals. xD

Under the cut or on AO3!

Pairing: SasoriDeidara Soulmate au: The one where each person has a piece of clay that changes shape and color to reflect their soulmate's emotions

Sasori hated that stupid piece of clay. He’d been born with it clenched in his fist the same as everybody else had and he hadn’t hated it then. No, he had learned to hate it in the orphanage. He learned to hate it when his life was darkness and misery and that stupid lump of clay would mold itself into a boy caught mid-run, a child leaping for joy, always colored with happy shades of fun, excitement, amusement. Whoever his soulmate was they were having the time of their life and here he was, stuck in some dark hole with a Matron who hated him and fellow children who mocked him for sleeping with a doll.

So yes, Sasori hated that stupid lump of clay. He never understood why he couldn’t simply leave it behind. He should have shoved it in a closet somewhere, hidden it under the floorboards like so many other angry orphans. Instead it sat at his bedside. When he turned eighteen and aged out, Sasori found himself a crappy job and a dirt-cheap apartment and set his lump of clay at his bedside. Lately it had begun to take on the shapes of small bags or little clocks. What those two things had in common he had no clue but they still appeared in shades of amusement and excitement. He still hated it.

There were days he would come home to find his clay shaped like a reaching hand, colored for longing and wistfulness. On his own worst days the clay would shape itself in to a smiling face and assume the colors of comfort. He supposed that, somewhere, his soulmate must be seeing his own emotions and trying to comfort him in what small ways they could. He would only ever scowl. What did they know of sadness, this happy person who had never gone a full day without producing the colors of joy?

He was twenty-one years old when Sasori found himself someone mixed up with the wrong side of the law.

His shitty job earned him shitty pay and he could afford very little other than groceries. But for the last three weeks he had been working overtime, picking up shifts for a coworker who had gone on vacation. Today he had just a little bit extra money and he knew just what he wanted to do with it: put it in the bank! There was nothing better than knowing he had money in the bank, in that savings account that sometimes almost closed by default because it had been empty for too long. He was excited to finally have something to put in it and hoped he would have enough money to not need to touch it for at least a few months.

Sasori had deposited his precious extra money and was making his way through the atrium when an explosion went off, rocking the ground beneath his feet and sending him tumbling to the floor.

The next thing he knew he was being used as a hostage, long blonde hair obscuring his vision as someone wrapped their arm around his neck and leaned over him to shout at the tellers. Hysterically, his mind noted that this person had a rather pleasant voice. He was terrified when they decided to take him along to use as a human shield, insurance so the cops won’t follow them. Sasori is a human being and the police won’t shoot if he’s in the line of fire. But he is also a good-for-nothing nobody and they weren’t going to put much effort in to finding him. Sasori wondered if his captors knew just how lucky they were to choose the perfect hostage.

They released him inside their van, allowed him to scuttle back in to one corner and huddle there to watch them with terrified eyes. He was flabbergasted to see that the blonde one who had captured him was no older than himself. He was grinning widely, tossing a plastic wrapped package back and forth. One of the other ones waved their hands in the air frantically.

“Deidara! Stop playing with that!” the girl snapped. The blonde young man laughed derisively.

“It’s fine, right? I’m the expert on making things go boom and, believe me, I have no interest in going boom myself.” He tossed the package up in the air, catching it with the same hand. “This isn’t even armed anyway.”

Sasori brought his knees up closer to the rest of his body, just hoping that they would continue to ignore him and wondering if this ragtag bunch of idiots even had a plan for what they were going to do with him. That Deidara guy seemed like the loose cannon type, the one who would make things up as he going along. They probably hadn’t even planned on taking a hostage.

His supposition is proved correct when they arrive at an abandoned building turned hideout to be greeted by a giant man with gills tattooed on the sides of his neck and more piercings than should really be necessary. He was also wearing a dark scowl as they all piled out of the van.

“What the fuck? Deidara can you not control yourself? You took a fucking hostage! And you brought him back here with you!?” The man’s voice was a harsh growl and he seemed like he really wanted to take a huge bite out of the blonde guy with those over-sharp teeth that flashed inside his mouth. The only thing that appeared to be holding him back was the hand on his leg, another man languishing on a nearby couch, calmly watching television while his arm reached out to absentmindedly stroke down Sharp Tooth’s calf.

“Screw you, un!” Deidara glared but wasted no energy defending himself, only looked away to finally pay attention to the person whose life he had just turned upside down. “Hm. What to do with you now.”

Sasori was honestly starting to worry about his own brain because the only thing that flashed across his mind right then was that he hoped he would get home in time for his next shift. Missing shifts meant losing money and he did not work that hard just to use up his precious savings the very next month because these idiots kept him from making enough to cover his bills.

More people wandered their way in to the room and soon Sasori found himself on the edge of what looked like a large family debate, his fate being the subject in discussion. There was only one woman in the whole group and she looked more harried than any of the rest of them. Sasori couldn’t tell if it was the one with the orange hair who was in change or if it was the one wearing a weird orange mask but orange was definitely the color of leadership here. Eventually those two seemed to come to the decision that Deidara brought them the problem (he really didn’t appreciate being referred to as a problem) so Deidara should be the one to take care of him (like he was some sort of pet).

He managed to hold his tongue as he was led away by a grumbling blond. The building they were in appeared to be an old warehouse of some kind, repurposed in to a base for nefarious purposes. The hallways were short and complicated and he lost track of how many turns they took before he found himself closed in to a messy bedroom, standing awkwardly by the door while Deidara flopped on the bed.

“Make yourself at home, un,” Deidara offered magnanimously. Sasori blinked and looked around.

There were posters on the wall and strange tools on a desk in the corner. Bits of wire and tubing and things he didn’t know how to properly identify sat in organized containers, at direct odds with the state of chaos the rest of the room was in. Clothes hung out of a short dresser shoved against the far wall and gathered in piles on the floor. The top of the dresser was completely cleared off but for a familiar lump of clay, currently shaped like a cat sniffing its surroundings and shaded with the colors of curiosity and caution.

Sasori stopped dead, staring at the clay which seemed to call for him, beckoning to him on a frequency only he could hear. As he watched the cat disappeared, replaced instead with a wooden doll standing stiffly upright and fading in to the color of shock. Impossible. Deidara hadn’t been paying very much attention to him but his head shot up when Sasori moved forward, hand reaching out to touch the clay.

“Hey!” the blond shouted. “Don’t touch that!”

“But it’s mine!”

“Are you stupid? That’s mine!”

“No, I mean–” Sasori fumbled for words, Deidara’s hand pressed to his chest to keep him at a respectable distance. “I mean that it’s for me. It represents me. I mean that I think I’m your–”

“Soulmate,” Deidara finished for him.

The two of them stood there staring at each other, Deidara blinking owlishly before squinting at him like he thought he might be lying. Sasori only stared back in wonder.

“You think you’re my soulmate.” For a moment Sasori feared the other might not believe him, then suddenly Deidara’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. “That’s so cool, un! What’s your name? Where are you from? Do you wanna stay?”

“Stay?”

“Yeah, stay here with us. The Akatsuki’s great. They picked me up off the streets when I was really little and they let me blow stuff up all the time. It’s awesome!”

He was being offered a home, he realized, a place to come home to and people to belong with. Sasori thought about his shitty apartment and his shitty job, alone in some shitty corner of their broken city. He looked around the room, seeing Deidara’s poorly kept but high quality things. Then he looked at the lump of clay, hesitant but hopeful. When he smiled he watched it light up with the colors of peace and happiness, taking on the shape of a tiny little house. A home.

“That sounds nice,” he said.

Deidara threw one arm around his shoulders and started talking a mile a minute about how they can find out what he’s good at and what he likes to do so that he can contribute to the Akatsuki in whatever way makes him happy.

Sasori let him talk, the smile on his face feeling new and foreign, and made a mental note that he would need to stop by the apartment and pick up his stupid lump of clay. He can’t imagine being without it, just as he suddenly can’t imagine being without Deidara.

#soulmate collection #rae writes #sasodei #sasori #deidara #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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smashbuddies · 7 years

Text

Souvenirs by the Salty Sea: Pt. 1

Lazy days at the beach were one of Daniel’s favorite things. In his secluded little alcove he could lounge in the shallows without a care in the world. Just the warm sun, the cool ocean, and some cute little fish to keep him company. It was a peaceful getaway from home.

And if he was really lucky, he'd get to partake in his favorite pastime: seeing some stupid surfers wipe-out on the waves.

“Hey, guys! Check this shit out!”

Speak of the devil. He leaned forward, eyes locked onto the idiot heading out further into the water. The wave they chased was going to topple them, it was too big and too chaotic.

Sure enough, as soon as they stood up on their board, the water engulfed them. Daniel snorted. That's what they get.

He waited a moment to see if they'd come up.

They didn't.

Of course, another one of these. Every single time he'd ask himself if he really wanted to save the top moron of the day. And every time he found himself saying yes.

Completely at home in the water, it took him no time to find them struggling in the depths. He almost laughed. Didn’t they know it was pointless? He grabbed their arm, startling them judging by the bubbles flying out of their mouth.

They were almost to heavy for him to pull, but he managed to get them back to the surface and keep them afloat. While they gasped and sputtered, he brought them to his alcove, trusting them not to drown in five inch deep water.

“You're a moron,” he said, stretched out on his stomach next to them. His arms burned and ached.

They looked deeply offended. Or tried to while trying to catch their breath. “I totally didn't need any help, asshole! I had it under control!”

“Look, I just saved your life. Would you have rather died?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” he deadpanned. “Humans are dumber than I thought.”

Their face scrunched up in confusion and they opened their mouth to no doubt say something stupid. Then their gaze became glued to his lower half.

“Um? What's with the…?” As they trailed off, their hand made a sweeping motion.

He looked down at his glistening blue scales, flowing tendrils, and his colorful fin. Really, it couldn't get more obvious.

“I'm a mermaid,” he answered slowly. “Well, a merman, really. Humans like to call us all mermaids though.”

They snorted. “Please, with a tail like that, you're definitely a mermaid.”

He scowled and sat himself up so he could cross his arms. His fin swished a little in disdain. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re too much of a pretty boy to be called a merman,” they teased, a shit-eating grin stretching across their face. “You're also probably a hallucination. But whatever, details.”

“Ugh, I should've let you drown,” he grumbled while scooting a little further into the water.

They pointedly ignored him in favor of asking, “So if you're a dude, how does the whole dick thing work?”

His face instantly grew hot. “That's none of your business!”

“C’mon,” they said, leaning closer to him with half-lidded eyes. “I'm curious. ‘Cause I definitely don't see it right now.”

“Drop it!” he hissed, retreating further. His fin flapped against the water while he got himself ready for a hasty take off. “You don't hear me asking about your weird human genitals!”

“I mean,” they said simply with a shrug, “you could.”

Dear god, he couldn't be anymore embarrassed. His cheeks were literally going to catch on fire, and then he'd dry out and die. Not like he'd completely mind.

“I'm not going to,” he stated with all the finality he could muster. “What kind of pervert asks someone that right after first meeting them?”

They put their hands up in surrender. “Okay, I see you're clearly flustered.” With a grin they made a strange gesture, pointer fingers directed at him with their thumbs sticking straight up. “So how about we just make out a little and see where we go from there? ‘Cause I'm thinking a little day trip to Pound Town.”

As if he wanted to be taken to a barbaric human civilization. Or make out with one of their kind.

“No! And I'm leaving now! Try not to almost die again, ‘cause I'm not saving you next time!” On that note, he made a complete one-eighty and took off, not even daring to look back.

“C’mon!” they shouted to his back. “I can’t be cockblocked by my own hallucination!”

Ugh. He dove under and darted through the water, until he made it to the little cave he called home. Once he was safe and sound inside, he took a deep breath, gills relishing the feel of the water.

“What a jerk,” he complained to no one, floating gently down onto his bed. “They better be a tourist. If they’re sticking around, I'll have to find a new beach.”

Still, he couldn't get them out of his mind. Despite their abrasive nature, they were pretty attractive. For a human. And they took him being a mermaid pretty well. Even though the didn’t really believe he was real.

He mimicked the gesture they had done earlier, and frowned. Maybe he'd go back tomorrow. But not for them.

Where were they?

It was about the fifth time Daniel had peeked his head above the water and scanned the beach goers, and he was considering giving up. Maybe they really did leave? Which if they did, then fine. In fact, good riddance.

“Hey!”

He gasped and dove underwater. That was them. Shit, did they see him? He hoped not. As slowly and as stealthily as possible, he made his way to his little alcove. A smile slipped onto his face as he popped up, ready for another afternoon of relaxing.

“Nice to see you too.”

Well, there went his good mood.

He glanced up at them, not liking the way they seemed so casual. Standing there with that stupid grin on their face and a surfboard under their arm. What were they so happy about?

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” he said bluntly, sitting back.

They snorted and stabbed their board into the sand, then took a seat next to him. “And I thought you weren't even real,” they quipped. “But hey, guess we're both wrong.”

On instinct his tail curled away from them. “You're not gonna tell anyone about me, are you?”

“I mean, shit,” they said. “No one would believe me if I did.”

He frowned and gave them a pointed glare. “That doesn't answer my question.”

After one look at him, their expression sobered up. Like they understood. “No. I won't tell anyone.” Their hand extended out to him, all fingers curled into a fist except the pinky. “I promise.”

What the hell?

A long moment passed where he stared at their hand, completely bewildered. The whole time they watched him expectantly, like he was supposed to do something. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what.

“Buddy,” they huffed out. “Grab my pinky with yours.”

He did as told, face growing warm. “What's this even supposed to do?”

“Hell if I know,” they answered bluntly, pulling their hand back. “It's symbolic or something. Don't worry your pretty little head about it, fish-stick.”

How dare they.

“That's not my name,” he complained, frowning hard at them with his hands on his hips. “It's Daniel.”

They looked at him like he grew a second head. “Really?”

His heart did a flip. “What? Is there something wrong with it?”

“I mean, I just thought you'd have a more, uh...” Their nose scrunched as they tried to think. “Mermaid sounding name. Like Coral, or Aqua. Oceana. Some bullshit like that.”

“Excuse me,” he drawled, pouting and crossing his arms while his fin splashed the water, “for not living up to your high expectations. I’m sure you have a perfectly human sounding name, like Bob. Or Gerald. Or, uh...” Shit, what was another human name? He’d heard plenty of them, why couldn’t he remember?”

“...Frank."

Good one.

“Pffft.” That wasn’t a good sound. “It’s Snail, actually.”

Way to put his fin in his mouth. A long, awkward silence passed. Daniel shifted several times, unsure of what to say. Then, in an effort to make his day even worse, his stomach let out a low- yet loud- rumble. Face burning, he curled in on himself to try and stifle the noise.

“Hungry?” Snail asked, a hint of humor in their tone. Before he could answer, they stood up, brushing the sand off their shorts. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere!”

Well then.

When were they coming back? Did he have time to grab a snack real quick? Probably not. With a sigh he laid back, submerging himself so his gills could be put to work. He closed his eyes, the sun too bright for them to be open, and just let himself sway with the tide. It lulled him into a really light doze.

After a few minutes, a tap on his shoulder brought him out of his own little world. He sat up, blinking a few times to clear his eyes.

“I got french fries,” they said, holding out a small container filled with little golden… sticks.

He wrung out his hair while eyeing up the so-called french fries. Honestly, they looked like complete garbage. But the smell made his stomach rumble even more. “What is it?”

“Food.” For emphasis, they popped one into their mouth. “Go on, they’re tasty.”

Delicately, he picked one up and immediately hated with his entire being the way it felt in his fingers. Greasy and stiff, with little grains of something on it. He gave it a light squeeze. It had some give, but it was also crisp.

“What’s it made of?” he asked. warily side-eyeing them. No way he was eating mystery human food before getting more information. It could be poison, for all he knew. But he really didn’t think they’d poison him. Not on purpose, at least.

“Potatoes,” they answered simply, like he should know what that word even meant.

His nose crinkled up. It didn’t sound appetizing. At all. “What’s a potato?”

“Seriously? It’s a plant. Like-” their hand did loops as they stumbled over their words- “I dunno, seaweed, or whatever you have. Are you gonna eat it or not?”

He liked seaweed. But this looked nothing like that. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try, right? What’s the worst that could happen?

Snail watched him as he took a little nibble, eyes wide, eager to see his reaction.

It was salty. Like the ocean. He took a larger bite. The flavor danced in his mouth like nothing before, it was absolutely stunning. How did humans make such a thing? He ate the rest of the fry and shamelessly snagged three more while he had the chance.

“Holy shit, I guess you like them?” they asked, grinning.

He nodded, mouth too for words. Like was really an understatement, but he’d let it go.

Snail let out a laugh. “Wow, I really didn’t think I’d be getting a fish-boy hooked on french fries today.”

Daniel tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “Hooked?”

“Um, yeah?” A second later their eyes went wide. “I mean, shit, no! Not like, fishing hooked, just like, you know… Hook hooked…”

“Uh-huh… I think I get it.” He tried finding the right word for it in human speak, but it just didn’t come. “Not a real hook. An imaginary one.”

“Yeah!” Snail agreed with a relieved sigh. The tension practically melted away from them. “A metaphor or some shit.”

That was the word. He repeated it several times under his breath, so he could remember it for next time.

Together the two of them finished off the french fries, not disturbing the peace of the gentle afternoon. It was almost nice actually having someone around. Maybe they weren’t so bad after all.

Snail left to go dispose of the container, and when they came back they grabbed their board from the sand. The arm that wasn’t holding it went up, and their hand formed a fist, but with their thumb and pinky sticking out to the sides. Another weird hand gesture. “Wanna watch me catch some sick waves?”

Sick? That must’ve been another metaphor. Daniel nodded despite his confusion, and gave them a coy smile while poorly repeating the gesture back to them. “Just try not to catch too much.”

They laughed. He wasn’t sure what they found funny- the unintentional mockery of their strange customs or the most likely terrible use of their language.

“Please, I’m the most skilled surfer here,” they bragged, puffing their chest out. “There’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Somehow I don’t quite believe that.”

“Just watch and learn, pretty boy.”

His face grew warm at that little moniker, but he didn’t comment on it. Not like he wanted them to think he was pretty or anything.

After just a couple minutes of watching them, he felt like he was already eating his words. They really were good at surfing. They made it look so easy and graceful- he almost wished he could do it himself. Maybe that little accident the day before really had been a fluke.

When they washed ashore, now laying on the surfboard, they grinned at him and asked, “That do anything for ya?”

He simply shrugged.

Their face dropped, and they quickly got to their feet. “C’mon, that was amazing, and you know it!”

“I dunno,” he drew out his words playfully, checking his nails. “Do I?”

They didn’t answer. He made the mistake of looking at them. Almost childishly, they pouted at him, arms crossed. Their precious surfboard drifted by their legs, now ignored. Playing cool didn’t help him for more than two seconds before he broke character.

“Okay, I really did like it,” he admitted, smiling. Then he held his pinky out to them. “I promise.”

“Good! ‘Cause I was pretty awesome,” they said with pink cheeks and a half-hearted grin, one hand resting proudly on their hip. “Bet you’ve never seen anyone in the entire world as good as me.”

Tapping a finger against his lips, he thought back. “You’re right,” he agreed, albeit reluctantly. “I only really watch when I know someone’s going to fail.”

Their confident pose fell, and they grimaced while swallowing thickly. “Why?”

“It’s funny,” he explained, leaning back and propping himself up with his arms. “Plus it keeps me focused on the idiots who need saving.”

“Idiots like me?” they asked, one eyebrow raised up.

“No, not quite as dumb.” A grin snuck onto his face. “But close enough.”

“Rude.”

Snail sat down next to him, and a comfortable silence fell over the two of them. Daniel traced a finger through the water around him, making random little patterns. He felt something touch the hand that was still keeping him propped it. Looking down, he saw it was Snail’s fingers, just barely laying over him. They didn’t seem to notice. Or if they did notice, they didn’t seem to care.

“So, what do you normally eat?” they asked out of the blue. “‘Cause it’s just weird to think that you don’t have french fries. Do you not have pizza either? Or cheeseburgers?”

He slowly shook his head, completely baffled by all the new words thrown at him. “I eat seaweed and other plants. Sometimes fish.”

They glanced down at his tail, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Well, some kinds,” he corrected. For some reason the warmth from their hand kept distracting him. “It’s like… Humans eat some animals that share their characteristics, but not others. That’s what we do.”

“Uh…” It took them a moment, but he could visibly see the very second it clicked in their head. “Like, we eat cows, but not dogs. Okay.”

“Sure.” Dogs were familiar. He’d seen them on the beach before. But what the hell was a cow?

Voices started coming toward them, clearly shouting Snail’s name. Daniel took off in a flash, going far enough out to dive and hide underwater. He watched the commotion from his spot, ready to escape at a moment’s notice.

A group of people approached Snail, who was staring wide-eyed directly at him. Idiot, look away! They blinked a couple times before getting up and having a conversation with the other humans. Every single one was dressed like the typical beach goer. Some of them even had their own surfboards under their arms.

Stupid people. And he was having a relatively nice time, too. Why’d they have to come along and ruin everything?

The group of humans ran off, leaving Snail behind. They looked over to where he hid once more, mouthing something and giving a small wave. Then after grabbing their board, they turned away to leave. Peeking his head up out of the water, he called out to them. They almost instantly brightened while they turned back halfway to look at him.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he said, which earned a smile from them. “Meet me here around this time, okay?”

They nodded, then took off after the others.

What they didn’t know was that he wasn’t coming back for them. He only wanted more food. And to maybe learn about humans more. Definitely just that and nothing else.

#snailbitch #mermaid au #souvenirs by the salty sea #fic #mod cantolope

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theshipden · 7 years

Text

Grounded Birdie Chapter 2

I guess I'll be releasing new chapters every week or so?? I don’t know, I tried to make this long so the wait to write this is worth it. Hopefully, it is! If I need to make these longer or shorter then just let me know, or just suggestions or whatever ya have in mind, I’m open to anything really. Anyways, enjoy!

also, the lines aren't to change POV but for change in time, just an FYI

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Lance watched Keith sleep, though it was hard to see their face or much of them because their wings blocked his view, Lance didn't appreciate the attitude they carried but he couldn’t blame the Avian. If he had gotten shot in the gills and tail, he wouldn’t be in the brightest of moods. Slipping back into the water without a sound, Lance swam circles for lack of anything to do, Keith seemed touchy whenever Lance had offered to help him out with his feather problem, maybe he had offended Keith and didn’t realized it, after all Avians were a mystery nowadays. Thinking back to the crystal Lance knew they’d have to move it pretty soon incase another Galra ship decided to drop by and he hoped that the oceans currents would sweep the wreckage of the Galra ship into the darker waters so it couldn’t be seen and in hopes be soon forgotten by all. That was what usually happened with ships, they sink and no one ever came for them. They were erased from history and existence, the only one who carried on their legacy was Lance. He’d go to collect things from the surface, stashing majority of what he couldn’t hide in his room in the chest he’d taken long ago from an old ship in a hidden cave along the shore. No one would find his treasures and they wouldn’t rust with time in the oceans salt.

He felt hungry, no doubt Keith must be hungry too, but did Avians eat fish? Or were they like other birds unknown to Lance? Taking care of the Avian seemed to pose a more difficult mission then he originally thought, he’d just have to ask when Keith awoke next. Diving beneath the surface of the water, Lance’s tail carried him down and he swam out of the covered cavern, looking for something he could possibly eat. Diving down more, He thanked Neptune for the school of fish that swam close by, as quick as lightning Lance shot towards them and jabbed out with his long nails and managed to get a fish or two. Now Lance wasn’t a bad hunter, back in his shoal he helped the hunting party a few times but compared to the senior hunters, he couldn’t compare to how fast and how much they could catch. But something was always better then nothing, Lance would hear his mother remind him whenever he got discouraged, and he brought back the fish for him to eat. Keith was sleeping for a long time, the sun had sunken below the horizon long ago and the boy didn’t wake, Lance was scared that the Avian actually didn’t make it in his sleep but every now and then, Keith would shift or his wings would twitch and Lance would sigh in relief between famished gulps of his catch. He didn’t know why he was so worried about someone so different then him, or why he felt like he needed to stay, sure it would’ve been horrible to just leave Keith and Lance would feel guilty if he had done so. But something more was calling him to stay, the oceans push and pulls seeing to carry the same message. ____________________________________________________________ Keith couldn’t tell how long he slept, just that his wings were cramped and the throbbing pain didn’t leave him. He opened his eyes weakly, they still felt weighed down by tiredness but he forced them to remain open, surveying his surroundings. For a minute, he had forgotten that he was in a cave and that he had gotten attacked not too long ago, but how long exactly was he out? The sun rose high in the sky, odd, the last time he saw it, it was midday and hung lowly in the clouds. He figured he must've slept for a long while and cursed, he was a little too rushed with this attack, suffering too many injuries. Just too many things had gone wrong and now he was stuck, wings damaged and in pain, he was still cold but the sun warmed the waters and the outside making it just the right temperature inside for him. He took a glance at his feathers, from his sleep they were ruffled all the wrong way, some clung together while others were just parted and it itched and felt unworldly uncomfortable. The outer side was clinging to one another and thrown in different directions while his inner feathers were matted and crusted with salt, the end tips of both sides were caked with sand. Keith knew he had his work cut out for him.

He didn’t know how he’d get everything done with the burn on his sensitive spot, the joints were too tender to move, keeping Keith glued to his one position that he fell asleep in. He’d just have to wait until he could move with ease before grooming his wings but who knew how long that could take, Shiro couldn’t wait much longer without him! His jaw clenched, he was clearly frustrated with himself, the thoughts of advice echoing in his head that he’d received from his brother: Patience yields focus.

“I just have to focus on moving, take one step at a time.” Keith sighed, rolling onto his side and lazily pushing himself up. His muscles screamed their protest at the motion, he must've really overdid it this time, lips thinning to a line, Keith pushed through it and sat up. He eyed the ruffled feathers through the side of his sight, the feeling of its itch made him burn inside. How was he suppose to wait to fix the irritating feeling? It was driving him mad already. Everything seemed to need his focus right then and there, drowning in his many problems, it wasn’t helping the short temper Keith was famous for back at home. He was so caught up in his thoughts he failed to notice Lance resurfacing, the water parting as he rose from its shining depths, folding his arms on the ledge and resting his chin on it. “You’re awake,” Lance whispered a little shocked to see Keith sitting up though slumped. Heavy bags seemed to have formed under their indigo eyes, wait indigo? Lance hadn’t seen eyes such a color like that, they were dull yet held a fierce sharpness to them, making his gills quiver slightly. He wondered if the Avian could see into his soul, like the rumors told, Keith’s were just as sharp as the rumors had spoken and Lance did feel a little hot under it's gaze. “How long was I asleep for?” Keith paid no mind to the shock the merman seemed to be experiencing, instead turning the subject around slightly. “A day and a half, why?” Lance rose a brow, face scrunching as he witnessed a look flash across Keith’s face.

“Why didn’t you wake me up!?” His voice carried on the wind, echoing back at him the words he had just spoken.

“Don’t get your tail in a twist, bird brain! You needed the sleep! Don’t be mad at me because you couldn’t wake up,” Lance countered back, his eyes narrowing. Keith folded his arms across his chest, huffing, this mermaid was starting to get on his nerves. “Anyway, I came to see if you were awake and since you are, I wanted to ask if you can eat fish.”

Keith simply nodded, trying to be as kind as he currently could, he didn’t completely trust Lance. The merman mumbled his departure and splashed lightly as he descended into the water, Keith flinched at the water that lapped at the ledge where he sat, did Lance have to do that or was it just to irritate him, maybe to show that he still could infact drown Keith if he was too rude. Making a mental note to not piss off Lance, Keith waited for him to return, when he did he dumped a few fish onto the ledge looking at Keith expectantly. Keith stared back, after a minute of full staring Keith noted that despite the merman’s arrogance, he liked their twinkling eyes.

“Well, are you going to eat or just stare at me?” Lance pouted, sinking lower, the water was up to his chin, he felt self-conscious under the indigo eyes.

“I can’t eat it raw.” Keith shrugged, the effort making him tense, right eye squinting as he fought to control the pain that burned his nerves.

“Why can’t you?” Lance cocked his head to the side, swimming closer to the ledge and drumming his fingers along the rocky surface. He hadn’t heard of something so ridiculous, how else was he going to eat it? All merfolk ate fish raw, it’s taste was always savored and tingled their tastebuds, why was Keith so different?

“I’ll get sick from the uncooked meat, there’s bacteria and possible disease that I can’t afford to catch.” Keith informed, he sounded like this was common knowledge but it was all new to Lance. He had loads of questions he wanted to ask but he figure that could wait until Keith was fed, he didn’t want to stir up more trouble.

“Okay so what are we suppose to do, then?” Lance froze, did he just say we? It wasn’t his problem that Keith was so difficult, maybe it was just because he felt sorry for the creature.

“First, I need a fire and something to cook the fish on. Something, ya know, dry?” At the mention of a fire, Keith became aware of how damp his clothes still were. It clung to his figure, the chilly dampness sinking into his flesh and he shivered. A fire was definitely needed.

Lance nodded, holding off his questions for now, and decided to ask Hunk and Pidge for help. Pidge would probably know something and Hunk would come up with a good idea to help, flicking his tail Lance dove under once more and swam off, leaving Keith alone and to his thoughts. Lance was grateful Hunk and Pidge had covered for him while he was busy helping Keith, Pidge of course asking all sorts of questions whenever they were able to visit about Keith, wanting to know as much about the avians as possible but Lance was just as clueless as Pidge was. He certainly hadn’t learned anything about the avians except that this one in particular was quite moody. After a while, Lance saw the castle come into view, immediately he sped up his swimming. Being the prince of his people, and the youngest of his siblings, he often left to explore with his friends. His sisters were much more involved with royal duties then he was, so it wasn’t uncommon if he left for long periods of time and checked back in only to jet off yet again. It was just his style, but he was still still grateful for the support and trust his friends gave him, it meant more to him then anything. Before he knew it he was back within his own home, swimming towards the one place Lance was sure he’d find Hunk and Pidge, the kitchen. Slowing down his pace so he didn’t seemed too suspicious, Lance gave the two a grin.

“So, how’s your uh, new friend doing.” Hunk asked as nonchalantly as he could, incase anyone was around to listen. Truth be told, Hunk was just as happy and as grateful as Pidge and Lace for Keith saving his scales but he was still iffy about the whole thing, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to help them. Lowering his voice to a whisper, Lance’s grin widened. “He’s awake, I need to get him stuff for a fire so I was wondering if you two happen to have or know what I should get..?”

Pidge beamed, the net hanging around their waist swished as they leaned forward to Lance, voice just as quiet. “You need dry things, like those weird earth smelling things you find in the wreckages, and the drift wood you can find floating on the surface.”

Lance gave their friend a quick hug, snickering, Pidge always seemed to have the answer. “Thanks, Seaweed tail, you’re amazing!” Pidge scoffed but twined their tails in the hug for a moment before pushing Lance away to ask the question that’s been wandering around their mind all day.

“So can I see him? What’s he like? Can I touch his wings and his two tails? You think he has any gills or fins anywhere under his clothes?” Pidge fired off questions one after the other, eyes gleaming but frowned when Lance gave a shrug.

“Slow down, I don’t know any answers but I know his name is Keith. But I wouldn’t recommend coming to see him so soon because he’s reeeaaalllly rude and I don’t think he trusts me. Having more merfolk around him would end in disaster!” Lance placed a hand onto his chest, adding to the dramatic effect before straightening up. “In all seriousness, I’m not kidding.”

Pidge visibly deflated, this wasn’t exactly the answer they wanted but they supposed it would do for now. “Well, Lance, You better hurry and get out of here. Hunk and I can cover for you but if someone sees you, then who knows how long they’ll keep you doing royals duties.”

“Oh, thats not a problem! I can always find a way to get out of them.” He scoffed, folding his arms in front of his chest.

“Oh and Lance,” Hunk whispered earning the prince’s attention. “Promise you won’t like get too involved with the whole, situation, we have going on?” “ You have nothing to worry about, I got this.” Lance gave the two a reassuring smile before saying goodbye. How’d he get so lucky to have such good friends? Shaking his head clear, Lance knew he had to focus on the task at hand, getting dry things for Keith. But what could possibly catch fire? Sure Pidge had named a few things but what if those things didn’t work, what would he do then? He didn’t want Keith to be so cold and uncomfortable, Lance wouldn’t admit it to Keith’s face but he did save him and his friends from what felt like certain death, and he had gotten so banged up. Keith deserved a little good after all of that.

Instead of going back to the hidden cavern that Keith waited for him in, Lance swam the opposite direction. He’d hidden his chest full of wreckage treasures far from his home, wanting to keep them safe. He figured he’d have to haul the whole chest to Keith so the land-walker could decide what would work best for the fire because Lance had no idea, he lived in the sea, fires weren’t exactly a survival necessity. Lance swam beneath the warm surface water, flowing with the oceans currents towards his hidden paradise, the sun did feel nice but too much sun was never a good thing. He wouldn’t want to risk distorting his perfect complexion with a horrible burn, not many merfolk even went this close to the surface, but Lance was always the oddball. He enjoyed the warmer waters and sun, though there were times when his love for the surface had cost him his far share of troubles. Eyeing the approaching cliff face, Lance slowed his swimming to a much more relaxed pace, the cool water of the shadowed area releasing tension in his muscles, he sighed. He always enjoyed coming here, it was his own private get away when times were rough, sometimes even offering his two friends the refugee of his sanctuary. Taking a moment to just be to himself, Lance wondered how he would manage to get the chest to Keith. He could just lug it through the ocean but that might get the dry stuff wet and then the whole mission would be useless, then again if he carried it to the surface he’d look plain ridiculous and maybe even get caught by some human or oncoming Galra ship. Groaning, Lance had to make a decision soon, Keith better appreciate this. ____________________________________________________________ What was taking Lance so long? Keith wish he would hurry up so he could get warm, some heat on his wings wouldn’t be too bad, the idea made his feathers tingle in delight, masking the irritable itch caused by the ruffled feathers. He still felt incredibly tired for someone who had slept for almost two days, before he knew it he had fallen asleep slumped against the rocky wall of the cavern. The sound of some splash and something being pushed onto the ledge woke him up, he flinched but saw the familiar blue tail of Lance in the water which calmed down his anxieties. He was pushing a chest onto the rocky surface, panting with the effort, it looked dry except for the bottom part where water had lapsed up, soaking the wood. Raising a brow, Keith looked to Lance for an explanation as to why he had hauled a chest all the way here from God knows where. “You said you needed dry stuff, so I thought there had to be something in here dry enough to use.” Lance explained simply, though there was a flicker of unease in those cerulean eyes of his. Keith felt awkward, this merman was really trying to help him, but no one did that unless there was something to gain. What could Lance possibly get from Keith?

“Thanks,uh, Lance. “ He muttered and leaned forward. He could feel the weight of his wings sprawled out limply behind him, the simple movement almost bearing to much for Keith as he clenched his jaw and rose to his full height. The more he moved his wings the better, they would heal, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be painful as all hell. Staggering over towards the chest, Keith seated himself in front of it, sighing at the relief of strain on his back. Opening the chest carefully, Keith rummaged through the things in the chest. Lance, to say the least, had it all. He had necklaces, books, mirrors, pictures, forks and spoons, plates (with and without cracks and chips) paper with the ink so smudged the writing wasn’t even readable, and so on. He even managed to have some spare clothes that appeared to belong to someone of a small size, Keith’s eyes slightly widened.

“So,” Lance watched Keith’s expression slightly nerved. “ Is anything in there useable?”

“Yeah, actually.” Keith breathed, grabbing the smudged papers and books from out the wooden box. Standing up once again, the motion just as hard as before, he searched for a few good rocks to make a small pit for the fire and to help start it. Lance’s eyes followed Keith’s movements, watching closely as Keith held a hand to the wall for support while he walked, he felt sorry for him. A pang of sympathy stabbed his heart, those wings as big as they were, was the source of what held him here. The proud Avian was pained because of the famous wings his own people carried, it felt similar to twisting one’s tail. Keith gathered the rocks he needed, making a small little circle and then putting the papers into the middle, taking the rocks and sparking the items. It took a few tries but he had managed to catch the ends of the paper aflame, carefully he cupped the small flame and used his torso to block the wind, feeding more paper to the hungry fire. Pretty soon it grew in size and Keith backed away, rubbing his arms to try and warm up, he scooted as close as he could safely be. Lanced watched the dazzlingly flame flicker as the wind stirred it’s fuel and made it grow brighter, a shadow falling along Keith's face as it swayed. Lance didn’t have enough time to admire how sharper the shadow made Keith features look before Keith was picking up one of the fish. Lance watched him curiously as Keith dragged the knife towards the fish and cringed as Keith worked it.

Taking the knife in a firm grasp Keith started to cut the dorsal fin off the fish, moving onto the fins adoring the side of the creature he did the same thing, Lance sank a little lower into the sea. Was all of that really necessary to eat a simple fish? Shivering, Lance continued to watch and his discomfort only grew as Keith opened the gills, slicing them out of the poor creature. Grabbing the fish by the tail, the Avian used the spine of his weapon to remove the scales, going against them and their pattern leaving Lance to hug his waist. Keith wouldn’t do that to him, surely not. A lump started to well into his throat, he felt exposed and dry as Keith took the knife and started to gut the dead fish, he couldn’t possibly watch anymore and decided to wait until Keith was done to ask his questions. Keith had failed to notice Lance’s discomfort until the boy- merman- had disappeared under the cool waves. He blinked, looking down at the second fish he was working on and frowned. Maybe doing this in front of Lance wasn’t such a good idea, in hind’s sight. Returning to the task at hand, he stuck the fish with his knife and began the process all over again, cooking each fish to perfection by using his knife as a stick. The process took much longer, so naturally by the time he was done, he had finished the food rather quickly in famished gulps.

When Lance finally revealed himself, Keith was slowly chewing his last fish, spices would defiantly make the meal tastier but he couldn’t be picky. He was just grateful for being able to have food and not starve, pausing in his eating Keith stared at the cooked meat, trying to stay as nonchalant as he could. “Thanks for the fish and all,” Was all he muttered before going back to bite the food. That seemed to work as Lance beamed, his earlier discomfort forgotten, it seemed Lance loved the praise and attention.

“Yeah, Yeah, all in a day’s work!” Lance waved his hand dismissively but Keith didn’t miss the genuine smile that dusted his tanned cheeks. “So, why can’t you just like eat fish raw? Doesn’t your body fight off bacteria?” He asked confidently, not caring if the question could cause any offense, Keith would just have to learn to not be so sensitive all the time.

“Well yeah, it can, but not in the sense you can. Look,” Keith tried to explain but this was more of something everyone knew without having to inform someone. As you grew, you just tend to pick it up, how was he suppose to explain something so common and simple and obvious to Lance? “It’s complicated.” He finished after a subtle pause.

“Clearly, and what’s up with your two tails there?” Lance continued, brows scrunching as he pestered.

“It’s called legs, not tails. And what do you mean whats up with them?” Keith copied the expression, just as confused.

“They don’t seem pretty effective to swim with.” Lance mumbled, taking it upon himself to be seated on the sandy ledge.

“Well of course they aren’t, I don’t live in the ocean so why would they? Your tail doesn’t seem to help you on land.” Keith flashed back defensively.

“You have a point there!” Lance grinned, the heat of the fire pleasant but made him scoot back a little anyways. Even though they did have distance between them, the heat still bounced off the cave walls and caressed Lance’s skin. He hoped with Keith’s close proximity to it, he was helping him get warm. And Keith was, he could feel his temperature rising the longer he stayed by the fire, after more then five minutes pasted Keith felt even overheated. Now would be the time as any to get his clothes dry, or his shirt at least, there was no way he’d risk getting stark naked with Lance hanging around. Maybe when he was feeling better he could bring something back to the kind merman who had let him burn his things, Keith hadn’t missed the disappointed expression that ghosted over Lance’s face as his objects burned, after all it was the least Keith could do. The joints in his back still pained him, and the burns didn’t look too good either. Just thinking about them made the itching return and Keith groaned, as time moved on the itching became increasingly unbearable and aggravated him. Grabbing his shirt, Keith pulled off the dampened material, grunting with the effort it took. As if sensing Lance’s oncoming question, Keith draped the shirt onto a small rock close by the fire but not close enough to where the fabric could catch fire. “It’s so I don’t get as cold as quickly.” Lance nodded, satisfied with the answer he had been given. To his surprise, Keith’s now exposed torso was revealed to him and it seemed to match his, not including the occasional scale that was placed on his sides extending from the hip where the humanoid skin met his tail. Lance wondered how they could be so different, wings and a tail, but be so similar in other things. He had imaged maybe some other feathers hiding beneath the clothes like how seagull’s bell fluff would be smooth and look so inviting for him to touch but Keith didn’t have that. He had skin and muscle, though was much paler then Lance’s own darkened complexion, just another difference and similarity. Keith didn’t notice the gawking, he was too busy trying to move his wing to look at the burns and scrapes. Each little movement hurt like hell and he wondered why he even bothered until that feeling creeped over him again, itchy and dirty coated him like a blanket. If only Shiro were here, Keith desperately missed his brother, if he had been here with him then Keith was sure he wouldn’t be feeling this uncomfortable. That his little problem would be taken care of, but instead he was here on a ledge with a merman who knew nothing of his kind, but the help was appreciated even if Keith didn't often show it. He wanted to know how bad it looked from the back of his wings, he was mostly sure there was a giant bruise on his back, but he needed to know the extend of his injuries if he was gonna be able to try and rescue his only family.

For now, he’d have to deal with the pressing questions and irritating mixture of uncleanliness, pain, and itching until his wings were able to recover enough to let him discard the feathers. If he count get them out then he wasn’t going anywhere, if the new feathers tried to grow in while the damaged ones still sat there then his discomfort would increase tenfold, but he couldn’t ask Lance to lend a hand. He just didn’t know the guy like that, and asking for more help seemed embarrassing to him, he’d already took enough of the man’s time and resources, he couldn’t ask anymore of the nice fellow. So he answered questions as best as he could, watching the shadow fall over the cavern as the sun began to set again, Lance promised to watch over him while he rested and oddly enough that seemed to ease some concerns Keith didn’t realize he had been holding, he was beginning to like Lance. But his trust was hard to gain, Keith kept his guard up even though he thought nothing bad would happen to him, it was just pure instinct to do so. So he returned to his earlier position and closed his eyes, sleep was hard enough to come by without the nightmares that plagued him or the rising need for action to find Shiro. His eyes fluttered open for only a moment before he was being lulled by something to close them, a soft melody mixing with the tune of the ocean made the tension in his shoulders loosen, made him feel truly relaxed for the first time since he awoken here. There was a voice humming but it was rich in sound and very pleasant to the ears, sooner he realized that it was Lance who was causing his sudden tiredness he was already drifting off.

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