#now I’m in the same boat as the rest of you sad sacks waiting on that loooool
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So. Spent the past week or so watching Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss. Been kinda interesting to see the polished version of these internet projects that have been kinda floating around my periphery for so long. And they both deffo have some juicy characters and meaty themes for me to sink my teeth into.
Also I need a Stolas plushy to hug into oblivion IMMEDIATELY.
#SAD PINING MESS OF AN OWL PRINCE HAS MY HEART WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED#and I’ve had Loser on repeat all week for my recurring panic attacks#so that’s been really nice actually#almost quit on helluva boss and then it grew plot and character development out of nowhere#yesssssssssssss#now I’m in the same boat as the rest of you sad sacks waiting on that loooool#STOLAS FIZZ ANGEL GIRLS NIGHT WHEN????
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The Bend of the Arc (1/ 4)
SUMMARY: Emma Swan hates Killian Jones at first sight. He's everything she despises in a man: arrogant, provocative, and a known criminal associate of the city’s most notorious gangster. She’s determined to put him behind bars, until a shocking event forces them together and Emma discovers that there’s a lot more to Killian than meets the eye.
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY @stahlop! ~ I know it’s a little early your time, but I have zero chill. Lisa, it’s been so wonderful getting to know you this past year or so, especially watching you get back into writing! You said you’d like to see my take on the enemies-to-lovers trope, and so here it is—I hope you enjoy it. Have a FANTASTIC birthday 😘😘😘
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(note: Crime is soooo not my genre, but I did my best with it. If there’s anything I completely effed up it’s okay to tell me about it, but please be gentle 😘😘)
Rating: M (language and eventual smut)
Words: 5.8k (of 30k total)
Tags: Modern AU, enemies to lovers, bounty hunter!Emma, criminal!Killian, smut, bedsharing, stranded together
On AO3
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PART ONE:
She could smell the despair the moment she walked through the door. That wasn’t unexpected; grim places frequented by grimmer people were the bread and butter of her trade and this particular grim place—a grimy hole in the wall near the harbour—bled exactly the same hopelessness as the rest of them. It was, however, not where she’d expected to locate this particular mark, and she didn’t care for the unexpected. In her line of work, unexpected could get you killed.
He was here, though, right where her informant had said she would find him, and she spotted him the moment she walked through the door. He didn’t even look out of place, despite the expensive cut of his hair and his jacket, despite his goddamned Italian shoes. He should have stood out, been chased away, should never even have known a place like this existed, and yet here he was, slumped over the bar staring moodily into his drink the same as every other sad sack in the joint.
She didn’t like it. It was unexpected.
She slid onto the barstool next to him, taking care to allow her hair to drape across his arm. He didn’t move, not so much as a twitch. She exhaled a breathy sigh. No response.
The direct approach it would have to be, then.
“Hey.” She nudged him with her elbow. “What’s good here?”
“Lass.” His eyes never left his glass. “I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree with me this evening. I’m not in the mood.”
“What mood?” She gave a light, tinkling laugh. “I just asked what’s good.”
“Try the rum.” He drained his glass and set it down firmly on the bar. “The Botucal. Only place in town that serves it. Everything else here is swill.”
He stood up and left, without so much as a glance in her direction.
I didn’t matter, though. She’d seen enough to know that it was him, and with her mark positively identified it was time to move in for the kill. She slipped off her stool and followed him out into the night, shivering in the chill breeze that blew in off the sea. She always forgot how much cooler it was near the water.
She looked around for the mark and spotted him a short distance away, walking in the direction of the marina. Probably headed for his boat, she thought. She hurried to catch him up, moving on the balls of her feet so her heels wouldn’t click on the pavement.
When she reached him he was just passing the harbourmaster’s office, a small building made of weatherbeaten wooden boards and with its door secured by a heavy iron chain looped through the handles, and she smiled to herself as she extracted her handcuffs from beneath her skirt. Perfect. In one swift, practiced move, she grabbed his arm and snapped a cuff around his wrist.
“Killian Jones,” she said. “I’m here to—”
He moved faster than she would have imagined him capable, using her hold on his arm to spin her around and slam her back against the door of the office, knocking the wind out of her.
He held her there with his body pressed firmly against hers and even in her dazed state she registered the warmth and sturdiness of it, the spicy smell of his skin. His breath ruffled the fine hairs on her temple as he leaned in close to murmur in her ear. “I know precisely who you are, darling, and what you’re here to do,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling purr. “And I’m afraid I can’t allow it. You should have stayed in the bar.”
“Then I wouldn’t have caught you.” Her own voice was breathy.
“You haven’t caught me now.”
Her head snapped up at the amusement in his tone and she got a good look at his face for the first time. Even in the faint glow of the harbour lights the sight was breathtaking. Photographs really didn’t do him justice.
“Yeah? Who’s the one in cuffs?” she retorted.
There was a tug on her wrist and an ominous click, and the smile on his face became a smirk. “I believe you are, love,” he replied.
“What the fuck?” She looked down to see her own damn handcuffs, now attached to her own wrist. He held her un-cuffed wrist firmly as he looped the cuffs through the heavy chain securing the door handles then clicked the second one into place on it, chaining her to the door.
“What the fuck?” she repeated, her voice rising to a shriek as she tugged on the chain. “How the hell did you—”
“Come now, you must have read my files. I dare say you know more about me than I do myself.” He held up a small leather case that she recognised as a set of lock picks and regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “Did it never occur to you that I might be able to get myself out of handcuffs? No?” He clucked his tongue. “That is a shame.”
She tugged at the chain again, “Let me go!”
“I fear that’s impossible, darling. As I told you before I can’t allow you to take me in. I have business to attend that won’t wait while I spend the night in a cell.”
“It’ll be a lot more than one night!”
“It won’t be any nights. Also a shame. I wouldn’t mind at all spending a night with you, particularly one in which bars and handcuffs feature prominently.” He leaned in close to her again, dragging his nose up her cheek as his hand curled around her hip, thumb stroking just above the apex of her thighs. She snarled in outrage and he chuckled. “Beautiful, fiery woman like you,” he growled into her ear. “I’ve no doubt you’d make it memorable.”
“I wouldn’t—” She was so furious she could barely speak. “Never—not in a million—not if you—the last man—”
He chuckled again and stepped back. “Aye, love, I get the picture. Not if I were the last man on Earth, et cetera et cetera. I could change your mind, of course—” he smirked at her furious snarl “—but alas I’ve no time.”
He shrugged off his jacket and moved to drape it around her shoulders and she recoiled with a hiss. “Get the fuck away from me!”
“Now, darling, you may be here for some time. It’s a chilly night and you are, if you’ll forgive me, not appropriately attired for the sea air. Don’t freeze to death out of spite. If nothing else it’d be a highly embarrassing way to die.”
She ground her teeth, but when he stepped forward again she allowed him to tuck the jacket around her shoulders. She hadn’t registered just how cold she was until engulfed in its warmth, in heat carried by his body and still bearing his spicy scent. His fingertips brushed the nape of her neck as he pulled her hair free of the jacket and she shivered, not from the cold this time.
“Such a shame,” he murmured, almost to himself.
“You’ll pay for this,” she spat.
“As much as I hate to keep contradicting you, darling, no I won’t.” He smoothed the jacket over her shoulders and gave them a little pat. “Now you just sit tight right here and I’ll send someone to collect you. Let’s hope they don’t take too long.”
He backed away with his eyes still on her, tilting his head to the side and biting down on his lower lip. Fury surged through her and she yanked at the chains again, letting out a guttural shriek when he simply laughed and turned away. She kept her eyes on him as he strolled along the waterfront like a man without a care in the world, until he turned onto one of the piers and disappeared from view.
~
“Emma?”
The voice, masculine and familiar, jolted her from her half-doze and she lifted her head, blinking in the harsh glare of a flashlight and trying to focus.
“Is that—Graham?”
“Fucking hell, Emma, it is you! I thought he was—here, let me get you out of those cuffs.”
Emma struggled up from the awkward crouching position she’d been in as Graham put his flashlight away and took out his keys. “Graham, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Rescuing you.”
He undid the cuffs and waited as she stood up straight and stretched her aching arms and shoulders.
“How did you know where I was?” she asked, reaching out her hand for her cuffs.
He held them out to her, but when she took them didn’t let go. “Emma,” he said solemnly.
“What?”
“You’re not gonna like it.”
“What?” She tugged on the cuffs and he released them. “What the fuck is going on, Graham? Tell me!”
He sighed. “I need you to stop chasing Killian Jones.”
“What?”
“Come on. We need to go to the station and then I’ll explain.”
~
“He’s working undercover!?”
“Yeah.” Graham’s face was solemn, with no hint of the smile he usually had for her. “He is. For over two years now.”
“Two years? Fuck.”
“Exactly. But it’s nearly over. We’re so close, Emma, to the biggest RICO case of the last fifty years. We can shut down Pan’s whole operation in one move, but all of it, everything, hinges on Jones. We need him.”
Emma’s lip curled. “And what does he get out of it? Immunity, I suppose.”
“Yes. His record will be completely expunged. Clean slate.”
“But he’s a criminal!”
Graham sighed and rubbed his temples. “They all are, Emma.”
“See, this is why I never wanted to be a cop,” she sneered, leaning back in her chair. They were sitting in an interrogation room in Graham’s precinct, surrounded by confidential files and cold coffee. “You ignore the crimes of one asshole in exchange for getting your hands on a bigger asshole. But that still leaves the first asshole loose on the streets, and with a clean slate this time. How is that justice?”
“Justice is never perfect,” said Graham shortly. “Nothing is. We do the best we can.”
“That’s not good enough!”
“It has to be, because it’s all we’ve got.” He leaned across the table, his eyes intense. “Emma, listen to me. Jones believes you actually did him a favour tonight. He’d been getting the sense that Pan no longer fully trusted him, but being actively pursued for a freaking eight-year-old bench warrant of all things seems to have brought him back in the boss’s good graces. That is the only, and I do mean only reason you are not in some serious fucking shit right now.”
“What, for doing my job?” Emma scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”
“Do I not seem fucking serious?” snapped Graham. “Did you not hear me say this is the biggest case in half a century? Do you not understand the goddamn consequences if it goes wrong, especially now?”
“I—”
“Let me be perfectly clear about this. You cannot bring Jones in. If you do, this precinct will never work with you again, and neither will any of the others once they hear about it.”
“But I—”
“And that’s not all. I’ve put you in serious danger by giving you this information. I’m sorry for that, but I knew you wouldn’t back off just because I asked you to. And frankly we are all in fucking danger. Jones’s cover is as deep as it gets and the position he’s in right now is deadly precarious. If he’s blown before we can close the case it won’t just be him who dies. Do you hear what I’m saying, Emma?”
She nodded, too frustrated for speech.
“I’m trusting you, trusting your discretion and hoping like fuck that this one time you can leave your damn principles at the door and be realistic. Forget about Killian Jones. Not for his sake, for your own.”
~
It was the biggest RICO case in fifty years, and it went off without a hitch. Every member of Pan’s criminal organisation was arrested, from the kids who ran the street-level scams right up to the boss himself. Moles that had been embedded in the police department for decades were rooted out and an entire network of sham businesses collapsed. Crime in the city came screeching to a halt as even Pan’s competitors scrambled for cover.
The evidence against them was solid, detailed and airtight, and one by one every single mob canary begged to sing. Fingers were pointing in every direction, many at each other but most of them straight at Pan, and the district attorney was confident that with a bit of manoeuvring she could see every last one of them behind bars for a very long time.
Every one but Killian Jones.
He was never mentioned by name in any of the reports or the news articles, simply referred to as ‘an undercover informant’. But Emma knew. He’d done one job and now he was free and clear, and the fact that he had spent ten years as Pan’s right hand didn’t even seem to faze the police.
“How do you know he won’t just step into the power vacuum left by Pan?” she demanded of Graham one afternoon, as he processed the paperwork for a shoplifter she’d brought in. “Someone’s going to.”
“It won’t be him.”
“But how can you know?”
“I trust him.”
Emma stared, unable to believe her ears. “I can’t believe I ever considered dating you,” she spat. “You’re not who I thought you were.”
“You considered dating me?” Graham repeated, gaping at her.
She shrugged. “Yeah, for like half a second, back when we first met. You were hinting pretty heavily and honestly? I don’t shit where I eat, otherwise I probably would have said yes. But that was before I found out you trust criminals.”
“Not criminals. Criminal, singular. Just this one.”
“But why?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“God damn it, Graham!”
Graham set his jaw stubbornly. “Look, Emma, I get that you feel betrayed and I’m sorry for that. But this is how the police work. It’s legal and it’s final. Killian’s record is clean now. Leave him alone.”
~
But she couldn’t. She did try, as much as she was able, but Emma Swan could never let anything go once her sense of outrage had been triggered and she couldn’t think about Killian Jones or anything related to him without outrage. She still had the jacket he’d left her in, hung in her closet right next to her own so that every time she donned the red leather she saw it there, mocking her, keeping her anger burning fierce and hot.
And so she watched him. Subtly, because she could be fucking subtle, using her own network of informants that the cops didn’t know about. She tracked his movements, all his comings and goings from his house to his offices, and she traced his business dealings, bank records, tax reports, everything and anything she could get her hands on.
It was all clean. He was never seen in any of Pan’s old haunts or associating with anyone remotely shady, his accounts showed a healthy income from legitimate sources. Businesses he had set up as part of his role in Pan’s organisation and then cleaned up once Pan was taken down.
And yet. There was too much income, Emma felt. It was too clean. Too much money, too many businesses, far too quickly. Leopards, as the cliche goes, do not change their spots, and Emma was certain that Killian Jones was as spotted as they came. She just wished she knew how he was hiding them.
~
The elegant marble foyer of the Gold mansion was the furthest imaginable thing from a grimy dockside dive bar but the smell of despair was here as well, just of a different kind. The despair of people who have more money than they could ever spend and are still unhappy, who have come to realise that however many cars or jewels or houses they buy the emptiness inside them remains.
At least the other smells were better. Emma inhaled deeply as she entered, breathing in the aromas of a dozen different perfumes and colognes, along with some mouthwatering canapés of which she fully intended to partake. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to wrangle this invitation, she might as well enjoy herself.
Snagging a glass of champagne from one passing tray and a mini crab soufflé topped with caviar from another, she sauntered into the room, deliberately drawing and ignoring the eyes upon her. The dress she wore was far subtler than her usual work attire, long and flowing and draped in a way that suggested far more than it revealed. Its deep crimson hue flattered her pale hair and skin and the faint shimmer in the fabric caught the light as she moved.
Emma popped the last bite of soufflé into her mouth and resisted the urge to lick her fingers. Instead she sipped her champagne and looked around for another tray. One passed by bearing what looked like tiny donuts and she almost dove to grab one. Biting into it, she found that it was savoury and filled with a feather-light truffled chicken mousse. She closed her eyes on a moan of delight, and when she opened them again Killian Jones was standing in front of her, watching her with an expression she found deeply objectionable.
“Well, darling, I do hope you’re not here for me this time,” he said.
Emma sneered. “I’m not.”
“Learnt our lesson, have we?” he replied with a smirk.
She ground her teeth. “I’ve simply got bigger fish to hook,” she said.
“Indeed. Considering that I am an entirely innocent man.”
She snorted.
“That infuriates you, doesn’t it,” he observed, smirk deepening. “That I walked free.”
Nearly a year’s worth of frustration and righteous fury bubbled up inside Emma, bursting forth before she could stop it. “It’s not right!” she exclaimed. “It’s not justice!”
“No, it’s just not perfect justice. Though one certainly could argue that a decade spent under the thumb of a madman is more than enough punishment for whatever crimes I committed.”
Something in his voice troubled her, a pained sincerity that niggled at her conscience. She ignored it. “Rationalise it all you like, if it helps you sleep at night,” she retorted.
“Oh, I have no trouble sleeping,” he said, stepping closer and leaning into her space, hips first. “Though occasionally I do forgo it voluntarily, in favour of more… enjoyable activities.”
“You’re filthy.”
“I certainly can be,” he purred. “If that’s what you want.”
“I want nothing from you.”
���Well love, we both know that’s not true.”
“Oh do we?”
“We do. You’re something of an open book, you see.”
She rolled her eyes. “I am the opposite of that.”
“You’d like to be. But for those who know how to look, your tells are obvious.”
“Bullshit.”
He shifted, standing straighter and observing her with blue eyes that went, between one blink and the next, from flirtatious to coolly assessing, sharply analytical. She felt a flare of alarm in her chest, and the worrying suspicion that she may have underestimated him.
“The relaxed posture,” he said. “That’s one. You’re a woman of action, rarely still. If you stop moving you start thinking, and you, Emma Swan, hate nothing more than being in your own head. You’re tense all the time unless you’re pretending not to be, as you are now. Playing the role of carefree society girl, perfectly at home in these glittering surroundings where you are in actual fact deeply uncomfortable.”
She attempted a laugh. “Maybe I’m just having a good time.”
“You’re holding that glass so tightly you’re in danger of snapping the stem, and you’re digging the heel of your shoe into the floor. It takes a lot of effort to maintain that outward calm, which is why you don’t normally bother. You hate artifice, bullshit as you would call it, and your plan tonight is to get in, get your mark and get out. After you’ve eaten your fill of the food, that is.” The corner of his mouth curled into a half-smile. “Do correct me if any of this is wrong.”
“It’s all wrong,” she snapped.
“Now, love, don’t you start to bullshit.”
Emma’s fingers clenched tighter on the champagne glass and she deliberately forced them to relax. “Why don’t you just leave me alone,” she hissed.
His eyes softened, and heated with an expression that made her belly clench. “Because you intrigue me,” he murmured.
“Well you disgust me.”
He laughed. “Liar.”
“How dare you—”
He brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder, his fingers close enough that she could feel the heat of them but not their touch, and when he spoke again his voice was rough. “You’ve a delightful pale pink flush all across your skin, your pupils are dilated, your breathing shallow. And your pulse—” His hand glided down her arm and wrapped around her wrist, fingertips pressing gently onto her pulse point. “It’s racing, love. I don’t require any special skills to pick up on these tells.” He caught her gaze, his own heated and intense. “Would it help if I confessed that the attraction is entirely mutual?”
“No!”
“Pity.”
She tried to pull her arm from his grip but he held fast, leaning closer still to murmur in her ear. “He’s over by the fountain.”
She wouldn’t look, thought Emma. She wouldn’t. She closed her eyes as Killian released her and the heat and intoxicating scent of him moved away. She didn’t want his help, didn’t need it. Resented it. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking and of course there he was. Her mark, standing in front of the fountain at the centre of the room.
“How the hell did you know—” she spun around but Killian was gone.
Emma took a deep breath and then another, to calm herself and focus her concentration on her task. She smoothed her hair and the front of her dress and tossed back the rest of her champagne, gave her boobs a little boost and headed for the mark, a soft smile on her face and a gentle swing in her hips.
She had crossed about half the distance between them when he tensed visibly and his shoulders shifted, like he was trying to pull them back and stand straight but was defeated by the power of his own sullen slouch. For a moment she thought he might have made her, but his eyes were fixed on something across the room, something—or someone—blocked from her view by the fountain. Emma slowed her pace, keeping her distance until he made whatever move he had planned. For several seconds he stared intently at whatever, whoever, held his attention and then he nodded, shoulders slumping even lower than they’d been before, and moved on surprisingly light and agile feet towards a small door behind the foyer’s grand staircase. With a quick glance around the room he slipped silently though it and a moment later Emma followed.
Behind the door was a long, shadowy hallway that fulfilled her every expectation of what a mansion corridor should look like. The carpet beneath her feet was so thick that her steps made no sound as she followed the mark, past paintings and statues and even an honest-to-goodness suit of armour. She felt her jaw drop as she took it all in, until the mark turned a corner and she had to speed up her pursuit so as not to lose him.
She made it around the corner in time to catch a glimpse of him disappearing through a door, and when she reached it she found that it hadn’t fully shut. She slipped her foot through the gap and eased it open until she could see into the room beyond.
It looked like a museum. Or at least what she imagined museums should look like; she hadn’t visited many. It was a vast room that felt curiously airless, with tall ceilings and no widows, panelled entirely in wood. The same wood that made up the many low tables scattered over more of the same thick rugs that lined the hallway. Upon each of these tables a statue stood. Women, mostly, and some men, all naked. Made of marble, Emma imagined, though she was hardly an expert. Weren’t statues generally made of marble? They were definitely some kind of stone, or she supposed possibly plaster. It was hard to tell the difference from so far away.
Tentatively she nudged the door and when it made no noise pushed it open further and slipped into the room, weaving through the statues in search of her mark. A voice spoke just ahead and to her right and she moved quickly over the silent carpets, stopping when she caught sight of a pair of polished shoes and the tip of a black cane, and ducking behind a statue, out of sight of the man who spoke.
“So,” he said, his voice cold and without inflection, and with a hint of an accent she couldn’t place. “Do you have it?”
“I—” the mark began.
“Do not disappoint me, Felix,” the cold voice interrupted. “You would not like for me to be disappointed.”
Emma crouched down and peeked around the leg of the statue that shielded her, just enough so she could see both men clearly. The mark, Felix, was in his early twenties, with a sullen face to match his posture and lank blond hair that fell into his eyes. He’d been arrested for loitering two months ago and missed his court date, but there was nothing else on his record worse than a few shoplifting charges and possession with intent. This meeting, this whole damn situation, seemed well above his pay grade and she should have known that, Emma berated herself. She should have smelled a rat from the start, but instead she’d let herself be distracted by canapés and by Killian goddamn Jones, and forgotten what she was supposed to be doing.
She could almost hear Felix’s terrified gulp. “I—I couldn’t get it,” he whined. “Jones said—”
“Do not speak to me of Killian Jones,” hissed the other man, a slight, elegantly dressed one with long hair and a thin face in which teeth and eyes were prominent. “I will deal with him when the time is right. For now—” He lifted his cane and Felix cringed.
“No, sir, please. I’ll get it I promise—”
“Your promises are worthless to me,” said the elegant man, with a reptilian smile that made Emma’s skin crawl. He was enjoying this, she realised, feeding off of Felix’s terror and craven grovelling as he slowly advanced. He twisted the head of his cane and with a faint swish and a mechanical clank a long, sharp blade appeared from the end of it. Felix stared at the blade, frozen in fear.
“They are, in fact,” the elegant man continued, closing the remaining distance between them, “as worthless as you are.” He bared his teeth and plunged the blade into Felix’s heart.
Emma gasped. She couldn’t help it. For all the hardships she’d suffered in her life—the uncaring foster families, the time on the streets, the teenage pregnancy—she had never witnessed a crime more serious than petty theft and drug dealing. Nothing like cold-blooded murder. She would have liked to think herself tough enough to handle the sight without flinching but she was overcome by the sheer horror of it. The blood that bloomed across Felix’s shirt and the way the life drained from his body. The cold, cold triumph of the man who killed him. It was the worst thing she’d ever seen, could ever imagine seeing, and though she clapped her hand across her mouth it was too late. The noise of her indrawn breath was loud in the room’s still air and the man looked sharply at her. He couldn’t see her behind the statue—she didn’t think he could—but he knew precisely where she was.
“Well, well,” he said. “It appears we have a loose end.”
Emma ran. She didn’t hesitate or stop to think, just leapt up from her crouch and sprinted, as fast as her high heels and the confusing layout of the statues would allow. She had no idea if the man had any backups—he seemed the sort who would, though she hadn’t seen or heard anyone but himself and Felix—but she knew that no matter what it was riskier to try to hide than just to run, to put as much distance between herself and the man as she could and try to get away.
She headed straight for where she thought the door was but soon found herself disoriented. There was no clear path through the statues and they all looked the same—white limbs and torsos atop identical tables, on a carpet with the same repeating pattern, in a room with no markings of any kind on the walls. She could hear the man behind her, his steady breathing as he pursued her across the thick carpet, not running, of course not, because doing so would tire him and that steady, deliberate pace was far more terrifying, damn him, and she tried to run faster, grabbing blindly at a small piece of statue as she passed. It was lighter than she’d expected—perhaps plaster then, not stone—and she flung it back the way she’d come, not looking at where it flew, not stopping to see what it hit when it crashed and shattered behind her.
She reached the wall but there was no door on it, just identical wooden panels repeating all along its length. One of those must be the door, Emma thought. There had to be a door, she’d come in through one. She began to feel along the wall looking for a knob or a button or a loose join, anything at all that might trigger it to open. Now that she was no longer running she felt her fear much more acutely, gripping her chest and clouding her mind and edging her dangerously close to panic.
“I don’t know who you are,” called the elegant man’s voice, from much closer behind her than she’d hoped. “But I’m very much taken with your lovely hair and that glorious red dress. Very… memorable, both of them. Very distinct.”
Emma’s search for the door grew frantic. She tried to keep calm and focused but all she could think was that she was alone in this room with a murderer. An absolutely remorseless killer was mere feet behind her and there was no door. There was no fucking door and that meant no escape. She was trapped here in this airless, noiseless place and she was going to die.
A sob rose in her throat, almost drowning the soft click to her left. The panel next to her swung open and she could just make out the silhouette of a man among the shadows of the hallway beyond. Was this the backup, then, she wondered? A henchman come to block her escape, force her back into the clutches of the elegant man? The appearance of this new threat snapped her back into herself, gave her something to do, and she seized on that with desperate relief. Holding herself loose but alert she bent her knees, settled her weight over the balls of her feet and prepared to defend herself as best she could. It wasn’t likely she could stop them killing her, but she could damned well make it difficult, and now that the door was open she had at least a slim chance of escape.
The shadows shifted as the man in the doorway reached out with a speed and deftness of movement she’d seen only once before, and quicker than she could react he grabbed her and yanked her against him, clapping his hand over her mouth and pinning her arms to her sides, pulling her back through the door and letting it fall shut behind them. When it had latched with another soft click, the man swung Emma to one side and gave the door a sharp kick with the heel of his shoe, jamming the delicate mechanism that controlled it.
Emma seized the advantage of his momentary imbalance to try to struggle free, wriggling in his loosened grasp and aiming a kick at his instep, but again he was too quick for her. He shifted his weight to avoid her swinging foot and adjusted his hold, tucking her tightly against his side and dragging her with him as he headed away from the door, moving rapidly despite her furious squirming, along the hallway and down a darkened stairwell and through a side door of the mansion then out into the night.
“I have a car waiting,” he growled in her ear, picking up their pace now they were out of the house. “It’s idling at the end of this driveway. If you don’t get in it, right now, you will die. Don’t make me tie you up, Swan. As much as I would enjoy that in other circumstances.”
Emma could see the car he meant, the only one in the long driveway that was running. When they reached it she dug her heels hard into the loose gravel beneath them, throwing Killian Jones—because of course it was fucking him—off balance just enough that his grip loosened and she was able to jam her elbow into his ribs, wriggling away when he huffed in pain.
“Let go of me!” she shrieked.
“Keep your voice down,” he snarled, grabbing her arm and pulling her back again. He scowled down at her, his eyes angry and frustrated and scared. It was the fear that caught Emma’s attention, made her pause. “I should bloody well let him kill you,” Killian muttered. “But instead I am going to save your life, whether you like it or not. Now get in the damned car, woman.”
Emma yanked her arm from his grasp and this time he let her go. They stood glaring at each other, breathing hard, gripped by a very similar anger and, more worryingly, the exact same fear.
“Why should I trust you?” she demanded.
“You have no earthly reason to,” he replied. “But that man you saw in the gallery, that is Robert Gold, and however vile you think me I assure you he is a hundred times worse. The devil or the deep blue sea, take your pick, love.”
Emma stared at him, searching for the lie, for the deceit she knew had to be there. But there was none. For the first time in their acquaintance he was being completely serious, and completely honest. Damn it.
She got in the car.
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Millions of thanks to @thisonesatellite and @ohmightydevviepuu for holding my hand in this unfamiliar genre. Also, tagging everyone who showed an interest in the snippet of this I posted a few weeks ago. If you don’t want to be tagged in further updates, PLEASE let me know 😘
@kmomof4 @mariakov81 @katie-dub @spartanguard @darkcolinodonorgasm @courtorderedcake @squidvisious @cluttermind @teamhook
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#cs fic#cs ff#cs fanfic#cs ff au#modern au#bounty hunter!emma#criminal!killian#enemies to lovers#birthday fic#stahlop#the bend of the arc#profdanglaisstuff
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THE DARK DAYS BACK– 2021
I have been struggling with how to start this piece. I guess I should tell you a little about myself.
What I do for a living is not who I am, yeah, I get to blow shit up and its super fun but it’s not what defines me.
I have been a water baby all my life from growing up on the beach to commercial diver.
The ocean or the ocean’s rhythm ebbs and flows within me.
Surfing has been the biggest part of my life for longer than I care to remember. For sure I have been out the water for extended periods before while working on projects overseas. Always with the knowledge that I will be getting wet again, sometime soon. I have never before been concerned that surfing will not be an option. I have always just figured I would surf till the day I die.
October 2019 we were still basking in the glory of a once in a lifetime trip to the Ments. 10 Kneelos on a boat sailing around the Mentawai’s. Absolutely what dreams are made of. Red, Giggs, Lester, Larry, Craig, Steve, Johan, Andrew and myself. Jason the skipper of Switchfoot made it 10 chargers in total.
We had also had a run of solid swell at the local, which for me was all time as my new Kneeon that Nick had shaped for me had arrived. Nick and I had chatted over the phone, had a few video calls and bam!! this magic carpet arrives. Oh my sack, I have never been happier with a stick. My surfing went up in leaps and bounds. Never been happier in my life.
Around this time, I started to get pains in my left hip which radiated down the leg. Initially it wasn’t too bad but it got progressively worse. It got to a stage where I literally couldn’t walk anymore. Thinking it’s got to be the hip, off I went to the hip specialist. Had some photos taken of the hip, back to the clever guy’s office and this is where things started to go south.
Mate, as hips go, yours look beautiful but I recommend you go see a neurosurgeon.
Your spine doesn’t look good at all.
You can imagine, I’m thinking “what the fuck, are you sure you’re looking at the right X-rays.”
So, at least by this time I was on crutches to help me get around and waddled off to see Dave. Dave is a neurosurgeon that had done some work on my spine before.
Same sort of story, pain in my shoulder, radiating down my right arm.
True as nuts, I had gone to the shoulder clever guy who had told me exactly what the hip guy had just told me. Anyway, a long story short, Dave did a decompression on the C7 and T1 vertebrae.
I was booked on a boat trip to the Maldives with my good mate Guy. He is a stand up but I love him anyway. I manage to get on the plane without really having tested the neck or having had time for rehab of any sorts. Probably not my brightest move. We had solid swell the whole trip, but truth be told, I was in constant pain.
Once back in SA, I was off to see Dave again. X-rays and CT scans followed, and Dave said unfortunately we going to have to fuse the C7 and T1 but we will go in through the front this time.
Absolutely no problems whatsoever and I was back in the water 3 months later.
Dave, howzit I’m back. More scans and X-rays (starting to know everyone by their first names by now) followed. Yip, pretty much the same story, crumbling, degeneration of the spine.
I was booked in for a decompression on the L4 and L5. The procedure was pretty standard and uneventful. Unfortunately, just as with the neck, the decompression was not successful. A week later, I was booked in for a multistage fusion, L4, L5 and S1.
So, they going to open me up again along the same incision line, not feeling great about that but hey, there are worse things in life. Waking up from this op was a rude awakening. Fuck me this shit hurts. Trying to move was pretty tender for sure. Anyhow the drugs did their thing and a few days later I was able to get out of bed and lose the dreaded catheter. Walking was fair interesting to say the least, I had to laugh at myself as I looked like a mummy.
Little shuffles with my hands out front but hey, I was mobile. The day they let me out rolled around. Crap balls I felt like shit and was fair tender. It felt like someone was taking a mallet to my head.
I remember battling to get into the wheelchair to get me to the car. The nausea was just incredible, I thought I was going to throw up all over the place. Between the porter and Jo (my wife) they managed to get me into the car.
The ride home is not too far but I was deteriorating at a rapid rate of knots. Got home, Jo managed to get me onto her “throne” where I just passed out.
Through the rest of the day and night I remember fleeting moments of being awake. Couldn’t move, didn’t know what was going on. Basically, a vegetable on the couch.
The next morning Jo realized that this wasn’t good. Somehow or other she managed to bundle me into the car. I have a memory of the gardener holding the car door open with a look of concern on his face. The next thing I was on a gurney at the hospital with Debbie staring at me. Debbie is Jo’s business partner and one of my best friends.
Tests and more tests.
Somehow or other I had picked up Bacterial Meningitis.
Jo had literally just saved my life. A few hours later and it wouldn’t have turned out well.
Some serious antibiotics and medication I can’t even pronounce later, my infection levels started coming down, but the headaches wouldn’t go away. Back into the noisy tube for some more scans. Was good to see all the guys and gals in radiology again.
Crap balls I had a rupture in the thecal sac. Basically, it’s a sac that runs up your spine and over the brain. The sac contains cerebrospinal fluid. When leaking the sac “collapses” on the brain causing insane headaches, headaches that are just next level. Think migraine on steroids.
Back into theatre to patch up the leak.
Once again, they opened me up on the same incision. Success at last, once again freedom day arrived and was bundled into the wheelchair again and back into the car.
Was great to be home with the animals for sure. Jo had made a bed for me in the lounge as walking at this point just really wasn’t an option. To say I was tender would be a bit of an understatement.
A day later, I got this incredible pain down my left leg. Kinda like being hit with a cattle prodder. I remember screaming as the first one hit. Absolute agony, pain like I had never felt. It would last for about 30 seconds but in that time, I couldn’t move a finger for fear of escalating the pain. I just screamed and screamed. Over the next two days, it got worse and more frequent.
This was an incredible low point. I remember crying like a baby. I was emotionally drained by this time. I remember thinking I just want to be normal again. Remember, I can hardly walk, can’t even get down on the toilet to take a dump. I hadn’t had a shit for as long as I can remember.
My wife was washing me and dressing me. It was taking its toll.
This carried on for two days until it got to a point where I just couldn’t move.
An ambulance and crew had to come and peel me off the couch eventually. They dosed me up, got a stretcher underneath me and carried me out to the ambulance.
Jesus, what the fuck!! But hey, could be worse…right?
Back to my favorite people with the noisy machine. Hi everyone, true as nuts I’m back. Another scan revealed that the crushed bone material that they place between your vertebrae was leaking out and catching the nerve going down my leg.
Another twirl in theatre to clean up the debris, by this time the clock on the wall and I were good friends. I used to watch the seconds tick by as the anesthetic started kicking in. I woke up from here being wheeled into high care. Now I have to tell you this was by far my worst experience.
The following morning two nurses came to wash me. I was in absolute agony and they kept moving me and turning me. I was screaming in absolute agony, but they wouldn’t stop and no-one came to help me. To this day I can’t understand it.
Couldn’t wait to get out of there and back on to a ward. Or so I thought…
From there they wheeled me into an isolation ward. Apparently, I had picked up the dreaded hospital Super bug. My infection count was in the 400’s (8 being normal) and to make matters worse, the headaches were back. I had sprung another fucking leak in my Thecal sack. FUCK!!!
Back to my old friend on the wall with the ticking second hand. Again, opening me up on the same line. This time I wasn’t friends with the clock on the wall.
Dave patched me up as best they could.
What the actual…
My new home turned out to be a glass box in the ICU. In isolation in intensive care. Jesus, this isn’t good.
Nurse and doctors were putting gear on to come into the glass box. “What’s going on???”
Machines were everywhere beeping and hissing. “Fuck me, this isn’t good.”
Waking up at 4am with people sticking needles into you to draw blood loses its shine after a while. I think all I ate for the two weeks was watermelon in the morning that Debbie used to bring me with a cup of coffee. When I say bring, I really mean bribe the porter.
Now you must remember I have basically been bedridden for 6 weeks and not had an appetite at all.
I could see the concern on peoples face when they came to visit, as much as they tried to hide it, it was there.
Nights were the worst and the tears used to flow. So as not to let the pressure in the Thecal sac become too great, they drained it every few hours. This as I’ve said to you before brings on insane headaches.
Morphine and I were no longer friends. It made me incredibly sad and depressed.
I came off the morphine by choice and gritted the teeth. Absolutely worth the pain.
Lester and Marco organized a live feed for me for the warmup session before the SA Kneeboarding Champs. What legends.
Once again, I cried like a baby, but these were tears of joy. It was so good to watch my mates surfing and everyone saying “hi” on the feed made me feel like a million bucks. The brotherhood is strong here in Cape Town. Love these boys.
At this point I was literally skin and bone, but my infection levels were coming down and I had managed to get out of bed and make the few steps to the toilet. The sun was definitely coming up for me. For the first time in a long time, I thought I was going to make it.
Fuck, the thought of dying in that glass box haunted me every night there.
Freedom day was like no other. Getting out of there into the sunshine and colors and breeze was a sensory overload, but hey, I was out and feeling good…ish.
My mates, Debbie and Sian had kept me going. Sian is my office manager and best friend.
She tried to feed me all the way through to no avail, true as nuts she used to arrive with bags of food.
God it was good to be home.
Reality starts to kick in pretty quickly. Fuck me am I ever going to be able to surf again, am I ever going to be able to sit on the toilet again (it’s the little things hahaha…)
Time to reset the mind from “fuck me, I don’t want to die in here to I need to get in the water again”.
Enter the amazing Lara, the physio that is a gift from the angels. I remember that late December day shuffling and shaking my way into her office. By this time, all my muscles had wasted away and just holding my frame up was as much as I could muster. I could do about 2 minutes before all my muscles started shaking from fatigue and I was still shuffling like a mummy.
The question Lara asked me off the bat was “what do you want to get out of this.”
“Just get me back in the water please,” was my response.
At this point it was a fantasy I had to believe in, physically I was a mess, but I think mentally I was scarred and the mental trauma was real. But fuck it, if I could survive that, I can achieve anything. The will to get back in the water was incredible and became all consuming.
Walking around the house became my exercise routine initially and braai tongs my best friend (in case I dropped stuff as bending was not an option). I had to hold on to everything at first as I walked along, eventually I could skip the kitchen counter on the way to the TV room and skip the chairs on the way to my room, and so it went on until I could just about walk the whole house without holding or resting.
Lara had given me gentle low impact stuff to do, just to tone the muscles and stretches to get some life back in the buggers. Everything hurt. This was a continuous process that I did all day every day for a few weeks. I was starting to feel more stable on my feet which did wonders for my mental wellbeing. Progress was gradual but I started noticing results which made me feel like a million dollars.
Getting behind the wheel again was a massive boost for me. My buddy Kante who is a running coach, walked with me from my local to St James, what a joy being next to the ocean again, mind surfing every bump that came through. I steadily built this up over time. Eventually I could make it to Muizenberg and back (5 kms). Everything ached at this point and the thought of shortening every walk was ever present. 4am wake ups every day can be a challenge and for sure there were mornings I couldn’t bear the thought of getting up. Sore back, sore hips, it’s dark and it’s cold, fuck this shit. On the odd occasion that I didn’t manage to get going, that feeling of worthlessness would set in. What the fuck is wrong with you, don’t you want to get back in the water? That’s not a cool feeling. I have probably missed 3 days in the six months I have been rehabbing. A 45-minute 5km walk followed by an hour of rehab back at home. I can’t begin to count the many lonely hours I have spent in the dark, walking and processing thoughts and priorities.
My weekly visits to Lara are always a highlight. My flexibility is measured as well as my strength. Some weeks just like some days are better than others. Lately there are a few moments of some days that I am totally pain free. These can quickly be followed by days and moments of crappy pain, but I will take the good ones for sure. Setbacks some and it’s natural to be bummed by them. Thinking “end goal” always helps. Watching Billy Kemper’s story after that crazy injury in Morocco has inspired me tremendously and there is a kinship that forms in adversity.
To keep the spirits up, I have ordered me a new board from Nick (Kneeon) which should arrive any day.
Jedd has also shaped me a 5’4 twinny that looks more like something that should be flying in space rather than the water. Can’t wait to get these beauties wet.
The daily grind continues relentlessly and it’s not always easy to appreciate the reasons for the dark hours one spends with oneself on the rehab trail. I want the prize now. Sheesh, it’s a constant battle upstairs. Here’s the weird thing, the closer I get to the end of April (paddle out day…hopefully), the more fearful I become. Will I be able to, and can I still?
All this and more just keeps swimming in the head and there’s the self-doubt.
Fuck it’s terrifying.
I have gone over it a million times in my head, do I just paddle out at a gentle beach break and see how it goes. Na, that scares me more. Soft waves are hard work and the amount of torque on the spine terrifies me. What if the nuts and bolts pop out?
There is no way in hell I am going back to that building with the big red cross on it. This drives me harder for sure back on the road, back to the floor and core exercises.
Lara assures me the hyperextension of the back I have obtained through this time will definitely be fine for paddling.
The torque and pressure on the lower back coming off the bottom and turning off the top, is what scares the crap out of me. The reef and I are intimate, god knows I have bounced and scraped along her so many times. I have certainly paid my dues.
Wiping out doesn’t scare me, it’s that word again “TORQUE”.
Perhaps I will just go straight on the first few. That in itself presents a bit of a problem at the local, but that’s where my head is.
I know you will all understand this, “what if a section just presents itself, just asking to be slapped”.
It is so ingrained in each and every one of us, that muscle memory just takes over. Going to have to be ever vigilant.
I have swum out to the peak just to be out there with the guys. The first time was not great. It took me so long just to get to the water. Jumping off the railway line so not an option. Doing the walk around and trying to get over the rocks was tricky to say the least.
Feeling the water over my feet was an absolute delight, but crap balls, had the water got colder since the last time? As soon as I laid in the water, it dawned on me that this is going to be quite the journey.
I couldn’t swim on my stomach as the pain was intense, but fuck it, I was going out. I swam on my side and back. Eventually I made it, the guys cheered and whooped, I felt like I had just won the lottery.
It was so good to be part of the conversation out there again, it was so good to hear how stoked the guys were for me, life was good.
I fed off this like I had been starved of life for ages.
Today being the Saturday before the Wednesday that I go back to Dave (the surgeon), brings turmoil to my emotions.
I’m not sure what I am scared of more, being told you aren’t ready or yeah, go get in the water. I am so scared of not surfing to my full potential again. Every day closer brings more panic. I just want it to be over now.
Wednesday morning dawned (but not really), up at 4am and back on the road. Usually, I am thinking about the workday ahead but this morning not so much.
My head is swimming with what ifs. What if there is still something wrong, what if I can’t anymore, what if, what if…
On the drive to see Dave, the surgeon, my heart is beating at a million beats/minute.
It’s good to see Dave again in a weird type of way, he really is a very cool guy.
Anyhow, he sends me off for some more pictures of the spine. Gotta say I was staring at the radiologist for some clues, but nothing.
The stress is killing me, and I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest.
So, back up to Dave with the thumping heart, I can hear it in my ears.
It all looks brilliant mate. What… I could not believe what I was hearing. He took me through the X-rays explaining what he was looking for and everything was just right.
There’s no use putting off the inevitable he says to me, go get in the water…but don’t be stupid. I wanted to scream it to the world!
Obviously, the doubts started kicking in hard right about now, but hey, I had gotten the green light.
Thursday morning I was off to Lara for physio. I couldn’t wait to tell her the good news. The muscles on the left side of my back had been in spasm for two weeks now, so as thrilled as she was, there was the don’t be stupid again.
I had coached myself in my mind for months now, high tide, small waves and just go straight…right.
Friday morning and the reports started coming in. There’s a bit of a wave at the local.
“It’s go time.” With my heart in my mouth, I started packing the car.
Sweet Lord, it had been a while, I had to keep double checking I had everything packed.
I don’t think I noticed any other cars on the way, I was mind surfing all the way through to the local.
I got there a few hours before the high just to get my head straight and check the lineup.
There were some chunky 4 footers coming through, but I wanted some more water on the rock. I watched my mate Dave paddle out and get some screamers.
Steve finally arrived, “I thought you would be in your suit already” he says.
This is it, heart in the throat again, off we went.
Sheesh it was so good to feel the waves crashing over my feet and legs again.
Jumped on my board and started paddling.
Woooohoooo absolutely no pain. Got out to the takeoff zone and everyone was cheering and welcoming me back. How humbling.
Mickey Duffus, a local big wave legend was out. Everybody back off he bellowed, this man hasn’t surfed for 6 months.
For some reason, this made me relax and just enjoy the moment.
Something started standing up out the back, Steve was sitting in the channel waiting for me to have my first ride.
“You going Mick?” I heard someone ask.
Yip I heard coming out my mouth, I spun and went.
Muscle memory and familiarity with the wave kicked in. I made the drop…Fuck I couldn’t believe it came around the section and just flopped off my board.
Steve and Dave had the biggest smile on their faces. The emotion of the occasion just swept over me like a wave, and the tears started flowing. All I kept thinking about was lying in ICU thinking fuck, I don’t want to die in here to taking off on the first wave.
Well, for the rest of the session, I absolutely sent it, trying to take off as deep as possible on the gnarliest set waves. All the coaching I had done in my head for the last few months went straight out the window.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
Damn, I felt so alive, without a doubt, the happiest man on the planet. When I got back to the car park, all of the Kneelo crew were in the car park and boy were they happy for me.
Sean Thompson was there too, shooting my waves and recording the moment.
How blessed am I. Nothing was getting the smile off my face.
When I lay in bed that night, I kept thinking of the months of rehab and hard work I had gone through. The many lonely dark hours of the mornings, but I had done it.
The next morning, we were on it at first light with the Westside boys coming through as well. The Kneelo brotherhood in Cape Town is tight. I am so humbled by all the good wishes and thoughts from everyone.
Just want to mention Lester, who kept me sane in the last two months. We chatted every day for the last while, sometimes a few times in a day. He kept me motivated and hungry and for this I will be forever grateful.
There are so many people to thank for getting me through this period. I think you know who you are, and I will get to everyone individually.
It’s good to get wet again.
I started writing this piece to help anyone in similar circumstances.
Stick with your plan and give it everything no matter how hopeless your situation may seem.
At the end of the day this was such a therapeutic exercise for me. Something I didn’t expect.
The trauma was and is real and this has certainly helped me face it and deal with it.
If this helps even one person get over and through a rough period of hopelessness, its job done.
Mickey Kirsten
Legless Contributor
SA Kneelos
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Meeting Old Friends
From Life After They Left
FF.net | AO3
Hiccup and Astrid: around 30 years old; Zephyr: 6 years old; Nuffink: 3 years old
“Zephyr, are you sure you want to take your brand new boots on the ship with us?”
“Yes, Momma!”
“But what if they accidentally fall off the ship? Or get wet and ruined?”
Astrid waited patiently for her daughter to call back her answer, holding the small boots in her hand as she went through Zephyr’s attempt at packing her own bag. She was just about to call back out to her daughter when she heard little hurried footsteps bounding her way.
“Um... Maybe I’ll save my new boots for later,” Zephyr said, snatching the boots out of her mother’s hands and running back up the stairs to her room.
Astrid chuckled as she turned back to her daughter’s bag, refolding the clothes that had been haphazardly thrown in.
“Alright, m’lady,” Hiccup said as he came down the stairs, another bag under one arm and his son wrapped in the other. “Nuff’s all packed up.”
“Did you pack his stuffed Naddar?”
“Of course, I wouldn’t put any of us through that,” he chuckled. Nuffink blushed and buried his head shyly in Hiccup’s shoulder.
“Oh, he’s just messing with you, sweetheart,” Astrid cooed at her son as Hiccup kissed his head. “Is your bag all packed up, Chief?”
“That it is, Chieftess. Just need to grab my spare legs and we’re good to go. So if you could take this,” Hiccup said, handing Astrid Nuffink’s bag, “and this,” he added, handing Nuffink over to Astrid. She showered his face in kisses as she dropped his bag next to Zephyr’s and pulled her son into her chest, making him giggle and attempt to shy away from her.
Hiccup chuckled as he turned and climbed up the stairs, nearly getting toppled over by Zephyr. “Woah, there, little warrior! Slow down!”
“Sorry, Daddy!” she called back breathlessly. She rushed to her mother and held out an older pair of boots. “How about these, Momma?”
“Much better,” Astrid praised. Zephyr flashed a wide smile and rushed back upstairs. “Where are you going?”
“To help Daddy so we can leave faster!” Zephyr cried, already out of sight.
Zephyr burst into her parents’ room at full speed. “DaddyDaddyDaddyDaddy!”
“Oh boy,” Hiccup laughed, “What is it, baby girl?”
“Come on, Daddy, we gotta pack all your legs!” She rushed around the room looking in drawers and cabinets, trying to find where her father hides his spare prosthetics.
Hiccup chuckled and opened the lid to the chest he was standing next to. “You mean these?”
Zephyr turned around and giggled at herself. She rushed over to her father’s side and helped him pack the last of his things before rushing back down the stairs.
Hiccup followed behind, setting the sack with the rest of his family’s packed belongings. “Someone is quite eager to get on that ship,” he said to his wife.
“I noticed,” Astrid agreed with a laugh. “I think you got her a little too excited with all those bedtime stories.”
“Well, I am an epic storyteller,” Hiccup said before suddenly leaning over to snatch up his daughter as she attempted to run past her parents. She giggled with delight as he growled into her stomach before righting her on his hip. “You know, there’s not so much room on the boat to run around like this,” he joked.
“Are we really gonna see the dragons, Daddy? Toothless and Stormfly?” she asked, eyes wide and eager and sparkling like the stars at night.
“That’s the hope,” Hiccup replied with a heavy sigh. “Odin willing they’ll be near the surface when we get there.”
“I’m sure we’ll see them,” Astrid said, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze.
Hiccup smiled at her as he set his daughter down. “But Daddy,” Zephyr started, “how do you know Toothless and Stormfly are still the same?”
“Well, we don’t.”
Zephyr seemed to consider this as Hiccup and Astrid gathered all their supplies at the door. “Well, then how do you know they still like people?”
Hiccup sighed. She always asked the hard questions. “We really don’t, sweetheart.”
Zephyr quietly contemplated again. Hiccup and Astrid took one last inventory as Zephyr sat down in one of the nearby chairs around the fire pit. Nuffink immediately sat next to her, snuggling up happily into her. She instinctively wrapped her arms around him to hug him closer, letting him lean into her. “Momma, is Toothless gonna eat Daddy?”
Astrid snorted so hard she almost choked. Hiccup stood straight up and shot his wife a bewildered look. “Toothless is not going to eat Daddy,” Astrid choked through laughter.
“But what if they don’t like people anymore?” Zephyr argued.
“Trust me, Toothless will recognize Daddy in a heartbeat.”
“But-”
“He’ll be fine!”
But Hiccup couldn’t get the worry out of the pit of his stomach the entirety of loading the boat. What if Toothless didn’t remember him? The thought hadn’t even occurred to him before his daughter brought it up. Was this a bad idea? Should they cancel the trip? Was he putting his family in danger?
Astrid tried to reassure him. He felt in his gut this was the right decision all this time, why change that now? Zephyr didn’t know Toothless like they did, she had never met him before. Of course she would have her doubts; the only animal-human relationships she knew were that of the New Berkian livestock, and that was hardly the same as dragons.
But every once in a while during the trip to the Hidden World, Hiccup would turn around to see his daughter curiously watching him. “What is it, Zeph?”
“He’s gonna eat you, Daddy,” she would immediately reply.
“He’s not going to eat your father!”
“He won’t eat me!”
Zephyr would eye her parents for a moment before leaning closer to Nuffink, who was typically snuggled up next to her. “He’s gonna get eaten.”
Nuffink would giggle at the interaction and all would be well until Zephyr brought it up again.
But all grew quiet as the boat was blanketed in a soft mist, a gentle fog rolling over the wooden planks of the deck and kissing the cheeks of the humans aboard. Zephyr still swung around on the ropes in excitement, imitating the practiced sailing techniques of her parents as they dropped anchor. Nuffink was as still and watchful as he had been since boarding, sensing the nervous energy of his father. And Hiccup was indeed quite nervous, desperately praying Odin would protect his family; let all the harm come to him, but for the love of Thor, protect his wife and children from the smallest of scratches. Astrid was ever supportive, letting her husband know she stood with him.
That nervous energy extended to every human on the boat as the mist revealed two great beasts perched on rocks ahead, one bright and white and the other mysteriously black as the night sky. Astrid stepped back with the children slowly as Hiccup froze; he let out a sigh heavy with relief, shock, surprise, nostalgia, desperation, sadness, and joy all at once as three tiny beasts of mixed white and black patches popped up behind the white one.
And suddenly, the mass of black scales and bared teeth rocketed from the faraway rocks, jolting the boat as he landed on the bow. All excitement disappeared as Astrid and the children watched the beast slowly advance on Hiccup in terrified anticipation.
“Hey, Toothless,” Hiccup whispered, preparing himself to extend a shaky hand. “Remember me?”
#life after they left#httyd#httyd fanfic#hiccup#astrid#zephyr#nuffink#the haddock family#randis fics
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Pactborn - Part IV
Log #1 - Muu 3rd, 425
I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M A SAILOR NOW. It’s just after nightfall of my first evening at sea, and it still doesn’t feel real. I’m proud of myself to be able to say that I didn’t get seasick like Papa talked about feeling when he first sailed on a ship. I like the feeling of the waves rocking the boat, and I love the smell of the salty air and the sounds of the sails as they flutter in the ever-changing breeze. Darja said that today was mostly for me to “find my sea legs” and get settled.
I got to see some really cool sea creatures already: a few dolphins followed alongside the ship a ways, jumping out of the water as they flanked us on either side. It was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever seen. We saw a whale too, but we weren’t very close to it. Still, they’re so big that when it sprayed water from its blowhole, it looked like those giant geysers from geography books.
I have my own cot! It smelled a little, but something weird but exciting happened...I don’t quite no how to explain it, but as I was standing there, thinking of home, thinking of the little things that I knew I was going to miss, it was like my hands were suddenly not my own, moving in strange, somatic swipes and turns, til suddenly, I watched the soiled marks on the cot fabric fade away. I was really surprised because...to be honest, neither Mama nor Papa have magic, so I didn’t think I did either. Maybe it’s all this fresh air! I got excited and decided to try again as practice, and sure enough - I was able to make the cot smell like my sheets at home after Mama freshly washed them in jasmine water. I might have cried a little...I don’t know what made me more happy: the smell of home being right at my fingertips, or the fact that I could make it happen at all. I decided to try one more time, this time concentrating on making a warm bed. Sure enough, I touched the fabric on the cot and noticed the temperature change, warm to the touch. I’m lying in my warm, clean, sweet-smelling cot right now, and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I can’t wait to tell Mama and Papa all about this when I come home. Now Papa and I can both share stories at sea.
Log #2 - Muu 4th, 425
Today was pretty rough. I’m so tired, I can hardly grip the quill to write this. Darja told me that today I was to learn the ropes so that I could start earning my place on the ship and make some coin. I worked with Bardi - he’s the head midshipman on the Golden Afternoon. I’m not gonna lie, he’s a bit of a hardass. At first I was doing pretty well keeping up - he taught me how to hoist sails, check the rigging, and a few other things that I don’t really remember what their names were (I’ll get it though). I kind of tried to show off at the beginning and used up a lot of my energy in the first couple hours, not realizing I’d be working that hard all day…
My hands are all chewed up from the rough ropes: they’re blistered and bleeding, and I don’t know what to do because Bardi said I’m gonna be doing it all over again tomorrow, too. There’s another younger kid on the ship - his name is Mica, he’s a genasi from the mountains in Sokoku. He told me that the same thing happened to him on his first day at sea and that he found that wrapping his hands helped a lot. I’m going to try that, I guess. I tried using that little bit of magic I found out that I could do yesterday, but it didn’t seem to help. I wish I could do healing magic like the people at the Sanctuary can… Maybe this little spell is all I can muster though. I’m still hopeful for more though.
Log #3 - Muu 5th, 425
I had another dream last night...about the kind man with wings. It feels bizarre saying this, and even reading this as I write, I know I sound crazy, but it had to be real. I had a hard time falling asleep because of how much pain my hands were giving me; but once I drifted off, he visited me. I couldn’t make out his face since there was no light at all, but I knew it was him...I could make out faint outlines of grey in the darkness, and I could see his wings curled around his sides and his massive shield strapped to his back. He didn’t speak, but just him being there made me sense that he felt...bad for me? Worried, maybe? He gave off a feeling of sadness. He took me by the hands, and I distinctly remember feeling the pain as it did so at first. But then, I saw our hands begin to glow faintly, and a soothing sensation took over my palms - it felt like the time I burnt my hand on the brick oven and Mama had to rub aloe on them. After that, I must have woken up, because I don’t remember anything else; the dream just sort of ended. But when I sat up in my cot, my hands were completely healed. COMPLETELY. I don’t understand how it’s possible, but I’m so grateful.
Whoever you are, if you’re here with me now or can read this, who are you? Why do you care about me of all people? Just...don’t ever leave though, okay? And thank you so so much…
Time to get up, eat, and go to work now - I’m not dreading it as much as I was last night. I’m going to find some cloth to wrap my hands, just to take precautions. Hopefully today won’t be as bad.
Log #4 - Muu 7th, 425
Sorry that I missed a day: yesterday and the day before were pretty wild. On top of doing my regular duties, I was assigned my first night watch (not something I want to do on the regular). I was so tired from all the hard work that day, and then I had to stay up all night… Thankfully, there wasn’t anything to report. One of the other sailors relieved me just as the sun started to rise, and I was able to sleep away most of the day.
When I woke up yesterday afternoon, we had just dropped anchor offshore from Felgra, the region to the east of Ghaan. Papa says that his fleet is based out of that region, but Darja said we’re still a ways away from Port Cladach. Instead, we were taking small rowboats to a coastal town called Fenwilde. It was nice to get a break from working with rigging - I finally got to do something I was good at: loading and unloading cargo. I learned how to row a boat as we went ashore, and then we delivered some crates to a little shop called “Blink Bottles” and a few sacks of spices to a tavern called “the Boar’s Head.”
Papa was right when he said that everywhere is a little different from home: there really wasn’t all that much sand as we got closer to the shore; and even then, the mainland was really boggy. And even though we’re still along the southern coast, it was surprising to me that it wasn’t hot - it was actually quite cool...just damp. There were trees everywhere, some of them growing right out of the shallow tributary channels, and everything was SO GREEN. I couldn’t believe how much moss there was in any direction that I looked. While in Fenwilde, we had a little bit of downtime while invoice papers were being reviewed and signed, so I took a quick look around town in an area they told me was called “High End” - they had all sorts of shops there, and one was a clothier. I didn’t realize how lucky I am to have Mama...she always made my clothes for me. Clothes are expensive. I was starting to feel chilly at night on the ship, and if other places were like this one, it was likely going to continue to be that way (or colder). I looked around until I found a cheap fleece blanket of emerald green. I bought it and returned to the crew.
When we finished the delivery, we rowed back out to the coastline, then continued out into the oceanic waters. When I got back, the sun was just starting to set - Darja told me to go rest up because I’d be taking the late watch again. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to keep doing this… But I guess it’s only for another week or so. I’m going to go try to sleep now...hopefully I can get a few hours of rest before they wake me up to take the night shift…
Log #5 - Muu 8th, 425
Last night’s watch was a little scary...as I was up in the crow’s nest (with my new blanket, thank the gods), I saw something off in the distance...it was another ship. I’ve heard rumors of sea bandits, or “pirates,” that sometimes prey on merchant ships in the cover of darkness, and I was terrified that what I saw was just that. The ship looked altogether foreign to me: what I now know to be a red-sailed jong, common among genasi merchants may as well have been the ship of the sea’s most dreadful buccaneer. Fearful and panicked, I nervously played with a piece of copper wire in my pocket from a repair I made earlier and felt a strange tingle in the back of my mind as I whispered over and over again, “Someone’s coming, shitshitshit, something is sailing this way, what the hell do I do…” Before I knew what I had just done, I heard the confused voice of Darja echoing in my head: “Ka’l? Is that you? Who is coming?” I had once again done magic, and I’m still a little unclear what I did to make it happen. I’ve heard about material components sometimes being involved - maybe the wire? Regardless, I flung myself from the crow’s nest, scaling down the rigging as fast as I could, to meet Darja on deck. He grumpily informed me of my mistake in identifying the ship as ill-willed, assuring me of its safety by pointing out the markings on its sails, before he returned to his quarters to sleep. I’m sitting in my cot, writing this, unable to fall asleep: I’m still jittery with shock from both finding a new spell and realizing just how easy it can be for a pirate ship to slip into proximity with us if one wanted.
Log #6 - Muu 10th, 425
Today has been a rough day. Darja called me to his cabin after supper. I figured it was about my two weeks almost being up; maybe he was going to offer me an extension, or something… It turns out he’s just a creep though - he tried to...I don’t know, I think he thought I was interested in him or something. I made it very clear though that I was not. He told me that since I was so disagreeable, I would be on night watches for the rest of my journey back to Khaadeehava but would still be expected to perform my daily duties as well.
I’m so homesick. I really love it out here on the Turquoise Waves, but I wish it were a different ship with a better captain. I rushed to get all of my chores done right after my watch ended this morning, then came back here to my cot to write a little before trying to get an hour of sleep before I’m needed to mop down the quarterdeck later. My one little twinkle of happiness is that - in my loneliness for home - I found another little bit of magic that I can make: I’m sitting here with my journal in my lap, and sitting on the cot in front of me is Mama...well, not really, but some sort of illusion of her. She’s sitting at the end of the cot just like she used to do at the bottom of my bed at home when she would come into my room to say goodnight...and she has that warm, soft smile that I miss so much. I wish she were here right now. I wish I had someone I could hug. For now, I’ll just hold tightly to my fleece and pretend, I guess...
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Thank you, as always, for following me through this journey of fleshing out one of my PCs’ backstory! If you’re interested in being included on the taglist, just send me a message.
Ye Olde Taglist: @serenewrites, @mayvinwrites
#writeblr#DnD#character development#character backstories#dnd PC#PC backstory#BtFM#Ka'l#sailing the high seas#Ghaan#Felgra#cantrips#aasimar#warlock#spell components are fun if you roleplay them as such
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The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 42 - 43
I AM ACTUALLY SPEECHLESS HOLY FUCKING SHIT
Manon Blackbeak cracked open eyelids that were too heavy, too burning, and squinted against the flickering lantern light that swayed upon the wood panels of the room in which she lay.
HHHH I’VE BEEN DREADING THIS. Please kiss the Manon we know goodbye, because we’re likely gonna never see her again after this chapter.
[Manon] bolted upright. Abraxos. Where was Abraxos—
Unghhh their relationship is too pure and wholesome for this shitty novel. I seriously want Manon to leave this series and go to HTTYD, it’s what she deserves.
(...) the chains now around Manon’s wrists, around her ankles—anchored into the walls with what appeared to be freshly drilled holes.
FRESHLY DRILLED HOLES. What did they use to drill those holes? Don’t tell me they popped down to Home Depot and picked up a brand new screw gun I am l aughing
Alien is there and already I’m seeing red please SJM i am begging u keep Alien’s crusty ass 100000 miles away from Manon
[Aelin] jerked her chin toward the floor. A pitcher and cup lay there. “Water’s next to the bed. If you can reach it.”
YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE YOU’RE GOING TO LET MANON DIE OF HYDRATION IF SHE CAN’T REACH THE WATER?? FUCK YOU, ALIEN, YOU MASSIVE PIECE OF SHIT.
And as it turns out, Manon can’t reach the water and passes out soon afterwards. Fuck Alien I can’t think of one character I hate more than her fucking selfish ass.
Even unconscious, Manon’s every breath, every twitch, was a reminder that she was a born predator, her agonizingly beautiful face a careful mask to lure the unwary to their doom.
idk this seems weird... Manon is passed out from pain but they’re all splooging over how hot and dangerous she is... idk...
They were nearing Banjali now—and Dorian had tried and failed not to think of his dead friend with every league closer to the lovely city. Tried and failed not to consider if Nehemia would have been with them on this very ship had things not gone so terribly wrong.
*sobs* I miss Nehemia.... she deserved so much better....
“Hello, witchling,” [Dorian] said.
[Manon’s] full, sensuous mouth tightened slightly, either in a repressed grimace or smile, he couldn’t tell.
What the fuck is up with SJM making all her men horny for the women’s lips during situations that are in no way sexual?? Like Manon is a prisoner tied up and dying of hydration, why is Dorian thinking about her mouth this is so fucking weird
Dorian didn’t feel like mentioning that he’d been the one who’d jumped into the water [to save Manon]. He’d just … acted, as Manon had acted when she’d saved him in his tower. He owed her nothing less.
Ungh SJM is totally gonna make this a thing ain’t she. Like Dorian is just repaying her here but you know, you just know SJM is gonna use this for them to hook up.
Manon asks Dorian about Elide and the Thirteen and Dorian is like “who the hell are those guys” and Manon gets all sad and I’m :(((((
Whatever had happened, whatever [Manon] had endured … Dorian draped an arm along the back of his chair. “It’s coming in a few minutes. I’d hate for you to waste away into nothing. It’d be a shame to lose the most beautiful woman in the world so soon into her immortal, wicked life.”
Heh, that’s typical Dorian for you. Hey, maybe this ship won’t be so bad! Maybe they’ll become really good supportive friends who bond over all the trauma they went through and-
“I am not a woman,” was all [Manon] said. But hot temper laced those molten gold eyes.
[Dorian] gave her an indolent shrug, perhaps only because she was indeed in chains, perhaps because, even though the death she radiated thrilled him, it did not strike a chord of fear. “Witch, woman … as long as the parts that matter are there, what difference does it make?”
WHAT
THE
ACTUAL
FUCK
SJM. ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING KIDDING ME. DO YOU KNOW TRANSGENDER PEOPLE EXIST?? THAT NOT ALL WOMEN HAVE VAGINAS??? ARE YOU FUCKING SAYING TRANS WOMEN ARE LESS OF WOMEN IF THEY DON’T HAVE BREASTS AND VAGINAS??? BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT IT FUCKING LOOKS LIKE TO ME.
I CANNOT FUCKING BELIEVE THIS IS IN AN EPIC FANTASY SERIES. SJM WROTE THIS, EDITORS EDITED IT, AND THEN IT WAS PUBLISHED, AND NOBODY THOUGHT “oh hey, the implications of this are reaaaally bad, let’s cut it”
DJFHSJDFHAFJ THIS IS SO BAD THIS IS REALLY REALLY BAD HOLY SHIT I THOUGHT THIS WAS JUST A BOOK WITH SHITTY PLOT AND WRITING AND CHARACTERS BUT NOW WE CAN ADD TRANSPHOBIA TO THE LIST THATS JUST GREAT.
Sorry about that little tangent but my jaw actually hung wide open when I read that line. Holy fucking shit this novel is going to put me in the ground six feet under.
Dorian offered a lazy grin in return. “Believe it or not, this ship has an unnatural number of attractive men and women on board. You’ll fit right in. And fit in with the cranky immortals, I suppose.”
I’m so heartbroken but... I have to disown my baby boy. Dorian was once one of my few favorite characters but SJM has killed him and replaced him with a transphobic asshole. I’m so sorry my baby boy, you flew too close to the sun. You are hereby demoted to Dorito.
Assdion rears his ugly ass head to be rude to Manon and kiss Alien’s ass before leaving. Bye bitch, hope you fall off the ship and drown.
“Then I suppose you and I are both heirs without crowns.”
Remember last time Alien said this and I defended Dorito, saying he deserved his crown? Oh, how I took those earlier chapters for granted......
The rest of the chapter is Manon angsting about all the shit she’s been through lately. Since I like Manon and she has reason to be upset, I don’t have anything to make snarks about so next chapter.
Lorcan was still wondering what the hell he was doing three days later
Oh fucking great, I just witnessed the murder of my son Dorian and now I gotta read in Lorcan’s POV? Just keep kicking me while I’m down why don’t you, SJM.
“It’s going to rain.”
[Elide] slid a flat glance at him. “I do know what thunder means.”
Just fucking stop. This isn’t entertaining at all to watch two people bicker and made snarky remarks 100% of the time to one another and yet we’re supposed to believe they’re bonding I want to d ie
“Drink,” Elide commanded him.
Lorcan debated telling her not to give him orders, but … he liked seeing this small, fine-boned creature in action.
What the fuck does that mean?? Fine boned?? Is that really a way people describe others???? What the fuck am I reading???
So Lorcan drank and watched [Elide] while she watched others. So many calculating thoughts beneath that pale face, so many lies ready to spill from those rosebud lips.
I’m so tired like. You guys have done nothing but argue and avoid each other and now Lorass is getting horny at the sight of Elide’s lips I’m so tired.
[Elide] was going to leave. Tomorrow, whenever the carnival rolled out.
She’d likely hire one of these boats to take her northward, and [Lorcan] … he would go south. To Morath.
:(( the girl I emotionally abuse is going to leave after we both lied to one another :((( this is so sad can we get 100 likes
Elide talks to some people inside a tavern about Alien.
“Seems like the queen has a habit of showing up where she’s least expected, unleashing chaos, and vanishing again.
FINISH HER
Elide walked out of the third tavern, Lorcan on her heels. They hadn’t spoken once since she’d gone into that first inn. He’d been too lost in contemplating what it would be like to suddenly travel on his own again. To leave her … and never see her again.
I am utterly baffled you two have been nothing but assholes to each other!!! Like seriously you haven’t done anything nice for each other!!! Like wtf SJM is trying make us all :’((( about them splitting up but I can’t wait until this stupid subplot ends!
Elide reveals she can’t read to Lorass and he tries to compliment her, but...?
He wondered if he would have ever noticed if she hadn’t told him. “You seem to have survived rather impressively without it.”
I mean, good on him for not judging her, but like, she was locked up in a tower doing maid work? Reading skills really wouldn’t have made much of a difference there.
Turns out their carnival co workers ratted them out and sent guards after them. Lorass hauls Elide over his shoulder and makes a run for it.
“The gates at the city entrance,” [Elide] gasped as muscle and bone pummeled into her gut. “They’ll be there, too.”
Holy shit that sounds painful. She’s not a sack of potatoes Lorass, try some gentleness.
Lorcan pocketed the axe he’d thumbed free
You literally just took out your axe like two paragraphs ago on the same page. What was the point of this?
They find some rando and force him to get them the hell out of dodge on his boat. Elide hears a splash but doesn’t think anything of it until she sees Lorass again.
[Elide] glanced at the hatchet at [Lorcan’s] side as he strode out of the cabin. “You killed him, didn’t you?” That was what the splash had been. A body being dumped over the side.
So, just to recap, according to Lorass.... killing an innocent man who helped you escape the guards; completely justifiable. Stealing something you suspect is bad from a woman you don’t even like; evil, unacceptable, crossing a line.
“He might have had a family depending on him.” [Elide]’d seen no wedding ring, but it didn’t mean anything.
I was about to get tilted but SJM corrected herself. I hate the mentality that if you don’t have a spouse, you clearly can’t have a family who depends on you. Kids from previous relationships, parents, grandparents, siblings, they’re family too y’know.
Lorass finds out the Wyrdkey he carried is a fake and loses his shit.
Then Lorcan flung open the door, so violently it nearly ripped off its hinges, and hurled what looked to be the shards of a broken amulet into the river. Or he tried to. Lorcan threw it hard enough that it cleared the river entirely and slammed into a tree, gouging out a chunk of wood.
I enjoy his misery tbh. Lorass is so pissy he reveals to Elide that Alien was Celaena, or as I like to call her Celery, at one point.
“You knew, and you didn’t tell me. Why?”
“You still haven’t told me your secrets. I don’t see why I should tell all of mine, either.”
I mean, yeah, hate to agree with Lorass but fair enough. You’ve both done nothing but lie to each other’s faces, why would he tell you that? I want to like Elide but all this shitty drama and bickering is making my affection for her wear thin.
Then - holy fucking shit, there’s like a bunch of huuuuuuge paragraphs of Lorass and Elide bickering and they’re so fucking big. This hurts my eyes to look at. I’m gonna screencap one of them, just to show you how fucking huge they are.
HOLY SHIT SJM BREAK UP YOUR BIG ASS BRICKS OF TEXT PLEASE. My eyes started to cross trying to read this, it took me like three tries.
tl;dr because of some bullshit Lorass is staying with Elide because they both have business with Alien. Fuckin’ great, I love everyone’s agendas revolving around the main special snowflake, just fuckin’ great.
There’d been nothing inside the amulet but one of those rings—an utterly useless Wyrdstone ring, wrapped in a bit of parchment. And on it was written in a feminine scrawl:
Here’s hoping you discover more creative terms than “bitch” to call me when you find this.
With all my love,
A.A.G.
Maybe I’d find this amusing if Alien wasn’t a walking shitstain, but... I’m tired. I’m so goddamn tired.
[Lorcan]’d kill [Aelin]. Slowly. Creatively.
Damn wish you would fam, but Alien’s got plot armor bigger than her fuckin’ ego. Lorass ends the chapter by saying he’ll kill Alien, which we all know won’t happen. I’m betting money that there’ll probably be a Lorass/Rowboat/Alien love triangle once Lorass sees what an ~uhmazing~ queen Alien is. Don’t give me that look, you know SJM would.
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Ours is the Song- Chapter 5
Rating: T
Summary: Daenerys seeks Bran's help to find answers to the questions she's been plagued with since before arriving at Winterfell.
Read it on AO3 and Fanfiction.net
The vastness of Winterfell never ceased to amaze Daenerys. She was not sure what she had expected the first time she visited, but the sprawling castle complex and its surroundings had taken her by surprise. She walked through the Godswood alone, save for two Dothraki guards who followed her at a distance. By now they knew when to give their queen the space she desired. Trees of ash, hawthorn, oak, ironwood, sentinel, and soldier pine dotted the forest, as snow shrikes sang above her, but it was the ancient weirdwood, the heart tree she sought out.
She had excused herself once she finished her breakfast, leaving Jon alone with his sisters. They had spent so much time apart that she thought they deserved some time alone to discuss anything they might now wish to bring up in front of her. It was difficult, at times, to watch them together. Jon had been close with some of his siblings growing up. She had never known what that was like. She had been close to Viserys out of necessity, not affection, and Dany often felt undue pangs of jealousy at the easy way the Stark siblings fell back in line with each other.
In truth, Missandei was the closest thing she had to a sister. She trusted her above almost everyone else and she was one of the few people Dany knew she could speak freely to, especially when they were alone. They talked about their hopes, fears, and dreams for a better world that might one day come when the Long Night was over.
Perhaps she had spent too much time in the North, but Dany did not seem to mind the cold anymore. She had grown used to it. It made her feel strong. The cold as Winterfell was nothing compared to the cold atop the Wall and beyond. There, the wind crept inside everytime she opened her mouth and stole her breath away. At Winterfell, the cold was calmer, less harsh and there was always the promise of a bath at the end of the day to warm her and soothe her tired muscles.
The heart tree loomed before her in the wood, tall and pale. But for the crimson color of its leaves the tree might have been able to blend into the snowy surroundings. Sitting beside it, as she had hoped and expected, was Bran. Dany made her way over to him and waited for him to acknowledge her, though he never did. To be disregarded by any other person might have made Dany cross, but Bran was different and, after all, she had come to seek his help.
“You probably know why I was looking for you,” she said at length when the silence grew too long.
“It doesn’t exactly like work like that,” Bran said with a small smile that turned slightly sad. “I don’t seek out information like that, not in the present anyway. People don’t understand what a burden this can be. I didn’t ask for this...this gift.”
“But you were chosen for it,” Dany pointed out. “They chose the right person.”
“It’s fascinating and terrifying at the same time. Sometimes I feel like it is a curse.”
“But would you be able to help me? Help me look into my past. There is so much that I don’t know, so many memories that are blurred for me. I know next to nothing about my mother, save for that she died when I was born and my brother never forgave me for it.”
“What you’re asking isn’t without its risks and dangers.”
“I’m willing to take the risk, whatever the cost. I’ve…” she paused and glanced down at her gloved hands, searching for the right words. “I’ve been having dreams...maybe visions and I need to know why. Only you can help me. Please.”
It was not a request, it was a plea. Bran held her gaze for a moment, perhaps willing her to change her mind. Reluctantly, he placed his hand on the ancient weirwood tree and his eyes seemed to fall back into his head, showing only the terrifying blankness of the whites of his eyes. Dany had never witnessed one of Bran’s greenseeing visions and the sight frightened her. It suddenly seemed colder around her and though Bran was close to her, she felt quite alone.
The thought to wake or interrupt him entered Dany’s mind, but a yearning for the truth stayed her hands and she clasped them together tightly to keep from reaching out.
“Bran,” she whispered tentatively after minutes passed, glancing about to see if anyone else was around them. There was no one save for the Dothraki, dutifully keeping guard from a distance. She was not even sure he could hear her when he was looking into the past.
Almost as if he sensed her growing fear and discomfort Bran took a deep breath and his eyes returned to normal. He sat motionless- silent- save for the gasps of breath he was taking to regain his composure. He turned his face towards Dany, looked at her blankly and then looked away. She did not know Bran well, not even as well as she knew Sansa and Arya, but she never knew him to be uncertain, especially when it came to his abilities. He was generally blunt, to the point, and straightforward.
“Your grace, I…” he began, and it did not go unnoticed that he reverted back to formally addressing her, despite her request that he and his sisters do otherwise.
“You saw something, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he swallowed. “Many things. You mother is not Rhaella Targaryen. Your mother is Ashara Dayne.”
Dany felt as if she was under water. She could see Bran’s lips moving, but his words seemed muffled. Surely, she had misheard him. Surely, he had not understood what he saw in his vision. It was impossible, unacceptable even. And yet… a voice from deep within her knew that what he said was true. There was so much she needed to know, so many questions rushing through her head.
“Tell me everything,” she said evenly.
“Daenerys, I don’t know-”
“Everything you saw.”
“I saw the Tourney at Harrenhal,” Bran began. “Ashara Dayne was there as lady-in-waiting to Princess Elia. She was beautiful, more beautiful than the rest. Every man wanted to dance with her, but few men had the chance. Oberyn Martell, Jon Connington, Barristan Selmy, too. He was in love with her.”
“He’s the one who first told me of her, after my dream.” Daenerys noticed how Bran’s vision matched what Barristan had told her.
“And she danced with my father. They spent all night talking. When they parted after the tourney they were both in love.”
“In love?”
“It was her undoing. Not long after the tourney and the False Spring, your father, the Mad King, burned my grandfather and killed my uncle. He called for Jon Arryn to bring him my father’s head, but Arryn refused. In his anger, Aerys flew into a rage and raped Ashara, having seen her dance with Ned Stark at Harrenhal and having overheard her telling Princess Elia about him.”
“That...that cannot be true,” Dany sputtered. “Your vision was wrong. I was born during a great Summer storm to Rhaella Targaryen on Dragonstone.”
“My visions never lie. You were born at Starfall, the ancient seat of House Dayne, to Lady Ashara. You never set foot on Dragonstone until your ships arrived there from Essos.”
Dany recalled landing on Dragonstone. She remembered telling Tyrion and Varys that she always imagined it would have felt like a homecoming, but it did not feel like home.
“My father sent word to your mother,” Bran continued. “He warned her to flee King’s Landing before it was sacked. After the war he found my aunt, Lyanna, dying from giving birth to Jon. He promised to care for him as his own. In order to reach her in the Tower of Joy he had to slay the Sword of the Morning, Ashara’s brother, Arthur Dayne. He wielded the greatsword Dawn. My father took Dawn back to Starfall and found that your mother had given birth to you.
“He knew that Robert, having slain Rhaegar on the Trident, would never let you live if he found you and so he helped you and your mother escape by boat to Sunspear. For a Targaryen, the sea was less treacherous than the land and was less likely to betray than a man who knew what a dead Targaryen babe was worth.”
“Why Sunspear?”
“Despite Rhaegar slighting Elia, Dorne and the Martells were still loyal to the Targaryens. You stayed with your mother and grew up in anonymity near the Water Gardens. Fittingly so, as they were made for the first Daenerys who was married to Maron Martell. You lived in a large house with-”
“A red door,” Dany finished and Bran nodded.
“You remember.”
“That’s all. I would run in the grass and play in the water. There was a lemon tree, but that...that was in Braavos.”
“Lemons don’t grow in Braavos. It was very near Sunspear.”
“How did I end up with Viserys?”
“Your mother and the Martells knew the older you became, the harder you would be to hide. Oberyn Martell himself delivered you to Viserys and Willem Darry in Braavos. While he was there, Oberyn and Darry signed a pact betrothing Viserys to Arianne Martell. You remained with Viserys from that time on.”
“And whatever happened to Ashara Dayne? Is my mother dead? Is she alive?”
“She’s alive,” Bran said. “Although you’ve known her by another name. Quaithe, I believe.”
“That’s enough,” Dany replied, lifting her hand to silence him. Even that small gesture seemed to take great effort. She turned to leave, to be anywhere else, to have time to process everything he had just told her.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. I just need to be alone.”
XXXXX
The Targaryens burned their dead. The reasoning why had been lost over the years, summed up as tradition. Now, in a world where the dangers of reanimation by the White Walkers was a reality, cremation seemed practical, logical, and necessary. They had even burned Cersei Lannister’s body when she was found dead of mysterious circumstances by her brother Jaime after Dany’s armies had defeated the Lannister forces and she had taken King’s Landing. The concept of burying the dead the way many Great Houses in Westeros such as the Starks did was foreign to Dany. The first time Jon had shown her the crypts was almost unsettling for reasons that she could not quite explain.
She was not entirely sure how she ended up down there, but she stared up at the cold stone statue of Ned Stark. She remembered someone telling her that it did not look like him, it captured none of his warmth. Dany had not known the difference then, but now after seeing him so clearly in her dreams she concluded that whomever carved his likeness clearly had not known him, or at least, had not known him very well. Her mother had known him well, or at least well enough to trust him with news of her daughter’s very existence.
How did one man hold two of Westeros’s biggest secrets? She wondered as yet another tear slid down her cheek. Somehow, she had managed to keep her composure until she was alone, but once the torrent of tears began, they had been difficult to stop. At some point, in an attempt to stop the sobs from wracking her body, she lowered herself to the stone floor. Now, she lacked the will or want to pull herself back up again.
Queen of Nothing, a harsh voice from her past whispered in Dothraki.
She barely heard the boots echo on the cobbled floor as they walked towards her. Dany did not need to look up, she knew who it would be before her husband even sat down next to her and patiently waited for her to speak to him.
“Bran told you then?” she asked.
“He did,” Jon nodded slowly.
“How can you even look at me?”
“What?”
“Who am I even?”
“You’re my wife. You’re the Queen.”
“Your wife,” Dany snorted. “You didn’t even know who you married. I don’t even know who I am. Regardless of Aerys being my father, I’m a bastard. I have no real claim to the Iron Throne. What kind of a queen is that?”
“You and I are the same,” Jon pointed out. “This may surprise you, but I didn’t fall in love with you for your crown, or even your dragons. There’s no hidden agenda there. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you at all. But I fell in love with a woman, the most passionate women I’d ever met.”
He paused and turned her face towards him.
“One day I spoke to Missandei. Davos was there, too. We asked her why she served you. Do you know what she told me? She said you were the queen they chose. Did you become the Khaleesi because they all bowed and bent the knee to House Targaryen? No. The gods know the Dothraki don’t give a shit about that. Being a Targaryen didn’t earn you respect in Meereen. Aegon took the throne without a claim or a right to it. He united the Seven Kingdoms.”
“I’m not Aegon.”
“No, you’re better. You told me when we met that you endured all you had because of faith in yourself.”
“I had faith in a person who doesn’t exist.”
“No. You’re still Daenerys Targaryen. You still endured everything that happened to you. You are the rightful queen now, even more so because you’ve earned it.”
“What will I tell the people? Who would believe it?”
“Tell them the truth. Once this is all over people won’t care how pure your blood is. Seven hells, some who still only see you as a Targaryen might even be relieved. Your mother was a Dayne. Arthur Dayne was one of the greatest knights Westeros has ever seen.”
“The Mad King’s blood still flows through our veins. People might still resent it.”
“The Northerners will believe Bran when he tells them everything. They might even love you more for being the daughter of the woman Ned Stark once loved. Everyone knew he loved her.”
Dany glanced up at the statue of Ned again. “He helped send me away.”
“To protect you.”
Everything Barristan said made sense now. Everything Varys told her about Ned Stark trying to convince Robert not to have her assassinated...it all made sense now.
“He sent you away to keep you safe,” Jon repeated. “He had no idea what Viserys would do. To him, I’m sure the further away you were from Robert, the better off you were.”
“Part of me knows you’re right.”
“I’m not saying it shouldn’t still hurt.”
“Bran warned me. He said it was dangerous. I knew better. But my dreams…” Dany trailed off. “I needed answers and so I didn’t listen to him.”
She felt sick to her stomach as her emotions churned and roiled inside of her. If I look back I am lost, she thought and nearly laughed in disgust at how true that rang in her mind. Everything she had believed as a child was a lie. Every story Viserys ever told her was a fallacy. The resentment he bore towards her made sense now. It was not because of her that his mother died. She had not even thought to ask Bran about what really happened on Dragonstone the night Rhaella Targaryen died. A bastard sister was only useful to Viserys in as far as she helped get him a crown. When he saw her rise in prominence among the Dothraki, any affection he must have felt for her wore thin. She was but a pawn to him. Dany wondered what he would think of a bastard queen sitting on the Iron Throne with a bastard king at her side.
I took this throne, she thought. With fire and blood and I would take it again.
“Daenerys, let’s go up,” Jon urged.
“Ned Stark risked everything for me,” Dany said, ignoring the request. “The daughter of the man who killed his father and brother.”
“Bran said he loved your mother. Nothing would change that. He didn’t see you as the Mad King’s daughter. He saw you as Ashara’s daughter. He couldn’t keep her safe, so he wanted to keep you safe. Maybe if it wasn’t for me he would have taken you up North, raised you as his own.”
Jon paused for a moment and tried to smile.
“With this hair?” Dany asked, twirling a lock of her silver-gold hair between her fingers and nudging him. “Everyone would have known I was a Targaryen.”
“He just wanted to get you away from Robert.”
“Do you think he knew what he was sending me into? Do you think my mother knew?”
“Absolutely not. He’d never knowingly send anyone he cared about into danger. He couldn’t have known then what Viserys would become.”
“Every story by my brother…” she took a deep breath and sighed. “Every story Viserys told me was a lie. She was never our mother. She was only his mother. Maybe this isn’t even her ring. No wonder he hated me so much when he had to sell Rhaella’s crown.”
“Viserys needed you just as much as you needed him,” Jon repeated.
“I never grew up with a mother,” Dany said. “Why does it feel like I’ve lost something all over again?”
“I think I know a bit about that.”
“Of course you do. I’m sorry, Jon.”
“Don’t be, but I do understand how you feel. The feeling of a lost connection. Sometimes I wish I knew Lyanna was my mother from the time I was young, to know that she was somebody, or that I was somebody. Bran and my father both said that she was like Arya.”
“Did you ever think about asking Bran to look back more than he did?”
“Of course I did, but where would that get me? I can’t change anything that happened.”
“If I look back, I am lost.”
“Who told you that?” Jon asked.
“It’s just something I’ve always felt inside of me. I should have listened.”
“Your mother would be proud of you, Dany. Of everything you’ve accomplished.”
“I hope so, wherever she is now. I hope so. She helped me without even knowing it, or maybe she did.”
“So Bran said. If she’s reached out before, she could reach out again.”
“What would I say to her?”
“You’ll know. When the time comes, you’ll know.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“I thought I wanted to be alone. That I wanted to sort this out by myself.”
“As someone who did just that, I knew I couldn’t let you do the same. Even if I don’t have all of the answers.”
“Help me up?” Dany asked, holding her hand out to Jon.
He took her hand and helped pull her to her feet, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she stood up.
“What am I going to tell everyone? Where do I even begin?”
“You don’t have to tell them anything yet. Send Tyrion a raven when you’re ready. Take some time to yourself to let everything sink in.”
Dany nodded and let Jon lead her out of the crypts and up to their chambers.
XXXXX
Another piece of paper was tossed into the fire and Dany watched as the flames licked and singed the edges before consuming the parchment completely and turning it to ash. It was her third attempt to write a letter to Tyrion and she still could not find the right way to put pen to paper and express what she felt she needed to say. Perhaps Jon was right. Perhaps she needed more time to contemplate everything that had happened. Although she heard no sound, Dany could feel that someone was in the room with her. She did not have to turn around to know who it was. She had felt this way before on the Balerion and then again in Meereen.
“Quaithe,” she said and closed her eyes.
“Daenerys,” replied the familiar voice. The voice from my dream, Dany thought, realizing why some part of her had recognized it.
“Should I call you Ashara now?” she asked, turning around. For the first time, the mysterious woman she met in Qarth wore no mask and Dany gazed upon the face of her mother.
“The three-eyed raven told you everything then?”
“He told me enough,” Dany replied, forgetting her conversation hours ago with Jon. Forgetting to be anything but hurt and angry for the years of lost time. “He told me what I needed to know. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me yourself. You clearly had the opportunity.”
“I wanted to. I tried to. I told you to remember who you are.”
“You could have done more than speak to me in veiled language and riddles.”
“No,” Ashara said simply, moving closer towards her daughter. She looked younger than Dany had expected, not so much older than she had been in the dream she had. It occurred to Dany that Ashara was probably no older than forty, if she was even that. “I couldn’t have. You weren't ready to hear the truth. It was something you needed to seek out for yourself when the time was right.”
“How is this the right time?” Dany asked. “We are at war with the greatest enemy Westeros has ever known and I’m about to have a child. I could have done without the jarring distraction. You planted that dream, didn’t you?”
“No. Your dreams and your visions come to you of your own accord. You said it yourself once. You are no ordinary woman. You dreams come true. It is a gift of our house.”
“Is it? Or is it a curse?”
“I suppose in time you will decide that for -”
“Why did you abandon me?” Dany asked, cutting the woman off, her voice choked with a mix of sadness and anger. She watched as Ashara recoiled from the verbal blow.
“I did it to keep you safe. Because it was the only way to ensure I could always be with you. One way or another if we stayed together in Dorne Robert would have found us.”
“Why did you go to Dorne to begin with?”
“Because the North was not an option. Ned Stark would have done everything he could to protect us, but he...he had his own secrets to keep and you, with your unmistakable hair, wouldn’t have been able to be kept hidden here. Robert was so hellbent on ridding the world of all Targaryens that he would not have stopped to consider that the Daynes shares many of the same traits as the Targaryens. It would have been pointless to lie. So Ned helped get to me to Dorne. It was the last time I ever saw him alive before he returned to the North. The Martells hated Robert and the Lannisters even more than they hated Rhaegar. Oberyn had long been a friend. He was still reeling from the loss of Elia. I don’t think he ever truly recovered. I asked if he would help keep you safe. I’ll never forget what he told me. There were tears in his eyes when he said, We don’t hurt little girls in Dorne.”
“Why not stay hidden in Dorne? Why not take me to Viserys yourself?”
“If you were to be the Targaryen Princess and Queen you were meant to be, I couldn’t be part of it. You couldn’t have memories of me. That’s why Oberyn took you to Viserys when he did.”
“Do you have any idea what I went through with Viserys and with Drogo?”
“I didn’t know what would happen when I let you go, but I know it now.”
“I never asked to be a queen. Growing up I would have been quite content with a mother, a family who loved me.”
“The gods have fashioned you for greatness, Daenerys. Your happiness was not in your past, but in your future.”
“If I look back I am lost…”
“Yes. Someday, you too will know what it is like to make a difficult decision to leave a child.”
“Never,” Dany protested. “I would never leave my child.”
“You would if it meant ensuring their safety.”
“I will be able to keep my child safe.”
“Yes,” Ashara said. “I think you will.”
“Why didn’t you help me? All those years we lived in squalor, everything that happened in Essos, why didn’t you help?”
“I tried, as much as I could. But I know what you needed to become. I trusted in the prophecies and I was right.”
“You’ll go again?” Dany’s voice was quiet, filled with the hope that she could make the visitor stay, but something deep within her already knew the answer to the question she asked.
“I’m afraid I must, but before I go, there is one last piece of wisdom to impart. Beware, Daenerys. Beware the sword of ice that will cloud your mind and pierce your heart.”
“What does that mean?”
“Dany?” Jon asked from the doorway. She had been so caught up that she had not even heard him come through the door. “Who were you talking to?”
Turning back to where Ashara stood, she found the space to be empty. It was as if no one had been there, just as it had been when she appeared to Dany at sea and under the persimmon tree in Meereen.
“A shadow. A memory,” Dany replied. She shook her head in disbelief as she faced Jon once more. “My mother.”
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When Life Gives You Lightning Chapter 10
Fanfiction.net version here.
Took me long enough (4 months) to write this thing, but here it is!
Astrid’s hand shook. The other rider’s words echoed around her ears. She ran her thumb over the marks carefully etched into the wood of the pencil. It was obvious. This was Hiccup’s pencil, no doubt about it. He’s the only person she knows of who would take the time to mark their name into a pencil. This realization made everything come back into focus around her.
“Astrid!” Stoick shouted. “What is it?” Astrid’s head snapped up, her breath catching in her throat.
“It’s Hiccup. They’ve been here.” She held up the pencil for everyone to see. Stoick gasped, but everyone else just seemed puzzled.
Tuffnut looked thoughtfully at the pencil. “What’s a piece of wood got to do with Hiccup?” He thought for a second, then gasped. “Oh my gods, Hiccup’s been turned into a pencil! Don’t worry H, we’ll get you out of there!” Tuff continued his babbling, while the other riders just ignored him.
Stoick held out his hand expectantly. “Let me see that, Astrid.” Said shieldmaiden reluctantly handed over the pencil. Stoick examined the pencil, then cradled it against himself. “Oh, Hiccup…”
“But why would Hiccup’s pencil be all the way out here?” Fishlegs mused.
“Duh, he obviously left it for us as a clue. Don’t you know anything, fish face?” Snotlout said impatiently.
Fishlegs opened and closed his mouth like a fish. “You’ve got a point.”
Astrid finally found her voice. “But that doesn’t explain why we haven’t been able to track the scent! What if he’s-” she cut herself off, not wanting to think about it.
“It doesn’t matter.” Stoick said quickly. “What matters is that my son has been here. We need to find him.” Toothless barked his agreement. Stoick held the pencil down to Skullcrusher. “Is there any scent left on this, boy?” The Rumblehorn sniffed the pencil, pupils contracting. He gave a roar, and Stoick’s face set in determination. “He’s got a scent! Let’s go!”
Astrid grinned widely, heart soaring with hope. If there was still a scent, then the pencil would’ve been put in the water recently. Astrid hoped the pencil was left as a clue, and tried not to think of the other option- the one where Hiccup wasn’t okay. She directed Stormfly to follow the rest of the riders, who followed the bellowing Rumblehorn.
The masked man stood at the edge of the small boat, the breeze slightly ruffling his hood. He could see the dragon hunter’s base looming up ahead. He grinned to himself, chuckling slightly. Only a little more time, and he’d be practically rich. All he had to do was deliver the Haddock boy to Viggo, which was proving to be easy as pie. He hadn’t run into any disruptions at all, which surprised him. He expected those pesky dragon riders to have been all over him by now, or at least the little blonde girl. It wasn’t hard to see that she had feelings for the boy, and vice versa. No matter, less trouble for him, he supposed.
The boat bumped into one of the many docks, and the masked man stepped onto the wooden platform. Viggo’s men scrambled about, hauling things from crates to dragons to and fro. “So we meet again.” A deep voice rumbled on his right. The man turned slightly, not surprised to see the hulking form of Ryker. “You got him?”
The masked man nodded stiffly. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t,” he answered shortly. He was still angry at the hunter for cheating him a couple months prior, though as Viggo says, it’s “business.”
Ryker nodded approvingly. He produced a sack, throwing it to the masked man’s feet. “Viggo was adamant that you receive the gold this time.” The man smirked and picked up the sack, looking inside. He was pleased to see that it was filled nearly to the brim with the promised gold.
“He’s yours.” The masked man stepped aside. “He’s just below deck. Although you should probably know, he’s blind.” Ryker raised a brow. “It wasn’t me, though I wish it was.” He smirked as Ryker chuckled under his breath.
The hunter nodded to the two men standing obediently behind him. The masked man watched the trio head towards his ship with a cruel smile on his face.
Hiccup swore he almost had a heart attack when he heard the telltale thump of the boat hitting the dock. He sincerely hoped he was mistaken, but he clearly heard the masked man step off. Hiccup strained his ears and closed his eyes- as if that made any difference. He vaguely heard voices. He guessed the masked man was talking to someone… Were they at the dragon hunter’s base? Hiccup barely suppressed a shiver, hoping dearly for the opposite.
“Viggo was adamant that you receive the gold this time.” A familiar voice rumbled. Hiccup’s eyes shot open, his heart pounding. That voice wasn’t associated with good things. Hiccup desperately tried to steady his heart, but his treacherous mind betrayed him. It played very unpleasant memories- ones that he’d love to forget, and hopefully not repeat. Hiccup knew he needed to do something- and fast.
Bracing himself against the wall, he shakily got to his feet. Once again making a sad attempt at shaking the haddock guts out of his hair, he held his hands out in front of him, feeling for the ladder he knew was in the corner. He had no idea what he’d do once he found the ladder, not to mention if he was even able to get all the way up it without being noticed or heard. He figured his best bet was to jump into the ocean. At least then he’d have a decent chance at escaping or training a sea dragon, though he’d never been the strongest swimmer. He figured drowning would be better than the other option.
Hiccup grinned to himself when he felt the brush of wood against his outstretched fingers. He curled his hand around it, making sure it was a ladder. It definitely felt like a ladder, though he could never be completely sure since he couldn’t see. Hiccup carefully lifted his prosthetic, finding the bottom rung of the ladder. Taking a deep breath, he made his way up to the deck of the ship.
As soon as he felt the ladder end, he stopped and listened. It sounded like Ryker and the masked man were still talking. Hiccup pulled himself the rest of the way onto the deck of the ship, then crept forwards. He wasn’t sure where the side of the ship was, but figured if he kept walking he’d find it eventually. The problem was not being seen by-
“Stop him!” Hiccup jumped at Ryker’s angry shout. Guess sneaking away is out. He started running in the opposite direction of the hunter’s pounding footsteps, hoping to reach the edge of the boat before they reached him.
Hiccup’s knees hit the wood of the rim of the ship. He clambered over it and leapt, preparing himself to be enveloped by the icy waves- only have his arm nearly wrenched from its socket by Ryker. “Where do you think you’re going?” The hunter’s voice growled.
Even dangling over the edge of a boat with his arm in his enemy’s iron grip, Hiccup still couldn’t stop his mouth from blabbing. “Oh, you know, I just felt like taking a swim. The water is very nice this time of year!!” Ryker chuckled darkly and pulled him up roughly, throwing him on the deck of the ship. As his head collided painfully with the wooden deck of the ship, Hiccup felt a weird sense of deja-vu. Before, Ryker caught him from falling off a cliff. This time, he stopped him from escaping in nearly the same way.
“There will be no swimming for you today, Haddock. Viggo wants a word with you- and pretty badly too.” Hiccup scrambled away from the sound of Ryker’s advancing footsteps, head pounding from its previous encounter with the deck. Two sets of hands grabbed his arms, hauling him to his feet. The hunters tightly tied his hands behind his back- again. Hiccup angrily tugged at them, having only just escaped the previous ropes.
“I’m flattered, but I’d really rather not. Can’t he wait? I have some beauty sleep to catch up on-” A brutal punch in the gut abruptly stopped his ranting. Hiccup attempted to double over, but couldn’t due to the two burly hunters grasping his biceps.
“I’m in no mood for your sass, boy. Unless if you want another one, I suggest you keep that trap of yours shut.” Ryker growled. Hiccup was too busy trying to breathe to reply. Ryker roughly grabbed Hiccup by the chin, forcing him to blink up at him. He attempted to glare at the hunter, though he wasn’t sure if he was looking at the right thing or not. The hunter’s hot, smelly breath washed over his face. “So the masked man was right. You are blind.” Hiccup rather felt than saw Ryker’s evil grin.
“So what if I am?” Hiccup finally found his voice, though it sounded slightly wheezy. His gut throbbed, protesting against breathing. “I can still do this.” Hiccup kicked out with his prosthetic, the metal foot connecting with Ryker’s knee, bouncing off with a loud pop. Hiccup felt a swell of pride, listening to Ryker’s pained shout. He assumed he either sprained or dislocated the hunter’s knee.
“You little-” Ryker clambered back to his feet, his fist colliding brutally with the side of Hiccup’s head. Instantly everything went fuzzy, his hearing fading in and out. Hiccup felt the hunters pull on his arms, dragging him off the ship. His eyes slid closed, and consciousness slipped from his grasp.
I… er… *coughs* Next chapter should be up in a week or so!
#rtte#httyd#race to the edge#how to train your dragon#rtte fanfiction#httyd fanfiction#hiccstrid#hiccup#astrid#hiccup!whump#fanfiction#fanfic#rtte fanfic#httyd fanfic#katurdi#when life gives you lightning#my fanfiction
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Schools Out
Balloons, lights, music and proud parents clapping and cheering as they watch their children dressed in suits and wrapped in dresses, get handed a scroll that declares them Graduates. One by one each class of students and their parents or attending guardians were ushered into their seats in front of the stage built in the courtyard. Every class had an elected representative that would give a speech after everyone received their diplomas. Adrien had been standing on the roof overlooking the courtyard watching as everyone graduated, he wanted to be there for one of the most important moments of their lives. Having grown used to her brother being just out of sight Fe' spotted him shortly after the ceremonies began, she waved giving a smile.
Adrien didn't know most of the classes that went on stage but he stayed nonetheless, Plagg found this boring but respected Adrien's decision to stay instead flying off to talk with Tikki. Really he only stayed to watch Marc graduate but didn't know which class they were in so he stayed to watch them all, while he waited he chatted with his precursors. When Marc's class was up Adrien was surprised and happy to see he had been elected class representative. Nathaniel had arrived early to be by his side along with Fe' while Marc gave his speech, which was met with great applause. It was dusk now and the cloudy sky was radiating with beautiful tones of orange and red, only one class remained, the class he had been waiting for all day. Watching from a distance left a slight tinge of sadness in Adrien's chest ,it was graduation, and here he was standing in the shadow of the sunset only able to show silent support.
Marinette had been elected class rep but she invited Chloe to the stand, placing one arm around her and smiling ,they had grown close, and together they delivered a short but inspirational speech.
M: "Hardships"
C: "Change"
M: "Disasters and Akuma's are all things we have endured but we keep moving, we've helped and supported each other through it all"
C: "We will not be stopped from living our best lives and choosing how we live them"
M: "Today marks the day we move on to the next part of our lives, I just wish we could have done it all together" she choked up clutching something tightly, holding it close to her chest.
Now Chloe put an arm around Mari continuing seamlessly "We just wish that a member of our class and dear friend went missing could be here and since this is being broadcast live-". The class, Marc and Fe' all gathered around the podium.
Marinette put on her best smile and held up another scroll, letting it fall open to reveal a diploma with one of the few photos that exist of him with a real smile. "Wherever you are ,if you’re watching, congratulations Adrien, you're an honorary graduate" she said looking into the camera that was broadcasting the ceremony live. On the roof Adrien was happy enough to make him shed a tear in gratitude to his friends, Nalma and other precursors placed their hands on his shoulder though he could not feel it. Shortly after the ceremony finished Plagg had returned and congratulated Adrien at a safe distance not wanting to get grabbed and hugged again.
Nino and Fe' met up with Adrien back at the tavern where he and Milo greeted them with shots from the same bottle of whiskey they had been drinking from since they finished renovations. And so once more they celebrated with a shot for everyone, unfortunately Chat Noir needed to go on patrol but before he left he grabbed the picnic bag he had prepared earlier. He knew that his partner had also graduated that day though he did not know from what grade nor school she was graduating from.
"Bonsoir Mon Minou, you seem happy" Ladybug greeted warmly as Chat Noir approached humming.
"Bonsoir Ladybug, of course I'm cheery, my partner and almost everyone I've known graduated today why would I not be" Chat replied.
She shrugged "Looks like you and I are in the same boat so I guess you're right, what's in the sack?" she asked pointing to the bag slung over her partner's shoulder.
"I made some celebratory meals for us and our Kwamis" he explained reaching into the bag, adding as he pulled everything out "I'll sit on your right and I brought a mask so you don't-". He was cut off by a flash followed by a hand reaching for his face, the distinct lack of a red suit with black spots let him know what she was doing. Before she could turn his face Chat forced his eyes shut and mentally muted his connection with his precursors, a displeased frown forming on his mask.
"Chaton, please our Kwami's know who we are and they want us to, why don't you trust me?" she asked pleadingly.
"Plagg, Claws In" gently ,with eyes still shut, he removed her hands from his face holding one in place as he reached into the bag and pulled out a sandwich holding it between them. In a relaxed yet caring voice he stated "I trust with my life-" placing the sandwich in her hand before letting go then pulling out a slice of Camembert and cookie "-But not my secrets". He was comfortable being de-transformed around his partner now because she didn't know who he was and revealing that he was Adrien could destroy her. But making up an identity would put him back at square one, he didn't want to revert to living two lives ,it would only become an intricate web, and he refused to weave another. Quietly unwrapping her sandwich and taking a bite Marinette silently accepted Chat Noir's bitter sweet words, it was to know that he trusted her.
Taking a bite and swallowing she was surprised at how good the food tasted "This is really good, are you sure you made this?" she asked jokingly trying to lighten the mood.
"You wound me Ladybug, I might not have gone to culinary school but I do know how to make basic restaurant food" he replied adding with a chuckle "-part of the job after all".
Marinette laughed at the dramatic movements he always did, "So are you going to eat something or am I going have to feed you?".
Removing his mask and leaning close enough to feel her breath Adrien channeled his inner flirt, opening his eyes he peered into her and in a voice as smooth as silk "If that is what you desire~". He was so close now that all she could see were the green eyes that were locked with hers rendering her unable to look away. She became flustered ,his eyes reminded her of Adrien's, and it had been so long since he had made a flirty comment she was caught off guard and couldn't form full sentences. They stayed staring into each other's eyes for only a few seconds before he once more closed his eyes. Pulling back he chuckled offhandedly remarking "You're still cute when you get nervous and flustered, reminds me of a girl I knew". Marinette's face went red from embarrassment, she took a large bite of her sandwich chewing it angrily as she tried to pretend like she was fine.
Out of curiosity she cast a glance over to her partner, she knew that he was Adrien's look alike but even in the dark the resemblance was striking. The four of them talked and joked between bites as they ate, enjoying the light and carefree atmosphere, they wished it was like this all the time. When the food was gone and their Kwamis were asleep a silence fell between them. Adrien was content with enjoying his partner’s presence but he could tell she was anxious. After a few minutes Marinette broke it thanking him for the meal and saying goodbye before transforming and zipping off as Ladybug. He stayed behind lighting an I.C. to relax with Plagg and connect with his precursors before he had to leave for his shift.
Nino had promised work in the Tavern when he was done with school and Fe' offered to lend a hand when she could so it wasn't the end of the world if Adrien was a minute or two late. He was wondering what Fe' planned to do now that school was out though, the distinction of 'when she could' had some implications to it that left him curious. After discussing it with Plagg and his precursors he pushed the thought to the back of his mind ,transformed, and headed for the tavern. It was a slightly busier than a normal night because of graduation but with an extra set of hands the workload was easy for them to handle. At the end of the night after everything was cleaned up and those who had drank more than their share were put to bed Milo volunteered to stay.
"I'll stay here with the 'sleeping beauties up stares" he said shooing them out the door.
"You sure uncle, it's the weekend" Nino protested.
Milo shook his head "It's graduation day and you all worked the night, I'll take babysitting duty tonight, you kids go home and relax" he told them smiling as he closed the doors.
The three of them looked at each other and shrugged, "I'll see you later Bro and maybe you too, Sis" Nino said exiting the alley with a wave leaving Adrien and Fe' alone.
"Plagg, you rested enough for the trip home, I didn't bring the bike" Adrien asked opening his jacket, the Kwami yawned but nodded silently "Plagg, Claws Out". In a flash he was Chat Noir "Hop on'' he said turning his back to Fe' and bending down slightly, she hopped on and wrapped herself around him tightly as he launched onto the roof. They didn't talk much during the trip back to her house but he did ask a question he remembered from earlier. "Hey Fe', school's out now, so what's the plan you don't seem like the type to work full time at the tavern".
"I've got my schedule filled, don't worry about me, what about you?" she asked.
"What about me?".
Fe' shifted "Well the tavern is a good night job and being a hero keeps you busy most of the time but what about when you finally stop Hawkmoth, what then?".
Chat was silent for a moment, "Haven't thought that far ahead yet but you know me ,always the one to think on his feet, I'll be fine" he told her.
"That's not what I asked" she retorted, they were almost to the apartment now. He was silent until the school was in sight, the large banner reading "Congrats grads" still hung above the entrance.
When he spoke his tone was serious and level, he had thought of what came Hawkmoth and he didn't like the implications. "Even when or if we finally find and defeat Hawkmoth this city will still need people to watch over it, crime rate in the city has gone down exponentially since our appearance. If we were to disappear with the threat that brought us there could be serious repercussions, all I can do is hope that is the one who granted me this power allows me to keep it. Fe' there are forces in play that I don't know how they will act when our job is done". All he could do was hope for the best ,but he hated that, he hated things so far out of his control when he knew the shortcomings of those who would take what they gave him. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, for now though I'm on the front line and I'll be damned if I won't protect this city" he stated assertively with determination in his voice.
Squeezing him tightly as they free fell to street level landing in front of her building Fe' whispered "That's the Brother I know and love" before getting off. De-transforming Adrien walked Fe' to her apartment picking up a now not so small Belial letting him lay over his shoulder before saying goodnight. Plagg was too exhausted to even eat the Camembert he was snuggling with in the pocket that he had chosen for the night. Adrien figured he would wake up and eat before morning, not quite being tired yet he decided to make the climb to his sleeping spot. The climb was enough to tire him out, lighting another I.C. he sat with his eyes closed petting Belial as he said goodnight to Plagg, his Precursors, and Belial eventually dozing off.
Inside Marinette found it hard to sleep, her mind raced trying to answer unnecessary questions that had formed during her time with Chat Noir. "Why does he wear s mask, what is Chat's real name, what secrets is he keeping?" all these and the one question that still gnawed at her after so many months "What changed while I was gone". She paced back and forth in her room for hours mumbling these questions aloud attempting to formulate answers from what she already knew. When nothing came to her she found herself desperately wishing that Plagg would come casually floating through her wall to tell her all his wisdom of the man behind Noir.
As if summoned by her dilemma Plagg did come floating in, he entered through the same wall he always did ,just about the round window looking out over the street, but something was off. Marinette greeted him quietly ,not wanting to wake Tikki, but he didn't respond in kind with his usual greeting, instead he mumbled unintelligibly and burped. Marinette approached him as he slowly floated across the room and immediately found what was wrong, he was asleep and possibly dreaming. She poked the Kwami to try and wake him which startled him causing him to yelp and fly straight up through the roof before she knew what happened.
Blinking a few times she looked up toward where Plagg disappeared to, with an annoyed sigh she grabbed a pair of socks and prepared to go onto her balcony. Plagg, who was confused and still dazed from exhaustion looked around at his somewhat familiar surroundings. After rubbing his eyes and taking a moment to orient himself he shrugged not knowing why he was floating over the Ladybug wielders balcony. Flying over the edge and back down to Adrien he phased his way back into the cheese pocket.
"Plagg?" Marinette asked in an only slightly hushed voice as she stuck her head through the balcony hatch, reaching up she turned on the string lights before climbing up. "Where did that crazy Kwami fly off to?" she thought to herself looking around, when there was no sign of him she was about to go back inside when something caught her eye. A small wisp-like trail of greenish purple smoke dancing in the breeze, it was coming from somewhere below the railing at the end of her balcony. Slowly she approached the edge looking down once she reached it to see a figure garbed in a familiar outfit with a cigarette that smelled of lavender burning in their mouth. "Chat?" she called over the edge confused ,there was no response, "Chat Noir" she called again louder this time, still no response.
She grunted in frustration before walking off, returning with a stress ball, throwing it at the figure she thought to be Chat Noir hitting him square in the head and bounced. The sudden impact jolted him awake causing him to convulse which shook Belial awake making him stretch and yawn. Looking around he noticed lights and a figure above him and a foam ball in his lap. Spitting out his I.C. he grabbed the ball he stood up and leaped toward the balcony grabbing onto the railing with one hand.
"Some people are trying to-" he snarled, his mask still removed, and arm raised ready to throw but stopped upon realizing who it was, Marinette was taken aback in surprise and mild fear. For a second the two they stared at each other, long enough for Belial to hop off his shoulder and onto the balcony. He broke the silence, "My apologies I believe this is yours" he said lowering his am and handing her the ball.
"It, it's fine, are you ok?" she asked, putting the ball down and reaching for his face, regardless of who this person was she was concerned.
Seeing her reach for him he realized that his face was still uncovered, turning from the light quickly taking out his mask and putting it on to cover his face. "I'd appreciate it if you furr-got what you saw" he said trying to salvage the situation with a weak laugh.
Marinette pulled her hand back, this was definitely Chat Noir but he was de-transformed and she didn't recognize his face, his resemblance to Adrien was striking save for the distinguishing scar. "Chat Noir?" she asked her voice unsteady and concerned, he didn't respond. She wasn't sure what to do, she could reveal herself to him now but that could scare him off for good but this was probably the only chance she was going to get to learn anything about her partner. "You are Chat Noir aren't you, why are you sleeping outside?" she pressed trying her best to play dumb but sound concerned.
Adrien sighed disguising his relief "Good she believed the ruse" he thought to himself but she had clearly seen his scar, he needed to make sure she didn't tell anyone. "Marinette, right?" he started waiting for her response before continuing.
"That's my name, yes"
"Adrien has told me a lot about you-" he said climbing up to sit on the railing like a cat.
"What are you doing sleeping outside Chat Noir, you should go home" She told him, probing.
Chuckling he replied sarcastically "Paris is my home" Belial walked along the railing to sit beside him "Correction, 'our' home" he added stroking his purring companion.
She scowled "That's not what I meant and you know it, we aren't strangers Chat what's wrong, what happened". Marinette was right that she and Chat Noir were not strangers, he had saved her on a number of occasions even going so far as to work together to defeat a few Akuma's. However they have never spoken in length unless it was to plan or Chat telling a group she was in what they needed to do. Her view of Chat had changed significantly since his shift to a more professional demeanor when he was with her as Ladybug, pieces were mentally beginning to slide into place. Chat's costume change, his professionalism, him ceasing to chase her romantically and his involvement in Adrien's disappearance all must stem from the event that scarred him.
Changing to a normal sitting position he said "I meant what I said Paris is my home and nothing short of a cat-astrophy could ruin today, I'm all smiles" tracing a smile across his mask. "But on the note of smiles..." his voice lowered "I need your word that you won't say a word of what you saw to anyone ,not even Ladybug, can I trust you?" he asked.
She froze for a moment, it was rare that Chat let his serious side show so openly, especially around civilians considering that he was still feared to a certain degree by the public. While Marinette was honored that he trusted her with the secret of what was behind his mask ,even if it was out of his hands, at the same time she was annoyed that he did. "Why are you hiding so much of yourself from Ladybug aren't the two of you partners?" she asked hoping if he trusted her civilian self enough she might be able to learn more.
Shaking his head he replied "I'm an old soul Marinette, I've seen and done some shit I'm not proud of but there is no doubt in my mind that I'll do and see some more. People who think that they know me believe that I'm 'above' stuff like that but the truth is I’m neck deep in it". He inhaled deeply holding it for a moment before releasing "People who know me through and through know that there are few things I truly hate to do. Hurting those I care about or trust because they thought I was something I'm not is one of them". Echoing what he said to Ladybug he told her "I trust Ladybug with my life but not my secrets" adding "-but it's for more than privacy, I do it for their sake".
Marinette clenched a fist, she wanted to slap him, she wanted to tell him that she was ladybug right then and there but didn't, all she could bring her self to do was say "Stupid cat".
"Hahahaha you sound just like her" he pulled out his phone checking the time "It's late you should get some sleep, I need to start patrol" he said feeling a tap on his chest. He whistled for Belial who jumped to his shoulder, "Plagg, Claws Out" turning to leap away he looked back "It was nice to finally meet you in a more casual setting. Maybe I'll drop by again sometime, till then 'Purr-incess'".
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When You Smile At Me You Know Exactly What You Do
Pairing: Jeremy Heere/Michael Mell
Words: 4.295
Summary: “I don’t think I have the stamina for “all the time” but I’m glad you’re optimistic about our sex life.”
(Jeremy and Michael go to the county fair)
Read on AO3 or under the cut
It was a clear summer night as Michael pulled into the fairgrounds parking lot.
In his passenger seat, Jeremy was barely holding himself together, fidgeting and looking at the lights peeking between the barrier of trees.
Michael was not much better; the county fair was always one of the highlights of the summer.
The boys glanced at each other and grinned.
“You ready for this?” Michael asked, turning off the engine.
“As I’ll ever be.” Jeremy replied.
“Maybe this year you won’t throw up on the boat.”
“Hey! I’ll have you know I have never thrown up on the boat. I have thrown up because of the boat, but not on it.”
“Semantics. The important part is the boat. And the vomit.”
“Ugh.”
“That’s what I said last year!”
“And every year before that. Maybe we should just not go on the boat this year.”
“What? No! It’s an integral part of the fair, we have to go on the boat.”
“Can we at least go on it last?”
Michael hummed in agreement as he got out of the car, muttering, “I don’t want to kiss you after you vomit anyways.”
“What did you say?” Jeremy asked, also getting out of the car.
“Huh? Oh. Just that we gotta fill you up with funnel cake so you can blow chunks.”
Jeremy pouted at him.
Michael ran a hand over his face. “Aw, hell, don’t do that- it’s not fair!”
“It is, too, a fair.” Jeremy replied, walking toward the entrance path, spreading his arms and laughing softly.
“Ha ha, very funny.”
“I thought so.” he said, looking over his shoulder to stick his tongue out at Michael. He bounced along the pathway happily, stopping every so often to let Michael catch up.
Michael followed more sedately, allowing himself to live in the fantasy that this was actually a date for a few moments.
“Come oooon, hurry up.” Jeremy goaded, finally at one of the gates. He undid the latch as Michael sidled up to him and flung the gate open, narrowly missing his own face.
“Whoa, careful.” Michael steadied Jeremy, who had stumbled backwards.
“Sorry, sorry. I guess I’m a little excited.”
“Gee, really?” Michael teased. “I didn’t notice.”
Jeremy didn’t let it get to him as he entered the fairgrounds.
Michael re-latched the gate but was distracted watching Jeremy take in the bright lights of the fair so it took him a couple tries to get it right.
They made their way down to where the fair games were set up.
The fair was relatively empty, as it had only just started, but the vendors were all set up and the tinkle of music and the smell of fried foods floated around them happily.
“Michael, look they have the duck shooting game!” Jeremy exclaimed, pointing excitedly at one of the booths.
“I bet I can get a higher score than you.”
“Hah! As if.”
They arrived at the booth and paid the requisite amount to the attendant.
Jeremy grabbed the gun and took aim.
It took everything in Michael to wait and watch instead of cajoling or pushing at him to break his concentration.
Jeremy managed to hit a respectful 9 ducks.
“What would you like?” the attendant asked, waving at the 5-10 point section of prizes tacked on the wall of the booth.
Jeremy grinned deviously. “I want those.” he said, pointing.
The attendant handed him a white bear ear headband set.
Jeremy turned to Michael, his smile stupidly wide.
“What are you- argh.” Michael didn’t have the chance to protest as Jeremy veritably pounced on him to settle the bear ears on his head.
Pulling away, Jeremy took in Michael’s appearance.
Instead of the laughter Michael had expected, Jeremy turned away, muttering “Fuck” with feeling.
“What? Do I not look good enough for you?”
Jeremy’s face contorted but he quickly schooled his features. “I uh. I just realized you’re probably going to win.”
Michael laughed, grabbing the gun. “Here’s to hoping.” As he looked to the booth so he could take his turn, he didn’t notice Jeremy’s eyes lingering over his face and the bear ears, a bright blush spreading over his face. In a stroke of luck he managed to get 11 ducks. “Hah!” he crowed his victory, pointing at Jeremy. “See, I told you! I’m too cool to lose.” he said posing with the gun against his shoulder.
Jeremy shook himself and smiled, even as he complained, “Aw man, you suck. I bet I would have won if I hadn’t gone first.”
“Please. You can’t beat my mad skillz.” Michael informed him, winking and then turning to the attendant to pick a prize.
Jeremy blushed furiously and buried his face in his hands for a couple seconds so Michael wouldn’t see. When he looked back up, it was to be confronted with a fluffy wall of fur. He jerked back slightly and realized Michael was holding a stuffed panda up in front of his face. “Aw, that’s adorable.”
“Good. I’m glad you like it.” Michael said, nodding, as he shoved the panda into Jeremy’s hands. “I was hoping they’d have a polar bear but no such luck. But! A bear’s a bear.”
Jeremy wrapped his fingers around the panda, confused.
Michael kept pushing the stuffed animal insistently at him until he actually took it from him.
“I’m not going to carry your bear around the fair all night.”Jeremy informed him.
“I don’t expect you to. I expect you to carry your bear around the fair all night.”
“You’re giving this to me?”
“Duh. Keep up, dumbass.” Michael told him, distractedly looking around for the next thing he wanted to do.
Jeremy looked down at the bear with its splotched face and tiny eyes and felt an indescribable warmth fill him. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m an amazing, giving person, I know. Let’s go do the hacky sack toss next.”
Jeremy happily gave the panda a squeeze before he followed Michael through the crowd to the hacky sack toss booth.
It turned out they were both pretty shitty at throwing hacky sacks, though this wasn’t a particular surprise as they had tried this booth in previous years.
They both scored in the lowest point bracket and received glowstick bracelets for their trouble.
Michael wore his with the rest of his bracelets on his left wrist while Jeremy wore his on his right wrist.
They migrated to another duck booth, but this one was a game of luck instead of shooting skill. The goal of the game was to get a certain number of points by flipping three ducks over, the ducks having numbers on their bottoms.
Michael managed to get three ducks that all had ones on them.
“Rotten luck.” the attendant told him, giving him a sheet of unicorn stickers.
Jeremy, on the other hand, landed a solid seventeen, which won him a unicorn backpack. He blanched when he saw what he had won, but accepted the backpack from the attendant all the same. He turned to Michael who took a step back and held up his hands.
“You’re not pawning it off on me.” he looked down at the backpack then back up to Jeremy and grinned. “Besides its eyes match your sweater.”
Jeremy turned it around and noted that the eyes were, indeed, the same blue of his sweater. “Fiiiine.” he said with a very put-upon sigh. He secretly was very happy he had won something and he liked the design of the unicorn, but he knew if he ever wore it and was seen by his peers he would be picked on.
Even if his previous bullies were now his friends.
He unzipped the backpack and slid the panda in so its body was inside the bag but its head stuck out, then slung it over his shoulder. He knew his other friends weren’t planning on attending the fair until the next day, so he was relatively comfortable wearing it right now, but once he got home it would probably never leave his closet shelf.
He turned to Michael again and was startled by a hand in front of his face.
Michael managed to get the unicorn sticker onto Jeremy’s cheek before he startled back. He laughed at the disgruntled look on Jeremy’s face.
Jeremy reached up to take off the sticker but Michael caught his hands first.
“No! Leave it!”
“What? No. Why would I-”
“Please.” Michael begged, making a pouty face.
“No.”
“Pweeeaassse?” he stuck out his lower lip and pretended like he was about to cry.
“Ugh.” Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Fine! I’ll leave it if you stop making that face.” he said, reaching over to poke Michael’s lower lip.
Michael immediately dropped the sad expression for a grin. “Yes! Thank you!” He came forward and for a second it seemed as if he was going to kiss Jeremy’s cheek over the sticker but instead brought him in for a hug. “I promise I’ll remind you to take it off when we get home.” He took that opportunity to slide the sheet of stickers into the backpack.
“Ok, ok. What’s next?” Jeremy asked, pushing him away.
Michael looked around until he finally found a booth they hadn’t been to. “I think the last game we haven’t done is the water shooting one.”
They made their way over and stood in the line that had formed for the booth.
The object of the game was to get the most water weight into the machine. It was a competition between five people so the line went pretty quickly.
“We should get food after this, I’m kinda hungry.” Michael said.
“Me too. Funnel cake?”
“Hell yeah! Getting anything else would be a crime against county fairs!”
“Should we get something else in addition to that or ?”
“Nah. The night is young. If the lines aren’t too long, we’ll probably be out in an hour. We could always get more food or like go to Denny’s or something.” Michael reasoned.
“You make a good point.”
“I always do.”
Jeremy stuck his tongue out at him.
Michael snorted. “Careful what you do with that tongue of yours, Jeremy. Someone might try to catch it.” he said with a wink.
The attendant calling for the next set of people drew his attention away before he could see the blush on Jeremy’s face again.
They took their positions at the water guns and thirty seconds later the game was up. They were thoroughly trounced by a little girl who looked to be about five. They were given the consolation prize of small plastic water guns.
“Hey, can we get these filled up?” Michael asked the attendant.
Jeremy was distracted from the answer by a tug on his sweater’s sleeve. He looked down to see the girl that had beat them holding the t-rex doll she had won.
“I like your backpack, mister.” She told him, smiling a blinding smile at him then running off to where her parents were waiting for her.
Jeremy smiled after her and was startled by Michael’s hand prying his water gun from his hand. He turned his attention back to Michael and was given a filled water gun.
Before he had actively made the decision, he was raising the gun and shooting water at Michael’s face, then he was booking it across the field.
“Hey that’s not fair, Jeremy!” Michael called after him.
The ensuing chase lasted five minutes, with several casualties and shoved people, before the water in their guns ran out.
When Michael finally caught up to Jeremy they were both panting heavily and Michael was holding a stitch in his side.
“How do you run that fast- you’re like a freaking gazelle!” Michael gasped out.
Jeremy gave a breathless laugh, bracing himself on his knees. “Long legs?”
“More like long-” Michael waved his hand up and down vaguely.
“Cat got your tongue?” Jeremy teased.
“I’ll get your tongue!” Michael threatened.
Jeremy snorted. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You know what I meant.” he complained.
Jeremy straightened up and looked around; they were on the edge of the gaming booths. “Come on let’s go get some funnel cake!” He exclaimed, grabbing Michael’s wrist and tugging him along.
“Ow my side!” Michael continued to complain, but gave up when it fell on deaf ears. Then he realized Jeremy was holding his wrist as he dragged him through the crowd.
It would be so easy for him to turn his hand over and clasp them together.
But he wouldn’t- he would be happy with the contact he was given.
They wove between people for a few minutes before they found the end of the line for one of the food kiosks that had a banner that read FUNNEL CAKE in bold red letters.
Jeremy didn’t let go of Michael’s wrist, just hopped a little in line to see over the heads to see how many people were in front of them.
Reluctantly, Michael suggested, “Hey, why don’t I go get in the drinks line and we’ll meet at one of the benches?”
Jeremy nodded. “Sounds good.”
There was a pause.
“I’m gonna need my arm back.” Michael finally remarked.
Jeremy blinked, then let go, blushing, but Michael couldn’t find it in him to make fun of him because he, too, was blushing.
“See you in a bit.”
The line for drinks was a lot longer, but took less time to get through because nothing needed to be cooked.
Michael made his way to the designated eating tent, with park benches set up in uniform rows inside.
He snagged a free table and sat down, observing the people around him.
There was upbeat music playing from somewhere he couldn’t see but he did see a group of young children at the other end of the tent dancing to it while their families ate. There were cute couples of kids probably his age wandering around being lovey dovey and feeding each other shaved ice or holding hands or taking a break to flirt with each other.
It made his heart hurt to see them.
He had been low-key pretending this was a date with Jeremy since they’d arrived but seeing what could have been (but probably wouldn’t) made him remember that this very much was not a date.
He had even convinced (and bribed) all of Jeremy’s new friends (and subsequently, his new friends, but he was still getting used to that) to go to the fair on the next night so it wouldn’t be a group outing.
Thinking about it now, he was probably being ridiculous.
Jeremy wasn’t the type of person to criticize someone for their feelings, but at the same time he was kind of transparent about his own feelings and there had been little to no indication that Jeremy was into him.
Or, rather, the signs that were there were easily construed as super close friendship.
But he was optimistic and held hope close to his chest, both in this situation and in his life in general.
And he was getting sick of hiding his feelings. It felt like he was stifling a part of himself.
Besides, life was short.
He bolstered his resolve. He would tell Jeremy.
Tonight.
“Found you!” Came a voice from behind him and he turned to see the object of his affections approaching with a plate of funnel cake.
He’d tell him.
Jeremy settled down next to him, his legs bumping against Michael's.
He’d tell him. Just... not right now.
Later.
“The lady who I got the funnel cake from gave us extra powdered sugar because she liked the unicorn sticker.” Jeremy informed him, grinning.
“Score!” Michael fist pumped.
They dug in, their fingers, the table, and their clothes quickly becoming covered in a thin layer of powdered sugar.
Halfway through, Michael glanced over at Jeremy and snorted at what he saw.
The tip of Jeremy’s nose was covered in powdered sugar like he had dipped it in.
Jeremy looked up from his piece of funnel cake. “What is it?”
Michael leaned over and licked the sugar off his nose before he could convince himself it was a bad idea.
Jeremy scrunched up his face. “What’d you do that for?”
Michael shrugged, laughing, and tried to play it off. “To see your reaction.”
“Rude.” Jeremy nudged him with his shoulder, wiping at his nose and streaking more powdered sugar across his face.
“Also your face tastes gross.” Michael told him.
“My nose, maybe. But then- you aren’t getting any sugar from me.” Jeremy joked, tapping his lips.
“You absolute heartbreaker, Jeremy Heere.” Michael clutched at his chest in mock pain.
Jeremy laughed and Michael found him joining in despite himself.
They finished up their funnel cake and drinks and headed back out of the tent, brushing all of the powdered sugar off.
“Oh! We should get our faces painted!” Michael said, spotting a smaller tent.
“Isn’t that for kids?”
“No! Well, yes. But it’s not juuust for kids.”
“Well what do you want to get done?”
Michael hummed thoughtfully as they made their way over to the tent. “Let’s get rainbows.” he said, pointing to the rainbow patch on the left shoulder of his hoodie.
“No way, man. I’m already wearing a unicorn backpack and a unicorn sticker. We’re just going to get called gay.”
“So?” Michael asked, frowning. “I am gay, remember?”
“I know that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”
“I know that, too. I’m not saying there is- I just don’t want to be made fun of.”
“None of them are here, though.” he pointed out. “It’s just you, me, and a crowd of strangers we’re never going to see again. Loosen up.”
Jeremy bit his lip and Michael hated how much that affected him.
“You don’t have to get a rainbow. It was just a suggestion.”
Jeremy slowly shook his head. “No. You’re right. I’m being stupid and overreacting.”
“Well. It’s not unprecedented.” Michael conceded.
“I wish I could be like you, Michael.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re just… so… calm about everything.” Jeremy avoided using the word “chill” but shuddered all the same when he thought it.
Michael laughed. “I’m really not. I’m just good at hiding that I’m an anxious wreck.”
“You’re a damn professional, apparently.”
“You flatter me.” Michael grinned.
“Alright. Let’s go get our faces painted!”
In the end, Jeremy did get a rainbow, positioned so it looked like the unicorn was standing on top of it.
Michael’s rainbow came from a cloud on his cheek and went back to his ear.
Jeremy, who had finished first, put the small “sparkle” stickers that came with the unicorns around the rainbow on Michael’s face.
“Now what?” Michael asked, looking around.
“Let’s go on a ride.”
“Really? You just ate the funnel cake, you want to throw it up already?”
“We said we’d go on the boat last. No, I want to go on the ferris wheel.”
“Oh, ok. Sure.”
The ferris wheel was set a ways apart from the rest of the fair. It was nice for them to get a little fresh air away from the droves of people.
The line was virtually non-existent as it had only just turned dark.
They sat in their gondola and soon were being raised up into the night sky.
Michael swallowed heavily.
Now was the perfect time. If he could just open his mouth so he could admit his feelings.
Jeremy didn’t notice his sudden silence, awed by the sight of their town laid out before them, all sparkly eyed.
He took Michael’s breath away.
Which didn’t really help him in his mission.
Before he could tamp down on the impulse, Michael threw an arm around Jeremy’s shoulders.
“Michael?” Jeremy asked, turning away from the side of the gondola to look at him. “What are you doing?”
“Just- just let me have this for a minute before I ruin our friendship forever.”
Jeremy blinked. “Wait what?”
“Jeremy, please? Just let me have this.”
He swallowed, and Michael watched his adam’s apple bob. “Alright?”
After a few seconds, he settled back and leaned into Michael’s arm.
Michael pulled him closer until his head was leaning against his shoulder. He allowed himself to relish the giddy feeling that came with touching him. He tried to memorize everything around them, the sounds, the smells, and how it felt to hold Jeremy. He took a deep breath. “Ok.”
“Ok?”
“Yeah. Sorry I was being weird.”
But he noted that Jeremy made no intent to move away from him.
“Why would cuddling ruin our friendship?” Jeremy asked, picking at one of the patches on the hem of Michael’s hoodie. “I mean, I know we don’t very often, but I’m not against it, yanno? Is that what’s wrong?”
“No! It’s. I… I don’t just want to cuddle.”
That got Jeremy attention.
He picked his head up from Michael’s shoulder so he could look him in the eyes. “Well, what do you want, then, Michael?”
Michael bit at his lip. He could do this.
What did he want? That was easy.
“Um. W-well. I want.” he took a deep breath. “I want… you.” He flinched at the shocked expression on Jeremy’s face.
The urge to backpedal was too great so he opened his mouth again, but the sound that came out was a garbled mess because he couldn’t articulate exactly how much of a mistake it was to admit his feelings.
“Really?” Jeremy asked, eyes shining. “You’re not playing a joke on me?”
Michael clamped his mouth shut and shook his head. He was confused when a pleased smile broke out over Jeremy’s face.
“I- I want you, too.” he admitted.
“Wait- what?”
“I want you, Michael Mell.” Jeremy announced, confidently.
Michael stammered then shook himself. “Really?”
“Really. Um. I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you for a while, actually.”
“I bribed your friends to not come today.” Michael blurted.
“Why?”
“So I could pretend we were on a date.” he whispered.
Jeremy looked dumbfounded. Then he burst out laughing. His laughter was infectious and soon Michael was laughing, too. “Oh my god, Michael. You’re so extra.”
“This coming from the person who swallowed a computer so he could be cool.”
He wrinkled his nose. “True. Wait so what is the cuddling about?”
Michael smiled sheepishly. “I wanted to know what it was like to hold you in my arms once.”
Jeremy looked like he had seen an adorable kitten. “Awww. That’s so sweet.”
Michael pouted. “Don’t make fun of me.”
He shook his head. “I’m not, I swear. That’s really, genuinely, sweet.” He swore. “But you know what’s sweeter?”
“What?”
“My face.” he replied, leaning closer so he could press a chaste kiss against Michael’s lips. “Whaddaya know. You got some sugar from me after all.”
Michael stared at him for a couple seconds then burst out laughing again. “Jeremy, you are absolutely awful.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.” He challenged.
Jeremy grabbed both sides of Michael’s face, minding the rainbow paint, and kissed him soundly.
They were still kissing a couple minutes later when there was a tap on their shoulders.
“Sorry kids, but there are other people in line.” The attendant told them.
They stumbled out of the gondola, blushing but holding hands.
“What do you want to do next?” Jeremy asked, leading Michael back to the main part of the fair.
“Find somewhere to kiss you some more?” Michael suggested, his eyes on their clasped hands. He was having a hard time believing this was really happening.
“You can keep it in your pants for another hour or two, Michael.”
“But I don’t want to.” He complained.
“Listen. This is our first official date- we are dating right?”
“Yes? Yes.”
“Our first official date- so we’re going to actually date. Not just-” he waved his hands vaguely, “-get off on each other. Plus the fair is only here for the weekend, we can do-” he waved his hands vaguely again “-whatever, anytime, all the time, now.”
“I don’t think I have the stamina for “all the time” but I’m glad you’re optimistic about our sex life.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “What about the petting zoo?”
“Why go to a petting zoo when you could “pet” me.” Michael replied, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Gross.” Jeremy said, shoving at Michael’s shoulder with his free hand.
“I’m dressed as a bear.” Michael told him, pointing to the bear ear headband Jeremy had put on him earlier. “What did you think I meant?” he asked, innocently.
“Now who’s being awful?”
“At least we can be awful together.”
“Together.” Jeremy repeated, nodding.
The petting zoo was swamped with children but they managed to play with a couple bunnies for a little while and Michael cooed over the goat kids in the pen over.
“Ok we can leave now,” Jeremy announced as they brushed straw off of their clothes.
“But we still haven’t done the boat ride.” Michael protested half heartedly.
“Do you really want me to throw up that much?”
“I mean, it’s funny. So yes.”
“Hmm. But Michael,” he beseeched, trailing a finger down Michael’s headphones’ cord, “we can’t make out if I throw up.”
Michael swallowed. “Good point, well made. Let’s blow this popsicle joint.” he said, grabbing Jeremy’s hand and dragging him back toward the entrance.
Jeremy smirked. “That’s not all we can blow.” he muttered to Michael so no one around them could hear.
Michael blushed and began to walk faster.
Later Michael would find Jeremy had nabbed the glowstick bracelet from his wrist, connected it with his own, and attached them to the rear view mirror in his car, but for now he was too preoccupied with Jeremy to notice much of anything much at all.
Art by @wtf-alexandra
Art by @grayscaleeternity
#bmc#be more chill#be more chill musical#boyf riends#meremy hell#still just guess with the tags#acindraquill#hi bmc fandom i'm cin#be more queer
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Invincible
Summary: Roberta Ross has the best life living with her mother and spending the summer with her best friend, but what happens when a certain someone shows up and flips her life upside down? She's asked to join a team of incredible people and fight alongside her incredible father, but does she want to?
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER ONE
Characters: OCs + Marvel Characters
Warnings: none :)
A/N: enjoy ;)
I climb onto the boat's ladder as I emerge from the water, and once on the boat, I dump my findings of seashells into a bucket.
"Okay," I say once I take my mask off. "Let's head home," Ollie looks at me in shock, lifting his sunglasses up onto his forehead just so I can see his face.
"It's only ten, what are we going to do for the rest of the day?" he asks.
I shrug, "Sail around, maybe we can go out far enough so that under the water we can't see the bottom," Ollie shakes his head with fear in his eyes. "I'm kidding! Although, I'd like to see a shark with my own eyes, immersed in it's home instead if seeing it being held captive in a glass tank,"
"Being a marine biologist, you're going to have to place animals in captivity to study them," Ollie says.
"I'll be kind to the animals," I say as I threw my tank top on over my bathing suit. "Where are my shorts?" Ollie points to my pink drawstring bag that sits on the bench opposite of him. He sips on a Coke with his foot bandaged and set on top of his drawstring bag. I laugh at him, which make shim stop drinking.
"What?" he asks.
"You look like a slum dog millionaire drinking pop on a boat with your feet propped up." I tell him.
He raises his pop and gestures to his foot. "Pure doctor's orders," I laugh at him while I pull my shorts on over my bottoms, pull up the anchor and then start the boat. We sailed for minutes towards home until we started seeing other boats for tourists and parties. People were tubing and children with life vests floated in the ocean, waving at us. We had to drive the boat slowly, because the cops around our neighborhood were very strict - especially in our neighborhood.
Ollie was up on his feet now, wearing soft slides as to not hurt his foot. He was helping me prepare to turn left into the neighborhood. Our houses were tall and somewhat small, meant to be condos that were on the water side. Thing was, because there were so many houses and families with boats, the way for boats in between the houses felt really narrow. Once we could park Ollie's boat on the side in front of his house, it wouldn't take up the water way. When there are many boats trying to get through, it gets very claustrophobic and congested. Ollie's boat shouldn't even be parked in the water way, but there were many families around who had the same type of boat and some with yachts that did take up half the water way. My house was the very first one on the right, on the corner of the cement wall keeping the salt water waves from reaching my house.
Just as we were coming up on our neighborhood, and I could see the Carolina blue color of my house, my phone began buzzing from my drawstring bag. It kept buzzing, not like someone was calling me, but sending me multiple texts every second.
"I'll get it," Ollie says as he walks over. As he does, his phone goes off, but he doesn't check it until he reaches my bag. Ollie grows quiet, and when I ask him what's wrong he still doesn't reply. I slow down the boat and turn around to him.
"Ollie-"
"Stop the boat, Robbie - now," he says strongly, looking down at his phone. I do what he says as I approach him and my bag.
"What's wrong?" I ask, leaning down to my bag, opening it and grabbing my phone.
"It's your Mom," he says with confusion, looking over at me. I stare down at my lock screen, seeing all the texts from Mom that she sent a few seconds ago, one after another.
Mom: Robbie don't come home
Mom: stay where you are
Mom: don't go to polly's house either
Mom: i mean Ollie don't go to his houseeither
Mom: is he with you?
"What did my mom send you?" I felt fear creep up my spine. Ollie stares at me, biting his bottom lip. I see the same kind of fear in his eyes, his teeth now grit in confusion as he looks back down at his phone.
"'Ollie if you're with Robbie don't go home with her and don't bring her home, go somewhere else I'll call you when it's okay to come back,'" he reads. My chest starts tightening as my heart pounds and my face flushes. I run my hands through my wet hair and pull in panic.
"Why is she saying that?" I ask.
"She's saying it like something's wrong," Ollie says, his thumbs dancing across the keyboard. "I just asked her why," I start texting Mom back frantically.
Me: Mom whats wring?
Me: wrong
Me: are you okay?
Me: answer me plz
Me: youre scaring Ollie anf I
Me: im coming home rn
I stick my phone in my back pocket and turn back to the wheel.
"Ollie, get ready to call the police," I say as I start the boat back up and take it slowly but fast enough to head into my neighborhood.
"Robbie - wait!" Ollie says just as I start driving faster. "Your mom just texted," I turn to him just as I slow the boat. "She says, 'Hide Robbie,'" His phone chimed again. "'Do it now if you're almost home' - she's not saying what's wrong!"
"Let's do a drive-by," I tell him, moving to the bench where my bag rests on top. Inside the bench when I open it are life vests, and as I step in I tell Ollie to take the wheel.
"Where do we go after?" he asks.
"I guess anywhere but home!" I shout. "Go slow too, I need to see what's wrong, and then I'll call the cops,"
I didn't close the bench until Ollie was about to turn the boat into the neighborhood. Keeping it slightly open with my fingers, Ollie goes horrifyingly slow.
"Do you see anything?" I ask. Ollie turns his head towards my house.
"No one in the yard, but there's people inside," he whispers loud enough for me to hear. I can't see a thing from what thought I could from here, but suddenly Ollie curses and looks away from the house.
"Close the bench," he quietly snaps. After I close the bench, just leaving the tip of my finger to keep it open for air, I can hear an unfamiliar voice from my yard yell at Ollie.
"Can I help you sir?" the voice asks. Ollie stops cuts the boat's engine.
He clears his throat, "You? Maybe not, but your friends might,"
"Sir, this work is none of your business, so please continue on,"
"I can't sir," Ollie says. "Where's Miss Ross?"
"She's busy," the voice says. "Important business,"
"Don't tell me she's switching fishing companies," Ollie says.
I'm as confused as the man the voice belongs to when he grows quiet.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm Oliver O'Malley, my grandparents are in association with Tobuck's Fishing, I'm Miss Ross's delivery boy for shrimp and fish. I need to speak to her now about an important delivery she has that needs her permission to go through," Ollie explains. He was a good liar, but he basically called me a sack of fish. I roll my eyes as I can just barely see him looking over at the bench I was in.
I don't hear the man anymore, and when I call out to Ollie I hear him shush me hard. The sound of many footsteps a moment later catches my attention, and soon I hear my mother's voice.
"Ollie," she says, but it's not her voice. It's not her sweet soft, cheery voice. Instead it's shaky and sad, like last night but worse.
"H-Hey Miss Ross," Ollie says awkwardly. "I have the fish and shrimp delivery ready to go, but I need your decision whether to hold onto it for one more day or send it by later," he pauses for a second before saying. "Looks like you had that party a little bit early."
"Oh, um. . .could you hold onto the fish and shrimp for one more day? I could call your grandparents when I need it by tomorrow. Thank you, Ollie," Mom says, her voice breaking a little bit more.
"Miss Ross, are you okay?" Ollie asks. A new voice steps in, another man with a scratchy, calming voice.
"She's alright son," the man says. Ollie glances at my bench and looks back to the people I can't see.
"Miss Ross," Ollie says, ignoring the man. "Are you okay?"
"She's fine young man," a deep, terrifying voice interjects. "You better leave now,"
Ollie is silent for a few moments, but then the man with the calming voice asks, "What was your name, son?"
"Oliver O'Malley," Ollie replies. "Yours?"
"Thank you, Ollie," Mom interjects. "I'll call your grandparents later,"
In a matter of seconds, Ollie turns the engine back on and takes it slow to sail away from my house. I wait until I feel the boat turn right into another neighborhood, and Ollie stopping the boat. He scares me by opening the bench out of nowhere.
"Sorry!" he exclaims as he sees me jump and shriek.
"Who was it? What did they look like?" I ask, getting out of the bench. My body felt tight now, but I ignored it as Ollie shrugged.
"The first guy was white and in a grey suit, then your mom came out looking like she had just cried, and the man standing next to her was kind of tan with brown hair and glasses. He wasn't wearing a suit, he wore a button shirt and khakis. He looked way nicer than the other guys," Ollie explains.
"What did the man with the deep voice look like?" Ollie and I move to the steering wheel as he starts the boat up one last time. He shivered looking forward and remembering.
"Tall and big, dressed in all black - and get this - dude had an eye patch," he says with wide eyes. "There were two guys and one lady watching from the backdoor, they all dressed differently too, just in normal clothes but they looked so intimidating."
"That's it? Six people?" I ask, crossing my arms. Ollie nods as we pause for a bit at a cross section, letting another boat pass through. While that happens, I take a look around in thought, biting my lip as I lean against the boat's railings.
Mom is a cellular biologist at the local hospital; I've met all her coworkers and bosses, even doctors out of state that call on her when the need her help. None of their voices were remotely close to the people I know in her field. The men didn't sound like they were there for help in cellular biology. Suddenly, I hear the sound of a small raft motor boat, and looking to my left, I see three people in the boat. Their faces were stern, murderous even, and one man who was blonde and built very strong points at me. The boat starts going faster.
"Ollie go!" I shout. Ollie looks at me, then to the motor boat, and his eyes grow wide and he curses and pushes the shift forward, which makes the boat jump into action across the section and forward into the long-winding water way.
"How'd they see me?" I shout, holding onto the bar the control box for the wheel as the boat does violent little jumps in the water. Ollie doesn't answer as he's too busy panicking and making the boat go full throttle.
"When need to lose them!" I shout as we violently turn a corner, sending waves up on the yards over the cement wall, splashing an old couple who sun bathe. "Go faster!" Just as I say it, Ollie starts slowing down fast. "Ollie!"
"Trust me, Robbie!" he snaps out of fear.
Soon, the boat is at the correct speed through the neighborhood, and though it's painful my anxiety starts causing me to panic.
"Why are they after us?" I whisper as we pass a police boat, who floats in front of the way to a col de sac. Ollie smiles and waves at him, and through grit teeth says, "Remember that guy?" He means the officer in the boat, who I wave to, but have no memory of. "He pulled us over last summer for speeding through here, I almost fought him because there's no limit, and tourists always come in fast through here,"
The sound of the motorboat enters behind us as we start to turn left out of the way and into a new neighborhood. I watch as the motorboat speeds passed the officer, who immediately throws on his sirens and grabs a megaphone. The motorboat stops, and Ollie's takes off. We round a whole other neighborhood way that reroutes us back to the open ocean.
Once out on the ocean, riding fast, I sigh heavily and turn to Ollie.
"What do they want from my mom? Why do they look like they want to murder us?"
He shrugs and shakes his head, "I have no idea, but we're heading far away from here,"
"They can't find us, right?"
"I don't know how they could,"
#bruce banner#bruce banner fanfiction#fanfic#marvel fanfiction#marvel#Betty Ross#the incrediable hulk#hulk
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A Fish By Any Other Name Chapter 4/?
Rating: PG-13 they get a lil bit touchy
Word Count: 1,929
Warnings: None
Note: Be nicer to Baze, Chirrut, he was worried about your rude ass
Link to my ao3 is in my sidebar.
He hears a whistle as he steps out onto the deck. It’s early, too early for the crew to be up yet and he crosses the span of the boat in two seconds flat.
“Where the hell have you been?” he snaps at the water before he realizes that the merman isn’t there. He hears a laugh, and wheels around in the opposite direction. The water is dark and so the merman’s face is stark against it. Only his face breaks the surface, making him look like a disembodied head floating in the water. He doesn’t look any worse for wear, and so he has to chalk up his absence to just a lack of desire to see him.
Baze repeats himself and the merman laughs again.
“Were you worried?”
“No.”
“I smell lies.”
“Where were you?”
“If you come down here I’ll tell you,” he grins, blinking up at Baze.
“I can’t, you know that.”
“I was meditating and lost track of time,” the merman says with the delivery of an honest man. Still, Baze has learned not to trust him entirely when it comes to these things, he is still a merman after all and after awhile Baze has to stop getting squirted in the eye with water when he very trustingly tries to look at what the merman holds in his hands.
“Meditating. What’s a fish got to meditate for?”
“Enlightenment, what else?”
“Enlightenment. So you’re a Buddhist merman.”
He latches on to the side of the boat and starts to pull himself up even as Baze shouts at him to get back in the water, and ignores the part of his brain that continues to be impressed by the merman’s upper body strength. He hangs off the side like an ornament, his head resting in one hand.
“Either get off or get up here. Showoff.”
Baze watches him rise up the rest of the way so that he can perch precariously on the railing. His tail flaps and his fins extend out for what Baze can only assume is balance.
“I dreamt I was a butterfly,” the merman says as he strikes a thinking post and Baze very nearly pushes him over the side again.
“Where do you even learn this crap?”
“Where do you think? Humans,” he grins and leans forward. One of his hands grips the railing while the other lowers from his chin, “you’re always doing something by the water, and you’re all not very observant. Even a blind fish sees better than you.”
“I’ll give you that.”
The merman leans ever closer and his hand comes up to rest on Baze’s chest, “what else will you give me?”
The warmth of his tone contrasts with the cold of his hand and this close he sees the slightly strange texture to his skin. It’s like whale skin, but not at the same time. He’s lean, and doesn’t appear to have any blubber, but then Baze isn’t exactly an expert on merpeople.
“I thought you were the one who was supposed to grant wishes.”
“You’ve never asked for anything.”
“I don’t want anything.”
“Nothing?” he asks. His nose brushes Baze’s and he inhales when Baze exhales. His eyes drop half closed, and he drops his chest against Baze’s. He’s soaking wet, but the water only appears to cling to Baze’s shirt and not the merman’s flesh. “Nothing at all?”
“You’re going to fall.”
“You’ll catch me.”
“I won’t.”
As if to prove it the merman lets go of the railing, dropping both of them to the deck like a sack of bait. The merman laughs, tail thudding against the wood beneath it as he leans over Baze. He laughs, but his face is serious and Baze starts to feel like a lone fish away from its school just waiting to be eaten. He weighs a ton, giving him all the more appreciation for his ability to pull himself out of the water, and so Baze can’t get back to his feet. He can barely prop himself up on his elbows.
“You’re an idiot,” he says.
“Why didn’t you catch me?”
“Because your stupid fins are out! What the hell am I supposed to do?” he tries to keep his voice down but fails. The merman blinks at him.
“You smell like. Anger.”
“I do? Wow, you’re a genius. Get off of me.”
The merman pulls back, his hip fins slowly fold in on themselves, and he holds himself up and away from Baze with his hands, “did something happen?”
“No.”
“Why are you lying? You’re back out so soon, is it because of that?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he mutters. He’s tired, the coffee he’d drank kept the droop of his eyelids at bay just long enough for him to get out here.
“Did you not get enough fish? You humans always need so much; the other boat is always taking so much,” he says, his lips turned down in a frown.
“What other boat?” he asks. He searches over the top of the railing for the tips of any of the rival boats but comes up empty, “you help other boats?”
“Oh,” the merman breathes, his eyes are wide now and his mouth a wide slash across his face, “oh, you’re jealous!”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You smell jealous.”
“I’m not. You disappeared for weeks, I thought something bad happened to you, not you’re at other boats,” he doesn’t meet his gaze as he says it. He should have known; foolish of him to think that the merman sought out only him when there’s an entire ocean of boats and captains to choose from.
“I wasn’t at other boats, I only like yours,” the merman replies. He’s close again but he still looks like he’s scrutinizing Baze. “The other ones try to throw me things, but you don’t.”
“They think you’re good luck. I know better.”
The merman laughs, and pulls at his jacket with one hand, “you should come swimming with me.”
“I don’t have time.”
“Make time.”
“Stop acting like a child, some of us have jobs to do.”
“You’re not doing it right now. Are you afraid I’ll drown you?” he asks and well. It’s crossed his mind. Baze isn’t the superstitious type, but when a merman asks you if you want to have a nice swim with him in the ocean you start to wonder about his intentions. It would be a long game to play, gaining his trust for 10 years, saving his ass just to drown him, and Baze is old and probably tough meat but still.
“That’s not unusual for a human to think.”
“Humans drown all the time on their own, why would I have to do it myself? Why won’t you come to the beach when you’re free? You never come anymore,” he says and now he does look like a child, pout and all. “I’m only good for fish, is that it?”
“You sound like a salesman. Enough. I just don’t have the time, not that I don’t want to come.”
“Is it because of that boy? You saved him, didn’t you?”
“I said enough,” he yells. His voice rings in his ears and the merman only stares at him, silent. He sighs and the merman inhales. He isn’t nearly as close now, and Baze has to stop himself from pulling him back in. His mother must not have raised him right, he’s yelling at a mythical creature from the ocean he makes his living on.
“You smell sad,” the merman says softly. His dark brows are furrowed, making him look nearly as old as Baze.
“Please. Enough.”
“I’ll find you more fish.”
“I don’t want more fish.”
“What do you want? I can give you whatever you want, you know, I’m magic.”
Baze stares at him for a minute then begrudgingly lets himself find it funny, “you’re not magic.”
“I am, I could give you riches, or. Enlightenment. Or,” he pauses to think, “A bigger boat.”
“Enlightenment? You haven’t even reached it yourself.”
“Well I might,” his expression relaxes a bit, apparently taking his queues from Baze’s mood, and so Baze lets his shoulders lower.
“What would I have to give you in return? My soul?”
“What kind of person would I be if I asked for something in return?”
“What kind of beast are you that you don’t want something?”
He preens a little, smoothing his hand over his shorn hair, “I’m special. But maybe you could give me something.”
“What is it?”
The merman gets close again. He must like it, because he keeps doing it, or else he likes the way Baze’s breath catches in his throat when he presses their chests together. His eyelashes are dry now like the rest of him, and Baze sees the outline of an iris that has clouded over. It’s 4am in the morning, the sun isn’t up, and he’s so tired that his vision starts to blur every few seconds. It’s 4am in the morning and the merman touches Baze’s cheek with his hand. The texture is soft, springy, and the merman’s lips part as he drags his fingers down Baze’s cheek.
“You’re so warm.”
“I’m freezing.”
He gasps and pulls his hand back a little bit when he reaches his goatee, “why do you have hair there?”
“I grew it.”
“Why?”
“Made me look older,” he shrugs.
“You didn’t have it before.”
“Like I said, I grew it.”
The merman’s other hand joins the first and Baze is struck by how strange it must look to an outsider. He tenses and the hands stop their wandering.
“It’s okay,” he says, and the merman smiles and continues. It’s strange, but not unpleasant. The merman’s hands aren’t gentle, but they aren’t rough with him either as he turns Baze’s face one way and then the other. He gets closer still and presses his cheek to Baze’s. He rubs against his beard like an over affectionate cat.
“It’s rough.”
“It’s hair.”
“I like it,” the merman purrs. He does it again, his hands still holding Baze’s face in place. “I like it.”
“Thanks.”
He loses track of how long the merman keeps him there, rubbing his face against him as though he’s scent marking him, his head is already fuzzy from sleep and then it’s something else. He doesn’t want it to be arousal, but the merman makes a noise in his throat that makes him think the feeling is mutual.
“You smell good,” he breathes out. His tail flaps slowly against the deck and Baze reaches out and rests a hand on his waist. His mother really didn’t raise him right; he’s trying to restrain himself from groping a fish. But the merman makes the noise again and he feels his teeth drag against his skin, not hard enough to make a mark but enough that they both shiver. His skin is markedly different from the scales of his tail; there he’s undeniably a fish and his scales are rough against his palm when the merman shifts again.
The merman moves and then he’s on Baze’s lap, cradled between his legs, his hands slipping down to Baze’s neck and his mouth open and moving ever closer to Baze’s as though in slow motion.
“Um. Captain?”
Baze’s eyes snap open then squeeze shut at the light. He sits up slowly and blinks at the small huddle of men beside him. The sun is up. His crew is up. He’s lying on his back on the deck of his ship, and the merman is gone.
#baze x chirrut#rogue one#my fic#normally i'd link to ao3 straight on the post but i recently found out that external links cause your post to not show up in searches
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