#it really looks like that boat weights nothing when he pulls it goddamn

[bizarrelittlemew]

wake up babes it's Stede go get your man Saturday!

[theimpossiblescheme]

The Rebirth of Lupin III

(I was rewatching Part 4, and this plot bunny took me hostage after watching Episode 14, “The End of Lupin III”.  After what was probably Lupin’s most harrowing near-death fakeout yet, I couldn’t help but wonder about the aftermath, and before I knew it I’d written this.  I hope everyone enjoys it!)

It wouldn’t have been the first time Lupin the Third “died.”  Hell, given his track record, it probably wouldn’t be the last either.  But damn if he hadn’t put on one hell of a show.  Old Pops had been wrapped around his little finger the entire time—the discarded meals, the weakened voice, the repeated talk about the end being near… that final scene with the shared cigarette… the genuine sorrow in Zenigata’s voice, even moreso than all the other times… it was his finest performance yet.

It might also have been his stupidest.

Turned out skipping meals for multiple months, only eating what he absolutely had to in order to finish the painting on the cell floor… that kind of stunt tended to really negatively impact your health.  Go figure. The amount of times he’d blacked out midway through mixing his makeshift paints, or he’d felt the acid from his own empty stomach rising into his throat as he worked… he’d honestly lost count.  Walking made him dizzy, and that last cigarette tasted like nothing so much as burning tar on his lips, even as he forced himself to finish it.  That final scene, hearing his ears ring as Pops spoke and feeling his hands shake under his blanket, really did feel like one.  Empty stage as Lupin collapses before he can even unveil his master plan. Before he can live up to Pops’ faith in him.  Lights out. Curtain.

It had been an honest to God miracle he’d made it farther than that.  Standing to gloat over his victory as Zenigata finally opened the cell made his legs teeter dangerously, and his throat still felt raw, but if he was going to live to see the finale, by God he was going to make it an unforgettable one.  He’d managed to walk away smiling as Pops could do nothing but laugh in hysterical disbelief, and Lupin felt a bit of that hysteria bubbling up in his own lungs, too.  He’d actually pulled it off… damn, somebody up there must really like him.

Somebody out on the bay liked him, too, apparently.  As soon as Rebecca and Robson’s motorboat sped into view, Lupin wasted no time leaping into the water after it.  Finally, another familiar face—even if his limbs felt like they might snap at any moment, he was still going to make it out to them.  To know that Rebecca had made it out alive, that she hadn’t given up on him even after so long.  When she hauled him up into the boat, his head lolled onto her shoulder against her neck, and he noticed her perfume had changed.  Some new label must have sent her fresh samples… she smelled nice, like a fruity cocktail on a summer day…

Rebecca brushed a lock of hair out of his face, and he suddenly became very aware of how long he’d let it get.  “You look terrible,” she said with a very faint smile.

Lupin managed a wheezing chuckle in response.  “Yeah, probably.”

And then he blacked out again.

*

When he came to, he was in an actual bed.  With sheets and a pillow.  What a difference it made on his neck—sleeping on concrete had done him no favors.  On the endtable beside him was a bowl of stew, still hot, and a cup of what smelled like lemon tea.  Not his favorite, but beggars and choosers and all that, and Robson really didn’t have to go to the trouble.  Besides, after so long actively avoiding any food provided him, it smelled goddamn delicious.  Even with his arms and legs still feeling like matchsticks, Lupin still managed to sit up and help himself.  The stew was gone in nothing flat, and the tea was half-finished and cooling by the time Lupin felt strong enough to stand up.  The Rosselini’s guest rooms were comparatively plain next to the rest of the house, but they could still stand up respectably with any of Fujiko’s favorite upscale hotels.  

(Where the hell was Fujiko… or Jigen or Goemon for that matter… best not to think of that right now. He’d only just woken up, after all. There was still time… there was nothing but time now.)

And of course, the décor was hardly the highlight.  Propping himself against the wall, he turned the latch on the window and opened it, letting the morning breeze waft in and the sun warm his face for the second time in God knew how many days.

San Marino was still beautiful.  A jewel too big to pocket, but not too small to admire.  Lupin stood for a long moment drinking in the view before turning to the guest bathroom.

The sight that greeted him there was less than beautiful.  He still had the damn beard and long tangled hair, but that wasn’t the worst of it.  His cheeks had hollowed out into nothing, and his skin had gone so grey and cold from darkness and malnutrition it may as well not be there at all.  A skull framed with dark hair stared back at him from the mirror, and it took all of Lupin’s self-control not to hurl the half-digested stew and tea into the sink.  Of all the times he had to actually almost die, it had to be when he didn’t even look like himself.  A disguise would be one thing—his true face and body would still be underneath—but this…

This wouldn’t do.

Luckily, a razor and shaving cream had been left on the counter for him.  Lupin immediately snatched them up and began to fill the sink with hot water, actually tapping his foot impatiently as it didn’t fill fast enough.  He needed to see his face again, needed to know that it was still him under all this. When the sink was full, he wet the razor and hurriedly slathered the shaving cream across his chin and cheeks, even carelessly getting some into his hair.  This would be fine.  He’d be fine. Good as new, even.

If only his hands would stop freaking shaking…

He lifted the razor to the underside of his chin and instantly felt his hand slip.  A few seconds of panic preceded the bolt of pain as he felt blood drip into his fingers.  Damn it all… dammit dammit dammit, why’d he have to let it go this far?

“Lupin?”

The voice didn’t come from the door, but instead the window.  Lupin barely even processed that before wheeling around, knees weak and face burning with embarrassment.  He couldn’t let anybody see him like this, not even—

“Goemon!”

His samurai still had one leg out the window as he climbed through, but he froze in place upon seeing Lupin framed in the bathroom door.  A hundred different emotions warred in his eyes, and Lupin wanted so badly to run over and hug him before Goemon’s face settled into its usual stoicism. “Is this where you’ve been all this time?”

“Ah… not exactly,” Lupin said sheepishly, reaching a hand to the back of his neck and internally cursing the cold sweat that had gathered in his hair.  “I’m not really sure how long I’ve been here.  Rebecca and her butler came to get me after I got away from Pops.”  Another poor excuse for a chuckle wheezed out of him.  “Lemme tell you… they don’t half kid around locking somebody up here if they want ‘em locked up… it’s a lot worse if you don’t have the key.”

“I can see that.” Goemon finally drew closer, studying Lupin intently.  “You don’t look like you had an easy time of it.”

“Honestly, does anybody have an easy time in prison?  That’s why I try to stay out of it, y’know.”  But it was hard to keep even a weak smile in place, looking at Goemon now… God, he really could have died.  He could have never seen him again, or any of his gang.  Faking a grand exit for the benefit of Interpol, knowing he could return when the coast was clear, was so much different.  And Goemon looked so healthy next to him—he’d even put on a bit of weight for once, which told Lupin that Jigen must have found him a nice Japanese place outside San Marino.  Hell, compared to Lupin’s sorry state, he looked downright beautiful.  It felt like it had been years… Lupin could stand there staring at him for even longer than that.  How must Jigen and Fujiko look at this exact moment?  Were they worried about him?  Were they okay?  All at once, he wished they were all here, together, and that he didn’t look like the freaking Crypt Keeper when he went to greet them.

Goemon reached up and touched Lupin’s cheek with his fingertips, and Lupin tried very hard not to lean into the touch as he had with Rebecca.  “I’m not sure if the beard suits you, though.  Or the long hair.  You look a bit like something else crawled onto your head and died.”

That got a stronger, if extremely wry, smile out of him.  Nice to know both their senses of humor were intact.  “Yeah, not a fan myself… I don’t suppose you could…?”  He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not using my sword to give you a shave, Lupin.”

“No, not with Zantetsuken, dummy—just use the razor.”  There was the arch, fussy side of Goemon… he had to admit, he’d missed that, too.  Nodding as if he’d understood all along, Goemon picked up the razor and washed away the blood before cupping a hand around the back of Lupin’s neck and letting him lean back as he worked.  His hands were much steadier, almost gentle in their grip, and he was always a few degrees warmer than Lupin himself.  Endless physical exercise would do that, Lupin supposed—ironic, considering how much time he spent under freezing cold waterfalls and out in the snow. Fujiko’s hands were always just on the comfortable side of cold, but she avoided that kind of exertion if she possibly could.

“Where are the other two?” Lupin asked, trying to move his jaw as little as possible so he wouldn’t obstruct Goemon’s work.  “Are they--?”

“They’re both fine.  Fujiko had rented out a beach house on the Italian mainland to wait for you, and Jigen had been spending time at one of the casinos. When I called to let them know you’d escaped, they told me they were on their day—they should be here this evening.”

Thank God…  “So you finally figured out that phone I gave you, huh?”

“I’m not actually from the Sengoku Period, Lupin—I know what a cell phone is and how to use it.” He paused to wash off the razor again, and a very light pink stained his cheeks.  “Fujiko also helped a great deal.  Especially our first night in San Marino.”

“Oh, I’ll bet.”  For once, Lupin hadn’t meant it with any lewd intent, but it didn’t stop Goemon from yanking his head back a trifle harshly as he found a new angle with the razor.  “They’ve gotta be pretty pissed, too… that I took so long.  I know I would be.”

“They’re upset, certainly. But no more than usual for you.” It wasn’t said with any real malice, just as a blunt statement of the truth, but it still stung.  Did it make it any better or worse that for once—out of all the times he’d faked his death—he actually feared it might be for real? Instead of just an act he’d strung them along on for the sake of the greater plan?

Probably worse.  At least all those other times, the plan was to come back.

“I’ll do better next time.” And he really did mean it. Although he’d probably stave off the “next time” for as long as he could—one impregnable prison cell full of rotten uneaten food was enough.  “And I’m definitely not gonna let it go this far.  Believe it or not, the beard isn’t even the worst of it.  With my hands the way they are, I’d hate to think what’ll happen when I need to pee.”

“As long as Jigen doesn’t have to hold you up.”  There was no smile on Goemon’s face, but there was one in his voice.  “And I know for a fact he’ll hold you to that promise.”

Lupin couldn’t help but grimace.  As much as he’d love to see his gunman again… “Yeah, not looking forward to that conversation.  Not just ‘cause I’m gonna bruise like a banana if he punches me.”

“I’ll do my best to separate you.” There was the smile—it softened up the prematurely harsh lines of Goemon’s face as it always did, and Lupin had to remember to keep his head still and resist the temptation to kiss his cheeks until his lips went numb.  Rinsing off the razor again, Goemon tilted Lupin’s head slightly to his right.  “I might be at this for a while—please promise me you’ll never grow a beard again.”

“You got it, man.  And I got all the time in the world.”

[allthefilmsiveseenforfree]

Sometimes a Great Notion

This is one of those old movies my mom requested that we couldn’t even find at our local library. It’s incredibly hard to track down, which says more about how easily lost our film history and culture can be as we move from format to format rather than its quality as a film, but that is another conversation. Basically this 1971 film is the second that Paul Newman directed, and it tells the story of the Stamper family, a family who run an independent logging business in a town where the local logging union has gone on strike. As independents, they take the union’s former contracts and as the film goes on, the consequences of that choice become larger and larger, and depending on your perspective, this is either an indomitable tale of the perseverance of the human spirit or a disheartening look at everything that makes America the end-stage capitalist nightmare it currently is.  

Some thoughts: 

It appears that I’m supposed to think Henry Fonda, as the patriarch of the Stamper clan, is a charming old coot, like an Archie Bunker type, complaining about Commie pinko socialists and calling his estranged son a New York fairy. I’m not really seeing the charm here.

I’m not 100% sure what’s going on with this subplot where Joe B (Richard Jaekel) and his wife apparently attend the Church of God and the Metaphysical Science...so maybe they’re cult members too? That never really gets delved into, which is a head scratcher.

I feel like with this dialogue they’re supposed to be kind of...gruff and jokey with each other, but I really don’t get it. None of it seems funny at all, just aggro. 

I think I'm just really confused about what exactly this movie IS. It’s not a character study because we’re learning so little about these people. It doesn’t seem to be a David vs. Goliath small business taking on The Man story because the whole union vs. Stamper family thing doesn’t seem to be anything the Stampers are that concerned about. Leeland (Michael Sarrazin) coming back after a long absence is certainly a wrinkle, but no one is actually delving into what that means for the family or how they feel about it. Like the purpose of the film seems to just be “these are some people doing their jobs and going about their business for a couple hours.”

Like for real, there are multiple really long segments that just show them doing logging shit. 

And listen, I’m not one of those people that only wants to watch media where I like the characters. There are a lot of bad people and evil characters that I don’t want to emulate and would absolutely hate to be around in real life that I REALLY enjoy watching. Hell, in the last year, my main TV hyperfixations have been Succession and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. So it’s not the fact that the Stampers are sexist, stubborn, union-busting jackasses. I just don’t really care about any of them and I question why I should care about their story because the movie isn’t doing a very good job at convincing me. 

There are some Very Good Dogs! At least that’s something.

This would be a way more interesting movie if Leeland and Viv (Hank’s wife, played with stunning grace by Lee Remick) hook up because Leeland is the only one who talks to her or listens to what she has to say. He sees her in a way no one else in the family sees these women at all. ESPECIALLY because even though Henry is Leeland’s father, Hank had an affair with Leeland’s mother too, which is deeply disturbing because we find out he was 14 and she was 30. Fuck, now there’s statutory rape and unresolved trauma involved. Wouldn’t this be a fantastic thing to actually talk about and delve into? Wouldn’t this whole relationship entanglement and the ripple effects it���s had on this family be really interesting? NOT ACCORDING TO PAUL NEWMAN I GUESS.

As much as I love Paul Newman, I’m really questioning a lot of his directorial choices, too. He can’t control the story or the script so much (this is based on a Ken Kesey novel) but other choices are baffling. The pacing is a mess. Some scenes go on for what seems like forever for no reason, others are brutally short or feel cut off. The transitions between scenes are all these quick cuts that don’t let anything breathe. Leeland and Viv’s deep, intimate conversation ends with her saying Hank’s satisfied and Leland asking “Are you?” and then BOOM next scene where bluegrass kicks in and they’re all riding motorcycles. What should have been a body blow of a moment gets its legs cut out right from underneath, and it’s a damn shame.

“To work and eat and screw and sleep and drink and keep on going, that’s for what. That’s all there is.” - the film’s central thesis, uttered by Henry Stamper in his big Oscar-worthy monologue. Which in a nihilist sort of way I agree with, but there’s a big fat asterisk that gets ignored here: if you’re doing those things and directly, knowingly causing the suffering of others - and you can make choices that AVOID that as much as possible, and you DON’T - well that’s where your philosophy turns to shit, I’m afraid.

And the consequences of that philosophy are laid bare when the Stamper family has one HELL of a bad day. Play stupid games and win stupid prizes. 

I really thought the movie was going to end with Hank sitting alone in his dark, quiet house drinking beer and feeling sorry for himself and maybe reflecting on the enormous cost of his decisions. Instead the movie ends with Hank displaying his father’s severed arm at the top of his boat, flipping the bird to the town he’s turned his back on. And frankly it’s a big “fuck you” to the audience as well, for thinking that the Stamper family could learn or grow or see outside of their own rugged individualism for one second. 

Did I Cry? I probably should have, but any emotional weight the tragedies we watch hold gets completely deflated when no one learns a goddamn thing from them. 

All things considered, this movie is a perfect encapsulation of the toxic attitudes that have yielded every single moral failing of America from its inception. The myth of the American frontiersman, pulling himself up by his bootstraps, owing nothing to no one and simply trying to work hard and provide for his own family - it’s all wrapped up in the same wars (both literal and figurative) we’ve been fighting for centuries. We’re supposed to cheer at the Stampers for sticking to their guns and moving forward to get the job done no matter the cost, and that’s precisely the fucking problem. Costs matter, especially when they’re paid in human lives. And I would be more willing to view this film as a fascinating artifact of attitudes that have gone by the wayside if we weren’t having the same damn argument today. As a result, it ends up just feeling frustrating. 

If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.

[angelicichor]

We really really really need a pt 2 nsfw slasher hc’s , maybe this time include Jason aswell ? Only if you want to of course 💋

more N//SF//W it is.

Don’t worry the yearning is strong today so I’m more than willing to continue. 

Starting soft:

Bubba Sawyer:

• Fight me on this, but Bubba is ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE IN EVERYTHING HE DOES.

• He’s an obedient boy, always looking out for you, be it during the day or at night when finally, FINALLY his brother/s leave you alone.

• And then you’re sitting on the bed, he’s below you, doing his best eating you tf out, that sloppy tongue making you a wet, slippery mess. And be sure that Bubba goes DEEP. 

• He’s a strong man, so his hair is your driving stick, pull him in when you want him deeper, tug it when he’s going too fast, growl at him if his teeth touches your sex, you’ll soon find out that he’s very, VERY responsive.

• He’ll worship your body, from your magnificent hair, through your beautiful face, your waist, your fingers, even your feet if you want him to, he’ll make you feel like a divine being with his shaky touch, his unsure hands that have touched you so many times but still feel like you’re going to disappear if he touches you wrong. Gosh, he’s adorable.

• Ride him, for god’s sake! He’s a mess underneath you, squirming, whining, moaning something that sounds like your name and when you smile at him, replying to his call, he literally melts. 

• Through all this adorable stuff it’s often difficult to remember that this man is an absolute beast if you let him off the leash.

• The last time you told him it’s okay to take the lead he was groping you in a heart beat, trembling hands squeezing your curves through your clothing, making you bend under his weight, the room just filling with his arousal as he ripped your poor shirt from your chest and you squeaked in surprise. Well, there goes that.

• He grabbed your hands above your head, keeping both in his one, as the other palmed your face, exploring it’s features closely and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was thinking of making a mask out of you.

• He wasn’t, but he thought it would be absolutely stunning if he did and he’d never make another because you’re just too perfect for him.

• Soon enough his tongue’s over your nipples, licking, sucking and biting, taking in your smell and taste, his hand squeezing onto your thighs, awestruck at how soft they felt in his calloused hands.

• He’s a messy lover, that’s for sure, but his hot breath makes everything just so much better.

• You felt more of his weight moving onto you as his hips grinding against your leg, the tent in his pants way too obvious to be ignored and you couldn’t help but whimper, wondering what he was going to do to you.

• He’s quick to answer your mute question, as he rips your pants off you and janks his own belt and clothes down, pushing your legs apart before him, a nervous yet aroused giggle leaving him just before he slips into you, taking your breath away.

• Excuse him, he isn’t that well versed in preparing a lover for his adoration. Good thing you were already horny as all hell.

• His thrusts are fast, uneven and heavy, with every move you can feel yourself sink into the mattress, his weight crushing your frailer body and it’s just too fucking good. He’s so big, so damn warm and smells so goddamn sweet and the way he squeezes your breast is so hungry you’re afraid he’s going to bite it off.

• He doesn’t but his teeth find their way onto you anyhow as he moans and grunts with your neck in his mouth, leaving a big, fat mark and drawing just a tiny bit of blood. It’s adorable that he’s afraid to hurt you even when he’s allowed to.

• When he’s about to cum he cups your face and whimpers nervously, asking for your allowance. Nod and he’ll have you dripping with his head, shake your head and he’ll pull out with a cry, heartbroken that he has to abandon your warm insides and leaving a hot, thick trail of cum on your belly.

• He quickly perks up watching you breath heavy underneath him, covered in his come. Bubba will never get over how beautiful you are, NEVER.

Jason Voorhees:

• Fight me on this, but I believe Jason is actually less reserved about sex than what people often think. I believe he understands what’s the main focus of the activity and what is means for the people involved, his mommy was a smart woman, she most likely explained to him all the stuff about birds and bees.

• But tell me you wouldn’t feel like murder if a group of unattended teenagers/young adults invaded your place of death and started fucking? It’s the worst thing and after that is somebody screwing on your front yard. In Jason’s cause, it’s both.

• Still, he’s definitely a virgin, so starting off everything is pure instinct. 

• That’s a good thing though, because instinct is how he learned to kill, to hunt and to survive, that and probably some books.

• Starting off he’s gonna fuck like he hunts - Holding you in his iron grip, squeezing your body tight, his gaze focused on you and you only, it’s as terrifying as it is arousing, and his relentless thrusting ain’t helping nobody. 

• Good thing he actually cares about your consent and instructions before, preparing you with his long tongue and thick fingers, following your every demand, not breaking eye contact, so he can see that he’s doing it right, that man rarely blinks, get used to it. 

• By the way his tongue is AMAZING?? If you gave him a cherry he’d definitely be able to tie a knot, it’s just that goddamn good and once it leaves you it’ll leave and empty, needy void that he’s more than happy to fill with his enormous cock.

• And here’s the bad thing - no matter what, you’re gonna be so sore after your first time. Jason’s a tight fit, probably not even coming in fully, because as the slasher community is well aware of - Momma’s boy is one of the biggest guys around.

• So you’ll be definitely moaning and screaming his name into the woods, overcome with joy, pleasure and sweet pain.

• Don’t worry, he WILL carry you to bed. It’s his fault that you’re outside anyways, he just couldn’t handle you being so close and so adorable anymore, so he hopes his jacket is thick enough to counteract the harsh wood behind you.

• Once he learns that you can enjoy a slower pace too, he’ll make sure to take his time with you, teasing you lovingly with a bright smile on his face, it’s really unfair, but don’t complain, you love it.

• While he’s a good boy™ don’t expect him to be as submissive as Bubba. He’s well aware of how strong he is and isn’t afraid to use this strength to overpower you and make you shiver under his touch.

• Jason isn’t a sadist, at least he swears he isn’t, but there is a certain glint in his eyes when you tremble as he closes his huge hand around your neck, aware that he could snap it in a second, but trusting him not to do that.

• Don’t worry, he’d never hurt you without your consent.

• Still, Jason’s a playful boy. Rough house with him and if you win (aka. he takes mercy on you and let’s you win) he’ll give you a bit of control. You lose it as soon as his dick slips into you though, but enjoy the moments of glory he’s happy to provide you with.

• His biggest kink though, which he’s a bit ashamed and disappointed with himself to admit, is hunting. He’s been literally resurrected to hunt and damn it if it doesn’t make his cold heart beat faster when he sees you put on some more comfortable shoes and look at him to start counting 5 minutes, giving you a head start. You’ll need it.

• You can’t see his amused head tilt as he cheats a bit and watches you run into the thick of the forest, but not following you yet, it’s always more fun when you think he doesn’t know where you are.

• It’s during those hunts that you remember that he IS the Crystal Lake Killer. Everything about him scream terror as he scans the surrounding for you, his heavy steps completely silent, how, you have no idea. He’s tall, muscular and dressed to kill, if he took of his jacket you can see how his muscles shift under each breath he takes. You realize how powerful his arms are when with one swift motion he hurls a bunch of boats down to see if you’re not hiding under one of them, his senses sharp enough to catch a small crunch of leaves under your foot as you shift towards a building and he follows. 

• The wooden boards creak in complaint under his weight and you hide in a closet in alarm, your breathing quick and uneven, you can feel your whole body tensing as he passes the old piece of furniture and moves onto the beds. There’s a quiet squeak as you can hear him lifting one of them, letting it fall down with a loud thud when he realized nobody’s there.

• But the sound was just loud enough for you to let out a silenced squeak. Don’t worry, he heard that.

• You can see his shadow in front of the wardrobe and you’re trembling, fear mixing with excitement, part of you screaming that you’re going to die and the other adding “in the best possible way”.

• And that thought makes you whimper almost silently, but his quiet laughter let’s you know he heard, knocking onto the slightly open door politely, mocking you for losing. In a fit of rebellious spirit you stand up and pull the wardrobe closed, there’s a moment of silence.

• There’s a huff and before you know it he has pulled both doors open, leaning inside with a small head tilt, eyes smiling devilishly.

•“Not fair…” you whimper and his body shakes under his voiceless chuckle. He knows, you little cutie, you!

• He takes you right there and then, making your clothes nothing more than garbage with the precise cut of his machete, the cold metal making you shiver, arousal building even more as the realization that you’re at his mercy hits you, hard. “Be nice… okay?” you ask and he lifts his mask up just enough for you to see him mouthing the word “no” and smashing his lips into a heated kiss with you, squeezing your ass in his huge hands, lifting you up onto his cock. 

• You tear up at the sheer size of this thing spreading you open and you know you’re in trouble. He knows it too, but in his attempt to humor your wish just a little bit he lets you adjust, pushing you back into the wardrobe and pressing his hand onto the old wood to stabilize himself as he still held you, warming you with his length, pressing his masked forehead against yours, watching as your eyes flutter closed and then open, gaze filled with lust, but don’t worry, his is exactly the same. 

• Once he can feel you getting wet around him there’s no more mercy, he thrusts into you, relishing in your offended gasp, his eyes sparking with amusement, before he starts fucking you senseless.

• You ain’t leaving until cum’s spiling out of you, darling.

• When he’s done with you, however, you can expect a load of kisses, hugs, nuzzles and gentle caresses in the cabin. He’ll make you tea too and once he’s sure you’ve calmed down he’ll go around the camp looking for books for you to read. You ain’t gonna be walking tomorrow.

• Once you can walk you can go to his momma to tell her that her son is a BULLY.

• How rude.

Trigger warning for the next boy: blood play, bdsm, abuse??, some might call it that, cutting, hitting, Mikey is a nasty fuck ok?

Michael Myers (OG)

•  When I think about the original Shape of Haddonfield all I can think of is one word - Beg.

• Mikey is the definition of a dom, rough, cold, decisive, unshaken. Some may argue you’d be better of if he just killed you, but one way or another you ended up as his fuck toy obsession.

• Call him Daddy, Master, Sir, any of those will get you on his good side during sex, but even his good side is BAD.

• This man has barely any limits when it comes to using you, sure, sometimes he’ll just push you onto the bed and lazily take you, his hips hitting you like an iron pump, but that’s rare. Most of the time he comes to you is to ruin you and you’re lucky if you live alone.

• He loves fucking your face, tilling your face back and making you choke on his dick repeatedly, only giving you seconds to breathe or to swallow back puke if it comes to that. If you see him grabbing a knife in the morning or just notice on of your missing, don’t eat that day. Just a precaution. 

• No matter how he takes you choking is a must and not just lightly gripping your throat, no, he will make a mark, you’re his and the world needs to know. Nobody else is allowed to touch you, he’s even showing mercy by letting people talk to you when he’s around. You threw a fit about it at one point and while he made sure to leave you bruised and used as punishment, he understood.

• There’s just no back talking him, ever. 

• While he’s well capable of destroying you with his bare hands a knife is Michael’s best friend and some friends are worth taking to bed.

• There’s many scars on your body and only one or two are from before meeting him, you can’t count the sheets he ruined when something in his head sang for you to bleed, his hands painting you in red, pushing your blood deep down your throat, a raging bliss in his eyes as you cried underneath him, getting dizzy, weak, cold. That man doesn’t know how much blood you can lose and honestly he just doesn’t care. If you faint he will patch you up, but most likely not because of concern, he’d just hate to lose a grateful toy like you.

• Speaking of which, he LOVES it when you thank him for fucking you, when you beg for him to fill you up or to let you finish, if you don’t beg, you ain’t getting anything.

• He’ll make you sit on all fours before him, gripping your hair tightly, forcing you to look him in the eye and slapping your face if you dare turn your eyes away, but don’t worry, the slap is almost loving, your face is the only thing he won’t scar or bruise, he actually likes it, well, he likes all of you, won’t admit it though, but you can’t make those adorable expressions if your face is all swollen, right?

• His biggest kink is fucking on corpses and YES, he has forced you to do that, you should know what you’re singing up for when asking MICHAEL-fucking-MYERS to be your mate. Yeah, mate, that man ain’t boyfriend material, I’m sorry.

• Surprisingly he isn’t that much into tying you up - why waste tame on that when he can keep you still with his hands and a simple knife?

• DON’T EVER ASK HIM TO BE SUBMISSIVE. This is a threat.

• Bitting, hitting, pushing and pulling his hair are forbidden. He can accepts scratches though, they feel pleasant. Also if he ever get’s high or drunk you might get to cut him. He’s a daredevil when intoxicated and seeing how much pain his body can handle sets something off in him. Still won’t submit to you though.

• To be honest the most docile you’ll ever see him is from the morning in the kitchen. He’ll laze up to you, enveloping you in his arms, pressing you firm against his powerful chest so you can feel his body rumble in a sleepy purr. 

• While he never takes time to do aftercare with you (unless you get a panic attack, then he’ll just pin you down until you calm down), at those times you can sometimes hear small, caring phrases like “mine”, “you okay?” and “darling”. I know, shocking, but there’s SOME human in there still. 

•“You okay?” he asks, voice deep and hoarse form the lack of use, but so damn handsome. You stop breathing, unsure if you didn’t accidentally die and go to heaven, but no, the way he grips you makes your bruises from yesterday hurt, this ain’t heaven, darling. “Y…yes, I’m fine…” you murmur back and all too suddenly you can feel his nails digging into your skin. “I’m fine…what?” he growls and you search your head for an answer, panicking lightly. Finally something clicks. “Yes, I-I’m fine… Sir.” you say and he hums in approval, letting you go for a second to turn you towards him, his mask lifting for a millisecond so he can kiss your forehead. “Adorable.” you hear him say, before he shifts away, grabbing one of your knives and leaving.

• And all you can think is - ‘but… my hips are still dying…’ Because you know damn well what will happen when he comes back tonight.

[ragingbookdragon]

You Can Take Off All My Clothes And Never See Me Naked PT. 1

A Haytham Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 2,060 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Assault (Past & Present)

Author’s Note: I’m a dumb bitch who really can’t stop myself from starting new stories. Regardless, enjoy! -Thorne

“Tell me about the tavern we’re going to Charles.”

           The man looked to the Grandmaster with a smile. “Oh, I believe it’s called The Ethereal Crew Tavern.”

           Haytham cocked an eyebrow. “Quite an odd name for a colonial tavern.”

           “How so? Charles wondered, trying to understand the statement.

           “Most taverns this side of the Atlantic usually have humor in the name.” He glanced at the other Templars coming their way to the crossroads. “The Ethereal Crew almost sounds mystical.”

           “I’d never thought about that.” Charles remarked, and the Templars stopped to greet the larger group.

           “Evening Master Kenway.” The Irishman thrust a thumb back to the road. “Tavern’s just up the way here.”

           Haytham nodded, greeting the other Templars in the group before taking the lead, going into an easy conversation with them.

           The tavern came into sight, easily a two-floored building from the view. The cracked slate gray paint along the side reminded Haytham of the old boats that he saw dry docked when he was a child at Queen Anne’s Square. It made a bitter taste form in his mouth as he thought about his father and family. The borders of the doors and windows were painted with an onyx coat, and as they climbed the stairs, they caught sight of the sign next to the door. Someone had hand painted a crew of ghostly pirates standing behind a captain with swords and pistols raised. Haytham couldn’t help but huff quietly at the sign, hand curling around the handle to open it.

           They stepped inside and he was mildly surprised to see such a relative cleanliness within. Sure, there was a spill of ale here and there, but a certain level of neatness blanketed the place. His eyes drifted up the walls to the Jolly Roger flags hung up. Whether they’d been sewn and hung for decoration or were real flags, he didn’t know, but to hang them up so brazenly, the pub owner obviously didn’t fear reprimand. Haytham didn’t know if he should’ve praised them for their audacious bravery or sheer stupidity. Time would tell if he managed to meet the owner. A woman appeared in his peripheral from behind the counter.

           She offered a polite smile to them. “Good evening, gentlemen.” They tipped their heads in greeting. “You must be the group under,” her eyes drifted to the writing board she had in her hand, “Kenway?”

           Haytham nodded. “We are.”

           Her smile brightened and she tipped her head. “Fantastic! If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the back!” She appeared from around the counter and started through a doorway, leaving them to follow.

           They entered into a backroom and Haytham was pleasantly surprised at how elegant it looked. Perhaps that was the wrong word—more refined in the piracy theme. She watched them take their seats before stepping between his and Thomas’s seat. “My name is (Y/N) and I’ll be handling your orders for tonight.” She gestured to the table. “The cards in front of you hold the items our tavern serves. The first page is the specials for the evening, the next page is the normal dishes.” (Y/N) gently turned the card in Haytham’s grip with a quiet, ‘excuse me.’ “And the back is the listing of our drinks. We serve alcoholic drinks as well as non, and we have quite a bigger selection than most taverns in the colonies.”

           “How do you manage that?” Shay piped up, obviously impressed.

           She smiled at him. “We have exclusive deals with many dealers and traders across the seas and lands. We also happen to brew some of our own liquors.” (Y/N) looked at them. “Can I start you off with drinks?” her eyes drifted to Haytham.

           He nodded. “I’ll take champagne.”

           “Shall I bring the bottle?” Haytham tipped his head. “Of course, sir.” Her eyes drifted to the Shay. “And for you?”

           “Take a pint of Guinness, lass.”

           (Y/N) quietly nodded, taking the rest of the orders, and with a quick of the quill into its holder, she said, “I’ll go get those ready. In the meantime, please decide what you’ll be eating for the evening.”

           Before she could leave, Thomas had an arm around her waist, and she froze. He gestured for her to lean over and when she did, Haytham watched her eyes go wide at whatever the man had whispered in her ear.

           She let out a laugh, but someone as well trained as he could tell it was one to hide the embarrassment she felt. She pulled from his grip and remarked, “Now sir, you should focus on dinner.” Thomas merely gave (Y/N) a salacious grin and Haytham watched her flee as inconspicuously as she could. His eyes narrowed on the man who didn’t seem to feel the weighted gaze, immediately going into conversation with Charles and William.

***

           Laughter echoed from behind the closed doors and (Y/N) sighed internally—partial tiredness, the other part infuriated. God, what I wouldn’t give for these bastards to go home already. Every time she’d gone into the room, that lecher Thomas had made some inappropriate comment or put his hands on her. She could feel the thread that held her patience fraying and it was about to snap.

           She needed the money this place provided though, and she slapped a smile on her face, stepping into the room. “My, my, it seems you’re all having a great time!” They raised their glasses in return save for the one at the head of the table. He’d removed his tricorn since (Y/N) had left. Her eyes rested on him for a few moments—he didn’t seem the type to drink in excess somewhere he didn’t feel secure. He was rather handsome in her opinion, dressed in clothes too sharp for any colonial man, personal care much too meticulous for one as well. He had a sharp jaw line, high cheekbones, a strong nose, and his dark brows made his steel eyes shine as if they were made of polished metal. Rather handsome, she finally decided, and much too dangerous for someone as skilled as her to ever take on in a fight.

           Eyeing the many weapons he carried, she wondered if perhaps he were apart of an elite group of soldiers, but she’d never heard of redcoats like that. The man’s foot shifted in a light tap, and she looked up, meeting his steely gaze—turns out all the time she’d been observing him, he’d been doing the same. Her cheeks warmed and she glanced the other way, wondering just how much he’d managed to size her up in mere moments they’d stared. “Well, I wonder if you’ve saved room for dessert?” Their attention was immediately drawn in and she couldn’t help but laugh. “We’ve cakes, cookies, pies, any and all kinds you could want.”

           The men cheered around the table and Thomas leaned over, wrapping his arm back around her, though in his drunken haze, he slipped it under her rear, making her go statue like. “Say—how much—for your—dessert?” Most of the men laughed at that, but Shay and Haytham, who both wore looks of general disgust.

           (Y/N) wanted to laugh, but that thread had finally snapped and she grabbed hold of his hand and yanked it off her body, shoving him sideways in his seat; he collided with Charles who was sitting next to him, and before he could say anything, she was standing over him with a glower. “Listen and listen well, you fuck.” Her sudden use of an obscenity sobered everyone at the table. “I have spent the last three hours being sexually harassed by you and I’m done. I doubt a stupid bastard like you has ever heard of the word ‘consent’, so allow me to explain.”

           Thomas’s mouth opened and she raised a hand. “You say anything, and I’ll bash every one of your fucking teeth out and make you eat them one by one.” His mouth snapped shut and she said, “Consent is when someone gives you their express approval to touch them. Since you got here, you haven’t requested my consent to touch or speak to me in such a way. Allow me to tell you exactly what I think about it.”

           She gripped the back of his chair and got in his face. “If you put your hands on me again, if you speak to me again, if you even look at me again.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and her voice became a withering hiss. “I will claw your fucking eyes out of your head and shove them down your goddamn throat. And while you’re choking to death at my feet, the last thing you’ll see and hear will be the sound of my laughter. Do you understand?”

           He could barely form a thought to phrase back, but he managed a light threat. “Murder’s illegal.”

           (Y/N) barked a laugh that sent shivers up their spines, then she sneered, “You’re not the first man I’ve killed. You won’t be the last.” A grin crossed her lips, and Thomas thought he was staring at the mouth of a lioness. “But I would love nothing more than to add you to that list. Would you like that?” Thomas shook his head rapidly. “Coward.” She spat and stood straight.

           For a moment she simply glared at the man, then a mask fell across her face and she turned to the rest of them. “So, shall I take dessert orders then?” When no one spoke, she smiled. “Then I’ll go get your checks. Please excuse me.”

***

           As the group stumbled through the tavern, they seemed to avoid the hostess’s eyes, still terrified about her threats. (Y/N) saw them off with a smile, and when Haytham came up to her, she regarded him with a polite gaze, but one that held resentment and suspicion. “Did you enjoy your evening sir? I hope you’ll come back to visit.” Her smile brightened. “We enjoy high-class company.”

           Haytham huffed through his nose and stared at her. “I apologize for Thomas’s behavior.”

           Her smile dropped and that rage began to slither out. “If he ends up missing, don’t come here.”

           He cocked an eyebrow, but his eyes held humor. “Because you wouldn’t have anything to do with it?”

           (Y/N) leaned forward and hissed, “Because I’ll be halfway across the colonies by the time the authorities get here to arrest me.”

           “You’re fairly confident to speak of killing a man so openly.”

           She scoffed. “Oh please, anyone I’ve ever killed had it coming.”

           “Had it coming?” he echoed, steely gaze narrowed with interest.

           “They did.” (Y/N) averted her gaze to the window and Haytham watched as she seemed to recount the past; her voice turned into a mumble, almost apathetic, like she expected what had come before. “Most of them escaped justice because their money lined court pockets.”

           “And you ensured the victims had justice, then?” It wasn’t much of a question, more rhetorical than inquisitive.

           She looked at him with heavy stare and as if her mouth were a gun, she was spitting words like rapid-fire bullets. “Who is to be held accountable when the justice system is found corrupt? Who brings them to justice when they fail those they’re supposed to protect? Who stands up for the people when no one stands for them?” (Y/N) thrust a finger into his chest. “Who protects the women and children from the ones who are supposed to be their protectors? Who protects the innocent from those who would strip it from their very souls?” Her jaw clenched. “If not them, then who? If we don’t…then who will?”

           Haytham simply gazed at her and she pulled her hand away. “I’m not asking you to understand, but don’t write me off as some crazy murderess. Any life I’ve ever taken has been an evil one, dark and corrupted. And I ensured their victim never had to live another day in pure terror.” She gestured to the door. “You should leave. Your group has been waiting for some time.”

           He didn’t move, but murmured, “If I were to offer you a job…to eliminate evil people…would you take it?”

           She met his gaze. “Only if I you keep the one man as far away from me as you can get him.” A smirk crossed her lips. “Or I’ll kill him.”

[mopeytropey]

Author’s note: This moodboard for chapter 3 was not a shameless excuse to post Lincoln glistening and shirtless ... OR WAS IT? 

a beer buds series: chapter 3

(available below & posted on AO3 here)

Timeline: this takes place during chapter 3 of 'apu' after Clarke has gone running with Lexa but before game night at Lexa + Costia's apartment

Beer: Whirlpool NEW ENGLAND PALE ALE

Soft and citrusy, Whirlpool is Night Shift's flagship New England pale ale. Pours hazy blonde with a nose of ripe peach and grapefruit. Sips juicy, fruity, and crisp, with minimal bitterness and big clementine notes. A bright, vibrant beer that’s wonderfully drinkable and remarkably refreshing.

ABV 4.5%

Whirlpool: Night Shift (Everett, MA) Lexa slows at the base of an incline, bracing her weight with her hands on her kneecaps while catching her breath. Lincoln extends his run by a few extra strides, resting his torso against the black metal railing of an overlook that juts above the harbor. They stand just six feet apart, regulating their breathing, while pedestrians, cyclists, and young children in strollers filter past. Although the sun wanes, arching towards the water, its heat has soaked Lexa’s shirt and shorts so that the material sticks to her skin in several places.

“Bit more intense than your last run?” Lincoln asks when he circles back to stand beside her.

Lexa stands to her full height, using the bottom of her shirt to wipe sweat from her face. “What do you mean?”

“Octavia tells me you managed to coerce Clarke into running with you the other day. Somehow I can’t imagine there were any interval sprints in that particular course.”

That jolt of nerves—of which she is now regretfully quite familiar—at the mention of Clarke has Lexa shrugging off a laugh and heading for the shade of the Memorial Bridge overpass. Her mind betrays her in the worst way as visions of Clarke in running gear, jogging beside her and cracking jokes, resurface yet again. She would kill for some ice cold water.

Either to drink or dump over her head.

She walks with her hands folded atop her head, triceps stretching pleasantly as she leans against the bridge piling. The cold stone presses into her skin through the material of her shirt, and Lexa focuses on the sensation. Lincoln follows her with an expectant smile.

“Clarke can be coerced by nothing, I assure you. She was the one who asked to come with me.” Lexa kicks lightly at Lincoln’s chiseled calf muscle. “Anyway, I sort of lost my running partner when he started getting laid, didn’t I?”  

“Hey, whoa, whoa,” Lincoln laughs, defensively holding up his palms towards Lexa. “You have not lost me.”

“Well, you’re certainly not as available.”

“Guilty,” Lincoln shrugs. “But, come on, you know how it is. You remember.”

She does remember. Lovedrunk and saturated by lust and desire—that overconsumption of physical touch that leaves no room for anything or anyone else. She remembers those first few reclusive weeks with Costia, both of them cancelling plans and shutting out the world.

It feels like someone else’s memories. A fading mirage from another life.

Lexa nods, conceding with a short exhale. “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

She stands to stretch her limbs and suddenly feels like she could run another ten miles.

“Let’s grab a beer,” Lincoln suggests, and Lexa is grateful for the change in subject.

“What—now? Where would we go? I’m disgusting,” she says, plucking her shirt from where it sticks to the skin of her stomach.

Lincoln bobs his head up the sidewalk, and Lexa’s stomach clenches to see the bright white siding of Dockside. “Octavia’s working. Let’s go bother her.”

“I need to shower,” Lexa stalls.

“Nah, come on.” Lincoln strongarms her, quite literally, by wrapping his arm around her shoulders and walking farther beneath the shadowed overpass. “The girls won’t care. We’ll sit outside.”

“Linc, I—“

“Nope, no arguments. Anyway, it’s Wednesday so Clarke is probably there too. Don’t you want to see your new best friend?”

Yes. All of the time. She is both the best and worst thing in my life at the moment. It is exceedingly problematic.

Lexa admits to none of this and instead allows herself to be escorted down the short path towards Dockside’s sunny patio. She angles her head so that she can see Lincoln’s face of self-satisfaction and scowls at his ridiculous smile.

:::

“You might not want to hug me, I’m incredibly sweaty right now.”

“Like that’s gonna stop me,” Octavia says, practically jumping into Lincoln’s embrace and landing a soft kiss against his mouth.

It’s brief and chaste, but Lexa nevertheless averts her eyes and lets her gaze fall across the boats in the harbor. They’ve approached the bar from its rear side, closer to the delivery hatch, crunching through the gravel lot that separates Dockside from the bridge.

“You guys are staying for a drink, right?”

Lexa quickly wonders if she can still sneak away for a shower and meet up with Lincoln later now that he’s got Octavia in his arms. “Actually—“

“Oh, no, sorry,” Octavia smirks. “That wasn’t a question. You’re staying.”

Lexa fully surrenders after that, following Lincoln and Octavia towards the patio entrance with a short laugh. Things could be worse than having friends hellbent on spending time with her.

It is this misguided thought that precedes Lexa’s gaze landing on Clarke through the windows that line the water.

Oh no, things are actually the worst they could possibly be.

Clarke in a strapless, summery dress. Clarke with her hair twisted at the back of her head in a delicate bun so that Lexa’s vision narrows to the shape of her bare neck and shoulders. Clarke’s bright smile as she spins to collect empty glasses from a table of two college-aged girls.

Lexa’s smile drains from her face, and when Clarke looks up to see her on the patio, she feels it like a punch to her abdomen.

She had not been wearing this particularly offensive dress during Trikru’s delivery this morning, and Lexa wonders if she often goes home on her long Wednesdays to freshen up and change clothes between shifts.

Perhaps she has a favorite customer coming in later whom she wishes to impress. Perhaps Clarke has invited someone to come visit her specifically, to make the gruelling shift more bearable. Perhaps—

“Grab a seat out here.” Octavia’s direction interrupts Lexa’s inconsequential thoughts.

Perhaps Lexa should stop theorizing about Clarke and her goddamn dress and pull her life together.

“There’s this obnoxious group of guys at the bar who keep trying to flirt with Clarke about kayaking,” Octavia continues. “I have to go rescue her, but I’ll be back with drinks.”

She leaves them with a quick brush of her fingers down Lincoln’s chest, and Lexa struggles to push images from her mind of Clarke being hit on as she climbs onto a stool across from Lincoln. The patio hasn’t yet filled with a late afternoon crowd, and she and Lincoln enjoy a minute or two of relative quiet.

Lincoln hadn’t undersold the location: the views at Dockside are stunning. The harbor is aglow as boats slice its shimmering surface. Lexa allows herself to relax under a setting sun. The sound of gulls in chorus with a quiet, perpetual clanging of cars going over the bridge soothe her previously racing thoughts.

When Octavia returns, it is with glasses of ice water, two, dripping pints of beer, and Clarke at her heels.

Lexa’s relaxation vanishes in a blink.

“Night Shift. Whirlpool,” Octavia says by way of explanation of their beverages.

Greetings overlap as Octavia places coasters and pints on the table, but Clarke’s voice, most prominently, rings in Lexa’s ears. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I didn’t know you guys were coming by today.”

“Yeah, neither did I,” Lexa responds, avoiding Lincoln’s eye as he kicks her running shoe beneath the table.

She studiously ignores the swoop in her belly when she catches Clarke’s playful gaze instead.

“You two look properly gross and sweaty,” she comments with that unnecessarily striking smile of hers.

“Pretty sure our run was just a bit more intense than the casual little jaunt you and Lexa did the other day,” Lincoln teases.

“Hey!” Clarke reaches across Octavia for the sole purpose of pinching Lincoln’s bicep until he squirms. “I was remarkably athletic and agile, thank you very much.”

“Yes, we’re all incredibly proud of your fitness,” Octavia adds, condescendingly patting the top of Clarke’s head.

Clarke turns to Lexa. “Tell them!”

“Your endurance should be commended,” Lexa tells her entirely straight-faced.

“I hate all of you,” Clarke responds, narrowing her eyes at the three of them.

Lexa plucks at the strap of her damp tank top and represses a grin. The movement curbs Clarke’s teasing smile when she spies Lexa’s hand.

“How’s your hand?”

Lexa looks at the bandaging wrapping her right palm, almost as if she had forgotten it was there.

“Oh. It’s fine. It didn’t bother me at all during the rest of my deliveries. Stings a little now—probably from all of the gross sweat.”

Clarke rolls her eyes as Lincoln finishes a sip of beer and asks, “What happened?”

“I caught that sharp edge on the truck latch this morning.”

“Shit, I keep forgetting about having that looked at,” Lincoln says. “Did you let Indra know?”

“Yes. I had to fill out paperwork for the injury, and she said she’d have the latch replaced.”

“Why don’t you come inside and let me change the bandage.”

Having Clarke’s doting attention when it’s just the two of them is challenging. Withstanding her genuine care and concern in front of their friends is horrible.

“Oh, you don’t have to—it really doesn’t feel that bad, Clarke.”

“Hey listen, I’m not covering your deliveries tomorrow if that thing gets infected and gangrenous,” Lincoln tells her.

Lexa shoots him a look across the table for his ludicrous commentary.

“There’s no sense in you sitting there in pain just because you’re stubborn. I have all the supplies inside. Come on, it’ll just take a minute,” Clarke says and then hesitates as if she had briefly considered reaching out for Lexa’s upturned hand.

Lexa squeezes her fingers into a fist, sending a sharp, stinging pain against her injured palm. It does nothing to lessen the image of Clarke reaching out to her, but it curbs her own reckless impulses to run her fingers along the delicate curve of her shoulder just to see if—

She buries the thought and swallows hard.

“Okay,” she finally says, sliding from her stool so that she is stood beside Clarke. Eye-to-eye with Clarke’s stunning blue gaze. “Thanks.”

A tingling suspicion runs up the back of her neck as she trails behind Clarke off the patio. When they enter the cooler, darker interior of Dockside’s main room, Lexa turns to see Lincoln and Octavia huddled together and ignoring them completely.

Her paranoia—among other things—is really getting out of hand.

Clarke leads them behind the bar counter and through a swinging door into the kitchen. Lexa has never had such unfettered access to this section of Dockside, and she suddenly feels acutely aware of her damp hair and running clothes underneath the bright fluorescent lighting. Clarke grabs a plate of something from the salad line, says a quick thank you to the woman removing stems from baby spinach leaves, and they exit through another door into a dim hallway.

“My corner office with a view,” Clarke says upon approaching a heavy-looking wooden door. “Just kidding, there’s no windows in here.” She bangs open the door with her hip and steps inside, waiting for Lexa to follow her. “But, it’s where I keep the first aid kit.”

Lexa steps across the threshold with a timid smile. She’s never been inside Clarke’s office and already it feels like a line she should not have crossed. When Clarke had patched her hand that morning, they had stood in the drafty storage room with its high ceilings and spacious shelving lining the walls. It was a familiar space and vastly different atmosphere.

This room is cramped and dim. Intimate. Lexa feels out of her depth within seconds.

Clarke sets down her plate of food to fetch the box of medical supplies and is already stood too closely. Lexa thinks she can actually smell her shampoo because Clarke is just that much shorter and her head is angled to focus on removing the old bandaging from Lexa’s hand.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Clarke says.

Her words are felt in short puffs of breath against Lexa’s upturned wrist. Lexa’s other hand fiddles the hem of her running shorts while her breathing shallows and her heart hammers loudly in her ears.

She hopes the tremors building in her stomach don’t translate to her hands. Particularly while one of them is gently held by Clarke’s careful fingers.

“Your mom is a doctor so I can trust you know how to properly assess a wound, right?”

“God no,” Clarke laughs. “She would probably be horrified by my technique. Or lack thereof.”

“Great. I feel better already.”

Clarke looks up at her with a smile so utterly devastating, Lexa thinks she should have risked infection instead. “I’m pretty sure you’ll survive.”

She wishes she had a modicum of chill when it comes to Clarke, but truthfully, she does not.

Lexa tries to keep her eyes anywhere other than trailing down the slope of Clarke’s shoulder, which is unfairly close and appears soft and smooth under the low light. She skims over the minimal clutter of Clarke’s desk to stop herself from shamefully ogling a close friend doing her a favor.

There is an assortment of hodgepodge frames that hang on the dark wooden wall behind Clarke’s desk. She sees a picture of Clarke looking much younger with a boy around her age, arms wrapped around each other and stood in front of Dockside.

She hears herself asking, “Who’s that?” before she can silently advise herself to mind her business and get out of this room as quickly as possible.

“All set,” Clarke says, and then turns to face the wall behind her desk. “Who’s who?”

There’s finally some small distance between them, and Lexa breathes out slowly. She looks down to her hand, freshly wrapped in soft white gauze, and flexes it twice into a fist.

“Thanks.”

Clarke’s voice is as soft as she has ever heard it. “You’re welcome.”

For a beat, they hold a steady gaze. It passes quickly, but not before Lexa’s pulse accelerates and her palms begin to ache with nerves. She breaks eye contact first, as she often does. She can hear Clarke quietly exhale a second later because the room is remarkably compact, but also because Lexa has started to believe that her body is attuned to Clarke’s the more time they spend in the same place.

Or, she’s just being dramatic.

“The, uh, middle frame. The kid hugging you outside of the bar.”

“Oh! That’s Wells.” Clarke walks towards the frame and plucks it off the wall so that she can examine it more closely. “He’s one of my closest friends and the reason I get to play bar manager at this lovely establishment.”

That has Lexa’s attention instantly, and she forgets her nerves in favor of learning something new about Clarke. “Oh, really?”

Clarke often does this—unintentionally creating distractions from Lexa’s problematic internal narrative. She drops these little tidbits of information that snare Lexa’s curiosity. Each time, it becomes easier to just relax and enjoy Clarke’s company without overthinking the way the air condenses around them when they are stood too closely. Between that and her penchant for terrible jokes, it explains why Lexa has been able to maintain any semblance of friendship.

“Yeah, we became friends in high school—we were both into the arts, so total nerds—but he left for San Francisco right after graduation. His dad owned and ran this bar for ages, but when his memory got worse and he had to retire, Wells more or less inherited a business he never wanted to manage.”

“And he asked you to take it over,” Lexa supplies.

“Yeah, he sort of caught me at an opportune time when I had no idea what the hell I was doing with my life.” She replaces the picture to its nail on the wall, crosses her arms over her stomach, and exhales a humorless laugh.

Lexa raises her eyebrows and nods. “I can relate.”

“Right.” Clarke’s short laugh is the last lingering sound in the room.

The moment stretches, Clarke watching her as if trying to solve a riddle. Three rapid knocks at the open doorway interrupt the heavy silence, and Lexa is glad she isn’t forced to be the one to look away this time.

“Call for you on line one, Clarke.”

Lexa recognizes Mindy’s voice at her back and watches as Clarke smiles and nods. “Okay thanks, I’ll take it back here.”

“Okay, boss.”

Lexa can hear Mindy’s retreating footsteps a moment later and shifts on her feet to prepare her own exit.

“I should let you—”

“I’m just gonna—”

Words trip over one another until Clarke’s embarrassed smile matches her own.

“Thanks again for …” Lexa raises her right hand to show its fresh bandaging.

“Try not to be so clumsy next time, yeah?” Clarke sits at her desk with a smirk and Lexa takes one, measured step backwards.

“I’ll do my best,” she grins.

She thinks that if Clarke showed up to the delivery hatch wearing that dress next Wednesday, she may very well sever her entire hand from her body from sheer distraction.

“Okay, you should get out of here—Lincoln will think I’ve taken you hostage, and I’m very busy and important taking calls in my fancy office.”

Lexa laughs in response, backing her way towards the open doorway. If Octavia has stayed to keep Lincoln occupied at their table, there’s no way he’s even registered her prolonged absence. She mock salutes to Clarke once she is back in the hallway.

“I’m leaving, Madame President. Proceed with your executive responsibilities.”

Lexa exits the darkened hallway to the trailing sounds of Clarke’s laughter.

:::

[polaroid15]

New fic :)

Hey everyone! Hope you’re having a great Sunday :) <3 Here’s a short little attempt at humor.. hope you enjoy! 

Summary:  Movie night ends just as well as anyone would expect: with Peter passed out on the floor and Tony sidestepping a Parker-induced heart attack like clockwork.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28054818

~

“I’m not wearing a Spider-Man band-aid, Mr. Stark. It’s conceded.”

Tony sighs. They’re sitting side by side on the edge of the bathtub, a blood stained cloth forgotten at their feet. Tony is holding a small box of colorful bandages loosely in his hand. “But you’re bleeding-”

“Not for long! Probably.”

“Oh my God.”

“Is there an Iron-Man one?”

Peter smiles at him with an attitude of mischievousness that Tony has become much too acquainted with. He’s holding his hand between them where a modest cut in his palm still sluggishly bleeds. For the past couple hours they had been working with sheet metal in the lab. Neither had managed to leave unscathed.

Tony hesitates. It’s enough. “There is,” Peter gasps. “I mean, of course there is. You’re Iron-Man.” Taking the box from Tony’s hand he fishes around until he finds one decorated in red and gold and holds it out victoriously. “Ah-hah!”

“You’re an idiot,” Tony says, snatching it away. “Let me do it.”

He peels off the plastic and smoothes the band-aid gently over Peter’s skin. He knows the wound will be gone by morning but seeing the cut covered and cared for calms some distant part of him he refuses to ponder too deeply. When he looks up Peter is holding the discarded Spider-Man bandage Tony had set against the tub. “You’re bleeding too, you know.”

Tony rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother fighting it. Soon enough he has a matching band-aid wrapped around his thumb where the sharp metal had cut into him and another on the skin under his pinky.

Something in his chest warms. It feels like a physical weight.

“There. Happy?”

“Yep,” Peter nods. “All better now.”

“Good Lord.”

They both stand. Tony watches fondly as Peter cleans up after them and they leave the room together, Tony flicking off the light behind them. They wander back to the kitchen, Peter in the lead, and find Happy and May standing closely together with a bag of takeout at their feet. Tony can smell it from where he stands and feels his mouth water. He realizes only now that he and Peter had worked through lunch again.

Peter lights up when he sees May and rushes forward to pull her into a half hug. Tony watches as he flexes his hand in front of her face to show off his new Iron-Man band-aid. She ruffles his hair and cuts a soft look in Tony’s direction. Happy laughs.

“We still on for a movie or what?”

“Yes!” Peter catapults himself over the back of the couch like a gymnast and lands gracefully in his usual spot. He looks back at them expectedly. “Whose turn is it to pick?”

“Happy,” May says.

“Oh no.” Peter drops his head into his hands and moans dramatically into his palms.

Happy crosses his arms, looking mildly offended. “What?”

“Look, Hap. I value our friendship. I really do- but you choose terrible movies,” Tony says.

“The worst,” Peter agrees.

May snorts with laughter but doesn’t disagree. She settles herself down on the couch on Peter’s left and kicks up her feet on the coffee table. Tony follows suit, sitting closely on Peter’s right with the same warmth in his chest from the bathroom.

It’s nice.

“This one will be good,” Happy promises. FRIDAY dims the lights in the room and the glare of the TV bathes them in an artificial glow. It glints off May’s glasses as he scrolls through a list of titles and ends on one called ‘The Deep Blue’. Everyone groans.

“Oh God,” Tony complains. “Is this a shark movie? Please tell me it’s not.”

“What does it look like?”

“Shark movies are always terrible,” Peter says.

“Shut up. It’s starting.”

Tony smiles and feels the couch move as Peter nestles further into the cushions beside him. May passes around the takeout and Tony relaxes as the warmth from his box seeps into his sore fingers. It reminds him of the Spider-Man band-aids on his hands and his smile widens without warning. He savours the feeling and uses his chopsticks to pull out a piece of ginger beef.

“That shark looks so fake,” Peter decides half way through the movie. “Why are they even scared of it?”

Happy just rolls his eyes.

Choking back a laugh for the upteenth time that night, Tony tries his best to refocus on the scene playing out in front of him. The main character, an unwise blond girl in a lifeguard’s uniform, stands on the edge of her boat and braces herself to jump into the shark infested water. Shrill, suspenseful music fills the room and Peter suddenly straightens, placing his takeout box on the table in front of them.

A piece of lemon chicken halfway to her mouth, May pauses, eyes widening with some great realization. “Oh, God Peter. Please don’t. Not again.”

Before Tony can ask what she means, the character on the screen plunges into the water. As soon as the camera shows their head underwater Peter takes in a deep lungful of air and holds it in his chest, looking determinedly towards the screen.

Both Tony and Happy share significant looks of confusion. “What the hell is he doing?”

May crosses her legs and sighs deeply, picking back around at her food. “He’s holding his breath.”

“Well, obviously. But why?”

“He likes to test how accurate the movie is. Or if he can outlast the characters. Who knows.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

Tony looks at Peter in exasperation. The boy’s cheeks are bulging with air, eyes strained but nevertheless giving them an enthusiastic thumbs up. On the screen, the character swims furiously down towards the ocean floor, kicking wildly. The shark’s shadow looms in the distance.

With every passing second Tony’s anxiety spikes. Peter’s lips remain pressed together despite the increasingly red flush in his face. “Come on, kid this is dumb. Even for you. Just breathe!”

Shaking his head stubbornly, Peter stares onward. Creases form on his forehead and he slaps a hand against his chest as if to keep it from expanding.

“Just let him do his thing,” May says loosely. “You know how he is.”

Tony looks between them and the screen, lost in the seeming normalcy of the situation. The Chinese food churns in his stomach. “She’s not even close to the surface! This is ridiculous!”

Peter grips onto the edge of the couch with his free hand, looking woozy. Tony’s eyes widen and he brings his hands up cautiously in morbid preparation. “Kid! Okay that’s enough. Tap out. Stop it right now!”

He hates how parental he sounds. He can’t help it.

Peter shakes his head again, his resolve visibly weaker. Tony feels his pulse spike as Peter sways against the pillows, his brown eyes squinting at the screen as if from a great distance.

“Peter Benjamin Parker!”

The kid’s eyes flutter and all of Tony’s nerves drop down into his toes.

“Kid!”

May yells in surprise and Happy drops his takeout as Peter pitches forward. Acting purely out of instinct Tony lunges out and just manages to wrap his arms around Peter’s chest before he knocks his head against the coffee table. The kid is dead weight in his arms and Tony’s own breath is stolen as he slides both of them to the floor, rolling Peter onto his back. His head lolls limply with the movement and Tony’s stomach does a series of Olympic-level backflips.

“Peter!” He feels dizzy as he taps on Peter’s face. The boy’s chest is rising and falling evenly but it does little to relieve the sudden pressure in Tony’s head. “Wake up!”

At first, nothing happens. Tony is distantly aware of Happy and May standing behind him and saying words that don’t quite make it through the static in his head. All he can see is his kid stretched out on the carpet, unresponsive and jaw hanging open. The suspenseful music from the TV still booms around them. It would’ve been funny if he weren’t so goddamn scared.

He’s way too old for this.

And he has heart problems.

“Underoos!”

He taps on Peter’s face again. This time, miraculously, his eyes squint open.

Tony collapses in relief, catching himself with his forearm against the coffee table as the room spins around him. “Thank God.”

“He lives!” Happy declares monotonously.

Peter’s eyes separate further, full of confusion. He tilts his head to look at the floor, the couch, then up to the TV. The character is still underwater and after a moment of delay Peter begins to laugh. It echoes against Tony’s ears and he slowly loses the will to live. “Wow. This movie sucks, Happy.”

Somehow the comment breaks past Tony’s few remaining brain cells and before he can understand it, they’re all laughing. May has tears on her face and Peter clutches at his side, still laying on the floor and bathed in blue light against Tony’s lap.

After a moment Tony finds it within himself to sober up. He ends his laugh in a choke and he pulls Peter up to lean against the couch. The boy struggles to follow Tony’s movement and sags against the cushions, looking tired and dizzy but still smiling like an idiot. “You’re literally going to be the death of me kiddo,” he says seriously. “I mean, you do a lot of dumb things but this has got to take the cake-”

“Don’ worry,” Peter breathes lightly. He holds up a shaky hand for Tony to see. “We got band-aids.”

Tony blinks emptily as Peter’s smile widens. “I need a drink.”

[yanara126-writing]

The Adventures of Hildraed Dawnsbane - Watching and Fucking Morals (4/?)

Farmer, Pirate, Menace, Captain, Dawnsbane. Hildraed has many titles, she really could have lived well without Watcher.

-

Read here or on Ao3. (1827 words)

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

I recommend listening to this song, as it was the inspiration for the fever trip that made me wright this. It’s really good, I promise.^^

-

Hildraed was mad. And she hated this town. Why was she even still here? Because fucking damnit she felt bad for these people. It had started with the damn cook, continued with the poor abused woman (had the fucker not been dead she’d have killed him herself) And then there was the blacksmith who’d promised her a discount, Aufra with her probably soulless baby (not that she’d told her that), and then the goddamn farmers. Because it always came down to farmers, didn’t it? And now she was slouching back in the inn, nursing some bad ale. And the stupid hunk was smiling at her. Fuck him. Eh, maybe later.

Aloth was far better to focus on, with his companionable grouchiness.

With a more desperate than enthusiastic swing she drained her cup and it slammed it down again, trying to pretend the ale wasn’t more water than alcohol.

“I hate this place.” Edér’s stupid grin only got wider. Hildraed glared some more at the cup. She wasn’t drunk enough for this.

“Does that mean we can finally leave?” Hildraed didn’t miss the desperation in Aloth’s tone and almost felt bad for him. Only almost though, she felt way worse for herself.

“Yeah. Yeah we can. In fact, we will right now.” Originally she’d intended to stay one more night and leave in the morning, but if she had to continue seeing Edér’s stupid, satisfied smirk she was going to punch him after all. She slammed a few coins on the table, not bothering with counting out the exact amount, grabbed her bag and stomped out the door. Behind her she could hear her new companions scrambling to finish their own drinks and hurry after her.

Outside she had mercy on them and waited a bit for them to catch up, grinning again at Aloth’s relieved sigh. It was too easy to play him. She’d have to teach him a bit to avoid having him be all to easy to manipulate.

Edér apparently wasn’t in quite as much of a hurry, and while waiting for his heavy footsteps to join them, Hildraed found her attention wandering through the miserable town. And of course, her gaze once again landed on the tree. Ever since her first meeting with the dwarf woman she drifted back to the fucking tree. There were no more souls left there, she’d checked far more than she would ever admit, and still her steps kept pulling her back there. And so now again.

The stench was in her nose before she was even aware what she was doing. Dangling, rotting limbs filled her vision as she stared up, wood and flesh melting together. All around her there were purple shimmers, whisperings that drover her mad all around the clock, but looking up there there was nothing, and somehow that was worse. She’d seen hangings before of course. She’d seen people she’d known and even liked hang much the same way. But something about this made her angrier.

This was messy. This wasn’t justice, it was a blood rage. The pirates she’d seen hung had known the risks. Perhaps they hadn’t deserved it either, some had been good people, some had absolutely asked for it, but all of them known. These people up in the tree had just lived, had perhaps never broken a law in their lives, had been punished for suffering a tragedy.

A hand landed on her shoulder and Hildraed flinched, cursing herself for losing focus. That was dangerous at the best of times, which this was not. Just this time the universe seemed to forgive her mistake though, and Edér stood next to her, chewing on his pipe. He didn’t say anything, only stood there, looking up as well, his rough hand, marred much like her own, on her shoulder.

Hildraed didn’t know what triggered it, maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe the weight of the last few days were finally drowning her, maybe it was that thrice-damned look of defeat in his eyes, but something in her mind clicked into place and she knew what she still had to do here. It was a terrible idea, would bare way too much to these people she barely knew, but she had to nonetheless.

“You know what my favourite song is? T’s about a boat.” Edér glanced at her, surprised and confused, but still amused.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental now? I thought you don’t do empathy?”

“Shut up, I’m drunk.” No she wasn’t, she hadn’t drunk enough of the water ale for that, but he didn’t need to know that.

“No, you’re not.” Well so much for her reputation then. She narrowed her eyes at him, glaring with all the intensity she could muster through all the aches of her body and constant buzz of soul fizzles pressing against her new senses.

“You. I don’t like you.” That didn’t seem to intimidate him at all, if anything he just got softer. Hildraed sighed and looked away again. What crew had she gotten herself here? One who was easier to play than a fiddle but had a wrong string and one who already laughed at her. And still…

“My mom always sang it when we were down on our luck. It’s about a crew saving their boat after it already sank. It was the first chant I learnt. I’ve sung it every time the universe hated me especially.” It had carried her through her 35 years of life even when nothing else had. She’d shared it every time she’d sung it, just as she’d been taught. This one thing wasn’t something to keep to herself. She had no intention of sharing anything else, the secret of her past would die with her as far she was concerned, but this one thing she’d keep throwing into the world as often as necessary. And right now it was very necessary.

With another look at Edér, and not the fucking tree, she turned around and stalked out of the pit. Aloth was standing a bit away in the shadow of a wall, trying to keep himself out of the public eye. Hildraed sat down not far from him at the edge of the pit and pulled her old lute from her back. She gave it a loving pat, before starting to pluck the strings in a familiar tune. Behind she could hear Aloth shift a little closer, in front of her could see Edér settling down next to her, but she ignored both of them.

“She went down last mid-winter in a pouring driving rain…” It had been a while since she’d last played it, and the familiar notes rang something deep in her, tugging at places within herself that she didn’t have a name for before.

“There were just us five aboard her when she finally was awash

We'd worked like hell to save her, all heedless of the cost…” It had taken her own boat to really understand it. In her youth it had been a nice story, and good tune with an inspirational message. Now as an adult it meant so much more. Her fingers danced over the strings with more elegance than she’d been able to work up in weeks, her foot tapped the rhythm, her body swayed with waves that weren’t there, her mouth formed the words that had accompanied her for so long.

“But we talked of her all winter, some days around the clock,

For she's worth a quarter million, just floatin’ at the dock

And with every jar that hit the bar, we swore we would remain…” Another foot joined in the rhythm, but Hildraed didn’t look up. Chanting was always exhilarating, but this was special in another way. She felt the words reverberate around her, felt souls stirring as the story continued to follow the melody. There was a clarity that had never been there before, an awareness that had nothing and everything to do with this song so dear to her. More souls were drawn closer, and it felt like drowning in life.

“All spring, now, we've been with her on a barge lent by a friend

Three dives a day in hard hat suit and twice I've had the bends

Thank God it's only sixty feet and the currents here are slow

Or I'd never have the strength to go below

But we've patched her rents, stopped her vents, dogged hatch and porthole down

Put cables to her, 'fore and aft and girded her around

Tomorrow, noon, we hit the air and then take up the strain…” There were people all around now, and somewhere the logical part of Hildraed knew she needed to be careful, to be aware of everyone around her, to not let herself be caught off-guard again. Unfortunately, that part was buried deep under the emotions and sensations flooding everything else. At this point she wasn’t sure what was hers anymore, she just kept playing and singing, surrounded by more whispers than ever. Whispers of pasts, of uncertain futures.

“And you, to whom adversity has dealt a mortal blow

With smiling bastards lying to you everywhere you go

Turn to, and put out all your strength of arm and heart and brain

And like the Mary Ellyn Carter, rise again!

Rise again, rise again; though your heart it be broken

And life about to end

No matter what you've lost, be it a home, a love, a friend

Like the Mary Ellyn Carter, rise again!”

She played the final cord, sung the final tune, and her fingers and tongue stilled. The whispers were still there, ringing loudly in her ears and rising to a crescendo, making her head hurt even more- Wait, no, that was clapping. A few hands clapping around her, and Hildraed finally looked up, eyes a little bit clearer now. It wasn’t as many people as she’d thought, a few guests from the inn, a few people from the surrounding houses. And Hildraed stared.

It wasn’t so much that she minded the audience, quite the opposite really, she’d always enjoyed hogging people’s attention. But that had been before this stupid shit. Before she’d started noticing way too fucking much, while losing focus of everything else.

But then, as it always was, it didn’t take too long for the people to notice that the show was over, and they dispersed again, throwing strange looks in her direction that she didn’t bother to notice. She’d be gone now anyway, let them think what they want.

In the end only two were left, one on each side, though when Aloth moved next to her she couldn’t say. Her head still hurt, she was confused more than ever, and she still hated this place, and yet she felt a little lighter now. The tree was still there, and it was still abominable, but maybe now she could finally stop looking at it.

And maybe now they could finally fuck off.

[thiswasinevitableid]

#1 or #13 for indruck? sfw or nsfw, dealer's choice :)

I went with 13 and NSFW: “we make contact before trying to steal the last seat on the subway/bus/train and I end up in your lap and fuck you, I’m going to stay here because I’ve had a really long day and this seat was mine”

The concert was a bust, Duck is learning that, at the ripe old age of 24, his body can no longer stand up to a mosh-pit, and Juno had to cut out early, taking the car. Which is fine, he can take BART home.

Except there was a fucking game tonight and everyone and their goddamn uncle is packed onto the train. He dips and shoves his way in, spots the sole empty seat towards the back and makes it there before it’s taken. He sighs, turning to sit, only for a black clad figure to slip in behind him.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

The man looks up, startled, and Duck sees he has earbuds in and was staring at his phone when he sat down. 

“Excuse me?”

“That was my seat.”

“Clearly not, since I’m sitting in it.”

“I was about toFUCK!” The train jolts and he loses his balance, landing in the seat-stealers lap.

“Agh, hey!”

“Fuckin’ busted ass infrastructure.” God it feels nice to be off his feet. Fuck it, he’s staying here.

“Are, ah, you planning to get up any time soon?” The man is trying to push him off, so Duck puts all his weight into his lap.

“Nope, gonna stay right here because it’s my fuckin seat.”

“It is not! It is a public train, no one has claim to a seat!”

“There’s rules!”

“It was empty so I sat down. I have been up on my feet since four in the morning, for goodness sake, I just wanted to sit.”

“Join the fuckin club.” 

“Get. off” He grunts, continues failing to move Duck, “agh, why are you so heavy?”

“Hey!”

“Look, normally I enjoy having a bear in my lap, but not when you’re cutting off circulation in my thighs.”

“I’ll take my own weight again if you stop pushin me.”

“Fine.” The man crosses his arms, slumps back in the seat. Duck adjusts so he’s no longer just dead weight. 

“You’re really going to sit on me the whole ride?”

“Yep.”

The man grumbles something rude, shoves his earbud back in and stares angrily at his phone. Duck pulls his phone out, but keeps glancing at his new chair. The man’s hair is dyed silver, with black patches that suggest he did it himself. His ears are pierced, his glasses are dark red, there’s a weird orange crystal around his neck, and his jacket is covered in patches. Duck knows his type; some willowly gay trying to hard to seem edgy. He’s probably on his way to the suburbs on the other side of the tunnel. And he’s gotta ride in his lap for a fucking half hour.

He snorts in bitter amusement and turns on a video. About ten minutes later, he realizes he’s not watching alone. 

“Don’t you got your own phone?” He turns, finds the stranger’s head cocked in interest, still engrossed in his screen.

“Hey’ he snaps his fingers in front of his glasses, “I asked why the fuck you’re looking over my shoulder.”

“Because our positions mean your screen is right in my sight whenever I look up.” He glares, then adds, “although now I’m mostly just watching for fun. Who knew plants could be so interesting?”

Duck almost offers to share, then decides he’s not getting seat-stealer ear-gunk on his headphones. He turns back to his phone with another annoyed grunt. And promptly flicks on the closed captions in case the stranger wants to read them.

Twenty minutes into the ride his butt is falling asleep, so he shifts in the stranger’s lap. The man hisses, bumping an arm into his side to still him. 

“Stop moving.”

“I’m just--oh” he registers the unmistakable feeling of a denim-trapped cock bumping his ass.

“Jesus, man.” He giggles at how ridiculous it is; he spent half last week trying to get various guys into this position with him, and now some dipshit on a train’s done it by accident.

“I’m, I’m sorry” it’s still a hissing whisper, “it’s vibrations from the train plus friction, I didn’t mean for it to happen, so for goodness sake stay still.”

“Why? Ain’t my fault you got a hair-trigger down there.”

“You'd be singing a different song if our positions were reversed.” The voice is creeping up an octave.

A wicked thought enters his head, “Who say’s I ain’t in the same boat now?”

“Because I can see you, you jerk.”

“Eh, I ain’t all that big. Thick, but nothin’ to write home about, not to mention these jeans are kinda loose. So I could be getting wound up as we speak and you might not spot it.”

“Talking about your dick is not helping the situation.” The man is staring him down now, hunger flitting around beneath mortification on his face. 

He escalates the game, wiggles his ass slightly, “Might wanna rethink those tight jeans next time.”

“If, if nnnh!” the man stifles a moan against Duck’s neck, then giggles “if this is how you flirt, I think I might know an issue with your approach.”

“Naw, this ain’t how I flirt.” He turns, exaggerates his drawl, “if I were flirtin, I’d ask if a tall drink of water like you was in the mood for some bear huntin. Tell you I liked your style, liked the thought of you under me in bed,” he reaches his hand up, runs his fingertips along the man’s cheekbones, and from so close he sees an excited, playful glint in the eyes behind the glasses, “liked how that face is cut-diamond gorgeous.”

The glint disappears, “Please don’t tease. Not about that, anyway.”

“I ain’t.” The sincerity sparks between them without warning as he splays his fingers on a cool cheek to gingerly cup it.

“That, uh, that is, uh, I’d say all that if we we’re flirtin’.” He turns back around, flustered and wrong-footed by his own damn feelings. He wants the other man to start the game again. He wants to say he’s sorry, ask if they can start over. He wants someone, anyone, to make the decision about what to do next for him. 

The stranger obliges him, wiry arms slipping around his middle as breath tickles his neck. 

“Since we’re playing what ifs, were I flirting with you, I might say that the shirt you are wearing is very flattering.” He hesitates, and Duck realizes that in spite of being around him, his arms aren’t actually touching Duck. They’re waiting, patiently, for a sign to continue. 

Duck takes the bony wrists, drawing the arms close, and chuckles, “you did say you liked my type.”

“I did. Or, ah, I do.’ One hand pets Duck’s thigh. Keeping an eye out for onlookers, he guides the other stealthily under his jacket and shirt, shivering as cold fingers tease his skin.

“Well, uh, how do I measure up, ahehe, hey, no, was tryin to show off this bit.” He guides the hand currently petting his belly up to the noticeable muscle near his pecs.

“I know, and it is very nice” A purr in his ear now, “but I like this bit just as much.” His other hand rubs circles on Ducks belly through his clothes, “it’s all such a pleasing shape.” 

A kiss on his neck makes him sigh, and he fights to get the upper hand again, to not just melt, to make this a game again because the game feels safe.

“Seems like your dick’s calmed down some.”

“Yes, thank you for holding sti-AH” another moan in his shoulder, another high laugh as he jerks his hips without warning, “you dick.”

“Pretty sure that’s your dick.” Duck grins at him, enjoying the fact he’s still holding him, savoring how he can nuzzle his cheek even as he whispers, “sure as hell’d like to make it mine, though.”

“Is that so? I’d like to see you try.” The man practically snarls, lust dripping from every word. 

He doesn’t get to answer, drowned out by the voice announcing his stop. 

“Shit, that’s me, gotta, uh, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Getting off the train?” The man points at the opening doors, “this is my stop too.”

They make their way off and onto the platform. It would be easy to lose each other in the crowds, slip away and pretend nothing ever happened. Yet Duck keeps his pace slow and, when they do get separated, he finds his new friend has chosen the exit turn-style with the longest line, conveniently allowing Duck to catch up with him. 

When they reach the street, night air chilling with fog, Duck decides to be reckless. 

“How close is your place?”

“Six blocks that way.”

“Mine’s four this way.” He holds out his hand. The stranger takes it, grinning, and they’re off, stopping only when crosswalk and Saturday night traffic demands it.

“Almost thereah!” Duck jumps a little when, as they’re stuck waiting, the other man steps directly behind him, kneading his ass. 

“MmM, apologies, this has been tempting me ever since you sat down.”

“You were rubbin off on it, ain’t that enough?”

“That was on accident. This” he squeezes harder “is on purpose.” 

“C’mon.” Duck growls, dragging them across the intersection and to the door of his apartment. They’re stone cold sober but take the stairs like drunks, fumbling and mis-stepping as they laugh and grab at each other. 

Duck slams the door shut and shoves the taller man against it, making him stumble and bring them both to the floor. He kisses him hard, biting his lip and pulling silver hair while bony fingers dig into his back and ass. Their tongues tease together and he gets a hint of metal, pulls back.

“Stick out your tongue.”

Instant compliance as the other man reveals his pierced tongue through panting lips. 

“Damn, gonna have some fun with that later.”

“Why, why wait?”

“Because” he tugs a fistful of hair, making him whine, “you’re gonna get that nice cock out and get real hard so I can ride you.”

“Yes, ohyesyes.” He’s frantically undoing his pants as Duck stands and strips his own off, tossing them and his boxers into the laundry. 

“Stay.” He rifles through his tiny nightstand, finds two condoms and his lube, returns and barks, “legs out in front of you. 

Lean legs still half-trapped in jeans slide forward, red canvas sneakers scuffing the floor. 

“Now” Duck straddles him, tearing open a condom as he does, “you keep that dick nice and hard while I get ready. Then I’m, fuck, gonna use it like a toy.” He pushes the first finger deeper, moaning, grits his teeth trying to get the second in as the silver-haired man slowly strokes himself, licking his lips as he stares at Duck’s hardening cock.

“C’mon, fuck, there we go” he breathes deep, gets three fingers in and flexes them.

“Don’t, nnnn, rush on my account, I’m enjoying the show.” He runs his free hand up Duck’s body, purring appreciatively.

“Cute how you think you’re the one settin’ the pace.” He pulls his fingers out, grabs the second condom and rolls it down that perfectly average but nonetheless mouthwatering cock, “fuck, yeah, yeah,” he sinks down the first few inches and the other man’s head thunks back, hands flying to gratefully cup and paw his ass. 

“Oh goodness, ohyes, you, your ass is amazing.”

“Think so? Then how about you, nnfuck, thank me for the pleasure of fuckin it.” He sinks down nearly to the base, a high gasp coming from his partner when he does. Based on their exchange on the train, he’s expecting the man to tease, or maybe snark at him. 

What he gets is a desperate, blissed out expression and, “thank you, thankyouohgodthankyou” as his hips buck wildly, making Duck grunt with each thrust.

“There we, fuck, there we go sugar, now you got the idea, you be good and fuck me like youFUCK, mean it, maybe I’ll even cum on you.”

A whimper as the thrusts quicken, Duck bouncing as best he can with the angle and speed. He dips forward, kisses him messily, then switches to tender pecks up and down as face until laughter joins the moans. 

The he grabs the other man’s hair and yanks hard enough to pull some of it out, making him sob with pleasure and pump madly up into him, delivering two retaliatory smacks to Duck’s ass.

“Oh fuck yeah” Duck grins, “you like it rough, don’t you sugar?”

“Yes, god yes, AHnnnn” Duck bites his neck this time, chuckling when he hears his feet kicking against the wood floor.

“Good, I like it too.” He murmurs, kissing the new bruise before biting down on it a second time. 

“AHGOD, god, please, I’m, I’m close, I want to come, please sweetheart, please-”

“Duck.”

“W-what?” 

“My name, fuck, that’s my name.”

“Ohhhhh” the man nods, understanding, then tightens his hold on him, “Duck, please, you feel so good, so amazing, please let me cum.”

“Alright sugar, since I’m feeling, fuck, so fuckin generous, you can cum in my ass.”

Two more thrusts and a high, breathy cry signal the taller man doing just that, his whole body shaking under Duck. He’s fighting to stay upright, panting as he looks to Duck for direction. Duck grabs his left hand from his hip and places it on his dick, guides it swiftly up and down.

“Mnnff, yeah, like that, like that sugar, fuck that feels good.” 

A pleased whimper as a narrow nose and metal glasses frames presses into his neck, the man clinging to him with his other hand. 

“You like that? Like bein’ good for somethin?”

“Yes, yes, want to be good, want to be good for you.”

A pang of affection and he kisses his cheek even as he growls, “you wanna see just what you’re good for.”

A nod, and so he cups the back of the man’s head, shifting it so he’s gazing down as his cock. 

Duck snarls “That’s what you’re fuckin, fuck, good for, and goddamn you do it well, fuck, fuck, ain’t been this fuckin hard in months, fuck, shit.” He comes, dropping the cool hand as spend dribbles down their joined fingers. 

Then he slumps forward, hoping for a few seconds to catch his breath before the man up and leaves. But all he does is loop his arms around him, breathe shaky as he nuzzles and kisses Duck’s hair. So Duck takes his time, let’s his breathing recover, enjoys the feeling of fine hair under his fingers and heartbeat next to his own. 

“I, ah, I don’t wish to bother you, but could I have a tissue? I have, ah, eh, well-”

Duck sits up and immediately giggles; the man has cum across the left lens of his glasses.

“Shit, sorry about that. Here, I can get ‘em clean.”

A shy smile as the glasses are handed off, and he’s face to face with deep brown eyes, still glazed with contentment.

“Be right back.” He kisses him once. His search for a clean cloth, however, leaves him vulnerable. 

“OWFUCK, jesus Taco!” An enraged ball of blonde fur savages his ankle and his friend sits up, alarmed.

“Do you need help?”

“Naw, ow, he’s just pissed that we made a racket and woke him up.”

“Oh dear, that was very rude.” The man holds out his hand and, to Duck’s surprise, gets a headbump and a “mrrp” instead of a brush off. 

“My, aren’t you soft and lovely. You said his name was Taco?” He keeps scritching the cat’s head, smiling, as he looks at Duck.

“Yeah. And, uh, speakin of names, I, uh, I never got yours.” The admission is at once thrilling and shameful.

“Indrid.”

“It’s, uh, it’s nice to meet you, Indrid.” He holds out the now clean glasses and Indrid slips them on, before tilting his head and sitting up on his knees to look at Duck’s thigh.

“I assume this tattoo is because of your name?”

“Eeesh, yeah. Long story short, ex of mine got tattoo equipment and offered me a hundred bucks if I let him practice one on me. I needed the cash, but I was a dingdong and let him choose the design. Thought he was real funny.”

“Please tell me he did not go on to become a professional” Indrid wrinkles his nose at the cartoonish image.

“Nope. Got bored with it. Like he did, uh, most things.”

“Ah.” Indrid nods with perfect understanding and sympathy, “you know, it would take a little design work, but I could correct this into something knew, something you might like.”

“Not unless you got a-”

“License? Almost. I’m finishing up my apprenticeship at Cobra over in the city. I might even be able to swing you a, ah, shall we say, friends and family discount.”

“Shit, really?”

“Of course. Why would I offer if I didn’t mean it?” He looks up, so sweet and genuine that Duck wants to fall to the floor and cuddle him up. 

“Do you, uh, do you want to shower? With me? We’re both kinda sticky.”

“Very well.” Indrid stands, following him to the bathroom, “though you’re warned, I like it hot.”

Duck turns on the water, kisses him playfully on the nose, “I gathered.”

Indrid laughs, pulls him into a kiss, smiling all the while. 

They swap tattoo stories as they shower, Indrid explaining the designs on his arms and complimenting the realistic pine tree on Duck’s arm. By the time they’re dried and bundled in various tray sweatpants and shirts, Indrid is asking him about what he does.

“Golden Gate Park. My, that must be a master gardeners dream.”

“It’s pretty damn cool, even if I’m still just low level help.”

“You must” Indrid yawns, leaning against him in bed, “you must tell me all about it.”

“In the mornin’, sugar.” Duck lays down next to him, grabbing his thickest blanket to compensate for the shitty heat in the building. 

“I don’t” another yawn “I don’t wish to impose, I can call a ride or something, or just walk home.”

“Do you wanna stay?” Duck asks softly.

“Yes. Very much.” Indrid nods, smiles sleepily when Duck gently removes his glasses and sets them on the nightstand. 

“Then stay. Please. Fuck, Indrid, I know we got off on a bad foot but I’m so fuckin glad you stole my seat. I wanna get to know you so bad.”

“Was my seat, but agreed.” Indrid smirks as he cuddles closer. 

“That’s good enough for me, sugar. Sleep tight.”

He switches off the light and curls up in the arms of the happiest accident he’s ever had.

[musical-nerd18]

Shower Thoughts, to Love, and Back Again

!! gift exchange for @sanderssidesgiftxchange posting time! mines for @anxious-cherryblossom who requested “ A fluff oneshot of LAMP, Analogical or Royality! The tooth-rottier the better”

Summery: Logan and Virgil are awake at 1am. Virgil handles this by throwing out some random thoughts and being sappy, it's cute, I'm bad at summaries.

read on AO3 HERE

there is very very minor of talk about death and blood but its like one line of dialogue each ashjadbawkjaa theres also a smidge of angst whoops its cleared up real quick tho

or! its under the read more!

“Hey, Logan?” When there was no response, the emo gently poked the man lying next to him on the shoulder. “Logan.” Still nothing, Virgil poked a little harder. “Logan. Babe.”

Finally, Logan stirred, “Virgil?” He turned to look at the emo, squinting his eyes a bit. “What are you doing up?”

“Logan. Okay, have you ever thought about how at the end of the day, we’re just brains trapped inside a meat suit?”

“...Virgil, I love you, but what the fuck? Where on earth did that come from?”

“I’m tired, Logan, what are you expecting from me.”

“Okay, well, Virgil, could you please tell your meat suit to go to bed, because it’s one in the goddamn morning, and I would like to go back to sleep.”

Virgil looked a bit sheepish, “Ok, so, I get that, but also, like, anxiety says fuck that so…” Logan sighed, sitting up, knowing he’d be unable to sleep until his boyfriend managed to calm himself. “Ever think about how if you live on a farm and take care of chickens for a living, how that makes you a chicken tender?”

“You’ve been spending far too much time with Remus.”

“You’re probably right, but also, like, have you seen his face when you tell him no? He looks like a kicked puppy or some shit, how can you say no to that face looking right at you? How, Logan?”

Logan sighed, gently shaking his head. “It wasn’t intended to be an insult toward either of you, simply just an observation. I’m well aware that you and Remus see each other as brothers, of sorts, and who am I to take that away from either of you?”

“Cool cool cool, also, humans are frozen.”

There was silence. “I’m sorry, dear, what?”

“Well, you have a liquid, ok? So if you take that liquid and change it into a solid, you do that by freezing it, right? So if you have a solid, it’s safe to assume that it’s at or below the freezing point, right? So it’s frozen.”

“Darling, I’m still so confused right now.”

“Humans are solid, and solids are frozen liquids, so humans are frozen.”

“What on Earth is going through your brain right now, Virgil?”

“So many things, Logan. So many things. So many things and almost none of them are good.”

“Almost?”

“You’re doing the cute head tilt thing you always do when you’re confused, it looks kinda like a confused kitten and it’s absolutely adorable and it lives in my head rent-free at all times every day.”

Logan blinked. “Virgil, thoughts and ideas and the like aren’t living, they cannot live anywhere, much less pay re-”

“And another thing! It’s super adorable when you always take things so literally, like, you understand some idioms, but like, when you’re tired you just. You just don’t understand? And that’s super adorable? It’s also a great indicator of when you need to sleep, which is also a great indicator of when we can cuddle that won’t have you leaving after a little? Also, it makes you do the cute head tilt thing and I just, god I love you.”

“I love you too, darling.” The two of them laid together, appreciating the other’s company for a moment. “Wait, Virgil, you said you couldn’t sleep because of your anxiety, but what about?”

“Asking if someone has slept on something is the human equivalent of asking if they turned it on and off again.”

“Wonderfully cursed, darling, but you're avoiding the question. What’s got you so worried?” Virgil cuddled into Logan, burying his face in Logan’s neck, whining quietly. “You’re being very adorable, but you’re still avoiding the question, love.”

Virgil whined slightly louder, before running out of air. He sucked in a large breath and “ItotallymighthaveacrushonPattonandRomanbutlikeIstillloveyouobviouslylikeyou’reamazingIloveyousomu-” he was cut off when Logan gently placed a finger over Virgil’s lips, a small smile on his face.

“One more time, darling. Just a little slower, if you will.”

Virgil took a deep breath, calming himself slightly, still speaking quickly, though Logan could understand. “I totally might have a crush on Patton and Roman but like, I still love you obviously, like you’re amazing I love you so much.”

Virgil watched as Logan fumbled around for a minute, in fear that he had said too much, that this was the final straw, that Logan would– “Ah-ha!”

“Ah-ha?”

“I was wondering where it went! Right, so, back to your confession, Virgil, I believe that the term that I was looking for was,” he shuffled through his newly gathered flashcards before flipping one out towards Virgil, “is ‘same’. Or would it be ‘mood’? One of the two of them at least, from my understanding they would both mean roughly the same thing in this situation.” The two of them made eye contact for a moment before Logan glanced away. “Although, perhaps it would have been a better idea to have simply said that I… am in the same metaphorical boat. I too have a crush on Patton and Roman, as well as still loving you dearly. I am somewhat sure that I informed you of my being polyamorous when we started dating, didn’t I?” Virgil managed a small nod, somewhat confused and overwhelmed. “I thought so. Since I am polyamorous, it would be quite hypocritical of me to break up with you, or something of the sort, so of course I would be completely alright with you having crushes on others, even if I didn’t also share those feelings, and I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“I… I mean, you are, but it’s still kinda cute? Also, I’m really confused? What’s happening?”

“What’s happening? Virgil, dear, I’m simply telling you that it is quite alright to have feelings for the others, as I am in the same metaphorical boat and share those feelings as well. In fact, there’s quite a high possibility that the others do, in fact, reciprocate those feelings. At least, they reciprocate them for you.”

“Wait, wait, wait, ok, ok, we have a couple things to address there, um. Let’s start with my gut reaction to hearing you mention that they may like me somehow, which is just: what the fuck? No. Wrong. No. No way. Uh, next thing: Logan, babe, why on earth wouldn’t they like you? You’re amazing, adorable, funny, witty, smart, wonderful, and more, I’m just tired and can’t english-” grabbing Logan’s shoulders and gently shaking him, Virgil continued, “-but you’re fucking amazing, and if they have any goddamn brain cells, they’d see that, and they’d love you, just like I do.”

Logan stood there, eyes wide, as he watched his boyfriend speak so passionately, being rocked back and forth as Virgil forgot he was still holding his shoulders. Virgil slowly stopped ranting, coming back to the present as he noticed his boyfriends eyes slowly begin to become teary.

“Babe? Oh, Logan, honey, why are you crying? Was it something I said? I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, or anything, oh god did I accidentally strike a nerve?”

Logan smiled, tears slowly falling from his eyes, “You didn’t do anything with an adverse effect, Virgil. In fact, you said what I needed to hear, even if I wasn’t aware that I needed to hear it. You know me, I don’t typically care for sentiments, but it is… nice. To hear those kinds of things, from someone that I ca-. No. Someone that I love. I tend to metaphorically fall into a rut, per say, where I can’t stop thinking about my shortcomings - Virgil, I love you, we don’t need to get into those right at this moment - but I get stuck thinking about them, and internalizing them to the point where they become so much of my personal identity, and hearing someone who I know logically will not lie about that sort of thing inform me that those perceived shortcomings are, in fact, falsehoods helps my brain, to logically understand that they are, and sometimes, that realization comes with a couple tears along the way. You didn’t do anything with any adverse effects, Virgil, I promise you.”

“You’re sure?”

Logan frowned, pulling Virgil into a close hug. “I’m absolutely positive, my dear. Just as I am certain about the existence of the stars above, I am certain that nothing that you have said to me today has had any negative effects, mentally or otherwise. I swear it.”

A little snicker, then, “You sound like Princey when you get sappy.”

“Falsehood. Though we all sound somewhat similar, due to us being parts of Thomas, we also do all sound different. I was not making an effort to impersonate Roman, so I still sounded like myself.”

“Babe, I meant, like, the grand gestures, flowery language, and shit, not your actual voice.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Yeah, anyway! Massive subject change! Nothing’s on fire, fire’s just on things.”

“Ah. Back to this, I see. You’re technically not wrong, I suppose.”

“A ton of people is just like… 10 people.”

“I believe it would be closer to anywhere between 12 and 15, based on average weights, yes.”

“Your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed.”

“Horribly cursed, yet someone true. Stomachs don’t have brains, and therefore cannot think, but if they could, they likely would believe that.”

“When you brush your teeth, you’re cleaning your skeleton, and it’s the only time you ever do that.”

“A little fun fact for you, Virgil, your teeth? They aren’t actually bones.”

“I’m sorry, they’re not what?”

“Teeth contain collagen, when bones do not. Teeth are more similar, though not identical, to finger or toe nails, or even hair, due to the keratin contained in all of those, though it is in significantly lower levels within teeth.”

“Logan, I think that is, no contest, the worst thing I have ever heard anyone say. Ever. That’s worse then something Remus would say on a bad day. I hate the idea of teeth just… being hair. I hate that. I love you, but jesus Logan, what the actual flying fuck? You’ve sent me into a crisis, Logan, a crisis. About teeth.”

“As Roman would say, Virgil, you are usually experiencing some form of crisis, this is not a new phenomenon.”

“Roman would not say the word phenomenon, and would throw in a nickname, so that was not what he would say, that was the idea in your words.”

“I suppose that is true, yes. Would you like me to provide some more facts? I promise they won’t be teeth related.”

“I… sure? I’m still lowkey reeling, so go for it? I like hearing you talk. It’s nice. Soothing.”

“If you’re being this one, you must really be tired. Hm, let me think. Ah, yes, around 17 milliliters of human blood can function as an egg substitute when baking.”

“Why the absolute fuck is that a fact that humanity knows.”

“I honestly could not tell you. There’s a town in Norway where dying is illegal.”

“That’s a segway, what the fuck? How do you outlaw that?”

“I’d imagine that it is quite a difficult law to enforce. There are more bacteria living in a human's mouth than there are humans on Earth.”

“That’s… a lot of bacteria.”

“Approximately 50 billion would be considered a lot, yes.”

“What the fuck.”

“A quarter of your bones are located in your feet.”

“Okay! That’s enough of that for like… what time is it now?”

“I believe it’s 1:36.”

“Right! That’s enough horrible thoughts for 1:36 in the fucking morning, so it’s bedtime! Come cuddle me again and lets fucking go back to bed, holy shit.”

“Didn’t I mention that we should try that over half an hour ago, my dear?”

“Hey, Logan? Starshine? Love? Yeah, shut the fuck up. I love you, so fucking much, but shut the fuck up, and cuddle me. We’re sleeping, and you’re either turning off your alarm, or setting it for later, you’re cuddling me until I say we’re done, okay? Okay.”

“Alright, love.”

[vagrantblvrd]

Where the Shadows Lay (1/1)

Summary: Someone wanting them dead isn’t a new experience. Someone wanting them dead badly enough to sic the Vagabond on them is just all kinds of uncalled for.

Notes: Prompt fill for Anon who wanted Freewood with the Vagabond hired to kill the crew. (And bonus Drama, because reasons. :D?)

(Read on AO3)

They’ve definitely had better days.

Botch job and the cops chasing them until Michael lost them a few blocks back, but the damage had already been done. Tires shredded from bullets and reckless driving and it’s just as much luck as skill that leaves them alive at the end of it.

“Gavin, you need to shut the fuck up,” Michael says, pained wheeze to it as Gavin drags him from the wreck of their getaway car.

Used to be a lovely little thing. Shiny and fast and expensive as balls to hear Michael talk, and now it’s so much scrap metal wrapped around a light pole. Gas leaking from the tank and a hazard to be around.

Gavin ignores Michael because he’s the one who crashed the car and Gavin is not having it from him right now.

Not after that stunning display of skill and ability and total lack of turning to avoid obstacles.

“Oh my God,” Michael mutters, stumbling hard against Gavin who takes more of his weight without protest. “Oh my fucking God. Gimme your gun, asshole, swear to God I’m going to kill you myself.”

Gavin snorts, and focuses on hauling Michael out of the blast range. Not the easiest thing he’s ever done, body protesting every step of the way and Michael's breathing all wrong in his ear, but they don’t have a lot of choice in things at the moment.

When Gavin judges they’re a reasonable distance away he settles Michael against a wall because he’s a heavy bastard and Gavin’s ribs are not happy about it. (His ribs, his back. Everything, really.)

Mind churning, trying to figure out where they go from here.

The others got away – they did - and Gavin’s phone is lost in the wreckage of the car, too risky to go back for it. God knows where Michael’s is after the tussle with the Merryweather goon before they got out of the building.

Michael’s earpiece went the way of his phone, most likely, and Gavin’s is fidgety, fussy. Bursts of static in between snippets of conversation from the others.

Not the worst situation, but they’ve been better.

There’s a safehouse not too far from where they are.

Good place to go to ground until things settle down out here. Contact the others to let them know they’re still alive, patch each other up best they can.

Just. Need to rest first, orient themselves before they set off.

“Getting a bit fat there, boi,” he murmurs, because Michael’s not doing well. Bleeding all over and looking like he just came out of the fight ring again. Worse. “Too many fast food runs with Jeremy, I reckon.”

Michael scowls at him, but doesn’t argue the point, which is worrying in itself.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Gavin says, sitting back on his heels. Feels blood spilling from his split lip when he grins, slipping into the scruff on his chin but it’s a small hurt. Slight sting compared to everything else. “Michael Jones, agreeing with me.”

And there, there is the Michael Gavin knows. Snarl on his face and mouth opening to retort, slap Gavin down a peg or two in this little back-and-forth game of theirs.

“Fuck.”

There’s a sound behind Gavin. Footsteps. Michael’s gaze skipping past him to focus on something behind him, eyes narrowing. Hand coming up to grab the front of Gavin's shirt, jerking him down so their eyes meet.

Gavin flails, throws a hand out for balance. It puts them closer together, lets Michael speak without fear of his words carrying past them.

“Get the fuck out of here Gavin,” he says, no levity to it. “Go.”

Gavin stares at him, sees the worry, fear, in his eyes quickly hidden because Michael's like that, isn’t he. Glares at Gavin to make sure he knows Michael’s not fucking around here, to goddamn listen to him for once. Please.

The footsteps slow. Stop altogether, and Gavin hears a gun being cocked.

Not the cops, because they would have shot by now. Yelled a bit too, unimaginative threats and insults, but whoever crept up on them hasn’t bothered with that.

Puts the hair on the back of Gavin’s neck up, chill down his spine.

“Alright,” Gavin says, just for Michael. “Alright.”

There’s a flash of relief, determination, in Michael's eyes as he lets Gavin go. Shoves him to push him away, and Gavin uses the slight momentum to start things off.

Just -

“Sorry, boi,” he says, and snatches the gun he can see tucked into Michael’s waistband hidden by that jacket of his. Gets to his feet and turns, gun raised to see a figure standing a few feet away.

Everyone in Los Santos knows who the Vagabond is, of course they do. Too many stories, rumors, floating about the city not to.

Somehow the reality of the man is more intimidating than all the horrible stories that go along with the name, his reputation.

Black of his skull mask terrifying in the dim light of the alley, and Gavin can hear Michael bitching him out behind him. (Fear, desperation. Anger.)

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” Gavin says, lays the charm on thick as he spots the Vagabond’s gun aimed at him, lovely little standoff going on. “Which is a shame, I’ve heard about your work. Amazing stuff.”

Horrifying, too, if you just go by the stories.

If you bother to do a little digging, you get a better idea of the truth. Glimpse of the larger picture and all that.

Still a big, scary bastard, but not quite the monster people like to paint him as.

Ruthless, yes, but not a monster. (Los Santos, though. Loves to twist things just so, turn things on their heads and backwards.)

The Vagabond’s watching them, nary a flicker of emotion to give him away. Tall and dark and menacing and Gavin will be honest here, no reason not to, but this isn’t how he thought he’d go out.

And he’s thought about it, since he got into this life. Scraping by on his own by picking pockets and dabbling in night-time robbery. Picking up hacking almost by accident and on and on and on, all the ways he’d die and never once something like this.

Oversight on his part, surely.

The crew’s gotten big enough to be a problem for people here in Los Santos. Rocking the boat, as the says goes. Shaking things up and making people uneasy and of course someone would think of sending the Vagabond after them before too long.

“Gavin, what the fuck?” Michael hisses, sound of his voice drawing the Vagabond’s attention as he switches his aim to Michael.

Nice fat target siting on his arse the way he is, and Gavin won’t have that either.

Moves to put himself between Michael and the Vagabond’s gun, smile full of teeth when the man tips his head to the side, just so.

Not expecting Gavin to do that, or the way Michael's full-on bitching at Gavin out for being this kind of stupid. (Might stand a chance if he ran, popped off a few shots at the Vagabond and fled. Left Michael behind as a sacrifice and everything would be fine, yeah? No worries at all.)

Gavin’s earpiece decides it’s going to be good, and he gets a loud burst of static in his ear followed by worried yelling – the others demanding to know what’s going on – and it’s distracting. So. Gavin reaches up and pulls the mangled thing out of his ear. Tucks all nice and safe in his shirt pocket and gives the Vagabond a little smile.

“Sorry, that was rude of me,” he says. Shrugs. “It was giving me a bit of a headache too, to be honest.”

There’s a burst of muffled yelling, shouting, cursing from the earpiece, and Gavin smiles brighter when the Vagabond gives him this look.

Well.

Gavin assumes he’s giving him that look anyway, so used to the particular vibe he gets when someone does it.

“Where were we?” Gavin asks, shuffles to keep Michael squarely behind him when Michael moves around.

Tries to pull the Vagabond’s attention back to him, and Gavin’s certain they must look like a pair of lunatics, but nothing about this is funny.

The Vagabond says nothing, but after a moment he lowers his gun.

Gavin is...confused, to say the least.

Figures the only reason the Vagabond would track them down like this would be to kill them, and since the man has a zero percent failure rate this is odd behavior from him.

“Fucking shoot him!” Michael hisses, like one of those damned shoulder angels you see in the cartoons. “Gavin!”

Gavin huffs, shifts his grip on his borrowed gun and thinks about it.

He’s a better-than-average shot, and from this distance there’s not much chance he’d miss. Assuming the Vagabond is half as good as the rumors say, he’ll still lose precious seconds bringing his gun back up to aim it at Gavin. (Or, Gavin thinks. He could go for Michael instead. Cost him less time to aim and all that.)

So.

Gavin lowers his gun, decides it’s the safer bet here. Show of trust or faith, or maybe just Gavin being a naive bastard about to get them both killed. (Flip a coin, take a risk.)

The Vagabond could have shot them any time he wanted. Killed them before they even knew he was there, those deliberate footsteps and accompanying drama. Little standoff that’s taken a strange turn.

He doesn’t know why the Vagabond hasn’t, but Gavin’s not about to question it. (Not yet.)

The Vagabond inclines his head – smug bastard – and walks away without a word spoken.

Gavin stares after him, no idea what to make of the whole strange situation.

“Jesus fuck, Gavin, what was that?” Michael demands, struggles to get on his feet, and Gavin tucks his gun away to help the idiot before he hurts himself.

Takes the glare Michael shoots him, the frustrated punch to his shoulder without complaint because he knows Michael.

“Safehouse isn’t far,” Gavin says, feeling shaky after that confrontation with the Vagabond, the aftermath of the chase and resulting crash. The whole damn day. “You going to faint on me before we get there?”

Teasing edge to it, mocking, just enough to get Michael fired up. Stubborn as hell and angry about it as he berates Gavin for being an idiot and not running while he had the chance, and Gavin bites down a laugh as he points them in the right direction.

========

They get one hell of a dressing down from Geoff and Jack when the others come get them. Lecture about why you don’t just go radio silent on them like that Gavin, Jesus fucking Christ. (Too soft when it comes down to it, this crew. Care about each other too damn much and it’s bound to get them killed one day.)

Gavin listens to it all with half an ear, well used to Geoff’s lectures and the things he won’t, can’t, say that go into them. Too busy watching Jack handling Michael, quiet words and the way the two of them just get one another.

And then -

“He what?” Jack says, tone of his voice derailing Geoff’s lecture, drawing everyone's attention.

Gavin winces as Jack pins him in place with a look. Expression hard to read as always.

“What’s this about the Vagabond?”

Yes, that.

Gavin clears his throat, all too aware of the way everyone’s watching him.

“Did I forget to mention that?”

========

Geoff puts the crew on lockdown, once everyone’s accounted for. Hides them away in a safehouse only the crew knows about until they get this mess sorted, and Gavin goes along with if for the first few days.

Hurts too much to get up to any shenanigans, as Jack phrases it. Waits until he heals up a bit, until Michael's moving around under his own power. Gotten more vocal about things and doesn’t make Gavin worry so much.

Doesn’t stop him from getting restless from being cooped up, sneaking out to wander the perimeter. Old habits and paranoia, and it pays off in its own way a week down the road when he realizes there’s a sniper out there.

Little red light sweeping along the asphalt to land over his heart, wink of light against the scope on a rooftop in the distance.

Gentle warning, Gavin knows. Rooted to the spot, all too aware of how vulnerable he is.

Could be anyone out there, the bastards after them or some other enemy with incredible timing.

The way the dot vanishes without warning, there and gone, and Gavin still standing tells him it’s not.

Knows the Vagabond’s too smart to hang around after that little...whatever it was, but he still goes to check it out.

Slips past the B-Team members guarding the perimeter and makes his best guess where the Vagabond would have set up his sniper’s nest. Spends half the night looking for it before he stumbles on that damn thing. Finds cigarette butts and empty cans of diet eCola. Candy wrappers. Nothing helpful, and it’s driving Gavin mad.

So.

Gavin sneaks out.

Does a proper job of it after he lets slip they might want to consider the threat of snipers. (Plenty of viable spots for one to set up shop, pick them off one by one, and all that.)

Plays dirty and calls on a favor with Lindsay, bribes Matt with guaranteed good behavior from Gavin for a solid month to be redeemed when Matt sees fit.

Lindsay’s too much like him, fire in her eyes about protecting their boys and she knows how Gavin works by now. Makes him promise to check in regularly. Not do anything stupid like getting himself killed, and sends him off with a kiss to his cheek and the keys to one of her cars in his hand. Winks as she tells him no one knows it’s out of the shop yet, won’t be missed.

And Matt -

He’s Matt.

Too clever by far, saw it coming from the moment Gavin and Michael told the crew about the Vagabond’s appearance.

Demands Gavin send him everything he finds out and maybe not die out there, huh? Be a shitty way to go out.

Gavin leaves his gear at the warehouse because that would be a dead giveaway of his intentions, and he’s got plenty stashed elsewhere. (Never know when something will go wrong, after all. Best to be prepared for anything.)

He goes to a safehouse even Michael doesn’t know about. Hidey spot from before his days with the crew he hasn’t needed in ages. Dusts everything off and starts planning.

Gavin goes to see Maddy down by the docks. Ignores the rumblings from her boys who are the closest things to pirates Los Santos has these days.

Wheels and deals, sells off favors like it’s going out of fashion and gets names, a motive, in return. (Bit of debt he can’t handle, the way of things in a city like Los Santos.)

Bastards the Fakes tangled with a year back, broke their crews down to kindling when they tried to move in Fake territory. Killed some of their allies in the area, made a mess of things that forced them to treat more harshly than they would have otherwise. (Geoff coldly furious, and the rest right there with him.)

“Ah, well then,” Gavin says, does a little more digging after sending off a message to Matt with what he’s learned.

More than enough reason to hold a grudge. Want to hit back at the Fakes, make them hurt.

Go after them one by one, let Geoff watch his little empire crumble and burn, supports knocked out from under him.

Maybe hire the Vagabond, offer him a significant amount of money to make sure someone did the job right, but.

Why let Gavin and Michael go?

Why not kill Gavin when he had him in his cross hairs? Or go after the others when he had the element of surprise on his side?

==========

Turns out, even the Vagabond’s got enemies too big to handle on his own.

Rival crew to the Fakes, funding the bastards who are taking the revenge game to a far more personal level than most they’ve dealt with until now.

Hired the Vagabond on to deal with them because they didn’t trust those idiots to get the job done, or maybe they just wanted to watch the chaos unfold.

Weaken the Fakes, get them looking the wrong way and move in for the kill. Use the Vagabond as another distraction in the meantime.

Big enough threat to make him agree to work for them, and not one of theirs so why worry what happens to him? (Might want to lump him in with the Fakes before it’s all said and done, remove another obstacle in their way.)

“Did I get that right?” Gavin asks, arm pressed to his throat and point of a knife resting under his eye.

Vagabond in his space and most likely the stupidest risk Gavin’s taken to date. (Hopefully not his last.)

“I don’t have all the details, so I hope you forgive me. I did the best I could with what I had.”

And oh, the favors he owes now. Gonna be a long time in getting back to where he was before all this.

The Vagabond is staring at him, using that damn mask and this whole knife thing of his to intimidate Gavin, but honestly.

The man’s been leaving them a trail of breadcrumbs to follow this whole time. Doing what he can to lead them to the right answers without outright telling them.

Well, alright.

He’d taken a more roundabout way of doing things than most people would, but Gavin figured it out, didn't he?

Tracked the man to his little safehouse and almost gotten past his security before being caught.

And now here they are.

There’s a nail digging into Gavin's back, stabbing into his shoulder blade and he wriggles a little. Tries to get the pressure off it – and the Vagabond makes this...noise.

Alarmed, has him yanking the knife away from Gavin’s face and moving back a little, head cocked as though he has no damn idea what to make of Gavin.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gavin mutters, using what room he’s been given by the Vagabond backing off to get more comfortable. “Nail poking me in the back. Annoying.”

He looks up at the Vagabond, and goes still because the man seems confused.

Holds the knife up where Gavin can see it and waggles it to remind Gavin of the precarious position he’s in. (Looks like he can’t believe Gavin isn’t in the least bit concerned.)

“Yes, yes,” Gavin says. Soothes. “You love your knives. I understand. Very shiny and sharp.”

The arm against Gavin’s throat presses harder, punishment for making light of things, and Gavin -

“Rude,” Gavin wheezes, going lightheaded. “Also, not helping your case.”

There’s a little snarl, frustration to it as the Vagabond eases up.

Looms.

They stare at each other for a long, long moment, and then the Vagabond just...deflates.

Doesn’t sigh, no, but he pulls his arm away from Gavin’s throat, takes a few steps back and his shoulder slump.

Watches Gavin, completely baffled.

Knife in his hand like a child who’s thrown a tantrum and didn’t get the reaction he expected and no idea what to do next.

And Gavin.

Gavin grins, straightens his shirt and runs a hand through his hair. Plays off the Golden Boy’s reputation, borrows a little of Geoff’s theatrics.

“What do you say,” Gavin says, bounces on his heels. “What do you say we team up, yeah? Make those bastards sorry they thought they could get away with this?”

Using those poor bastards with a grudge against the Fake, strong-arming the Vagabond into working for them. Everything they’ve done to get things to this stage, send the Fakes into hiding and damn near kill Michael.

All of it.

Turn everything around on them and let them know who they’re messing with, remind them how the Fakes got where they are. Why everyone in the city knows the Vagabond’s name, his reputation.

Rude wake up call, as they say, and too long in coming.

The Vagabond snorts, tucks his knife away and looks at Gavin.

Nods his head, and Gavin laughs.

Knows he’s a damned idiot, taking the risks he has, but he’s got a good feeling about this.

[pigeontheoneandonly]

If you are still taking the the Kiss Prompts, #16 for Shenko please! (f or m, your choice!)

Thanks for the request, @bardofheartdive!  So sorry this took ages to finish!

16. when one person’s face is scrunched up, and the other one kisses their lips/nose/forehead

Nathaly Shepard ran her hand backwards through her hair.  Growing out, now the war was over, but not fast enough.  "I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.“

“You’ve said that fifteen times now.  Look, we’re almost to the boat.”  Kaidan was accustomed to her grousing.  "We’re lucky to be here.  This is the best time of year for it.“

“It’s about to pour at any moment.”  She tugged at her anorak, which was already coming loose.  "And you have me standing out in the damp, wearing this ridiculous contraption.“

He put his arm around her waist.  "Fresh air never did anyone harm.  Just wait until we’re out on the open ocean, salt breeze in your face, skipping over the waves– you’re going to love it.”

She muttered.  Kaidan nudged her. “The boat tops out at eighty knots.  I’ve never known you to turn down any opportunity to go fast.”

More than a little flirt in that.  But she was in a mood.  "It stinks like dead fish.“

"It’ll get better once we’re out on the water.”  The line began to move.  They stepped up into the small boat, a tough rubber zodiac designed to skim across the surface of the ocean, and found their seats.  

As she attempted to wrangle the bulky coat without putting an elbow in anyone’s face, she couldn’t resist one final complaint.  "We could have at least picked a boat with a mass effect field to keep us dry.“

Kaidan settled in beside her as if he’d been born at sea.  "Nah.  We want the full experience.”

She took in his grin, made a sound of disgust, crossed her arms and looked away.

But once they pulled away from the pier, she had to admit, it wasn’t so bad.  The air was cooler.  A bit sticky from the salt, but clean.  Not that it would do her any favors to let it show.  Kaidan was convinced that if he just showed her enough of Earth’s wonders, one day, she’d enjoy living on a planet.  Shepard harrumphed, shrugging deeper into the anorak.  Not damned likely.

The natural splendor of the greater Vancouver area had done little to win her over.  It was damp and cold.  She could only do so much hiking, pretend to see so many birds when Kaidan pointed at a leafy patch of nothing, or wade for two hours to a supposedly picturesque waterfall before she was going to lose it.  Shepard wanted space stations with their painted metal hallways and cozy cabins, with the closest thing to weather the quiet hiss of the ventilation.  A ship.  A goddamned hardsuit floating in the peaceful void– something clean and comfortable and nice.  Not chock full of the wonders of mud and rain.

Now this.  A four-hour tour on the high seas, alongside fourteen other eager people armed with binoculars, for a wet, gray day of whale watching.  "You hated when I went down into the sea on Despoina.  It looked a lot like this.“

"If you forget the rusting spaceship wrecks, the mind-control orbs, and the busted diving suit.”  His voice was very dry.  But his arm tightened around her.  

Shepard sighed and changed the subject.  "How long until–“

"There, look.”  He pointed.  He didn’t need to.  The boat actually listed starboard from the weight of the passengers all leaning to look.  In the far distance, maybe five hundred meters, a bulky form breached the surface and collapsed back in a fountain of seawater.  

Around them, people ooed and aahed and raised their omni-tools for photos.  Shepard glanced at Kaidan.  He hadn’t moved, but his face was alight.  Feeling something from this experience that she couldn’t echo.  And that intrigued her.  "I just don’t understand.“

His eyes lingered on that distant fading spray a few seconds longer before he turned to her.  "It's… something unimaginably ancient and vast.  Something incredible.”

“Kaidan.”  She didn’t know quite what to say.  "You’ve seen stars, and nebula, and a couple dozen different worlds.  You’ve talked to reapers and a Prothean and seen marks left by people millions of years ago.  What’s special about this?“

He chewed it over, look out at the water.  "Those were all unimaginable experiences.  And maybe that’s the difference.  This stuff… it’s part of us.  It’s a connection deeper than bone.  It’s humbling, and comforting.  Seeing where we came from.”

Their pilot steered the zodiac closer to the sighting, cutting through the waves with hardly a splash.  

Shepard peered out towards the horizon.  "How close are they allowed–“

A massive gray torpedo launched itself from the depths, surging out of the ocean with such titanic force that its scarred tail cleared the surface, not fifteen meters from the boat.  For the barest moment it hung still and infinite in the air.  Then it fell, creaking, heavy, twisting, with a tidal wave that sped towards their zodiac and nearly overturned it.  

People screamed, some with elation, some with genuine fear, as the pilot cursed and gunned the motor, gaining distance.  Shepard raised her arm to shield herself as the water crashed over them.  Moving, without any conscious intention, forward towards the rubber hull, leaning out.  "What?”

He wiped water off his face.  "I think we got a little closer than the tour company likes.“

She stretched forward, looking down into the gray waves.  "Where did it go?”

“Back down, I expect.”  He tugged on her arm.  "They really prefer everyone to stay in the zodiac.“

But she leaned further, seeking the dark shadow of the whale.  "I think I can almost make it out, there.”And it rose again to the surface.  More sedately, this time, blowing out a breath in a puff of fog.  For a long moment it stared at her from one enormous black eye.  Kaidan was right.  It wasn’t at all like meeting the leviathans.  This was… she didn’t know what this was.  But it was old.  And kinder, too.  She reached forward without any conscious intention–

And the whale slapped its tail on the water, sending a plume crashing over her head, and vanished back into the abyss.

Shepard spluttered, drenched to the bone and spitting out seawater, her face a scrunched mess.  Kaidan laughed, and kissed her cheek, her forehead, her squinting salt-logged eyes, his arms warm and tight around her.  "I knew you’d get it eventually.“

[bards-witcher]

Shipwrecked - Ohmtoonz

Basically all the guys are pirates and Ohm’s a merman. Thanks to @rainstorm67 for the inspiration.

As always I hope you enjoy :D and if you like this you can find all my fics here to wonder through.

[Luke POV]

“I can’t wait to get off this goddamn boat”

He heard Delirious muffle his laugh next to him, the both of them currently on their hands and knees scrubbing the top deck, he was starving, the captain having decided that neither of them should be fed alongside their punishment. Normally he hated the looks of pity the crew would throw his way at his predicament, but he had no mind to complain when every now and then they’d chuck them the odd vegetable scrap whilst the Captain had his back turned.

“You love it really” He couldn’t help but snort at Delirious’ comment, they’d been in some shitty situations in the past but nothing like this.

“Only when we’re with a captain who actually knows what the fuck he’s doin’, if we weren’t a couple days from land I’d fuckin’ mutiny” The way his friend paled at his comment showed how he took the statement a lot more seriously, worry making its way onto his face.

“Not so loud, you don’t know who’s listenin’. Just keep your mouth shut until we reach land, I don’t wanna die cause of your big mouth”

“I don’ give a fuck, nobody ‘ere like him either, I could snap my fingers and have everyone on my side in a second” Even as he said those words he felt the weight of them get heavier, barely registering the sound of footsteps approaching him until they stopped right in front of him, at which he could only mutter a swear and pray to every god he knew.

“Is that so Cartoonz?” The malice in those words sent a shiver down his spine and he hated how weak he felt in this moment, helpless but to look up at the man now looming over him.

“Is that what, sir?”

The Captain huffed a laugh above him “You’ve got balls I’ll give you that. Now, what’s this about a mutiny?” An onslaught of curses sounded in his head and in the corner of his eye he could see Delirious reach for the knife he kept in his boot.

“Think you may need to go back inside sir, sun’s clearly gotten to your head, no word of a mutiny here” In the background, he could hear a couple of the crew members try to muffle their laughter, but he knew with those words he’d sealed his fate. He cast one more apologetic glance towards Delirious before Gorilla blocked his view.

He let out the breath he’d been holding, he knew Gorilla would stop Delirious from doing anything stupid meaning that his friend wouldn’t follow the same fate he did.

“I’m going to miss your jokes Cartoonz, but all good things must come to an end. Seize him” He felt strong hands grab his arms and pull them behind his back, he didn’t bother struggling, knew it wouldn’t make a difference, he only made sure to spit at the captain as he was pushed past, getting a sick sense of satisfaction when it hit him in the eye.

“Nice shot” He heard the words whispered to him, the thick accent telling him that it was Brian who would be taking him to the chopping block. He felt rope being tied around his wrists before he felt his ankles also being bound together, in the back of his mind he noted how Brian had given him a bit of wiggle room in his binds, silently thanking the Irishman before he finished. “For what it’s worth, I would ‘a sided wit’ ya” He felt a final pat on his shoulder before he was lifted and left to stand on the plank that would signal his doom.

“Any final words Cartoonz?”

He gave one final glance around the crew, people he’d come to appreciate and respect over their time together and he’s sure that under the right circumstances they could’ve dominated the seven seas, but that was for another lifetime.

“I think fuck you sums it up pretty well”

“Very well, Wildcat, if you will” The fact that the captain didn’t have the balls to push him over himself, was just salt in the wound. He noticed the brief hat tip Tyler gave him before picking up the stick that would send him over, and it was only a second later that he felt himself being pushed into the waters below him.

The cold water hit him like a train, instantly taking any air out of him upon impact and he was quick to start struggling in an effort to escape his binds. Despite Brian having made them loose, no matter how much he tried he couldn’t get his hands free, and with every second he descended further into the cold unforgiving depths, his lungs screaming for air.

It’s when he has no energy left to fight when he swears that he can feel his body start to shut down, that he sees a figure approach him. It’s when dots start to color his vision and he feels on the cusp of unconsciousness that he feels a hot searing pain on his right eye and even with no air left he manages to scream in the water until the salty water hit the back of his throat.

Before he knows it he’s coughing water out of his mouth and throat before taking deep breaths of air, paying no mind to his surroundings as he tries to get air back into his lungs. When he’s finally got some semblance of control back again he looks at his surrounding, realising that he is both still bound and underwater.

Before he could question what was happening he felt his arms be cut free and in the next moment his legs as well before a figure swam up in front of him and it took all semblance of control not to react.

He could only describe the creature in front of him as some form of merman, he could make out a large green tail from the waist down, almost camouflaged in the water, only able to see it due to the few rays of sunshine that reached far enough to glitter off of their scales. The upper half looked like any other person, broad chest, two arms and a thick head of hair that despite its short length still managed to flow with the water. He noticed the scars that littered not only his chest but his tail as well, showing how he was no stranger to battle.

“I hope we are well met, Luke Patterson”

A multitude of questions ran through his head and he was struggling with which one should take precedence, but when no answer was forthcoming the creature in front of him continued.

“We’ve been watching your ship for a while now, my kin and I. Your Captain has something of great value to us, our King, and we’d like him returned to us”

The sentence did little to answer his questions, instead adding another ten on top of that until he felt like his brain was going to explode.

“I am a merman of the Atlantic clan, normally we don’t venture so close to land or the surface, but this is of great importance. The reason you can breathe under the water is because I branded your eye, however, only in the presence in one of my kind will you be able to use this gift. So, will you help us?”

“So, let me get this straight, first you stalked me, then branded me a like a bit of cattle and now you want me to help your asses out? I’d rather die thanks” He felt confident in his words, confidence that quickly diminished at the malicious grin that spread across the merman’s face.

“Well I wouldn’t have put it so crudely, but yes, and it wasn’t a request. If you’d prefer we’d quite happily leave you to drown again before we start poking holes in that ship and picking off the people on it like fish in a barrel.” He felt a sickening feeling rise up in his throat, but the merman hadn’t finished yet. “A fun game we used to play would be how far could we drag a person underwater before the pressure causes their lungs to collapse, I hear it can be quite painful” The last part was whispered to him and even though he was in the water he felt an even colder shiver run down his spine, the merman moving behind him to place two hands on his shoulders. “I wonder how long Jonathon would last? 100 feet? 200? Maybe you could keep track for us?”

“I’ll do it”

“Wonderful” the merman then swam back in front of him, a bright smile on its face that did very little to reassure him “I would’ve hated to see such a waste of a fine specimen like yourself”

“Can we just get this over with please?”

“Eager aren’t we, first we must wait for nightfall and then another of my kin will join us to get you onboard, after that it’s up to you. Try not to let us down, we’re not known for our generosity”

All he could do was nod before he felt long arms wrap around him, not having a chance to protest before they were moving, the merman carrying them both surprisingly fast through the water until they caught up with the boat he’d been thrown off of not 15 minutes earlier.

It wasn’t too hard to keep pace with it after that, waiting for what felt like hours below the water's surface until he could finally return to the ship he’d called home for the last few months.

********************************************************************

He carefully walked across the top deck, maneuvering himself best he could to avoid the areas he knew would creak a little too loudly, before quietly making his way below the deck to see the person he cared for most.

It had been relatively easy getting onto the ship, he was surprised to see the merman shift their tails into legs, but he had little time to question them before he was hauled over one of their shoulders and they began to scale up the side of the large ship, letting him climb up and over the edge before descending back into the water.

He stopped in front of the door he knew his friends were behind, briefly listening to the sounds of Delirious’s’ muffled talking occasionally mixed with someone else in the crew, with a deep breath he gently pushed the door open, taking a step inside only to be met with the blank stares of the crew.

“Evening gentlemen, did I miss much?” He whispered the words, not wanting to alert the captain of his presence but he was only met with confused stares and whispers between one another. It was Delirious who came up to him first, he thought that this would be one of the handful of times that they’d hug it out but instead, he was met by anger in his friends’ gaze.

“If the Captain weren’t in his chambers right now I’d punch the fuck outta you, what the hell were you thinking?” He didn’t have time to answer, as despite his words Delirious leaned forward and pulled him into a tight hug which he was happy to reciprocate, the two of them just holding one another until they heard a cough come from somewhere in the room. “How the fuck are you even here? How’d you get that scar?”

“Gimme a moment to get my bearings and I’ll tell you everythin’” He then gave a final pat to Delirious’s’ shoulder before he made his way around the crew giving each of them a small greeting before he was once again by Delirious’s’ side.

“Brian get the Rum, you guys are gonna need it to believe a word I’m gonna tell ya”

Once glasses were distributed and everyone was seated he told them what happened, about the bitterly cold water and the searing hot pain, the mission he had been assigned almost as if he had made a deal with the devil.

Despite the outlandish nature of his tale, everyone seemed sullen and serious like they fully understood the gravity of the situation they were now in, that if they didn’t rescue the merman from this ship they were dead men.

Over the course of the night, they made their plans, silently thanking his luck that the majority of people on this ship hated the captain as much as he did. Their plan wasn’t foolproof, it was haphazard at best but it’s all they could manage in the short time they had, not realizing how long it had taken before Moo came down to tell them that it was almost sun up. It was almost showtime.

It’s when they’re rushing around the cabin gathering their supplies that they’re caught, the captain stood in the doorway sword aimed at his throat with a sick grin on his face.

“What a surprise to see you here Cartoonz, it appears you’ve had quite the adventure since we last met” He motioned towards his eye with his sword, barely flinching away in time to stop the sword grazing against his face. “Now, whilst I’d love to hear all about it we’re making landfall tomorrow and there’s a lot to be done, we can’t be having a traitor around here spreading lies amongst my crew now can we”

He refused to answer, instead hoping the sheer fury in his eyes would be enough to convey his hatred for the man in front of him.

“Nothing to say? Fine, makes my life easier. Satt, take him up top and tie him up, with chains this time. See if you can find something to weigh him down with as well, there’s a good lad” He saw the young man in the doorway simply give a nod before scurrying off to who knows where. “As for you lot, you’re lucky I don’t throw you over with him, but I can’t go losing half my crew can I? See I’m not that cruel am I?”

He just about heard the snort come from Delirious, even in the face of adversity he still stuck true to himself.

“What are you still standing around for? Up top NOW” He watched his friends come to life around him, picking up the last of their belongings before making their way out and onto the top deck of the ship, leaving just him and the captain still stood in the room. “I had such high hopes in you Cartoonz”

Again, he didn’t answer, instead, he spat in his eye much as he’d done yesterday, earning him a hard slap across the face which caused him to lose balance for a moment. Before he could recover the Captain grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him out of the room and out onto the deck where he was met with the sight of his friends standing in a line ready to watch him die…again.

The captain shoved him towards the direction of the plank, and he would’ve fallen flat on his face had it not been for Satt quickly grabbing hold of him. He quietly thanked the man who only gave him a half-apologetic smile before binding him in his chains, and it wasn’t too long before he found himself on the edge of the plank again, watching the water churn below him.

“Any last words Cartoonz? I hope you don’t make a habit out of this”

He briefly glanced back, noticing some of the crew with their hands on their weapons, giving him a brief nod showing that they were ready and waiting for when he came back.

“See ya tomorrow” He then jumped of his own accord into the cold waters below and once again he found himself struggling futilely against the chains.

It wasn’t too long before the same merman from yesterday returned, only this time he lacked any sort of friendly manner, his slightly scaled hand reaching up and around his throat, choking him even as water was forcibly making its way down his throat.

When he thought that this was it, that he’d actually die this time the merman released him and similar to yesterday he found that he could breathe under the water.

“We spared your life on the condition that you release our King. You failed and now must pay with your life”

He just about caught the arm that once again came darting towards him, using all his strength in an effort to hold it back.

“Wait, just lemme explain. You send me back now and we can get him for you”

He felt the arm he was holding waver slightly, knowing he’d gotten through to the merman he continued his explanation

“Me and the crew got a plan ready, all they’re waiting for is the signal, you get me up there and we’ll get your King back, I swear” The merman looked him over, as if determining whether he was telling the truth or not but apparently he was satisfied with whatever he saw, quickly moving behind him to snap the chains that still bound his arms and legs.

“You have one hour before we tear this ship apart” Before he could answer he was once again grabbed and they made their way quickly through the water, it didn’t take long until they were side by side with the boat and barely a moment later he felt the both of them breach the surface where he was then thrown.

He flailed in the air, tried to get any semblance of control before he landed face first onto the deck of the ship, causing any and all movement onboard to cease as they watched him pick himself up.

He shook his hair slightly to get rid of some of the water, devilish grin on his face as he stared towards the captain. “Boys, I think it’s about time we had a mutiny don’t you?”

Barely a second later and carnage broke out, he managed to duck to avoid the sword that had just been where he was stood, quickly sidestepping so he could analyze the scene in front of him.

All he saw was fighting around him, he briefly noted how his crew outnumbered the captains, if only slightly, before a shout caught his attention, just turning in time to catch the sword Delirious threw at him before he jumped into the fray of the fight.

He managed to pull Satt out of the way from a sword that was where his throat was not a second earlier, he managed to slice someone from naval to throat before they could flank Wildcat and threw his sword towards Jiggly who caught it in time to block the sword that had just tried to slash him in two.

He could see that they were winning, most of the captain’s crew were now dead whilst most of his remained relatively unharmed, that was until he noticed Delirious in a fight with the Captain, and he could tell from the sloppy movements with his sword that Delirious was tired.

He ran towards them, only speeding up when he heard a shout from Delirious as the captain’s sword cut along his thigh, causing him to falter, allowing time for the captain to once again bring his sword up for the killing blow.

He barrelled into the captain, knocking them both off of their feet and the sword to go flying out of his hand. He was quick to land the first punch, ignoring the man struggling under him, he threw punch after punch until the captain was nothing but a bloody pulp below him.

He made sure to keep the man conscious, standing up from his motionless body whilst he gave Delirious a hand up off of the floor, his friend wincing in pain at the pressure he put on his leg. It wasn’t long before Jiggly and Mini came, putting one of Delirious’s’ arms over each of their shoulders before practically dragging him away to tend to his leg.

It was then that Tyler approached him, rope in hand which he graciously accepted, thanking him for his help before tying up the captain and carrying him, only to drop him in the middle of the deck, telling his friends to do whatever they wanted to him whilst he took care of business.

It was on his walk to the captain’s chambers that he felt fatigue hit him, the last 24 hours hitting him like a freight train as he stopped outside the captain’s door. He wasn’t surprised to find that it was locked, only after several attempts was he able to kick it open. A brief glance around the room told him that the merman supposedly here wasn’t in fact here.

He felt the deathly grip of panic in his mind, the thought of the merman waiting for him just outside these wooden walls sent a cold chill down his spine, so much so that he almost missed the faint sound of singing that was within the room.

He walked around the room in an effort to locate it, stopping in front of some kind of bookshelf where the song was loudest, it didn’t take too much effort to knock the shelf down, eliciting a secret room where he saw the merman in question within some kind of tank.

“Was that really necessary?” He looked towards the owner of the voice, he looked similar to the one he’d met except he was different, ethereal almost. There seemed almost to be a faint glow about him even in the dim of the cabin, that there hadn’t been with the others he’d met, and he could feel himself entranced. “I’m sure you tore that bookshelf down for a reason other than staring longingly at me?”

He shook his head slightly, coming back to himself as he stayed looking at the creature in front of him, he wasn’t as toned as the one he’d met or as scarred, but he still showed signs of battle, of calloused hands and shoulders that carried the weight of the world.

“You Ohm?”

“Congratulations, you win a prize”

Any enthrallment he’d had over the creature was now gone, not one to take someone else’s sarcasm so lightly he quickly made his way towards the tank, so he was face to face with him.

“Quit the sarcasm, I’m here to break your ass out”

“Break my ass out? I would’ve at least thought we’d have dinner first, I mean you’re a fine-looking man, but I have some standards” He heard the merman chuckle at his own joke, a sound that made him feel lighter than air for a moment until he remembered the urgency of their situation.

“Look I don’t have time for this, you’re friends out there want you back and if we don’t hurry they’re gonna break through the ship.”

Even through the water, he could see the creature in front of him pale at his words, the confidence he’d had not a minute before was completely replaced with fear. “I can’t go, they’ll kill me”

“Well that sounds like an issue for you to deal with, I ain’t lettin’ this ship go down”

“So that’s it then? You’re just gonna throw me to the sharks” He hummed in response before going back to the captain’s quarters, rifling through his chest for a pair of trousers before heading back towards the merman. “I’m your best bet for survival, do you honestly think they’re gonna let you guys go?”

“They swore to me, I was told that their word is their bond, so yeah they have to let us go but only if you go join them”

“You know that’s only true provided one of our laws aren’t broken in said bond”

“And? We ain’t breakin’ no laws”

“No, you’re not, but my race have kept themselves hidden for thousands of years, do you know why?”

“I dunno, you get sunburn otherwise” He was surprised to hear the small giggle from the merman again, the sound alleviating some of the tension he didn’t know he had.

“Our number one law is that land dwellers can’t know of our existence, and here’s a whole ship of people who have not only seen us but also been branded. This ship was doomed the moment you saw one of us” He was stood frozen, he had no reason to believe the creature in front of him, it could all just be a ploy to keep him alive but yet some part of him just knew he was telling the truth, that their fates were sealed regardless. “So, I reiterate, are you gonna give them what they want? Or are you gonna let me help you?”

“Shit” he whispered, rubbing a hand down his face before staring at the merman in front of him, and his decision was made. “We need all the help we can get”

Despite the sense of dread that filled him about the situation, watching the bright smile on the merman in front of him caused a flicker of hope to ignite inside him.

“Excellent” He stood there transfixed as he watched Ohm pull himself up and out of the tank, his tail shifting to a pair of reasonably toned legs and try as he might he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man striding towards. “Like what you see?”

He snapped out of his trance, immediately looking away from the creature in front of him as he held out the trousers for him to put on.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy” despite not looking at him he could hear the smile painted across the merman’s face as he spoke.

“Just put the trousers on will you”

He heard a sigh before he felt the trousers being tugged out of his grasp “Spoilsport”

“If we make it outta here alive I’ll show you just how shy I am” He doesn’t know why he flirted back, let alone at another species, but it sent a thrill down his spine, one he hadn’t felt with either man or woman he’d come across. He shot a smile and a wink towards the now smug looking merman before heading out and towards the top deck, knowing that Ohm wasn’t too far behind him.

On the top deck, his crew were mostly milling about, there was no sign of the captain but the trail of blood heading towards the edge of the boat told him what fate had befallen him. He whistled his friends to attention, all of them gathering around him in an instant.

“Everyone this is Ohm, this is who the mermen want but now we have to come up with a plan to save him and escape the bloodthirsty fuckers below us”

“What happened to giving him up? They’ll leave us alone if we give him up” There were a few shouts of agreement from the rest of his friends and at the sight of hands reaching forward to grab a hold of Ohm he quickly moved to intercept them.

“Cartoonz what the fuck. Don’t tell me you value this…thing over us?” He ignored Ohms shout of protest at the remark before facing his crew.

“They’re gonna kill us regardless if we give him up or not, you guys ain’t dumb you know it to be true, and our best shot is with Ohm fightin’ alongside us. You don’t like it you may as well jump overboard now and let the fuckers tear you apart” The silence that followed his statement told him that his friends had no objections to the change in plans, instead he moved from in front of Ohm to look at him in anticipation. “So, what’s the plan?”

“We have to go into the water” The sighs and grumbles he heard from his crew were almost comical and he was half tempted to join them.

“So, you want us to kill ourselves, right, well fat lot of use you were”

“I can only help you in the water, my powers are limited out of it, so yeah, if you want to survive we need to go into the water.”

******************************************************************

He doesn’t know how long they took making their plan, only that it wasn’t much longer before all of his friends were branded similarly to him, except not on their eye, Ohm had told him that whoever had done it must have been pretty sadistic.

Before they could do much else however the whole boat shook, everyone stumbling in an effort to balance themselves, he only stayed up because Ohm had grabbed a hold of him, pulling him up and making sure he was steady but his hands didn’t leave his body.

“Time’s up Luke, get your people to safety”

“How do you know-“

“No time now, I’ll explain later when you’re showing me just how not shy you are” Before he could say another word Ohm ran from his side, leaping over the edge of the ship and he could see his legs transform back into a tail before disappearing behind the boat ledge, the sound of a splash of water showing he’d made it.

Before he could do anything another jolt was sent through the ship and it was he who saved Delirious from falling before pushing him towards the other side of the boat that Ohm had gone.

“C’mon everyone, get your asses outta here” He made sure that everyone had left the ship, the creaking and cracking of the wood telling him it wasn’t a moment too soon before he jumped into the cold depths.

The moment he was in the water he heard a deafening shriek in the water, he tried to cover his ears in an effort to block it out, but it was futile, he’s sure his head would explode before the sound ceased entirely.

He wasn’t the only one, he turned to see Mini also removing his hands from his ears before they all started to swim in the direction Ohm had told them to go.

It was long and tiring, it had barely been a minute before he saw a merman grab hold of Vanoss, the man tried swinging his sword in vain, but the merman was quick to evade the slow strikes in the water whilst he started pulling the man downwards.

He tried to swim down to help when a blur of something passed him and he was met with the sight of Vanoss being thrown through the water towards him whilst the merman who had taken him was surrounded by a deep blue cloud, blood. He just managed to grab onto Evan when he was close enough to reach and, making sure he was okay, they headed off once again.

Ahead of him, he saw several of the guys in an outward circle trying to sluggishly fend off the merman with their weapons, every now and then one of the creatures would swipe at them, catching some part of their skin and causing them to bleed.

In the background he could see Ohm darting about in the water, he seemed to always have at least four pursuers on him, every now and then he’d dart past one of the mermen surrounding his friends, blood quickly appearing showing that Ohm had managed to injure said merman in some way.

Eventually, all of them made it into a group together, some of the more injured people, Delirious, Vanoss, Wildcat, were kept closer within the ring whilst the rest of them took the brunt of the attack. Despite somewhat keeping them at bay he knew it was just a game to them, they could easily overpower them and yet were content to play with their food.

He doesn’t know how long they were like that, all he knew was that he was tired, his swings having become even slower due to fatigue and the same was similar for his friends, he silently prayed for a miracle to save them as they still tried to keep the creatures at bay.

Eventually one of them got bored and he saw the mermen dip below their huddled mass, and from the shriek, he heard from Jiggly he could tell he’d been grabbed. After that it became chaos, all of them reaching out to try and get a hold on the man sinking ever lower, only causing them to expose themselves and making it too easy for the remaining merman to grab them and make the slow descent down.

Although underwater he could still hear the screams his friends gave, just as clearly as if they were on land, as they were forced further and further down. He briefly noted he was the only one that had been spared and tried as best he could to try and free his friends nearest to him.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you” He turned to see the merman who he’d first spoken to calmly floating beside him, he was quick to turn and raise his sword which didn’t garner any form of reaction from the creature. “Put that kids toy away, it’s no use down here” Despite his words he still tried to slash at the creature in front of him which was easily dodged. “Want to bet on your life on which of your friends die first? My money is on the Irishman down there”

He could still hear the screams of his friends and was helpless but to watch them descend further into the depths, although futile he tried once again to swing his sword, only for the merman to easily evade it before smacking it out of his hand. The creature's hand came to swipe at him and once again he caught it, barely holding it back before another high-pitched shriek rang through the water.

He saw Ohm swim by in a blur, seemingly unaffected by the noise whilst all of them, even the merman, seemed to be affected by it, causing the arm he was holding back to falter.

As soon as the sound was gone a series of large tentacles seemingly came out of nowhere, tearing the mermen off and away from his friends, catching one of the creatures and crushing it into two.

It was then that he saw a giant creature emerge from the depths below him, and if he didn’t know any better he’d say the myths about there being a Kraken were true. He didn’t have time to process that thought before even more tentacles reached out to the mermen still surrounding them, and while they were diverted his friends made the quick move upwards, a brief check for injuries showed nothing major, before they carried on their journey.

Ohm was quick to join them, a pod of dolphins following him, who were quick to grab a hold of members of the crew before dragging them off to some location only they knew. As he was traveling he looked at Ohm who was swimming beside him, despite the injuries and fatigue that seemed to be affecting the creature he was once again entranced by the way he moved through the water.

He quickly looked away when Ohm caught him staring, despite being in the water he heard the creature's voice crystal clear beside him. “You did well back there, not many people can hold out against one of us”

He let out a scoff at the comment “They were only playing with us, lucky that thing came when it did”

“Hey! Don’t be rude, Tiny saved your life remember” He didn’t know what to laugh at more, the defensive tone of the creature next to him or the name of the ginormous tentacled being he’d witnessed earlier.

“Tiny?”

“I didn’t think he’d grow that big” They both laughed together, before the sound dissipating with the water that passed by them as they made their way to safety.

**********************************************************************

When they got close enough to land the dolphins stopped to allow them to swim the rest of the way, having somewhat rested a little he made short work of the journey, noting how much slower Ohm was now traveling and how he seemed to physically be in pain.

Once stood in the shallows he helped his friends up and out of the water, where they made the short walk onto the sandy beach before collapsing again. Ohm was the last to come out, his tail having shifted to human legs again and he could see the struggle it took the creature to travel the small distance up the beach.

He strode into the deeper water, ignoring Ohm’s questions when he picked him up bridal style before carrying him back towards the beach and laying him gently onto the sand.

“How long can you stay on land?”

“Couple of days” It was then Ohm tried to shift himself and he could almost hear the wince of pain he gave, ignoring Ohms protests he started to push the creature around to find the source of the pain.

The most prominent injury he saw was a long, somewhat deep gash traveling down his thigh, whilst not immediately serious blue blood continued to ooze out of it and he could see Ohm getting paler by the minute.

“Why didn’t you say anythin’ you fucker?”

“I have advanced healing, nothing to worry about really” He didn’t believe the falsetto tone in the merman’s voice, and instead took off his shirt in order to press it down hard onto the wound to try and slow the bleeding.

“Mini?” The somewhat faint grunt he got in response was somewhat reassuring to him “You still got those med supplies?”

He waited what felt like forever until he heard back from the other man “Yeah but everything’s soaking wet, might just salvage some of the bandages if we leave ‘em out to dry”

“You got a needle and stitch?”

“Yeah, but-“

“Bring ‘em here, and get those bandages out, I’m sure some of the guys are gonna need ‘em soon”

Without another word, Mini passed him a needle and some thread, and without a second thought, he put the thread through the needle, tying the end before removing his shirt from the wound and pressing the two sides of the wound together. He cast a final look towards Ohm, fear evident in his eyes and he felt his heart sink in worry about the creature in front of him.

“You ever been stitched before?” He knew the answer before he asked, the shake of Ohm’s head only reaffirming that. With the promise to be back in a second he left Ohm and headed towards the small tree cover not too far away, it took kicking around the ground for a little while but he eventually found a stick large enough for his purpose.

He quickly returned to Ohms side before holding the stick towards Ohms' mouth.

“You can’t be serious”

“It’s gonna sting like a bitch, it’s this or ya’ tongue” He almost laughed at the look of disdain that crossed Ohm’s face before he grabbed the stick from him.

“Fine, but I thought you’d take me to dinner before gagging and touching me up” This time he did laugh a little, and the sound of Ohms laugh joining his once again made him feel light as a feather. “Just so you know my safe word is Tuna” with that he put the stick in his mouth and tried to relax as much as possible for what was to come.

He could only stare at the creature dumbfounded, a part of him wanted to laugh again but the other half was stunned into silence, he felt Ohm move impatiently under him and he was brought back to attention. “I ain’t even gonna ask”

Ohm only winked at him in response, he cast one final look before he once again held the cut together. He made short work of stitching the cut together, given his limited resources and his squirming patient it most definitely wasn’t his best work, but it’ll serve its purpose.

He grabbed his now ruined shirt that had been previously discarded and washed it in the seawater before walking back to Ohm and washing the wound with it. Once done Ohm was quick to remove the stick from his mouth, throwing it far into the distance whilst he made gagging noises.

“Don’t be such a baby”

Ohm glared at him briefly before moving his leg around a little to gauge how much he could move it, he didn’t manage to get it very far before he winced in pain again, letting the leg fall back onto the ground.

“Hurts like a bitch, you definitely owe me dinner after that” He chuckled at Ohm’s predicament, the creatures glare at him only lasting a moment before he started giggling as well. He offered a hand to Ohm who gratefully accepted it, and hauled him to his feet before carefully lifting him up again and carrying him to the tree cover.

“You saved our lives, you can have whatever you want”

The merman seemed to ponder on that for a moment before leaning up closer against him, leaning in to almost whisper in his ear. “What if I want to climb you like a tree?”

He took a moment to study Ohm to try and discern whether it was a joke or not, but by the devilish grin on his face he’d meant every word, and once again he felt that thrill of excitement again.

“What happened to dinner first?”

“I’m willing to make an exception this one-time”

“Oh, thank you, I must be pretty damn special for you to abandon your morals like that” They had now reached the cover of the trees, but he made no effort to move, instead content to just stand there holding onto Ohm who was just as happy to hold onto him.

“Something like that yeah” He tried not to think too hard about those words once they left Ohm’s mouth, not sure if he wanted to tackle the implications they held, instead they carried on standing there, staring at one another until the sound of people approaching broke their moment, he quickly dropped Ohm down on the ground before heading towards his friends and bringing those most injured under the shade with the merman.

Despite the fact that he’d barely had time to rest and truly process everything that had happened since he was first cast off of the ship, adrenaline still kept him moving. Assembling teams to go search nearby for resources whilst he tended to those who needed it, mostly it was just small scratches, but Tyler had a particularly nasty gash on his temple and Evan on his right arm where the merman had grabbed him, both of them needing stitches.

The small search had yielded little in the way of food or fresh water, but they did come back with dry brush and sticks that could be used for a fire, however, at least for their first night, he wasn’t comfortable in lighting one, not knowing what eyes were watching them.

As the sun began to set below the horizon everyone settled themselves down somewhere and made the effort to try to fall asleep. He doesn’t know how long he spent trying to sleep, only that the moon was high up in the sky until he heard a gentle voice barely discernible over the sound of the waves crashing on the beach behind them.

He instantly knew it was Ohm who was singing, the gentle lilt of his voice in a language he didn’t know helped settle him down, and for the first time in months, he felt truly at ease, happy to let the soft voice lull him into a peaceful sleep.

**********************************************************************

He woke to find a hand gently stroking through his hair, he wasn’t going to deny how nice the touch felt so simply pushed back into the touch before relaxing again, feeling the hand pause briefly before working through his hair again.

“Most of the guys have gone out looking for water” He wasn’t surprised to hear that it was Ohm next to him.

He could only hum in response, too tired to actually contribute to the conversation, which only earned a small chuckle from Ohm. “You always this grouchy in the morning, well afternoon now.” He simply hummed again, eliciting another small giggle from Ohm before they fell into a comfortable silence for a while.

“Can you take me to the water?”

“You’ve got legs, take yourself” He grumbled which only earnt a slight tug on his hair.

“But, I’m injured. Just imagine poor little old me hobbling slowly across the sand, maybe I’ll slip halfway and-“

“You’re such a little bitch” He didn’t need to see Ohm to know that there was a shit-eating grin spread across his face. He rubbed his eyes briefly before slowly rolling himself up into a seated position whilst he stretched his arms up high above him and let out a long yawn.

He noticed Ohm’s gaze travel down his still exposed abdomen before he stood up, holding a hand out to help lift Ohm up, where similar to yesterday he carried the merman into the shallow water.

Once deep enough Ohm was quick to escape his grasp, although not shifting into his tail he was still pretty fast in the water and it was a challenge to keep track of him until he eventually gave up, instead content to watch the waves far into the distance.

He was broken out of his train of thought due to water being splashed at him and he was met with the sight of Ohm holding a couple of fish in one arm whilst the other was preparing to splash him again.

“Here, take these to shore, I’m gonna try and catch a few more” Without another word he took the already dead fish from Ohm and lay them on a small rock nearby, leaving Ohm to the water before collecting the firewood collected yesterday.

It was surprisingly easy to start the fire, the leaves and twigs so dry that it didn’t take much to set them alight. Pulling the knife from his boot he made quick work of gutting the fish, using one of the longer sticks to hold it above the fire as it cooked.

It wasn’t too much later that Ohm joined him, five more fish in his arms before taking a seat next to him, both participating in light chatter as they waited for the fish to cook.

Just as the first two fish were done, some of the guys returned back, sullen looks on their faces, their search for water had so far been unsuccessful, some of the guys having decided to try and venture a bit further before making the journey back.

Despite their thirst they gratefully accepted the food that was offered them, they ate in complete silence, not wanting to address how they were going to survive here and instead making the most of what they had whilst they still could.

Darkness was starting to descend fast, they’d started going around the group and telling some of the more funnier stories they’d experienced during their years on the sea, Moo talking about a rookie who had gone to use the head only to be hit by a boon and cast overboard. After which Jiggly mentioned about how the chef on his last voyage had made a giant plate of fresh dried meats, with bread and fruits, only to trip and drop it onto the Captain, and finally, he regaled the tale about how Delirious had managed to somehow tip a galley over as they were headed to shore, needless to say, the other crewmembers weren’t impressed but he almost drowned due to the stitch he got from laughing.

As he’d finished his story and the others around the fire were laughing the rest of the crew returned, judging by the sour looks on their faces their search hadn’t gone too well either.

“There’s no fucking water anywhere on this goddamn Island” The booming voice of Wildcat caused them to turn, however he seemed to only get angrier at the sight of them, before angrily heading directly towards him “So our ‘captain’ gets to sit on his arse and be waited on hand and foot by this...thing” He waved a hand towards Ohm letting everyone know who he meant before continuing “whilst the rest of us actually try to find a way to survive. It’s a fucking joke, you’re not any better than the last guy”

He couldn’t stop his own rage rearing its ugly head at his words “I fuckin’ saved you, he fuckin’ saved you, you’d do well to show us some respect” He was now toe to toe with Tyler, the both of them staring each other down.

“There it is again, you’re fucking taking that things side again. Do we mean nothing to you, huh? The first thing that offers its ass to you and you’re willing to shove our faces in the dirt”

He couldn’t stop himself from pulling his arm back, but just as he was about to punch Tyler he felt someone grab hold of his arm, turning he saw Delirious holding his arm back and shaking his head in lieu of telling him to stop. At that he felt the energy and anger he’d felt drain out of him, his arm going lax in his friends' grip and he felt Delirious let him go.

“I get that you’re thirsty and hungry and tired, we all are, but fightin’ amongst ourselves ain’t gonna help us. I’m not askin’ for you all to like me, or Ohm, but the truth is he’s our best bet outta here” Silence followed his statement and he unconsciously let out a breath when Tyler stepped back from him. “I’m not askin’ ya to follow me to the ends of the earth, just off of this island and then you can all go and do whatever the fuck you were doin’ before we all met”

Everybody was looking at Tyler now, waiting to see what he did, and it seemed that they all collectively let out a breath of relief when he nodded and took a seat by the fire, taking one of the fish that had been cooked before sharing it with some of the guys.

He then turned to see Delirious and Ohm talking quietly amongst one another, at the sight of him Delirious stood and waited as he approached, once in front of him he put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently in thanks.

“Thanks for holding me back there Del, the two of us brawling would’ve just made things worse” He heard a small chuckle come from Delirious who put his own hand on his shoulder before speaking.

“Yeah, well someone’s gotta watch out for your ass.” He was surprised to feel Delirious tug him closer but leaned down slightly when his friend leaned to whisper in his ear. “He’s quite the catch ain’t he” He looked up over Dels’ shoulder to where Ohm was sat, staring out at the Ocean.

“Del we’re not-“

“Sure, you’re not” He then heard that infamous chuckle come from his friend and internally groaned at the rumors that would be spreading around the camp. “Just be thankful I ain’t making fish jokes or anythin’…yet” His friend started laughing again before giving him a final pat on his shoulder and making his way back to the campfire.

He stood there contemplating every decision that had kept Delirious in his life before a soft voice singing brought him back to attention and he looked down, not even realizing the small smile that graced his face as he moved to sit down next to Ohm.

“It’s a beautiful song, what’s it about?”

“It’s about a merman who was forced to wed a human to keep the peace between our people, and it lasted for many years until one morning the human woke up and realized she was in bed with a monster. In her hysteria, she stabbed the merman to death and then their children before finally killing herself to amend for the crimes she committed against her race. After that there was a war between the species, it was long and relentless, but the mermen didn’t have the numbers to keep fighting lest they face extinction, so they hid in the darkest depths of the ocean and that’s where they remain, too few to carry on the fight.”

“Alright not such a beautiful song then” He heard Ohm huff a laugh beside him, the both of them staring out at the horizon in front of them

“Nobody lives who remembers it, for all I know it’s a cautionary tale meant to scare young merman from venturing too close to the surface”

“Didn’t stop you” This time Ohm chuckled, and he turned his head to peek a glance at Ohm only to be met with hazel eyes staring back at him.

“What’s life without a bit of adventure though” He hummed in response, despite the intensity in Ohms gaze he couldn’t look away. “I’ve always admired you pirates, traveling across the world whenever you want, doing whatever you want. It’s just always seemed so free”

He sarcastically laughed before he turned back out towards the sea “It ain’t as glamorous as you make out”

“Well I know that now”

“How did you get to be in a pirate Captains cabin by the way”

He heard Ohm heave a sigh beside and he thought that he wouldn’t get an answer, but just as that thought crossed his mind Ohm started to speak. “I’ve been ‘captured’ for years, he just paid the highest price for me”

“I saw you jump out that tank yesterday like you were gettin’ out of bed, why didn’t you ever escape”

“I was scared” He could hear the vulnerability in Ohms’ voice, despite his human nature he was surprised that the merman could have such deep feelings. “I’ve been hunted down my entire life and being in that tank, I felt…safe. It was only a matter of time before they caught up to me”

“Why are they after you?”

“Power, not just ruling over the merman but actual physical power only bestowed amongst royalty. Whoever kills me becomes king and the power passes to them. With it, they could cause destruction not only in the oceans but on land as well”

“So, you killed the last king?”

“I did what I had to do, I don’t see the need to hold this petty hatred for humans like my kin has, without me your kind would have been destroyed long ago”

“Thank you”

As he said that Ohms' head darted to look at him, and in the darkness, he swears he can see tears forming in the merman’s eyes. “You’re the first person to say thank you to me you know?”

He didn’t have an answer for Ohm, instead he rubbed his hand gently up and down the merman’s thigh beside him as he stared back out at the horizon and that’s how he fell asleep, putting up no protest when he felt Ohm manhandle him until his head was in his lap and he felt fingers once again brushing through his hair.

“Goodnight Luke”

*********************************************************************

He woke up just before the sun rose, the rest of the crew were littered across the beach, some had fallen asleep by the fire and others under the cover of trees whilst some had taken to curling up on the sand halfway between the two.

He felt the burning in the back of his throat that demanded water he didn’t have, the oncoming’s of a headache making itself known, quietly hoping that they’d find some form of water otherwise tensions will only grow higher between the group of them.

He gently got up off of Ohm in an effort not to wake him before making his way towards the trees to start the search for water.

He walked around for hours, every now and then he’d knick a tree with his knife so he wouldn’t retrace his steps but as of yet, there was no luck. There was now a pounding in his head and the heat from the sun did little to alleviate it.

Just after noon he made his way back to the camp and was surprised to see everybody stood and surrounding Ohm, even from far away he could hear their shouts.

“What the fuck is goin’ on here?” His voice sounded across the beach and the voices were quick to settle down, they were quick to break away from Ohm as he approached, guilty looks on their faces.

“Cartoonz, please tell your friends I didn’t carry into the Ocean and consume you”

“The fuck?” Everybody turned to look towards Craig, Evan and Delirious, their faces red with embarrassment as they refused to look at anyone.

“What, it was a possibility” He barely heard Craig’s murmur and only rolled his eyes when he did before he turned back to everyone else.

“So, what I leave camp for a few hours and you’re having a witch hunt against Ohm? I thought we were past this guys”

“You were gone for ages, we had no idea where you were” Delirious spoke out and he felt a flare of guilt rise up in him.

“I was looking for some water, didn’t find any” Most of them let out a groan whilst others let out a curse.

It was then that Ohm stormed off towards the Sea, he heard some of them mumble about how he was abandoning them to their fate, he couldn’t help but feel his own flare of rejection at the sight of Ohm walking away but was quick to run after him.

He was quick to catch up with Ohm, the merman slowly wading through the water allowing him time to grab his arm to stop him.

“Ohm, what’re doing? Where are you going?”

“I ain’t going anywhere, I’m just saving your dumbasses again” He cast a brief smile towards him before pulling his arm out of his hold and walking out just a bit further until the water reached his waist.

He walked out to join him, intrigued at what the merman could possibly do to save them at this moment. First Ohm raised his arms up towards the sky before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. The merman was stood like that for a while, and he was wondering whether whatever he was doing was actually working until he saw Ohm start to shake and sweat where he stood.

Just then a clap of lightning sounded, and he quickly looked up and towards the horizon to see a series of dark storm clouds heading directly towards them. He could make out the lightning in the dark clouds, the sound between each set of thunder getting shorter and shorter, his trance at the storm heading towards them was only broken when he heard a pained groan beside him.

Turning to look at the merman, he was shocked at what he saw, he looked deathly white and visibly shaking that he looked on the point of collapse.

“Ohm, you can stop now, the storms almost here” Still there was no response, and he was quick to catch the merman who suddenly collapsed, but still Ohm didn’t relent from his task. “Ohm, stop it now, you’ve done enough” Ohm let out a pained shout, he was finding it ever more difficult to keep the almost convulsing man from collapsing “Ohm stop this shit right now or so help me I’ll fuck you up even more”

Just as the storm clouds started to pass over them Ohm fell limp in his hold, he was quick to lift him up and over his shoulder, making his way as fast as he could towards shore as cold, heavy rain started to fall over them.

When he got to shore he stopped briefly to allow Craig to determine whether Ohm was still alive and upon hearing he was he quickly headed up to the treeline to lay Ohm down under some form of shelter.

“You said you’d fuck me?” He let out the breath he’d been holding at the sound of Ohms’ voice but couldn’t help the chuckle that came with the statement.

“You outdid yourself this time Ohm” He felt Ohm once again fall limp in his arms and he felt panic surge through him “Ohm?” He shook him a little but still got no response “Ohm you better not fucking die” Again he shook Ohm and again there was no response “OHM!”

He ignored the circle his friends had created around the two of them, too intent on trying to get some sign of life from the creature in front of him.

“Wha?” The whispered word from the man in front of him almost reduced him to tears as he leaned down to rest his head on Ohms' shoulder, feeling the life under him. “I bust my ass to get this rain for you to drink…and you ain’t even drinking it. Go, 'm fine” He looked up to see Ohm give him a reassuring smile before trying with his weakened strength to shoo him away.

He cast one final look to Ohm who had settled himself into a more comfortable position to rest in before he turned to his friends “Well you heard him, drink up”

It was almost comical the way they stood in the rain, mouths open to try and catch as much as possible until eventually they got bored and started to cup their hands before drinking as much water as they could stomach. Even when they were full and on the verge of throwing up at how much they’d drank, they drank more and more until eventually, the rain stopped and even then they lay on the beach, too sluggish to make a move.

It was to all their surprise then that they saw Ohm stumble his way past them, he practically launched himself to his feet in order to intercept him, narrowly avoiding throwing up as he did so.

“Ohm, what the fuck are you doing, you need to rest”

“m’gonna save you guys”

“You already did, please Ohm, come back with me” He tried to plead with the merman, to physically block him but even in his tired state the merman still managed to slip by him until he was in the water.

“That waters gonna last you a couple of days and I don’t have the energy to do that again. Please, let me do this”

He’s now standing in front of Ohm, hands on his shoulders as he tries to plead with him to stay “Other mermen are still out there, they’ll kill you, I can’t-“

“You can think of them Luke, this is what’s best” He felt tears burn at his eyes and it’s almost like a vice in his chest, he knows that this is the only way for them to survive but it didn’t make it any easier.

“Can’t Tiny come and get you? He seems to handle things pretty well” Ohm’s answering smile did little to comfort him.

“He’s far too big to get anywhere close, and he’ll be followed, I’d be dead before I even got close to him”

“Ohm” There was so much he wanted to say and yet he didn’t know where to even begin.

“I’ll be back, I promise, you still owe me dinner” He huffed a laugh even as his tears began to fall down his face, closing his eyes when he felt Ohms' hands come up to caress his face. He felt the gentlest caress of lips against his own, so gentle it could almost be mistaken for a brush of wind. “Farewell Luke”

He opened his eyes as he felt Ohms’ hands leave his face, watching the merman dive below the water’s surface, his legs having turned back into a tail and he stayed there long after Ohms’ shadow had gone beyond his sight.

“He’ll be alright” Delirious’s voice startled him and he turned to see his friend beside him before his friend offered him a comforting pat, which turned into a hug. Normally not one for affection he craved it now at this moment as his whole being filled with dread at the thought of what could happen to Ohm on his journey.

With a final pat on his back Delirious let him go, offering him a final smile before heading back to land, he cast one last look on the horizon, praying to whatever God was listening to watch out for Ohm before he headed back to wait out his fate on the beach.

***********************************************************************

It’s four days until there’s any sign of life, besides them, near the island. Having finished the fish that Ohm had caught them two days ago they were not just hungry but were thirsty as well, having not drunk anything since the storm before Ohm left.

The didn’t notice it at first, the heat coupled with fatigue meant that they paid little attention to much else besides their own needs, but it was Mark that called out the ship first, frantically pointing to somewhere on the horizon until they too saw it.

It then became a mad dash of people, him and Tyler were busy trying to get a fire going, whilst everyone bar Mark and Evan who kept watch of the ship, went to retrieve leaves and twigs that would easily cause smoke when lit.

In their urgency it took them longer than normal to get the fire started, hands slipping and dropping wood before a fire could start when it should be second nature to them. Luckily it appeared that the ship was heading towards their direction, regardless the fire would make a good weapon should the people that came with it be hostile.

Once the fire was finally lit they quickly piled the dead brush on top, willing to suffer through the smoke in favor of watching it climb ever higher signaling their presence. It felt like hours before the ship seemed to be in any vicinity close to them, but there they stood eagerly waiting and watching it approach them.

When they deemed it close enough they started shouting, expecting to see members of the crew peer over to look at them, but no such thing happened. When there was no answering shout or sign of life on the ship he got an impending sense of dread.

He called everyone to arms, their swords were out only seconds later as they watched the ship lay down its anchor and slowly come to a stop just off of the shore.

“Friend or Foe?” He shouted, adrenaline surging through him and ready to unleash at a moment’s notice.

“Here I thought we were friends Toonzy” He stood there stunned as he saw Ohm standing up on the bow of the ship, even at this distance he could see the bright smile on his face.

“Ohm?”

“The one and only” His friends seemed just as shocked as he did, all still in fighting stances but with mouths agape at the scene in front of them. “Are you gonna come aboard or just stand there gaping like fish?”

It was then a mad dash towards the ship, all of them eager to get off of the island and onto some semblance of normal. He was the first to climb the ladder up onto the top deck, as soon as his feet landed on the wood he raced over to Ohm before wrapping him up in a tight hug.

“Told you I’d be back didn’t I?”

“Don’t you fuckin’ do that to me again you hear?”

“Eh…I suppose-“ Before Ohm could finish his sentence, clearly meant to taunt him, he leaned forward and pressed their lips together, made better when he felt Ohm kissing him back.

“Ugh, seriously guys. It hasn’t even been five minutes.” Delirious’s voice caused them to break apart and turn to look at him. “Keep your gross kissing to yourself, we don’t need to see that shit”

Ignoring him completely they turned back to each and once more pressed their lips together, he couldn’t care less what Del or any of his other friends thought about his relationship with Ohm, hell he didn’t even have an explanation for it, just knew there was nothing he wanted more than to keep the merman in his arms.

“Tyler, can you come sort them out, they’re bein’ disgustin’” He saw Tyler's head peer over the side of the ship as he reached the top of the ladder before climbing over the edge.

Tyler gave one look at them before shrugging his shoulders and turning to get a better look around the ship “Just remember we got kids on board”. At Tylers’ words, they pulled away, taking one last look at one another before he turned to look at the ship, wrapping an arm around Ohms’ waist.

“Where the hell you’d get this?”

“The Oceans a big place and I could have only the best for Captain Toonzy”

He snorted at the nickname but was also trying to play off the thrill that the title of Captain gave him.

“The crew?”

“On a ship somewhere” He turned to look at Ohm, shocked look on his face whilst the other man just laughed and gave a shrug “Tiny will watch over them”

He frowned at that statement, giving a final squeeze around Ohms’ side before heading back to the ladder and helping everyone else up onto the ship. Tylers’ shout of water had them all quickly heading below deck to get their fill before finally making a move to leave.

With Ohms’ help forming a little wind, they were quick to set off, feeling lighter with every mile they put between them and the Island that had almost become a graveyard.

That night they celebrated, they had the luxury of perishable food which they were quick to gorge on, he had Ohm by his side and by the way said mans hand was currently climbing higher and higher up his leg under the table, he wouldn’t be leaving for a while.

The next morning when everyone had some semblance of being themselves again he gave them the option of staying with him or offering them the chance to leave at the nearest port. He was surprised to hear them all choose to stay with him, that Wildcat had voiced his choice even before Delirious could.

********************************************************************

From then on their crew became one of the most notorious group of pirates on the seas, any who went against them didn’t tend to last long, rumors were quick to spread about threats in the water that followed their ship and would attack any who opposed them. Not that anybody survived long enough to be able to report the truth.

Most of the time Ohm was happy to travel with them, he enjoyed the company, and everyone had now accepted him as part of the crew. If he had it his way Ohm would be spending almost all of his time on the ship however the merman would always state that he still had duties to fulfill below the surface and for him to stop sounding like a pining woman.

When they were particularly unlucky they’d run into a group of merman eager to hunt Ohm down, whenever this happened he’d get his crew to bear arms, most of them with bows and arrows along the sides of the ship waiting for Ohm to bait the creatures up closer to the surface so that they could take their shot.

Normally him, Tyler, Brian, and Delirious would descend into the water in an attempt to help Ohm, whilst still not as fast as the creatures they were hunting, they were much improved from their first encounter with them. They’d even managed to save Ohm a few times when he was in a particularly tight spot, the creatures too focused on their goal meant that they were easily ignored, making it that much easier to sneak up behind one of them whilst they wrestled against Ohm to put a sword through their chest.

The last Captain he’d sailed under had been a disgraceful example of a human but as he stood at the bow of his ship, leaning forward into Ohms back as he let the wind whip at his face, he sent a quick thanks to him, for without him he never would have formed his crew, nor he never would have met Ohm.

He pressed Ohm closer against him, the merman happy to keep as much contact between them as possible whilst they watched the sun sink slowly behind the sea, content to stay there in each other’s arms until the moon was high in the sky.

[yeenybeanies]

g/t prompt list 

1. discovery 

giant mer & human!reader ( 2nd person pov ).

2422 words

there’s a bit of cussing in this because of who i am as a person 

please keep comments to the tags!! thank you!! 

The water is peaceful. The sky is peaceful. The day is peaceful. There’s a light breeze in the air, pushing little waves that gently lap against the fiberglass side of your boat. You sit in one of the comfy chairs aboard your modestly-sized vessel, a fishing pole settled in its holster to your left, and a beer in the cupholder to your right. There’s not much left in it, but the few swallows that do remain are warm and unappealing. You think it’s probably best to lean over and dump the contents overboard ( not the can, of course; you’re not a monster ) and grab a new one, ice cold. That sounds like a good plan. And it is. It’s an excellent plan. The freshly-emptied can finds itself crushed in your hand and set into an impromptu garbage bag, leaving you free to head to the cooler for more refreshments. Maybe you could do with a snack, too, you think. You’ve been out here for a few hours now, resting in the shade, not bored, per se, but definitely unstimulated. There hasn’t been so much as a nibble on your line. 

U g h. Your cooler’s on the other side of the boat. You kick yourself internally for not pulling it closer, for putting yourself in a situation where you have to get up. You’re also kicking yourself for being so goddamn lazy. It’s not that far. You’re hungry and thirsty. It’s not that far. With a sigh, you push yourself up from your seat and give your fishing line a quick tug, testing it ( no surprise to find that there is still nothing biting ), then you leave your comfortable shade and cross over to the cooler. Its blue coloring nearly matches the ocean, you notice. Hunh. That’s interesting. It makes you smile. Your fingers brush some of the salty water off of the lid, then you lift it to rummage through the chilled contents. Beer and sandwich. That’s what you want. Where the fuck is your sandw––oh. There it is. 

Lunch in one hand and cold beer in the other, you pivot on your heel and head back towards your seat back in the shade. You get two steps forward when––wham––a sharp jolt lurches both you and your boat to the side. You stumble, dropping your beverage in your attempt to remain semi-upright. Sonova––curses bubble under your breath as you cling onto a ledge until the boat stops rocking. Once it’s calmed down, you stand and grab the half-emptied can, frowning deep. So much for that half of the plan. At least you have your sandwich. Frustrated, you take a bite, but it seems that’s all you have time for. A sharp, rapid buzzing reaches your ears––your line! Something must be on your line! And something big, too, if it’s taking off that quickly! You rush to your pole, sandwich held between your teeth, and give it a yank, hoping to hook whatever seems to be running away with your bait. 

You expect there to be a fight, like those you hear about from veteran fishermen ( and their dubious reliability ). You expect to stand here for an hour, maybe two, wrestling with this thing, until one of you eventually tires and gives in. What you intend to do with the presumed-leviathan, you’re not quite sure, but you’ll figure that out when you get there. That’s what you think. That’s what you expect. 

What you do not expect is for the line to go limp. Aww! That was barely a minute! Where’s your glory? Your battle? Where’s–––

Oh holy mother of goddamn shit. . . 

A massive fin slips up from the water only a few yards from your boat as the leviathan slowly rises from the dark, murky depths of whatever hell exists beneath this particular stretch of ocean. It has to be at least as tall as you––taller, even. You can’t quite see what it’s attached to yet, but you know you were right on one thing: this fucker is big! And you imagine it’s probably pissed off. ( Can fish get pissed off? Is this even a fish? It’s as big as a goddamn whale! ) 

There’s another yank on the line, pulling the very pole from your hands. You barely notice, though; you’re frozen, preoccupied with the sight before you. There’s your pole, dangling from what appears to be a massive fucking hand that’s sticking out of the water. That is definitely bigger than you, big enough to snatch you right from your boat. It’s horrifying as is to see one, but the second one scares you more when it slams against the ledge, those big, clawed and webbed fingers bending the metal and fiberglass under them. The boat lurches again, jolting you towards the ledge, close enough to where you could touch that giant hand if you wanted. But you sure as hell don’t want to! Sandwich still gripped in your mouth, you try to push away, try to scramble back, despite the incline behind you getting steeper by the second. It’s not really working in your favor. You hear things slide and shift around, hear the boat groan under the weight. You think this thing’s going to flip your boat! Until it very gently seems to ease off the pressure and lower the vessel back down. You lie flat on your back, stiff, staring up at the clear sky. What the hell? 

It only makes sense that if there’s two giant hands, there’s probably a giant head to match, but that doesn’t make the sight any less fucking terrifying when it greets you. It certainly doesn’t help, either, when that head looms over you, over your boat, like a child peering down into a hamster cage. Unfortunately, you’re not used to being the hamster. You can’t even scream out, though; your forgotten and soggy sandwich still blocks your mouth. At this point, you don’t even know if you have it in you to scream, certainly not when those big eyes lock with yours. You can’t look away from this . . . being. You can’t blink. It’s so goddamn huge––bigger than anything you’ve ever seen. 

Okay, maybe you can look away. The creature raises its giant fist, and you instinctively curl in on yourself, shielding your head with your arms ( as if that would do you any good ). Your expectations, though, seem to be very off today. Where you expect to feel the briefest moment of pain and death, crushed under that hand, you feel nothing but the light breeze and sunshine. There is a thud to your left, though, dull and soft. You peek from under your arms to see your fishing pole dropped onto the deck, fishing line keeping it suspended just a little. Following that line, you see that the hook at the end is––oh god, it’s lodged into the leviathan’s face! Just beneath its lower lip, towards the right corner of its mouth, is where that hook finds its home. You can see the metal glinting among the dark, curly hairs at the edge of the being’s beard. And the being is looking at you. . . expectantly. 

No. Fuck no. No fucking way. You are not going near that thing–––

Then you hear it––him?––g r o w l. Were you not five seconds from shitting yourself, you might notice that it doesn’t sound like an aggressive noise, rather more like an encouraging one, but you couldn’t possibly know such a thing. Again you cower, finally spitting out your ruined lunch so you can shout out a panicked okay! okay. You’ll. . .––well, it’s your fault that there’s a hook in the creature’s face. The least you can do is get it out and hope that he doesn’t decide to eat you. 

Shakily, you push yourself to your knees, then to your feet. But your feet aren’t wanting to move any further. You’re rooted in place, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, staring at the leviathan. He produces another growl, softer this time, but it still makes you flinch and close your eyes. Fuck fuck fuck fuck! You can’t do this! Why can’t he just pull the hook out himself! It’d be like removing a burr, wouldn’t it? 

The boat tilts once more, slowly, sending you stumbling towards the giant. You thrust your hands forward, meeting the being’s cheek as you brace yourself. His skin is. . . far rougher than you expected, like fine-toothed sandpaper. It reminds you of times as a kid when you got to touch those little sharks in aquariums. Hot air blows against your side, startling you. Breath, you realize. The being is breathing. Shit, he is so fucking big. . . His head is taller than you. His mouth. . .––you don’t want to think about his mouth. You don’t want to know what kind of teeth lie behind those lips. But it’s hard not to think about it; you’re right fucking here. Still softer, the being rumbles. The hum travels through his skin, into your flesh, your bones. Okay. Alright. Okay, big guy. the sooner you can do this, the sooner the both of you can hopefully get on with your lives. You’re never going near the ocean again. 

Your voice is shaking just as badly as the rest of you, but you try to talk, more to yourself than the being, saying that you can get the hook out and everything will be okay. There’s also some nervous please don’t eat me after, mister sea giants in there. Much to your dismay, the hook is buried pretty well into the tough skin. It doesn’t seem to hurt the being when you tug, but it’s not something you really want to test. Luckily, your hands seem to ease their shaking a little as you force yourself to focus––enough so to where you can actually make some progress. A few more minutes, a few more little tugs, and the hook slips free of the sandpaper skin. 

Thank fucking god. 

You hold the hook up triumphantly so the leviathan can see, feeling more relief than you’ve ever felt in your life. That relief is short-lived, however. The fear is quick to return as the beast flexes his jaw and rubs a finger over the space where the hook was. You catch a glimpse of those sharp teeth, that big tongue, just beyond his lips. You step back as much as you can, but he notices your movement, and he’s quick to counter it. You scream out as his hand surrounds you. Yet. . . you feel no pressure. You only feel the slight warmth radiating from the giant palm and fingers around you. Tentatively, you look out, meeting the being’s eyes. They’re shockingly human, you realize. There’s emotion in those deep, brown pools. Another yelp leaves your throat as you’re nudged closer, pulled into his looming shadow. He’s gonna eat you! You’re about to be seafood! Your shaking starts up again––not that it ever really stopped. You watch in horror as the being leans in. This is it! This is the end–––

But this isn’t it. Impossibly gentle, its his forehead that meets yours, the scratchy skin resting against you. He must know, though, that you’re scared shitless; he backs off quickly, releasing you to scurry away as you please. What the hell was that? Was that a. . .––a show of gratitude? You blink, now backed up to the other side of the boat, as far away from the being as you can get. You swear you can see a little smile on his lips as he retreats from the side of your vessel, his hands disappearing back beneath the surface. His head remains above, though. Once he’s several feet away, you carefully, hesitantly move to the ledge he’d occupied. he’s. . . leaving. He’s leaving you alone! You watch as he gives you a parting nod, then he twists and dives into the water, his massive body sending waves out in all directions. It’s hard to see, but you swear you could spot several jagged, parallel scars along his back and side lap the surface, like something you’d see on a shark or a dolphin that was hit by a boat. Then comes his tail fluke, truly gargantuan, but missing at least half of the top lobe! It’s just occurred to you now that this being––what you’ve just seen––is a fucking mermaid. Merman? Mer. Despite your awe and your lingering fear, you feel a pang of guilt in your chest as you watch that mutilated tail vanish into the darkness. That creature. . . he’d already been hurt by human things in the sea. . . No wonder he wanted you to fix him. Your hook, you doubt, truly hurt him ( more of a discomfort, if anything, you imagine ), but you still feel bad. You hurt a mer. 

You watch the waves for a few moments longer, then you bow your head and breathe out heavily. It feels like you’d been holding your breath through that whole encounter. Damn. Well, that’s enough fishing for one lifetime. That’s enough ocean for one lifetime. You don’t think you ever want to encounter something like that again. You’re still a little shaky, but you gather up everything that’s fallen out of place and secure it down in preparation for your departure. You’re ready to be off this boat and back onto dry land. Once up at the wheel, you twist the key in the ignition, but the engine. . . sputters. Oh no. You try again, a bit more vigorously, and the resulting sputter is even weaker. You’re out of gas. What the fuck! Can’t you catch a break? All you wanted was a nice, relaxing day on the water! You didn’t ask for giant-ass mermen or shitty boat problems! You yell out in frustration and pound at the dashboard, head hung limply. How the hell are you going to get out of this one? Should you call the coast guard? 

Then you hear it again: that fucking growl. It’s more of a feeling, this time, sent up through the boat, up into your body, but it’s definitely a growl––the same growl. You look up, eyes wide, body shaking again, to see that giant fin heading back towards your vessel. 

AN: okay! so some info on the mer: his  " human ”  half is about 30′ long, head to hips, & his tail is about another 70′, bringing him up to a massive 100′ in total length. think whale shark-shaped, since his inspiration does come from whale sharks––particularly those that have been injured by boats  ( esp that last link there ). 

[ohmyhobe]

BTS reactions: You catch a bigger fish than them

Anonymous said: hey ~ can you do one where you're fishing with BTS and you catch a bigger fish than they do?           

WARNINGS: Graphic violence, existential dread, allusions to sad, strange sex, fishing, ANGST, fishing

my perfect masterlist

Jin

Jin gives you a watery smile as you hold up the enormous bass.

"Isn't this great!" you say, flapping the wet, living fish at him. He nods slowly.

"Yes, I'm really proud of you," he says, and you two take turns kissing the fish for good luck or more sinister reasons.

Yoongi

The second the pond smelt arose from the dark, swirling water, Yoongi was irate. But he hardly let it show.

"Look, Yoongi," you say. "My fish is so much larger than yours."

He bares his teeth violently and says nothing. You chomp down.

Namjoon

Namjoon's eyes sparkle with wonder as the huge fish is reeled in on your fishing pole. "I've never seen such a large fish," he mumbles, looking down at his own meekly sized catch.

You hold the beast over your head and laugh madly. It begins to slip from your hands as fish are wont to do. As it struggles from your grasp, Namjoon steps forward and catches it in his arms, holding it flopping wildly to his chest.

His eyes catch yours, and your heart is beating wildly as you lean in for a kiss, your bodies pressing the fish flush between you as you fully start to make out.

Hoseok

Hoseok is so impressed by your catch he throws his own back into the sea.

"Hoseok!" you shout. "We needed both of those fish!"

He blushes. "Ah, sorry Y/N, I was just so impressed and got caught up in the excitement."

"We're going to starve to death on this island if you keep throwing the fish back to sea, J-Hope," you say, tears filling your eyes.

Jimin

"Your fish may be larger," Jimin groans erotically, "But mine is stronger."

He hits you with the fish so hard you pass out.

Taehyung

Taehyung absolutely loses it when you reel in an ocean sunfish. It lands with a heavy thud on the sand, next to his small bucket containing a single flounder.

"Oh my god," he screams. "You're so ripped. How did you do that?"

You scoop him up in your outrageously muscled arms.

"If I could reel in you, I can reel in any ocean fish," you murmur in a sexy way.

You kiss as the sunfish dies slowly beside you.

Jungkook

Jungkook huffs in disgust at your extremely large fish. "It doesn't matter anyway," he huffs. "Another day, another goddamned fish."

He runs his rough, calloused hands through his ocean-matted hair. You both smell so much like fish because you've been gutting fish in these clothes every day. It's deeply disgusting. Nonetheless, he looks at you with those sexy eyes of his and you guys are going at it again for the sixth time this hour. The sun sets.

Over the next few weeks on the island the days stretch on and on and you two talk less and less. You're gaining weight despite the near-starvation and you realise that of course, unprotected sex leads to pregnancy, but you forgot that because of your lust. Nine months later, you're giving birth on this island you now call home and no one has even come close to finding you. Not a single boat, not a plane in sight. No sign of life.

You're both sad, and pretty desperate to get off the island, but having a child really does bond you in a way you’ve never felt before.

Finally, as your son has just turned two years old, a boat arrives onshore, and you're sure you must be dreaming. But it's real. A man steps out into the water and makes his way to the sand and you're sobbing.

"Hello strangers," he says. "You look worse for wear."

"Please help us," Jungkook says. "We've been trapped on this island for years after our ship crashed - we had a son. No one's come by."

The man raises his eyebrow. "Why, that's just terrible. I suppose you two don't know about the war then do you..."

You look at Jungkook and shrug.

"Anyway, we'll all talk about it when we get back. Hop on in. It'll be a tight fit but we'll get you two back home - or what's left of it."

You're deeply concerned by this man's strange words but have no choice but to come aboard. The three of you pile on and the man starts the boat.

Not but thirty seconds after that, as you've just headed off into deeper waters - in a flash, Jungkook is behind the man with a fishing hook and slitting his throat. You scream, grabbing onto your son. Jungkook turns, covered in blood, to look at you and he pulls your son from your grasp.

And then he pushes you into the water.

You fall down deep. Your shock almost makes it to hard to surface again, but your body's instincts get you there. You take a deep breath and blink the saltwater out of your eyes until you're able to see Jungkook standing up on the boat, his hands on the steering wheel. He revs the engine.

"You'll never tell anyone I couldn't catch a bigger fucking fish than you," he says.

And with that, he drives the boat away, leaving you to die.

[starlightwrites]

For gage and cori, can I get prompt one to make my little heart weep?

Hi Nonny!

Why yes, you sure can get prompt one; let’s get angsty! Thank you so much for asking!

For the Angst/Fluff prompts, here.

One of Those Nights

It was one ofthose nights where she couldn’t get her heart to stop racing. She paced thelength of her room at Fizztop. She cleaned the bar top and the table in thekitchen. She folded all her clothes. She moved all the furniture around,realized that she didn’t like that at all, and then moved it all back to whereit had been before. No matter what she did, though, nothing helped and her headwas spinning and she couldn’t slow her thoughts down enough to get a sense ofwhat she was thinking. She was alone and her heart just wouldn’t stop pounding,like she was going to fucking die.

Soshe drank.

(More under the cut!)

It wasn’t likeit was smart; she knew for a fact it wasn’t smart. What would Nathan say if hesaw her? And if anything would make her anxiety worse, it was alcohol. But shedidn’t stop herself. She downed whatever she could find—rotgut vodka, somethinglabeled “whiskey” that tasted like death, something that didn’t have a label atall—and she didn’t stop till the room tilted like she was sitting on a boatduring a storm.

Of course, shedrank fast so she was almost immediately nauseous, but at least now she hadsomething concrete to worry about. Which was better? Maybe not, but it was toolate to worry about that now. She stumbled over to the chairs across from herbed and fell into the first one she spotted.

Gage came back fromtalking to Shank right about then.

“Princess?” Heset his gun down on the bar and crossed the room. She must have looked badbecause he sounded worried right out the gate.

“Mmhm?”

“You alright?”

“Fine, fine.”She swallowed back bile and squeezed her eyes shut. “Just fine.”

She heard ashuffling and opened her eyes again to see that he had crouched down in frontof her. His brows furrowed.

“You’re drunk.”

“Right on themoney, honey.” She poked his nose with her index finger. Didn’t know why. Heswatted her hand away and tried to prop her back upright. Honest, she reallydid try to work with him. It was gravity that wasn’t cooperating.

“Knock it off.”

She slumped backand her head tipped until she was staring up at the ceiling. Some of the nauseasubsided, which was nice, but the dizziness was back and her head was just soheavy right now. Full of wet cement. And then that was kinda funny,because…cement…

She giggled andGage scooped her up completely. Flying. She scrambled to wrap her arms aroundhis neck as her body left the chair, and if she’d been dizzy before, it was somuch worse now.  Corinne whimpered inprotest.

“C’mon. Let’sget you to bed.”

She tried topull herself up, but by the time she figured out how to move right, he wassetting her down on her mattress and fighting with the blanket to tuck her in.

“Oooooooh!Trying to get me into bed, are you?” She didn’t know why she said it. It was astupid thing to say and some logical part of her knew that and cringed, but hermouth was already spouting off anyways.

“Succeeding, ifyou’re paying attention. Now get some shut-eye. We’ll talk in themorning.”  

He managed toget the blanket out from under her so he could tug it up around her shoulders,and all without any help from her, since the nausea was back and she was havingenough of a time trying to will her stomach to settle.

She should saythank you. This was annoying at best, and he seemed pretty exasperated by herantics. She’d known this was a bad idea and had still gone and done it anyways,and now he needed to baby her because she couldn’t stand up straight. Infairness, he had every reason to be annoyed.

“Gage. Gage GageGage Gage. Shhhh, Gage.” Some part of her registered that this was not aneffective way to get his attention. She reached out to pat his cheek butslapped him instead. Oops.

“Fuckin’ what?”

“Gage,” she saidagain. He raised an eyebrow.

Wait.

What was shetrying to say again?

“What, Cori?”

“You’ve—” Nope,not quite. “You’re—” Still no.

“Spit it out.”

She stared athis face, but it wouldn’t come back. The words had been right there on the tipof her tongue and she’d still managed to swallow them on accident. Weren’twords supposed to be her strong suit? Shit. She turned her face into the pillowand then realized that nope, nope shouldn’t do that. Don’t want to suffocate.Finally, she pushed herself up until she was sitting, almost headbutting Gagein the process. It was funny. Made her laugh, at least.

Gage scowled.

“You shouldn’tdrink,” he grumbled. “That garbage just dulls your senses. Makes you careless.”

“Loud and clear.”She rested her head on her shoulder.

The mattresssank under his weight as he sat down at her feet, his palms flat on herblankets. She touched her toes to his leg just to do it, just to reach out. Hedidn’t notice.

“Listen up, I’verun with raiders my whole life and I know a fuckin’ thing or two about this.Don’t get sloppy.”

“I’m not,” she snapped, a little sharper thanshe’d meant to.

“I told you dayone that I wouldn’t hold with this kinda shit.”

“I said I’mnot.”

“You gotta getyour shit together. You’ve got a park to run here, Boss.”

And that waswhen she got mad. It came out of nowhere—just blindsided her. Irritation,boiling hot in the pit of her gut.  Sloppy?As if she did this every other day. As if she was always a mess and he wasalways having to look after her. Sloppy. Bah. After everything she’d lost andeverything she’d suffered and the end of the goddamned world, she was allowedto be sloppy every now and again; he had no idea. No idea.

She looked athim for a second before blurting it out.

“This comingfrom the man with one eye. Sloppy. Ha.”

Oh. That wasmean.

“Now that ain’tfair.” He looked at her like she’d slapped him again. Not quite hurt, but disappointed.Which was worse? If he was mad, they could fight it out. Disappointed, though.She didn’t have the brain cells to handle that right now.

“Isn’t it?” Hermouth was moving on its own at this point. Pouring gasoline on the fire. Bad badbad.

“Look,” he said, stubble rasping as he draggedhis hand down his face. “I don’t know if you’re trying to piss me off, butyou’re succeeding.”

“Gage, listen tome. Just listen” She scrambled forward on her knees, cupped his face in herhands, and leaned in closer, and she knew when she did it that it was the wrongdamned thing to do, but she couldn’t stop herself. Everything had gotten somessy.

“Oh believe me, Ihear you.” He pulled back and scowled. Jumped up. Standing over her like that,he looked so tall, unreachable. “You’re fuckin’ drunk, Boss. Sleep it off.”

This had gone sowrong somewhere, and she couldn’t untangle it. But he was walking away. Leaving.She’d be all alone again, and it would be all her fault since she alienated theone person who was on her side. She reached out and grabbed for him but missedand caught the hem of his shirt instead.

“Wait. Gage, wait.” Her fingers twisted intothe fabric. “I love you. Please don’t go.”

Oh. Oh no. She hadn’tmeant to say that.

He pulled out ofher grasp and stood there, silhouetted by the neon lights outside her window.The hands at his sides were balled into fists. When she reached out again, hebacked up into the dresser across from her bed.

“You shouldn’tjoke about shit like that.”

Her mouth wasdry. Head pounding. She tried to get the words out, but they were stuck—lodgedin her throat. He disappeared out the door and down the lift before she had thechance to tell him she wasn’t joking.