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kiirokero · 3 years

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Sit and Heal (JJK) (Teaser)

Pairing: Werewolf!Jeongguk x Witch!Reader

Summary: “You have scars, Y/n, both on your heart and on your skin. The one on your arm may be healed, but the one on your heart isn’t. Please. Let me lick your wounds,” Or: The wolf that visits you every afternoon is your shoulder to lean on as you realize it's time to learn to love and trust again, even if it’s hard.

Word Goal: 10k+

Approximate Release Date: Beginning-Mid May

Note: If you wanna be tagged when Sit and Heal comes out, just comment or message me :) Also, I was literally so anxious to post this, I’m so worried people will think it’s trash :)

“Go home. You have others waiting for you, don’t you?” You spoke, and the wolf turned back towards the forest, where the trees grew thicker and the brush became more unforgiving. Again, the wolf looked towards you for a second, before it ran into the thicket. Gone. Its presence seemingly no more than an apparition. You felt like you met a ghost.

“Goodbye...”

Meow

“No, Yume,”

Meow

“No, bub”

Meoooww

“Yume, it’s raining. We can’t go outside,” You scold the cat who is currently eyeing you while you prepare supper for the night. You caught a chicken the other day, so you were happily making some chicken soup. Or you were trying to, if it wasn’t for the black cat who was currently whining his heart out next to you. “You’ll get snatched up by that wolf if you go out there,” You playfully threatened.

Yume grumbled out an annoyed mew, already familiar with the wolf you met and had previously rambled to him about the exact day you met it. It’s been about 3 days since your first run-in with the chestnut-colored wolf, and everything's been relatively normal. You did your daily spell work, foraged until the days turned to night, checked your snares with hope in your heart.

And you never saw the wolf again.

But life goes on, and you’re hungry.

Meow... You sighed, dejected, tired of explaining to the cat that it’s cold, wet, and dark outside. Not the best weather for outside time. Meow. You put the spoon that you were stirring the soup with down, turning to the black furball with your hands on your hips. “Alright, out,” You groaned, shooing the cat away from the kitchen towards the living room. “It’s warm here, your favorite kind of temperature. Just lay down until dinner, okay? I’ll even put more wood on the fire,”

You did as you promised as Yume begrudgingly got on the couch, still boring his green eyes into the back of your head. You grabbed some wood from the stack that laid next to the brick fireplace and threw it in. You flicked your wrist causing sparks came flying out towards the wood. The flames revived energetically, painting the living room in a serene orange glow, illuminating both you and the black cat behind you.

You dusted off your hands, turning around to give Yume a kiss on the forehead. “Maybe tonight we can do a tarot reading for the two of us, yeah?” You bargained, earning a content meow from the cat. You chuckled, scratching behind the familiar’s ear before you went back to the kitchen.

The rain furiously beat against the windows of your small cottage; the wind howling as it whipped against the old wooden boards. The house creaked and groaned under the power of the storm, but you knew your protection charm wouldn’t allow anything to happen to the cottage. Luckily, there was no thunder booming or lighting running bright white cracks in the dark grey sky, it was just the rain and the wind.

You were humming the tune of a folk song you remember your mother singing as you chopped up some carrots and plopped them in the soup, unaware of the cat that was currently sneaking towards a window. Yume jumped up on the windowsill, expertly avoiding the terracotta pot filled with different herbs and flowers. The window was unlatched. An error on your part, but a perfect stroke of luck for Yume.

Yume bumped the window open, causing the shudders to catch in the wind and bang against the wall. You jumped, dropping the spoon into the pot, splashing the soup around the stove and onto you. You hissed at the feeling of hot soup on your cheekbone, but ultimately ignored it, turning off the stove and walking back out into the living room.

An icy chill met your skin as you entered the room, causing your skin to rise with goose bumps. You shivered. The fire was now a low ember and the curtains furiously whipped around in the harsh wind, rain seeping in and dripping onto the floor. You groaned, realizing that you probably forgot to latch it. “Just my luck,” You sighed as you closed and latched the window, turning to go tend to the fire again.

That’s when you stopped mid-step, swirling around to look at the couch, noticing a lack of a Yume. “Yume?” You called out into the quiet house. No answer. Yume was a cat. It wasn’t like he was going to say “Hello” back, but he would come if called. Nothing. “Yume!” You shouted, a bit more panicked. Again, no sign of the furball. Quickly, you rushed through the house, checking every room. You looked under your bed, behind the dresser, under blankets, everywhere. But there was no Yume.

Anxiety seeped into your veins like viscous tar, clogging up your lungs and throat. “Y-Yume...?” You choked out, your mind and heart running a mile a minute. You felt tears well up in the corner of your eyes. They burned as they ran down your cheeks. You sat down on the couch, covering your face with your hands as you tried to calm your breathing. With each inhale you choked, coughing with trembling lips.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Yume probably went outside. He’s a smart cat, it’ll be okay,” You whispered to yourself in a shaky voice, taking in a few more gulps of air. You willed yourself up on trembling legs, stumbling over to the coat rack. “It’s okay,” You sighed out once more, throwing on your raincoat and boots, stepping outside into the ferocious storm.

Wind licked the wet trails of your tears as rain battered against your body. Trees bent over to the will of the storm, looking ready to snap, as their leaves rustled together producing an eerie symphony that made your hair rise. The sky was void of any light from the stars or the moon, covered in a thick layer of intimidating grey clouds. “Yume!” You called out into the night, desperate to see any sign of the lean cat. Nothing again.

You continued to call for Yume, walking deeper and deeper into the dense forest. It was getting darker the further you walked away from your cottage, making it hard to see the sharp stones and slick moss that covered the muddy forest ground. You reached into your pocket, fishing out the amulet that you always had on hand. It glowed. It didn’t give off light like a flame, but was enough to light your way.

The amulet let out a soft green hue as you continued to call for your cat, voice progressively getting more desperate. “Yume! Please!” You shout with a trembling voice, the biting cold and gripping fear threatening to push you down to your knees.

Meow!

You gasp, whipping around in a circle, trying to spot the source of the noise. You felt dizzy as you continued to turn, straining your eyes to peer through the thick trees and bushes. “Yume!” You yell again, continuing to turn in circles. “Yume! Please... Baby please,” You cry, bending to the will of your aching heart, falling to your knees. The wet, sloppy mud seeped through your pants. The rain splashing dirt on your face. But you couldn’t care less. “Yume...” You sniffled.

Meow

Yume called back, his call sounding just in front of you. You looked up, expecting to see just your little black cat with his green eyes and soft fur, but what was actually in front of you threw you into a living nightmare. You froze, your heart dropping as you hyperventilated, lungs burning from the cold. You couldn’t move. Your eyes locked onto the scene in front of you, like a cruel form of torture.

There, Yume was hanging by his scruff, in the mouth of a giant wolf.

“Yume!” You shrieked, finding your voice again. You reached out for the black cat, shying away when you registered that a wolf was right there. “Nonono, Yume, please...” You lamented, covering your mouth as sobs threatened to bubble their way out of your throat.

But instead of the wolf dropping a dead carcass at your feet, it gently let Yume down, allowing the cat to run over to you and lick at your tears. You sniffled, reaching out a shaky hand to pull Yume towards you. You buried your face in Yume’s fur, letting out the sobs you were desperately holding in.

Yume let you hold him in the chilling rain, licking your face to comfort you. “You’re okay... You’re okay,” You choked out, hiccuping on air. Mew... Yume spoke up, nudging his sopping wet head against your cheek, as if saying, “It’s okay. We’re okay” Even if in your brain you knew everything should be fine now, that you should stop crying and get back home, you couldn’t move. Your tired heart chained you in place like a rock sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

It felt as if all the strength you were fiercely clinging onto while you wandered though the forest had slipped between your fingers like sand. You wanted to lay there in the mud and stay there until morning, but you knew you had to get yourself together. Yume was shivering, you were shivering, and it was dark. Yet you couldn’t move. You sheltered Yume inside your coat as you tried to pick up the scattered pieces of yourself, .

Whine...

You lifted your head from where you buried it in the wet cat's fur, catching the eye of the wolf you’d forgotten all about. It looked at you with drooping ears and a bent head, like a scolded puppy. It whined again, lifting one of its paws like it was going to step forward, but opting not to, hesitating. “You found him,” You whispered out, voice scratchy from the sobs that had wracked through your throat.

The wolf tilted his head in confusion. You would’ve too. Why are you talking to this animal like their Yume? Yume was special in a witchy way. He was your familiar. Like a loyal companion, but sassier. Yume was in tune with your emotions 9 times out of 10. Yume played around with you when you were happy, snuggled you when you were tired, and comforted you through times of panic and sadness. Yume understood you because he was made for you.

A wild wolf wasn’t

Yet, that didn’t deter you as you continued to speak. “Thank you...” You sniffled. You took a closer look at the wolf, looking it up and down. The same golden chestnut fur, now soaked and illuminated in a hue of green from the amulet that currently laid in the mud. Despite the lack of light, its yellow eyes seemed to glow. “Ah, you’re that wolf that was stuck in my snare...” You said, and the wolf took your friendly tone as an invitation to get closer.

Slowly, it approached you, ears and head still down to look less intimidating. You were too emotionally exhausted to be scared again. That, or you subconsciously trusted the wolf more than you thought. “You must be cold,” You commented, staring at the wolf saturated coat. The wolf nudged at your own soaked coat, as if saying, “You too,” and you softly chuckled. It nudged you again, this time on your side, trying to get you to stand up. You didn’t. You couldn’t find the energy too, but the wolf kept nudging.

You gradually stood on trembling legs out of annoyance, tiring of the wolf’s persistence. You held Yume in your arms, still under your coat, as the wolf tugged at your dirty pant-leg. You took a step forward, and the wolf went on ahead until it realized you weren’t beside it. It jogged back, pulling on your pant-leg again. “You’re a weird one,” You mumbled out with a small smile, indulging the wolf by following it.

The wolf led you through the rain and mud. Looking back occasionally to check if you were still there. You didn’t know where it was leading you, but the trees thinned out, meaning you were moving away from the thick parts of the forest that are easy to get lost in. The storm continued to beat down on the three of you, creating a thin veil-like fog that hindered your ability to see.

But the wolf seemed unfazed as it continued to walk without fault, walking until an orange glow pierced through the fog. Your eyes widened when you realized it was your cottage. The wolf had led you back to your cottage. “Wha? How did you...?” You breathed out, looking down at the wolf who was now looking at you.

The wolf was definitely odd. It seemed more aware than the average lupus, like it could hear and understand you. Like it knew what you needed. Strange, no doubt, but you were a witch, you experienced strange things all the time. Hell, the entire forest you lived in was renowned for being supernatural and “dangerous” as in, magical.

Birds often brought you pretty stones and flowers, the squirrels liked to share their food with you, and the plant life seemed to come alive around you. Nothing in your life was “normal”, it was all strange. The wolf was probably like the birds and squirrels. A forest helper of sorts.

So with that rationalization, you left it be.

You walked up to your porch, opening the front door and letting a wet Yume free in the house. You turned around, locking eyes with the wolf once again. It was a few yards away, sitting in your front garden, looking even more humongous next to your tiny daisies and tulips. It was waiting for you to go inside. “It’s cold...” You said, “And your wet...” The wolf tilted its head once again, unmoving. “I have towels... And a warm place to sleep until the morning,”

The wolf stayed seated.

“Come on,” You coaxed, patting your leg as an invitation for the wolf to move closer.

Slowly, the wolf stood up, trotting up to you and cautiously stepping into the house.

“It’s okay, they can’t hurt you anymore,”

“Just because they’re gone doesn’t mean the scars don’t burn,”

Out Now!

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeongguk #jeon jeongguk #bts jungkook #bts #bts fic #bts werewolf au #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #jeon jeongguk x reader #bts fluff

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littlefreya · 4 years

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The Way To Hell - Final Chapter

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man on earth. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped while a trained assassin is sent to bring him down.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k (including epilogue)

Warnings: 18+, smut, boomer Walker, some fluff, sexual intercourse, cock-warming, mentions of torture, implied insanity, slight mentions of gore, violence, murder, mass-shooting and death. Please proceed with caution

A/N: The ending is here and I hope I did it justice, I hope I did right by you. I will reblog my kudos, but first I must thank @agniavateira for being my beta and a source of inspiration and @raspberrydreamclouds for the cover art.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Now allow me to die out of stress and anxiety.

Title: See You in Hell

Down by the valley, there is a serenity that exists only in fairy tales. Damp grass caresses her naked back, the pointy little tips ticking the base of her spine, leaving a fresh trail of dew. Pure mountain mist breathes life through blue hills caked with ice; white fog vales over the forest’s lush greenery and looms above the lake’s water like a lost-love phantom.

Lying with her eyes shut, she listens to the harmony of life surrounding her: the little fish bouncing in the river, the butterflies procreating mid-air and the hummingbird chirping with bliss. Yet the most beautiful sound is the low, melodic baritone humming and reverberating against her inner thighs.

”Angel, With those angel eyes Come and take this earth boy Up to paradise.”

”Boomer Walker…” she teases, “Is that a song from your time?”

Ascending a trail of kisses up her pelvis, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m starting to suspect that you have a kink for older men,” he answers with a throaty growl, shifting his weight further over her abdomen. The soft fur of his torso grazes between her thighs, and she sighs with pleasure.

”Do you want daddy to fuck you?”

”That’s gross!” she curls her nose and tries to hit his head playfully, but August snaps at her wrists with perfect instinct, pinning her hands against the wet meadow. His tongue flicks over the slant of her neck while he aligns his cock at the little piece of heaven between her legs.

Sensual yet rough, his massive girth splits her walls while his lips shower her with honeyed kisses. Ingvild throws her head back, lacing her fingers with his and coils herself beneath his large body.

“August...” she pants, feeling the air gradually diminishing from her lungs with every thrust, “I think I’m dying...”

Never halting or slowing his rhythm, August lowers his head to peer into her eyes. Fingers drenched with blood snap at her jaw.

“Stay with me, Ingvild.” He demands, letting out a husky groan, though his voice is but an echo.

A grey, thick mist wafts around the darkening forest, covering her with a bone-chilling breeze; his calling carries on the distance.

“Stay, princess...”

“Don’t leave...”

“Stay. We’ve only just begun.”

Ice bites its sharp fangs into the little creases between her cracked bones as another bucket filled with frosty water showers her trembling body. The stabbing pain lasts for a lingering moment, reminding her that she’s still very much alive.

It must be the 10th bucket, or maybe 12th? She lost count at some point. Day and night melt into one another in this place, and the hours don’t make much sense.

Muffled complaints vibrate in her ears. Vaguely her sight picks on two silhouettes arguing when the world abruptly flashes white, and her jaw soaks a terrible blow. Fully crashing onto the hard marble, she tries to recover, but a sudden kick rips through her abdomen.

“Your methods are too slow, Issac!” A grey-haired agent chides, standing over the girl with his foot still drawn, “Walker could be setting his bomb somewhere across the globe any minute now, and you’re taking your sweet time with her as if she’s an art project.”

The scrawny torturer frowns and turns his back at him. Walking toward the metal desk, he browses through different equipment. “My methods always work, the pretty little girl was taught to endure pain,” he grunts in exasperation and gestures at the bloodstained bandage around her hand, “she did this to herself.”

Sighing with a mixture of frustration and disgust, the CIA agent takes another swing at Ingvild’s torso, the pointy edge of his shoe colliding with the scar at her gut.

Bloodshot eyes rise with wrath, violent tides of aftershock course at her viscera. She peers at the men through the haze of pain when a third figure appears in the room, standing calmly whilst Issac and the agent argue among them.

Tall, broad, and charismatic, the handsome man strides toward her. His tailored steel-coloured suit envelops his statuesque body as if he is made of iron.

“You’re taking it so well, princess,” he praises in his deep, melodic baritone while crouching down to take a closer look. Ingvild lifts her head, slowly breaking into a weak grin. Onyx orbs replace the storm-touched eyes, but that chiselled face still belongs to her beautiful monster.

“Did you tell them anything about where I am headed?” he asks and gives her a pout, reaching his index finger and thumb to squeeze her bruised cheek affectionately.

Swallowing the aching dryness in her throat, she manages to shake her head meekly. “No… I said nothing,” her voice cracking as she whispers. Her chapped lips stretch into a pale, awkward grin.

Tiny lines form at the corner of his void-like eyes as he smiles back, radiating with dangerous delight.

“That’s my good girl.”

The grey-haired agent throws a glance over his shoulder, scrutinising Ingvild while he stands next to Issac, who is twirling a scalpel back and forth between his boney fingers.

“Who is she talking to?”

“Not very sane this one,” Issac explains as he examines the silver blade against the light, “multiple mental disorders, dissociative personality, psychotic.”

Pushing the agent aside with his free hand, Issac steps forward. He leers at Ingvild, who stares at nothing for a long second before averting her eyes back at them.

“We just need to dig a little deeper and the little bird will sing,” he exclaims and moves closer before dropping to his knees. One of his icy hands lands on her shoulder, forcing her flat on her back. Shuddering at his frozen touch, she closes her eyes; in the bleak nothingness, she recalls the night in the lake where August let her die.

“Pretty little Ingvild, have you heard of vivisection?” Her torturer asks as he lines his twig-like finger over the spine of the scalpel. Sensing his digits sneaking beneath the hem of her shirt, she shoots her eyes open yet remains still and intrepid.

The tiny black marbles beneath Issac’s brows glint with twisted joy, appeased at the sight of the scar as he exposes her torso. Ingvild expects the pain of the blade when something tepid and unpleasantly wet slithers across her gut like a little pink slug.

“Umm… Issac…?” The agent interrupts, furrowing his brow with confusion and disgust as he stares at his colleague licking the girl’s torso.

“What?!” Issac snaps at him, his eyes narrowing with spite, “you wanted me to go harder on her!”

“Yes, but…”

“But shut up and let me do my job!” He yells and returns his glare to Ingvild who blinks at the ceiling silently. Disrupted by his touch, she bites her tongue, fighting to hold back the acrid substance that threatens to emerge from her gut.

“You fight very hard to protect a man who doesn’t give a fuck about you, little bird,” his snake-like voice hisses as he leans down to half-whisper in her ear, “just tell me where he is and I won’t cut you open.”

Ingvild sucks the air in through gritted teeth and turns her head to look away from the obnoxious little man. She seeks for her beautiful monster, finding him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. August’s empty glance wears a calm grin.

“He is in this room,” Ingvild jests faintly, her sardonic laughter stretching thin, her chest heaving, exhausting whatever strength is left in her muscles. August’s smirk widens with hers, large dimples are slicing into his cheeks.

Ticking his tongue, Issac allows the sharp edge of the scalpel cut a skin-deep line into her flesh. Ingvild stares at him stoically, not moving a muscle as shy drops of blood begin trickling down her navel.

“Are you sure about your response?” he asks, ghosting the scalpel over her abdomen while crooking an eyebrow.

Ingvild bites her lip, pretending to think about her answer for a few seconds. Lifting her head up, she inches her lips toward Issac’s ear. The scrawny man listens intently.

“August Walker is the devil, and the devil is everywhere.”

A peal of sinister chuckles spills from her lips as she throws her head back onto the ground, staring at Issac’s disapproving glare.

But her laughter soon dies.

Taut pressure pierces into her flesh, the blade penetrating deep, cutting through tissue and muscle as if it was soft cheese. Ingvild clenches her jaw, her mind flooded by charring white light that dismantles every thought while the blade continues to swerve.

For a brief moment, she finds herself in Bergen, hands covered with thick blood, holding the gushing wound in her stomach with shock. August stands above her, toying with his favourite knife and staring at the red taint.

“Time to fall, angel.”

Scattered musings run behind her eyes: Liam, the nuns at the orphanage, August, and even Erica. She’s reminded of every hit she was forced to take, every country she visited, all blending into a bizarre parade of death.

“C’mon girl, just tell us where he is!” She hears the other man shout as he steps closer with an urgent expression. “Just give us something, a country, a region, anything to make this stop, you can still do the right thing.”

The heavy stench of iron fills her nose; the warm, thick liquid trickles down her bare skin, spilling in a cross on the map of her torso. The pain now is undeniable, making her lips heavier as she makes an attempt to answer.

“I don’t…. know… any August.”

The CIA agent scoffs violently and balls his fists. “Deeper!” He orders Issac, who like a composer, trails the blade further through her gut, cutting into sinew and brittle tendons. Ingvild trembles, feeling her body grow weaker.

In her mind, she can hear caged screams.

“You will die for a man who doesn’t even care if you bleed!” The agent rasps, spit coming out of his mouth as he rages above her.

‘Stop!’

“He won’t even remember you once you die!”

‘Resist, don’t show pain. You’ve been through this before, you already died.’

“No one will.”

Swallowing every ounce of pain, she fights to remember her training, her past. Her mind scrambles for Fjellstrekninger forest, for the green pines and their stringy needles, for the scent of beech and the damp ground. She tries to imagine the silver-blue mountains of Bergen, that last time she hiked there before going to meet Liam at the gas station.

How strange that at the very same day she encountered the most wanted man on earth, not knowing she was destined to be his.

But none of these images appear before her.

‘You can’t escape this.’

Her screams shudder through the entire floor.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

August flicks his tongue over his bottom lip, glowering at the driver who gawks at him with disbelief and shakes his head. Pushing the phone against his chin, he stares forward at the rainy road, reciting in his mind the words of the MI6 and CIA apostles.

‘Erica captured a woman in her late 20s, having her tortured for information for a couple of days now. Can’t promise you she’s alive. No one goes in there.’

“I wasn’t asking,” August answers, throwing him an icy glare, “we’re taking the chopper to the Mi6 fortress in London. I don’t need to tell you what happens if you question my decisions.”

The driver tenses his fingers around the steering wheel and shakes his head once again. He means to say something, but the scowl on August’s face shuts him up right away.

“Who is she? What is she to you?”

August huffs and lowers his gaze, eyes dropping to the plutonium case and then forward through the windshield, watching the heavy rain clouds that stretch before the sky. As he blinks his eyes shut, his mind plays a vision of an inferno; cracked ground and scorched skies. He sits on a throne made of bones and drinks wine from a chalice made of human skull.

His angel sits on his knee, naked and pure, her iridescent wings tucked against her back. She stares at him with a smile full of admiration, her fingers brushing over his moustache.

‘Your angel of destruction.’

“She’s just an asset.”

‘Hell lives inside you August, it always has. Rotting you from the inside as it begs to be let out. And you will unleash it, won’t you? Your suffering must be shared.’

Vast shadows gather outside the double-pane windows of the main hall. The thick storm clouds paint the sky pitch black, swallowing the stars alive one by one. Light wanes just in time for the harbinger of chaos to march into the well-secured lobby of the sizable Mi6 fortress.

If fairytales were to be true, the devil would arrive riding a monstrous mare with hooves made of flames. But if anything, he is but a man in a tailored suit and a long trench-coat. The leather soles of his midnight-black shoes squeak as he marches on, leaving a trail of mud on the cream-coloured marble.

“Evening sir,” the security guard greets and gestures August to pass through the large weapon detector with nothing but a quick exchange of knowing looks.

The corners of August’s lips curl into a small smile beneath his moustache while he scrutinises the surroundings. Gold and pearly pillars spread across the vast hall, a false facade hiding a decaying world and the self-indulgent ghosts that harbour it. So lost in their own little lie, it takes them more than a few minutes to notice the hellhound who stepped into their haven.

It begins as a small rumble, like a seismic wave. The first tremor vibrates through the ground and the walls follow with a convulsing shudder. Gasps, chatter, and widened eyes stab at him with shock, yet they all seem to suffer from the same affliction.

Standing paralysed, they ogle at the most wanted man on earth as he combs his fingers through his hair and walks toward the elevators located at the end of a narrow, red corridor. Unapologetically confident and ever so relaxed and condescending, he ignores them.

A true king among peasants.

“Is that?...”

“What the fuck?!”

“How the fuck did he pass security???”

His confidence is nothing but theatrics, as his blue eyes carry toward the large elevators with a glossy sparkle breaking on his corneas. He tries so hard to envision her beautiful face yet all he sees is a pile of dry bones.

“Stop! Hands in the fucking air, Walker!”

‘Ah, took them long enough.’

Standing between the carpeted walls of the narrow corridor, only mere inches from the silver doors, August slowly spreads his long fingers and lifts his hands in the air. His keen ear catches at least three firearms as the guards cock their guns at his direction, panting with fright.

“Turn around so we can see you, piece of shit!!!” A presumingly young hero barks behind him.

“Someone call Director Sloane down here right now, she’s not going to believe it!!!”

The soft rumbling in the lobby grows into impending thunder. A flash of pale purple lightning floods the lit vicinity for a split second, echoing the small grin that spreads across August’s beaming face.

“Oh, I don’t think so, son,” he speaks serenely, almost like a tender fatherly coo. Not bothering to turn, he tilts his head up and inhales sharply.

“Go.”

Sharp gasps of shock and terror reverberate between the walls of the fortress as sudden darkness veils the main hall. The smell of their fear is almost as delightful as the strong smoky scent of gunpowder. Like shooting stars, the rapid gunfire pierces through the night. Cries, incoherent screams, and panicked gasps make for a beautiful concert, so much that he wishes he could stay, but he has a girl to rescue.

‘If she’s still alive…’

Swallowing the bitter bile, he enters an elevator and presses the button for the basement level. He watches the flickering beams of light as his men continue to execute the remaining agents before the doors shut in.

Drawing out his handgun and relieving the safety, he leans against the shuddering metal and stares at the neon red number while reminiscing on the day he met a pretty girl with an unpleasant smile.

“Too bad, I would have loved to see you again.”

“Well then, if our destinies were meant to be entwined, you will.”

The basement level seems completely abandoned and eerily silent. No wails nor cries carry on the chilly air.

His Ingvild is forbearing, she would never show her suffering. Would she?

Inching toward the interrogation cell, his hand runs across the naked concrete walls, sensing the coarse texture against the pads of his fingers. Opaline droplets of sweat bead his forehead and his lungs sink with the effort.

Muffled voices perk his ears the closer he gets: two men, no woman. No sounds of violence, no signs of her in there whatsoever.

‘Angel, are you being brave for me?’

Arriving at the door, he takes a deep breath and gingerly pushes the handle. The pungent scent of salt and iron pervades his nostrils as he steps a foot into the shower of blinding white light. The brightness hurts and for a moment it feels as everything before him fades.

Until his sight sharpens and he notices the two shadowy figures standing with their backs facing him. They look like vultures preying upon a corpse.

Her corpse.

‘No! Change this! Make this right!’

Wings of cherry-dark blood spread from her snow-pale body. Motionless, his girl lies with her top huddled around her chest to expose her bleeding gut.

‘You are too late…’

Pure, undistilled rage burns within August’s throat, so ferocious it stings in his eyes, making his entire body tremble. He lifts his hand and fires the gun hastily, shooting both men in the back of their heads before they even get the chance to turn and look at the man who executed them.

“Ingvild!” August pants, rushing and falling to his knees before her.

“Angel?” He presses one hand to her gut, trying to pressure her gushing wounds while his fingers etch around her nape to pull her closer to his face. Blood, still sticky and warm, tarnishes his clean outfit while he cradles her in his arms.

“Please don’t do this to me…” He whispers, shifting his hand to caress her bruised face, recalling the last time she was dead in his arms.

The world kept spinning on its axis when she died back at the lake. So why does it feel like right now it stopped in its place?

Pressing her to his chest, August shuts his eyes and shudders with fury. All emotions come to life, and every one of them hurt.

“You are not here…”

A deep quivering sigh of relief soars from his throat, mouth cracking into a smile at the sounds of her hoarse whisper and delicate moans. Blinking faintly, Ingvild half-opens her eyes and stares at him through heavy lids.

“I am here,” he whispers, brushing away the sticky strands of hair from her face and squeezes her cheek beneath his thumb, “I came to take you, we have to go.”

Shifting his arms, he tries to lift her up, but his petite woman is suddenly made of the heaviest rocks; her stiff muscles protest in his grip, making it impossible for him to manoeuvre her out of fear she will bleed to death.

“We were both at the garden,” she mumbles drowsily, licking her bloodied teeth before breaking into a maddened smile that quickly dies as she depletes her remaining strength. “I’m tired, I want to stay here and dream.”

“Ingvild, we don’t have time for this,” August warns with concern, noticing how her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter shut, “there’s a helicopter waiting for us on the roof. You have to get up, you have to survive this, you have to come with me! Please!”

Fat, oily tears roll down her temples, mingling with the blood and tangy sweat on her face. Opening her eyes again, she peers at her beautiful monster, recognising the familiar ocean and its eternal unrest.

Did he come here for her, or is it just a dream?

“Why?”

‘Tell her.’

Brow lifting and face softening, his hands clutch her tightly. He rocks her from side to side, holding her protectively. Ingvild senses the wrath that pours from his heart, the thundering beat throwing its fists against his ribcage as their bodies collide.

“You know why,” August suggests huskily, nearly begging, bargaining not to admit, not to say the words he was always so afraid of. But naively, her gaze pleas in return, the child-like innocence piercing a hole through his chest.

“Tell me,” she begs him.

‘She needs you to say it.’

“Because I need you.”

The words nearly crack on his tongue, his throat suddenly so dry it sears. He glances down at the fallen angel, sensing the most excruciating thirst, where the only way to stop it is by stealing several deep kisses from her lips.

“I need you by my side,” he murmurs above her lips between desperate, helpless kisses, hoping to breathe life into his weakened valkyrie, “stay with me, angel.”

An awkward stretch tugs at her cheeks, hurting as if someone slices them with a blade from side to side. For the first time in her life, true laughter crisps her face, followed by crystal-like tears that run down her sullen eyes.

“I love you, August.”

Every nerve in his body tingles with tendrils of light, reaching out deep within his gut and spreading throughout his tendons. For a moment, he feels divine, sanctified by the words of his angel, his woman, his by free will.

Offering her a brief smile, he captured her lips for one last stolen kiss. His thick moustache scratches at her tender flesh while a little hum plays on his tongue.

She tastes like blood and honey - the tarty flavour of victory.

“We have to go now, princess, I have to finish this.”

Gingerly rising to his feet, he hooks a hand below her knees and places the other against her bruised spine. Bloody footprints trail behind him as he carries her outside the white room, trying to make for their freedom.

Locked down in her office, Director Erica Sloane inhales and exhales by practice, brushing a hand through her sweat-slick hair while trying to call every backup unit. Bullets still rip through the air in every story; the sirens howl while red lights flicker from outside. She puts her hands around her ears, trying to shut the noises out, uncertain if the screams she is hearing are her people still being slaughtered, or her mind playing tricks.

Walker is many things: an idealist, a manipulative snake, a monster. But this is a side of him she never anticipated. There is no need to question his motives this time. She is smart enough to figure it out.

To risk so much, a man must feel deeply for a woman.

Her anxiety spikes as guilt seeps in when her phone suddenly rings.

“Director Sloane,” she pants against the receiver. Somehow, as she hears the deep, measured breath, she knows.

‘Walker.’

“Hello, Erica, did you miss me?”

Erica clenches her jaw and stares spitefully into nothing, “Hardly.”

She hears him scoff from the other line, her mind piecing together that horrible, pretentious grin of his. The bile climbs up her throat just from the vision.

“We don’t have much time, but I just wanted to thank you.” August pauses, sighing with the bliss of a madman at her ear, “You see, if not for Lacey, if not for you kicking me to the curb the way you did - I would have never become what I was meant to be. And you sent me an angel to light my way…”

“You’ve manipulated her.”

“No, you did,” August interrupts calmly, “I set her free. I will set them all free and unite them.”

The anger simmers in her gut to the point of nausea. She holds her breath, counts to ten and tries to gather her thoughts. ‘August wants a bargain,’ she thinks, but for a reason, it feels like he already won.

“Can you come and look out of the window for me, please?” He asks politely.

Turning her head at the window, she narrows her eyes and bites her plump lips with hesitation.

“If I had a sniper on you, you’d be dead 5 minutes ago,” he assures her.

She gets up from her office chair slowly, her fingers reaching to uncover the blinds. The storm weakened, yet heavy clouds still loom from above like a noxious mist. She seeks for August on the horizon, listening carefully to the sounds on the line. She realises they are coming from above. Her sharp eyes detect the helicopter: far, yet close enough to see his shit-eating grin and that hand that waves at her.

He has the girl with him. Who knew a monster could care.

“You know, you are the only woman in the CIA I haven’t fucked.” He provokes and then hangs up suddenly.

Erica watches as the helicopter takes off, her eyes widening with fear as the notion of her own demise resonates like a stinging slap.

The blast takes her along with the entire building within a split second.

Standing on the cliff by the edge of the valley, August stares down at the tranquil scar that swerves amidst lush, fertile mountains. The crystalline Indus river lies before his eyes, its sweet water so clear that the sky mirrors upon the brim.

It’s not every day when a simple man becomes a god.

The melancholic beauty of nature makes his fingers tighten around the detonator, thumb ghosting over the button as he allows himself a couple of last seconds to inhale the air of the old world.

Oh, how many will die for this god to receive his halo.

‘I wish you were here, my Ingvild…’ August muses with anguish, feeling an awkward jab at the spot where his heart should have been.

A sudden rumbling noise of a helicopter makes his gut weave.

‘That better not be Ethan fucking Hunt! I should have thrown him off the cliff in Norway!’

Alarmed yet stoic as ever, he draws his gun, aiming it at the aircraft inching its way to land on the other side of the flat terrain. The last thing he needs right now is someone meddling with his affairs, but it quickly becomes clear to him that if someone wanted a monster like him dead, they would have sniped him from the air before he could even see them coming.

‘Did you forget the woman is nothing but a valkyrie?’

“What are you doing here?” He calls out at Ingvild and frowns at the pilot, abruptly struck with anger. “I specifically asked to make sure she stays rested!”

The pilot shrugs while Ingvild makes her way toward August with mild effort. Dark circles rest beneath her eyes, yet she is still so very beautiful to him, especially when she frowns.

“She was very persuasive and horrendously stubborn,” the pilot retorts.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” August mutters to himself and watches the little battered woman making every attempt to remain stoic as she steps closer. A shadow of a malicious grin creeps on her frosty eyes.

Once upon a time, she promised him she will always find him. She has no intention of breaking that promise.

“Did you think I’ll let you do this without me, August Walker?” She sulks at him as she finally moves to stand in front of him. Every nerve in her body is inflamed with pain, yet the thought of not being here at the birth of the new world brings greater agony than imagined.

Something she compares to missing out on the birth of a child.

“We are in this together now, this is our cause, our better world. You don’t get to leave me behind.”

Her hand reaches for his wrist, thumb pressing to feel his quickening pulse. Wonder paints his eyes and his lips gape softly. He promised himself Lacey will never cross his thoughts again; yet he can’t help but think about that night in his study and the pain of betrayal.

‘How is she even real?’

Gently peeling her fingers off his wrist, he looks at the detonator. He then takes her hand in his, placing the device in her slender grasp.

“Forgive me, my darling. You’re right,” he apologises and turns her over to view the horizon. A shiver surges through her as she senses the weight in her palm when August moves to stand behind her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“We do this together.”

Pesky little honeysuckles flutter within her chest as his arms wrap around her carefully. One of his hands holds hers, raising it up slightly to position the device in front of her chest.

“Do it angel, set them free.”

Taking a deep breath, Ingvild slides her fingertip over the red button. Scattered images of her life briefly flash through her mind, ending with the single moment where their gazes first met that day in Bergen.

Bright heavenly light cleanses the sky and loud thunder rips through the earth. Standing on the trembling ground, August and Ingvild stare into the distance while slowly turning to face each other. They hold their hands together, both gaping with awe as rich golden hues pour into the sky.

Enamoured, and lost within one another’s beauty, they share a long, lingering kiss.

Epilogue.

Sharp and heavy, the blade split the wood in half as if it was made out of soft butter. Resting the blunt side of the leaden axe over his shoulder, he pauses and observes the pile of firewood on the ground. His lips move in silence as he counts before crouching down to pick up another log and place it on the stump.

Strong shades of pink and orange spread between the clouds, kissed by the drowsy sun as it makes its way to slumber beneath the earth. It’s been 8 months since the coming of their new world. Even though there is still work to be done, August decided a hideout was necessary to let her mend her wings.

“Loki!”

Ingvild rushes into the green field with a wide, toothy smile. Feral rivers of chestnut-brown reach the small of her back, floating behind her as she runs around giggling.

‘That smile, like honey. So pure, so real.’

Playful barks answer her call, and a German Shepherd puppy appears from across the green hill, jumping over one of the logs ecstatically and wags its tail.

“Careful or I’ll cook him for dinner,” August mutters and points the axe at Loki’s direction. The pup tilts its head at him and barks with playful rage, growling and baring its needle-like teeth.

Ingvild pauses and gives August an icy stare before grabbing the large puppy and holding him to her chest, “You’re a shitty liar August Walker, you love him. Always sneaking him bacon when you think I'm not looking and snuggling him in your sleep.”

August shrugs, brushing away her comment before sticking the axe into the tree stump. “Get inside, time for dinner.” A small grin stretches on his lips as he sees her walking away, kissing the puppy on his wet little nose.

The scent of cedarwood burning at the mantle and brewed coffee welcomes her home as she enters the cabin, immediately filling her chest with mellowness. She allows Loki down on the ground before walking into their cosy bedroom where she removes her trousers and remains in an oversized sweater and black thigh-high stockings that August gifted her after they left Kashmir.

When she returns to the living room, August is sitting at the study with his laptop open. A small wrinkle lines his forehead while he runs two fingers over his moustache. A map and coordinates are visible on the screen, along with a messaging platform which she only assumes is a conversation with one of the apostles.

Loki lies guarding at his feet.

“Come here, princess,” August calls, reaching out his arm toward her. “I have something to show you.”

Sneaking toward him like a large feline, Ingvild takes his hand and lets him guide her to his lap. Her legs fall to each side of his thighs, and August rests his chin at the small crook of her neck where it always belonged.

“What are you looking for?” She asks, casually pulling the sleeve over her wrist to scratch at a peeling hammer tattoo gracing her skin.

“Don’t touch it, let it heal.” August answers and takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers together tightly. An illustration of an angel wing decorates the same spot on his arm. As she glances at the way the black ink is embedded into his flesh, she can’t help but smile and ever so slightly grind herself on the semi-rigid bulge beneath her ass.

August growls against her neck, grazing his stubbles over her supple skin before reaching a hand to unzip his tracking trousers and pull out his swelling manhood. After a soft scuffle of her panties, he lifts her hips and slides himself fully within her wet, angelic cove.

“August…” She sighs, fluttering her eyes shut for a split second, embracing both pain and pleasure. When August fills her, she is ethereal, as if a piece that was missing all her life has finally made it back home.

“You always look so beautiful with me inside you,” he murmurs against her neck, planting bristly kisses down her jawline before returning his glare forward. Ingvild only moves slightly above him, swaying slow and smooth on his thick, throbbing girth and squeezing him tight between her walls to relish in their bond.

“I have a present for you.” He opens a tab on his browser while his fingers toy with her clit with surprising tenderness.

“What is it?” She moans as he presses down on her sensitive pearl.

“I found Liam,” he explains, a twinge of pride and a spit of revenge hanging on his baritone. He growls slightly as her cunt clenches around him by his words. “He’s hiding out in Sao Paulo. I plan to bring you his head.”

Sucking on her bottom lip, she grinds a little harder, feeling August deep in her gut. The temptation to ride him hard and rough is too great, but this sweet slow torture always brings her to a higher ground of ecstasy when they finally fuck.

“Can it wait, my beautiful monster?” She asks sweetly, reaching her talons to clutch his thigh as he pushes further in and bottoms out inside her with a grunt. “I’d like to stay here for a while and be your angel for a little bit longer.”

August lifts his cerulean gaze back to Ingvild, the clear sky in his deep irises slightly darken as he observes the serene look on her face. His hand rises to cup her chin and turn her head to the side to meet his possessive lips. He cages her mouth with his, devouring her with the lust of a hungry man.

“You will always be mine and mine alone Ingvild,” he promises as he ends the kiss with a nibble on her chin. Ingvild licks his saliva off her mouth and stares back at him with the oxymoronic union of innocence and sinister urge before she leans back and continues to look at his plans.

‘Who is she to you?’

‘She is my queen, and I am the king of hell.’

_______________________________

Additional Notes: Song lyrics by Elvis Presely - Angel. Additional Inspiration by Nine Inchs Nails - We’re in this together.

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Mission Impossible’s franchise or August Walker.

#henry cavill #august walker #august walker x ofc #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill fanfiction #the way to hell #henrycavill

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im-feelin-sick · 3 years

Text

I wrote a thing 👉👈. non-s*xual shibari/rope-play devnny, though I’d still say it’s NS/FW and k*nky. cw for casual su*cical ideation, disassociation, torture/murder mentions, and a touch of blood. y’know, the usual jthm stuff. 18 and over only, please

The first time Devi asked him for this, she wouldn’t look him in the eyes- uncharacteristically shy and vulnerable. Nny agreed to it without hesitation, of course. If Devi wanted anything from him, he would give it to her. Every last scrap of his ugly meat, damned soul, and broken mind already belonged to her anyway, although Nny could never understand why anyone would want those. He was the leftover smear on the universe’s underwear, when it forgot to wipe after taking a giant stinking shit.

Devi wanted him regardless. She gave him rules and procedures for this kind of thing. Safety precautions, which Nny knew were pointless. If the glass already shattered across the floor, sweeping up a couple jagged pieces wouldn’t keep any of the others from ripping open feet. But Devi cared, against all odds, so she dug at him until he spat out safewords and limits for her.

He wore his clothes, and Devi wore long, polyester gloves thin enough to give her clever fingers all of their dexterity, but thick enough that the fabric felt cold and nothing like sticky skin when she brushed against him. Devi coiled him up with cords in shades of black, grey, red, violet, navy. Her designs started simple. Crosses and loops around his arms that pulled his sharp shoulders back. Snug stripes over his knees and ankles, binding him so he could only writhe like a worm drying out on cement.

The more they did this, the more confident Devi got in her knots. She was an artist, after all. The patterns of rope over him grew into complex designs, and Nny became a sculpture for her. He imagined no better fate for himself. Devi was so painfully, frustratingly gentle with him when she bound him, showering him with praise when he held still for her or contorted to whatever shape she demanded. She never pulled the knots too tight, or wrapped the cords around his neck, though if she took the breath from him, that would be an exquisite way to kick the bucket.

On occasion, he absolutely lost his complete shit inside of the ropes. Too tight, too much, too still! As if Nny was some kind of animal, which he was, every wretched human creature was, he frothed at the mouth and screamed. He tried to rip off any cord he reached with his teeth, so that he could burst free and chew her open until he tasted her ghost. Nothing would trap him! Nothing could control him! His mind blinded himself with the humiliation of this, of being reduced to a flopping fish in a net.

At Nny’s own request, she left him tied up when he had his fits. Devi kept scissors and knives to cut him free, in case of emergency, but neither of them wanted to find out what he’d try if she let him loose like that. She just let him work himself out until he calmed down, and then after the ropes came off, she fussed over him, and they went out to go get burritos or watch a movie or something. Aftercare, she called it- another unnecessary precaution in Nny’s eyes, but one he wouldn’t argue. Any burrito was always good, and any time spent with Devi was even better. Plus, he suspected the aftercare part was just as much for her sake as it was for his.

The rage happened only a couple or so times. Most of the time, Devi’s ropes sent him into a bliss- the kind he only found in the stars or particularly good commercials. She tied him down to the Earth, and kept his addled brain from floating away from him. Nny asked once what she got out of all this. Devi admitted, after some prying, that she enjoyed the power over him, and that maybe, *just maybe*, she was a little bit sadistic. That answer brought a huge grin to Nny’s face. But Devi exploded his mind when she added that Nny was beautiful, and it pleased her to give him the peace he so rarely experienced. Devi rather liked having control, and Nny, after a mental struggle, enjoyed letting her have it, so the arrangement worked very well for both of them.

Tonight, they decided to take it a step further.

Nny’s own flesh disgusted him. He hated the way his joints bulged through his thin skin, or how he couldn’t stop the oils and sweats from leaking out of his own traitorous pores. Everyone looked ugly on the inside, and when Nny peered into the mirror, he saw his own ghoulish skeleton and organs, swimming in all the sins he committed. Out of all of the insides he ever saw, his were the most hideous. He rarely took off his own clothes, committed to the layers that hid him from himself.

Devi wanted them peeled off, so she could wrap the ropes around him naked. This, in Nny’s not-so-humble opinion, was an idea worse than that time he tried to put someone’s sliced off arms back on with duct tape. But he would give Devi anything she wanted, and he heard that it was healthy for one to break out of their comfort zone. So, now Nny kneeled on the floor, bare as a peeled banana, for Devi to scrutinize like a virus under a microscope. It put him so far out of his comfort zone that it made him want to crawl back to Hell, or even Heaven.

Devi stepped into the room as soon as he announced that he was ready for her. She looked ethereal, he thought, but he thought that every time he saw her. Divine, lovely and pale as the moon, his merciful green-eyed goddess of death. He worshipped her by stripping down for her, gifting her his putrid heart for her to weigh on her scale, and then doubtlessly throw away for the crocodiles. Nny bowed his head in shame.

“You’re beautiful,” Devi told him, in a breathless, earnest tone devoid of her usual dry sarcasm, and Nny felt as weightless and free as a feather. The sound of her tugging on her gloves elicited some kind of Pavlovian response out of him, and his head snapped back up. Devi smiled at him. Her gaze wandered over his form, before she stepped closer to him with the silk rope in her hands. It was white tonight. She’d never used white rope on him, and it looked so clean and pure to him, like undisturbed snow. He didn’t want his footprints on it.

When she was inches away from him, she asked “What’s the safeword?”

“Taco Bell!” Nny told her, somewhat annoyed.

“Color?” The questions were Devi’s way of telling him she was about to start, and Nny’s next answer came out so impatiently and frustrated, that she lifted one of her eyebrows.

“Green! Holy fuck, it’s green! Just go already!”

Devi snickered, and knelt down to wrap the rope around his chest and make the first knot. She looped it over him, again and again, and at first it looked chaotic to him. Strands across strands, messy, like old cobwebs trapping his body. Devi made him look more like an insect, he thought with grim amusement, and that made her a spider catching him in her web. He might very well be in love with her for that.

The design made itself more clear as Devi pulled the cords taunt against him, and constructed symmetrical white shapes against his tan skin. Nny stared at his own chest, and it didn’t make him want to vomit for once. Nothing she created could sicken him. Nny let out a long, shaky breath.

“Devi….” he whined.

“Attaboy. You’re doing great. Lift up your arms for me, and press your forearms together, ” Devi murmured, and Nny whimpered and obeyed. She manipulated his limbs into the exact position she wanted, and then tied them into place.

His legs came next, calves trapped against thighs with knot after knot. Nny wondered how he could simultaneously be so folded up and stretched out all at once. He used to contort his victims like this- drag them into impossible shapes and torture them like that, but it never looked nearly as pretty as Devi made it. She could hurt him so easily like this. What stopped her from skinning him and crawling even deeper into him, until she saw the same truth as him? That even though he somehow tricked her into calling him beautiful, beauty was so fucking shallow! Everyone looked ugly on the inside! And he was the filthiest of them all!

Nny hyperventilated, and his eyes bulged as he pushed so hard against the ropes that static crept into the edges of his vision. Devi called out his name from somewhere, but it sounded distant, underwater. She must be drowning. He was drowning! Wallowing so deep in his own misery, that it filled his lungs and choked him out. This was no rage that overtook him, but an icy cold panic that shot through his entire body until it numbed him.

Devi must have sensed something different, less dangerous about this particular freak-out, because she approached him with a pocketknife. Nny heard someone else with his own distorted voice screaming at her to stop, and to never let him free. She backed off, and yes, yes! She was going to let him die like this! Going to let him struggle to death and decay in her ropes!

He dipped his head to look back at the ropes on his chest, and watched them slowly turn red. Oh. Blood. She must have stabbed him at some point, and he got so worked up he never even felt it. Smart and kind of her, because he wasn’t really the sort of person who should be alive, and he’d much rather bleed out painfully over a long period of time than just starve. Oh, his Devi. Generous even when she murdered him.

Nny wasn’t really sure what happened after the blood loss made his vision go black.

When his coherent thoughts did begin to trickle back, he realized he’d been staring at the ceiling for quite some time, seeing faces and creatures in the nonsense patterns of plaster. His joints ached, having been frozen in place for so long, and lying on his back, ropes and the floor dug into his back. Nny smelled pennies and blood, and then he smelled chamomile and honey, and turned his head to the side.

Devi sat calmly in a chair, reading a book, with two steaming mugs on a table next to her.

“How long has it been?” Nny asked, certain he’d been slowly dying for days.

“About twenty minutes,” she answered, and she carried that forced calmness to her voice that she got when she tried to cover up her own annoyance, or fear. In this case, it was a mix of both. Ah, hold on, so he’d never been stabbed. Right. Devi would never do that to him, except in self-defense, and the ropes rendered him harmless even in his worst state.

“Sorry,” Nny said. “That was very rude of me, especially when things were going so wonderfully. Did you get to finish your design?”

“No. But it’s fine.” Devi was warming up again. She wouldn’t push him to let her finish her work on him, even if it disappointed her.

Nny wriggled his torso. “I’d like you to.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“Please, Devi? Please?”

“. . . fine. Color?”

“Green!”

“You’re shit at actually using those safewords like you’re supposed to. We’re going to talk about that later.”

Regardless, Devi set her book down, using the dust jacket to save her place, and crossed the room to him again. At some point, Nny had fallen over, so she lifted him back upright and into place.

“Wait,” Nny said. “Wait, I want you to take your gloves off.”

“Are you sure?” Devi’s eyes narrowed. “We’re already pushing it. That sounds like a bad idea. Worse than that time you tried to fix that bust pipe with duct tape.”

Nny wanted to feel her fingers push against his ugly skin. He wanted her to leave her fingerprints on him, to leave a piece of her with him after the rope marks went away, and he wanted her to find all of the secrets that his fucked up head kept away from even himself. She made him pathetic enough to beg.

“Please? I want it.”

Devi let out a long, shuddering sigh, and Nny’s heart slammed against his ribcage. Ohhhh. She wanted it too. She wanted to touch him. She was holding herself back from it.

“Yeah, um. Okay. I mean, yes. Gloves are coming off… now.” She tugged at their snug fit until they slid off, and anticipation paralyzed Nny more than the ropes ever would. The gloves dropped to the floor, and Devi picked up the loose end of the rope, and began to tie knots again. She started out with so much caution, and the each time her fingers brushed against his bare skin, goosebumps prickled across Nny’s body. Most of the groundwork had already set itself into place over his skin, so she really only had details left. When she finished, Nny was truly, delightfully immobile, save for his head, his toes, and his fingers. He wiggled them experimentally, and relished in the way his muscles burned, forced into position. Devi stood back to admire him. To admire! Him! And what she did to him!

She took a few pictures, artwork for their own eyes later, before returning to Nny, and dropping to her knees so their eyes were level with each other. Neither of them said anything, but Devi lifted a hand and hovered it near his face. When Nny made no protest, she cupped his cheek, and he pushed back into her touch.

“You’re so warm.” Devi sounded surprised as she spoke, as if she hadn’t expected it.

“Yes, well. Contrary to what others may say about me, I regret to inform you that I am, in fact, still human. Despite my best efforts.”

Devi snorted, and Nny laughed along for a moment, until he began to tremble and cry like a blubbery baby, overwhelmed with all of it. The rope sessions often ended with him crying.

“C’mon.” Devi stroked his face a few more precious times, before starting to untie him. “Let’s get you out of these, and then let’s go get you something to eat, yeah?”

#jthm #devi d #devnny #nny #johnny the homicidal maniac #no beta and I kinda just brain-vomited this without too much focus on structure or anything like that #so be nice #nsfw/

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spacecadetal · 4 years

Text

fireworks

kakashi hatake/fem!reader

word count: 2774 warnings: descriptions of violence, descriptions of blood, descriptions of killing, alcohol use author notes: i wanted to write something a little different than i usually would i kinda got a little tired of my wips lol

the first time i saw him, i was eight years old with a shy curiosity about the world. long story short, his shoulder collided with my own. he wasn’t watching where he was going and neither was i, the hard jolt gave me such a fright that i yelled at him to watch where he was going. i had too much pride to admit i was at fault, lost in a daydream once again. he shared my reaction and my sentiment. saying i should watch myself too with great annoyance in his tone. i scoffed, he huffed, we went our separate ways.

i had always heard his name but never connected the dots until i was much older but still not much wiser. he was a prodigy, i was painfully just above average. as a bright eyed genin, i was out in the world and only starting to understand the true meaning of the path i chose at the naive age of six. his squad was babysitting my own on a mission. his mentor stands next to mine and introduces us and my face sours immediately. unlike him i don’t have a mask to hide it. he avoids me for the whole mission but his teammates are nice.

his red eye was making waves around the world, he was a myth and enemies across the land waited in anticipation for the day to come where they could finally see it in the flesh. great gain had come with great loss, i’m sure he wishes the second hand eye was back with its original owner. i remember the first time i saw him lift up his headband and expose it to the world. the blood red eye and it’s black swirls, chills shoot down my spine like pins and needles. engaging with an enemy was pure violence, animalistic and messy yet he made it seem so graceful.

the pines and the dark forest disappear before my eyes; now he stands on a wooden stage with his foe, dancing under a spotlight. every dodge and weave is smooth and flawless. his strikes felt as natural and as quick as a snake striking at its prey. i watch his performance with a disregard for my own safety and when the last of our enemies hit the dirt, i wait for him to bow. instead he shakes the blood off his kunai and the famous eye is tucked away under his headband. i think i fell in love with him that afternoon.

the girl who died, her name was rin and that one time her team babysat mine, she braided my hair by a campfire and said i had a pretty name. she didn't deserve to die. they whisper about him when he walks by, terrible nasty things. but i smile at him, wave to him when i see him and hope it makes him feel less alone in the world. he sees it and he averts his gaze without reply or acknowledgement. rejection makes my chest tighten, if only slightly. naturally i assume he doesn’t like me, maybe he doesn’t like anyone.

i'm in a village with my squad for a mission, it’s small but the green tea in the wooden cup and the smell of rabbit stew on the stovetop makes me feel at home. the excited teenage boy asks me about the things i've seen. the only thing he knows is chopping wood and shearing sheep. he asks me about a rumour he’s heard by a traveller about the boy that conjures lightning in his hand, he asks me if i've seen it before in the flesh. i smile and nod and confirm that i have. he asks me to describe it. i don't know how to at first.

first, you hear the static snapping and popping and it captures your attention instantly. then the pale blue light grows bigger and bigger in his hand, it takes on a life of its own and i won’t lie and say that it doesn’t make my heart beat out of my chest but he tames it like a wild beast, he has complete control. if you stand off to the side, you can watch the show. lightning surrounds him but he is never burnt. he’s like a god when he strikes, i've never seen something so terrifying but beautiful. he's beautiful. but i don’t tell the teenage boy that and i dont tell him that sometimes the loud crackle of his chidori haunts me when im alone.

when i'm a chunnin, i feel much older than i am. it's not due to the title of my rank but because i keep plunging my kunai into grown men’s hearts and have to pretend it doesn’t faze me to see blood squirting from punctured arteries. i don't see him around the village much anymore. he lives in the darkness, in the shadows but sometimes he comes out into the light. he's grown so much older and taller and i think he looks handsome in his gear. toned arms and biceps and that tattoo on his left upper arm, the one that tells the world where his loyalties lie. walking past him, i prepare to feel the chill of his icy demeanor but i say his name, wave and smile. the only one of his eyes that sees the world widens and the veins of his arms bulge at my greeting, i can’t see his hands because they’re stuffed in his pockets. he always looks away but this time, for the smallest of seconds, he nods in my direction and then he is gone.

when the nine tailed beast attacks the village, i am kept away from the battle in a forest with the rest of the ninja around my age. he’s there, standing by his friend who talks and talks. i like his friend, he always greets me with enthusiasm. i try to ignore the sounds of my village being destroyed and the screams of the unfortunate dying people as i am powerless to do anything. my eyes move on their own in his direction only to find he has the same idea. for a moment, air leaves my lungs and i nod politely before i look away. his eyes meet mine one, two, three times. that night my home was buried under a mountain of rock and rubble and he lost the last person that knew the true extent of the damage this world had inflicted on him.

the elderly lady at the stall with the hair clips told me i've grown into a beautiful young lady and i blush at her comment and insist it isn’t so. she tells me i must have a lot of boys' attention and i buy the deep blue hair clip with the faux sapphire gem. it stands out in my dark hair. it's been a long time since my house was crushed and a long time since he’s sat in the dango store with his friends but here’s there when i walk by. the compliment has me on cloud nine and i'm glad he’s not alone anymore. i smile at the group, say ‘ hey guys ’ and wave. for a millisecond my eye catches his as i'm walking by and my mind plays tricks on me. i think i see his cheeks tinge red.

kurenai came up to me one summer's morning and asked if i was attending the festival. i told her i was but likely alone. maybe i wasn’t such a pretty girl, no fish ever nibbled on the hook of the fishing pole i cast into the waters. her boyfriend looked bored as we spoke and her crimson eyes smile when she brings up the boy with the silver hair’s name, pretending she doesn’t notice my breath hitch for the slightest of moments. ‘ you should ask him, he’s not going with anyone either ’ she tells me and then she drags her boyfriend away. i sit alone on the cliffs for an hour thinking it through, my knees up to my chin as i wonder why she would suggest such a thing. iwashi is pissed that i'm twenty minutes late to meet up with them.

his group joins up with mine hours later and i greet him as i always do. he stands off to the side and plays with his hands and every time i catch his eye he looks as if he wants to say something to me. they say love feels like butterflies but when my eyes meets his, those butterflies turn into angry bees. i want to say something to him too, ask him where his friend got the idea that i should ask him to go with me but the bees within me sting and their venom prevents me from opening my mouth. i avert my gaze and pretend to listen to genma when he talks about his favourite order of ramen.

we all part ways but we’re together again within the hour and i'm waiting nervously at the spot kurenai told me to come back to. my yukata is the colour of lapis and white periwinkles decorate the sleeves and i wonder if i look plain compared to the girls around me dressed in passionate pinks, gentle purples, and bold reds. he doesn’t see me at first but i see him. his yukata is dark grey with light thin stripes and it compliments his bright silver hair wonderfully. it’s the first time i've seen his hair down and his long strands are wild and stick out all over the place, i think i fall in love with him all over again. hes alone and i don’t dare to approach but he finally sees me. he waves, i nod. he's so handsome that i can’t stand to look at him so i don’t.

it’s dark and explosions of many colours light up the sky. i'm so distracted by the loud boom echoing off the hills and the blue, red, white and green lights on a black landscape that i don’t notice he's standing right beside me watching it too. knuckles lightly brush against my own, my chest tightens at the sensation. it’s distracting enough that i tear my eyes away from the sky show. they’re as wide as a possum when i meet his gaze. he doesn’t say anything, he just stares for a moment before he looks back at the fireworks. it was an accident and i forgive and forget but then his fingers awkwardly hook around my own, clinging for dear life. i cannot look, i cannot think nor speak. i hold my breath and blink rapidly while i cling onto his fingers just as tightly. when the fireworks are finished, we consider each other in silence for a minute. his hand leaves mine and we part ways without a word.

every time i see him, i see fireworks and feel the ghost of his fingers wrap around my own. he acknowledges me and we’re rarely left alone around each other; when we are we do not speak of it. we lean against a railing side by side and watch our friends fool around. courageously i say to him that the weather is nice today and he nods in agreement before his friend calls him over. when he leaves my side, his knuckles brush past mine once more. i jump in surprise and tell myself it was another forgivable accident but then he glances back at me as he walks away and i can’t be too sure.

i am frozen still in a shrub waiting for the enemy to pass by. the sound of my heartbeat in my ears is so loud but suddenly it is replaced with the familiar crackle of electricity that haunted my dreams for the longest of times. when i turn around i see a man gasping for life, holding on tightly to the kunai i imagined would have been plunged into the nape of my neck if it wasn’t for the ball of lightning sizzling away in his chest. the man’s body drops to the ground and i finally see him standing there in the man’s place, his lower arm is soaked with blood from the fatal strike. he takes my hand and helps me onto my feet. that famous red eye is hiding behind a porcelain hound mask and he asks me if i'm okay. i assure him i am and thank him, he nods his head in reply and walks away. i don’t mind that he’s left my hand stained with our enemy’s blood.

when i am given the rank of jonin i am months away from being twenty. i’m not allowed to drink just yet but my older friends buy bottles of sake to share in the park and i accept the invitation without giving it much thought. it’s sweet on my tongue and goes down smoothly, the aftertaste reminds me of potatoes for some strange reason i can’t put my finger on. i drink and i drink until half a bottle is gone and my cheeks are red and i laugh too loudly at asuma’s lame jokes. the stars are beautiful tonight but they just look like streaks of light in my blurry vision. i lay in the grass, my head feels light and my stomach slightly churns. out of nowhere he is in my line of sight, standing over me with a touch of concern on the features that aren’t hidden away. he asks me if i'm okay and i say i'm just fine and i think to myself that i'm glad to see him.

when he takes me home, he lectures his friends that i'm too young to get drunk and they reply that i'll be old enough in a couple of months and it doesn’t make that much of a difference. he doesn’t mind my drunken babbling and how my head leans on his shoulder as we walk slowly through the dimly lit streets. his grip around my waist is tight and i try not to say something foolish like the way he fights is a form of art or that i want him to hold my hand again. he drops me off at the door and leaves once i am inside safely. i pass out that night thinking of the ways i want to be his.

i am twenty one when he leaves the anbu and i see him on the streets alone. his nose is in a book and he doesn’t notice as i walk by. i fight the urge to turn around and ask him how he’s going, i’ll be late to meet up with my old squad to train if i do. later when i walk home, i stare off into the distance and think about making dinner and sharpening my collection of kunai when i collide with something hard. i jump out of fright at the impact, ready to snap when two hands land on my shoulders to secure me in place. we’re not kids anymore and he smiles at me and apologises even when i'm at fault. i ask him how he’s been and he says he’s been just fine. he walks me home and we talk about missions and his new role as a squad leader. on my doorstep he says he’ll see me around and then he is gone and i am left greedily wanting more of his time.

one day when we are standing alone he tells me he is in love with me. it is is out of the blue and i brush it off with laugher, telling him he couldn’t possibly be; he takes my hand in his and insists it’s true. he tells me that he has been since the moment i collided with him in the street when he was ten years old. that when the world was unkind to him, i provided enough kindness to keep him going, all in a smile and a greeting. it is everything i have wanted to hear and more. the angry swarm of bees are back and i am stung over and over again. he can tell that i'm paralysed so his lips fall gently onto mine and it allows me to say the things i cannot utter out loud. my eyes are closed and i can see the very same fireworks from the night our fingers touched. when he breaks away from me he says we should get out of here and wordlessly i agree. we walk in the streets of the village and i am unsure of the destination he has in mind. his fingers are wrapped around mine.

#kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi hatake x oc #kakashi hatake imagines #kakashi x reader #my fic #my writing #f

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foxpaws10 · 3 years

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Don’t Forget Me When I Let The Water Take Me

It was the red hair which had done him in. His eye had latched on and for the first time in a very long time he felt his chest lift with hope. But the man had turned, eyes deadened and brown, not blue, and hope had been squashed under disappointment.

He should know by now that he wouldn’t ever see him again. Kept pushing it down down down. There were more important things to focus on than the ghost of a boy.

But as Andrew sat in the trenches, clothes soaked with mud, rain and the blood of his men, his mind conjured up old memories. Perhaps the memories were the only thing keeping him sane. Giving him a reprieve from the constant onslaught of bombs and gunfire, of men screaming and crying, of rats and lice and flies.

He held tightly to the image of the boy - because that’s what they had been, boys - and he closed his eyes against the fireworks of shrapnel in the otherwise dark sky.

He thought of nights spent on rooftops, smoking stolen cigarettes and making up stories about the bright stars above.

He thought of Nathaniel, and Nate, and Abram and Junior - of Neil.

Neil, always Neil to Andrew.

How his mother cursed them and threatened them and warned them. That boy was the son of the devil, the women of the village swore. They weren’t wrong. Neils father was the devil, with his burning temper and iron fists raining blows down on his son, painting him crimson and lilac.

But Neil, he was mischief. He wasn’t the fire and brimstone his parents raised him to be. He was sneaky and sly and a liar right down to his toes. He was a thief and he burned, oh how he burned, but it was life which coursed through him. Life which lit him up brighter than any star in the sky and drew Andrew into orbit.

He remembered the first time he saw him; galloping a chestnut mare across the fields which separated Andrew’s house from the Laird’s. They were both shiny as copper, Neils hair a fiery crown of curls, the horse dipped in blood - all but her muzzle which was a bright white.

Devils son? Well he looked the part. He took joy in the twin curls which curved like horns by his temples when his hair was wet; a consequence of either being caught in a downpour or Andrew dunking him in the river.

The river. They spent most of their days by it. Stealing the Laird Hingston’s fish, swimming in the clear depths, skimming rocks across the surface of the smoother, deeper pools.

The first time they swam, Neil had stripped naked as the day he was born. No shame in his nudity, though cautious about the scars and bruises littering his freckled skin. By the second week, Andrew was down to his underwear and then nothing at all.

They spent hours floating down the flow. Settling in shallow areas where the riverbed pushed up to the surface, keeping them locked in place despite the rushing water. Jumping off the high banks into pools, or swinging off overhanging tree branches.

They’d begun to ride Fox, Neils glorious chestnut mare, down to the river together. She would graze the lush grass along the banks, and Andrew swore she flicked them dissapointed looks every now and again when they were being particularly rowdy. Occasionally she would travel into the water with them, cooling down in the shimmering summer sun. Once, Neil had backflipped off her rear end and nearly had his skull caved in by her hoof.

She was a birthday present from Neils uncle, a Londoner by the name of Stuart Hartford. A strong Irish breed, she was to be used for hunting; covering vast stretches of land and jumping wooden gates and stone walls and deep gulleys. She had a temper worse than Neils some days; her ears would lie flat back against her skull, her nostrils would flare and she’d bare her teeth like a savage while stomping her hooves. Neil had worked through the anger with patience and persistence, and Andrew with a pocket full of sugar cubes.

Despite her bloodline boasting impressive abilities, she was just as happy pottering down country lanes and cobbled streets, loose and relaxed with the two boys riding atop her bareback.

Neil had taught Andrew how to trot, canter and pop a small jump on her. Just in case, he’d said, with a shifty look in his eye.

Andrew liked the speed of her, feeling the unbridled power in her muscles as he pushed her on until her strides swallowed the ground beneath them. Some days it felt like flying, most days it felt like freedom.

Andrew had been tucked into the corner of her stall late one evening, sharing an apple with both Fox and Neil, when he met Stuart Hatford. A man of high class and strange fashion, he was abrupt and rude but entirely harmless. Harmless to the two boys, that is.

Andrew grew to like him, enjoyed listening to him tear apart Nathan Wesninski with whip quick words. Enjoyed even better the day he’d threatened Nathan with his cane, a deadly look in his eye that Andrew had caught Neil mimicking once before.

After that incident they hadn’t seen much of Hatford, but when they did, he was sure to sneak money into pockets and biting remarks into ears.

The last time Andrew had seen Stuart, he’d been sat upon an impressive dark horse. A coat like midnight, shining like stars under a low autumn sun. He had passed Andrew, taking a shortcut through the fields, on the way to peruse the sweets of the bakery. Pulling up beside him, Stuart had made Andrew promise that he would take care of Neil, keep him out of trouble. And had warned that they needed to leave, the sooner the better.

If Andrew knew then what he did now, he would have left that very same day. But he had a brother to look after, one who confessed not long after that he’d knocked up the baker's daughter.

Their mother had been livid, and Andrew had taken the abuse in place for his brother. God only knew what the woman would have done had she found out about Andrew’s own inclinations.

He’d never understood the fascination with girls. Their curves and their high pitched giggles, their swishy skirts and small frames and sweet perfumes. He’d always been drawn to men, their deep voices and strong hands, the lingering musk of sweat and what lay between their legs.

He’d seen two men kiss behind the pub one late evening, when it was safer out in the cold night than their house. Had been fascinated with the hard press of lips and teeth and tongue, how their hands had gripped and tugged and pulled. It was a memory that wreaked havoc in his sleep, leaving him with damp undergarments in the morning and which haunted him on the days he did slide his hand between his legs.

Neil was the first male he ever kissed. Sitting in the corner of Fox’s stall, a puddle of kittens between them. Neils father had ordered him to drown them, but Neil had stowed them away in one of the outbuildings instead. They mewled and tottered between them on stumpy legs, claws digging through their trousers as they climbed into their laps.

Andrew had been sat on his window ledge smoking and watching the last dim light of the sun dipping below the horizon when Neil had stopped below him, wheels of his bike skidding in the loose gravel and dirt. His eyes had been alight with defiance and mischief as he coaxed Andrew to join him. Andrew had learnt early on he wasn’t capable of saying no to that look. It promised mischief and adventure and danger.

Andrew had mounted the bike with Neil balanced on the handlebars, telling him all about his precious find. One of his mothers exotic felines had been caught by a barn cat and given birth to five small kittens. She had hidden them away in a closet to protect them from Nathan and his hounds, but they soon found their voices and she’d been exposed.

They were a grey-blue colour with dark stripes and squashed faces. Andrew marvelled at how small they were, so soft and warm in his hands, with needle sharp claws and teeth. Despite only being a few weeks old they were strong and bold.

He dared a glance at Neil and felt his chest tighten. A bruise was splattered across his jaw, and a half circle of black skin hugged his left eye, but neither could take away from the soft smile curving his lips.

In the flickering lamp light, with the soothing sound of Fox’s heavy breathing and the grinding of her teeth as she grazed from her hay, he looked soft and melting like butter. Andrew wanted to dip his hands into him, to sip from his mouth and feel the steady pulse of his heart.

Neil came from old money produced through blood. He was the heir to the Wesninski estate, but also the Hatford’s. He had wardrobes packed with silks and chiffon, fancy coats and stiff trousers and hard boots. He had a mansion hung with exquisite portraits and oil paintings, curtains which cost more than Andrew’s house, furniture which dated back centuries yet was polished so bright it could have been made yesterday. He had a bed larger than Andrew’s and Aaron’s shared room. He had prospects and future betrothals and a list of universities just waiting to snap him up.

Yet he sat in the dirt of a horse stall, with mud splattered overalls coated in horse hair, a shirt which once might have been white but was perpetually stained yellow from hard work and sweat, boots gone soft and falling apart at the seams. His hair was an unruly uncombed mess atop his head, bright like the sunrise, and his eyes were blue as a summer sky. He smelt like sweat and horse and the Earth. His fingernails were perpetually dirty, no matter what time of day it was. He spent nights walking dark streets or sitting atop rooftops with Andrew, a bastard boy coated in poverty.

Their lives were miles apart, and yet they fit together perfectly. They had the same blase attitude about most of life, a dark humour others shyed away from, and a belief that there had always been something… missing. They had dark days and sharp days and quiet days. But together, they were learning ways to chase away the dark clouds and foreboding shadows.

Neil had been the one bright spark lighting up Andrew’s life from the first day. Everything was on fire, every atom of his being burned and yearned to be swallowed within Neils own blaze.

Andrew could remember, as clear as if it were yesterday, how his stomach had tied itself in knots. How his palms had dampened with sweat, catching the fine hairs of the soft kittens. How dry his mouth had gotten, all the moisture whisked away by nerves.

He could remember the wrinkle of Neils brow as he glanced at him, concern tightening his eyes as he realised something was wrong. The soft murmur of his name, slipping between smooth lips.

Andrew had asked, because he couldn’t bare to be pushed away once he leant in. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost Neil, if Neil looked at him with disgust and swore to never see him again.

But Neil had merely smiled, eyes gone soft and dewy as he set aside a kitten and leant in. His lips were even softer than Andrew had imagined. They were both inexperienced, and yet somehow it was perfect. The fumbling movement of their mouths as they tried to slit together in an even rhythm; the heavy gusts of breath as they tried to breathe and then forgot how to and almost choked on lack of oxygen; the first quick swipe of tongue to dampen the dry stickiness which suddenly turned the quiet kisses loud and sucking; the gut tightening sound Neil made when Andrew lifted a hand to his jaw, careful of the bruising, and tilted him down into the kiss; how they kept trying to get closer, ignoring the mewling and sharp claws of the kittens between them; Fox’s snort as hay dust swirled in her nostrils and she splattered them with wet droplets; how Andrew opened his mouth to breathe and suddenly Neils tongue was on his and it was like the beginning of a universe.

He could remember it all like it was yesterday. As another whizz-bang exploded overhead, he struggled to decide if it was a blessing or a curse. The memories were a warm blanket, a honey soaked film trying to cover the worst memories he’d occurred over the last few years. Where once everything had been bright and golden and beautiful, everything was dark and cold and horrid, leaking blood and guts everywhere. He could slip away for a second, a minute, an hour, and remember the boy he had cherished above all else. But it never lasted.

He didn’t know what happened to Neil. One day he was there, the next he was gone. Slipped out from under his fingertips, stolen on the wind as more bad news about the war blew in.

Andrew had tried to write to him once, but he’d never gotten a reply. He’d tried to find him, but so far there had been no news of a Wesninski or a Hatford in their ranks. Every glance of red hair was a beacon of hope, yet they left nothing but dark disappointment behind.

When the horses passed them, mud splattered and skeletal, he looked for red with a white muzzle. He dreaded the day he’d find it, abandoned on no-mans-land.

A whistle blew further down the line and he heaved a heavy breath before standing, so used to the feel of his clothes stiff and ridged and mud soaked he knew it shouldn’t bother him anymore, yet somehow it still did. He had a team of men to lead, he couldn’t dwell on the past. His brother, a medic now, among them.

Perhaps one day, the war would be over. Today wasn’t yet that day.

They had an advancement planned, a move to gain back what had been taken. A move closer to the enemy. It would be another week before he heard more than whispers travelling down the lines. They had a new battalion joining them in the meantime, due some time tomorrow evening.

Among them, a new translator. Andrew hoped Private Josten would be more help than their last one had been.

{READ ON AO3}

#my fic #give me validation #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #war au #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #mine #foxpaws10

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kkintle · 3 years

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The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch ; Quotes

One of the secrets of a happy life is continuous small treats, and if some of these can me inexpensive and quickly procured so much the better.

There will be time and motive enough to prose on about my life when I shall have generated as it were a sufficient cloud of reflection. I am still almost shy of my emotions, shy of the terrible strength of certain memories.

I always felt that we were in the same boat, adventuring along together (…) We enjoyed and craved for each other’s company. What a test that is: more than devotion, admiration, passion. If you long and long for someone’s company you love them.

Is it true however? Well, it is not totally misleading, but it is far too short and ‘smart’. How can one describe real people?

Did I face it well? I think I did. Forgiveness and money were so ready as soon as I knew that she was doomed. That sounds cynical. I always loved her; and we were rewarded. At the very end we were both perfect. Poor Clement. That is a dreadful land, old age. I shall soon be entering it myself.

The image of Hartley changed in my mind from fiery pain to sadness, but never became blank. And in a way, I did keep searching for her, only it was a different and quite involuntary kind of search, a sort of dream-search.

Oh Hartley, Hartley, how timeless, how absolute love is. My love for you is unaware that I am old and you perhaps are dead.

‘I could have told you that country is the least peaceful and private place to live. The most peaceful and secluded place in the world is a flat in Kensington.’

I confess that I went to Peregrine not only for a drinking bout and a chat with and cold friend, but for male company, sheer complicit male company: the complicity of males which is like, indeed is, a kind of complicity in crime, in chauvinism, in getting away with things, in just gluttonously enjoying the present even if hell is all around.

‘We are such inward creatures, that inwardness is the most amazing thing about us, even more amazing than our reason. But we cannot just walk into the cavern and look around. Most of what we think we know are pseudo-knowledge. We are all such shocking poseurs, so good at inflating the importance of what we think we value. (…) People lie so, even we old men do. Though in aa way, if there is art enough it doesn’t matter, since there is another kind of truth in the art’.

‘And if there is art enough a lie can enlighten us as well as the truth. What is the truth anyway, that truth? As we know ourselves we are fake objects, fakes, bundles of illusions. Can you determine exactly what you felt or thought or did? We have to pretend in law courts that such things can be done, but that is just a matter of convenience. Well, well, it doesn’t signify. (…)’

‘(…) Do you know what marriage is like? You say she’s unhappy, most people are. A long marriage is very unifying, even if it’s not ideal, and those old structures must be respected. You may not think much of her husband, but he may suit her, however impressed she is by meeting you again. Has she said she wants to be rescued?

How very convenient these cliché phrases are, how soothing to the pained mind, and how misleading, how concealing.

It is an interesting fact about jealousy (…) that although it is in so many respects a totally irrational as well as totally irresistible emotion, it does show a certain limited reasonableness where temporal priority is concerned.

I love her, I thought, just as if I have been married to her all those years and have seen her gradually grow old and lose her beauty.

You’ve lived in a hedonistic dream all your life, and you’ve got away with behaving like a cad because you always picked on women who could look after themselves. And my God you told us the score, you never committed yourself, you never said you loved us even when you did! A cold fish with clear hands! But it was just luck really if the girls survived.

She summoned up my whole being, and I wanted to hold her and to overwhelm her an to lie with her forever, jusqu’a la fin du monde, and yes, to amaze her humility with the forces of my love, but also to be humble myself and to let her, in the end, console me and give me back my own best self.

After looking at the bright candles I could at first see nothing, and it struck me in an odd way that while I was talking to Hartley I had forgotten about the sea, forgotten it was there and now felt confounded and at a loss to find myself half blind among those terrible rocks.

The formation of my love for Clement, had been one of the main tasks and achievements of my life: that love which so often almost failed but never quite failed.

Being in love, that’s another slavery, stupid when you come to think of it, mad really. You make another person into God. That can’t be right (…) Real love, is free and sane. (…) Real love is like in a marriage when the glamour is gone. (…) Love. God, how often we uttered that word in the theatre and how little we even thought about it.

‘Yes, it’s strange, but in a way I do know you, and there isn’t anyone else who’s near me like that. I support it’s just because we were young, and later you cant know people, or I couldn’t.’

‘It’s happened fast because it’s right, it’s easy because it’s right.’

‘I wish I was dead, I think I’m going to die soon, I feel it. Sometimes I felt I would die by wishing it when I went to sleep but I always woke up again and found I was still there. Every morning finding I’m still me, that’s hell.’ ‘Well, get out of hell then! The gate’s open and I’m holding it!’ ‘I cant. I’m hell, myself.’

‘You just want someone to remember things with.’

It ceased at last, as everything dreadful has to cease, even if it ceases only by death. My presence, my cries, had no effect on her, I doubt if, in a sense, she knew I was there, although also, in a sense, the performance was for me, its violence directed at me.

I remembered, as I now did whenever I awoke, with a pang of anguish and love and fear, that Hartley was in the house.

(…) and although, with her disordered grey hair she looked old and mad, she seemed in that arrested moment like a queen.

‘And you are using this thing from the far past as a guide to important and irrevocable moves which you propose to make in the future. You are making a dangerous induction, and induction is shaky at the best of times, consider Russell’s chicken –‘ ‘Russell’s chicken?’ ‘The farmer’s wife comes out every day and feeds the chicken, but one day she comes out and wrings its neck.’

‘Not to worry. Sic biscuits disintegrat.’ ‘What?’ ‘That’s the way the cookie crumbles.’

We did not dare to say much to each other. By now I wanted the whole thing to be over. I could scarcely endure the idea that she might even now say ‘I don’t think I want to go after all.’; and the impulse to cry out ‘Stop!’ was a pain which I urgently wanted to be without. Perhaps she felt much the same.

James said, ‘I hope you don’t feel that I’ve influenced you in any way against your better judgement?’ ‘No.’ I was not going to argue that point. Of course he had influenced me. But what was my judgement, let alone better judgement?

‘Time can divorce us from the reality of people, it can separate us from people and turn them into ghosts. Or rather it is us who turn them into ghosts or demons. Some kinds of fruitless preoccupations with the past can create such simulacra, and they exercise power, like those heroes at Troy fighting for a phantom Helen.’

‘I’m not calling her a ghost. She is real, as human creatures are, but what reality she has is elsewhere. She does not coincide with your dream figure. You were not able to transform her. You must admit you tried and failed.’

‘(…) It is a mental charade, a necessary one perhaps, it has its own necessity, but not like what you think. Of course you can’t get over it at once. But in a few weeks or a few months you’ll have run through it all, looked at it all again and felt it all again and got rid of it. It’s not an eternal thing, nothing human is eternal. For us, eternity is an illusion. It’s like in a fairy tale. When the clock strikes twelve it will all crumble to pieces and vanish. And you’ll find you are free of her, free of her forever and you can let the poor ghost go. What will remain will be ordinary obligations and ordinary interests. And you’ll feel relief, you’ll feel free. At present, you’re just obsessed, hynotised.’

‘(…) When you’ve known someone from childhood, when you can’t remember when they weren’t there, that’s not an illusion. She’s woven into me. Don’t you understand how one can be so absolutely connected with somebody like that?’

‘(…) I gave her the meaning of my life long ago, I gave it to her and she still has it. Even if she doesn’t know she has it, she has it.’

‘Just like even if she’s ugly she’s beautiful and even if she doesn’t love you she loves you – ‘ ‘But she does –‘ ‘Charles, either this is very fine, very noble, or else you’re mad.’

‘(…) You mustn’t interfere in other people’s lives, especially married people. That’s in a way why marriage is so awful, I can’t think how anyone dares to do it. You’ve got to leave them alone. They’ve got their own way of hating each other and hurting each other, they enjoy it.’

‘”For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.”(…)’

Some kinds of obsession, of which being in love is one, paralyses the ordinary free-wheeling of the mind, its natural open interested curious mode of being, which is sometimes persuasively defined as rationality. I was sane enough to know that I was in a state of total obsession and that I could onlythink, over and over again, certain agonising thoughts, could only run continually along the same rat-paths of fantasy and intent. But I was not sane enough to interrupt this mechanical movement or even to desire to do so.

‘(…) And perhaps I was pleased to see you. We sometimes like to see people whom we hate and despise so that we can stir them up to further demonstrations of how odious they are.’

‘Jealousy is born with love, but does not always die with love.’

‘(…) Ordinary mediocre people think that if they confess one tenth of the truth they’re in the clear. You’ve made all your words into lies, you’ve devalued your speech and – in a moment you’ve spoiled the past – and there’s nothing to rely on any more.’

There were a few clouds, big lazy chryselephantine clouds that loafed around over the water exuding light. I gazed at them and wondered at myself for being too obsessed to be able to admire the marvels that surrounded me. But knowing how blind I was did not make me see.

(…) people can be light sources, without ever knowing, for years in the lives of others, while their own lives take different and hidden courses. Equally, one can be, and I recalled Peregrine’s words, a monster, a cancer, in the mind of someone whom one has half forgotten or even never met.

As James said, ‘If even a dog’s tooth is truly worshipped it glows with light.’

‘Can you hear the sea?’

‘I think you’re nearly through out of it. You’ve built a cage of needs and installed here in an empty space in the middle. The strong feelings are all around her – vanity, jealousy, revenge, your love for your youth – they aren’t focused on her, they don’t touch her. She seems to be their prisoner, but really you don’t harm her at all. You are using her image, a doll, a simulacrum, it’s an exorcism. Soon you will start seeing her as a wicked enchantress. Then you will have nothing to do except forgive here and that will be within your capacity.’

‘The sea is clean. The mountains are high. I think I am becoming drunk.’ ‘The sea is not all that clean,’ said James. ‘Did you know that dolphins sometimes commit suicide by leaping onto the land because they are so tormented by parasites?’ ‘I wish you hadn’t told me that. Dolphins are such good beasts. So even they have their attendant demons.’

‘What after all is superstition?’ said James, pouring some more wine into both glasses. ‘What is religion? Where does the one end and the other begin? How could one answer that question about Christianity?’

‘(…) But this power is dreadful stuff. Our lusts and attachments compose our god. And when one attachment is cast off another arrived by way of consolation. We never give up pleasure absolutely, we only barter it for another.’ (…)

What was my role in this play? I felt myself being relaxed and smiling like a man in a dream who cannot remember his lines but knows he can manage impromptu.

If there’s any fruitless mental torment which is greater than that of jealousy it is perhaps remorse. Even the pains of loss may be less searching; and often of course these agonies combine, as now they did for me. I say remorse not repentance. I doubt if I have ever experienced repentance in a pure form; perhaps it does not exist in a pure form. Remorse contains guilt, but helpless hopeless guilt which knows of no cure for the painful bite.

However life, unlike art, has an irritating way of bumping and limping on, undoing conversions, casting doubt on solutions, and generally illustrating the impossibility of living happily or virtuously even after (…)

Time, like the sea, unties all knots. Judgements on people are never final, they emerge from summing up which at once suggest the need of a reconsideration. Human arrangements are nothing but loose ends and hazy reckoning, whatever art may otherwise pretend in order to console us.

But am I so exceptional? We must live by the light of our self-satisfaction, through that secret vital busy inwardness which is even more remarkable than our reason. Thus we must live unless we are saints, and are there any? There are spiritual beings, perhaps James was one, but there are no saints.

There may be no saints, but there is at least one proof that the light of self-satisfaction can illuminate the whole world.

Of course this chattering diary is a façade, the literary equivalent of the everyday smiling face which hides the inward savages of jealousy, remorse, fear and the consciousness of irretrievable moral failure. Yet such pretences are not only consolations but may even be productive of a little ersatz courage.

That time of attentive mourning for her death was quite unlike the black blank horror of the thing itself. We had mourned together, trying to soothe each other’s pain. But that shared pain was so much less than the torment of her vanishing, the terrible lived time of her eternal absence. How different each death is, and yet it leads us into the self-same country, that country which we inhabit so rarely, where we see that worthlessness of what we have long pursued and will so soon return to pursuing.

There were no trains going where she was.

I cannot now remember the exact sequence of events in those prehistoric years. That we cannot remember such things, that our memory, which is ourself, is tiny, limited and fallible, is also one of the important things about us, like our inwardness and our reason. Indeed it is the very essence of both.

The only fault which I can at all measure is my own.

Anything can be tarnished by association, and if you have enough associations you can blacken the world. (…) In hell or in purgatory there would be no need of other or more elaborate tortures.

My love for you is quiet at last. I don’t want it to become a roaring furnace. If I could have suffered more I would have suffered more. Receive us now as if we were your children. Tenderness and absolute trust and communication and truth matter more and more as one grows older. Somehow let us not waste love, it is rare. Can we not love each other at last in freedom, without awful possessiveness and violence and fear? Love matters, not ‘in love’. Let there be no more partings now. Let there be peace between us now forever, we are no longer young. Love me, Charles, love me enough.

I suppose that is right, though there is a kind of impiety involved in letting any of James’s stuff go away. Do I then suppose he is likely to come back at any moment?

It is strange to think that when I went to the sea I imagined that I was giving up the world. But one surrenders power in one form, and grasps it in another.

#iris murdoch #fiction #quotes #literature #classic #the sea the sea #booker prize

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blackmissfrizzle · 5 years

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City Boy and His Country Girl- Part 2

Read Part 1

Characters: Erik Stevens x black!reader

Summary: Erik takes the reader to the shooting range and learns some interesting things.

Warnings: Language, a dash a violence, Fuckboi!Erik but mostly softboi!Erik, and mentions of smut

A/N: I’m loving this series, so I hope y’all enjoy!

Hanging out with Erik was a total shock. Back home you were used to people talking shit by dressing it up and making it seem like a compliment, but Erik, but Erik Stevens didn’t have no trouble speaking his mind.

If he didn’t like an idea you had for work it wasn’t a ‘Oh, it could be better.’ It was a ‘Texas, that shit fucking sucks. If you wanna beat them colonizers you need something better. Wake me up when you have something better.’

He had no filter on some of your outfits. “Y/N/N stop dressing like you about to go to the hoe down! This is New York City, dress like it!”

Sometimes you wanted to gouge his eyes out, but then you remembered whenever one of your coworkers insulted you, you didn’t break down and cry in the restroom, because Erik was already thickening your skin. You even found yourself snapping back at your coworkers when they tried you.

Then the self-defense training was a whole another beast! Erik was ruthless. He trained you like you were gonna join the ghost operation, he was a part of in the Navy. It didn’t matter if you just threw up, your ass better be ready, his words, not yours.

Also, it was pure torture, but not because of the physical pain. It was because somehow someway Erik always ended up naked. His raised scars were a little jarring at first, but once you got used to them, it added to his appeal.

Erik was an Adonis, a Greek statute in the living flesh. Half of the time you got knocked on your ass because you were too busy gawking at his body. Sometimes it felt like he knew you were staring because he would just smirk at you.

And then those damn gym shorts he’d be wearing, do nothing to hide his dick print. And what you could tell from it was that it was nothing to play with.

Today he was teaching you a new lesson: how to shoot. Little did he know that you had expert marksmanship. Daddy-daughter bonding with your dad was spent hunting, fishing, and shooting. Erik Stevens was in for a surprise.

“Texas, you need to keep your legs shoulder width apart and keep your feet planted,” Erik instructed, sticking his leg in between yours, forcing you into the stance.

Having him this dangerously close to you made you tremble. His scent was intoxicating and having his hard body pressed against you made you want to lean back into him and stay there.

“Damn girl! You shaking like a damn leaf, you scared or something?” Erik joked, knowing him pressing himself against you had you shaking like that. Every time he trained you, he noticed the lust in your eyes. That’s why he always took off his shirt and wore his grey sweats. One time he caught you looking at his print when you thought he wasn’t paying attention and he made his dick jump to mess with you. The little gasp you made in reaction almost had you flat on the mat while Erik had your ankles up to your ears and deep in that puss.

“No,” you said, snatching the gun off the counter. “Can we start now,” you asked, annoyed at how easily Erik affected you.

Erik raised his hands in surrender. “Damn, my bad. Remember if you miss more than five, you gotta cook me some of your bomb ass fried chicken.” Erik reminded you of the bet before pressing the button.

The targets popped up instantly and for the first time in a while you felt like you were home. Effortlessly, you hit each bullseye, leaving you wanting for more.

Facing Erik, he was standing there slacked jaw. This was the first time you had him at a loss for words and you were gonna enjoy it. “Huh, you quiet now, Oakland,” you cuffed your hand around your ear. Teasing him some more you began crunk dancing in his space. “I can’t hear you, Stevens!”

Erik was doing his best not to laugh at your silliness. He still wanted to pretend that he was mad at you, but it was proving to be harder by the minute. “Girl calm your silly ass down! You had me go through all that, just for you to breeze through like you were the one in the military. What about my fried chicken? You know a nigga hungry!”

“Boy, stop being a cry baby,” you smacked your lips. “That’s what you get for assuming shit and I wasn’t gonna leave you hanging. I know them hoes ain’t feeding your greedy ass.”

Digging for his keys in his pocket, Erik grabbed your hand and rushed the two of you out the building. “Shit lets go then! A nigga hungry!”

“Ole greedy ass,” you mumbled, letting Erik shove you into his loud ass yellow, McLaren 570s.

Erik was tearing into his plate. The only time he got a home cooked meal was with Y/N or with his aunt and cousins, which was traditional Wakandan food. So when he got some soul food he had to savor it.

“So, Texas, tell me why you so good at shooting?” Erik asked you, when he finally stopped eating to drink some sweet tea.

“My daddy used to take me out back all the time and we practiced shooting. You should see me with a shotgun.”

“Makes sense,” Erik nodded his head, thinking on how you were raised in the south. “Y/N, lemme ask you something. Its been on my mind for a while.”

Dropping your fork of mashed potatoes, you responded with worry at the seriousness of Erik’s tone, “What is it, Erik?”

“You call anyone else daddy besides your dad?”

It took awhile to catch his drift, but when you did you threw a roll at his face, which he caught with his mouth. “Ewww, no! What the hell is wrong withch yo nasty ass?”

Erik busted out laughing, causing the roll to fall out of his mouth. He had inkling that you never did before, but he loved messing with you. “Awww, c’mon on ma, you ain’t have a nigga give you some dick that you couldn’t call him nothing but daddy?” He asked, licking his lips and tilting his head looking at you curiously.

You couldn’t handle the warm feeling Erik was causing to your little bundle of nerves, so a quick diversion was needed. Resorting to your old childish antics, you stuck a finger in each of your ears and yelled, “La la la la la la la la la la.”

Taking hold of each of your wrists, Erik pulled your fingers out of your ears. “Girl grow up! Why you always shying away from talking about sex?”

“Because it’s unlady like and you not my man, Mr. Stevens.” Talking sex was a regular with your friends on girl’s night and it could get graphic, but something told you talking about sex with Erik was whole another thing.

Off rip, Erik sensed you were an undercover freak, you just needed the right person to bring it out. “Man, I don’t need to be your man to give you that good daddy dick,” Erik said, smiling, clasping his hands behind his head so you could admire his biceps.

Rolling your eyes, you got up from your seat and grabbed both of y’all plates and went to the sink. “My mama warned me about men like you, Erik Stevens.”

Getting up from his seat, Erik crept behind you, caging you in between him and the sink. “Princess, I promise there ain’t no men like me,” Erik whispered.

“Shit, Erik! Stop scaring me like that!” You yelled at him, trying your best to calm your nerves.

“My bad, ma.” Erik apologized while he took the dirty plate out your hand and bumped you with his hip to move you out of the way so he could finish the dishes.

Taking this blessing you jumped on the counter besides Erik to keep him company. At this angle you had the perfect view of his profile. Erik had the most beautiful skin, smooth and rich. He was probably one of those lucky niggas who only used soap and water on his face while you had to use fifty-eleven million products just not to get one pimple.

Right now, studying him you didn’t realize how attracted you were to his jaw. Your favorite thing was when he was deep in concentration like now or when he was annoyed, his jaw would clench, and you swore you do anything for that man.

Feeling you stare at him, but wanting to lay off on the teasing, Erik asked you a question. “So, what type of men like me did Mrs. Y/L/N warn you about?”

“Silver tongued devils that make women lose all common sense.”

Flicking his tongue suggestively, Erik answered, “I gotta admit this tongue is talented.”

Smacking him on the back of his neck, you mumbled, “Nasty ass.”

“All you gotta do is ask, ma. You don’t have to revert to elementary days to show that you like me,” Erik joked, rubbing the back of his neck with a sudsy hand.

Ignoring his comment, you changed the subject before you do something stupid and ask him to show you how talented his tongue is. “Enough talking about me. How’s the work project going?”

“Oh, it’s dope, Texas! I feel like a slacker with the kids coming up with all the ideas. All I’m doing is the actual production of the filtration system.” Erik face lit up as he went on to explain how the kids at the Outreach Center were coming up with ideas for a water filter for Flint.

The way Erik got hyped about the kids he was helping, told you he’d be an excellent father. Before your brain could dream up what you and his nonexistent children would look like his phone pinged.

Since he was busy washing dishes, Erik asked you to get it. “Oooooo, it’s a text from Ashley.”

“Which one,” he asked absentmindedly.

Rolling your eyes, you forgot that Erik had a roster of girls. “She’s got a diamond emoji next to her name.”

“Ohhh, Anal Ashley. What she want?”

Shaking your head at his fuckboy tendencies you read the text in a ditzy but sultry tone. “Daddy, I need you.”

At the sound of your voice saying daddy, Erik almost broke the glass he was washing. He would have to remember that for a later date. “See, you can call a nigga daddy. And tell her I’m busy.”

“No, I can’t. I was just getting into character. And nigga, no you not!”

Erik finished washing the last dish and then dried his hands with a towel. “I’m hanging out with my bestie. Ain’t that doing something?”

Even though you didn’t want him to go, you needed him to go. Or those feelings you were ignoring were gonna grow deeper. “You can hangout with me anytime. Go see one of your hoes. You know you get cranky when you haven’t had sex in awhile.”

There was no way Erik wanted trade time with you with some random girl for meaningless sex and meaningless conversation. But he also had a painful erection since he heard you read that text and he didn’t want to push up on you that hard. A poor substitution would have to do. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m about to watch Real Housewives of Atlanta guilt free without you judging me.” Whenever you put it on, Erik would grumble and complain about you watching trash tv.

Grabbing his keys, Erik walked to the door and you followed. “A’ight, imma head out. Lock this door as soon as I head out.” Erik commanded you, knowing you had a tendency to forget to lock your door.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can you go now? Nene is calling my name.”

Before leaving, Erik kissed your cheek and bid you goodbye. Taking in that he kissed you, you floated to the couch, daydreaming about the man, forgetting to lock the door.

“Y/N, LOCK THIS DAMN DOOR!” Erik furious voice broke your daydream.

“Go away, Erik! Nobody’s gonna rob me while I’m here.” You yelled back, not moving an inch from your couch.

“I’m not leaving until you get your country bumpkin ass up and lock this door, deadass!”

Grumbling you got up and locked the door. “Happy now?!”

“Thank you! Imma hit you up when I’m done.” Erik told you.

Returning to your couch, you turned on your tv and tried not to think about how Erik was having sex with some one other than you.

—

“It happens to everyone, Daddy. Let’s watch some tv.” Ashley suggested, reaching for her remote with one hand and stroking his arm with another.

Erik couldn’t believe he couldn’t get it up. Especially with help from the henny.

Ashley was a beautiful girl, no doubt. A redbone version of Naomi Campbell with the attitude to match for no apparent reason, but that never stopped him before.

The thing was she wasn’t you. When Erik had his eyes closed, he could pretend it was you sucking him up, but once his eyes opened and he saw Ashley he instantly went soft.

“Nah, imma head out instead,” Erik said, lifting up from the couch.

Tugging his arm, Ashley pulled Erik back to his seat. “No, stay.”

“Listen, Ash, to be honest I don’t think this,” Erik motioned between him and Ashley. “is gonna work. I’m ending this tonight.”

Ashley’s mood changed. “It’s because of that cow you’re always posting on your snap, huh?” She said, referring to you.

Lunging across the couch, Erik’s hands wrapped around Ashley’s throat. His hands choked her tight enough to let her know he meant business but not too tight to do any damage.

“Don’t you ever fucking disrespect her like that again!” He warned through gritted teeth.

“Now Killmonger wants to come out to play! Get your crazy ass out my house!”

Erik shoved her into the couch before he hopped up. “Lose my fucking number too! I don’t wanna hear from your ignorant ass anymore.”

“Nobody wants a limped ass dick nigga anyway! Good riddance!” Ashley shouted as Erik slammed the door.

While he was walking to his car, Erik texted the one person who he knew still be up.

MSG ERIK: Hey, I’m on my way over so get ready because we ain’t watching that RHOA shit. We watching The Godfather.

MSG Y/N: Already??? Damn Oakland, I didn’t know you were a minute man 😂 and who tf you think you are??? This my house and we’ll watch whatever I want PERIODT!

MSG ERIK: Girl, don’t play with me before I have to make an example of you 💪🏾 and like I said we watching The Godfather.

MSG Y/N: 🙄🙄🙄 whatever. I’ll leave the door unlocked.

MSG ERIK: Y/N KEEP THAT DOOR FUCKING LOCKED!

You read his message but didn’t reply. Erik hated being left on read. Happily, you skipped to unlock your door, knowing that was one more thing to piss off your bestie.

Sliding into his driver’s seat, Erik double checked his phone to see if he was reading it correctly. It said you read his last message, but you didn’t reply.

“This little girl really left me on read. Imma get her ass and that door better be locked when I get there,” Erik mumbled to himself while securing himself.

Soon as the car roared to life, Erik sped down the streets of New York rushing to get to the one woman who made him want to pull his hair out and cuddle her at the same time.

Tagging: @fd-writes @raysunshine78 @momobaby227 @thickemadame @twistedcharismaaa @marvelmaree @ladydragonpurplefire @l-auteuse @thehomierobbstark @titty-teetee @nerd-lovely @soufcakmistress @chaneajoyyy

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a-libra-writes · 5 years

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How the GoT Characters React To Your Kidnapping

No one asked for this & its another weirdly specific long one, bc this is westeros and shit aint sunshine and roses so idk lets just do this oh gods why is it so long

To the Gendry & Mance anons: i got u, fam ♡

In this preference, you'll be rescued by: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Dolorous Edd, Mance Rayder, Tormund Giantsbane, Theon Greyjoy, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jamie Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Beric Dondarrion, Gendry

NED STARK

It happened many years ago, but the incident still gave you shivers when you recalled it. It was at the height of Robert’s rebellion, when fighting and chaos was at every House’s doorstep. Your family supported Robert wholly; your father and brothers had been away at war since the beginning. You were maintaining your family’s keep in your father’s stead. The Riverlands was a bloody battleground, and you made a point to visit neighboring keeps and their smallfolk to offer food and shelter in your own castle. You were returning from one of these trips when you were taken by brigands wishing to ransom you.

Your father was riding with Ned when he heard the news, and he made it clear he wouldn’t continue on until his only daughter was found. Ned had befriended him in the time they’d fought, and agreed to help. Together they traced the trail you took to the fishing villages, and soon found which abandoned house you were being held in.

You were filthy, exhausted and hungry at that point, and afraid of the sound of fighting you heard outside the door. Then the door opened and a tall Northman came in, gently asking if you were okay and carefully untying the bindings around your wrists and ankles. You remember how Ned wrapped his cloak around your ripped dress and picked you up so gently. He set you on his horse and rode behind you, asking a few questions as you two rode back, like how you were faring and if the horse was going too fast for you. Back at your Keep, he insisted on carrying you to the Maester, all while your parents thanked him. They let Ned and his host of soldiers recover at their castle, even if food was low, and Ned visited you each day to check on you. You kept his cloak curled around you as you watched the Stark host finally leave. Even well after you two met and courted, and finally married in the godswood at Winterfell, you kept that cloak with you. Ned didn’t know, but you liked wrapping up in it when he had to leave for a long time.

ROBB STARK

It happened at the worst possible moment, in the midst of the chaos of the war. You insisted on accompanying his war camp through the battles, in spite of the danger to yourself. You were newly married, but you didn’t want to hide away in Winterfell. Robb was grateful for the counsel you provided, even if he worried for your safety. You were surrounded by soldiers, you should have been safe. Should have been.

Once Robb discovered you were well and truly gone, with your personal guards found dead, all he could see was red. The young wolf immediately went to gather men and scouts, ignoring the lords who told him to leave the rescuing to soldiers. Robb couldn’t forgive himself if something happened to you - he couldn’t keep fighting the war knowing his wife was in danger, and he’d run himself ragged to find you. Grey Wind caught onto your scent and within just a few hours, they found the makeshift camp you were being held at. You gasped as Grey Wind jumped at the man beside you, tearing at his throat, and Robb wasted little time in dismounting and following his wolf. While his men took care of the remaining kidnappers, he threw his arms around you and pulled you into a crushing hug.

Once you were back at camp, Robb had you looked after, buzzing with anxiety the whole time. He’d be adamant about sending you to Winterfell for your safety, wanting his mother to go along with you. Even if you’d try to argue with Robb, he’d truthfully tell you he couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. He’d rather miss you until the war ended than grieve you for the rest of his life.

SANSA STARK

Upon hearing about your kidnapping, Sansa immediately felt sick to her stomach. She couldn’t believe such a thing could happen to you - she remembered the last conversation you two had, what you wore, the jokes you both laughed at, the last kiss you shared. It was jarring to contrast that with some terrifying dungeon, and for the next few weeks she could hardly sleep or eat, constantly replaying those memories and thinking of them as “the last”. She didn’t care who tormented her, whether it be Joffrey or Cersei or anyone else. Sansa’s mind was too occupied with terrible thoughts of how afraid you must be and if you were hurt.

She heard rumors of your rescue, and that manifested into your arrival back at King’s Landing. She awaited you anxiously, thinking of what to say, worrying about what you endured. Finally, when Sansa saw you arrive at the Red Keep, all thoughts left her mind. Forgetting decorum, she pulled you into a hug, and even though you were still aching from your captivity, you held her back with as much emotion and strength.

When the two of you finally got some time alone, and she leaned against you and held your hand as you explained all that happened. From that point, she’d try to be at your side as much as possible, and feeling like she had to appreciate each day with you in case something terrible happened to either of you. Anytime you noticed her worried expression, you’d kiss her brow and reassure her, and she’d just shake her head, insisting that she ought to be the one comforting you.

BENJEN STARK

You’d wanted to accompany him on a mission for months, and he let you go on small trips here or there, but never anything like this. Accompanied with three other brothers, the four of you were assigned an important task by the Lord Commander. In spite of the seriousness, Benjen teased you like he always did, and even risked being cheeky, since the other two brothers knew your gender and your relationship with him. They’d just roll their eyes and joke along with you. It felt freeing to be beyond the wall, and you enjoyed the expanse of snow and trees so much, you forgot about the danger.

You and one of the brothers split off from the group to investigate some odd tracks. It turned out to be a trap, and while he was killed quickly, you put up a fight and were dragged off. The wildlings recognized you as the “little crow” who followed Benjen around, and since he had killed one of their leaders months before, they wanted revenge. It wasn’t until much later that Benjen and the brothers found the corpse the wildlings left, and a shredded piece of cloak you left behind for them. Benjen’s face became unrecognizable as he steeled himself for the worst, and urged the men on the trail. He tried pushing aside his regrets and anger at himself as they followed the tracks in the snow and the small things you left for them, like small rocks or an odd shape in the snow.

They came upon the wildling camp as the sun set, and you used the chaos to escape your bindings and steal one of the wildling’s clubs to help the fight. Once it was over, Benjen wasted no time in pulling you into a painfully tight embrace. The wildlings hadn’t done more than threaten you and hit you a few times, but he kissed you in relief several times anyway. All the tension seemed to leave his body as you held his face and reassured him. As the rest of you brought your slain brother’s body back to Castle Black, Benjen still kept you close at hand. You two knew the dangers of what was beyond the wall, so while Benjen eventually relaxed after a few weeks, it was still an unpleasant fright that he tried not to dwell on.

JON SNOW

Your family visited Winterfell often, what with your mother being friends with Lady Stark and living so close. From an early age you were friends with Jon, Robb and Theon, always running about and getting into trouble with your mother. Especially now that you were a lady, she scolded, you couldn’t talk with whichever boys you wanted. Jon was always different to you, though. You couldn’t imagine not being with him, and he felt much the same, even if you both struggled to express it. Jon was determined to spend as much time with you before he left for the Wall, and you would do the same before you were married off to whoever.

Jon knew you wanted to explore Winter Town today, and he couldn’t accompany you, so he waited impatiently for you to get back with your cousin and one guard. It was late in the evening, and both he and your parents began to worry. It was discovered your guard was slain, and you and the cousin were missing. Ned gathered several men to lead the search with your father, and Jon didn’t shy away as he all but demanded to be allowed to look as well. He wasted no time in giving Ghost a handkerchief to track you, and soon the men were following the direwolf through Winter Town. Ghost’s nose led him to a shack well outside of town, where the men wasted little time in surrounding it and pulling out the failed kidnappers.

Jon thanked the gods they hadn’t done anything terrible to you, and he was the one who untied your bindings and carefully dabbed your bleeding lip. You rode back on his horse, and he carefully helped you down and guided you to Maester Luwin, as much as it upset your mother. You asked him to stay beside you as Maester Luwin checked over your bruises and applied a balm to your broken lip. Well after your parents had left, Jon risked escorting you to your room, where you gave him a sweet kiss in spite of the pain it brought you.

JORY CASSEL

A lady was supposed to stay in place and entertain, but you were often restless, especially since your brothers could go where they pleased. One of them finally gave into your pleading and took you with him to Winter Town. Your brothers ended up leaving you to enjoy the brothel, and you enjoyed the freedom to explore the town as you wished. Unfortunately, your fine dress and warm cloak caught the wrong kind of attention. When they finally noticed you were missing, they couldn’t be sure how long it had been.

Rushing back to Winterfell, they went to Jory first. He was skilled and he could get a small handful of men to listen to him - and hopefully, keep quiet about it to your parents. Jory was livid, trying to keep his cool as he swept through Winter Town. It was getting dark, and worry was eating him alive. The attempted kidnappers were sloppy, luckily, and hadn’t gone far. They were no match for trained Winterfell men, and Jory had them taken alive so they could be judged by his lord.

Before that, he had to take care of you. Jory wrapped his fur around you and held you close, patting your hair and asking how you were. They hadn’t done anything, thank the gods, and you trusted his men not to say anything about the secret relationship you two carried on. Once you were back at Winterfell, he visited your chambers in the evening to keep reassuring you, although his relief and worry was evident.

DOLOROUS EDD

He'd told you not to come on the expedition, he'd told the senior officers not to bring you. You two actually argued about it, and you joined the expedition out of spite. Edd had an awful feeling that something was going to go wrong, and it did. You accompanied a small scouting party, and the three of you hadn’t been heard from in days. To say he felt sick would be an understatement. He brought it up with Jon first, looking as dismal as he felt, and his friend managed to send Ghost on the trail. A day later, the wolf didn’t bring good news. Ghost handed his master a bloodied glove, not your’s, but one of the brothers you left with.

Sam and Jon tried to assure him, but Edd couldn’t keep the darkest thoughts out of his head. He assumed the worst, accepting that you were gone, even if his brothers were positive the scouts were taken, not killed. That was hardly better. When you and the two brothers returned, having escaped your wildlings captors, Edd bit his lip until it bled to hide just how relieved he was. Hiding your gender and your relationship with him meant he couldn’t run up and squeeze the air out of your lungs and tell you that he knew something terrible would happen, and it did, and he couldn’t ask you to strip away a few layers to make absolutely sure you were alright. So, he did this as soon as you two were back at Castle Black.

Hiding away in a small dingy room, you’d try to coax the worried, tight expression on Edd’s face as you assured him you only had a few bruises and scratches. He’d sigh heavily and pull you in an embrace, which made it difficult to put your clothes back on, but he didn’t budge. He’d be morose for a while, keeping close to you while you worked to make extra sure you were alright.

TORMUND GIANTSBANE

It wasn’t just your beauty, but your ability to fight that drew Tormund to you. He had an utmost respect for your abilities, so when you were sent on this or that mission, he didn’t worry for your safety - he just frowned that he wasn’t going with you. Tormund didn’t worry when the group of free folk you left with hadn’t been heard from in a few days. This was unpredictable land, after all. The trouble came when scouts came back, reporting that most of the group was found dead, but your corpse was nowhere to be found. They suspected crows, who had been on the move in the area.

That’s when Tormund was ready to spur to action and join the group looking to retrieve you. While they were worried you’d give up information to the crows, he knew you’d die rather than betray your comrades, and that’s what filled him with anxiety and anger. Tormund led the men himself, urging them on through the icy tundra. He was hedging his bets on the crows being soft and keeping you alive.

They found the crow camp and Tormund had to keep himself from just barrelling straight toward you. As the fight began, Tormund was able to cut his sword across your bindings so you could join in. Even if you had a cut on your face, you didn’t seem worse for wear. Once the crows were dealt with, Tormund was quick to pull you in his arms and loudly tell you how relieved he was, adding with a laugh that he knew the crows couldn’t handle such a woman. He’d plan a careful kiss on your brow and look after any wounds you had before you two would return to Mance’s camp, where Tormund would announce to everyone that you were back, and proudly bragged about the beating you delivered to the crows once he cut you free.

MANCE RAYDER

While he loved your cleverness the best, Mance couldn’t deny you had a lovely grace when you fought. It was unlike the other free folk, who stabbed or bludgeoned or slashed until the thing was dead. You were a born fighter, a good one, and you gladly took the jobs that had you in the thick of it. He rarely worried when there was possibility of danger on one of your missions, because you weren’t worried yourself. However, the tribe you were visiting had a terrible reputation, and he told you as much. Mance wanted to go with you, but you were sure you and your men could handle it.

You hadn’t been heard from in some days, and Mance had a gut feeling that he wasn’t comfortable with. That was confirmed when your weapon and the head of your men was sent back to him, with a clear message that the tribe wouldn’t join his army. The fact they hadn’t sent your head was little comfort. Mance gathered his best men and rode out at once, his face stony and his eyes betraying the terrible fear gnawing at his heart.

When they came upon the camp, it was a hard fight, and Mance grasped the leader by the throat as he demanded where you were. You were carelessly left in one of their tents, bound and suffering more than a few injuries. Mance untied you, wrapped you in his arms and assured you that you’d be home soon. Back at the main camp, he tended to your wounds in your shared tent, rinsing them with warm water, good-smelling balms and soothing you in a soft voice.

THEON GREYJOY

You spent plenty of time at Winterfell, usually playing with Sansa and Jeyne, but Theon was fond of teasing you just to see your cute face flush and yell at him. He wasn’t always a jerk. He’d been helping you work on your archery, and you two could talk on and on about horses. He knew your parents and Lady Stark didn’t approve of your friendship with him, so he always got a little thrill when he stole your attention. Of course, he insisted to Robb and Jon that you were the one with the crush.

His cocky attitude disappeared quickly when your parents came running to Lord Stark in a panic, explaining you were taken right outside their keep and they were delivered a terrible ransom note. Theon joined Robb and Ned on the search for you, trying to still his hammering heart as they followed the scent hounds. He was trying not to think of all the awful things that could be happening to you, and spurred his horse faster once the hounds picked up a scent.

He and Robb were the first ones to ride on the camp and attack the kidnappers. Ned had to remind him to leave them alive to face their punishment - Theon was too eager in beating them to a pulp, and he felt they should be killed on the spot. You were tied up and dirty, but still alright, and Theon hoped because he was the first one to come to your aid, that you’d ride back on his horse. You rode with Lord Stark back to Winterfell, and Theon sat outside Maester Luwin’s room as the old man looked over your injuries. It was hard to act like an ass when you were so tired and shaken, so he sat at the foot of your bed and tried to make you laugh instead.

YARA GREYJOY

She heard news that your host of men had encountered trouble, but Yara didn’t worry like an old woman. She trusted your skills and abilities, and you weren’t the type to want some honorable death in battle. Then she received the message - a warning from the Northmen who took you. She sighed, picked up her axe, gathered a half dozen men and left Deepwood Motte to get your sorry butt. Yara wasn’t going to let you live this down.

She found where they were holding you in a good amount of time, and you bitched out Yara as she walked in the room laughing. You headbutt her in annoyance once she untied you. The Northmen had tried to interrogate you on the Ironborn’s plans, but like Yara expected, you were made of tougher stuff. Still, she didn’t like to see the bruises on your arms and wrists, or your swollen lip and cut brow. While her men stole what they wanted from the hideout, she took a moment to take you aside and take care of those little wounds. You hissed and she told you to stop bitching, even as she carefully patted at your brow and lip.

During the next few days, when you'd laugh then wince from your lip or shift uncomfortably from the bruises, Yara would slip an arm around your waist and hand you a drink. She'd try to be subtle about touching you more carefully in bed and kissing your lips with less firmness. She didn't want you to feel coddled and mother henned after, but she didn't like seeing her girl hurting so much, either.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

To say she was angry was… an understatement. All of the Free Cities would hear of her wrath once she discovered you were taken by her enemies. There would be no negotiating or ransom, period - She’d call for Jorah, Barristan, the Unsullied - everyone to look for you, to find the ones responsible, to get anyone with information. Once you were found, she’d take you into a suffocating hug. Barristan would have to remind her that you needed to be tended to, and she’d hold you just a little longer before reluctantly handing you to him.

While you were being helped, she’d gather all the culprits in a public space and give them a proper execution with her dragons, a clear warning to anyone with similar ideas. Even after that, she’d be buzzing with anger and once she was calmed, the worry and anxiety would set in.

As your wounds were cared for, she’d ask the care-taker if they were sure about what they were doing, then she’d want to test your food, then bathe and dress you, insisting you to be still and not help. Once you were in bed, she’d still want to keep you in a close hug, insisting that you were safe now and it wouldn’t happen again, but you were sure she was trying to convince herself and not you.

For the next several days, or even weeks and months, Daenerys would insist you not leave her side, or if you did, you’d have several Unsullied for protection. She’d become quite over-protective, and when you’d express that it was getting to be too much, she’d admit she never wanted to feel that fear of losing you again.

JORAH MORMONT

He noticed you hadn’t been back from your scouting on time, and after an extra hour passed, he began to worry. You two weren’t just lovers, you were protectors of Daenerys, and you always promptly returned from the duties she gave you. When Jorah’s suspicions were confirmed and he learned you were taken by Daenerys’ enemies, he wasted little time in gathering a group of Unsullied to help retrieve you. However, it was Jorah himself who cut through most of the kidnappers once they found the hideout. While the Unsullied finished up, Jorah beelined to where they kept you.

Since you had kicked one kidnapper senseless and nearly bit the ear off another, they’d had you painfully bound and gagged. The adrenaline was leaving Jorah quickly as his shaky hands pulled you free, and you were pulled into his embrace so quickly, it made you dizzy. You were going to tell him not to hold so tight, but your exhaustion caught up with you and Jorah carried you all the way back to the Great Pyramid. Once you two were back at your shared rooms, he immediately began fretting and worrying, wanting to give you a hot bath and a good meal and soft clothes, completely ignoring his own exhausting and the blood on his cheek and hands. You were only able to calm Jorah down by pulling him into the bath with you, and even then he was apologetic, thinking it was his fault in some way. You kissed him until that sorrowful look finally faded, and he took care of any need you had that evening. For the next few weeks Jorah was quite dogged about following you around and insisted on going with you during your patrols and investigations. Sometimes it was a bit too much, but you noticed how he kept looking at the bruises on your wrists or the cut on your forehead that was taking a long time to heal, and you let him tag along.

MISSANDEI

She didn't want to believe such a thing happened. While Missandei initially feared for your safety when you went out into Meereen's streets, she'd become more comfortable because of your training with Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah. And today you left with several Unsullied, but that hadn't helped. The report came back that you'd been taken by enemies of Daenerys, and Missandei's heart sunk into her stomach as she thought about what could happen. She couldn't even pretend to be alright.

So she waited, feeling sick and buzzing with nerves, unable to do more than pace. When Daenerys herself came to tell her the news that you were recovered, and your wounds were being tended to, Missandei collapsed with relief. She waited impatiently until you were finished, trying to gather herself, but all the strength left when she saw you sitting up in bed, fresh bruises and wounds on your body. You pulled Missandei into your arms and comforted her, already feeling comforted by her warm presence. Once you wiped her tears and she took a deep breath, Missandei was quick to make sure you had everything you needed.

She'd continue to tend to you herself, bringing you food, drink and checking your wounds. You'd notice her gloomy expression and try to cheer her, and several times she'd make you promise to be more careful once you were better. Well after your wounds healed, and you announced you were patrolling again. An unmistakable look of worry crossed Missandei's face, and she only smiled after you kissed her and reassured her.

GREY WORM

He preferred it when you patrolled together, both because you two made a good team, and it was the best way to make sure you were safe. On the days when you two had separate patrols and duties, Grey Worm would seek you out once he was finished. Normally, finding you was no problem - he knew your usual routes and you often told him what your duties were beforehand. But this time, he was having trouble finding you in the winding streets of Mereen. He didn’t worry at first, but after searching for some time, Grey Worm was beginning to get a bad feeling. He trusted his gut instincts and he just knew something was off.

That feeling was confirmed when he found your weapon buried in the chest of a thug, both carelessly left in an alley. Grey Worm knew you’d never leave your favorite weapon behind, and the scene had signs of a struggle. He gathered several of his men together and with a rigid determination, set to tracking you down. Even if he was steady in giving his orders, his heart pounded with a frightening feeling he’d never experienced before. It made his stomach churn, but he pressed on.

When they found you, it was just in time. Since you had killed one of their men and given another a hard beating, the kidnappers were ready to hurt you even more than they planned. Grey Worm and his Unsullied comrades dealt with them, and as soon as the last spear was shoved in the last one’s neck, Grey Worm was immediately at your side. He insisted on carrying you back, and he watched the person tending to your wounds with sharp eyes. You had to pat Grey Worm’s hand and tell him to take a deep breath and relax. Your wounds weren’t the worst you’d ever experienced, but he was still tense in the next few days, and asked that you stay home until your wounds were totally healed.

TYWIN LANNISTER

It would take a fool to kidnap the wife of Tywin Lannister, but it happened all the same. Your captors were confident he'd give up all sorts of riches for you, but you were anxious, worrying what sort of wrath he'd unleash - or worse, if he was coming for you at all. You tried keeping that thought from you as you stayed in captivity. It was sudden when the rescue came, Lannister men easily slaughtering your captors. You shook in fear as Ser Gregor of all people led them. A soldier carefully helped you to your feet and led to a large tent. As the captives screamed behind you, you were checked for wounds, given food and drink, and dressed in new clothing. The soldier explained that Lord Tywin was sending for you, as if you were just being picked up from visiting a friend. Still in a daze, you were hastily brought back to Casterly Rock in great comfort.

Once you arrived, you were again immediately attended to. Handmaidens gave you a fine nightgown you don’t remember owning, your bed had additional pillows and you were brought your favorite foods and drink. It was all a little overwhelming, so you sent them all away, and curled in bed, wondering where Tywin was. You were stirred from a deep sleep, feeling fingers running across your cheek and hair. You awoke sleepily, and it was odd to see that gentle expression on his face as he sat next to you on the bed, but you could tell he was trying to be stern and calm as he asked after your condition. Tywin would be adamant about you getting proper rest, and you could tell he was holding something back, but soon you were falling back asleep, still feeling the fingers running along your skin.

In the next weeks you’d have guards always following you, handmaidens attending to anything you needed, and he’d keep you close in public, when he could. In private, he’d handle you with care, and hold you much closer when you two were in bed. One sudden night he’d apologize, saying he failed, assuring you that it absolutely wouldn’t happen again. It was a vulnerability he rarely showed, making you realize the experience rattled him as much as it did you.

TYRION LANNISTER

It was wrong of him to assume that just because you two were betrothed - the marriage arranged by Tywin, no less - that you’d be safe from Cersei’s wrath. You were subtle when you defied her, just enough that she knew you were being insolent, yet careful so she couldn’t openly punish you. Tyrion warned you about treading this fine line, even if he admired and loved your courage. It was bold of his sister, downright foolish, and she’d learn that. She’d learn what it would mean to cross him like this, but for now, he was single-mindedly focused on finding you.

He didn’t anticipate her men would kill you, as that would ruin the alliance between his and your’s, but things were worse than death. Tyrion gathered all the hill clansmen he had and a group of city guards to sweep King’s Landing, and he’d even call in a favor with Varys to find out if the spider knew anything. The moment they found you, he wanted to know - the idea of you being hurt and alone made him sick with fear.

Bronn and a few of his men were the ones who found the small room you were being kept in. Tyrion came at once and had you quietly escorted to a lovely chateau outside of the Red Keep. He brought you everything you could want; food and drink, lovely dresses, a luxurious bed where a maester he trusted attended to your minor wounds. He tried to hide just how anxious he was as he explained you should stay here for a while, with several guards he trusted. While you rested and recovered, he was more than ready to enact the revenge he’d been stewing on.

JAIME LANNISTER

When you didn’t show to the usual secret spot that you two met in during the afternoon, nor in the evening, Jaime immediately felt anxiety brewing. Had you two finally been caught? Was Cersei on your trail, so you were avoiding him? The next day came, and by the second evening your absence was finally noticed by several others. It was a kidnapping, your family claimed, and they had evidence. Jaime was furious with himself at the time he wasted, but he knew he couldn’t leave the Red Keep. He went to Tyrion, shocking his younger brother with how he almost begged for help in finding you.

The kidnappers hadn’t had the smarts to leave King’s Landing yet. He wasted no time in cutting through them, a sort of ferocity that didn’t often come to him when he fought, and he finally had you in his arms again. It was only two days, only two days, but it felt like longer. It could’ve been longer, or forever, if his sister was truly behind this and wanted a way to have you killed. You had to gently ask Jaime to not hold so tight, and that snapped him out of it.

Once you were brought back and cared for under a maester he trusted, one who could keep quiet, Jaime didn’t want to bring to your family yet. Tired as you were, you tried to remind him of his sister and his duty, and you were shocked how he didn’t care. He’d stay with you even if you shoved him away, which you didn’t. You were too tired to argue,, and allowed yourself to rest against his chest as you fell asleep. In the next few weeks he’d visit you often, to the point where even Cersei was noticing his distance and you had to remind Jaime not to be so reckless.

SANDOR CLEGANE

Gods damn it all, you told him. You tried to tell him. You talked of the enemies your family was making, the threats they gave your mother and father. Sandor insisted as long as you stayed in the Red Keep and “didn’t run off to do stupid shit”, you’d be fine. When he didn’t see you for some time one day, he didn’t think much of it - you both were hiding your relationship, and sometimes that meant staying away to keep off suspicion, as much as he hated it. Then your disappearance was brought up by your parents at court, and Cersei more or less dismissed them. Sandor offered to look for you, but he was shot down. Later, he told one of the other kingsguards to watch Joffrey, and when the man argued, Sandor grabbed his neck and nearly throttled him.

Once he was free of the Red Keep, he scoured through the shady streets of King’s Landing, places he knew well, going off information your parents had and daring himself to hope. The kidnappers had you in a little hovel that he broke through with little regard for his own safety. You heard him, and the sounds of men dying as he cut through them. It wasn’t his usual detached killing; you heard distinct agony as the men were harshly wounded and thrown aside. When he all but tore down the door to the room you were in, you ignored your pain to run and fling your arms around him.

He should’ve taken you straight back to the Red Keep, to a maester and your parents, but his body moved on its own. He took you to the small house he owned, just outside the Keep. You had scrapes and bruises, a nasty knot on your head, and you both were quiet as he did what he could. You stayed with him the rest of the day and evening, and Sandor let you hold him as tight and as often as you wanted. He hated that he didn’t heed your words, and the thought that you may have been raped or killed had shocked him into something of an angry, sullen silence that only your comforts and soft kisses could pull him from.

BRONN

When he heard about your kidnapping from Tyrion, he nearly dropped the wine he was drinking, and when Tyrion confirmed it he tossed it aside as he jumped up from the table. You had mentioned some enemies your family was making, and he had brushed it off and reassured you, positive you were safe in the Red Keep. He couldn’t believe he wasn’t there to protect you, and cursed himself endlessly as he led the search and rescue for you. Much of Bronn’s humor would be gone, and he’d take it upon himself to do most of the searching.

He tore through the kidnappers with his men, and as soon as he saw you, he sheathed his sword and pulled you in his arms. Regardless of your condition, Bronn would feel all the tension leave his body because you were alive. He’d have a smirk and give you an overly-confident reassurance, as if he wasn’t making himself sick with worry the past few days.

You’d both ride his horse, with you in front of him and his arms wrapped around you as much as he possibly could. He’d still try to remain casual, attempting conversation, giving reassurances that you’d both be home soon. Your tired silence unsettled him. Finally he’d just kiss your cheek and mumble how sorry he was for not getting there sooner.

Once you two were back and you were cared for, Bronn was quite protective in the next few months, often shirking his Kingsguard duties to follow you around personally, and you’d notice when you two were intimate he’d be attempting to be gentle of your wounds, a side to him you’d never seen before.

PETYR BAELISH

Petyr blamed himself completely when it happened. There were quiet rumors and distant whispers he heard, your family had upset several Houses and created enemies, and you were a possible target. He took measures to protect you, of course - more of his spies watching you, a few incognito guards that would make sure you made it to your room safely. It wasn’t enough, and the culprits struck faster than he anticipated. Petyr set out to correct his mistake at once.

Your family was considering leaving you to your fate, and he wouldn’t forgive them for it, but ... he’d deal with them at a later time.

For now, Petyr used a considerable amount of his resources to find who took you, and where you were. Normally he would stay distant and let other men do his dirty work, but Petyr wanted you by his side as soon as possible. His plans of a grand rescue, rehearsed words, some sort of gallant action, went completely out the window when he finally had his arms around you again. Not trusting your family or anyone else, Petyr would bring you to his private suite in his brothel, personally tending to any injuries himself and giving you sweet reassurances. If they were serious, he’d call a maester, but otherwise he’d want you all to himself.

You’d notice Petyr would become increasingly more protective, insisting it would never happen again, as if trying to reassure himself more than you. He’d absolutely threaten your family behind your back, trying to contain his anger as he considered punishing them with some made-up treason or strong-arming them into allowing him to marry you. Perhaps he could have both, especially if you were already taken with him.

STANNIS BARATHEON

Once he received word that you’d been taken, the tension and anger in Stannis’ body was so fierce and immediate, his men thought you had been reported dead. Finding the culprits and retrieving you safely became his utmost priority, and as the days would pass, he’d sleep and eat less. He’d grind his teeth until his jaw ached and would struggle to wait for news; he’d have to be held back from just going after you himself. He’d implore Melisandre to try something to find you, and once you were located, Davos would be the only person Stannis trusted to get you back to him safely.

When you’d finally reunite, you’d be shocked at the strong embrace your husband would pull you into. It was almost be painful, and he’d bury his face in your hair and struggle to express his relief. Stannis would then pass you to a maester, who would check you over, and he’d stare at the both of you with intensity, making sure any injury, no matter if it was just a bruise, was found and tended to. You’d be able to finally rest in your bed again, and you’d wake up to Stannis asking if he could stay with you. Of course you’d accept, seeing how exhausted he looked. Stannis would climb in with you and bring you close to him, and you’d notice in the next few days how deeply he’d sleep and how tightly he’d keep an arm around you.

In the morning and following days, he’d want you to be by his side as often as possible. He’d occasionally stop whatever he was doing and look over you, sternly fretting about your wounds and sending you to the maester for the dozenth time. From then on, you’d be followed by a regular guard if you weren’t by his side. He wouldn’t budge on this, and when you finally expressed that he was being perhaps too over protective, Stannis would frankly tell you that he didn’t want to suffer a scare like that ever again. You could’ve been lost to him forever, and he failed in his duty as your husband to protect you.Right there, he’d take your hand and swear to you it wouldn’t happen again.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

He wasn't the first person to know, and that made his heart ache. Of course he wasn't - your relationship was secret, and your father wouldn't tell the likes of him about his daughter being taken. At least the man made you a priority: He bluntly told Stannis that he wouldn't join the war effort until he found you, especially since he suspected deserters took you for quick coin. To your father and Davos' shock, Stannis assigned the onion knight to the task. Your father was slighted, but Davos understood. You were taken at the docks of Storm's End, a place he knew all too well.

He tirelessly talked and bribed each fishmonger, sailor and captain on the docks, trying to focus on his work and not let panic set in. Your father was convinced you were taken away from Storm's End, so he searched elsewhere, but Davos still had a few men. He knew he had to find you by a certain time, it'd be impossible to know which ship left with you. Finally, he got a good lead, and more or less used Stannis' name to board an inconspicuous trade ship. Hidden amongst crates under the deck, you and several other girls were bound and gagged, meant to be sold off in Essos.

Davos' composed, determined demeanor dropped completely once your arms were wrapped around him and he could hold you tight. While the soldiers helped the other girls, Davos stayed with you, trying to keep his voice steady as he asked if you were hurt. The whole "secret relationship" thing flew out the window as you stayed close to him all the way back. When your father irritably told Davos to step back, you told him off right away and explained how he saved you. There would be plenty of gossip, but you were too exhausted and overwhelmed to care. You snuck into Davos' room that evening, wanting his comfort, and he gladly gave it to you.

MARGAERY TYRELL

She would’ve been one of the first ones to know about your disappearance, as you two were close and you didn’t show up at the secret place you two kept. Margaery went to all your usual spots and your room, and immediately felt something off. She heard you mentioning the enemies your family had made, and although she told you to be careful and maybe come with her to Highgarden, neither of you thought this would actually happen.

She’d act quick, rallying her best household knights and even her brothers Garlan and Loras. Margaery would go to Olenna, trying to logically explain that your House was close to the Tyrells, and being kidnapped while staying with them would look bad. Olenna would play along, although she had plans to find you anyway, knowing how close you were to her granddaughter. Once you were finally brought back, Margaery anxiously waited until you were checked out by the maester and safe in your room. She’d sneak into your room and throw her arms around you, unable to keep her emotion and anxiety in check any longer, and give you several kisses out of relief.

Once you both calmed down, she’d brush your hair or rub your shoulders if you wanted to talk, and if not, she’d be happy to take you in her arms while you two dozed off. From then on she’d want you by her side all the time, growing nervous if you were gone for too long, and if she couldn’t be there, she’d want a guard she knew and trusted with you. She might even have some handmaidens or guards report on you, to see if you were shaken from the experience or if your wounds were still bothering you. Whatever you like to eat, drink or wear, it would be provided for you. Margaery could come across as a bit excessive, but only because she was still reeling from the idea that you could’ve been gone for good.

BRYNDEN TULLY

He hadn’t known about your kidnapping until several days after it happened, during the chaos of the war. He nearly throttled the messenger, and then rounded on Edmure, wondering why he wasn’t informed. While he couldn’t leave his command to look for you, you’d be on his thoughts in the night, and he’d prepare himself for the chance of you being dead. He’d think about the last time you two were together, what you said, how you felt and the way you smiled, and he’d try to keep those thoughts away as he fought, hoping that they weren’t the last memories he’d have of you.

It seemed like the gods answered his prayers when his men caught rumors that your kidnappers had fled to a nearby holdfast. Leading the rescue himself, they finally found the little fort you were being held in. He dealt with the men easily, cutting past them like they weren’t even there, hastily sheathing his sword before crouching down to pick you up. He’d hold you so carefully, like you were made of glass, and whisper sweet and comforting words as he’d carry you back to his horse.

Back at Riverrun, he’d ensure the maester tended to you immediately, waiting impatiently the whole time. Once you were in back safe in bed, Brynden would waste little time in curling up with you, apologizing for taking so long and not being there. He’d be truly heartbroken, and would ask you to forgive him. Even after you reassured him and fell asleep, Brynden would struggle to sleep himself, still overcome by the guilt and relief that was hitting him at once.

EDMURE TULLY

The Riverlands were safe for anyone, so you and your husband opened Riverrun for the smallfolk seeking refuge from bandits and Lannister soldiers. Edmure confidently left Riverrun and the smallfolk in your hands. When he returned some time later to resupply his men, he was confused by the somber and terrified mood the smallfolk held, then he was told: just two days ago, you had left to help a razed village evacuate to Riverrun, and you were captured in the process.

All the fatigue from marching and battle left Edmure completely, replaced by a frantic panic. At best, they’d ransom you, at worst, you were dead. He knew this, but Robb’s fear was they’d use you to get Edmure to surrender the castle. He sent an impressive number of men with Edmure to try to find you, figuring they couldn’t have gotten far, especially since no Riverlander peasant would ever help Lannister soldiers hurt their beloved Lady. It seemed word of your kindness had spread far, and many peasants were willing to report strange things they’d seen. It meant you were alive, and that spurred him on in spite of his aching body and heart.

The soldiers were just a small group that had overpowered the few guards you left Riverrun with. They’d lured you out with a false report that a village was razed and the surviving smallfolk had too many wounded to leave. You cursed them so much they’d knocked you unconscious to keep you quiet. Edmure panicked openly as he picked up your limp body, and one of his men pointed out you were breathing. Once you were safe at home and your head wound was tended to by a Maester, Edmure finally collapsed next to you on the bed. He increased the Garrison at Riverrun and had to be reassured over and over that you were alright and had no lasting injuries.

BRIENNE OF TARTH

She would be an absolute wreck from the initial report that you were gone, to realizing it was a kidnapping, to setting off with Podrick to find you herself. Several times Pod would have to stop her, telling her to sleep and eat properly, but she’d want to forge ahead. She wouldn’t be able to stop worrying, thinking of worst-case scenarios. Her head would only clear when she had to fight, and even then, she used a ferocity that didn’t often show itself in her.

More than anything, Brienne would be angry with herself, as she swore to protect you and this happened. Once she finally came upon your kidnappers, she’d swiftly dispatch them, not even thinking as her sword guided her. A calm would settle over her as she found you, checked you for wounds, and led you back to safety. It wouldn’t be until you held her face and cried that she’d finally crack and cry with you, the days of emotional and physical exhaustion hitting her all at once.

Once back home, you’d bathe together and she’d have a maester clean your wounds, although she’d hold your hand the entire time. You could tell a heavy weight was resting on her, and once you ate and were in bed, you’d invite her and hold her close. She’d confess she blamed herself, and how fearful she was, and you’d have to reassure and soothe Brienne that nothing was her fault and you were so glad she came to rescue you. You two would end up snuggling and sleeping for most of the day and night. Once you were feeling better recovered, especially with Brienne bringing you breakfast and more medicine, she’d be even more loyal and dogged in her guardly duties. You couldn’t complain too much, as you liked having her close, but you hated the idea of her blaming herself still, and you had to reassure her often.

RAMSAY BOLTON

It would take an absolute madman to kidnap the wife of Ramsay Bolton, and the only explanation is that your captors hadn’t the slightest idea of who you were, no matter the warnings you gave them. They caught you while you traveled on the road, seeing you as a dumb and pretty noblewoman they could ransom. When you didn’t come to dinner that evening, Ramsay was immediately angered, assuming you had run away. Unbeknownst to you, he had trained his hounds on your scent, and fetched items from your room that they could track. He thought he would find you quickly, but the hours passed by, and he finally came upon your dead guards. Ramsay realized it was a kidnapping, and was gleeful, wondering what sort of men would have the gall to take his wife.

As his hounds followed the trail, his glee became apprehension, and that turned to irritation and anger. He wondered what they were doing to you, what they had done already. The thought of your skin being touched or bruised by anyone other than him made his blood boil. When Ramsay arrived at their camp, he and his men dispatched with the kidnappers in a brutal fashion - naturally, he wanted the ringleader and a few others captured alive. He’d find you quickly and ask all sorts of impatient questions - where they touched you and where you were hurt, and you’d struggle to answer. Finally he’d take you back to the Dreadfort, carrying you with an unusual carefulness as he brought you to the maester - he wanted to treat your wounds himself, but his father insisted.

Waiting for the maester to check on you and then for you to wake up wore on his patience, but Ramsay did it, alternating between torturing his captors and waiting at your bedside, sometimes not even bothering to clean the blood from his hands or face. Once you woke, he’d be delighted to inform you of what he already did, and all but beg you to tell him how you wanted the remaining kidnappers punished.

ROOSE BOLTON

He knew becoming the Warden of the North through unsavory means meant he would have enemies, and Roose took precautions in your safety, having you stay in Winterfell with several guards following where you went. His most trusted were the ones who protected you, and he never anticipated one turning against him. He struggled to maintain his aloof demeanor as he was told the news. When the first night had passed, his facade began slipping as he demanded his soldiers to keep looking. When the third night passed, Roose would go out on his own, even enlisting Ramsay and the hounds. His mind was at odds, the cynical side of him insisting you were dead or had endured something terrible already, but he wanted to hope you were safe.

Once his men finally found and retrieved you, he’d pull the fur off his shoulders and wrap you up, keeping you close as he took you back to Winterfell. He’d want to see any wounds for himself, caring for them and giving uncharacteristically gentle kisses to your temple and your lips. The worry would be evident in his icy eyes, and he’d give you whatever you asked, bathing you himself, dressing you and tucking you in with great love. Roose wouldn’t join you right away, though, insisting you needed to sleep.

Once he left you, the rage would enter his body all at once. Following his earlier instructions, his men took the kidnappers alive. Roose dealt with the leader, and once his anger was sated, for once he’d allow Ramsay to do whatever he wished to the rest. After that Roose would be particularly protective of you and wouldn’t want you to leave Winterfell for months. No matter how you asked or begged to leave, he’d refuse. He never wanted his enemies getting ahold of you again.

OBERYN MARTELL

He would’ve been one of the first people to notice you were missing, given that he loved being around you at every moment and you hadn’t been at any of your usual places for hours. He’d do his own investigating and, being the hot-headed man he was, would immediately gather a rescue party to find you. He’d be seething with anger, wondering who could’ve done such a thing, conflicting with his own guilt that perhaps you were taken by someone who wanted to hurt him. He’d be relentless in looking for you, anticipating the worst, and his men wouldn’t be able to calm him or get him to slow down.

Once he finally found where your captors were keeping you, they were dealt with swiftly by his own spear. He’d set it aside and quickly take you in his arms, petting your hair and giving you a dozen relieved kisses. He’d try to keep calm so he could soothe you better, but you could tell how tense he still was, like he was on the edge of a breakdown.

Back at your shared home, he’d want to bathe and care for you himself. You’d get plenty of soft and comforting touches, but you could still see intensity in his eyes. He’d promise you he wouldn’t let this crime go unpunished. Once you two were snuggled in bed, he’d keep a tight hold on you, and for the next few weeks Oberyn would be absolutely underfoot. He would want to do all the caring for you, rather than your handmaidens or the maester. He’d want lots of reassurance from you, as he’d be shaken and would want you to feel safe and happy in your home again, and would even feel guilty, as though he personally failed you as your protector. It would be a long time before Oberyn let you out of his sight, or let you go without guards he personally trusted.

BERIC DONDARRION

When he heard you had been separated from one of the Brotherhood’s scouting parties, and possibly taken by Lannister soldiers, the whole camp went cold at once. The most affected was Beric, who felt like ice was clawing at his heart instead of the usual fiery warmth he felt. The sternness from his knight days, combined with an almost frantic strength, led him as he led a rescue party. While a few men grumbled as to why he’d go through so much effort to save one girl, the ones following him had grown to see you as a comrade and a sister.

To their relief, you had left something of a trail with rocks, small sticks sitting upright in the dirt and even a few scraps of clothing the soldiers didn’t notice you dropping on the ground. You were terrified, anticipating the soldiers would do as they pleased with you, torture you, kill you - or all three, most likely. You heard a commotion, one of the soldiers was shot through with an arrow, and in an instant several members from the Brotherhood jumped through bushes and trees. Before you could even look for him, Beric was beside you, untying you and holding you close.

He wanted to get you away from the camp right away. While his men finished off the soldiers, Beric held you close and looked shaken. He’d take you to Thoros, who’d assure him that you were fine apart from bruises and scrapes, but it didn’t comfort the former knight. You’d curl up to him that evening and he’d sigh deeply, apologizing for what you went through. After that, Beric would be very resistant to sending you on any further scouting missions. His shoulders would visibly tense and he’d sigh again, asking you not to do such a thing.

GENDRY

He always had to watch out for you, because if you weren’t helping Arya with one of her schemes, you were hatching something of your own. While he admired that courage of your’s, he teased you were a bad influence on the already wild girl. However, when Arya came running to him that day, the look in her eyes made his heart sink. She told him no one had seen you nearly the whole morning and day, and she knew Lannister soldiers had been pestering you. She was afraid they’d taken you, like they sometimes took other girls. While he usually wanted to keep his head down, he found himself gritting his teeth, grabbing a hammer from the forge and handing Arya a dagger. Together, they snuck away into the dusk.

At an empty part of Harrenhal, they came across a Lannister soldier who was knocked clean out, and they followed the shouts and yelling. They were just in time: You had hit one of the soldiers with a rock and knocked him out, and the other two were ready to kill you for it. Gendry’s body moved on its own as his powerful arms knocked one of the men dead, and Arya was quick to stab the second. Gendry dropped his hammer and pulled you into an embrace, telling you it was safe now, even if his voice was shaking as bad as your body.

The three of you snuck back into Harrenhal, cleaning the weapons and returning them to the forge. While before he was considering keeping his head down and just working Harrenhal’s forge, now he wanted nothing more than to run away with you. When you said you had a plan days later, he stared at the bruises left on your arms and firmly agreed to help.

#game of thrones imagines #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #got #got imagines

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abloomntime · 3 years

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A Bloom In Time Ch16 Poppy’s Spaceship Tour And Meeting Cooking Cat P2

She was starting to feel MUCH better now! Honestly all the dirt and grim leaving her body was very relieving. She felt like a new woman! But there still was one problem. Cookie had been nice enough to take care of her clothes and wash them up for her. The problem was that there was rips and tears in the dress near the bottom making it look like someone took a weed wacker to the bottom of the once nice blue dress. Oh well. The important thing was that it was clean and so was she at last. Her wrist felt better as well. Cookie was also kind enough to look over Poppy's injury and thankfully no signs of swelling were there just some scrapes that could use a few bandaids. If she had to guess, it must've been whatever herbal bath the cat made for her, really did work like those healing herbs her mother used to grow, the pain had stopped by a bunch to where she could move it and grab things without feeling pain, and all that was left was a dull soreness like a bee sting. She also felt mentally better, as if a heavy rock was lifted off her back, which is why the smile on her face was placed there as she dried off her long hair.

"I knew there was a peach under that dirt," Cookie complimented as Poppy smiled and pulled the towel off her head, letting her still slightly wet hair fall down her back. "Now there. Such a pretty shade of red. Like a lovely rose."

"Oh please. You're too kind. It's nothing that's uncommon. You're actually very fairly pretty yourself!," Poppy complimented back which got a wave from Cookie.

"Believe it or not my fur color is actually a rare color where I'm from." She walked over to where Poppy stood holding up the heavy duty leather apron she usually wore when gardening now also cleaned as well.

"Oh really? Uh..Thank you." She grabbed the apron from Cookie with a smile.

She nodded. "Most of the cats where I'm from are all black or light grey. It's another reason I wanted to leave, I like being around people more colorful like me. But enough about me, what's it like where you're from?" That one sentence made Poppy fully stop folding the apron for a solid ten seconds, before that smile slowly turned back into a frown as she continued to fold the apron before slowly putting it under her arm silently. Cookie's look softening. "Oh. I'm sorry. I knew you said you-..Im sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's....ok. I-...I can't go back there anyways. I-It's...It's gone."

The cat placed a paw on her gently. "I know it ain't none of my business, but what happened?"

.......No. She didn't want to tell another person her burdens and sorrows, and reliving it again by talking about it so she sighed and shook her head. "It's...A-Actually gone. A...." What was she supposed to call being cursed for a thousand years before being woken up by accident? She settled on- "A v-very bad ...winter froze everything and destroyed it. A-As far as I know I'm the only one left alive to speak of it." True. After all that Snatcher fellow certainly wasn't alive after all being a ghost.

Cookie gave a small gasp, her paws coming to cover her mouth for a moment in shock. "Oh my goodness. You poor thing. Oh, no wonder you were so distressed."

"Thank you. B-But you don't really have to feel sorry for me. I'm...I'm still working it out, b-but I'm sure I'll be fine with his help."

"His? His who?"

"Snatcher. The ghost the children hang around with." Cookie gave her a look over confused as to why her answer was that making Poppy feel criticized. "...What?"

"Nothing. I'm just surprised that old ghosty's offered to be some kind of use instead of sitting on that pillow stack reading some kind of book complaining 'bout somethin' or stealing my bacon. But then again I don't know him too well, so it's awefully nice of him to offer his help to you. " Shaking her head she turned around towards the exit and motioned for Poppy to follow her. "C'mon now. Let's get you some food. I bet you're just starving."

"Yeah. Hungry.".....Cookie knew Snatcher. The thought made her look back up at Cookie who by now had stood back in the exit waiting patiently for her to come over and she did. "Hey. You met Snatcher before right? What's he usually like?"

She shrugged. "Like I said I don't know him all too well. Just that he steals food and acts like Conductor if Conductor was less yell-y and always had his nose stuck in a book all the time."

Poppy didn't know who Conductor was but she'd take Cookie's word for it. Pressing the red button on the side again, they ascended back up to the chilly storage room. From there the red head followed the small calico as she happily walked towards the ladder to climb back up it. Even though the hurt hand was better, Poppy thought she had better stay off it for the time being until all the soreness left it, so for now she'd have to climb the ladder and crawl through the small hallway painfully slowly like before....Which took a LONG time, but she was glad to get out of that chilly room none the less. And before she knew it, she was standing on the other side of that tiny hallway stretching her back out and sighing as she walk around normally for the most part now. The girls were there too, giggling as they watched a funny picture show on the tv showing a cartoon Moon Penguin chasing a mouse who stole it's fish, only for the penguin to trip over his own flippers and land face first into a pie randomly on the floor. Both girls giggling at the funny sight. Next to them were empty plates and forks obviously from whatever Cookie had made them. Said cat walked on over to the young girls who briefly looked up to her as she picked up the plates and patted each on the head before both young ladies turned back to their entertainment on screen.

Cookie gestured Poppy to follow her before turning to the ramp. "Come on. I'll show you where the kitchen is."

With that she turned and began her way back up the ramp, stepping over Rumbi casually sweeping a path down it. Poppy blinked, but followed none the less. She just hoped the kitchen wasn't a teeny space as well. Walking past the girls, they giggled again at something goofy the penguin did and she smiled at their adorable child giggles before walking past them and up the ramp, taking a GIANT step around Rumbi and giving the robot vacum cleaner a suspicious look before walking the rest of the way up there. As she walked, poppy glanced at everything she passes. The screen that had the number 1000 on it plus a picture of an hourglass, a giant vault that looked a lot like the bank's old vault, and then finally over to the two double doors which was to her relief and surprise her size. Pushing one of the door slowly opened, the lady slowly poked her head in. A rug of more blue gears under her feet.......and a surprisingly normal kitchen is what greeted her. A stove was in the far corner, with a sink, fridge, counter, cabinets and a shelf full of plates, cups, and other dishes. The kitchen was actually rather non-alien compared to the other rooms she's seen so far with the checkered floor, and soft blue walls. There was a few paintings on the wall and a small plant in the corner to add to the calm atmosphere. The only really strange thing about it would be the giant telescope sitting in the middle of the room. Cookie was busy putting the dirty dishes in the sink before she smiled from her place standing on a chair and turned back to Poppy.

"Well, don't be shy. Come on in and I'll grab you you're plate." Poppy did noticing there really wasn't any table to eat at as Cookie hopped off the chair with a small thud and walked on over to the fridge in the corner. Didn't look like the kind of fridge she had back when she was a kid. She watched in slight amazement as Cookie opened it and reached into one of shelves her height to pull out a small plate. "I hope you don't mind cold food."

"What is it?," she asked as Cookie walked over to her, closing the fridge with her foot holding the plate up.

"Just a drumstick and some mashed potatoes. Sorry if it's not enough. Those little tykes eat more than you think." The cat held the plate up to her and true to her word there was a small drumstick and mashed potatoes on it which Poppy graciously took.

"N-no. It's plenty. You've done more than enough for me. Thank you." OH GOSH. It smelt so good even though it was cold, her stomach rumbled again and in an instant her mouth watered. Forgetting about her thick leather apron, she let it drop to the ground in favor of grabbing that fork and eating....

....

.......HOLY PECK!!

It was delicious! The potatoes were so creamy and well smashed and put together! And she'd never tasted gravy quite like this before! It was delicious! It was...it was....a flavor she couldn't explain because she'd never tasted it before! And the bird...OH! The roasted bird was GLORIOUS!! She had bird before but never like this! It was tender yet juicy with bread crumbs and seasoning mixing in giving it that extra flavoring caused by spices. Cookie chuckled at the sight, already used to the reactions people had to her food by now and turned around to go back to the counter as Poppy ate with a happy hum and sparkly wide eyes to her heart's content. The growling in her stomach finally being cured from her dilema of being hungry. Cookie after a moment of standing on the chair again to get to the counter managed to fill up a glass of water before hopping off back onto the floor and walked her way over to the woman currently smiling at the food and stopped mid bite at the cat's chuckling.

"My, my. Such a healthy appetite."

Poppy immediately straightened up and gave a sheepish smile. "Um..S-Sorry. I guess I was just so hungry. And this is SO good! I've never tasted anything like it."

She chuckled again holding up the water to her. "I'm glad you think so. Here. Take this. You'll be needing something to wash it down with."

"Oh. Thank you." As she bent down to take the water, Cookie symaltaniously took the plate that was nothing but crumbs and a drumstick bone by now and made a turn to go back to the sink. "Y-You're a really good cook. I'm surprised no one ever gave you a job before."

She shrugged hopping back up to the counter and sink, placing the dirty dishes within. "I'll take all of that as a compliment, and no need to thank me, Sugar. I'm always happy to hear such nice words for my simple dishes......OH!! I nearly forgot!" She turned back to Poppy. "I think I found something of yours." Reaching her paw into a pocket, Cookie pulled out a shiny golden bracelet that got Poppy's eyes widening and she briefly choked on her water. "It fell out of one of your apron pocket's all dirty like. So I cleaned it up for ya."

"M-My bracelet!" In an instant Poppy rushed over, glass cup abandoned on the counter in favor for her to latch both hands around the bracelet and look at it. Her reflection staring back up at her in wonder before looking back at Poppy. "Y-Yes. It is. T-Thank you."

The cat smiled and went to answer-

DING!! DING!! DING!!

Poppy jumped and both turned their heads to a wall plastered onto the far side of the wall singing as the start of a new hour had begun and Cookie gave a small gasp to the time. "Oh goodness! Eight already? Oh no. I must've lost track of time." With a quick jump from the chair, the cat paddled her way over towards the kitchen doors. Poppy blinked but followed non the less as she still muttered. "Silly me. Count on me to forget things so easily. Muriel's going to be so worried about me the poor sugarcude." She muttered to herself as she exited the doors making both children below pause from their current cartoon and look up towards the two ladies exiting the kitchen.

"D-Does that mean you're leaving?," Poppy asked behind her.

Cookie momentarily stopped and turned to give her an apologetic look. "I'm afraid so. I'm really sorry to leave so sudden like this, but I have to get up real early if I wanna make it to my breakfast cooking show tomorrow and I have a gal at home who won't sleep unless I tell her to. And I need some kind of sleep tonight-"

Poppy held up her hands. "No, no. It's perfectly fine. You must be busy being a mother and having a job. My mother was the same way."

"So understanding. Than you so much."

"Oh w-wait a minute." Poppy looked back over to the window and outerspace behind it. "H-How are you doing to get home? Are they going to teleport you with their magic umbrellas?"

Cookie gave a laugh and shook her head. "No need." Her paw reached over to her sleeve to pull it down and reveal a watch?? "I can use my teleporter to go back to Mr. Grooves's moon studio and catch a bus back to the planet."

"Are you leaving now?," Bow stood up yawning and looked up at the cat who continued down the ramp and gave a sad smile to the two children.

"Yes. I'm afraid so, Honeypie. But don't worry. Ya'll can see me tomorrow on my morning show." Both young girls awed in disappointment but got up as she got down to the bottom of the ramp and stopped by the giant Tv to hold out her arms to hug the girls good bye. "Oh there there," she cooed motherly and smiled brightly, "You'll see me again, but I have grown up stuff to do. What you all can do is take care of that friend of yours alright?" Both agreed and reluctant let go of her, Cookie patting each of them on the head before turning her attention to Poppy and waving a paw. "You take care too now ya hear. And don't go treading through any more swamp water without an extra dress."

Poppy didn't get a chance to get anymore than a wave good bye as Cookie already pressed a button on her watch and in a flash of sparkles the cat was gone. She stopped and stared at the empty space the cat was by the children for a moment before shivering. She'd NEVER get used to the act of everyone disappearing and reappearing at will in front of her, but those sparkly blue eyes soon turned there direction down towards the shimmer and shine of the gold bracelet still protectively held within her hands, her blue eyes and messy red hair staring back at her. For a moment she could remember the soft brown eyes and the kind smile of the friend who gave it to her. Silly insisting she'd take it as payment for a simple bouquet of wild rainbow daises. ....The last thing she had to remember him by outside of memories. A small sad feeling came over her but was interrupted by the sounds of Bow yawning and stretching her body out which was followed by another loud yawn by Hattie. Oh yeah. Cookie did say something about it being eight p.m.. That would be pretty late by child standards, so it would probably be best if they slept for the night. Plus isn't she supposed to be helping out these little two until that Snatcher ghosts gets finished with whatever business he had? Yeah. Better get these tykes to sleep now.

"Kids. I know I don't have much authority probably but I think it's best you get to sleep." Both girls looked up at her as she walked down the ramp towards them both.

As expected Hattie gave a small whine. "One more Cheesy Penguin episode. PLEEEAAASE!!," she pleaded give Poppy big eyes that honestly melted her heart and she MIGHT have said yes if Bow hadn't grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the hallway toward the bathroom downstairs.

"Hattie! No more trouble today, and I'm tired. I wanna sleep."

Her friend groaned throwing her head back. "Fffffiiiiine. But I won't like it!"

Poppy gave a small smile and giggle at their antics. they acted more like sisters than friends..Well she guessed they were if Snatcher adopted the both of them. "Nice choice. Now go wash up for bed."

".....Wait." Hattie looked back up to Poppy with a confused look. "Where are YOU gonna sleep?"

"She can sleep on the pillow pile?," Bow suggested.

Poppy honestly stopped for a moment and gave the kids a blank look. That...That was a fairly good point. Where WAS she supposed to sleep on this space ship? All the rooms were thankfully big enough for her to stand up in(well all the rooms she's seen so far), but she'd have to crawl on her hands and knees to get to them. Looking back to her hand with the bracelet, she moved it a lil bit. The scrapes and sore muscles didn't hurt her anymore but a small dull soreness but it would be best to stay off it at least until tomorrow for the time being. So for now she wouldn't be crawling around so that meant she was probably bunking here or in the kitchen for the night, her blue eyes scowled at Rumbi as he still swept around casually. She still didn't trust that thing so in the kitchen it was. Wasn't very appealing but she'd have to make due with what she had.

"I can sleep in the kitchen tonight. I really don't mind."

Hattie made a face like she was crazy. "No you can't. whoever heard of sleeping in a kitchen? That's funny."

"Well, I'm certainly not in any mood to be crawling around anymore small hallways. I'd rather sleep somewhere I'd be able to move around easier in without having to crawl around on my wrist." She held up her hand before pointing to Rumbi. "And n-no offense but I don't really exactly trust that thing yet."

"Hey! Rumbi's a cleaner not a thing!" Hattie yawned again before wiping at her face again. "........What about the attic? It's really big."

"....Your spaceship has an attic?"

"Yeah! I'll show you!" As if the tiredness had left her completely for the excitement of showing Poppy even more of her ship, Hattie jumped to her feet and ran up to the ramp and Poppy. Who yelped and stumbled back from the small girl grabbing her hand as she ran by and yanked her back up the ramp towards an orange ramp going up and down. Gosh her grip was strong for a small child wasn't it? "It's up there!" She pointed up to an opening in the ceiling and Poppy rose a brow at it all. Since when did a spaceship have an attic? Well she's never been on one before either so maybe they naturally came with one. But that unsure uneasy feeling in her stomach returned when that orange pad came all the way back to the ground again and with a yank and yelp from Poppy Hattie pulled her right onto the elevator thing.

"Uh...Maybe I'll just sleep on the flOOR-" The sudden movement under her feet made her gasp and lean forward, almost tettering on the edge of falling off, waving her arms aroundfor something to grab as Bow made a gasp from below. Panic filled her being for a brief moment but at the last second the strong willed child managed to grab her dress and yank her back into a standing position. Poppy still wobbling around but thankfully missing the ceiling as they went up through the hole in the ceiling.....But fell down face first onto the attic floor with what followed by a ripping sound as something gave way. "OOF!!"

Hattie stood there for a moment before she blinked and hopped off the platform before it went back down, a small piece of blue fabric in her hands. She looked down to the blue piece of the dress in her hands before looking over to Poppy who coughed and pushed herself halfway up off the floor, most of the dress was still in tact thankfully but a bigger piece of the bottom of her dress was missing and that missing piece happened to be the same piece in the child's hands. ......Who quickly hid it behind her back when Poppy looked up and blew the long red hair outta her face and stared at her with a sigh.

"Uh...Oops?" She slowly pulled her hand from behind her back and Poppy sighed again before pushing herself up her to her knees. The room was fairly dark but she could see everything from the giant chandelier on the ceiling and the candle holders on the wall. She froze blue eyes slowly up towards the tall ceiling above them both. Stylish wood adorened the floor and walls, though there was some cobwebs and dust scattered about. Quiet ticked by in the room except for the actual ticking coming from an old grandfather clock in the far end of the room. There was a few other things as well like a crate here n there and a couple chests. Two dressers, a wardrobe, red chair, globe on the fair side, and a carpet leading all the way over towards the giant three windows. From there she had a pretty good view of the black space and beautiful twinkling stars beyond the glass. Hattie bounded a few steps across the carpet kicking up some dust from the old carpet and stopped, beaming at Poppy and throwing her hands out. "See? Is it ok?"

Poppy stayed on her knees for a moment before slowly rising to her feet. Her head still swiveling around to look at everything in the room taking it all in, surprised such a big room existed in a seemingly tiny ship. Then again she should really stop being surprised at this point. As she blinked and slowly looked back to Hattie. "Uh...Y-Yeah. This would be really ok."

"Oh good! I can let you borrow a pillow or two but the blankets are mine." The child yawned again as she went towards the exit mostly tired by now but Poppy was only half listening as she still looked around the place.

"Uh....Y-Yeah. It's fine." She looked down and had to do a double take as Hattie ran right past her and towards the exit. "H-Hey! Where are you going?"

"To get that pillow. I'll be right back promise!" She smiled tiredly before literally jumping down the hold making Poppy give a light gasp and reach out for her......But considering they were already used to this sort of thing she just sighed and pulled her arm back to her side and gave another look around the giant place. Ending it with a sigh.

Sleep would not come easy for her tonight.

#ABloomInTime #a hat in time snatcher #a hat in time florist #The Florist #A hat in time the florist #Florist #florist x snatcher #snatcher x florist #flowercrown

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childotkw · 2 years

Note

For the salt in our blood au, you said that Luke may potentially claim another dragon after he heals from arrax's death, may I put forward the notation of him claiming greyghost, considering that dragon is wild and unclaimed and very often flies low to sea to catch fish and stuff, I think it'd be very fitting. Just a thought :3

oh my god you fucking genius - get back here so i can hug you for putting this in my inbox.

Lucerys and Grey Ghost would be perfect for each other in this AU. And since he's already at sea so often, him eventually coming across Grey Ghost and there being this soft yet instinctual connection between them? Beautiful.

Maybe it's during his travels with Corlys after the war - but after that first encounter Grey Ghost begins to not-so-subtly follow them on their ship, Arrax, just drifting along in their wake, only occasionally coming close enough for him and Lucerys to just stare at each other, before disappearing?

Corlys is amused but also cautious. He knows how much losing Arrax hurt Lucerys and he doesn't want to potentially set him off when he's supposed to be healing on this trip - but watching this shy dragon slowly inch closer to his grandson every day, like a skittish suitor to afraid to properly approach, is beyond entertaining.

The other sailors are definitely placing bets on when Grey Ghost will just swing by and pluck their Lord of Tides from the deck and make off with him.

#anonymous #HOTD #the salt in our blood au #lucerys velaryon #corlys velaryon #grey ghost the dragon #i love everything about this

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scavengerfive · 5 years

Text

Good Enough

I actually signed up for the Abel Secret Santa exchange which was nerve-wracking. Writing fiction about people you know is a bit weird, I know, but it’s all in good fun. I even got Sam to proofread it for me, but between him and me, it’s likely things are still a bit rough. Nonetheless, here it is.

I hope it’s something, @puzzle-of-many-pieces. Thanks for putting all of this together, @runnerzero and @notforconsumption. It takes place in some obscure limbo of season 1. I’m used to writing quiet, stoic, or shy Fives, so when Lyric said they headcanoned Five as vocal, Five ended up coming out as quirky and weird which was fun.

Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays!

---

“Looking good, Runner Five.”

“There he goes again. It’s really unfair. How come I can never get Sam to flirt with me? It makes a man feel a bit insecure.”

“W-what? I-I’m not flirting… I was just–Five is making good time, and there are no zombs close enough to worry about. That’s all I meant.”

“Sure, it is. So, how come you didn’t say, ‘Looking good, runners’?” There are three of us out here, you know.”

“Well-I–I mean–I didn’t forget–I just… shut up, Simon.”

“Hey, you know the rules. Numbers only.”

“You!? You want to talk about rules?”

Jody’s muffled giggles were clear over the commlink, and you too snickered to yourself as Sam’s voice hit a new octave. Simon never failed to wind Sam up. You didn’t mind the banter. It was better than the oppressive silence of another ghost town or a chorus of the undead making their rounds. Like Sam said, there were no zombs in the immediate vicinity, so you couldn’t hear any eerie moaning filling the air.

You couldn’t see the other two runners anymore, but you trusted them to take care of themselves. You would all meet up soon enough anyways. For now, you scanned the signs of the buildings you passed. Each runner had specific items to collect, things the township was running low on, but there was enough leeway for you to snag anything you thought would be handy or appreciated.

You found yourself stepping into an old convenience store. It had clearly been ransacked quite a few times, but there were always things people overlooked. You bagged a few expired painkillers and batteries, along with twine and deodorant (which was definitely needed). Your eyes alighted on a box behind the counter, and with a small smile, you shoved it into your bag before roaming the aisles, snagging a few more supplies. You knocked some books into the bag along with magazines, paper, and pens.

“All right, guys. It’s time to head back home. You’ve got everything you need?” Sam asked.

The commlink was filled with affirmatives, and as you jogged back towards Abel, you were joined by Jody then Simon, the two runners falling to your side. You flashed a quick smile to each of them.

“So, how was your luck?” Simon asked, an easy smile on his lips.

Jody grimaced.

“I got most of my stuff, but it’s really hard to find a working radio nowadays,” she said. “Found a broken one. It should be good for parts.”

“Five?”

You adjusted the bag on your back, squinting into the setting sun. You thought you could see the radio tower in the distance even though you should be too far off to spot it yet. It was most likely wistful imaginings.

“Good. You?”

“Janine should be pleased. I got her those wire strippers she’s always asking for. Plus, a few things for the Doc.”

Your headset crackled to life, and you heard Sam’s voice over the commlink again.

“I’ve spotted a few zombs in your path, but they should shamble on before you guys reach them. Keep an eye out though.”

“Got it, Sam,” Simon and Jody said at the same time, and Jody added, “Thanks.”

The three of you ran in comfortable silence, each keeping an eye out for any nasty surprises lurking. Soon enough, you could actually see the tower this time, the red beacon switched on even though there was still enough light to see your surroundings.

“So…”

Your eyes drifted over to look at Simon who had a mischievous smile growing on his face. You felt mild trepidation at the sight, but it was swiftly overpowered by a familiar excitement. You and Simon were dangerous together because you were too easily caught up in his recklessness. So, you were not the least bit surprised when the next two words came out of his mouth.

“Race ya?”

“Wait, what? Guys!” Jody yelled as you booked it after Simon’s cackling form.

“Keep up, Runner 4!”

“Not again, guys,” Sam groaned in your ears, and you grinned.

—

“You’ve really been keeping yourself busy, Five. I think you have your name down for every supply run we have coming up for the next month. All that on top of your regular missions? If you keep this up, Maxine might mandate a break for you, and I would agree with her.”

You were rifling through the sports equipment as Sam worried in your ears, something you were used to by now. You supposed some of these compression sleeves you were examining would be useful and bagged them. Extra protection. Circulation efficiency. Whoo!

“I’m fine, Sam. I won’t overdo it.”

“If you say so… what are you looking for anyways?”

“Cricket bat.”

“Why?”

“Request.”

“Ah…”

You moved into the next aisle, coming across some fishing gear and archery equipment. There were no rods left (understandably), but there were some string and a few hooks. You knew Janine would be eager to get her hands on anything useful, so you were quick to fill your pockets, snagging the hooks through your bag’s straps to secure them. There was little else of note but two plastic bows, a few arrows, and other archery equipment like sights and guards, which surprised you. You would have expected people to have taken everything, but you supposed archery wasn’t the most common skill. A bow and quiver of arrows would be an unnecessary burden if someone didn’t know how to use them.

You picked up a bow and plucked the string in thought.

Cr-clash!

A stand collapsed to the ground, and a zombie in a tattered shirt stumbled over it. It still had a name tag hanging off the torn fabric. The undead employee shambled towards you, arms out, and a moan whistling through its rotting jaw.

“Five! Is that a zombie I hear? Tell me it isn’t.”

“It isn’t,” you lied as you stumbled back, hand reaching out for something. D-mnit, you didn’t bring your bat because you wanted your hands free. The store was supposed to be cleared. You turned in time to see another zombie on the other end of the aisle, blocking your escape. Its groans joined the first. “It’s two zombies.”

“Aw, man… it should have been empty. Can you run out of there?”

“Not really.”

Your fingers closed around a smooth, narrow shaft, and with little hesitation, you notched the arrow and aimed at the first zombie which was closest, elbow high. One of your eyes squeezed shut, and the head of the arrow buried itself in the zombies forehead with a solid thud. With no pause, you grabbed another arrow, swung around, and got the second zombie through the eye just as its hand brushed your arm.

When it crumbled to the ground like the first, you waited a moment longer, just in case, before you let your stance drop. Your breathing was loud in your ears, and as you sought to calm your heart back down, your ears tuned back into Sam’s frantic voice.

“–VE! Answer me, d-mnit! What’s going on?! Are you all right?”

You blinked and let out a shaky breath. Slumped against the wall, you said, “I’m fine, Sam. I took care of them.”

“Thank G-d,” he breathed. “Don’t go quiet on me like that again. Not like that. I was worried.”

“Sorry, Sam. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.”

The twitching of the zombies’ bodies stilled, and you gingerly padded over to the first one, planting a shoe on its jaw. Wrapping a hand around the arrow, you yanked it out with a nauseating squelch. The tip was red and wet, but you figured you could wipe it down easily enough. You retrieved the second one similarly. Honestly, this wasn’t the first time you found yourself thankful since the outbreak for that summer at camp. Even you couldn’t miss with targets that close.

You left the shop minutes later with the cricket bat you had come for and some other useful supplies but not before snagging a thin book off one of the shelves that caught your eye.

“I’m heading back, Sam.”

“Good. You owe me a Curly Wurly for my troubles.”

“Fine.”

—

“Runner Five, I thought I had ordered you to be taken off the roster for at least a week,” Maxine’s disapproving voice said through your headset.

You grimaced from where you were hunkered down behind a low wall at the edge of someone’s old yard. Dirt was working its way under your nails as your fingers burrowed into the wilted grass. The sound of the undead surrounding your hiding spot was almost deafening. You needed Sam right now, not a lecture.

“Now’s not the best time, doc,” you hissed into your mic, peeking over the faded bricks before ducking back down.

“You wouldn’t be in this situation if you had listened to me.”

“That’s fair but still not the time.”

“Maxie!” You could hear Sam’s muffled yell through the headset. There was a scuffling sound before his voice became much clearer. “How many times–Runner Five! What the h-ll?! I was only gone for three minutes. How did you end up surrounded by–what is it? At least, thirty zombies! Five!”

“Luck?”

He sighed, and a strained smile flashed across your face. You were certain that was a sigh reserved only for you.

“You’re giving me grey hairs, Five. I’m gonna get you out of there, and then we’re gonna have words.”

“Get me out, and you can have a whole dictionary.”

“Right. To your left, there’s a break between those two houses, the blue and green one. Head for it. You won’t be able to avoid catching some of the zombies’ attention, but you should be able to lose most of them if you are quick. Go. Now!”

You sprang up and made a dash for the gap Sam had pointed out. From the way the groans got even louder behind you, you knew you had been spotted. No worry. You’d dealt with worse. Compared to what you and Sara usually got up to, this was a holiday.

“Five, things aren’t looking pretty anymore. Change of plans. Can you get into that house right there? The one with the broken window. Yes, that one. In you go. Yup! Be careful. Don’t cut yourself.”

Your shoes crunched over the broken glass on the tiled floor as you levered yourself down from the sill. You peered around, hands tight around the handle of the bat you had collected from a garage before getting trapped in the neighborhood. You couldn’t be certain that there were no zombies waiting out of sight, ready to jump you if you let your guard down.

“If you can go out the front door, that street is a bit more deserted. It won’t be for long, so be quick.”

Your feet were nearly silent as you made your way out of the kitchen and into the living room, the room dim and musty. Expected when there was no one to dust. The smell of decay hit your nose, and you startled at the sight of a body on the couch.

Swinging around, you had your bat at the ready. It took a moment to register that the body’s head was caved in and slumped into the cushions. It didn’t look fresh. The blood had dried into a dark stain with clumps of hair in it. Someone else had already taken care of the zombie–if it had been one. Humans still killed humans despite the apocalypse.

“I don’t see you on my cameras, Five. What’s taking you so long? Your way out is getting more crowded by the second.”

“There’s a body. Dead.”

“Dead dead or about to bite you and make you one of them dead?”

“…dead dead.”

“One less thing to worry about… what is it, Maxine?” You heard a muffled voice. “What do you mean Five is supposed to be off running duty? Their name was… Five? What did you do?”

“Runner Six was feeling sick, so I covered for her.”

“Five…”

Your eyes perused the shelves out of habit, looking for anything an Abel resident might like. Wait…

You pulled down a DVD case and popped open the cover.

“Woah…”

“What is it?”

You snapped it shut, the plastic making a dull clicking sound. Looking back at the shelves, you grinned.

“Nothing. I’m coming out.”

You ran out into the horde a moment later and trusted Sam to get you home but not before a few more things made their home in your bag.

—

The gates rose before you, and you pedaled hard to clear them, riding under the spray of bullets that mowed down the zombies that had been on your tail. Residents looked up as you came to a smooth stop, a wild grin on your face that only died a little when you saw Maxine waiting for you with her arms crossed.

You held up your hands and waited for the klaxon of the lowering gate to go quiet.

“I swear, this time, I meant to help out in the kitchen, but Janine asked for me personally. I couldn’t say no, could I?”

“You could have, and you will,” Maxine said. “The guards have been informed that you’re not allowed to leave Abel for the next week, so don’t expect anyone to raise the gates for you–even if your name is on the roster.”

“Aw… Maxine…”

“Five.”

“I’m an Abel runner and an able runner,” you said, grinning when Maxine groaned. “If I can run, shouldn’t I?”

“If you overdo it, you won’t be able to run when we need you to.”

She frowned when you snickered at her unintentional pun. You sobered up (sans a small pout) and nodded.

“Fine. Doctor’s orders are doctor’s orders,“ you ceded, climbing off the bike. "I’ll be by the clinic for my bite check in a second. I just need to drop some things off. Scout’s honour.”

“I’m certain you’ve never been a scout.”

“Fine… runner’s honour.”

“You have honour now?”

You mock gasped as you walked away then went in search of Runner 16. You figured the bike was too big to hide, and too many people had seen you ride in on it, so you might as well deliver it to the runner now. The back tire was a bit flat, but it got you home safely. You were certain the runner would be able to fix it up, no problem.

Now, Sixteen didn’t cry per se, but you were certain his eyes looked a little misty as you passed him the bike. You awkwardly waved off his effusive gratitude and made an escape to your room that barely had any space left in it, digging through your supply bag and tossing some things onto your bed, which was about the only free space left at this point. The more people trusted a runner, the less likely their bag was taken from them the moment they got back to Abel and all the supplies stored away.

You had managed to get about the last few things you were looking for before Maxine took you off rotation. There was more you could have gotten, but this should suffice. Thankfully, no one checked the rooms regularly, or you would have gotten in trouble by now. It was worth it though. This was the best way you knew to express what you didn’t know how to in words.

You took the rest of the mostly full bag and stepped out of the cramped room. On the wall next to your “door”, where you had first missed it, a small, hand-written note was stuck to the wood. You peeled it off. At closer inspection, you realized it was a flyer for this year’s holiday party, hosted by Jack and Eugene. You’ve heard stories about past ones. You were almost surprised Janine would allow it (if the men indeed asked her permission), but you also knew she knew the importance of keeping up morale. She would most definitely regret it by the end of the night though.

Tucking the slip of paper away into your pocket, you adjusted the bag on your shoulders and jogged out of the runners’ quarters. You made sure to drop off the rest of the collected supplies and made a quick detour to the comm shack to return your headset. Then, you went to the clinic where Maxine was waiting for you.

—

Despite your best efforts, you did not manage to sneak out of the township for a run again. It was a long shot, but you tried anyways. The guards, however, were not willing to risk Maxine’s wrath, not when she had reign over the good stuff, like aspirin and plasters, so you were stuck helping out around the township. You took a shift in the kitchen almost every day and volunteered to read to the children at the school where they were working their way through the Harry Potter series.

Around the township, you could see the oncoming holiday season due to the collective efforts of Abel’s residents. There were festive decorations, found or made, hung up on or tacked onto different buildings. There was even a tree in the quad, small but brightly decorated. Simon had brought it in.

You breathed into your hands, having forgotten to wear your threadbare gloves before you started making your way to the clinic to help Maxine. There had been an accident with one of the construction efforts. No one was killed, but there were a few injuries that Maxine needed a few extra hands on. You liked to be useful. Plus, you hoped, if you put yourself in the good graces of everyone, you might be forgiven if you got caught tonight.

—

It was moments like this you wished you had an operator in your ear, preferably Sam, but you knew he would talk you out of this or get you both caught. You wouldn’t want to get him in trouble. Plus, he would probably spill everything.

It was risky being out past curfew. The consequences were severe because Janine and the Major enforced them, but it was also the best time to act if you wanted your plan to be a success. The only downside was that you had to keep making trips back to your room because everything was too much to carry at once. Each dash back to the runners’ quarters increased your chances of getting caught, but it was unavoidable. You were surprised you made it this far anyways. The apocalypse had trained everyone to be light sleepers, and you found yourself blending into shadows more often than not when a groggy individual swung first, opened their eyes later.

“Hey! Who’s there? Joe!”

You threw yourself down behind a woodpile as torchlight shone where you were just moments ago. With your back pressed against the wood, splinters embedding themselves into the fabric of your coat, you held your breath.

“I didn’t see anything, Pete.”

“I was certain… never mind. No one would be stupid enough to be out here now anyways.”

You bet your -rse there’d be someone stupid enough. Case in point: you. You smothered your anxious snicker before you could give yourself away.

Waiting with bated breath for the light to move on, you still waited moments more before you risked moving. You had only one more delivery to make anyways, but it would certainly be the riskiest, which is why you saved it for last.

The wall of Janine’s farmhouse loomed over you, and you questioned your sanity once more. You must be insane for even considering breaking into Janine’s home, let alone actually doing it, but here you were, pushing open a window you had made sure was unlocked earlier when you visited to drop of some files. You weren’t going to try anything fancy like getting into her room. You were stupid, not suicidal. The counter should do.

When you got the window open wide enough, you bent down to pick up the items you placed on the ground after you managed not to drop them on your way over. You straightened up…

Click.

…only to be face to face with the barrel of a rifle.

Sh-t.

“Runner Five, I do hope you have authorization to be out past curfew. Though, where you would have gotten that authorization, I don’t know, since I’m the only one who can grant it.”

“…Happy Christmas?” you squeaked, holding up your gifts with a shaky smile.

—

It smelled like death. You were ready to die. Your muscles shook as you hefted another shovelful of semi-frozen sh-t to add to the growing pile of semi-frozen sh-t in the wheelbarrow before driving the shovel back into the earth.

Latrine duty. You supposed it could have been worse. Janine could have been shot you or exiled you, or worse, taken you off running duty permanently. You shuddered at the thought then scratched your nose through the handkerchief that did little to block out the smell. At least, it wasn’t as bad as it was in the summer when the rain made it all wet and the sun made it smell to high heaven. As winter settled in, it only really hit you when you were ankle deep in it. You just hoped you wouldn’t smell like sh-t at the party tonight.

The intercom announced that it was time for breakfast right when your stomach growled, and you shucked the shovel to the side, peeling off and folding the work gloves before placing them on the shelf. You pulled on the new gloves you had traded a screwdriver for because it was getting too for your old ones to do any good. You would come back after you’ve eaten. You’ve been working since sunrise and deserved a break.

As you walked through Abel, towards the kitchen, you took a moment to observe the residents moving about around you. You could see lil’ Molly, walking hand-in-hand with Ed, clutching her old bunny which now bore a red knit hat and scarf. The tot fussed with it then babbled excitedly at her dad. They passed by Runner 16 who was standing with his new bike, gesturing wildly as he spoke with a big smile to Runner Six who was clutching a blue notebook and pen.

You hid a smile and joined the food queue to wait for your ration, listening to the conversations around you.

“I just woke up and found a Cluedo box in my room. Unopened. Do you know how rare that is? I don’t know…”

“…a Bible. A little worn and marked up, but it’s not missing any pages. When I saw it, I just started crying…”

“…new boots and pants. I’m almost embarrassed to ask who knew I needed…”

“It was only a pack, but I had just about forgotten what gum tastes like. You want one? I have…”

“…loose tea. I can finally have a decent cuppa. Just because the world ended…”

“Five?”

Your head jerked up, and you realized you were at the front of the queue. Some people were giving you weird or impatient looks, but you just grabbed a tray and worked your way down the table. There was a rare offering of hot chocolate at the end, and you took a cup. You wondered how the kitchen got their hands on hot chocolate mix and smirked to yourself as you inhaled the rich scent in the steam.

“Five! Over here!”

Sam waved widely at you from his spot at a table, his smile big under a red tinged nose. An orange knit hat shoved his bangs down over his eyes, and he brushed them aside to beam at you as you walked over to where he was sitting with Jody and Simon. Jody was hunched over yarn and knitting needles, having chosen to brave the cold it seemed rather than wear gloves that would hinder her work, while Simon seemed intent on inhaling his meal with no room for coming up for air.

“Five!” Sam exclaimed as you sat across from him. He was clutching a DVD case to his chest. “You wouldn’t believe it! An actually copy of Toy Story. No one’s been able to find one since the outbreak. It’s unbelievable. When I went to the comms shack this morning to check the equipment, the case was just laying on my desk–along with a jar of Marmite and a bat. Can you believe it?”

“Yeah,” Simon said between mouthfuls (or rather, with a mouthful). “I found a football in my room. Don’t know how it got there. It certainly wasn’t there when I turned in.”

Jody flashed him a disgusted look at his lack of table manners before she beamed at you.

“It looks like Abel’s got itself a Secret Santa. They got me yarn and needles, wool, a strander… just about everything I needed to keep knitting.”

“And a bow and arrows,” Sam added. "Which is–majorly cool.”

“Yeah,” Jody said with a blush. “I guess they must have heard me on Radio Abel. It’s sweet. They even got me a book on how to make my own supplies.”

You saw Janine queue up with Sara over Sam’s shoulder. The two women were conversing, and when one looked at you, the other turned too. Janine had a glare that you would swear was not as harsh as usual while Sara cocked a brow at you. You could see she was carrying a familiar, hardcover book.

You tried not to wheeze. She knew, didn’t she?

“Did you get anything, Five?” Sam asked.

“Huh?” you gasped, looking back at him. “Oh… I got new socks and these gloves,” you said, holding up your hands and wiggling your fingers. “Warm and cozy.”

“Do you think they’ll come out?”

“Who?”

“The Secret Santa.”

“I think if they had wanted credit, they wouldn’t have gone through so much trouble to avoid getting found out,” you said, sipping your hot chocolate when Sam squinted at you.

“I just don’t get how they did it,” Jody said.

“They’ve got to be a runner. Or working with one,” said Simon.

“No, that’s obvious. I meant how they delivered everything. What about curfew?”

“Maybe they got permission from Janine or got a guard to help them.”

“Or maybe they just didn’t get caught,” Sam added, an amused smile on his face as he shot a look at you.

Hah! You sipped your hot chocolate aggressively and almost choked as it burned your throat. You didn’t need this type of irony or suspicion in your life right now.

“And thank G-d for the hot chocolate.”

“Are you all going to the party later? If I heard correctly, Jack and Eugene got their hands on some booze, and I, for one, am thirsty,” said Simon.

“When aren’t you?”

Simon shot a glare at Jody then you for snickering.

“I should be back from my run on time,” Jody said. “Are you still grounded, Five?”

“Haha… yes…” You huffed. “Which means I’ll be around for it at least.”

“I’ve got a shift at the clinic today, so I’m free tonight,” Simon said.

The intercom came to life over their heads, calling all runners on duty today to retrieve their headsets and report to the gates for briefing.

“That’s my cue as well,” Sam said as Jody packed away her knitting.

“See ya, guys,” Jody said.

The two took their empty trays with them as you and Simon bid them good luck. You turned your focus to the rest of your meal, wanting to eat it all before it got too cold.

“So, did you get permission from Janine?”

“For what?” you asked around a banger halfway in your mouth.

“To sneak around past curfew.”

“…I don’t know what you mean. Oh, look at the time, I have to get back to latrine duty. See ya, Simon.”

Smooth.

—

“And let us make a toast to the Secret Santa that brought a little more needed cheer to our dreary existence this year!”

“Jack!”

“What? It’s true.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to say it. To our very Secret Santa who we are all very thankful for.”

The room cheered while Jack bickered back at Eugene. Jody accepted a cup from Simon and shifted over to let him sit.

“So, when are we going to tell Five that pretty much everyone knows it was them?” Simon asked.

Ed, who was nearby, snorted, and the two runners chuckled. They could see you by the wall with Sam, the two of you watching Jack and Eugene drunkenly joke off. You were clearly trying to hide a smile in your sleeve.

“What did Five get you, Ed?” Jody asked.

“Some old driving games,” Ed said over his cup. “I missed playing them. And they got Molly a hat and scarf for her rabbit. She adores them.”

“I don’t think we should tell them,” Jody decided.

“Why is that?” Simon asked.

“They clearly went through so much trouble to keep it a secret. I don’t think they’d want the attention.”

They saw you look up when Sam leaned over to say something to you, and you started sputtering, gesturing wildly in what looked like denial.

“So, what? We say nothing?”

“I know, the idea is new to you,” Jody teased, grinning at Simon’s offense, “but yeah. We all know. That’s good enough. Let’s let them think they got away with it.”

“All right. Here’s to ‘Secret’ Santas,” Simon said, raising his cup.

“And oblivious Fives.”

"I’ll drink to that,” Ed said.

“Hear, hear,” crowed those around them.

Jody snickered when the commotion caught your attention from across the room, but she wasn’t too worried. You weren’t the most perceptive, but, at least, your heart was always in the right place. She figured that was good enough.

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dokuhebi · 4 years

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FIVE FOR KABU!

send a 🖐️ emoji ( or just ‘ 5 ′ ) for five times our muses touched . // @raichoose The candles flame is sinking lower and lower, wax dripping down the sides of the long stick, pooling in the caved in center, coaxing the dying light to submerge and be vanquished. They should ignite the candle again, before the only source of dwindling light is completely erased. Yet they don’t. Golden eyes watch as the fragile little flame dies out completely. As the success from burning so brightly causes its own slow demise, erasing the very foundation it exists on. They are overthinking again. It is what they do. A simple item, a simple result of fire upon wax. It does not need to be symbolic of all they have come to know. It does not need to remind them of him. Of the burnt out bond that had seemed to be verging on success, so caught in the heat of the moment, yet damned itself somewhere along the way. Their most trusted companion, friend, ally... when had that fragile little flame burnt out? The document on their desk is growing harder to read as the light fades, sometimes flickering out altogether before somehow struggling back alive. But Kabuto’s face, a small photo attached to a report torn from a bingo book, is still visible. Until of course, slender fingers coil around the image, and hold its tip to the flames hungry mouth. Desperate for some means of survival, catching instantly, eating away at the image until once more its hunger has diminished its own foundation. They watch as the singed edges of the photo curl and flake in to ash, dripping on to the table below, embers still faintly glowing on the charred and broken pieces. They could burn an image, but they could not burn a memory.

The sun filters down through scattered tree leaves, a distant breeze not quite reaching the figures standing there. They watch him from across the small clearing in the forest. Golden eyes attentive, slender arms folded, a taunting smirk on their face. He’s not even twenty yet, but if he is to be their subordinate, then he is to learn what it truly is to be a shinobi. “Shall I make it easier for you dear?” they call to him, watching as he adjusts his glasses, wanting to see what has become of the man they decided had enough worth to be taken on to their team. Many wanted his position. None had been valued enough to get the opportunity to earn that right, “I’ll use nothing but kenjutsu. If you can disarm me, I’ll consider this your win,” they say, a fanged smile giving away their arrogance during the training. That they truly think the young man will be unable to do even this. How pleased they would be of course, if they were to be proven wrong instead. The fight is a back and forth affair, as the serpent turns the exercise of training in to a game. Leaving their legendary katana alone and instead using an ordinary one, a slim and elegant blade all the same. They think it will be their win, until a few slip ups on their end, and a few cleverly taken advantage of opportunities on his, wind the serpent up losing their grip. The sound of their weapon hitting damp soil signals their loss instantly, no means to recover, as they find themself disarmed, their slender figure pressed to the nearest sequoia, a measly kunai held flush to their pale throat. A smirk tugs at their lips, so pleased it may trick anyone viewing to think this was some trap. That they wanted to lose. It isn’t quite the case. The serpent finding a victory in their loss. Porcelain digits coil around his wrist, loose and gentle, almost simply caressing the skin beneath their fingertips, “it seems I was right about you all along. You’re quite remarkable.” They push against him, inching closer to the blade knowing he would draw it away rather than cut them, their figure and a single slim hand pressing in to his chest as a dance of mischievous appreciation enters their yellow eyes. “It will be intriguing to see what you might accomplish in the future.”

But twenty years from that moment, the serpent would not have the luxury of seeing what the man would become. Twenty years from that moment, they are sitting in a dark cell, a step up from their life in prison, but a step before being released in to Otogakure. A small abode, locked and guarded. A few personal items allowed, research material, home comforts. An attempt to keep them from growing restless. But they are restless, and more than anything, they are left with their own thoughts for too long. Allowed to fall down the rabbit hole in to a twisted imagination. They force themself away from the table, moving to the kitchen which is only a few steps away, and in the same room. Fumbling in the dark and fishing out a glass, seeking next a bottle they know is half empty already. A dark orange liquid swishing in the glass container. They pour themself one drink, it steadily becomes two, then three, then four. But even the sake that was so adept at making people forget seems only to inspire more thoughts.

Autumn welcomes the patrons with a bite of cold air, an unexpected nippiness. As it would turn out, the pretty layers of their hanfu would not serve to be as warm as they were beautiful. Various shades of ashen grey, black and white material falling around their svelte figure and speckled with the intermittent patterns of a violet wisteria, wraithlike, as if they may have stepped out of some mythical folklore. Pale skin is cast in a pleasant glow beneath the moonlight, while golden eyes seek only to compete with its brightness “How is our chatty comrade doing?” they ask Kabuto, standing elegantly amid a small gathering of lords, here only to make the necessary connections. Dark connections, allies who did not shy from dabbling in the black market. The small team accompanying the Sannin, to keep them from being targeted with the sizable bounty on their head, had since dispersed. But it hadn’t escaped their attention how one rather talkative Oto shinobi had been grating on Kabuto’s nerves. It hadn’t taken long for them to decide he was the right man for the job, when testing the drinks for poisons or other drugs and additives. With the chatty subordinate even more chatty, buzzed but certainly not dead, the Sannin knows they can indulge in the tested beverages. And how they will need that as a support and crutch when having to entertain the frivolous Lords with no grasp of reality. By the time the light weight viper has realized they are now gracefully off balanced rather than gracefully refined, they seek a different crutch. Inhibition's to the wind, as they lean in to Kabuto’s figure. One slender arm laced elegantly around his neck. But they would not only need help getting back to their inn, or at least, that wasn’t all they would end up asking of him. Not that they would remember the half of it. The next morning, they find themself dressed in a night yukata, sparing them from a night in the elaborate hanfu, courtesy of Kabuto helping them out the intricate dress in to a more suitable sleepwear no doubt. They also find themself in Kabuto’s room and bed, rather than their own. So as it would seem, their famed ‘guard dog’ would not solely be warding off enemies that evening, his loyalty had kept them warm too. But they are still plagued by a headache, and the sunlight seeping in through the blinds prompts them to hide their face against the crevice of the mans neck where it had just been buried before, “turn the blinds down, it can be morning when I say it is,” they mutter.

The sound of their parole shatters their thoughts, causes them to glance to the sealed and locked door. Someone’s joke evidently earning a great deal of laughter and debate. It had been a while since they had the opportunity for small talk, how they loathed small talk usually, how months in isolation could suddenly make them crave it. Conversations... was it something they said that made him leave? Had they chased him off with their ideas, their quiet moments together? Had it all be one lie after the other, and he never truly felt any shred of care toward them? Just a means to an end. Their end. A distraction is welcome, and they try and listen to what is being said. Something about a slip up during a mission. Something about the entertainment it had been for onlookers. Something about a strange nurse, a long stay at a hospital, a well earned dose of Ibuprofen. A simple word, yet even that manages to awaken ghosts of the past.

“I don’t care if it’s not recommended. Just make it stop.” Their voice is hoarse sounding, hissed and drenched in agony and venom. Feeling as if they are in their darkest hour, feeling at their lowest, their weakest, their most vulnerable. It instantly brings to life their fight instinct, it instantly makes them volatile and unpredictable. Too swept up in the sheer crippling pain. Agonized to the point of forgetting their own training in medicine, as they reach for any and every painkiller available to them. For the highest dose to stop the suffering/. The pain of the body was one thing, but Hiruzen was showing them a new kind of pain by severing their very soul. Leaving their arms growing thinner and bloodier, decaying on their very living person. Most of their medics had been casualties when overstepping boundaries around the Sannin, who was more a wounded animal than a person on these nights. The rest had refused to enter the chambers due to fear. All but one. “None of it is working,” they hiss to Kabuto, still trying to convince him that overindulging in the painkillers may lead to some numbness. Desperate enough to think it will be enough. If they had placed their arms in to open flames, they imagine it would hurt less than this. Their breathing becomes erratic, labored, forgetting even that simple task as their body wants to go back in to shock with the overwhelming sensations. Almost blinded and completely disorientated from the agony. Until his hands rest upon them, until the faint glow of blue offers a shred of mercy in a moment of pure torture. A second enough to catch their still shaken and ragged breathing. They find their slender form leaning against him, almost clawing for him, their only source of relief in a world of misery. A dozen medics had been in and out of these halls, a dozen treatments had been offered to give them relief. None had managed. Yet his single touch mitigated enough suffering, to finally give them rest. Enough that their body may succumb to fatigue, enough that the pain slips away from their mind, and only a distant sounding song can be heard as they finally find sleep. His song. Her song.

It is moments like those that makes them wonder how they may have imagined it all. How Kabuto could possibly have never cared when he had stayed holding them all night on that dreaded evening. When he had sung a personal song in a hopes of capturing their attention and outdoing the pains grip on them. It had to be real - now didn’t it? It could not be made up, feigned or fabricated. So what then? It being real, his devotion and care for them being real back then, did it change that farewell? If he had wished to be at their side at their lowest on the day of Hiruzen’s assassination, when exactly had it started to fall a part of irreversibly? When had they lost him?

It’s hard to tell dawn from dusk in their underground home, to know when the sun had risen or set, as darkness constantly engulfed them beneath the earths surface. Hidden away from all that wanted to harm them, but equally hidden from the pleasantries of life too. Perhaps this inability to keep easy track of time is the excuse the serpent will use for why they so often fail to keep an orderly sleep schedule. Why they skip entire nights, sometimes several, throughout the week in exchange for more hours to work. But they aren’t the only one overworking in these halls, as they enter the next room, about to speak, when they see Kabuto has fallen in to a slumber. Scattered around him are the many scrolls and documents he was taking on for them, to relieve the Sannin of some of their duties - perhaps to ensure they may have time for sleep themself. Sacrificing his own. They can’t be sure what precisely has kept him up. It is no mystery he has nightmares - what shinobi didn’t awaken regularly due to the trauma of their job? The serpent certainly skipped sleep for more reasons than just their work, flashes from the past an ugly reminder they didn’t need at night. They cross the distance quietly, placing a hand gently to his forehead to inspect for a temperature and ensure he isn’t sick but merely tired, before delicately removing his glasses, and then his hair tie. Combing out the slight tangles and indents from being held together by the hairband, before placing both items carefully aside for his ease of access and reach when he woke up. Catlike steps, nimble and silent, allows them to move about the room undetected. A skill harnessed for insidious assassinations, but would now be far more affectionate a need. A final act of drawing a blanket around his shoulders, and trying to help him lay down properly on the couch without disturbing him. Only to disappear like a phantom, as was all their acts of love and care perhaps. Too timid to be caught in the act of fondness. Hiding their heart over hiding their crimes.

That may have been the problem then? Surely, who could ever stand by a person who would brandish their killings and veil their love? Who could tolerate such a juvenile trait? For they know, as much as they think being distanced from their own heart is a clever defense, that it is also a sign of emotionally stunted development. That while they can not break a habit with knowledge alone, they had read up on it to link their orphaned childhood and constant attendance to loved ones funerals to connect the dots. That they were as much protecting themself from loss and unnecessary human fragility in an effort of being wiser, as they were simply too afraid to brave the risk. Whichever way, they imagine it doesn’t matter a terrible amount anymore. They are here, and he is not. And the memory most burnt in to their mind seems to replay like some cruel Tsukuyomi.

The war was starting to pique in its volatile and violent arrival, torn from the land of the dead to be placed back amid the chaos. Resurrected. But the serpent isn’t frazzled or overwhelmed, the stimulation simply feeds their more ambitious side - and they are not alone. Not when the first thing golden eyes awaken to see, is him. Kabuto. ‘Of course it would be the young doctor’, is the first thought to enter their mind. From the moment they felt Sasuke’s blade embed itself in to their weakening and sick body, they had known if anyone would save them from that fate, it would be Kabuto. And here he stands proving them right, as a fanged smirk reveals itself on their lips, pleased and satisfied, as they automatically, instinctively, move to his side. And somewhere along the way, what they believed they saw, and what was really happening did not align. Somewhere between the fighting, the strife and the forced great alliance, he slipped through their fingertips like running water. So when the Sannin knew the battle was over and won, they did not feel as if they must face the uncertainty of execution or imprisonment alone. Moving once more instinctively to Kabuto’s side, as if the two of them were really just one person, one entity. To attack him was to attack them, and visa versa. Yet when they place their hand to his shoulder, both offering a touch of support and looking for someone to lean on - for what may be the last time without their realization - they find themself faced with words they hadn’t anticipated. Words that struck them more than the injuries sustained in combat, shook them more than the tremors of the bomb fire. ‘ I can’t go back with you. I have to leave. ’

#raichoose #詩 Fūten; raichoose #/long post tw #/long post #keep reading isn't working :')#so I'll just have to plague the dash with my essay~

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