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abbysfrenchbraid · 4 years

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Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 1

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The f!reader is a servant to an English lord, when one day Eivor raids their village and takes the reader and others with her as prisoners.

For this chapter there is a big content warning for graphic violence, suicide, death, abuse, and blood. If you want to know what exactly happens regarding to specific triggers, feel free to message me and I'll let you know or give you a censored version.

Inspo Picture by @anaakeart

Chapter 1: Cutting Ties

You were kneading dough on the big wooden kitchen table when Henry rushed in, out of breath and red-faced from the cold outside. He was the head of the servants and had been tasked by your lord to prepare a feast for tonight. You had been cooking since before sunrise and everyone in the village was excited for tonight. Lord William’s wife and daughters were decorating the house and preparing an enormous bonfire in the center of the village. Delia, one of the daughters, was supposedly getting engaged tonight, forging important alliances with the neighbor shire.

“How are you holding up, Y/N? Everything according to schedule?” Henry asked, placing a friendly hand on your shoulder and squeezing it in reassurance.

You wiped your sweaty forehead with your upper arm before taking a knife to cut intricate little patterns into the dough, William’s emblem in the middle of them. This was the last loaf of bread, two dozen were already cooling off in the corner.

“Everything seems to be going well so far,” you said, “is the bonfire ready?”

Before Henry could answer, you heard loud sobbing in the corridor, accompanied by footsteps coming closer. The door sprang open and Delia stumbled into the kitchen, holding her cheek and crying inconsolably. Henry was quick to help her to a chair before dipping a towel into the water basin and holding it to her face.

“Did he hit you again?” he asked with a tenderness in his voice that made you look up at them. Delia had laid her hand on top of his and looked at him through a veil of tears, only managing to nod in response. She grabbed his linen shirt and pulled him closer, burying her face in his side.

Oh no. This wasn’t good.

“I told him I don't want to get engaged to some old, wrinkly toad. He screamed at me, saying I had no worth to him and the only way to put daughters to use was to marry them off. I couldn’t help myself, I said that I loved someone else and he struck me four times for it. I can’t be seen like this tonight!”

She was right. A bruise was already forming on her cheek and brow bone, no one would take a battered bride. William had always wanted sons. Because his wife hadn’t given him any, he let his anger out on her and his daughters as he pleased. He was a tyrant, but there was nothing anyone could do. He was the lord.

You used a wooden shovel to put the last loaf of bread in the stone oven, then you left the unlucky couple alone in the kitchen and tried to find Eda, Delia’s sister. You met her in the stables, her head pressed against the neck of her beautiful red mare. She was mumbling to her and the horse stood perfectly still, seeming to listen and provide comfort to the young woman. You announced yourself by clearing your throat and Eda turned to look at you. Her face was tear-streaked. Oh, what a day.

“Miss Eda?” you tried to keep a light tone. “Your sister isn’t well. I think it might be best for you to come and take a look at her.”

Eda gave you a solemn nod, rubbed over the mare’s soft nose in parting and followed you back to the kitchen. As you entered, you could see that Delia had stopped crying and Henry was applying a salve to her face. The air was filled with the scent of mint and lavender alongside the wonderful smell of freshly baked bread.

“Oh, sweet sister.” Eda rushed to Delia’s side and cupped her face in her hands. “What have you done?”

Delia pressed her lips together and Henry helped her out.

“She told Milord that she wouldn’t marry anyone for him. He was furious.”

“Damn this place.” Eda suddenly blurted out. She stood up and balled her hands into fists. “He can’t treat us like this, we’re his daughters, his own flesh and blood. He can’t just sell us off like cattle!”

You and Henry exchanged a quick glance, both holding your breaths. She was right, but you were not allowed to make any remarks of that kind. Delia started crying again, but Eda slammed her hand on the table in frustration. You knew the feeling too well.

Suddenly Henry straightened up. “Y/N, what’s that smell?”

Fuck. The bread.

Quickly you pulled it out of the oven, but it was already coal-black and hard as stone. You threw it on the table. The kitchen immediately filled with the stench of burned grain. How much could go wrong in one day? You couldn’t picture it getting any worse than this.

You were in for a surprise.

The door suddenly banged open and the small frame of Lord William, II. of his name, entered the kitchen.

“What is this? Are you all conspiring against me? Sitting around while I do all the work! Unforgivable!” he bellowed, pointing his fingers at each one of you.

“Delia, stop this madness, you ungrateful wench! You have the opportunity to honor this house and here you sit, moping and wailing! I should sell you to the Danish savages!”

Delia cried out in horror and ran out of the kitchen. No one dared to follow her.

William’s gaze fell on the burned bread on the table. His face became even redder than before, a thing you had not thought possible. With one step he was in front of you, grabbing your shoulder with icy, piercing fingers and shaking you.

“You useless, stupid girl! I do not pay you to burn my hard-earned grain! Do you know how much I am paying for this day? This will cost you your week’s earnings, mark my words!”

He let go of you and was about to turn to Eda when you answered: “There are two dozen perfect loaves with your emblem ready for this night. I was taking care of your wounded daughter.”

Before you had even the chance to regret this remark, he had whirled around and struck you with the back of his hand. He hit you so hard that you flew back against the shelves, tearing down vases of onions and carrots with you in a terrible cacophony of Eda screaming, clay breaking, and the ringing in your ears. His seal ring had caught your cheekbone, blood instantly beginning to flow down your face and neck. You were paralyzed for a second, struggling to breathe as you lay between the broken pots and vegetables and stared at William, still in disbelief at what had happened.

There was a flicker in his eyes, just the hint of realization that he had gone too far. He huffed and turned on his heel, then he was out the door.

Henry fell to his knees next to you and tried to pull you up to a seated position. You could feel the blood spreading downward through the fabric of your dress and warming your chest. Eda was still paralyzed, staring at you from the table.

“Miss Eda, a cloth, please!” Henry commanded. She caught herself and grabbed Delia’s cloth before rushing to your side. Henry gently dabbed the wet fabric on your cheek and while Delia began cleaning your neck and chest with another towel.

“Y/N? Can you hear me? How are you feeling?” he asked, trying to suppress the panic and concern in his voice. You looked at him and managed to croak: “I’m alright.”

“Good. This is going to need stitches, and quickly.” He stood up and grabbed a bottle of brown liquor from the top shelf, handing it to Eda. “Give her this. She’ll start feeling the pain in a minute.”

He rummaged around in a small chest next to the door and found a needle and thread. You took the opened bottle from Eda’s hands and quickly gulped down a good amount before it could start to burn in your throat. Your head started spinning almost immediately.

“I had to do this a lot when I was in the army. I’ll try to be quick.” He gave you an apologetic smile as he crouched down next to you, then he went to work.

Eda left at some point to look for Delia, taking the bread with her to give it to the pigs. Henry had helped you up and sat you on a chair in the corner before starting to clean up the terrible mess. You slowly came back to yourself and to reality, feeling dizzy from the blow and the liquor but glad about the fog in your mind finally clearing up.

After an hour or so, you got up and back to work, starting to assort the cheese and meat platters and sending after a few other servants to carry them to the table. Henry helped you at first, but then he had to go and make sure everything was set and ready. After there was nothing else to do in the kitchen, you went to your chamber to change into your more formal clothes.

A metal plate was hung on the wall next to your door to serve as a mirror. As you stood in front of it and held a candle up to your face, you didn’t recognize yourself. Your left eye was swollen almost completely shut, your cheek was a dark, almost black purple and the wound was held together by four stitches. It was still seeping blood occasionally, but when you wiped it off there was no real difference.

You took off your dusty, flour-stained linen dress and managed to put on your black dress with the white apron and bonnet. This evening would stretch forever and sleep seemed years away. Now you were really wishing for another swig of that cheap servant’s whiskey.

The feast began without any further incidents. Lord Wulfred from the shire north of yours had actually come and was sitting next to William and opposite your Lady at the head of the table. You stayed in the shadow, keeping an eye on the table and advising the other servants to get more wine or bring more cheese at times. Delia sat next to Wulfred, a man in his fifties, almost as wide as he was tall. His grey beard was yellow around his mouth and food got stuck in hit as he ate. His promised bride looked miserable. You could see she was holding hands with her sister next to her, trying hard to keep her composure.

As the meal came to an end and the table had almost vanished under a heap of gnawed off bones, crumbs, cheese rinds, and fruit stones, William rose from his chair, holding a bronze cup in his hand.

It got silent in a matter of seconds. Delia’s face was as white as snow, her fingers desperately clinging to her sister. Wulfred was gulping down beer and it was trickling out of the corners of his mouth into his beard. Poor Delia.

“I have assembled you all here tonight because there is a special occasion, one that calls for a second celebration very soon.” William was relishing in the attention of his guests and savoring every word. “As some of you may know, my eldest daughter Delia has now reached an age where there is more to do for her than sitting around all day and eating me out of house and home.” He laughed and all the men in his audience joined in, hollering and raising their cups in approval while the few women at the table smiled politely.

“It is for that very reason that Wulfred and I have come -”

There was a bang outside and you could hear men’s voices yelling, sounding alarmed. William’s face distorted into a sour grimace, angry about the ruined tension. Another loud noise, now downstairs inside the house, caused a few people to jump up from their seats.

“Everybody calm down. Henry, see what’s going on,” William said and motioned to the door. Henry gave Delia a short, but deeply meaningful look, then he vanished into the dark corridor. Now you could hear metal clanking outside and finally, someone rang the alarm bell. Everyone stirred now, some people running to the windows or pulling weapons.

Wulfred got up with difficulty and waddled to one of the windows as well. He stuck his head into the small frame and immediately snapped back around. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, an arrow pierced his head from the back, the bloody tip sticking out in front of his surprised eyes. He fell to the floor with a thump and let out a last huff, then he lay still and one of the women started shrieking in horror.

There was noise on the stairs now and suddenly Henry reappeared, his shirt torn down the middle and a gash on his shoulder. He shut the door behind him and called to the other servants who immediately pushed a big chest in front of it, barricading the entry for the moment.

“Milord, Vikings are attacking the village. Their leader is a colossal woman. It must be the She-Wolf from Norway.” He was breathing heavily and braced himself on one of the chairs to keep himself standing up.

Something was ramming the door in a slow, steady rhythm. The heavy chest moved ever so slightly with every new blow. You whistled to get the other servants’ attention and waved them over into your corner. You were terrified, but you tried to seem calm and collected so the others wouldn't panic.

“We are not their targets, we have nothing to our names. If you want to fight, fight. I will not risk my life for this tyrant. Everyone who wants to live can stay here with me.” No one moved. You nodded. “Thank the lord. Now let us sit down, fold our hands, and pray.”

With a deafening crash, the door exploded into the room and a tall, broad-shouldered woman with long blonde hair and gruesome black paint around her eyes jumped through the hole in the wood and over the chest. Four men followed, swords drawn. The she-wolf let her eyes wander over the faces in the room, the men with their daggers and swords, the women behind them and William in the middle. Then her gaze fell on you. You had told all the other servants to sit behind you, bow their heads and show their empty hands in their laps while you sat before them, willing to do whatever it took to protect your chosen family. You locked eyes with the Viking woman and your blood froze in your veins as she narrowed her eyes for a second, then she turned to William.

“Are you Lord William, master of this shire?”

Delia and Henry were slowly crawling along the wall toward you and managed to sit down next to you without getting too much attention. Their fingers were intertwined, tears were streaming down Delia’s face and Henry held her close as he watched the scene in front of you unfold.

“I am.” William proudly lifted his chin. “Who are you, Viking whore, to come into my house uninvited?”

The men behind the she-wolf laughed, but she just lifted an eyebrow and laid her hand on the handle of her sword. It was still sheathed. She seemed incredibly calm during all this.

“This is no longer your house. The decision is yours: die at the hands of my men or give up now and come with us as prisoners.”

The stare she gave William pierced him like a spear, making him writhe underneath its sting and making you hope to never become the target of her wrath.

William shook his head and huffed, then he lifted his sword.

“We will not cower before you, Viking whore. For England!” he bellowed and the other men repeated the war cry before storming towards the small group of warriors.

The woman unsheathed her sword in the blink of an eye and the men behind her jumped forward to meet the English guests. You saw the chance immediately. Slapping Henry‘s knee, you nodded toward the opening in the door. He alerted Delia and she silently agreed. Both of them crawled on all fours, staying low and going along the walls until they had reached the door and quickly climbed out. You wished them the best of luck and said a prayer in their wake. You couldn't leave the others behind. You would stay, no matter what happened, no matter how terrified you were.

The fight was quick, one of the Vikings caught a sword to his arm and bled from a mean gash but the others stayed unharmed. They killed their opponents in a matter of minutes and did not shy away from killing some of their wives who had also drawn knives in hopes of defending themselves. In the end, there was only your group and William’s wife with two other women left. And Eda, standing in a corner all alone.

The two women fell to their knees and swore to follow and to serve if their life was spared. Your Lady however stayed standing up, her chin raised and her eyes filled with terrible sadness and immense pain.

“I have served all my life. I have endured beatings, rape, and being treated like an animal.” Eda whimpered next to you as she realized what was about to happen. Her mother pulled a tiny dagger from her sleeve and held it gently in her hand. The she-wolf motioned for her men to wait.

“I will not bow my head to anyone else. This suffering has to end.“ She gave a loving, sorrowful look to her daughters, then she turned the dagger toward herself and drove it into her chest. Eda cried out and tumbled towards her mother, catching her mid-fall and cradling her head in her lap as blood began to pool on the floor.

The Viking woman turned to you and took a few steps in your direction. She looked down at you with a curious twinkle in her eye. You clenched your fists, asking God for assistance.

„And who are you?“ she asked, her deep voice suddenly much kinder. You forced yourself to breathe in and straighten up.

„We were Lord William‘s servants. We have no love left for him. We will go with you freely.“ You held out your empty hands for her to see. „I am not your enemy.“

She took one of your hands and pulled you up, not letting go of your hand as she stared into your eyes. You let out a shaky breath, but held her gaze.

„You're still English,“ she said before letting go of you and taking a few steps back, not turning from you. Of course she wouldn’t trust you.

„Bind them and take them to the ship.“ she ordered her men, then she pushed the heavy chest away from the door like it was nothing. She simply pulled the door frame, which was in shambles, out of the wall and let it fall to the ground. Then she was gone.

#eivor #lady eivor #ac valhalla #eivor x reader #lady eivor x reader #f!eivor #f!eivor x reader #eivor fanfiction #female eivor #ac valhalla fanfiction

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allegra-writes · 5 years

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Adore you

Peter Parker x Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut, of course

The request:

More dom reader and subby pete pls!!! maybe something like a badass shield agent reader? and peter having a crush on her and there goes the smut? hope u like this idea, take ur time!!

I've been holding onto this for a couple of days now. I'm quite proud of how it turned out, I had to stop for air quite a few times as I wrote it so beware. This is my Christmas gift to you, consider me your Naughty Pagan Santa🔥

Series masterlist

"P-please" Peter's desperate plea broke the silence. His voice was hoarse, wrecked, no louder than a whisper and at first you weren't even sure he had spoken, but then he begged again, "Please, please!"

You were torturing him, breaking him, shattering him to dust and then putting him back together again, building him anew to your liking, and he wasn't sure how much more he would be able to take without losing his mind. He felt your smile against his hip bone and dared looking down, teary red rimmed eyes meeting yours, ablazed and alluring, every bit as beautiful as the first time he had seen them. He had lost himself in those eyes more times than he could count, and yet he could map them to micrometric precision, dozens of pictures on his phone dedicated solely to them, to their idiosyncrasies and nuances under different lighting.

He never thought he could have this, never thought he could have you: Y/n from biology. Agent 16, S.H.I.E.L.D. level 7. "I guess it's something we have in common," You had said, "we are both liars." Peter had wanted to argue that it wasn't the same thing, but it was hard to complain as you drove away from the angry mob of Mysterio stans you had saved him from. You had been fast, efficient, one quick drive to Manhattan, to the helipad of the ex-Avenger's tower (now property of S.H.I.E.L.D.) and before the day was over, you both were out of the city, out of the country, on that desert island just the two of you.

The feeling of your tongue, hot and wet on the v of his hips pulled him back into the present. You sucked a little pineapple cube, cold against his fevered skin, into your mouth, before chasing down the drop of juice the fruit had left behind with your tongue. Peter dug his fingers on the white, soft sand, searching in vain for purchase. He squirmed, a steady stream of 'pleasepleaseplease' falling from his lips, as you ate a piece of cantaloupe off his abs.

You were using his body as a plate, eating fresh fruit off it, a new torment to add to the long list of wicked, delicious ways you had been playing with him all afternoon. You had been pleasuring him for a couple of hours now, and he was delirious with it, overstimulated. He felt immaterial, disembodied, undone. He was soft clay under your hands, under your mouth, under your tongue. Your touch was the only thing shaping his reality, shaping him. So what if the whole world knew Peter Parker was Spider-Man? He wasn't either of them anymore. Here on this island, laying under you, he wasn't the next Tony Stark or the last Avenger; he was just 'baby boy', and 'tiger' and whatever else you choose to call him.

He was free.

He didn't have to save any body, because you had saved him, didn't have to decide anything cause you gave the orders. You could take care of him, all he had to do was surrender to you.

You crawled up his body, tiny slice of watermelon between your lips, and Peter immediately parted his, to let you glide it into his mouth. It tasted faintly of your strawberry lip balm, making his head dizzy with longing.

"Please" he croaked again, after swallowing the sweet, juicy fruit.

"What do you need baby boy?" You breathed, hot against his ear.

"To kiss you" he panted, "please, let me kiss you"

You complied, and he finally got to taste your soft, warm mouth. Strawberry lipstick and cherries and himself and he loved it, loved that sharp bitter tang on your palate. His fingers buried themselves in your hair, pulling you closer to taste it better. Only when you pulled away, giggling a little maliciously, did he realize his mistake.

"Bad, bad boy" You leaned back, disentangling from his fingers, sitting up and away from him.

He paled,

"No, please, I'll do anything" He moved to get up too, but caught himself at the last second, your disapproving glare all that was needed to halt his movements. You smiled to yourself, he truly was insatiable. After coming so many times that afternoon, he still looked heartbroken at the prospect of this little game of yours ending. With his big brown eyes full of tears and bottom lip wobbling slightly, he was just too God damn adorable, and you… well, unlike him you were only human.

But he still needed to be punished.

"You like what we do, baby boy?" You inquired, sitting back down, straddling him, pressing yourself against him, only the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms separating your core from his gorgeous, naked cock. "You like the way we play?"

He nodded frantically as you started to rock on top of him, tearing a moan from his lips.

"Do you like the things I do to you?"

"Yes, ma'am" he groaned. You ranked your fingernails down his chest, down his stomach.

"Do you like it when I touch you?"

"Yes! Oh god…"

You reached back, untying the scarf you had turned into a bandeau. Peters hands twitched, but he kept them by his sides.

"Do you like looking at me?"

"God, yes!" He cried, as you rubbed yourself down on him harder, faster, "I love it, love watching you! I - I love.."

You stopped moving, making Peter whine loudly, fists hitting the sand like a little boy throwing a tantrum.

"Do you want to touch me?"

"Yes! Please, please ma'am, please let me touch you…"

How could you ever say no to that? You nodded your permission and chucked as Peter's hands went straight to your breasts.

"Can I…" Peter hesitated, not wanting to push his luck. But judging by the way your head lolled back, you seemed to be enjoying his touch, and that gave him courage. "Can I put my mouth on you, ma'am?"

You smirked, looking down at him through half shut eyes,

"Such a greedy boy…" You scolded, but tugged him up to a sitting position anyway, capturing his lips again. The feeling of your nipples against the naked skin of his chest had him moaning into your mouth, and you swallowed it, devoured it, dominating the kiss as you were dominating him. Your hips started to move again, by their own volition, and his followed in kind, until you both were breathing hard. You broke the kiss, pulling at his soft curls, guiding his mouth to where you wanted it. He wasted no time at nibbling and sucking, rolling your nipples with the tip of his tongue, first one and then the other. He had a naturally talented tongue, and you couldn't wait to see what else he could do with it.

"I'm going to ride your face until I come" you were proud of how steady and commanding your voice was, "and then, I'm going to ride your cock until you come…"

His answering broken sob let you know he was ok with that idea.

"And then… then I'm going to keep on ridding you… gonna go on… and on… I'm not going to stop until you give me all your come…"

"Yes, oh my god yes!"

"Until it's gushing out of me…"

"Yesyesyes…" Peter was close, so so close. Between the rocking of your hips and your words, he was seconds away from bursting, and you knew it.

That's exactly why you stopped, and pushed him away from you, watching him fall back onto the sand. It was just for show, of course. He was way stronger than you and, if he wanted to, he could easily flip you, overpower you and have his way with you. That only made the adrenaline rush greater, knowing how powerful he really was, knowing he was giving up all that power willingly and placing it on your hands to do with it, with him, as you pleased.

To use him as you pleased.

...You had always loved big guns.

"I'm going to give you a choice now, tiger" You spoke over the cute little whimpers escaping his throat. He was so precious, so innocent, you almost felt bad for corrupting him like this. Almost. "I am going to do all the things I just promised, I won't stop you from coming again. And you can keep on touching me while I do those things to you… or you can keep on watching me, but not both"

He met your eyes and you could see the conflict behind his. He looked about ready to cry, fingers trembling where they rested on your thighs, brown orbs never leaving yours, imploring. You straddling his waist almost naked, free and unashamed under the clear summer sky, were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, he didn't want to give that up. But the thought of taking his hands away from your soft skin, from your lovely body, was almost physically painful.

"I-I can't" He stammered, a little pathetically but he was long past pride, "please, don't make me choose"

"Then I guess I'll have to choose for you"

You tried to pry his hands away, but he held on tighter.

"No! No, please, I wanna touch!"

You leaned over, taking your abandoned silk scarf from the sand, tying it around his head and over his eyes.

"But I wanna see you!" He complained petulantly. Such a brat… you were going to love breaking him.

"But you misbehaved, baby boy" You reminded him, "You touched me without permission, and now this is your punishment. I can't just let you off the hook now, can I? Can't let you think you can get away with anything…"

"But-"

"One more word" he felt your hand squeeze his balls softly, warningly, "and you'll regret it"

He snapped his mouth shut.

"Atta boy" You approved, rewarding him with a filthy open mouthed kiss before standing up. Peter didn't have time to protest before something, a piece of cloth hit him square in the face. He fisted it in his left hand, the wet patch letting him now right away it was your bikini bottoms. Peter pressed it to his nose, inhaling deeply.

"Dirty boy" you tsked from somewhere near his pelvis, startling him. He felt your warm breath against his cock right before he felt your searing tongue, placing one long lick from base to red, angry tip.

"F-FUCK!"

You laughed and then you were gone again, only to flick at his nipple a moment later, making him cry out. You kept on toying with him for a few minutes, a kiss here, a suck there, until finally, finally, he heard your knees hitting the sand at either side of his head as you slowly lowered yourself, hovering right above his mouth.

He ventured a lick, but you backed away. He gave chase, straining his neck, but you always raised yourself just enough for him to be unable to make contact, until he frustratedly grabbed a hold of your thighs, using his superior strength to force you down onto his face.

"Holy fuck!" This time, it was your turn to curse as his tongue made it straight into your soft, velvety insides, delving deep, crashing unexpectedly with something cool and sweet. He twirled his tongue around until he was able to take it into his mouth, moaning as he bit down onto it. You had buried a strawberry inside your pussy for him to find.

And you called him dirty.

He swallowed and thrusted his tongue inside you again. You were sweeter than the strawberry and he wondered idly if his Spider half had anything to do with it, if he could somehow taste your pheromones or something. Or if it was simply you, delicious and addictive all of your own.

You were making the most beautiful sounds, bucking your hips erratically, wave after wave of sugary nectar falling to his lips as his nose bumped against your clit with every one of your movements. And he was mad about it, mad about you, growling and moaning into your cunt. He couldn't possibly want you more than he did right then, cock so hard it hurt, pelvis grinding pitifully against nothing. But he wasn't important, this was all about you, about pleasing you, worshiping every inch of you. His amazon, his pagan goddess in a tropical paradise. Even back in Europe, hell, even way back in New York, all he had ever wanted was this: For you to let him adore you.

Peter had never understood the need to submit, what was about being tossed and ordered around that appealed so much to those men on the internet. Not until he met you.

Because from the moment he met you, he wanted to belong to you, to be your slave and follow your every command, fulfil your every need.

And now you were screaming, falling apart above him and he had done that, he was the one you were coming for. It made his head swim with pride and something else, something unnamed and powerful. He kept on lapping at your cunt, leisurely, slow like honey, until your legs stopped trembling.

You pushed his curls, slick with sweat, away from his forehead tenderly.

"Good boy," You cooed, "I'm so proud of you, you did so good"

A warm feeling spread out in Peter's chest at your words.

"Thank you, ma'am. Good enough for my punishment to be over?"

You laughed breathlessly as you pushed his hands away and stood up on slightly unstable legs.

"No, but nice try"

His pout was so cute you had to bend down and kiss it off his face.

"Pretty please?" He insisted, once he felt you straddling his thighs.

"Don't be difficult, baby. Don't you want to be good for me?"

"I d- OH" your hot hand around his shaft made him cry out, cutting his answer short. Had you known before a hand job was all it took to shut Peter Parker up… You would probably have done everything exactly the same, actually.

Peter's head was already trashing from side to side as your hand moved, deliberately slow. Up and down, up and down, up and down…

Up… up, up, guiding him into your tight, exquisite heat. He heard you moan as you buried his cock inside you to the hilt, pelvis kissing yours.

"You are… the best thing I've ever felt inside me"

He groaned his agreement, hands flying to your waist, as you started to move, started sliding up and down his cock steadily, imitating the same unhurried rhythm you used with your hand.

But your cunt felt so much better than your palm, all that wet, silky pressure over every lavish inch of him… up and down, up and down…

He felt you brace yourself on his abdomen, nails digging into firm flesh.

Up and down… up and down… Faster.

Faster…

"Peter… oh, god, you feel so good… So good between my legs"

And you felt like heaven, he wanted to tell you, but he was reduced to cries and sobs, to clutching and grabbing at your skin, fingertips eagerly searching any part of your body they could reach. You took one of his hands and lowered it until his thumb was right above your clit, your own fingers showing him how to rub just right to make pleasure explode inside your loins.

His eyes fluttered open underneath the blindfold. He didn't mean to, he truly didn't, he wanted to be good, he wanted to obey, but this? You riding him hard, coming from his cock and his fingers? It was a vision way too tempting to resist. He could see you clearly through the rainbow of silk threads, head thrown back in ecstasy, mouth open in a silent scream, little beads of sweat glimmering on your skin under the sun, sparkling almost as bright as the jewel colored water on the horizon behind you. And your cunt, juicy and red as the strawberries you favoured, stretched around his cock, taking it in over and over and over again, little contractions milking him, hungry for his come.

So he gave it to you, surging deep inside you, hips thrusting up to meet yours. You almost fell back, but he caught you in his arms just in time. Raising to a sitting position still buried inside you, he gathered you to his chest, the makeshift blindfold falling from his face.

"Hey…"

You smiled, a little drunkenly,

"Hey, stranger"

Closing your arms around his shoulders, you tucked your face into his neck. You were boneless, completely spent and sated, about to fall asleep, lulled by his soft caresses on your back, when you felt him start moving inside you again.

Definitely insatiable.

Tired and overstimulated, you tried to get up, get away but his arms, strong as steel around you held you to him, as he rocked beneath you, pubic bone smashing into your oversensitized clit with every drag. Pushing against his shoulder also proved completely useless, his hold on you only tightening, as he started fucking up into you harder.

You bit into his shoulder, making him groan.

"I think… think I like that punishment better…" He declared, grabbing your chin, holding you in place to kiss you, deep and dirty, only releasing your lips once your head was spinning, your lungs burning. You gasped for air.

"Naughty" You admonished, still struggling against him, albeit a little halfheartedly. He splayed one of his hands against your lower back, pressing you to him. The new pressure was delicious, the heat starting to build again, even if you didn't want it "You're so naughty"

He scraped his teeth softly on the hollow of your throat, only to sooth it with his tongue seconds later, his cock moving so deep you could feel it hit your cervix. You screamed, he was going to tear another orgasm out of you soon.

"Only holding you to your word" He whispered against your skin, making goosebumps erupt down your spine, "You promised not to stop… until I give you all my come"

To be continued...

PS: Let me know if you are reading this under the table during a horrible family reunion, I' love to bring you a little joy during these very difficult rimes... Love ya!!

#peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader fanfic #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland #peter parker imagine #adore you

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greekgrad12 · 4 years

Text

It Takes Two: percabeth!au

Mattie Jackson and Hayley Chase meet at the start of summer and discover that they are each other's identical clone. With a little more investigating, the two girls discover that they are, in fact, twins. Things only get crazier when they find out that their adoptive parents were once in love. Now, they have to work together to reunite Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase before Mattie’s dad ends up dating the new camp counselor and Hayley’s mom gets married to a kid hating, gold digger.

And what better way to do that than to switch places?

i rewatched It Takes Two and decided to make it percabeth :)

read on ao3

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

Percy Jackson had just finished packing his last duffel bag when he heard a very familiar voice yelling outside his apartment window. A voice that belonged to someone who was supposed to be in the next room over packing her own bags. A frustrated sigh left his lips as he opened the bedroom window looking down towards the street. Just as he suspected, a crowd of children were scattered on the road, some taking up the spaces around the chalk-drawn diamond, others sitting on the sidelines. And right there on the makeshift home plate stood none other than...

"Matilda Sally Jackson!" Percy yelled down from the fourth floor to his daughter, "If I were to walk into your room right now, would your suitcases be packed?"

The ten-year-old girl turned and gave her dad an exasperated look, "Ah come on, dad! Ten bucks say you only just got done!"

"Thankfully, I'm not raising you to be like me," He teased, leaning on the windowsill. He was very much aware of the red tint on his daughter's olive cheeks, even from the distance between the two, "I'm hopefully raising you to be better. Now come finish packing, we're leaving in two hours!"

Percy and his daughter had a great relationship, unlike Percy and his bio-dad or first stepfather. Yeah, he didn't have the best luck in the fatherhood department, but that was why he wanted to do better for his daughter. And he was. Percy spent every day trying to be a good dad to Mattie. He taught her his mother's famous cookie recipe, braided her hair every morning before school, and attended every single swim match she had. Granted he was also the coach, but still.

Mattie didn't have a mom. Well, not one that she remembered anyway. Percy and his ex-wife, Lydia, were on thin ice for a long time. One of their main arguments being, Percy wanted kids, she didn't. Percy knew from a young age that he wanted a family, so there was no use trying to argue that. Somewhere along the way, they had reached an agreement and Mattie was on the way. Halfway through the whole process, Lydia changed her mind. This lead to the fifth argument of the month and to their inevitable divorce.

This also lead to the decision that would change the rest of Percy's life. Would he still adopt baby Mattie?

Yep, adopt. Lydia didn't want to go through the whole pregnancy ordeal and Percy was more than happy to adopt. He knew what it was like to grow up in a tough home and if he could prevent that from happening to another kid, he wouldn't hesitate. Mattie’s birth mother was a 19-year-old girl who was apparently going through a hard time. Truthfully, Percy didn’t know much about her, but it wasn’t due to a lack of effort. When bio-mom picked Percy and Lydia to be the parents of her unborn child, she was in the final stages of her pregnancy and she didn’t want to meet them. The only thing Percy heard about her was that she moved out west somewhere only a week after Mattie was born.

As a social worker employed at Goode Middle School, Percy had the advantage of being college friends with many of the adoption agents. This helped speed up the adoption process tremendously. At first, he saw that as a blessing, but after the divorce, it seemed that Percy was under even more pressure to make his decision.

It took some long talks with his mom to convince Percy that he could still do this; be a single dad. But it was his little sister, Estelle, who convinced him he would be great at it. After all, he had partially helped raise her and she turned out okay. She ate all of their mom's blue cookies, but she was okay. Plus, his family would be right by his side. So, Percy went along with the adoption. He hasn't regretted it once.

Yes, Mattie was adopted, but two you could never really tell. Mattie was daddy's little girl from the very beginning. From their beach days together to their daddy-daughter dates to get cheeseburgers at the local diner, the two were inseparable. By some twist of fate, the baby girl had even grown up to have a shade of green eyes like her dad's.

And that wasn't where the similarities stopped. Mattie was a rambunctious and sarcastic kid. There are times when Percy isn't sure what to expect from her, but more often than not, Mattie was the most helpful and patient kid a single dad could ask for. Still, as easygoing as she could be, Percy knew how proud his daughter was. After being embarrassed in front of her friends, Mattie Jackson had something to prove.

"Just let me hit this ball downtown! Grand slam, home run, guaranteed," Mattie was a lot like her father, but she had ambition. She was a tough girl. A smart girl. She reminded Percy of-

"Okay, fine," He started, "but if it's anything less, you're making me a mug at camp."

The girl shuddered at the idea of having to participate in her least favorite camp activity but nodded nonetheless. She stepped back up to the plate. Mattie was athletic. She hopped around from sport to sport, mainly just for the experience, but there was nothing she loved more than swimming. Her father's love for the water was one of the many things the girl had picked up from him.

But right now, Mattie's focus wasn't on the water. Percy watched as she scrunched her nose up, waiting for the pitch. The boy at the pitchers' mound, one of Mattie's friends, Cody, was taking his sweet time with the ball. Right when it looked like he was about to throw the pitch, he instead turned to his team and signaled for them to back up.

Percy couldn't help the smirk that formed on his lips. He wanted a World's Best Dad mug, but at that moment, he wanted his daughter to show those kids who's boss more.

The ball was pitched and the next thing Percy knew, he was hearing the sweet sound of a crack made from the balls' contact with the bat. He cheered as his daughter took first, and again when she rounded the corner for second. The ball had landed somewhere far down the street and the rest of Mattie's team were assuring her it was safe. She made it to third and right when Percy was sure he wouldn't be getting his mug, a car pulled up and parked right over home plate.

Mattie slowed down and stopped right in front of the old car. A confused look was shared between the other kids, but she knew exactly who the vehicle belonged to. And while she was happy to see it, Mattie was pissed that she couldn't reach home from under the car.

"Mattie, your dad called me half an hour ago telling me that you two were just now starting to pack. What are you doing out here?"

Before the girl could answer, Cody's voice rang out at her side.

"Loosing," The boy mocked as he tagged the girl out with the ball.

Mattie turned towards him and glared, "There is no way this counts!"

***

"I want my mug to be blue," Percy teased his daughter as she walked back into their apartment, "with World's Best Dad written in big letters."

"You and I both know that you don't need a mug to know you're the best dad. Plus, I suck at clay molding," The girl complained, "Not to mention that it's the most boring activity at camp."

Her father smirked, "Well you should have thought of that before you agreed to the bet."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Mattie grumbled, "Can I just pay Rachel to do it for me?"

"No," He laughed, "and don't even try to go behind my back and do it anyway, because I will find out.”

"Okay, you two, settle down," Sally Jackson-Blofis' laughter rang out in the small apartment. As much as Mattie was a daddy's girl, Percy was a bigger mama's boy, "I came by to see you before you leave and drop off some cookies for the trip."

Mattie's eyes couldn't have bulged out of their sockets more when her grandmother pulled out the plastic tub of blue cookies. Just as she went to grab the box, it was pulled out of reach by her father, "Oh, no you don't."

"Oh, come on, dad!" Giving the best puppy dog look she could muster, Mattie looked up at Percy, "Just one?"

Percy had to look at his mother for support. There was little that his daughter couldn't get away with when that look was thrown his way, "Nope. Not until you're done packing."

"Seriously?" His daughter whined, "Wasn't calling me Matilda in front of all my friend's punishment enough?"

"You know, I was this close to naming you Janet," He mocked, holding his pointer finger and thumb so close they were barely touching.

Mattie's big eyes narrowed into a glare as she stuck her tongue out at her father, "Fine, but don't be surprised if your mug doesn't have a handle."

"I think you're just doing that to make the sculpting easier for you."

A small grin appeared on her face and she shrugged, "Maybe."

Percy rolled his eyes at the girl and chuckled as she walked back to her room. He turned back to his mom and saw her wearing the same endearing look she always has when she watches the interactions between her son and granddaughter.

"You've definitely raised a little you," Sally laughed.

"Well, in that case," Percy grinned and opened the Tupperware container holding the cookies, "I'm sorry for hogging the shower as a kid."

Sally took the container out of his hands before he got the chance to pick out a cookie, "And I'm sorry for not allowing you to be a hypocrite."

"What? I'm done with my packing!" Percy promised as he reached for the container.

"Even the extra blankets? You know how cold the bunks can get at night."

Percy was quiet for a moment before letting out a defeated groan, "You know, I was really proud of myself for a moment there."

"You should still be proud of yourself, honey," Sally grinned, "You're a great dad, and you and Mattie are going to have a great time at camp this year, just like you always do."

Camp Half-Blood was a summer camp that Percy had been attending since he was nine years old. His bio dad had attended the camp in his youth and it was one of the few things that Percy had left of the man after he died. When his mother remarried, it was a safe place away from his first stepfather, Smelly Gabe, a man that Sally Jackson only married because, at the time, she didn't have the funds to properly provide for her son. The camp had a big influence on the man Percy became. The experiences he had, the friends he made, the place where he felt closest to his father.

The girl he fell in love with.

Even years after he grew too old to be a camper, Percy found himself volunteering every summer as a camp counselor. A few years later, he was offered a paid position as an official counselor and the camp social worker. Chiron, the camp activities director, was more than happy to have him back. Especially, when he started bringing his daughter with him.

He couldn't help but smile at that, "Thanks, mom. I'm really excited about this year. You know, Camp Half-Blood was remodeled this past fall. Everything has been upgraded, I can't wait to see it."

"I'm sure it will look great. You've been complaining about the faulty flooring in the pavilion for years."

"There's been a giant crack going down the center of that thing ever since the earthquake back when I was still a camper. That's completely dangerous!"

His mother laughed and raised her arms in defeat, "Trust me, I agree. Still, with all the changes, I'm surprised that the camp could afford all the modifications."

"Yeah, I think the head of the architect company in charge is an old friend of Chiron's. Apparently, they will be coming down and checking out the camp, you know, to see how their work panned out, I guess."

"Well, you'll have to thank whoever they are for fixing your pavilion," Sally teased him as she grabbed a cookie out of the container and took a bite. Percy's mouth fell open as he stared at his mother with a look of betrayal, "What? I don't have to pack anything. Plus, a made them, I don't need justification."

"You are a cruel woman."

***

An hour and a half later, Percy and his daughter were packing their bags -and the extra blankets- into the car and heading towards Long Island Sound. With barely thirty minutes into the trip, half of Sally's cookies had been devoured and they had played a very enthusiastic game of Eye Spy.

"So," Mattie started as she reached for her fourth cookie, "is this the year you finally tell me who A.C. is?”

When Mattie was seven, during her first year at camp, Percy was adamant about showing her everything from his time at camp. Including all his favorite spots and activities from his time there. They visited the horse stables, where Percy told his daughter stories about his favorite horses and how he was one of the best riders. He took her to the strawberry field where they picked strawberries with her uncle Grover, just like the two had done when they were boys. But he was most excited about taking her to the dock and swimming in the water. Some of his most precious memories were made at that beach, on the dock. It was a special place for him. A place where he used to sit with her and escape from the world. A place where a first kiss was perfect under the Fourth of July fireworks. A place where carved initials still stood to this day.

When Mattie first found the letters carved at the end of the dock, she knew immediately that they weren't new. The marks had faded with time. When she realized that the first set of letters in P.J. + A.C. looked familiar, she decided to ask her father, Percy Jackson, if he knew who made the marks. Percy had never been a good liar. That was the day Mattie found out everything about her father's days at Camp Half-Blood. Everything, except who A.C. was.

"Mattie," Percy sighed, eyes staying on the road, "I've told you a thousand times, she's just an old friend. I haven't spoken to her in years, since before you were even born. I don't understand why you're so interested in this."

"Because friends don't carve their initials together on a dock for the world to see," The young girl persisted, blue crumbs falling from the side of her mouth, "That's what couples do in movies and stuff."

"Well, that explains it then. This isn't a movie, T," Truthfully, Percy wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself more, "Besides, the camp went under construction this year, I'm sure the old dock was torn down and rebuilt. It was old."

Although, he would never admit this to his daughter, Percy was hoping, and wishing, and praying to anyone who would listen that the dock stayed the same. Percy would be lying if he said that he wasn't anxious about seeing it again. The thing was old, and he knew that the safety of the campers outweighed the feeling he still got in his stomach when he saw their initials carved together.

Maybe he could have called Chiron. Asked him if the new camp architect would spare that last plank of wood at the very edge of the water. Asked if he could keep it. One last memory of the childhood love he would never admit to never getting over.

What a ridiculous idea, he thought. Still, he always got like this in the summer, especially at camp.

Despite the fact that he was avoiding eye contact and staring towards the road, Percy could feel Mattie's frustrated gaze staring him down, but he held his ground. He was never going to see her again. The last time he saw her gray eyes staring back at him was at eighteen years old, their last summer as campers. She lived in San Francisco, California and would be going to UC Berkeley in the fall. He wasn't surprised, she was a genius. But Percy? He would stay in Manhattan and go to college on a swimming scholarship. They would try and stay in touch like how they did growing up. Busy schedules and adulthood would cause them to fail. Percy would still think of her, but he'd still get married to another woman. Percy would try to make it work, but he would still find himself wishing Lydia were her, and hating himself for it. So he tried to stop, but he couldn't help wondering. Wondering what she was doing. Wondering what could have been. But they hadn't spoken in years.

There was no point in telling his daughter how wonderful she was, because he knew Mattie would fall in love with her, just as he did. And they would never meet.

So, no. Percy would not tell his daughter about the girl he spent every summer with. He would not tell her about the girl who made fun of him for drooling in his sleep. He would not tell her about the girl who would sit with him at the dock and draw building structures while they talked about nothing and everything all at once. He would not tell her about the girl who's comfort book was Matilda, and that she made him read it, and that him joking about how she probably had superpowers like the character, because she too was a genius, made her blush. Percy would not tell his daughter because it would hurt too much.

Percy would not tell his daughter about his first love, Annabeth Chase.

*********

part two :)

#first fic pls be nice #percabeth #percabeth au #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percy jackson au #pjoverse #pjo/hoo #pjo #pjo au #it takes two!au #percabeth fic #percabeth fanfiction

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

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May: TinyDoubt

Previous: April’s The Wild Lillies

Pairing: None

Genre: Creative Angst

Rating: PG13

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: Swearing!

Summary: Creative block is alive and well as you stare at the figurines in front of you, your only comfort? The voice in your head challenging you to soldier on.

Notes: I tried to channel my deep deep writers block for this. Do I hate it? Maybe. Do I feel all those things about my writing? Oh absolute. Is that inner voice how I talk to myself? You bet it is. Is the title so good? Yes, yes it is.

Paintbrush

Sculpting clay

Carving tools

Dry hands

Paint under fingernails

Hair swept back

Slick drying on cheeks

Shoulder’s tense

Should’ve sprung for the expensive chair, the one that holds my legs back and supports my core.

It isn’t too late, I could still spring for it after this batch sells… if I sell it.

I sigh, glancing at the clock, 5 minutes to midnight. How long have I been sitting here? When was the last time I ate or drank anything? Too long. I’ll feel it tomorrow, the ache in my joints, the exhaustion in my body, limbs sore, eyes worn out, all craving nourishment and rest.

Gently, I place the figurine on the clean expanse of my drying rack. Thin and leucite, it supports the variety of creations I’ve been making, each in a different state of disarray. None have ended up being perfect, none are worthy of completing, except maybe, just maybe, this one.

Standing perfectly still at 3inches, somehow, in the bright light of my desk lamp, magnifying lens on its second highest setting, I had perfectly sculpted the manicured swoop of hair. Each strand carved delicately, the part off center, the lingering hair nearly over the left eye, all made from modeling clay. It had taken days to perfect the lift, the arching bow from one side. In its naked form, it looks immaculate. But I know I can only succeed if the coloring is perfect, if the glasses I made, labored over, filling with resin in raspberry pink, fit properly over the new ears I carved days ago.

Ears were always the easy part, a simple structure on the head, never taking more than a pin-head size of clay. Noses too, tiny and dainty drops, always done in the middle of creation.

Staring at this latest iteration, I can’t help but wonder if this is worth it. Meticulously drawing every line, breaking my back mixing yellows to get the golden shade and all the highlights, not to mention the truly painstaking part of it all, hands. Is it worth it, the weeks spent making this tiny, tiny creation, only to deem it unworthy, and left incomplete?

Yes.

Yes, it is.

It’s always worth it, despite what the odds tell me. There’s always that voice in my head, telling me that not only is my skill appreciated, but worth something. The last set sold for five times the asking price. This set could double, triple that… Maybe if it did well enough, I could transition to this, full time. Though the thought of working on perfecting miniatures for 12 hours a day sounds quite possibly like hell.

This isn’t hell, or horrible, you’re too hard on yourself.

The voice in my head tells me. Laughing, I counter that statement. “I am not, they’re all shit,”

They are not.

“I should’ve stuck with wood carving,” I grumble.

You cut yourself pretty badly the last time-

“I know I did!”

I can’t tell if I’ve fully lost it, or if this conversation is going to lead to a creative breakthrough. Though based on my running internal monologue, which yes is voiced by Nicole Byer, I am due for a serious heart-to-mind pep talk. It’s not that I haven’t scolded myself recently, or lamented about how completely incompetent I am, how horrific my work is, or how I am wasting my youth sitting at a cramped desk with coffee I’ve reheated four times. I haven’t had the full ‘this is meaningless, stop wasting your time perfecting the shades of blonde on this plastic and clay figurine and go figure out the next steps in your career’ in at least three weeks. I suppose, staring at these in complete monstrosities, that a conversation with myself regarding what I’m doing is far more enjoyable than listening to my father droll on about how I am in command of my destiny.

Because I’m not in control. If I was, I wouldn’t be sitting here making TinyTan figurines, crying when the paint dries a different color than my swatches or weeping when a miniature dot of adhesive gets stuck on the outside of the clay and chars the entire piece in the oven.

So I’m not in charge of my fate.

You make your own luck.

“Alright, I didnn’t ask you.”

Who did you ask then? Jimin? Yoongi? Oh wait, they don’t have mouths and they’re made of plastic!

“See, they don’t have mouths because they fucking suck and I should give up.”

They’re probably better than you think, you’re just too close to it.

“I think that’s actually incorrect and there is nothing wrong with how close I am to these figures,”

You are though

“What do you suppose I do? Capture their souls? Summon them with a knock off The Power of Seven Will Set Me Free, while I hold their tiny little plastic hands?” I throw the ball of clay I’ve been rolling onto the table, the small glob sticking to the side of a larger block I had been carving from.

Do you always have to be so difficult?

“You’re inside my brain! You know how creatively frustrated I am! And you know how absolutely fucking bitchy I get when I’m upset!”

Why are you frustrated?

I groan, standing up from my chair and walking to the kitchen sink. The hot water scalds my dry hands, melting the clay and paint off, the extra judicial scrubbing peeling back layers of grime I’d let build in the last 10 hours.

Why are you so frustrated? Is it because you aren’t good enough? Are you scared it’s going to be your senior year showcase again, where that girls sister didn’t understand you collage and made snarky comments?

I dry my hands, unwilling to answer the questions my mind was asking.

If you don’t talk about it you’ll blow up like a volcano…

“Because! Fuck, because I can’t get any of this right. I just got the hair done, and that’s taken me two weeks. All I’m doing is chipping away, carving away, fucking up and starting again. When I’m not working on it, all I’m doing is thinking about it. They haunt me in my sleep, their little round bellies body rolling to Mic Drop, trying to get me to eat the mini quiches they’ve carved their initials in. My life is consumed by these tiny fucking figures and it’s making me absolutely hate them.”

Hate them?

“Whoever decided TinyTan needed to be a thing,”

Shouldn’t you be mad at whoever told you to create your own versions of them?

“Oh, so you want me to be mad at myself? Aren’t I already?”

Okay, point made.

“I just stare at them, their little body parts, heads on a platter like the Addams Family.. Everything I make is ugly, everything I make isn’t good enough. Every curve, every cut… garbage.”

Do you want to quit?

“Give up on my project?”

Yeah, say fuck it, toss them out, never come back to them.

“I, should’ve gotten into doll houses,”

Why?

“They’re easier, the rules aren’t as rigid, it’s an interpretation and you can do that 1000 different ways,”

So quit, move to doll houses, sell all your tools. But, answer this, what happens when you get upset or frustrated making doll houses?

I sigh. “I don’t quit craft projects.”

… didn’t you just say you wanted to?

“I don’t quit crafts. Relationships and friendships, that’s another story. But art?”

Then why are you bitching?

“I just,” I sigh, slumping into my couch. “If I finish them, and they don’t turn out, what kind of artist will I be? What does that say about my craft? My ‘talent’?”

What kind of artist do you want to be?

“This Socratic method is really fucking annoying.”

I’m your mind, stop doing it if it bugs you so much

“I just, what does it say about me if they aren’t any good?”

I’m not sure it says anything about you as a person.

“Me as an artist?”

I don’t know if we can answer that.

“Maybe you’re right,”

About?

“Maybe I just, I’m too hard on myself. A set of figurines isn’t going to break my hobby… even if it’s broken my spirit,”

If it’s broken your spirit, why keep doing it?

“I love the finished product, but I love the process more,”

Then keep going.

The thing about the voice inside my head is that no matter how hard I try to lie to it, it always knows. It always comes back with wisdom and truth, shining a light on exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid.

“Tonight?”

No bitch, you need sleep. TinyTan will be there tomorrow.

“Is this when we sing Zero O’Clock while we brush our teeth?”

Only if you want to.

I rise from my couch, slipping my apron off, putting it on my crafting chair and clear my throat.

“Oo- and you’re gonna be happy,” I sing as I move through my apartment, miniatures drying, waiting for another day of scraping, molding and painting, my broken spirit stitching itself back together as the clock resets.

Next: June Pride

#thebtswritersclub #monthlychallenge #BTS fanfic #Tinytan #Tinytanfic #bangtanuniversity #bangtanarmynet #btsgoldnet #ficswithluv

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roseduroi · 5 years

Text

Drop Every Fear (and Take Every Chance)

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: No one taught you how to love yourself, to feel safe in your own skin. So you put the world on hold and asked why you weren’t enough.

A/N: I wrote this in my native language first. The storyline, things that I’ve put in here hit so close to home and meant so much. It took months to finish it, three days to translate. But I meant every word.

Anyway! This is my very first story where the Reader isn’t a sister or a daughter! AND writing in second person. Wooooow, this is as much exciting as it is scary.

Enjoy!

English isn’t my native language, I’m so sorry for the mistakes.

You were watching the sea touching the sky. As the dark blue waves swept the shores, the brownish-red clouds slowly swallowed the sun, which still strained to be, gently kissing their cheeks. Not yours; cheeks remained cold, untouched by the sun. A soft breeze tousled their hair, caressing their skin. The seawater washed their feet and toes curled into the sun-warmed sand. Not yours; the hair remained untouched, tidy atop, cheeks not kissed by the sun and no sand in your toes.

You watched the sea through the glass, the sun didn’t kiss your cheeks, the wind didn’t brush your hair, and the sand didn’t touch your feet.

Your hair was up in a ponytail with a blue, blue ribbon, the white button-down shirt tucked in knee-length shorts hugged your curves; your bare feet lowered on a hard marble floor. It’s cold, but tonight’s warm, your eyes are tearful, though the wind doesn’t blow here. Your clothes covered your body – no naked patch that could be exposed – everything was covered like made to be hidden.

You’re cold and afraid.

The book in your hands has long been forgotten. The old pages left shabby and letters faded from time. It was lying down on the table in the living room, next to a cool cup of tea. It was opened with a bookmark inside it and waiting.

You’ve never been as open as that book lying on the kitchen table aside in fear of being vulnerable and misunderstood. You opened up as much as you thought was necessary for the little of time they held in their hands. You knew well, words hurt when no one was listening. They came and went, but at the end of the day, you never learnt to feel safe in your skin, every time it ended with nothing but insecurities in the mind, fears in the heart, and tears in the eyes.

There was nothing that didn’t hurt.

You couldn’t surrender your heart and stand in front of all, bare the depths of your soul and let the walls fall, hope that they stayed but suffer if didn’t.

But how hard it was to be silent with so much weighting you down when the whole world still seemed to be waiting till you finally stumbled. How much you wanted a shoulder to cry on, to whisper how scary and painful it was to hold it all in. How much you wanted to be held and never let go… But couldn’t have it all – to want was never enough.

You asked yourself…

If only you knew, if only you told, (if only you could…) would they hold you as you uttered your heart and your soul? Would they believe if you told them you’re scared? If you sobbed in front of their eyes, voiced your demons and flaws, would they still pull you to them?

If you were just you, bare-faced and naked to the depths of your soul, would they stay and whisper I love you?

Would you?

You blinked when you felt your eyes water.

But here you were now, on the other side of the window, holding a cold cup of tea in your hands, long forgotten the open book on the table, you watched them from afar. Your gaze focused on Tom, watching him dive out of the water, the droplets trace down his bare back as he ran his hand through his brown curls. But only he could not see you, Tom was too caught up in the moment to notice.

His brothers were on the beach too. Harry, Sam, Paddy; everyone seemed to be having a good time. His parents, Dom and Nikki, who had been out to look around the city in the meantime and they were probably enjoying the opera at that very moment. And then there were you, who kept asking herself why Tom had invited her to his family holiday.

You dropped your gaze as you felt your heart clench.

“It’s all right, Tessa.” You said when you heard the girl whine softly while staring intently at you. You said calmly, your voice quiet, but you didn’t know who you were calming, whether Tessa or yourself. Maybe both;

Tom fell into your life, in a literal sense, as if from the skies themselves. He accidentally dropped that clay flower pot out of his balcony that night when you were going home from the cafe after your shift. And inadvertently, clay flower pot with a flower in it fell right on your head… or rather on your shoulder, dislocating it.

You smiled at the memory.

You will never forget his reaction and his fright when Tom realized that the clay flower pot that slipped out of his hands had actually hit someone. He stormed out of the flat all pale and wide-eyed; he didn’t stop asking you if you were all right.

He took you to the hospital after.

Sometimes you wonder if it was destiny, like in the tales you loved so much.

And then it all became history, though it wasn’t easy for Tom to make his way to your heart and win you over (you held the grudge for that dislocated shoulder.) But a cup of coffee after a cup of tea probably did. His British accent and his charm surely didn’t add up. Nope.

But it’s never a fairy tale. Those have happy endings in it.

You stood up from the table, looked out the window again, you closed the book. There was a sigh and you went to the bedroom you shared with Tom.

The room wasn’t big, the house itself wasn’t a giant, but there was no lack of cosiness. There was a bed in the middle of the room with white bedding, which smelled nice and fresh. A window to the garden was on one side of the bed and a bedside table with a bedside lamp on top. The wardrobe was pushed against the wall, and the other door led to a separate bathroom.

Your eyes brightened a little when you saw that Tessa had followed you into the room. She jumped on the bed and curled up in a ball on Tom’s side of the bed.

“Oh, Tessa,” You whispered softly, and the corners of your lips slightly rose. You lay down as well, bringing your knees up to your chest. You looked at the pitbull, whose eyes were already closed; you shut yours and let the sweet sleep take over you.

After a little while, when you woke up, the room was already a bit darker than before you fell asleep. You were curled up in a ball, lying on your side with your legs curled up underneath, your one arm under the pillow, while the other one gripped the soft blanket which was wrapped around your body, keeping you warm.

You were lying comfortably on the bed; your chest was moving evenly with each breath you took. You felt at ease.

You enjoyed the silence surrounding the room and closed your eyes briefly again, only this time you didn’t fall asleep. Those few moments after closing the eyes but before drifting to sleep… Those were your favourite ones. You could think, pretend, dream. You could live another life. During those few moments (usually seven of them all) you comforted yourself.

But it was short-lived. The silence was interrupted and you opened your eyes when you felt someone’s presence near you. Just at that moment, you didn’t dare to look up as your breath hitched in your throat. You didn’t know what you were afraid of, or maybe you weren’t afraid at all. Just not ready. Never ready to face that person eye to eye. Nevertheless, you flinched, but as if not quite, and with all your courage, you lifted your eyes and looked at Tom. Your eyes were timid, you felt that way.

He was lying on his back and held the book he was reading in his hands. His glasses were hanging on his nose (which, you just found out recently, he didn’t really need. Fashion statement, he had said.) His hair was almost dry, curly and the strands fell on his eyes. Tom was shirtless, that really caught your eye, and wore his grey sweatpants that you’ve always thought fit him really well.

Your cheeks flushed and you hid them in the pillow. You glanced at Tom, wanting to steal a quick look of him, but the moment you raised your eyes, Tom turned his head to you, as if anticipating you were watching him and he peered right back at you.

There were no more coldness or bitterness in his brown eyes – he stared at you with tenderness full of love and admiration. The look you were used to seeing in his eyes when he looked at you. It was a gentle shade of brown that met your eyes.

Tom took off his glasses, put the book on the table, then the glasses on top, and sat down, turning to look at you again.

“Like what you see?” Tom grinned and your cheeks flushed even more. You covered your face with your palm, but couldn’t stop the small smile decorating your face. “How was your nap?” He asked after a moment of silence, putting his hand on your thigh, gently massaging it.

“It was okay.” The answer was simple and short, clear. You glanced at his hand on your leg and slowly, almost timidly interlocked your fingers with his. As if you did it any faster or more recklessly, he would slip through your grasp. “The blanket… I,”

“You were cold,” Tom explained, stroking your hand gently with his thumb. “Earlier today…” He trailed off, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Why didn’t you come?” He asked after a moment of silence, but you didn’t answer and quietness once again swallowed the two of you. It was a rare thing between you; usually, it was hard to shut the both of you up, as Harrison, Tom’s best mate, put it. Tom didn’t understand… the keeping to oneself, the argument you had before, the silence, your silence. Why were you silent?

It ate him from inside.

“Is it…” Tom blushed and ducked his head down before looking back at you. “Is it that time of m-month? Is that why you don’t want to go swimming?” He stuttered; a little bit confused as well. He kind of knew your cycle and it wasn’t supposed to start this early. But then again, it does sometimes start earlier, or later than it’s supposed to, you can never really know though. It does like to take one by surprise from time to time and pull an unexpected red prank.

Your eyes widened and you curled up into yourself even more, “W-what? Tom, no,” No matter how close you two were, you still tried to hide those days as much as you could. You didn’t think he needed to know when your period started. And, well… you were a little bit too shy to tell him. Although you didn’t really have to say it out loud, he was very observant.

“Then what is it?” He tried again. “Was it because my brothers were there too? Were you shy of them?”

Sometimes (more often than sometimes) you got shy, and Tom had noticed that many times, especially when you were meeting new people, but you knew Harry and Sam, and you got along with Paddy – they weren’t strangers. You’ve warmed up to them. So what’s changed?

“It’s nothing, Tom.” You turned away, releasing his hand. “Just leave it. You wouldn’t understand…” You added softly.

“Then help me understand.” Tom knitted his eyebrows. “Because I don’t get it; Really, I don’t, because you’ve never been to the sea before. You didn’t have that opportunity. You’ve never been to somewhere other than London. But the moment you have a chance to enjoy yourself, have fun, the opportunity to – you immediately say no. You reject it, Y/N. So yeah, I don’t understand.” He pulled away from you the same way you had and shook his head.

You couldn’t afford such entertainment. Simply because you couldn’t afford it; you lived in a one-room flat with a small kitchen and a cramped toilet (oh, how glad you were for not being a claustrophobic). You were driving a second-hand car; you didn’t own a closet cluttered with mountains of shoes or clothes, or other stuff. But you didn’t complain. You were glad for what you had (others didn’t even have that) and you were happy, thankful you had a roof over your head.

At least in some part, this was the case.

But now you had the opportunity. You could go to the sea, be pampered, have fun and get the experience out of it and they didn’t ask you for a penny, so why not use it? Why couldn’t you just enjoy what he had to offer for you?

Tom didn’t understand, only knew that pride wasn’t the answer he was looking for. Pride was not it.

But when you didn’t say anything again, Tom had had enough.

He grabbed your arm and dragged you out of bed. The blanket he had covered you with slid down your body, and you gasped, astonished at his sudden act and the coldness that enveloped your body so suddenly. He gripped your wrist firmly but not enough to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable. He didn’t pull you hard to make you stumble or lag behind as he walked.

Tom still treated you with care, even if he was mad. He was careful and made sure he didn’t hurt you. And maybe now you wouldn’t ignore that feeling spreading to your chest, warming your heart, and find a second to actually enjoy it if you hadn’t realized moments before why he was taking you outside.

You stopped and didn’t step any further. And not just because he was dragging you to the sea;

You were barefoot, the sand in your toes… you felt it, gentle but fragile under your feet. You pulled your wrist out of his grasp and looked down, wiggling your toes in the sun-warmed ground.

Tom looked back at you, not knowing what had happened. His lips formed a round shape as if he were saying a silent ‘o’ when he saw you staring at your feet as your toes disappeared, then appeared and disappeared again in front of his eyes. You looked adorable. Surprised, but fascinated. The amazement and admiration were written all over your face.

He took your hand and woke you out of your comfort zone, “Y/N?” Tom called you by your name, rubbing your arm. “What’s going on for real now?”

“Love… I can see you suffering. So why won’t you let me in?”

His eyes softened and you heard his plea.

With a sincere sigh, you realized that there was no other way than to tell him the truth, no other option than to say what was going on. To be with him a hundred percent honest, and then maybe things will work out, he will stop asking you questions, and you will no longer have to lie, and hope everything will go back to its place as it was. That’s how it should have been long ago.

Or maybe it will all fall apart. You will stand bare-faced and watch the world shatter.

Your heart hammered in your chest. But there was no other way out. You were tired of lying, of hiding your feelings, your fears. It was exhausting. And what you understood today… it wasn’t hurting just you, it impacted others too.

“I’m scared.” You told him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Of what?” Tom frowned, stepping closer to you. His voice soft. “Baby, are you scared because you can’t swim? Is that why you didn’t want to come with us?” He asked and for a second here he thought he finally understood.

Fear always remains in the subconscious after a trauma. You couldn’t swim – you never learned to after you had almost lost your life there. But if so… if you were scared, afraid of water, Tom would never let go, he would never leave your side. Didn’t you know that?

But your answer was silent – you shook your head and Tom has been left in the dark once again.

You looked at the sea, and only then did you realize how short the distance between you and it was. It was right there, so close that you could almost touch it, but so far away from your touch at the same time.

There were few people left on the beach, some of whom were still in the water, but they were getting ready to get out. Others were a little bit further away from you. Their blankets lay on the sand along with their sunglasses and sun cream, but they were also getting ready to leave.

You could hear a couple laughing right beside you. The girl wore a striped one-piece swimsuit, her hair black as the night itself, short and wet, falling down on her shoulders. She wasn’t tall at all, chubby and her face oval but she was really, really pretty.

She was folding a purple blanket with her back turned to a tall blonde-haired male. He hugged her from behind, embracing her tightly and pulling her closer, making her giggle. She turned around, still in his arms, and laced their lips together. And as the blonde stepped back, he stared down at her with his eyes full of love, like she was his whole world.

You flinched as you felt a warm hand wrap around your wrist. It was Tom. Of course, it was him, who else could’ve been? You turned your head to look up at him while he locked your hands together, smiling at you softly.

“I just want you to know, it’s okay to be afraid.”

“It’s not water I’m scared of.” You answered, but never met his eyes.

But what were you really afraid of? Because the water was not it; But the blood pulsed in your veins as never before, your hands would tremble if Tom didn’t hold them. You would run if you weren’t standing still. So what were you afraid of?

“I don’t wanna undress.” You blurted out without thinking and cringed at how bad it may have sounded. “I mean –“ you stopped. “It’s exactly what I mean.” You said, no matter how strange it might have been.

Tom frowned. “W-what?” He said meekly. “Do… do you not trust me?”

His voice became quiet, full of self-doubt, and that made you look up at him, for who but Tom was always confident. He was always so sure, so certain… and when you heard him doubting himself, when his voice trembled, his eyes widened, the look on his face…

“Y/N, please tell me you know I’d never force you into doing anything you don’t want to. I’d never touch you without your consent… Please, tell me you know that.”

Tom let go of your hand, stepping away from you as if his touch had burnt you. But he never left your eyes. He watched you intently, his eyebrows knitted, his lips slightly open. Eyes confused.

“Tom,”

Words hurt when nobody’s listening.

“I trust you more than anyone in this world.”

You smiled softly at him, coming quietly closer to Tom.

“And love you more than life itself.”

You brought a finger up to his lips, silently silencing him.

“But I will never deserve you or your love.”

You slid your finger down his lips, caught in a moment of weakness; you almost locked yours with his. You felt your eyes start to sting, your chest heave, but you didn’t let yourself break down. You couldn’t burst into tears and so you kept your eyes trained on the sand.

Tom didn’t say anything.

“I-I don’t have long legs, slim waist or smooth skin. My thighs touch each other, stretch marks mark my skin.” Your voice cracked, unshed tears threatened to spill.

The rustling of the waves died down, the wind subsided, voices faded away. “Petal…” There was tenderness as he spoke; softness in his voice as the words left his lips, but it was the used nickname that made your heart to skip a beat, tears to fall.

The nickname he called you when the moment was vulnerable and small; when the time felt fragile. Seemed, simple and short, but it was a lot more special. It held love and softness, so much of it. But it was just colourful petals, all the same, parts of flowers – soft and fragile, nothing more but nothing less, surely why it was so special.

To love is to be vulnerable.

To stand bare-faced and bare soul-ed and see if they stayed and whispered I love you.

More tears fell, you gasped – Tom pecked your lips and you stiffened. Then he pulled back, unbuttoned his grey sweatpants, and you just watched him wide-eyed as he tossed them onto the sand and dropped his phone, his watch on top.

He stood right in front of you, wearing nothing but swim trunks and watched your cheeks flush. “What-what are you doing?” You stuttered meekly, feeling a little bit confused and flustered.

The corners of his lips rose a bit and he looked down at you. “We’re going swimming.” He answered and closed that small gap between you two.

Tom put his hands on your hips, wanting to pull the tugged in button-down shirt out of those navy shorts you were wearing, but you flinched away from his touch, protectively keeping your arms at your sides. A flash of hurt crossed Tom’s facial features, but he smiled a tiny smile and he gripped your hands in his. He finally understood and this time he won’t let you slip away from his fingers that easily.

“Tom…”

“You told me you trust me.” You nodded, watching as his thumb caressed your knuckles – looking at his hands were better than staring into his eyes. He soothed you and gave the feeling of security you needed. “Trust me now too.”

“Let me see.”

His voice was barely above a whisper, the words softly dripped from his lips and you felt yourself slowly give in.

Tom let go of your hands, but he held your gaze. You didn’t flinch at his touch and he carefully pulled the shirt out of your shorts. You stood stiff, not daring to move; only your cheeks glistened with dry tears. He unbuttoned one button, then a second, starting from the bottom. His touch was light, gentle as a feather, caressing your skin. He gently slipped the shirt off your shoulders and down to the sand, now dropping it next to his.

His eyes never left yours. Not even once;

Your breath hitched in your throat as soon as the blouse hit the ground and you pulled your arms up in an attempt to cover yourself.

“Don’t hide, never from me.” Tom took your chin in his one hand, lifting it up so your eyes would finally meet while the other gently gripped your wrists. “I know you’re afraid. But it’s just me and nobody else.”

You melted into his touch holding your cheek. He brushed away a tear, another one and then kissed your nose. Your heart hammered in your chest, but you lowered your arms and your walls came crashing down as well. Tom tugged on your shorts and it fell onto the sand and you stood there bare-faced in front of his eyes, wearing nothing but a bra and underwear.

You tensed, couldn’t help it. Your whole body trembled, and your lower lip quivered too, the waves were no longer so fierce, so sharp, the blue skies were bluer. But all of you were shaking.

You never wanted this. You never wanted Tom to know, to see you like that, with spots, red dots on your skin. You hid from him, from all. You didn’t wear that shirt; you rejected that dress, your heart was aching. Because what if they saw, what if they noticed? What if they laughed?

You were ashamed, you were embarrassed, you felt exposed.

You hated it.

You.

Those traitorous tears.

How did Tom stand already behind you?

The pads of his fingers traced the patterns on your bare back, his lips ghosted over your skin. Tom kissed your shoulder, “Beautiful…” Tom whispered and you choked out a sob as he kissed you again. He twirled you around, so he could gaze upon you.

“Y/N,” His voice was quieter than the rustle of the sea. That night he called you by the name.

He brushed the falling droplets away, taking your cheeks into his hands. Tom smiled. “It doesn’t make you less beautiful. It doesn’t make you lesser than others.” He stroked your cheeks. “It doesn’t make you not good enough. You don’t have to hide, you don’t have to pretend. It’ll never change the way I see you.”

“I know it’s hard and I may not understand what you’re going through, but there’s nothing, nothing in this world that could send me away from you.”

“The dots on your skin, they don’t make me love you any less. It doesn’t define your worth – nothing will ever do. You’re beautiful just the way you are, enough just like you’ve always been.”

He pecked your lips, pulling you into his embrace. You put your cheek on his bare chest, hugging his waist as he stroked your back. You closed your eyes, enjoyed the warmth as his chest rose and fell every time he breathed.

So you stood there in his arms, you watched him stay and whisper I love you under his breath.

That night, even though the sun was already down, it kissed your cheeks, the seawater rustled so loud, and the waves washed the shores. The blue skies above your heads were never so blue, and the terns flew as never so low. A breeze tousled your hair, caressed your skin, sand stuck in your toes.

You looked at the open sea, the sun kissed your cheeks, the wind brushed your hair, and the sand touched your feet. And you thought you deserved to be loved.

“I love you, Y/N, love you three thousand.”

You laughed and stepped a little away from Tom so you could give his shoulder a gentle nudge. He gaped at you, but couldn’t suppress the laugh that followed right after. “Don’t quote the movie; I’m sensitive.” You buried your head in his chest, wrapped your arms around him.

”Whatever you say, love.” Tom grinned, putting his chin on top of your head and inhaled your sweet scent.

The truth was, those dots on your skin, those red spots, those scars or those blemishes, they don’t make you inferior to others who don’t have any. It doesn’t define your worth, doesn’t tell who you are, what you deserve and what you do not. It doesn’t make you any less worthy.

You cannot give up things in life, because you feel like you don’t deserve it. You cannot put your life on hold, because you’re waiting for your skin to get better, waiting to get thinner (chubbier) before you put on that cute dress, that shirt.

But the thing is… you don’t have to.

Go on, put on that cute dress, wear that shirt, go swimming! Eat that cupcake, enjoy the things that give you joy. Can you see how much life has to offer? Don’t put it on hold.

Life is happening, don’t wait up. You’re beautiful, don’t hide. You’re enough, don’t doubt your worth.

Embrace yourself and the world will too.

t h e e n d

Y/N smiled. She pressed the heart button and closed the app, locked her phone then. She threw it on the bed she was currently lying on and draped a blanket around herself. She took the hot cup of tea in her hand and looked out the window.

It was raining.

She had a bad day; her cheeks still glistered with tears. Funny, how the weather outside and her mood seemed to match.

So she had made herself something hot to drink, taken a soft blanket and sat on the bed, opened her phone and done something that always made her day.

Y/N had read.

She’d opened the app, found the story… a fanfiction that matched what she had been feeling inside, and she read.

Some people would say it was self-centering, weird, selfish even. You read (write) about yourself? The way their nose would scrunch up as they asked. Y/N ignored them. They didn’t understand.

Those stories comforted her, made her feel safe and understood, not alone. It felt home, fulfilling. There weren’t enough words to describe what it made her feel. Sometimes it ripped her heart out, then made her laugh, fall in love over again the next time.

But she never stopped reading.

It was the reality she wished she could live in.

But it’s never a fairy tale.

Y/N tore her gaze away from the window, she looked around, but no one was there. She was alone; there was no one to talk to, no shoulder to cry on. She didn’t have a Tom or her fairy tale.

Those had a happily ever after.

She didn’t.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland reader insert #tom holland x you #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #boyfriend!tom holland #tom holland au

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chicgeekgirl89 · 4 years

Text

Mercy is Out of Your Reach: Chap. 4

Fandom: SEAL Team:

Characters: Sonny Quinn, Clay Spenser, Lisa Davis, Jason Hayes, and the rest of the team

Read Chapters 1-3 Here

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“You need to take a break.”

Lisa ignored Mandy, clicking away as her eyes swept back and forth across the screen, desperately looking for clues.

“Lisa!”

Apparently Mandy wasn’t going to leave her alone. “I’m fine,” she said, rubbing a hand across her burning and blurry eyes.

“No, you’re not.” Mandy crossed her arms over her chest. “You haven’t slept in days. This isn’t helpful, it’s destructive to your health. You need to get something to eat and some sleep and try again in six hours.”

“I just had something to eat.”

“Sleep then. Lisa come on.”

She couldn’t. She wouldn’t leave them. Clay and Sonny were out there alone, probably being tortured as they spoke; or worse. She had to find them and bring them home.

A hand on her shoulder made her jerk so violently she felt her neck pop. “Whoa hey! It’s just me,” Ray said. “Come on.”

“I can’t—“

“Yes you can. Come on. Blackburn and Mandy are on it. You need a break.”

“Sonny and Clay aren’t getting a break!” She knew it was a ridiculous statement, but she was so exhausted and broken hearted and desperate and all she could think about was the horrible things that might be happening to them.

Ray looked at her and held out his hand. Defeated she took it, letting him pull her to her feet and walk her to the mess. “I just ate,” she said as he put a plate in front of her.

“A protein bar three hours ago doesn’t count as eating.” He nodded toward the food. “Go on now.”

She took a couple bites, her stomach in knots. “Why can’t I find them?” she finally asked.

“Davis this is not on you, all right? The whole team is working together on this—“

“Then why don’t we know where they are?” She could feel hot tears rising up and tried to blink them away. “Why haven’t we found a single shred of evidence that points us in their direction?”

“I don’t know. But we will find them. We’ve never left anyone behind before, we’re not doing it this time either.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to hold onto the thin, thread of hope he was offering. But without anything else to tie it to it was just that: a useless, dangling thread.

“Do you think—” She swallowed hard, struggling to get the words out, but needing to know the answer. “Are they—?“

“Sonny and Clay know what they’re doing. They’ll keep each other safe,” Ray said firmly.

Lisa bit back her automatic response which had to do with how every, single one of these stupid men thought they were invincible. They could all bleed and she’d seen it happen one too many times to believe they were going to find Sonny and Clay completely unscathed.

“Now, you need to go get some sleep. Six hours. If any of us see you back in there before then we’re going to send you right back to bed, understood?” Ray said.

She was tempted to ask what exactly made him think he could boss an officer around, but sitting here had made her realize just how exhausted she was. Her body felt heavy with fatigue, even though her mind wouldn’t stop spinning. As much as she wanted to stay and help, she needed to sleep.

Ray walked her to her door, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder before he left. Lisa didn’t even bother taking off her clothes, falling directly into her bunk where she curled up into a ball, finally letting the tears flow. All she wanted was Clay and Sonny home and safe.

She rolled onto her side, wrapping her arms around her pillow as she tried to keep full on sobs from erupting. She knew she’d been distant lately, that she’d pulled back from the team. She’d told herself so many times that it was the only way for things to move forward. For her to move on from Sonny. But now…now she regretted every phone call she’d ignored, every time she’d spotted him at a distance and pretended not to. Why couldn’t she have just let things go back to the way they had been? Why had she spent so much time trying to prove to him that she didn’t need him? That she was better off without him?

All of this should have kept her wide awake, but between the physical exhaustion of having been up for too many hours and the emotional weight of fear and guilt, sleep claimed her quickly.

She was following someone through the streets. Someone small, a child. No, a teenager walking ahead of her. Lisa couldn’t see the teen’s face and she didn’t know where they were going, but she knew she had to keep following. It was important. It was important because…someone needed help. Someone needed her help and this teenager…this girl. It was a girl.

Lisa sat bolt upright, the last image of her dream still burned into her brain. A glance at the clock told her it had only been two hours, not the six Ray had demanded, but that didn’t matter.

“Davis, you’re supposed to be asleep,” Eric said when she burst through the door.

She didn’t bother reminding him that he hadn’t slept in about three days. She logged on and pulled up the surveillance footage the guys had stolen from the shop. She fast forwarded slowly, stopping and starting until…“There!”

She pointed a finger at the screen. Blackburn and Mandy both squinted. “What are we looking at?” Mandy asked.

“That girl,” Lisa said. “I have watched every second of footage on this tape. It’s about a week’s worth and she comes to the café every, single day around one o’clock.” She looked at her team members in desperation. “I just feel like she’s the key somehow.”

Mandy’s eyes went wide and she shuffled a stack of papers until she found the one she was looking for. “Farhad has a thing for tea. He has it flown in from all over the world. But a big part of the reason he’s here is because this café brews a particular blend that’s his favorite.”

“He’s sending an errand girl to get his daily Starbucks?” Blackburn asked. “How sure are you? I don’t want to tell the guys unless this is concrete.”

Mandy shrugged. “He’s used children for work in the past. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s using one again.”

Blackburn looked unconvinced. They all wanted something, anything to go on, but it was definitely a reach. “It’s all we’ve got,” Lisa said finally.

He nodded. “Then I’ll call the team.”

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They were following a little girl. Literally following a child, hoping that somehow, magically, she was the key to finding their teammates. “This is the dumbest thing we have ever done,” Jason growled to no one in particular.

“You don’t want to do it, we can head back,” Ray said. “You don’t think it’s worth our time…”

But it had been days and this was the only lead they had. And it showed how desperate they were that they were even entertaining the idea in the first place. Jason shook his head. “Let’s just try not to get caught.”

Only he and Ray had come out, opting to observe and follow quietly to cause less of a ruckus. Sure enough the girl had shown up at the café right at one o’clock, just like she had every day in the tape. Now they were following her through the village while she carried a paper sack in one hand. She wasn’t in a hurry, didn’t seem in a rush to get to her destination and it was driving Jason crazy.

“We’re wasting time,” Jason muttered as they turned around yet another corner on yet another street that looked exactly the same as all the rest.

“I’m only going to say this one more time, if you want to go back—“

“No. Let’s keep going. Better than sitting around doing nothing.”

“Well then stop whining about it like Sonny.”

The jab slammed hard in his gut. This might be a waste of time, but Ray was right; it was better than doing nothing. And if it got them closer to getting their boys back, it was worth it.

The girl took another turn but this time she headed out of town. Jason and Ray were relegated to sneaking along behind trees and boulders. If it had been anyone older or more seasoned they would have been caught, but luck was on their side today.

Ray spotted the building first, catching Jason’s arm and pulling him behind an outcropping of rocks. “Anybody doing lookout duty’s gonna spot us,” he said quietly. “Let’s go up.”

They scaled the cliffside, staying low to the ground, doing their best to stay out of sight. They reached the top just in time to see the girl disappear inside. “Well at least we know where she’s going now,” Ray said, still slightly out of breath from their climb.

“Yeah but how the hell do we know if Sonny and Clay are inside?” Jason asked.

Ray pulled out his binoculars and took a good, long look. “I don’t know brother. No windows. No way to get eyes in there. It’s like a fortress.”

Jason worked his jaw. “Then we have to take the girl.”

Ray looked taken aback. “You’re not seriously suggesting we kidnap a child?”

“That is exactly what I’m suggesting.”

“Jason we cannot kidnap that girl.” Ray’s voice was low and dangerous.

Jason felt heat rising in his chest. He didn’t like it either. Hated the idea. But he’d done worse. And he would do a lot worse again to save his brothers. “You got another option? Sonny and Clay could be in there. They could be getting tortured, hell they could be dead. You really want to give them up because taking a kid makes everybody uncomfortable?”

“Maybe we don’t have to take her. She’s just a kid. Maybe…maybe we can just talk to her.”

“Soon as we approach her she’s going to sound the alarm. Two men alone? She’s not going to come quietly.”

“Just…let me try.”

Jason stared at him, torn between trusting his number two and just barreling ahead as fast and hard as he could to get Sonny and Clay back. “You get one shot. If it doesn’t work, we’re taking her.”

An hour later they were tailing the girl back into town. “One try,” Jason reminded him as they reached the outskirts.

Ray nodded and touched his comm. “Okay, let’s roll.”

Cerberus came bounding out from between the buildings, running right up to the girl and dropping a ball in front of her, tail wagging like he was a common puppy rather than a deadly attack dog. The girl stopped short, startled at first and then, as Cerberus continued to nudge playfully at her skirt, she reached to pick up the ball.

Jason and Ray watched as she gave it a short toss. Cerberus bounded away and then returned quickly, dropping it directly at her feet. “Good boy,” Jason breathed.

They let the scene play out a few minutes longer, letting the girl relax and grow more comfortable. Ray looked to Jason who nodded. “Bravo Five, you’re on.”

“Cerberus!” Brock came out from behind a building and gave a sharp whistle. The dog ran over dropping the now slimy ball at his handler’s feet. “There you are! What have I told you about running off?”

The girl had stepped back, cautious now at the appearance of a stranger. Brock flashed her a smile. For such a quiet guy he could be incredibly charming when he turned it on. “Hi. Thanks for finding my dog.”

“You’re American?” The girl’s English was accented but easily understandable.

“I am. My name’s Brock. What’s yours?”

“Amira.”

“Nice to meet you Amira. This is Cerberus. Do you like dogs?”

“I like all animals.”

“Me too!”

“Get to the point Brock,” Jason muttered as the pleasantries continued.

“He’ll do it,” Ray said.

It was another ten agonizing minutes of Brock breaking down the girl’s defenses with conversation and kindness. “Hey, maybe you could help me,” he finally said. “I had some American friends come through here earlier this week but I haven’t heard from them. You haven’t seen them around have you?”

The girl’s face immediately grew wary. “No.”

“Are you sure? One’s real big. The other one has blond hair. I just want to make sure they’re okay.” Cerberus nudged the girl’s leg, letting her pet his head. “I—“

“You won’t be in trouble,” Brock said. “I promise. Here.”

He pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, more money than the girl had probably seen in her entire life. “Please.”

She tentatively reached for the money. “I have seen them. The big one is very sick.”

Alive. They were alive. A mixture of worry and relief twisted inside Jason’s gut and he tried to force it away. The information didn’t mean anything if they couldn’t get to their friends.

“Where Amira? Where did you see them?”

Her voice was hardly more than a shaky whisper. “The bad man. He took them. Outside of town. I bring the bad man his tea. And he makes me take them food and water.”

“How many men Amira? How many are inside?”

“I don’t know. Many.”

Brock’s eyes were full of sympathy. “Do they hurt you?”

She quickly shook her head. “But they say they will. If I do not help them. Can you…can you make them leave?”

“I can try.”

She nodded. “I hope you find your friends.”

Brock clipped on Cerberus’ lead. “Me too.”

Jason and Ray waited only until Amira was out of sight before coming out of hiding and joining Brock. The group of them hustled back to the truck where Metal and Trent were waiting, already in full tactical gear. “It’s not a lot,” Ray said, pulling on his vest.

“It’s more than we had an hour ago,” Jason said.

“Good thing we brought the big guns,” Metal said, flicking off the safety.

For the first time in days Jason allowed himself a smile. “Good thing.”

#SEAL Team #Sonny Quinn #Clay Spenser #Lisa Davis #Savis #Jason Hayes #Mercy is Out of Your Reach #Chapter 4 #Emotional whump #SEAL Team Fanfic #Clay Spenser Fanfic #Sonny Quinn Fanfiction

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kpopisthereasonihavenolife · 5 years

Text

Kitsune | ii. winter

Jung Hoseok/Reader [F]

Genre: Demon Hunter AU, Action, Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Japanese Feudal Era

Warning(s): Contains Violence & Blood (Semi to Graphic Depictions)

Words: 11.7k

Summary: Demons: man-eating, murderous monsters who would kill anyone for the blood of humans: be it man, woman or child. They have no need for comrades. Known cannibalize and kill other demons if they so choose. Demon Hunters are tasked with eliminating any and all demons without question, but what would come to pass if they were told that a demon saved a human life? Views, values and relations become altered and absolutely nothing seemed human anymore. Never sharpen a blade too much, lest you become the wounded.

Series Index | i. demon

a/n: you would not believe how long it took me to edit this (and I'm sure there’s still errors RIP) Kudos to my gf who were on discord the entire time while I complained about proofreading LOL. However! Here is the second installment of Kitsune! I’m pretty happy with how it turned out and please please please tell me how you felt about this chapter!!! Feedback is key folks *clicks tongue*

t.list: @kathrynwynterbourne @tiredjedi @kaekae-93 @multycoloredtaco @sunshinechim-98 @baojinnie @perpetually-single @lexi-tries-art @fallingjungwoo

It’s been a year since Hoseok had brought you- a demon- back to the home of his superior Lord Fuuta. In that year he has also not once come back to that manor. He never knew what became of you, or of that old man who was on his deathbed; in fact, he pushed you both so far back into his mind he had forgotten after so long. He wasn’t aware of Taehyung’s actions or assignments. The only words he exchanged with his lord were short messages of demons that plagued areas that came to him on the talons of crows acting as messengers.

It was the dead of winter once again in Japan. Hoseok had hardly changed when it came to his mindset and his all-around opinions. Physically, his hair had grown enough for his dark bangs to brush annoyingly in front of his eyes. With traveling and battling being his day-to-day occurrences, he began to grow more fit as time passed. Still wearing his keikogi and crimson haori. His eyes also withstood the trial of time; remaining as cold as they did for as long as others could remember.

He was currently sat at a small stand selling fresh dango and tea. Pulling one of the three dumplings off the wooden skewer, he ate silently at the bar on a wooden stool. A clay, green painted mug of steaming tea sat to the right of his small saucer- the warmth of the beverage chasing away the winter cold.

The stand itself was a small one- hardly the capacity for the treats to be made behind the countertop and just big enough to squeeze in four stools- making a successful business a hardship. It was located in the middle of a busy city street. The city he was located in was far busier than any he had come across in the region alone.

Buildings that varied from small to large with at least four stories to them. All strung with lanterns and candle lights every which direction to light up the bustling, frozen, dirt roads. Travelers trotting through the city on horseback. Women in loose yukatas- despite the freezing weather- to tempt men and women alike into the brothel in which they were employed. Shops and stands of all sorts; from foods to antiques that were filled with items that were more than obviously fake; sellers only looking for a pretty penny for worthless trash.

Scamming was a whole trade in itself these days it seemed.

Fabric shops, sit down places for dining, tea houses, smiths and weapon trades, even sexual desire personified existed in the city- if you look for the right part of the city that is. The city was filled with any one person’s wants and needs if you knew just the right places to look for them.

Hoseok hated cities.

He hated how his senses dulled because of the constant noise and movement around him. He had to always be on edge because even big ‘safe’ cities like this one were exactly the place where all the right things start going wrong. Population does not equate to safety; a fact that most people ignore like fools.

If he had it his way, he would already be long gone. However, Fuuta had contacted him via his ever-familiar crow and requested Hoseok to come to this city in the first place as well as a stay until further notice. Fuuta even prepared Hoseok room and board in an inn that was acquainted with the lord.

Fuuta never explained why Hoseok was to come here and sit on his rear end in a waiting game with no visible end in sight. He angrily bit and pull off his second dumpling off the skewer at the idea that this could have been an ‘order’ for Hoseok to relax from fighting. Hoseok wasn’t one to care for himself- pushing himself over and over with injury or illness. Some might say he was devoted to his work, others- more specifically Fuuta and Taehyung- called him a reckless idiot for never knowing when to stop.

Taehyung used to often reprimand him for pushing his limits constantly. Beating him to a bloody pulp in training and literally trying to beat into his head some sense. It never worked, however. Hoseok wasn’t always so stubborn, but after an event that sent him reeling inwards in trauma, he’s changed drastically.

Finishing the third dumpling of his last skewer, he sipped down the rest of his tea. Standing and ruffling out his haori to let it lay on his back with ease as he placed down yen coins as payment for the small snack os sweets. Slightly raising the short Noren hanging on the low ceiling of the stand with the back of his hand, he left the stand behind him and headed out into the busy streets.

It was frosty out, but no snow was coated on the ground nor was it fluttering down from the sky. Breath chilled in clouds and the frozen dirt crunched under the straw waraji of Hoseok’s. Ice formed in puddles of discarded water that was thrown out from shops and merchants- begging for a child to run in a playful frenzy and fall on the trackless trap. This winter wasn’t nearly as harsh as the previous had been with nearly constantly snowfall. However, that could always change.

Hoseok walked, weaving pass and through the tresses of people. Holding his swords at his hip, pulling the hilts of them up towards his stomach to straighten how they sat on his side- allowing the tail ends of the scabbards to avoid unnecessarily whacking into anyone. Any accidental confrontation with humans didn’t interest him; picking fights with people just wasn’t his thing.

Finding his way and walking into the aged inn he had been staying, he strode through the entrance and down the halls, up to the set of wooden stairs to the second floor. The only other floor beside the ground level the inn had. Heading down the hall he recognized the room he was provided with days prior. Pulling the key to the room from his neck that he kept looped on a chain and slotting it into the door, he entered.

Shutting himself inside, he was met with his room and an open window that most definitely wasn’t open when he left. Someone, or something, must be in the space with him hiding in the shadows and doing a damn good job of it.

Keeping his back straight as he walked further into the room with slow steps, he stopped in the center. Keeping his movements calm, he moved his arm across his torso to grip the hilt of the one sword he always drew. Holding the top of the scabbard with the opposite hand, he extended his thumb to click the blade out only an inch. He slowed his breathing- now stuck in a game of patience. The air buzzing in silence as he strained to hear something- anything to alert him.

Springing from the dark shadow of his room directly below the window, someone charged at him. Hoseok gasped, hissing through his teeth lightly at the speed of the attack. He wasn’t even able to draw his sword, the perpetrator’s hand clamping down over his own- pushing the blade back into its scabbard. Grabbing Hoseok’s keikogi at the shoulder with one hand, the other keeping his sword sheathed they began to overpower the hunter.

Overwhelming Hoseok as they took steps forward, they backed him into a corner. The mystery figure was cloaked in dark all around and a mask hid their face. Their hair was as dark as their clothes. Only their eyes remained visible as the dim light that leaked inside reflected off them. Hoseok’s back was pushed against the wall, the attacker’s leg hiking to push the ball of his foot into the tail ends of the scabbards and closing the distance between the two to avoid any chance of Hoseok drawing.

Moving the hand that once held Hoseok’s shoulder, they moved to grip his shoulder and quickly stepped back and knelt a fraction. Twisting around, they pulled on Hoseok’s collar so his chest slammed into the attacker’s shoulder before Hoseok was being flipped over their body and his back slamming into the room floor. Hoseok sputtering in gasps as the attacker then climbed onto his chest and pressed a knife above the hunter’s eyes.

A knife Hoseok recognized.

He let out a breath somewhere between the lines of a gasp and a choke when his body relaxed. He coughed lightly when the attacker also began to relax. Lifting their knife away from Hoseok’s face and moved to squat above his chest rather than pinning him down. Twirling the weapon before sheathing it in its small sheath on their back. They chuckled above him, pulling their mask down, letting the black fabric rest around their neck.

“You really are a pain in my ass,” Hoseok grumbled, finally gaining back his voice after the previous assault upon him. “What the hell was that for, Taehyung?”

The light outside shone off of Taehyung’s face. His hair had grown far longer than the year of last, resting between his shoulder blades, twisted in a braid that threatened to unravel. Face squaring out into a more mature one of a young man. His birthday running around in the winter season, much like he always seemed to be when the two meet.

The younger man stood before stepped over and off Hoseok completely, leaving him to finally sit up and rotated around his shoulder and rub at his chest where Taehyung’s shoulder slammed into him. He winced in slight pain and major annoyance. Taehyung had moved to light the lantern hanging in the middle of the ceiling before sitting himself down in a cross-legged fashion.

It was odd to see Taehyung in his gear, but no armor. His completely black yoroi hitatare gear and extremely fine waraji looked empty without the cover of his armor. From a sarashi belt to his yugake gloves- all was there as he sat like he didn’t completely jump his lower-ranked ally only a few moments ago.

“Lord Fuuta will be holding a meeting with the main leaders of each branch soon,” Taehyung started out of nowhere. “He wishes to hold it in this city and asks that you attend.”

Hoseok looked at Taehyung with wide, incredulous eyes. He slightly shook his head, running the samurai’s words over and over in his head to make sure he was completely taking in and understanding the meaning of each word he said. Taehyung’s friendly look in his eyes faded as they steeled into that of Hoseok’s superior- a line he can cross between with ease.

“The meeting will be held in three days, allowing the remaining leaders to find their way to the meeting location. In that time, I shall have a messenger sent for you to lead you there as well.” Taehyung closed his eyes, lifting his lips in a minute quirk. “However, the choice in which you want to follow that messenger is all yours. Fuuta requests you there, but it is no order.”

Hoseok was skeptical about the situation purposed towards him. “If there is no order, why the personal confrontation about the matter.” It wasn’t a question he spoke towards his comrade. More of a stern accusation of something that may be laying under the surface of his words.

Taehyung just chuckled inwardly to himself. Pushing himself up off the floor to stand, he looked down the line of his nose at Hoseok still sat in front of him. He walked to the wooden door opening it a fraction before looking back over his shoulder to the hunter.

“Isn’t it better to have news spread face to face with whom it may concern? Especially since we’re already in the same vicinity to begin with.” He opened the door to leave but briefly paused on the threshold. “Oh, plus,” he started again. Voice jumping in a care-free manner with any tone of superiority vanishing. “It will always be entertaining to tease you,” he snidely finishes. Ducking out of the room before Hoseok could react- likely in a violent manner. Left in his solitude, Hoseok sighed.

His brows furrowed in thought. He wondered if he should really attend the meeting if that’s truly what Fuuta requested. Or if he should just leave the city and deny the audience of leaders his presence.

“What reason would they have to summon me in the first place?” He spits in what is best described as curiosity cloaked in anxiety. Coming off in a cold, nearly spiteful sounding, tone.

It was the dawn of the third day since Taehyung had come to Hoseok. The meeting gnawing at the back of his mind like an itching wound. He fought back and forth on if he should truly attend or not.

On one hand, Fuuta did request Hoseok to attend and he was curious about who the current leaders were- aside form Taehyung of course. On the other, he had no purpose there as a lower-ranked hunter among them. It’s not as if he is bound by the order to go- Taehyung said so himself. The choice was up to Hoseok, no other. Both options fought like rams stuck in horn lock.

Hoseok lay restless in his futon in the same room that has been that of a cell to him recently. His distaste for cities didn’t warrant him any desire to leave the inn unless necessary. Dressed in a kimono provided from the inn staff, a white and grey striped piece with a grey sash, he lay utterly bored. Staring up at the ceiling and unlit lantern hanging above him. One arm behind his head, the other placed on his chest. Futon covers pushed down to his stomach. The first dim signs of daylight began painting the winter sky orange.

It seemed to look like another day of cold breezes and yet still no snow. Winter was always a bland season, even covered in white everywhere one looked. However, the lack of snow made the cold stripped environment seem worthless. Snow brought a sense of beauty to the naked, dead-natured world at least. It was just another ugly dystopia without a blanket of white to cover it all.

His attention was ripped away when his window- that was closed- began to lightly rattle. Ignoring it, he only figured it was the morning wind washing over the city in its cold breaths. His patience was always at a low in the mornings. The constant window-rattling that seemed to only increase in noise also seemed to rattle away at the already scarce patience he did possess. Sitting up in his futon, he looked at the offending window.

Looking past the glass, he contorted his face in a look of private confusion. The bare limbs he could see outside didn’t sway at all, indicating the lack of any wind whatsoever. It wasn’t blowing. Was something else doing it, or was he simply hallucination from being inside this tiny room day after day with his push and pull thoughts.

Pulling his legs from the futon covers, he slid out of its warmth and knelt to his knee to lift his sights higher. He could see nothing outside his window, yet the shaking glass was constant. He began walking cautiously towards it.

Hoseok could see the glass shake in the frame when close enough to observe it. Lightly touching it, the cold glass rattled against his fingertips. His brow furrowed deeper trying to think of why it would be shaking so violently. Looking around outside the trim on the small ledge, perhaps a critter hand been knocking into it. However, no animal was seen.

Grabbing the frame, he began to slide it open. Pulling the window slowly to his left inching it along. Moving slowly as to not startle what may- or may not- be at his window. The cold sailed in like a smooth brushstroke, seeping into the warm room by the vacuum of the window opening- cold eating away at warm. The chill traveled throughout Hoseok’s exposed chest snaking down his skin like a winter wind snake. Silence and cold were all that sat beyond his window outside.

No breeze. No early morning mutter. No animals chirping. Just silence. Eerie to the human ear and unsettling peaceful to the hunter’s mind.

The window was fully open now and with the window being open, the rattling ceased. He let out a breath at the silence. Standing fully upon his feet, he dropped his guard at the halt of annoyance from the glass.

Just as his shoulders slacked down, something lept over the outside of his window railing. Coming out of nowhere it lept inside, landing on Hoseok’s chest with four paws planting on his skin. Pushing into him with enough force to knock him off his feet, he stumbled onto his rear before hitting the floor with his back. With a heavy thud, he momentarily felt apologetic to whoever may be beneath his room.

Laying breathless half on his futon, the four paws on his chest jumped off of him with more force he didn’t exactly welcome. Wincing, he pushed himself to twist at the waist to sit up on his left side. Supporting himself upon his left forearm and elbow digging into the floor, he held his chest with his opposite hand, lightly gasping back the breath stolen from him.

Looking at what just pounced at him unnecessarily his eyes widened seeing a fox in his room with him. It wasn't a regular fox either.

Two twin tails swayed at its backside. The pure white coat of fur with red decorating its forehead and tail tips in nearly flawless spirals. Its paws licked with minuscule flames of blue that did not spread or did the flames burn Hoseok’s skin when it touched him only moments ago. Eyes of gold piercing- nearly glaring- at him. The fox was no bigger than the average work dog. Hitting Hoseok at least at his knees in height.

Despite its size, the intimidating aura buzzing off the demon fox would make anyone be on their toes in anticipation of an attack or any sort of quick, uncalled for action.

Of course, his weapons lay behind the fox. Leant up against the wall, cut off from his reach. Hoseok cursed under his breath. If this fox were to pounce again, Hoseok would have to depend on brute strength and quick thinking maneuvering to claim his swords.

However, the fox did not move into any further advancing positions. Instead, it just sat down. Ears twitching and tails swaying, it simply sat and observed Hoseok. Hoseok also observed back, not daring to move yet. Caught in a deadlock of eye contact, no party moved a muscle until the fox got back up onto its paws and trotted to the wall were his haori hung. Turning it’s back to the wall to once again face Hoseok, it sat below the haori.

Hoseok’s brow rose in an inquiry. The fox only continued to stare once again. The way its tails whipped seemed like a gesture of invitation for Hoseok to change into it.

“My haori,” he started speaking in a whisper. Watching the foxes ears twitch. “Put it on?” To his utmost shock, the fox bowed its head in a single nod at his question to which he was not expecting an answer to. Though it wasn’t so unusual as the fox was demonic- it wasn’t like a normal wild animal. “Okay,” he breathed out in a long, low syllable.

Slowly maneuvering around his room, he began to change. Discarding his kimono and changing into his keikogi, pulling his haori of crimson over his shoulders. Tying his obi sash around his waist, he pulled his waraji over his tabi socks and slipped his swords onto his hips. Dressed just as any other day that has passed or that may be yet to come.

The fox had moved from where the crimson haori once hung back to the open window. Tails still waving past one another and gaze almost hypnotic when Hoseok resumed eye contact. Hoseok turned to look at the fox with narrow eyes. He never thought he’d be unintentionally following the orders of a demon fox. He scoffed lowly at himself. Stopping close to the fox in the window, it soon turned and jumped back outside.

Looking out, Hoseok saw it sitting on a wall of stone just below the window ledge- only a leap width away. Looking back at him in a silent way of instructing him to follow behind. He had no reason to oblige this fox; however, had no reason to deny it either.

Hopping from his window to the same wall the fox adorned, Hoseok followed.

Climbing walls, rushing through alleys and hardly seeing a soul in the extremely early hour, Hoseok scowled. He half-believed this demon fox was just leading him around for a lark- as foxes are more than a bit mischievous in bare nature. Not to mention each time it looked back at him over its fur-coated shoulder, Hoseok swore it sent glares directed at him instead of confirmation he was still trailing on its tail.

This fox was nagging on his nerves; that he was certain of.

He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just get rid of the fox in the first place. It was a demon after all, but just the thought of killing it put a bad taste in his mouth. The line between what is animal and what is demon blurred- which has never happened to Hoseok before. He knew what he followed was without a doubt demon and it irritated him.

Following blindly, Hoseok wasn’t even paying attention to his surroundings anymore. Reacting purely on instinct and reflex as he kept his eyes on the foxes back. Soon, it stopped running before halting and jumping directly upward. It’s back in front of his eyes before he halted as well. Looking up, the fox now sat up on top of a tree limb. Stretching and dragging its claws on the bark just barely before relaxing again and looking down to the annoyed hunter and his furrowed brow.

The air change around him seemed to finally alert Hoseok that he just moved to a whole new location. Gasping inwardly he averted his sights down and his eyes widened. It was like he was in a whole new place out of the city; even the scenery wasn’t that of the winter season. The weather was warmer too. He looked around.

Trees of wisteria surrounded the compound he was brought to. The compound was elevated above the ground of stone and lush greenery like winter hadn’t touched it in a long, long time. Much like that of the home of his lord with summer chimes ringing lightly with the breeze that wafted over the estate. The smell of wisteria flowers that bloomed in purple surrounded everything.

Moving his attention back to the fox, he saw it glaring down at him.

“Where did you take me you damned fox?!” Glaring down at him further, the fox got up from it’s sitting position and hissed at him. Ready to jump down from its tree limb to pounce on his chest again after accomplishing its task of bringing Hoseok to this location. Its body stopped it’s future violent charge when it sensed someone walk onto the wooden railing porch of the compound.

“That is enough, girl,” a familiar voice spoke. “Come on back here now.” The fox stopped it’s glaring at Hoseok, turned towards the compound and jumped from the tree. Bounding the distance from the limb to the wooden railing, it landed with grace as a hand reached out to pet at its head. Relishing under the touch.

Hoseok looked at the person who spoke and shook his head in small swivels before pushing the ball of his hand against his forehead. Looking at Taehyung call, command and even show affection to a demon fox flabbergasting him to an extreme. Taehyung just laughed at him as the fox looked back at Hoseok, no longer glaring- but examining.

“What is that face? I told you I’d send a messenger in three days.”

“You didn’t tell me the ‘messenger’ was going to be a demon!” Hoseok countered with a spiked fury, stunned Taehyung was loitering around a demon in the first place. The fox’s ears bent back in agitation before they folded back in relaxation again when Taehyung placed his hand back on its head.

“I didn’t need to. Besides, what does it matter? You followed her regardless of her demonic nature instead of attacking her. I knew if she returned alone, you wouldn’t attend.”

“I could’ve killed that fox, you realize that right,” Hoseok deadpanned. Taehyung scoffed, patting the fox once more before folding his arms inside the kimono he spared. His hair unbraided and resting on his shoulders and back.

“She’s nimble and crafty. The most you could’ve done to her is graze her fur. She would’ve been fine if you lashed out violently. I have the utmost faith in her.” Hoseok gapped at the confidence Taehyung boasted towards the small fox in front of them. Taehyung looked down to said fox. “Go head on inside. We’ll call for you later, alright?” The fox looked at him and nodded one low bow before jumping off the railing and running behind the samurai inside the estate.

Hoseok shook off his shock before he sighed. “Where did that thing bring me, Taehyung?” Hoseok still not sure exactly where he was. Too much happening far too early and too quickly for his brain to catch up completely.

Taehyung smiled before he started to head back inside, only stopping to invite Hoseok inside with him. Hoseok followed behind him, both men silent despite having tons of topics to talk about. Hoseok only kept a cautious eye on his long-time friend as Taehyung kept a small smile on his face the entire time he weaved through the compound.

“This is like Lord Fuuta’s home,” Hoseok spoke to himself.

“It isn’t wrong to think that,” Taehyung replied to him. “It is one of his private locations. It’s hidden by a barrier, keeping it warm like spring. He comes here often when his health warrants it.”

A barrier. Hoseok nodded. It made sense- it would explain why it was so warm here and why the flowers and greenery blossomed so excellently. Stuck in the bloom of spring- it was a nice time of year to stop the flow of time. Hoseok’s eyes widened, becoming aware of something.

“Taehyung, is Lord Fuuta here?” Taehyung just stopped in front of a shoji door, constant chattering behind it. “Taehyung?”

Taehyung just slid open the door and walked inside, Hoseok following at his shoulder. Inside was a group of six people. Among them, Fuuta sat in his ever-constant glory. He smiled warmly when his eyes set on Hoseok.

“Hoseok, I’m delighted you decided to come.” Hoseok just raised his brow, narrowing his eyes in confusion. Fuuta just shook his head slightly with a small smile. “Taehyung, you neglected to inform him, didn’t you.”

“I can’t help it, my Lord. It’s far too fun to tease him,” Taehyung sung cheerily. If not in the presence of his lord, Hoseok would’ve clobbered Taehyung over his head for the comment. Taehyung turned to his friend he had continued to string along- although he wasn’t fully to blame. “Hoseok follows me without question anyhow. It makes it easy,” he teased. Hoseok was glad he learned self-restraint years ago.

Taehyung left his friend’s side, moving to take his place at a table sat in the middle of the room. Sliding into a zaitsu chair among the other six; however, there was still one open chair left.

Fuuta moved to stand, the other’s coming to a stand with their lord in respect.

“Welcome to the leader meeting of Demon Hunters, Hoseok. Please, take a seat next to Taehyung if you would.”

Hoseok stood dumbly still among the meeting. Fuuta and Taehyung being the only two faces he recognized. The other five were completely new to him. He froze being put into an environment with so many strangers with gazes focused solely on him- the outsider.

“Are you deaf, boy?!” Hoseok jumped when out of the stagnant silence a gruff voice boomed at him. Yelling in a belittling tone towards the hunter. The tacted on ‘boy’ referring to himself made his brow tick down in a pulse of annoyance. Looking, it was a monk who was now glaring at Hoseok who had raised his voice.

Even when sat down in his chair, the man was a massive specimen. Broad shoulders with excessively muscular definitions that pushed along his body and made the kimono covering him look pathetic in its own threaded fabric patterns; his kashaya over his shoulder a golden shade. The monk was bald with eyebrows condensed to the point there were only two small ovals above the inner corners of his eyes. Carrying a staff with him- it being tucked under his elbow as he sat- it was iron made with a jewel fused onto the circular top.

Hoseok suspected this particular monk happened to be nastier than a man among men who people would seek openly.

“Well?!” He shouted again. Hoseok caught a few other leaders rolling their eyes. “Are you ignoring our Lord, or will you do as your told and sit, boy?!”

“You’ll scare him away yelling like a mad man, Bunji,” the only female attendee spoke in a diversely calm tone. Her voice leagues below the loud echo of the monk- addressed now as Bunji. Hoseok wondered if he spelled his name with the kanji characters meaning child or govern, seeing as he wasn’t anything childlike- the chance of irony almost made his lips quirk.

The woman who addressed the monk was shot a warning look by him. She sat calmly, eyes closed and posture straight as Bunji’s staff. Dressed in armor much like Taehyung’s, only fitting more to her feminine body. Armor fitting and curving her breast as she sat on the left side of Taehyung. She was obviously the female counterpart to the male samurai sat next to her across the table from the monk.

Bunji slammed his large, rock palm on the tables wooden surface in a fit. Absolutely no reaction came from anyone aside from Hoseok who still stood at the door. Rowdy and obnoxious behavior must be the normal- odd to see coming from a monk. So much for spiritual ease and relaxation such as meditation.

“If an outsider is frightened off, so be it! Such a low-ranked soldier should not be present!”

“He is here under Lord Fuuta’s request,” snapped the small, nimble man dressed fully in black beside Bunji. Jet black hair, sitting with his arms and legs crossed. “Do not object to our Lord’s wishes.”

Bunji seethed as another gentleman in simple kimono garbs spoke towards Taehyung down the table.

“Shouldn’t you speak up?”

“I won’t,” Taehyung replied. “Anything I say will sound like favoritism since I know Hoseok personally. I’ll abstain from any comments regarding him.”

“That is a very wise and mature decision, Master Taehyung!” Bunji shot off in a tone completely new. His condemning demeanor vanishing and being replaced with one of pure agreement when shot at Taehyung. The switch of his attitude nearly giving Hoseok major whiplash.

Hoseok spun in confusion- hypothetically speaking of course.

A few claps from the head of the table and Fuuta calmed all present bodies. Lowering his arms back down to the table, he smiled his normal, calm smile he seemed to always have painted on his face.

“Please do not allow Hoseok’s presence to hinder the tasked meeting at hand. Proceed just as usual if you would.” All were quiet as they silently agreed, no one disagreeing with their Lord. The once chaotically charged room simmered down as Hoseok finally made his way to Taehyung’s right. Sitting in front of the black-clad, small fellow and now missing the condescending look shot at him from the monk diagonally across from him.

In a few moments of silence, attention was shifted and gathered as the meeting finally began. Hoseok was clearly out of the loop, not comprehending most topics covered. From field reports to medical updates and deceased count. He winced when he heard how many of his fellow Demon Hunters have died since the last meeting held- whenever that may have been.

Once all regulated discussions were ruled out, Fuuta dismissed the meeting- only temporarily, however. He asked that the group of 6- Hoseok included- come to the small, miniature shrine and torii he had erected at the rear of the compound. Claiming he had something to show and discuss with them all.

Taehyung seemed to be the only body without a puzzled expression as to why and Hoseok could tell from the minuscule smirk he bit back that he knew what would be waiting there- what the thing is Fuuta wants to discuss is. His attitude did seem altered, even a few days ago when he snuck up on Hoseok- something hid under his task of ‘just inviting’ him.

Once dismissed with Fuuta leaving first, Bunji was quick to catch Taehyung before he left as well. Hoseok at his back as per usual.

“Master Taehyung, might I speak with you?!” Yet more loud respect drawing out of the burly man's mouth directed only at Taehyung.

“Perhaps later, Bunji. I have other matters to attend to now.” Taehyung shot him down without a breath of hesitation. However, the massive monk was not at all pressed by the blatant rejection.

“Of course! Excuse me then!” As quickly as he flocked to Taehyung’s side, he left. Hoseok moved to stand beside his friend now.

“What is with all the ‘Master’ titling?” Hoseok bit in attitude.

Taehyung shrugged. “I haven’t a clue, but he’s called me that since he met me. Perhaps it’s because I’m ranked above him in terms of skill. Or, maybe he simply knows how to respect a man as handsome as myself.”

“Oh, please. Could you be any more humble?” Hoseok rolled his eyes as Taehyung chuckled to himself, leaving the meeting room and remaining leaders behind. Hoseok took the time to finally ask who each leader was and what they command. Taehyung hushed his curiosities until the two had moved to the private silence of his quarters- a fresh cup of warm tea in Taehyung’s palm.

“Curious about the others? You have every reason to be I suppose,” Taehyung chuckled. “Then, listen carefully, Hoseok.” Hoseok nodded, sitting with Taehyung on the cushions he had placed on the floor- finally beginning to introduce each leader.

First, was the monk Bunji- leading in spiritual expertise. An expert when it came to exceedingly advanced and potent mantras for demon extermination. Skilled with his jeweled staff for exorcisms and many sutras kept in the chest of his kimono as his weapons for battle. Though his stature is intimidating and larger- when pushed into physical combat, be it with a demon or otherwise, he was not so skilled. Out of the five leaders, he was ranked the fourth; as well as the newest leader welcomed into the fold- the previous priest dying overseas.

Next, was the only female member among the mass of men. The onna-musha, or female warrior, called Kaori. Descending from nobility, she fights alongside men and has clawed her path up by annihilating any competition that stood in her way; beating men who snubbed or doubted her strength into submission to secure a path of future loyalty. A fierce, nimble and talent-flexible woman, she was a force to be reckoned with. Respecting Taehyung as her senior and male counterpart, she self-proclaimed she will one day surpass him and be the top swordmaster; not just second best. Ranked third among the other five.

Then, there was the bluntly rude and cold shoulder of the ninja leader. Almost always seen covered head to toe in his official garbs of pitch-black combat, he believed his work never halts and was prepared for any outcome that may lurch his way. Constantly on guard and doesn’t seem to have a joking bone in his body. His calm and analyzing demeanor deemed him a practical genius in the field. He often clashed with Bunji and his boisterous attitude. His name was Takaki. Ranked first and head of his comrades. The best candidate for the overall leader after Fuuta; however, he’s expressed adamantly he does not wish for the responsibility and declined the position offered.

Ranked the fifth of the leaders for his lack of physical strength and combat skills was Tsutsui. An expert on anything medicine and poison. He was responsible for treatment locations as well as keeping the tally of those that have fallen. An entire mass unit of medically trained men and women is what he oversaw as he kept the conditions of any and all hunters filed away- even Hoseok’s. His role among his peers was absolutely vital and without him, more hunters would lose their lives. However weak he may seem, if pushed into a corner- his extensive knowledge of potent toxins and poison he creates could gain him an upper hand in battle as well as an opening to escape.

Finally, was Taehyung himself. The top samurai and swordmaster among them and ranked second of five. With Takaki’s refusal of Fuuta’s position as the head leader later in life, Taehyung was to be his new successor. When Hoseok learned that he was shocked. He knew Taehyung was strong, but not so strong he was Fuuta’s protégé. It made the gap between them feel wider than the mouth of the greatest canyon Hoseok knew of.

Taehyung took the last sip of his tea, concluding the leaders’ introductions to Hoseok. “Does that answer any questions you may have had about their identities?”

“I… suppose. I still do not admire that monk, However.”

Taehyung laughed. “Yes, well, Bunji leaves that impression on nearly any new face he comes across. You do not need to be friends, but he is technically one of your superiors. Grit your teeth and at least try and co-exist with him.” Hoseok scoffed as Taehyung set his clay mug aside, moving to stand and pat down his wrinkled kimono. “Speaking of co-existing, let us take to the back shrine. Lord Fuuta is waiting.” Hoseok only nodded unsurely, standing and striding in time to Taehyung’s steps.

His mind buzzing at what could be waiting for him- and the other leaders- at the shrine at the rear of the compound.

When Taehyung and Hoseok arrived, only Takaki and Kaori were present. Kaori offering a prayer at the miniature shrine as the two men arrived under the small torii gate. Soon after, the remaining two leaders appeared- Bunji being apologetic in the loudest way possible only towards Taehyung for arriving late; or rather, arriving later than Taehyung did. Hoseok still inwardly curling at his obnoxiously loud boasting.

Then, their lord arrived- his wife by his side. Shiro carried with her a folded parasol clearly designed and crafted from the continent. Brilliant red with flowers painted on the bamboo arms and handle. Those present lowered their heads to the two of them. Some drawn speechless at Shiro’s presence such as Bunji who had never properly met her before and only heard of her from Fuuta.

Taehyung was the first to lift his head and move towards the two, walking to stand at Shiro’s opposite side and taking the parasol from her, opening it to shield her head from the sun. Unknown to the others, Taehyung had been with the couple a vast majority of the last year. Growing close to both as he trained and prepared with Fuuta more each day to one day succeed him. All was still as they stood among the wisteria- until the breeze shifted.

With a shifting wind, a blue fire ignited along the ground; circling the group of leaders- excluding Taehyung- and Hoseok. The trio of Fuuta, Shiro, and Taehyung standing calm and safely outside the flames as they had absolutely no reaction to its appearance as opposed to the initial panic from those inside. The flames rose high, licking at the tree limbs in height and keeping everyone inside; trapped in a fiery cage.

Instinct drove everyone as they immediately took to their weapons. Staff ready, stances rigid, swords and knives were drawn from scabbards and sheaths. Multiple eyes scanned the fire surrounding them before something sprung from the flames. A human-shaped demon leaping straight from the aqua flames, those same flames coating its entire body like armor. It’s heels connecting harshly with the largest target’s chest- Bunji’s.

The force making the monk stumble backward, the demon came to a near kneel on his chest before pushing off of him, flinging themselves back into the area of the rest. Kaori was the first to act- deciding that since the demon was small in stature, she would be the best physical match.

With each strike Kaori offered the demon evaded. Bending back and ducking below horizontal slashes and rolling out of the way of vertical strikes. Rolling around to Kaori’s back, the demon took to the ground like an animal before harshly slamming their palm into her ankle- kicking it harshly out from under her. Stuck between a fall to the ground and a step to save her fall, the demon shoved Kaori under her shoulder blades and pushed her out and through the flames.

Covered in a shroud of its own fire, the demon turned back to the remaining men inside its fiery trap. Bunji, still holding his chest from the demon’s initial action of spring-boarding off him, acting next in a fit of hurt pride.

Moving his hand from rest on his chest, he slipped it into his kashaya. Throwing sutra charms at the demon he drew from his wardrobe, the demon moved to burn them before they could touch its body. Manipulating the flames around its body like flexible armor. Getting nowhere with his charms, and throwing his lack of expertise when challenging someone much more nimble than he aside, he charged and began swinging with his jeweled staff. Just as with Kaori, the demon evaded- in fact with Bunji’s slower time the chance to evade and strike was fruitful. Taking each evasion and adding a tap to his body and moving around him, he soon found himself immobilized.

Frozen like a statue as he staggered to his knees- body paralyzed from the taps to his pressure points. Pushing their chest to the ground, a tail of flame pushed under Bunji’s chest and lifted him up and over the wall of flames, throwing him cleanly out.

Sadly, Tsutsui was absolutely no help in a short-handed, up-close fight with nothing he could use on his person as a defense. The demon was easily able to rid him of the battle circle by simply taking hold of his arm, levering it over its shoulder and tossing him outside with enough force to knock him into Bunji’s still immobilized body outside.

The demon screeched when something pierced through its flame-like armor and punctured its shoulder. The fire around its body seemed to diminish just enough as the sai that was sticking out of its shoulder burned in the flames. The demon seethed as it turned to Takaki, standing with one of his two sai’s in hand- the other lodged in the demon's shoulder.

Charging at the ninja, the two moved as if engaged in a dance. Flames swirling around the two as Takaki evades just as well as the demon did. Missed strikes, tumbles, and rolls, jumping and leaping to and away from the fire of azure. It was a standstill until Takaki managed to get behind the demon and take hold of his lost sai, ripping it out of the demon’s shoulder. Another ear-piercing scream before it’s attention was forced off of Takaki and onto Hoseok.

Sprinting away from its previous opponent, it shoved it’s shoulder into Hoseok’s chest, knocking his sword out of his hand, the second one of his being ripped from his side and tossed across the ground away from the action- still held in its sheath. Hoseok eyed his own blade’s metal laying above his head as he was shoved to the ground. The second one was no use- even if he was closer to it, he would not draw it into battle.

The demon pinned him as Hoseok held its wrists. Hovering claws of fire singed his hair as the heat pulsed into his nostrils and burned his lungs as he breathed. The demon was stronger than most men he sparred with. The fire of the demon's armor rippled and something akin to familiarization shot through Hoseok. Clenching his teeth, he pulled his legs up between the two, wrapped them around the demon's midsection- burning his keikogi in the process- and twisted his hips to push the demon sideways into a downwards roll. Allowing Hoseok to control the momentum to turn the tables and effectively pen the demon down in his previous place. The flames becoming diminished by the dirt below, Hoseok looked at the face of the demon recognizing it.

“You are-”

“That’s more than enough,” Fuuta’s calm voice sounded behind Hoseok. When Hoseok turned his head, the fire was gone and it was peaceful at the shrine once again. As if the circle of fire was never there to begin with. Looking around, Bunji was being treated by Tsutsui to get him moving again and Kaori was dusting herself off and rotating her ankle that was harshly palmed earlier on. Takaki was sheathing his sais as Taehyung stood at his side- assuring him danger wasn’t around anymore. Fuuta and Shiro stood directly behind Hoseok who still pinned the demon- much less on fire- down.

Looking down, Hoseok saw the face of the demon who had been on the attack. The flame armor vanished, and beneath it all sat a simple, almost human-looking demon. Small red tattoos run to a point along the curve of her cheeks and she was dressed just like Shiro- only her kosode of white was paired with a Hakan of royal blue as opposed to Shiro’s red Hakan. Hair a mess beneath her pinned state as Hoseok glared at her fox golden eyes.

“You’re that demon from a year ago,” he muttered more to himself than to you. Hoseok was soon shoved off of you, as you brought your leg up and slammed your heel into his gut, extending your leg to throw him clear off you, landing in a puff of dirt dust. Groaning he moved to sit, rubbing his head as Taehyung was soon beside him, offering him a hand up and both of his swords back to him.

The group watched as Shiro knelt to your side, sitting you up and pulling your Hakan loose just enough to inspect the damage inflicted on your shoulder from Takaki’s sai earlier. The wound seeped steam and small rolls of blood that stained your kosode. Fuuta- pulling a cloth from his kimono- handed it to Shiro to press along your shoulder. You hissed when her cloth-covered palm pushed into your flesh.

“It is nothing serious,” Shiro told you softly. You only kept quiet and sat still.

“My Lord,” Fuuta turned when called by Takaki and his harsh voice. “I’d like to know the situation, if I may be so bold to ask.” The edge in the ninja’s voice certainly wasn’t one of inquiry, but sharp agitation instead.

“Of course,” the lord smiled with a small breath. “I was not planning to keep this a secret from you all.” Fuuta turned to Shiro. “Take her inside for a change of clothing. She’s covered in blood, dear.” Shiro nodded as she took your arm, gently lifting you to your feet. Some leaders still stood rigid at you on your feet.

Shiro began leading you inside as Bunji finally managing to speak- his voice previously locked with his body. “Should we allow Lady Shiro to be alone with that demon?!” His voice rough in his attempt to gather his previously lost breath.

“Do not be ridiculous, Bunji,” Taehyung started. “That demon is practically harmless,” he spoke calmly, his arms tucked into his sleeves. Hoseok stood beside his smirking friend as Fuuta agreed with his protege.

“It is true. Y/n poses no threat to Shiro, nor I or Taehyung. In fact, she isn’t a threat to anyone here, so rest assured.”

“That cannot be so. She just attacked us, My Lord. She is plenty harmful,” countered Takaki- still enraged from the single demon ambush.

“She acted purely on my instruction. She was told not to permanently harm and did as she was told, she did not.”

“You offered more harm than anyone else did, Takaki,” Taehyung countered.

“I only did as I’ve been trained to do.”

“Do not get swept up in an argument,” Fuuta warned. “Allow me to explain further. Come, children. Let’s return inside.” Fuuta headed back to the compound, the rest following with a breath of hesitation. Hoseok stood frozen in pure confusion as Taehyung tapped at his shoulder. Ushering the hunter to follow- any questions he had would be answered.

Fuuta had once again gathered his leaders and Hoseok in the meeting room. Everyone sat in tension- aside form Fuuta and Taehyung that is.

“As you all witnessed, Y/n is a demon. A year ago, it was Taehyung and Hoseok who brought her to me upon request. Since then, Shiro and I have trained her as a weapon to defend humans and fight back against other demons.” A mumble of simultaneous shock filtered through the room.

“That’s impossible!” Interrupted Bunji. “Forgive me, but I cannot believe a demon is fighting on the human side of this war!” Bunji quickly kept the remainder of his objection to himself when Taehyung shot him a look of silencing.

“When she was first brought to me, Shiro and I placed a certain type of spell on her. A specific obedience charm. Now, she is as human as a demon could possibly be. That being said, she is absolutely unable to kill any innocent or defenseless human who offers her no harm.”

Kaori slowly raised her hand to summon attention to herself. “You say innocent, defenseless humans. Does that mean anyone guilty of a crime can, in fact, be slane by her?”

“Correct. Say, for instance, she crossed paths with a band of thugs looking to rob, assault, or even kill her. She would have free action to defend herself and if killing them means sparing her life- so be it.”

The room was silent again. The tension was nearly tangible. Fuuta continued when it seemed no one else had a qualm to speak of.

“Y/n is a fox demon and between the three of us- myself, Shiro and Taehyung- she seems to favor and obey Taehyung the most.” Eyes shifted to the samurai. Hoseok remembered the small fox that brought him to the compound that Taehyung has claimed to ‘send’ as a messenger.

“Is she the same fox that I followed here?” Hoseok asked Taehyung. The samurai nodded one deep chin touch to his chest with a smile.

“She is. I asked her to bring you.”

“Another example of her loyalty to humans,” Fuuta added. “She left and willfully returned when she had the prime chance to flee from us all together since she was without supervision. Over the last year with Y/n, we have grown to trust her.” Fuuta sighed at his leaders' stoic faces. “I do not expect anyone to accept her fully; however, all I ask is not to antagonize her. Shiro and I consider her a daughter we were unable to bare now.”

With his final regards, Fuuta dismissed himself, leaving the rest to ponder.

“Can we really trust a demon?” Kaori spoke softly- a whisper like a flower petal.

“Of course not!” Objected Bunji, quite the opposite in loudness.

“If it's what Lord Fuuta wants, I don’t see the harm in accepting her. He did acknowledge her and showed he was able to speak commands and have her listen and obey them at the shrine. When he said enough, that was it- all was over and she stepped down almost immediately.” Tsutsui spoke as he stood himself up. “I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt out of respect for our Lord. As fellow leaders- you should all consider it as well.” He excused himself as Takaki left in silence- not adding his opinion on the topic of you personally on his way out.

One by one, the room was cleared out- each person leaving with uneasy emotions until only Hoseok and Taehyung was left. Sat in silence, Taehyung heard the rattling of Hoseok’s sword shaking in its scabbard as he held it so tightly his knuckles whitened ghostlily.

Taehyung knew so many who hated demons, but he doubted no one's fury ran as deep as Hoseok’s. Knowing he was part of why you were here when he and Taehyung captured you a year ago, it no doubt crawled under his skin. After what Hoseok has lost to demons, he’s justified to feel the way he does- complete and utter contempt towards your existence.

Taehyung only reached out and pressed his fingertips into Hoseok’s neck- almost instantly settling him back down.

“Do not dwell and calm down, Hoseok.”

“How can I?” He bit.

“Blame me for working with Y/n if you want, but try and understand Fuuta’s decision. Y/n is not the enemy, Hoseok. I promise.” He left soon after his small discussion with his long-time friend.

Hoseok shook his head to himself. No matter how he wished he could- he could not blame Taehyung. He could not hate his best friend and he couldn’t put the burden of his feelings onto Taheyung’s shoulders either.

Clenching his jaw, he cursed himself as he sat in his own deafening solitude- his constantly sheathed second sword tight in his palm.

A week went by and slowly each leader left the compound- one way or another coming to terms that a demon was considered a comrade at this point in time. However, all agreed that if they see you as a threat at all or at any point- they would not hesitate to lop off your head.

Hoseok still remained in the compound, Fuuta explaining that he needed to calm his distress before going back out onto the field. Hoseok respected his wishes and stayed put as told. If he so much as caught a glimpse of you, he’d stop and recede back in the opposite direction. He’d instantly be put into a sour mood- so he avoided you at any cost.

He currently sat in his room on the second story of the compound, boredly sitting at his window- staring out at nothing but frozen in time wisteria blooms. His attention shifted when voices below his room on the second floor were heard.

“You’re awfully moody. What’s wrong with you?” Taehyung spoke as Hoseok heard. His head lifted at his friend’s voice.

“It’s nothing,” A woman. One voice Hoseok didn’t recognize well.

“Do not lie to me, Y/n.” Hoseok rolled his eyes as his head lowered back down. Boredom engulfed with immediate annoyance.

“I want that human out of here.”

“Be more specific. Everyone in the compound is human besides you, you know that.”

“That stupid hunter,” you bit. Hoseok furrowed his brow knowing you had the audacity to want him gone.

“Hoseok?” Taehyung questioned as you only scoffed at his name. “Listen, he’s here because Fuuta asked him to be here. You know that.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to be in the same vicinity as the man who put me into this situation.”

“Y/n,” Taehyung’s voice hardened. “Disliking Hoseok for bringing you to Fuuta is wrong. I was the one who knocked you unconscious, carried you back and delivered you. Hate me if you are still dwelling on the past.” Hoseok flinched at the cut in Taheyung’s voice. Scolding you for bringing up that night last winter.

“That isn’t fair,” you fought back.

“Why isn’t it, then?”

“You don’t treat me like a-!” The conversation halted into silence. Hoseok sighed, his eavesdropping seemingly finished.

In a flash, a hand grabbed his open window ledge before you vaulted into view. Hoseok knelt on his knee as you threw yourself into his room. Laying flay on his back, he ducked under your body that jumped into his room- originally wanting to tackle him down. Rolling into his room, he was thankful to finally have his sword nearby. Drawing it, he flipped it around so the dull edge faced you.

Lunging at him, he whacked away your open claws aimed at him with the dull of his sword, allowing him to side-step behind you. Reaching out, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking you backward and pulling you down to the ground. Yelping, you were soon back first on the tatami as Hoseok pushed his knee into your gut, hand releasing your hair to push his palm over your throat and the other holding the tip of his sword above your eyes.

You both glared at each other. You kicked, trying to buck free. The pressure on your throat increased due to your struggle, Hoseok’s way to keep you pinned.

“Stay. Down.” Hoseok hissed.

You bore your fangs at him. Grabbing at his blade, your palm cutting open as you moved the blade to the side forcefully out of your face. Your other hand grabbing the wrist of the hand of Hoseok’s on your throat, lifting it with enough force to allow you enough air to speak again.

“Get off me, human,” you growled.

“Give me one good reason why I should.” The blood dripping from your enclosed hand around his blade gathered in small droplet puddles beside your head, bleeding and staining the tatami. Hoseok was momentarily astonished that your blood was red- just like his.

You both were locked in a deadly tangle, neither letting up. Hoseok kept you pinned down and exerted more pressure anytime a single one of your muscles twitch- you just itching to move. You continued to growl at him as he nearly growled back out of sheer spite.

There was a murmur of commotion outside his door and down the hall. Both of you drowning it out to favor the ringing of rage in your own headspaces. The shoji door slammed open as Taehyung froze for but a moment seeing you both at each other’s throats- literally.

“Hoseok! Y/n!” His voice hit new levels of baritone as he ran into the room and forcefully picked Hoseok off you. Getting behind him to lift his arms under Hoseok’s, he pulled him up and took steps backward- backing the both of them away from you. You- finally having the freedom to move- quickly sprung off your back and crouched low to the floor.

Ready to aim low just like a wild predator would. Taehyung saw how you hadn’t calmed down yet, so slipping loose the waraji sandals he didn’t have the time to take off in his rush inside, he kicked it off towards you. Taehyung could even make a simple, straw sandal a weapon as it rotated with an illogical amount of speed in the air before it hit you square in the face.

Yelping from the sudden sting, you dropped down defenseless as you held your nose and forehead, the waraji falling to the floor at your side. Taehyung sighed seeing your shoulders slacken.

Taehyung twisted the upper half of Hoseok’s body just enough so he could step in front of him and slam his knee into his friend’s stomach. Hoseok- erupting into a stuttering fit of coughs- took to his knees as Taehyung released him and Hoseok held over his sore stomach. Taehyung picked up and sheathed Hoseok’s sword, placing it away from him as he walked over to retrieve his waraji, taking off his other because only hooligans wear their shoes inside.

It wasn’t too much longer before servants of the compound caught wind of the futile scrap and came rushing into the room. Ready to see a violent fight between the hunter and demon ally, they were only met with both of them on their knees with Taehyung vehemently standing over the two. He glared at the servants' late arrival.

“By the time any of you got here, someone could’ve been seriously injured,” he scolded the staff as they flinched down. Taehyung sighed, knowing that they weren’t truly at fault. He directed his sights back to you and Hoseok who now both sat recovered and completely faced away from each other. “An explanation please,” he demanded.

“He should know,” you scoffed. “He started it.”

“I- what?!” Hoseok shrieked. “Listen, Fox, I did not do anything!”

“You did! You eavesdropped on our conversation! Ever heard of privacy or manners before, human?!”

“Y/n,” Taehyung warned. You immediately silenced any further argument and rose to your feet, palm still dripping small drops of crimson. Heading towards the servants and open doorway, you stopped when Taehyung called at your back. “Where are you going off to now.”

“Anywhere as long as I am away from him,” you announced before walking passed and away from the servants and Hoseok’s room.

“Hoseok,” Taehyung called, looking back at the slouched down, agitation hunter.

“Do not bother. I don’t want to hear it.”

Taehyung only sighed as he left the room, shooing away the servants and shutting the shoji to his room at his back- going to return his waraji back to the entrance landing. Hoseok looked at the blood droplets stained onto his floor before scoffing and returning to stare out his window. Far less relaxed now than before.

You slid open your room door with enough fury to fling it out of its groves- metaphorically speaking of course. Stepping inside and slamming it shut behind you with just as much fury. You immediately began pulling your kosode loose and stepping out of your Hakan. Stepping behind the byobu screen you kept in your room, you practically ripped off your clothes.

You couldn’t stand to have the smell of that human- Hoseok on you. The scent bled right through your clothes and you’d rather bare your breasts to the winter chill than smell like him. As you threw your kosode over the byobu, someone entered your room without announcement. You- of course- knew who it was. Pulling a spare kimono littered in red spider lilies from the wire on your wall, you began to change into it.

“Go away,” you said sternly.

“Request denied,” spoke back Taehyung.

“I was not asking.”

“Well, I am still not listening.”

“Taehyung-”

“You know attacking Hoseok was wrong, don’t you?” You were silent. “I have no doubt your back feels like it’s on fire by now.” He was correct. The burned talisman on your back would begin to abuse your body when you attacked anyone out of reason. You could feel your skin pulsing under the searing pain of your back. “You know that I need to tell Fuuta about the incident, correct?”

“Yes,” you whispered as you fastened your obi.

“I’ll vouch that Hoseok became offensive and you weren’t completely at fault, but you need to learn to control your temper around him.”

“I know.”

Taehyung left after that, leaving you with a scorching back as you collapsed to your knees in your spider lily kimono, baring the punishment of your uncalled for brawl with Hoseok on your own.

Hoseok was called to speak with Fuuta early one morning unexpectedly. He thought it was strange that it was Shiro who called for him, standing in front of Hoseok's door and asking for him to follow her back to her beloved husband. Something about the air around her seemed tense as Hoseok got up and began following at her back. Stepping lightly behind her, she spared no time to even look around the halls she leads him down. She only kept her eyes down, just enough to see the toes of her tabi-covered feet with each step forward.

Coming to a stop at Fuuta's personal room door, she announced herself before opening the door and stepped aside in the hall, allowing Hoseok passage inside. She herself stayed out in the hall, bowing lightly and shutting the shoji at Hoseok's back slowly before he could hear her feet padding off back up the hall.

Hoseok saw his lord sat at his desk that was built directly from the wall. A calligraphy brush in hand as he painted pitch black words onto an open, flattened and unwrinkled scroll. Dressed in a kimono much different than his normal elegant ones, his hair completely free of any ties or restraints. He turned to look at his hunter and let a small smile grace his lips.

"Please, take a seat," Fuuta gestured to the empty cushion to his left. Hoseok bowed a fraction before obeying him and folding his knees under himself sitting down. His palms sat on his thighs as Fuuta resumed with his brush strokes. "I have a favor to ask of you. Of course, I would like to ask Taehyung of the same favor, but I thought it best to run it by you first, Hoseok."

"How come, my Lord? Taehyung is your successor, is he not? Why would you address any issue with me first?" Hoseok pondered as Fuuta lightly chuckled.

"True. Taehyung is like a son to me now. He's invaluable, and he is also exceedingly loyal. He'd do anything I ask even if he thought it ridiculous." He held his kimono sleeve with his opposite hand as he reached his arm over his table and dipped his brush in more ink. A lock of his black hair falling over his shoulder. "However, you are different. You're a man of many rules and strict do’s and don'ts. With that said, you're free to refuse my words if you so choose."

Hoseok furrowed his brows as his open palms began to curl. "If I may, is this perchance going to involve that demon fox?"

"It is." Hoseok bit his tongue to keep a rude scoff and eye roll at bay. He was in front of his lord. He cannot be rude nor can he be rash. "I know you and Y/n do not mix well, as are both of your natures. Y/n has hated humans for a long time and you feel the same towards demons. You both see no reason to side with each other and that isn't wrong considering both of your situations."

"That demon's situation is no concern of mine," he said with a tone as cold as the winter air.

"Yes, I know you feel that way. However, this request of mine is something of importance. I fear something tragic will take place soon."

"Something tragic? What do you mean?" Hoseok's back shot straight as a rod. Fuuta only shook his head. "Lord Fuuta, what's going to happen?"

"It is not something for you to be directly involved with. Shiro and I have been expecting this for a long time." Fuuta stopped his brush strokes and placed his brush down, setting the painted bristles over the ink jar. He then turned towards Hoseok, looking him in the eyes. "We wish that you and Taehyung take Y/n out of the compound." Hoseok nearly flinched as Fuuta directed his eyes downward, back to his desk and a smile pulled his lips in the most saddening way Hoseok had ever seen. "I've said before that Y/n is like a daughter to us both. Taehyung considers her a young sibling and she herself has long since felt the bond and warmth that a family can bring. You do not know it, but even that child is capable of smiling."

Fuuta stood and walked to his window, cracking it open as the sky that was covered in grey clouds would soon be spilling individual flakes from above in the afternoon. The birds of winter singing far too chipperly in the freezing weather.

"For what's to come, I cannot honestly say."

"Taking her off the compound is only half of the mission, isn't it Lord Fuuta?"

"I only expect you and Taehyung to have her experience more locations. She is a demon fighting for humans, she shouldn't be kept inside her entire life where the battle cannot come. Anything after that is solely up to Taehyung."

"Taehyung? Why him specifically?" Fuuta only shook his head, turning to look down at Hoseok and placed a single finger over his curled lips.

"That is a secret, little hunter of mine." He gestured for Hoseok to stand and offer out his hand. Doing as instructed, Fuuta pulled something from his kimono and placed it into Hoseok's palm. A glass flower- a crimson spider lily. "Your final task is to take care of that small flower. Can you do that for me, Hoseok?"

Hoseok nodded even when his head was fogged with confusion. When Fuuta dismissed him, he was passed by Taehyung in the hall. Taehyung seemed to completely ignore Hoseok's presence, rushing past him and down the hall. Hoseok ran into Shiro again and this time instead of just bowing at him like she normally would, she stopped him.

Silently grabbing his wrists, she placed his hands together between her own and closed her eyes. Opening them again, she looked up at Hoseok.

"Please, look after my girl."

Hoseok blinked down at her and before a response could form on his tongue, she dropped his hands and continued on her way. He looked at the glass flower still sat diligently in his palm. Just the sight of the flower made his throat constrict- like he was on the verge of tears.

Just what was going to happen that Fuuta and Shiro were worried about? What were his leaders and best friend hiding from him?

125 notes · View notes

breanime · 5 years

Text

Unsaid (Part Three)

Final part! Thanks for indulging me in this one, you guys. Hope you enjoy!

*gif not mine*

It was a surprisingly good day for Jax so far; he’d been able to secure a deal with the Mayans, sent some cash to Big Otto in the pen, finished producing a new series for the Cara Cara girls, and was able to talk Clay down from doing some sketchy shit to the club. Plus, you had stopped by the clubhouse to bring him lunch, which he ate after he ate you…

…It was a good day.

There was still some shit going on, of course. There was always shit. Hale was sniffing around the club again. He’d gone to your job a few weeks ago to interview you, but Jax had very clearly expressed to him his displeasure with that (he may have punched a hole in Hale’s office door), and that had been that. Gemma was pissed at Clay, which meant he was being a bitch to everyone else, and Tig and Kozik were at each other’s throats—still. Plus, the Nords were back on their bullshit, which meant trouble for the Sons. But, all things considered, Jax was happy with the way things were going. Particularly, he was happy with how things were going with you. So much so, in fact, that he was ready to take the next step with you. Upstairs, hidden in his dorm in his lockbox beside the first bullet he ever got pulled out of him, his passport, his Dad’s half-burnt manuscript, Abel’s first tooth, and a small velvet box containing an engagement ring.

“What kind of cut does she like?” Chibs had asked.

Jax, Chibs, and Opie were standing in the middle of a brightly lit jewelry store, actively ignoring the confused and suspicious looks they were getting from the customers and staff alike.

Jax shrugged. “This one?” He tried, pulling at his kutte, proudly showing his VP patch off.

Opie rolled his eyes, and Chibs chuckled despite himself. “Jesus Christ, Jackie, I meant what kind of diamond does she like? Like the style?”

“Oh shit,” Jax moved over to a display and looked down at the collection of sparkling rings, “I don’t know. Does it matter much?”

Chibs shook his head at the younger man’s stupidity. “To a woman? You bet your ass it matters, boy.”

“How’d the hell you do it the first time?” Opie asked.

“With Wendy?” Jax shrugged one shoulder. “It was easy, she was so loaded all the time, I could’ve given her a half-eaten Ring Pop and she wouldn’t have noticed.” He paused. “Actually, I don’t think I gave her a ring at all.”

“Well, you’re doing it right this time,” Chibs said, placing his hand on Jax’s shoulder encouragingly, “Although now I’m starting to think that maybe we should have brought Lyla or your ma.”

“Lyla’s working,” Opie said, voice tight. Neither Jax nor Chibs asked him to elaborate; they all knew what that meant.

“And Gem?” Chibs asked, effectively changing the subject.

Jax made a face. “If I brought my Mom, she’d be the one who ended up proposing.” He looked down at the display of spinning diamonds with a frown on his face. When the hell did they come up with these?

“That’s true,” Opie chuckled, coming to stand beside Jax, “Wow, that’s… new. When the hell did they come up with spinning jewelry?”

“Right?” Jax agreed.

“How about these?” Chibs pointed to a row of rings off to the side.

Jax leaned over to have a better look. “These aren’t bad,” he caught a saleswoman’s eye as he straightened up. The look she gave him was half-suspicious, half-interested.

“Can I help you…” She eyed their kuttes. “…gentlemen?”

“Yeah,” Jax smiled and watched her stance soften, “I’m looking for a ring to propose with, but there’s so many options…”

The girl’s face lit up, and she clasped her hands together in glee. “Oh, congratulations,” she cheered, her suspicious demeanor completely gone away now, “What’s her name?”

“Y/N,” Jax said, your name coming out of his mouth like a prayer. Just saying it once had him feeling all soft.

“Well I’m Michelle, let me show you some of our newer pieces. Does she have a preference?”

“She likes the pink-looking ones,” Chibs said eagerly, “I saw her showing some of her favorite earrings off to a couple of the girls the other night.”

“Pink?” Michelle asked, tilting her head.

Jax put a hand over his face as Opie huffed out a laugh. “You mean rose-gold, Irishman?” Ope said.

“Yeah,” Jax ignored Chibs and Opie’s arguing in the background and turned to Michelle, “She really likes rose-gold. You got anything in that color?”

It took Jax, Chibs, Opie, and the delightfully helpful Michelle about two hours to pick out the perfect ring. They thanked Michelle and tipped her heavily for her help, and though he was nervous, Jax was excited as well.

He had the ring, now all he had to do was drop to one knee and ask the most beautiful, loyal, amazing woman on Earth to agree to be his wife.

He looked up when Chibs, Tig, Happy, and Bobby came into the clubhouse, laughing and talking. Chibs came up to him and put his arm around Jax’s shoulders.

“Tonight’s the night, right Jackie boy?” He asked.

Jax laughed. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? How much longer are you gonna make us wait?” Tig asked, moving behind the bar and grabbing a few shot glasses.

“Make you wait?” Jax asked, still laughing. “Fuck off, Trager.”

“Never thought I’d see Jax shy away from a woman,” Bobby joked, sliding the now-full shot glasses over to the rest of them.

“I ain’t shying away from shit, fat boy,” Jax took his shot in one gulp.

“So do it tonight,” Tig said, shrugging as he refilled the glass, “Gemma says she’s gonna be throwing a big party tonight, everyone’s gonna be here.”

Jax tapped his fingers on the bar. “Yeah,” he nodded, “Yeah, I’ll do it tonight.”

The guys cheered, throwing their shot glasses up. Tig actually giggled as he filled them up again.

“Just don’t puss out, man,” Happy cautioned, tipping his glass to Jax.

“I won’t brother,” he promised—and he meant it, “I won’t.”

By the time you got to the clubhouse to help Gemma set up, the guys were all gone. You didn’t ask where they were—you never did—you just helped put the tables together and get the place ready for the party. Some of the other girls were there, and they all gave you and Gemma a certain width of respectful distance, only coming up to you to ask if there was anything else they could do. You were still getting used to that—everyone knew you were with Jax, and they treated you accordingly. He was the VP, after all, and he had an…explosive temper. But then again, so did you.

“Baby,” Jax had one hand up and the other in his hair, pushing the blonde locks back, “You gotta talk to me, what’s going on?”

You were in his dorm, slamming as much of your stuff as possible into the big ass purse Gemma had gotten you for your birthday a few weeks back. “Fuck all the way off, Teller,” you growled, shoving one of your shirts into the bag.

“Hey, hey,” he came up behind you, grabbing you by the elbow and spinning you around, “You gotta talk to me, Y/N, I have no idea what’s got you so pissed.”

“Oh, you don’t?” You asked, pushing his chest, “So you have no idea why some sweetbutt is out there wearing MY goddamn shirt? You have no clue how she got something that was in your room and how it got on her body?!” You yelled, pushing him again even though he didn’t move from the action.

Jax blinked. “What—what the hell are you talking about? Some chick’s got the same shirt as you, so you flip your shit at me?”

“No, she’s wearing my shirt that was in your room,” you glared up at him, “So tell me how she got in your room, Jax!”

Jax took a breath. He understood where your anger was coming from, but it was all a misunderstanding. Still, if some guy was walking around in one of his shirts that he’d left at your place, he’d be beyond pissed too. “Y/N,” he spoke carefully, “I swear, I have no idea how this happened.” He watched the doubt, confusion, and hurt flash through your eyes and set his jaw. “But I’m gonna find out.”

You had followed him down into the club and watched as he scanned the small crowd until he saw her. Jax stomped over to her, grabbing her and pushing her against a table. Glass shattered as it hit the floor, and the girl gasped at Jax’s roughness. He pushed his finger into her face and glared down at her. “You got two seconds to open that rancid mouth and tell me where you got that shirt,” he growled.

“I—I got it from your room,” she stammered, eyes wide, “I wanted to surprise you, but one of the other girls saw me and made me leave, I—I just wanted you to notice me, so I took the shirt, I didn’t know—”

“—didn’t know that it belonged to my Old Lady? That I belong to my Old Lady?” He yelled back. “Take that fucking shirt off and get out—NOW!” He roared.

Teary-eyed, she took the shirt off and threw it on the floor. You didn’t move to grab it, you didn’t even want it anymore. The girl turned to run off, but Jax grabbed her by the wrist and stopped her.

“You upset my lady,” he said, voice low, “Apologize.”

She turned to you, lip quivering in a way that was meant to be devasting but fell flat. “I—I’m sorry. I was just trying to get Jax’s attention…”

“And then his dick, am I right?” You asked, stepping up and balling your fist. You felt the anger course through you—you were so sick and tired of chicks like her, coming out of the woodwork and trying to get with your man. None of them really cared about Jax, none of them were equipped to deal with his lifestyle, none of them wanted him for the man he was—they just saw the kutte, not the man. “I’m gonna say this once,” you told her, “And I want you to listen close and tell all the other little kittens that Jax Teller is mine, and if I see your face around here again, I’m gonna break into your house, bathe you in gasoline, and light you on fire.” You smiled, all teeth, and saw her shrink away in fear. “We clear?”

“Y—yes,” she stammered, taking a few small steps back, “I am so, so sorry, Mrs. Teller!” And with that, she was gone.

Jax laughed, wrapping his arm around you and placing a kiss to the side of your head. “Mrs. Teller, huh?” He threw you a wink. “I like the sound of that.”

You rolled your eyes, not telling him that you liked it, too. “Let’s go put my shit back, Teller,” you said, “and then we’re getting a fucking lock for your door.”

After that, your issues with the other girls became pretty much non-existent. You liked the easy rhythm you and Jax had fallen into; there were still things about his lifestyle that were hard for you to grasp, but you knew there wasn’t another person on this planet who loved you more, or who you wanted to be with. So when he walked into the warehouse, followed by his brothers, laughing with his head thrown back, you smiled. Just the sight of him, just the sound of his laughter made you happy. Your grin widened when Jax looked up and locked eyes with you. You heard Gemma sniff from behind you, and when you turned to look at her, she was dabbing her eyes with her sleeve.

“Gem?” You stepped over to her, concern clear in your voice. “You alright?”

She nodded, opening her arms to pull you into a tight hug. “Everything’s fine, baby,” she said, smiling as she stepped back, “I’m just so happy to have you is all.” She reached over and pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’m happy you’re with my Jackson.”

You smiled back, a little confused, but happy. “Me too, Gem.” You giggled when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around you, and the smell of leather and cigarettes and pure, unbridled man hit you. “Hi Jax.”

“Hey darlin’,” he said against your lips, he looked up and grinned at Gemma, “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, baby,” Gemma smiled back, “I’m gonna go get the cake ready.”

“Cake?” You asked, but Gemma was already rushing back to the kitchen, snapping her fingers at two Croweaters and demanding they follow her. You looked over at Jax, who was licking his lips and running a hand through his slicked back hair. “We got a cake?”

He shrugged. “Eh, who knows with Gemma?” He put an arm around your waist and pulled you closer. “Come outside with me?” He asked.

You nodded, letting Jax lead you outside to the picnic tables. He was acting a little strange, he kept looking behind him, and you could swear you saw Opie, Bobby, Chibs, Tig, and Juice peeking in through the window. You sat on the table, hands folded in your lap, as Jax took out a cigarette and lit it. He walked in front of you, pacing, and you knew he was building himself up to say something. You decided to give him a little push.

“Missed you today,” you said, smiling.

He smirked. “That’s the goal, sweetheart.”

You leaned forward a bit, giving him a little glimpse at your cleavage. “Did you miss me?”

Jax laughed, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. “Course I did,” he answered, “That’s why I lured you out here.”

“I thought you just wanted me out here to steal my virtue.”

He stood over you, kissing your nose with a smirk. “Already did. And I ain’t ever getting it back.” He kissed you, lips soft and gentle on yours. “Gotta ask you something,” he said, mouth still on yours, “and I want to ask you the right way, but… I can’t give you a speech.”

“Okay,” you cocked an eyebrow, “I don’t need a speech. Just ask me.” You put both hands on his face, forcing him to meet your eyes. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

Jax let out a breath. You’d never seen him like this before—you’d seen him anxious before, you’ve seen him question himself before, but this… He seemed genuinely nervous. “Tell me you love me,” he said, voice soft.

“I love you,” you said.

He smiled. “I love you, too.” He took another breath before taking a step back…and getting down on one knee.

You stood up, eyes wide, barely registering the intake of breath from inside of the clubhouse (you were pretty sure you heard Tig say “yay!”). You watched as Jax reached into his pocket and took out a small blue box, your heart pounding. He popped the box open to reveal a gorgeous rose-gold ring with a huge diamond in the center and several other diamonds leading up to it. It took your breath away.

“Marry me,” Jax said, voice steady but eyes full of energy, “I love you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I need you. Marry me, Y/N.”

You clasped your hand over your mouth, feeling tears spring to your eyes, and nodded vigorously. You let out a laugh behind your hand when you saw the smile on Jax’s face. “Yes!” You were crying now. “Yes!”

Jax stood up and grabbed you, pulling you into his arms and kissing you as he spun you around. You heard cheering, clapping, and laughter in the background, and before you knew it, you were engulfed in a sea of giddy bikers hugging and congratulating you while Gemma held a huge cake with the Reaper saying “WE’RE GETTING MARRIED” in black frosting. You buried your face in Jax’s shoulder, wordlessly telling him how much you loved him and how grateful you were to have him in life.

Jax pulled back, grinning, and slid the ring onto your finger. Neither of you said anything, you just kissed, blissful and happy and in love, as your friends—and family, now—cheered you on. You knew that this was exactly where you belonged. This was exactly where he belonged.

And even though neither of you ever said it, you knew exactly where this was headed…

…a happily ever after.

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

The end! Heh heh, comments and reblogs are super duper appreciated. Thanks for reading! Here’s the pic of the ring, if you were curious (I’m bad at jewelry, so I just picked the first one that caught my eye lol)

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#jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine #soa #charlie hunnam

382 notes · View notes

critroleing · 5 years

Text

If Campaign 2 went Live in the Middle (like Campaign 1)

Since you guys liked it so much the first time, let’s run through the real world AU where campaign 2 was the one we started in the middle of, but more in depth this time.

There would be a backstory/introduction vid that played in the beginning of episodes and in the break. This is more or less what it would say:

Caleb: All of his backstory will be explained in one chunk, including stuff like the residuum crystals in his arms, his past name, and the concept of scourgers, stuff that was plot twists that came along the way for us. No attention will be paid to how this backstory came out to the characters. Nor who among the characters actually know any of this. We will assume by default that everyone knows.

Nott: this is the story of Veth, mostly. The story of how she got bullied as a child, had a marriage and a baby, got kidnapped and transformed into a goblin but regained her family and now they’re waiting for her in Nicodranas. The story of how she regained them is kind of like the story of how Pike died. Technically it was in game, but it’s so far away it’s essentially backstory.

Beau: The lore we’ve gotten from her is much more sporadic, but they’ll take the pieces of what we have gotten and treat it like the Lore Drops we’ve gotten from people like Caleb and Nott. Her childhood in Kamordah will be explained, along with how she got kidnapped by monks, has a baby brother and mentor named Dairon will all be given as if everyone knows these facts and not like they were carefully dished out to one person here and one person there. (Because of this the fandom’s view of her will be slightly off from who she actually is, and that will lead to a good chunk of fans disliking her, at least until they get the hang of her character.)

Jester will probably be the least affected by this change. We knew her backstory early and met her mother later, which is how this turns out. Her backstory does reach all the way up to include the gnoll follower she met in Asarius and preparations for Travelercon. The Traveler will inevitably turn up somewhere and talk to Jester. He will seem super shady. In other words, nothing much will have changed.

Fjord: Huge changes here. During the time we wouldn’t have seen Fjord has learned who Uk’otoa is, followed him, almost set him free, stopped working for him, lost his powers and started working for another power. That is a lot of developments to be relegated to backstory, and this is on top of the backstory he already had. There will be a brief mention of Fjord having had a different accent in the past, the fandom will not pick up on how big of a deal that is.

Caduceus: His backstory might include the story of the Clays, the Dusts and the Stones, in which case he will feel a lot like Keyleth did. He will sound like he has a Plan, in a way that he did not seem to, watching it episode by episode. We don’t actually know all that much about Caduceus’ personal life, so his backstory presentation might have to go for the big picture stuff.

Yasha: She’ll get her own presentation. We know this because Ashley wasn’t there for the first few episodes of c1 but Pike’s presentation was there anyway. Explanations of her backstory will include Zuala, blacking out and coming to again, the Stormlord, mentions of Obann but not her current situation. That will be explained in the very beginning by Matt, with interruptions form the rest of the gang. The fandom will not understand how serious it is until Yasha comes back.

Molly will not get a presentation. He, in fact, will not be acknowledged until someone makes a reference to him and suddenly the cast will remember that, oh, the audience doesn’t know who he is. The audience understands that this was Taliesin’s previous character, but the extent of his influence on the party will be lost as we have no real feel for Molly’s character or what he could have inspired in others.

Male pronouns will be used when explaining Molly, people will immediately forget that and it becomes pretty common to see and hear Molly depicted as a woman and then people correcting them. The Ruby of the Sea will take some explaining, but she’s definitely one of the people we have to meet as soon as possible. “She’s the best lay ever, you guys,” Laura informs us. We do not get the joke.

Someone remembers Pumat Sol exists. They try to explain him. It’s really hard. Matt does an accent and the fandom enjoys it.

The fact that the Mighty Nein are already established in Xhorhas feels alienating to a lot of viewers. Apparently they’re heroes of the Dynasty? And have a house? With a tree on it? And Beau’s mentor Dairon is there?

So the reason they are heroes is because they gave the Bright Queen some sort of artefact. The fandom is unsure of what it was or where it came from, but it may be that the Empire has another one. The larger lore of how the Dens and Beacons work is largely lost, and with it a lot of understanding about the larger world and the war.

At some point far in the future it comes out that they’ve already met Trent Ikithon, Caleb’s main bad guy. Nothing much seemed to happen. Lots of meta about how that meeting was going to happen has to be thrown out.

Jester has pets. Sprinkle doesn’t get mentioned a lot, but at least he’s on adventures with them. There is also Nugget, who lives Marion and we eventually get to meet. We don’t know where they came from, presumably Jester had them the whole time, like childhood pets.

They also adopted a baby bird for a while. They say it could mimic speech? The people who know what kenku are have their suspicions, everyone else thinks it’s another pet.

Beau has some trauma related to some academic by the name of Professor Thaddeus. Much meta has been written about who he is and what happened between him and Beau.

They know a gentleman who’s blue and sweaty. He is also maybe Jester’s dad. Jury’s out on that one.

The Empire feels so far away, and so Other. People praise Matt for making the humans the bad guys and the Drow the good guys.

The fact that they were pirates once comes up in conversation. A joke is made about it. Nothing is explained.

Eventually it comes out that it had things do do with Fjord’s patron, there was a sexy cult leader pirate with a French accent who Fjord slept with, and they got banished from the pirate island within a day.

They still technically have French accent pirate’s ship. It’s called the Ball Eater. They go there once and we meet the Tortle bagpiper tattoo artist who runs it. His name is Orly. The fandom loses its’ shit.

The ship is named that because of Fjord apparently. He ate some orbs once, so they say.

Fjord also ate a sword once? Was he in a circus? Yasha and that Molly person were in a circus, was Fjord there too?

Jester carries around a an erotica book. Where it comes from no one knows, but it doesn’t seem out of character for her so we roll with it.

They have had an encounter with a dragon, an ancient white one, but they haven’t killed any.

Except maybe they have?

Beau has slept with two (2) whole guest characters.

Jester casts Sending to talk to a guy. Matt answers in a very sexy voice. We think the guy is an NPC. He’s not.

A sweet lady once sent actual letters with actual, physical gifts to them.

After that there are more than a few bets on what other NPC’s are actually guest characters being jaegered for the moment.

Why are they even called the Mighty Nein? The cast explains that it had to do with a session in the early levels when they were rolling a lot of nines, and it sounds funny when Caleb says it. It was probably funny if you were there, but for the fandom it just sounds kinda dumb.

Nott might get some more shipping attention, given that she’s actually a halfling. She also might not, because she’s both married and ugly.

Fjord and Jester still share a deep bond, but the more overt parts of Jester’s crush that were prominent in the earlier episodes seem to have mellowed out by the time we meet them. Fjord and Jester also haven’t, percentage wise, spent more time together as a pair than a group, so that dynamic isn’t really seen. Fjorester exists, but has a very different vibe to it.

Widomauk does not exist.

Beauyasha might exist, if only because they are the only two confirmed wlw in the group. It’s more of an idea until they meet and chemistry can be measured of course.

Beaujester exists, but very much in the ‘look at their emotional chemistry, wouldn’t it be nice’. In a way, not much has changed, you just have less of a basis to ship on.

Fjorclay might be big for a while, given how important Caduceus has been for Fjord’s journey lately.

Videos resurface of the cast playing at home before this campaign became public. Fjord has a Texan accent. Nott calls herself a little goblin girl. That is a really weird Caduceus voice. Life feels strange.

Sam asks Liam on their podcast what would be the worst character to play in D&D, just the worst. Liam suggests goblin. Seems like he was thinking worst as in most morally dubious.

Nott rolls a natural 1 and shoots herself in the foot with her own crossbow. That’s not good, the fandom thinks, what if she got killed doing damage to herself? Besides, that would look really dumb.

We will never know about Spurt.

Jester, Fjord and Yasha got kidnapped by slavers once, we find out alarmingly late. They seem fine though, so that turns into another trivia fact.

Actually no, that’s probably mentioned in passing when they’re explaining how Molly died. It doesn’t really hit home with most if the fandom though.

Unclear where Caleb can teleport to. Generally assumed that he knows at least one teleport circle in the Empire.

In this world Vox Machina probably doesn’t exist at all. At least not online. Maybe they played all of that campaign at home, so we get occasional references to ‘their first game’ or ‘their home game’ but have no context for that either.

In which case you could make a whole category for references to the first campaign we wouldn’t understand.

Like why Taliesin is explaining how the guns work.

Or the ruins of Draconia down south.

Or why the team were so hyped to go to Whitestone.

Or maybe this was their first campaign after all, and none of these things have any additional context.

Nott will be looked at mostly as a halfling mother. Instead of discussions about if she’s even old enough to be an adult she’s considered older than the rest, and a large contingent of the fandom is mad at her for adventuring when she has a child waiting for her at home.

Caleb has at least two homebrew spells. They are eventually referred to as Dunamancy. The fandom realises the level of worldbuilding Matt’s on in that he’s made an entire new school of magic.

Feel free to add more. I’m sure there’s stuff I haven’t considered out there.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr spoilers #cr meta #critical role meta #what if cr2 started in the middle #like cr1 did

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agrinsosardonic · 4 years

Text

Wicked Little Thing

A/U: CloudxReno

Also on: A03 and Fanfiction.net

Reno wasn’t like the other boys.

He solidified that when he showed up at Cloud’s window in the early morning hours on the first day of his 18th summer. He had something to show him. Of the utmost importance. Cloud, with half opened blue eyes stared at the boy smirking in the window. The heat of the sun already suffocating despite just breaking through the dark clouds of night. Cloud’s skin felt like rubber. Sticky wet. Like something was crawling through the little blonde hairs on his arms.

But still, he dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and snuck out of the sleeping house to join the other boy. Reno didn’t say much, but it’s rare for him to use any words. Follow me. Died in the humid air right as it grazed Cloud’s ears. And Reno already walking towards the forest. Cloud thought about arguing. Or bitchin’, as Reno called it. But arguing with Reno was as useful as fist fighting a brick wall. The brick wall always wins. Cloud laments this fact, silently of course, as he steps through mud and sticks towards an undisclosed location.

The trees like statues as they provide minimal relief from the ball of flame in the sky.

The air smelled stale and wet.

Like the mold that grows in the boys home, where Reno lives.

The stench that sticks to their clothes; a tell-tale sign of the abandoned.

But Cloud noted, the one time Reno allowed him close enough he could take in his smell, the other boy reminded him of flames.

They come upon a clearing. And Cloud gagged when death crept into the air.

Rotting eggs and sulfur. Cloud pulled his shirt over his nose to filter the smell, though even his mother’s soap proved to be a pathetic barrier. Nothing really prepared Cloud for the stench of a floating dead body baking in the hot sun. At the edge of the swamp, half of the blue flesh bobbed in the water. It’s clothes tattered and torn; button down and no pants. Bloated beyond recognition. Veins like a road map twisting along milky skin.

Cloud darts blue eyes towards Reno. The other boy stared at the body; his face like stone never acknowledging the pungent stench.

“Gotta get used to dead bodies if ya gonna be in SOLDIER,” he said in a thick accent that Cloud could never place, but was one more thing that separated him from the other boys. Reno’s lips tugged into a smirk.

Cloud tried breathing through his mouth; but it tasted like spoiled meat. And he knew if he threw up, Reno would never let him live it down. He swallowed the bile that burned in his throat. And didn’t say another word.

The sounds of summer embraced the scene. The animals that lurk in the swamp send ripples of waves crashing to the surface as they feed. Birds squawk overhead. Breaking twigs in the distance. Mosquitoes and flies buzzed too close. The hum pierced Cloud’s ear drum as he tried to swat them away.

The heat had them both sweating through white shirts. Reno pulled his over his head, revealing the lean muscles and faded bruises. Like dying fireworks in a peach skyline. And Cloud couldn’t help but gaze along his body. Taking inventory every line and freckle until tattooed to his brain. Reno cast his two pearls of lake colored eyes upon the other boy, curious like a fox.

“Comeon,” he drawled, “we’re pullin’ it out.”

“Uuh,” Cloud stuttered, dropping his shirt from his mouth, “What?”

Reno walked closer to the body- Cloud impressed that the other boy could handle the smell- and grabbed a swollen ankle. “I wanna burn it.”

“W-what?” Cloud repeated.

“Fuckin’ what,” Reno snaps, “I ain’t speakin’ a different language.”

Reno hated speaking at all. This was the most string of words he’s spoken in a while. Cloud liked the sound of his voice. Rough like coal. Bitter like whiskey he pretended he didn’t drink when the sun went down. Not like the other boys with their clean grammar and smooth inflections uttered through pearly white teeth. Not like Clouds, who flumbles through words like he’s running through boulders. Getting caught up. Tongue too big for his mouth. Swollen.

Cloud huffed. And followed the order. The smell only grew impossible to handle. The smaller of the two boys coughing and hacking as he tried fruitlessly to shield his nose with his shirt again. Reno watched him the whole time with hooded eyes that darkened under the mess of red hair. Cloud tried to focus on the task. And not how Reno scanned his body. Resting on the bit of skin exposed from pulling up his shirt.

Cloud hesitated. The flesh that held together the foot to ankle looked diseased. Black. Putrid. He didn’t want to touch it, not at all. The amount of bacteria eating away at the stinking flesh was enough to make Cloud sick. But he could still feel Reno’s burning gaze. And he doesn’t want to look like a coward in front of him. He wrapped his fingers around the skin- and it feels like wet, slimy, clay. He pulled and the flesh peeled away from worn bone. Slipped from his hands like thick water.

He yelled and jumped back, tripping over a rock.

Reno’s laugh sounded like razor blades. He’s pacing around the clearing, holding his stomach. And if Cloud had an ounce of courage, he might swing at him.

“Fuck you!” He shouted instead.

“Poor lil bird.” Reno regained his composure. His toothy smile revealed two sharp canines.

Cloud scrambled back to his feet. “You’re sick, man.”

The red-head shrugs, wiping his hands on dirty blue jeans. He pulls out his crumbled pack of smokes and places a cigarette between his thin lips.

“Can I bum one?” Cloud asked.

Reno ignited the match, the flame orange and yellow casts haunting shadows across his face. “No.”

“Why?”

He took a drag, “Waste.”

Cloud knew what he meant. “I heard everyone smokes in SOLDIER. I got to learn right?”

“Who told ya that? Zack?” Reno scrunched his face like the name tasted like poison on his tongue. Cloud nodded and Reno just shook his head. “Zack has half a brain and it ain’t in his head.”

Cloud doesn’t respond. Eyes wilted to the dirt ground; a large centipede crawled over his shoe and he kicked it into the lake where it can be a gators snack.

“You can’t burn the body, by the way,” he said. “It’s too wet. It won’t catch.”

Reno grimaced in response. Cloud admired the scowl on the other boy’s face. How it compliments the rest of his rough edges. He watched him take slow drags of his cigarette. How the black smoke slowly escaped his lips, obstructing his features except for those two eyes that glow against smoke. Like the stars in the midnight sky.

Reno was a house fire.

And maybe Cloud felt that way because the first time he saw him Mrs. Fost house was engulfed. Glowing orange embers fell from the sky like rain. Hissed and singed when they landed on the cobble stoned street. Everyone watched. Some helped. The good ol’ boys, like Zack, rallied each other and grabbed water from the well to put out the fire.

Cloud stood hypnotized by the dancing reds that ate at the flimsy wood, which scorched the air. And he thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen up to that point. He wanted to feel as powerful as a fire. Eat away at the things weaker than him. But Cloud wasn’t a house fire. Cloud was the wood structure collapsing like a dying star.

He heard the striking of a match. Turned towards the sound.

Saw a boy, with hair the color of blood, bringing fire to the cigarette between his lips.

He looked like danger. Cut from metal. Sharp like the switchblade in his pocket.

And then, like now under the muted morning light, in a swamp that reeks of death, Cloud can’t stop staring at the boy. Who appeared a year ago like a phantom under the flames of destruction. Cloud gravitated to him like he was the sun. And found only darkness. A red dwarf. Two minutes from midnight and ready for armageddon. And that’s all he knew.

Reno’s past a mystery but everyone tried predicting his future.

Boys like that end up in the gutter.

The mothers whispered.

Filthy monsters. Wicked little things. All end up dead before eighteen.

Zack and the rest of the boys warned him much the same.

You hang out with trash you start to smell.

But Reno smelled like burning wood, nicotine, and pomegranates.

Reno was fire and Cloud wanted to burn.

Thunder cracked. Cloud looked into the darkening sky. “It’s going to rain.”

“So?” Reno grabbed a long stick and stomped back towards the body. “Afraid of gettin’ wet?” He winks, “Little birds can’t fly in rain?”

He plunged the stick into the bloated stomach of cadaver. Black ooze pushed out. Cloud swore he heard a wheeze before another boom of thunder. He flinched as Reno dug the wood deeper until it stood on its own.

“Wh-why did you do that?”

Reno snapped his eyes at Cloud. And shrugged, again. Cloud pursed his lips looking for words. But found vacant expressions. Reno didn’t need to explain himself; he’s red hot anger. And everything he does is a result of that.

“You gotta learn to stab shit if you wanna be a SOLDIER.” Reno said and revealed a switchblade from his back pocket. “Comeon.”

Cloud hesitated. “W..Why?”

“I just said why, fuck.”

The sky opened and cold rain cooled the hot earth. The drops slammed against the bloated body; singing through the dense forest and murky swamp. Tap tap tap. Rapid like bullets.

“I won’t be stabbing something that’s already dead, right?” Cloud shifted.

Reno removed the dead cigarette from his mouth, flicking it into the swamp and approached Cloud. His feet sunk into the mud with every step; but as if blessed, he doesn’t stumble. And the blonde can’t seem to move, even though Reno’s giving him this look; like an alligator lurking below the surface of the swamp, ready to bite his head off. He stopped too close. Cloud could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The bones of his rib cage that peek through the skin. The small cuts. The large black and blues. From one too many fights with those good boys.

To Cloud’s surprise, they’re the same height. Blue green meets slate blue eyes. Reno always gave off the impression of being impossibly larger than life. Cloud crushed under his gaze. But in the pouring rain, in the morning light, with the smell of rotting flesh and still water, they were equals.

Reno grabbed Cloud’s wrist, with a sudden movement that it stole the blonde’s heartbeat, and placed the hilt of the blade in his wet palm.

“Stab me.”

“What!?” Cloud didn’t stutter this time. He blurted the words from his mouth with a frantic tone. He tried to move back but Reno held him firm. Rooted to the ground. “No w-way!”

“Gotta learn.” Reno grinned something vile. He closed Cloud’s fingers around the worn wood, and pressed the sharpened knife against his own side. Guiding the other boy. His skin tickling the blade like a dar. “Right here.”

“Y-y-you’re fucki-in nuts, Re.”

“You think this my first time bein’ stabbed?”

“No, bu-t-” Cloud could only shake his head, “I ain’t stabbing you. No w-way.”

Reno frowned, bringing Cloud and his wrist and the blade to his neck. “How ‘bout here?”

“That’s w-worse!” Cloud panted. “You’ll die.”

“You can’t kill me, lil bird.” And Reno laughed. A devastated laugh that sounded more like the lightning that flashed overhead. Blinding Cloud for a moment. But only a moment. And he saw electricity in the redhead eyes. And felt his skin rise towards the cement sky. And he didn’t know if the shock was from the angry god above or the boy before him, yanking him closer. Stumbling over feet. His collision with Reno- skin to skin- proceeded the thunder.

“Hm,” Reno purrs, and Cloud felt his breath against his lips. “Ya never gonna make SOLDIER.”

Cloud growled, “F-Fuck you, Reno.”

Reno squeezed Cloud’s wrist. Tight. Until he was forced to drop the knife. “Ya finally gettin mad, huh?”

But Cloud stared into Reno’s eyes- too busy to get mad. Trying to focus on anything else besides Reno. Not his lips and how they were slightly opened and just slightly inviting. And that he smells of smoldering flame that eats at an entire forest. And his hand feels rough around his wrist. And Cloud’s aware of the lack of blood traveling to his fingers that they are going numb.

Reno relaxed his grip. Moving his hand up Cloud’s, over the scars that littered his calloused fingers. Burns. “I like it when ya mad,” he whispered, “ya more interestin’.”

And he’s giving Cloud the same look he flashed him at Mrs. Fost’s house fire. When the smoke around his face cleared. And Cloud saw the dramatic curves of his face. His slanted auburn eyebrows that clashed against the red hues of his hair. Mesmerized by the way his eyes glowed- literally glowed- brighter than the fire that consumed the wood house over the old women’s feverish cries. And Cloud was, himself, engulfed by Reno’s gaze that he didn’t acknowledge how the strange boy traveled from Cloud’s face, down his chest, to his bandaged right hand that blistered underneath the cloth.

Not until the red-head curled his lips into a wicked little smirk.

Under the rain, the hot rain that stuck to his body like grime, Reno had the same look, Curiosity mixed with bloodlust.

Or…

Just regular lust.

And Cloud couldn’t stand another minute not knowing if Reno tasted like he smelled-

Pressed his lips against the red-heads, snaking his fingers into his wet hair to pull him closer. Impossibly close.

He expected a fist in his face, rocking him from this earth. Instead, Reno returns the kiss twice as forceful and with more practice. Wrapping his lean arms around Cloud’s small frame. Gliding his nails through the white fabric.

Cloud opened his mouth so their tongues can meet,

And he tasted like tar. And electricity. And sulfur.

They managed to get off the shirt that clung to Cloud’s body like suction cups. And they were back to skin and mess of limbs and lips.

And teeth that bit on Cloud’s lip; and he moaned from his throat a sound that rushed through Reno’s body like a shockwave. Then fall to the floor. Cushioned by the mud.

They tarnished their bodies in dirt and filth. Rough hands digging into flesh. And Cloud couldn’t keep track of how many times Reno’s name left his bruised lips through harsh breathes.

And he didn’t stutter.

He memorized that name. Branded it in his brain.

The only word he knew.

The red-head sat up, straddling Cloud’s hips under him. Pressing his hand firm on his chest to keep him on the ground. And blue-green eyes stare at Reno. Flushed with pleading desire. But he’s preoccupied with the scars on Cloud’s chest.

And if Reno was faded fireworks during the sun set.

Cloud was the scorched woods during sun rise.

Old burns splashed over his pale skin. Some still pink and angry. Other’s that blended into his flesh.

And Reno smiled.

His first real smile.

And Cloud thought he looked like the devil.

He dropped down, their torsos meeting. Lips just barely touching. “I knew it,” he whispers.

And he figured it out the night they first met. That Cloud was a match that needed a spark.

Their lips met again. Clothes torn off.

The rain and mud made their bodies slick. And Cloud dug his nails into Reno’s back while he hissed into the blonde's neck. Nipping and biting skin, adding crimson to muted colors.

It was the tangled limbs- how Cloud didn’t know where he ended and Reno began- that had raw breathless gasps clawing at his throat.

And they were gripped in euphoria that they forgot about the body decaying next to them.

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

The rain stopped. The heat rose from the soil and the earth felt like an oven. Reno stood over the body; his jeans stained with mud and shirt over his shoulder. Cloud walked next to him, still trying to adjust his shorts, with his own shirt balled in his pocket- his mom will have a word with him when he gets home, for sure. But that would have to wait. Right now, he relished the tingles that touched every part of his body, while he watched the red-head. New scars painted his canvas. Long streaks of red that matched the ones on Cloud’s body. And the blonde felt the throb of the bite on his shoulder; and it burned like the fire that decorated his flesh.

He didn’t even care that Reno had marked him-

Like the house fire, Reno was the most beautiful thing he had even seen in eighteen years on this dying planet. And Cloud wanted every bite, and burn, the red head could offer him.

Reno grabbed his pack. Placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it with his last match.

He turned to Cloud, removed the stick and gently placed it between Cloud’s partial opened lips. The other boy blinked several times in confusion, as Reno replaced it with another one, and leaned into Cloud’s ember to light it.

The sound of searing fire touched his ears.

His whole body twitched.

Cloud smiled, couldn’t help it, and took a sharp inhale. Blowing the smoke right at Reno, who smirked.

“Thought you said it would be a waste?” Cloud sing-songed.

“Heh, ya ain’t gettin’ into SOLDIER anymore. Don’t matter.”

“W-why do you say that?” Cloud cocked his head, and in mid-morning light, he looked like an innocent boy filled with naivety.

But Reno knew better. “They don’t care for wicked little things like us.”

They shared a look under the heat of the sun that burned their skin. A look they shared against the warming flames. Where Cloud saw him for the first time and knew he needed to understand as much as he could about the mysterious boy who appeared from thin air. Who was filthy. Abandoned. A discarded trash.

But stunning. Like a god.

He was right.

Reno wasn’t like the other boys.

And neither was Cloud.

#cleno #fanfiction #cloud strife #reno the turk #writing #cloud x reno #also on ao3 #also on fanfiction.net

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pantology · 5 years

Text

Jax and how the moon was stolen from the sky

Once, long ago and far from here, there was a boy named Jax, and he fell in love with the moon. Jax was a strange boy. A thoughtful boy. A lonely boy. He lived in an old house at the end of a broken road. Everyone who saw Jax could tell there was something different about him. He didn’t play. He didn’t run around getting into trouble. And he never laughed.

Some folk said, “what can you expect of a boy who lives alone in a broken house and the end of a broken road?” Some said the problem was that he never had any parents. Some said he had a drop of faerie blood in him and that kept his heart from ever knowing joy.

He was an unlucky boy. There was no denying that. When he got a new shirt, he would tear a hole in it. If you gave him a sweet, he would drop it in the road. Some said the boy was born under a bad star, that he was cursed, that he had a demon riding his shadow. Other folks simply felt bad for him, but not so bad that they cared to help.

One day, a tinker came down the road to Jax’s house. This was something of a surprise, because the road was broken, so nobody ever used it.

“Hoy there, boy!”, the tinker shouted, leaning on his stick. “Can you give an old man a drink?”

Jax brought out some water in a cracked clay mug. The tinker drank and looked down at the boy. “You don’t look happy, son. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter,” Jax said. “It seems to me a person needs something to be happy about, and I don’t have any such thing.”

Jax said this in a tone so flat and resigned that it broke the tinker’s heart. “I’m betting I have something in my pack that will make you happy,”he said to the boy. “what do you say to that?”

“I’d say that if you make me happy, I’ll be grateful indeed,” Jax said. “But I haven’t got any money to spend, not a penny to borrow to beg or to lend.”

“Well, that is a problem,” said the tinker. “I am in business, you see.”

“If you can find something in your pack that will make me happy,” Jax said. “I will give you my house. It’s old and broken, but it’s worth something.”

The tinker looked up at the huge old house, one short step away from being a mansion. “It is at that,” he said.

Then Jax looked up at the tinker, his small face serious. “And in you can’t make me happy, what then? Will you give me the packs off your back, the stick in your hand, and the hat off your head?”

Now the tinker was fond of a wager, and he knew a good bet when he heard one. Besides, his packs were bulging with treasures from all over the four corners, and he was confident he could impress a small boy. So he agreed, and the two of them shook hands.

First, the tinker brought out a bag of marbles all the colours of sunlight. But they didn’t make Jax happy. The tinker brought out a ball and cup. But that didn’t make Jax happy.

The tinker went through his first pack. It was full of ordinary things that would have pleased an ordinary boy: dice, puppets, a folding knife, a rubber ball. But nothing made Jax happy.

So, the tinker moved on to his second pack. It held rarer things. A gear soldier that marched if you wound him. A bright set of paints with four different brushes. A book of secrets. A piece of iron that fell from the sky…

This went on all day and late into the night, and eventually the tinker began to worry. He wasn’t worried about losing his stick. But his packs were how he made his living, and he was rather fond of his hat.

Eventually, he realized he was going to have to open his third pack. It was small, and it only had three items in it. But they were things he only showed to his wealthiest customers. Each was worth much more than a broken house. But still, he thought, better to lose one than to lose everything and his hat besides.

Just as the tinker was reaching for his third pack, Jax pointed. “What is that?”

“Those are spectacles,” the tinker said. “They’re a second pair of eyes that help a person see better.” He picked them up and settled them onto Jax’s face. Jax looked around. “Things look the same,” he said. Then he looked up. “What are those?”

“Those are stars,” the tinker said.

“I’ve never seen them before.” He turned, still looking up. Then he stopped stock still. “What is that?”

“That is the moon,” the tinker said.

“I think that would make me happy,” Jax said.

“Well, there you go,” the tinker said, relieved. “You have your spectacles…”

“Looking at it doesn’t make me happy,” Jax said. “No more than looking at my dinner makes me full. I want it. I want to have it for my own.”

“I can’t give you the moon,” the tinker said. “She doesn’t belong to me. She belongs only to herself.”

“Only the moon will do,” Jax said.

“Well, I can’t help you with that,” the tinker said with a heavy sigh. “My packs and everything in them are yours.”

Jax nodded, unsmiling.

“And here’s my stick. A good sturdy one it is, too.”

Jax took it in his hand.

“I don’t suppose,” the tinker said reluctantly, “that you’d mind leaving me with my hat? I’m rather fond of it…”

“It’s mine by right,” Jax said. “If you were fond of it, you shouldn’t have gambled it away.” The tinker scowled as he handed over his hat.

So Jax settled the hat on his head, took the stick in his hand, and gathered up the tinker’s packs. When he found the third one, still unopened, he asked, “What’s in there?”

“Something for you to choke on,” the tinker spat.

“No need to get tetchy over a hat,” the boy said. “I have greater need of it than you. I have a long way to walk if I’m to find the moon and make her mine.”

“But for the taking of my hat, you could have had my help in catching her,” the tinker said.

“I will leave you with the broken house,” Jax said. “That is something. Though it will be up to you to mend it.”

Jax put the spectacles on his face and started walking down the road in the direction of the moon. He walked all night, only stopping when she went out of slight behind the mountains.

So Jax walked day after day, endlessly searching...

Jax had no trouble following the moon because in those days the moon was always full. She hung in the sky, round as a cup, bright as a candle, all unchanging.

Jax walked for days and days until his feet grew sore. He walked for months and months and his back grew tired beneath his packs. He walked for years and years and grew up tall and lean and hard and hungry.

When he needed food, he traded out of the tinker’s packs. When his shoes wore thin he did the same. Jax made his own way, and he grew up clever and sly.

Through it all, Jax thought about the moon. When he began to think he couldn’t go another step, he’d put on his spectacles and look up at her, round bellied in the sky. And in time he came to think he was in love.

Eventually the road Jax followed passed through Tinuë, as all roads do. Still he walked, following the Great Stone Road east toward the mountains.

The road climbed and climbed. He ate the last of his bread and the last of his cheese. He drank the last of his water and the last of his wine. He walked for days without either, the moon growing larger in the night sky above him.

Just as his strength was failing, Jax climbed over a rise and found an old man sitting in the mouth of a cave. He had a long grey beard and a long grey robe. He had no hair on the top of his head, or shoes on the bottom of his feet. His eyes were open and his mouth was closed.

His face lit up when he was Jax. He came to his feet and smiled. “Hello, hello,” he said, his voice bright and rich. “You’re a long way from anywhere. How is the road to Tinuë?”

“It’s long,” Jax said. “And hard and weary.”

The old man invited Jax to sit. He brought him water and goat’s milk and fruit to eat. Jax ate hungrily, then offered the man a pair of shoes from his pack in trade.

“No need, no need,” the old man said happily, wiggling his toes. “But thanks for offering them all the same.”

Jax shrugged. “As you will. But what are you doing here, so far from everything?”

“I found this cave when I was out chasing the wind,” the old man said. “I decided to stay because this place is perfect for what I do.”

“And what is that?” Jax asked.

“I am a listener,” the old man said. “I listen to things to see what they have to say.”

“Ah,” Jax said carefully. “And this is a good place for that?”

“Quite good. Quite excellent good,” the old man said. “You need to get a long ways away from people before you can learn to listen properly.” He smiled. “What brings you out to my little corner of the sky?”

“I am trying to find the moon.”

“That’s easy enough,” the old man said, gesturing to the sky. “We see her most every night, weather permitting.”

“No, I’m trying to catch her. If I could be with her, I think I could be happy.”

The old man looked at him seriously. “You want to catch her, do you?” How long have you been chasing?”

“More years and miles than I can count.”

The old man closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded to himself. “I can hear it in your voice. This is no passing fancy.” He leaned close and pressed his ear to Jax’s chest. He closed his eyes for another long moment and was very still. “Oh,” he said softly. “How sad. Your heart is broken and you’ve never even had a chance to use it.”

Jax moved around, a little uncomfortable. “If you don’t mind my asking,” Jax said, “what’s your name?”

“I don’t mind you asking,” the old man said. “So long as you don’t mind me not telling. If you had my name, I’d be under your power, wouldn’t I?”

“Would you?” Jax asked.

“Of course.” The old man frowned. “That is the way of things. Though you don’t seem to be much for listening, it’s best to be careful. If you managed to catch hold of even just a piece of my name, you’d have all manner of power over me.”

Jax wondered if this man might be able to help him. While he didn’t seem to be terribly ordinary, Jax knew he was on no ordinary errand. If he’d been trying to catch a cow, he would ask a farmer’s help. But to catch the moon, perhaps he needed the help of an odd old man. “You said you used to chase the wind,” Jax said. “Did you ever catch it?”

“In some ways, yes,” the old man said. “And in other ways, no. There are many ways of looking at that question, you see.”

“Could you help me catch the moon?”

“I might be able to give you some advice,” the old man said reluctantly. “But first you should think this over, boy. When you love something, you have to make sure it loves you back, or you’ll bring about no end of trouble chasing it.”

“How can I find out if she loves me?” Jax asked.

“You could try listening,” the old man said, almost shyly. “It works wonders, you know. I could teach you how.”

“How long would that take?”

“A couple years,” the old man said. “Give or take. It depends on if you have a knack for it. It’s tricky, proper listening. But once you have it, you’ll know the moon down to the bottoms of her feet.”

Jax shook his head. “Too long. If I catch her, I can talk with her. I can make –“

“Well that’s part of your problem right there,” the old man said. “You don’t really want to catch her. Not really. Will you trail her through the sky? Of course not. You want to meet her. That means you need the moon to come to you.”

“How can I do that?” he said.

The old man smiled. “Well that’s the question, isn’t it? What do you have that the moon might want? What do you have to offer the moon?”

“Only what I have in these packs.”

“That’s not quite what I meant,” the old man muttered. “But we might as well take a look at what you’ve brought, too.”

The old hermit looked through the first pack and found many practical things. The contents of the second pack were more expensive and rare, but no more useful.

Then the old man saw the third pack. “And what do you have in there?”

“I’ve never been able to get it open,” Jax said. “The knot is too much for me.”

The hermit closed his eyes for a moment, listening. Then he opened his eyes and frowned at Jax. “The knot says you tore at it. Pricked it with a knife. Bit it with your teeth.”

Jax was surprised. “I did,” he admitted. “I told you, I tried everything to get it open.”

“Hardly everything,” the hermit said scornfully. He lifted the pack until the knotted cord was in front of his face. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “But would you open up?” He paused. “Yes, I apologize. He won’t do it again.”

The knot unraveled and the hermit opened the pack. As he looked inside, his eyes widened and he let out a low whistle.

But when the old man spread the pack open on the ground, Jax’s shoulders slumped. He had been hoping for money, or gems, some treasure he could give the moon as a gift. But all the pack held was a bent piece of wood, a stone flute, and a small iron box.

Of these, only the flute caught Jax’s attention. It was made of a pale green stone. “I had a flute when I was younger,” Jax said. “But it broke and I could never make it right again.”

“They’re all quite impressive,” the hermit said.

“The flute is nice enough,” Jax said with a shrug. “But what use is a piece of wood and a box too small for anything practical?”

The hermit shook his head. “Can’t you hear them? Most things whisper. These things shout.” He pointed at the piece of crooked wood. “That is a folding house unless I miss my guess. Quite a nice one too.”

“What’s a folding house?”

“You know how you can fold a piece of paper on itself, and each time it gets smaller? A folding house is like that. Except it’s a house, of course.”

Jax took hold of the piece of crooked wood and tried to straighten it. Suddenly he was holding two pieces of wood that resembled the beginning of a doorframe.

“Don’t unfold it here!” the old man shouted. “I don’t want a house outside my cave, blocking my sunlight!”

Jax tried to push the two pieces of wood, back together. “Why can’t I fold it back up?”

“Because you don’t know how, I expect,” the old man said plainly. “I suggest you wait until you know where you want it before you unfold it the rest of the way.”

Jax set the wood down carefully, then picked up the flute. “Is this special too?” He put it to his lips, and blew a simple thrill like a Will’s Widow.

Now everyone knows the Will’s Widow is also called a nightjar. So it isn’t out when the sun is shining. Despite this, a dozen nightjars flew down and landed all around Jax, looking at him curiously and blinking in the bright sunlight.

“It seems to be more than the usual flute,” the old man said.

“And the box?” Jax reached out to pick it up. It was dark, and cold, and small enough that he could close his hand around it.

The old man shivered and looked away from the box. “It’s empty.”

“How can you tell without seeing inside?”

“By listening,” he said. “I’m amazed you can’t hear it yourself. It’s the emptiest thing I’ve ever heard. It echoes. It’s meant for keeping things inside.”

“All boxes are meant for keeping things inside.”

“And all flutes are meant to play beguiling music,” the old man pointed out. “But this flute is moreso. The same is true with this box.”

Jax looked at the box for a moment, then set it down carefully and began to tie up the third pack with the three treasures inside it. “I think I’ll be moving on,” Jax said.

“Are you sure you won’t consider staying for a month or two?” the old man said. “You could learn to listen just a bit more closely. Useful thing, listening.”

“You’ve given me some things to think about,” Jax said. “And I think you’re right, I shouldn’t be chasing the moon. I should make the moon come to me.”

“That’s not what I actually said,” the old man murmured. But he did so in a resigned way. Skilled listener that he was, he knew he wasn’t being heard. Skilled listener that he was, he knew he wasn’t being heard.

Jax set off the next morning, following the moon higher into the mountains. Eventually he found a large, flat piece of ground nestled high among the tallest peaks.

Jax brought out the crooked piece of wood and, piece by piece, began to unfold the house. With the whole night in front of him, he was hoping to have it finished well before the moon began to rise.

But the house was much larger than he had guessed, more a mansion than a simple cottage. What’s more, unfolding it was more complicated than he had expected. By the time the moon reached the top of the sky, he was still far from being finished.

Perhaps Jax hurried because of this. Perhaps he was reckless. Or perhaps it was just that Jax was unlucky as ever.

In the end the result was the same: the mansion was magnificent, huge and sprawling. But it didn’t fit together properly. There were stairways that led sideways instead of up. Some rooms had too few walls, or too many. Many rooms had no ceiling, and high above they showed a strange sky full of unfamiliar stars.

Everything about the place was slightly skewed. In one room you could look out the window at the springtime flowers, while across the hall the windows were filmed with winter’s frost. It could be time for breakfast in the ballroom, while twilight filled a nearby bedroom.

Because nothing in the house was true, none of the doors or windows fit tight. They could be closed, even locked, but never made fast. And as big as it was, the mansion had a great many doors and windows, so there was a great many ways both in and out.

Jax paid no mind to any of this. Instead he raced to the top of the highest tower and put the flute to his lips.

He poured out a sweet song into the clear night sky. No simple bird trill, this was a song that came from his broken heart. It was strong and sad. It fluttered like a bird with a broken wing.

Hearing it, the moon came down to the tower. Pale and round and beautiful, she stood before Jax in all her glory, and for the first time in his life he felt a single breath of joy.

They spoke then, on the top of the tower, Jax telling her of his life, his wager, and his long, lonely journey. The moon listened, and laughed, and smiled.

But eventually she looked longingly toward the sky.

Jax knew what this foretold. “Stay with me,” he pleaded. “I can only be happy if you’re mine.”

“I must go,” she said. “The sky is my home.”

“I have made a home for you,” Jax said, gesturing to the vast mansion below them. “There is sky enough for you here. An empty sky that is all for you.”

“I must go,” she said. “I have been away too long.”

He raised his hand as if to grab her, then stopped himself. “Time is what we make it here,” he said. “Your bedroom can be winter or spring, all according to your desire.”

“I must go,” she said, looking upward. “But I will return. I am always and unchanging. And if you play your flute for me, I will visit you again.”

“I have given you three things,” he said. “A song, a home, and my heart. If you must go, will you not give me three things in return?”

She laughed, holding her hands out to her sides. She was naked as the moon. “What do I have that I can leave with you? But if it is mine to give, ask and I will give it.”

Jax found his mouth was dry. “First, I would ask for a touch of your hand.”

“One hand clasps another, and I grant you your request.” She reached out to him, her hand smooth and strong. At first it seemed cool, then marvellously warm. Gooseflesh ran all up and down Jax’s arms.

“Second, I would beg a kiss,” he said.

“One mouth tastes another, and I grant you your request.” She leaned in close to him. Her breath was sweet, her lips firm as a fruit. The kiss pulled the breath out of Jax, and for the first time in his life, his mouth curved into the beginning of a smile.

“And what is the third thing?” the moon asked. Her eyes were dark and wise, her smile full and knowing.

“Your name,” Jax breathed. “That I might call you by it.”

“One body…” the moon began, stepping forward eagerly. Then she paused. “Only my name?” she asked, sliding her hand around his waist.

Jax nodded.

She leaned close and spoke warmly against his ear, “Ludis.”

And Jax brought out the black iron box, closing the lid and catching her name inside.

“Now I have your name,” he said firmly. “So I have mastery over you. And I say you must stay with me forever, so I can be happy.”

And so it was. The box was no longer cold in his hand. It was warm, and inside he could feel her name, fluttering like a moth against a windowpane.

Perhaps Jax had been too slow in closing the box. Perhaps he fumbled with the clasp. Or perhaps he was simply unlucky in all things. But in the end he only managed to catch a piece of the moon’s name, and not the thing entire.

So Jax could keep her for a while, but she always slips away from him. Out from his broken mansion, back to our world. But still, he has a piece of her name, and so she always must return.

And that is why the moon is always changing. And that is where Jax keeps her when she is not in our sky. He caught her and he keeps her still. But whether or not he is happy is only for him to know. (Story as told by Hespe in Patrick Rothfuss - Wise Man’s Fear)

#patrick rothfuss #wise man's fear #kingkiller chronicle #kingkiller #hespe #jax #book quotes

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cecilspeaks · 5 years

Text

148 - The Broadcaster

Leonard Burton: The opposite of war is not peace. It is tedium. Greetings from Night Vale.

[distorted version of the theme song]

Hello, listeners. it’s your regular host Leonard Burton welcoming you to yet another beautiful day in Night Vale. There is the sun, of course. I don’t need to tell you there is a sun, you know this. You’re so confident that he sun is there. Past performance is not a predictor of future results, folks, yet sure as I say it, there is the sun. And near the sun are clouds, but they’re not near, are they? Millions of miles separate those clouds from that sun. And yet our eyes measure mere inches of the space between. What deception, this human sight.

The air is crisp and cool. A slight morning breeze touches us. We feel it like cold fingers playfully caressing our shoulders, our hair, our skin. I see no breeze, but I feel it. That which I feel, that is my only truth, listeners. Wind is a verity.

I hope you will join me in closing your eyes and walking naked through the invisible yet irrefutable air. Hold aloft your arms, widen your jaw and feel the impact of atom upon atom upon atom against your body.

This day is beautiful. This day is crisp. This day is true.

This morning I nearly died. I’m always nearly dying, proximity is subjective. This morning I nearly died in the same way I nearly die every day. After waking, I showered. After showering, I drank coffee. After coffee, I ate a grapefruit and oatmeal. After eating, I walked. After walking, I walked some more. I do not own a car and I live two miles from my work. I purchased a quart of whole milk, and then I climbed a tree. Atop a tree branch, I saw a grackle’s nest and I drank my milk. I counted four eggs, each of them blue. Each of them lifeless, abandoned for countless years. I did not finish my milk, because I cannot digest milk. I poured the remainder into the nest. Then I climbed down from the tree and walked again. I do this every day. It is, as the French say, vie sans signification.

As I approached the radio station, a cargo truck driven by a man who was not tall, barrelled down Mesa Boulevard. I stretched one foot outward from my body like so, and here I demonstrate my leg extending outward. A tentative (-) [0:05:00] as the French dancers phrase it. My head was turned away from the oncoming traffic, because I saw a municipal garbage can on fire. Gathered around the flaming bin were angels touching together their unusually long fingers and moaning. The cargo truck honked loudly, but it was not as loud as the moans from the fire-lit celestial beings, so I did not alter my attention. I stepped into the roadway like this. And then again like this, and then again like this. Then again several more times, til I had crossed the road safely. Immediately following my final step, the cargo truck roared past me. I had not died, but I had a vision of my death. No, not a vision. What do you call a vision without visuals? My vision was every other sense. I had a dreadful snap, I felt my legs (accordion) [0:05:56] beneath my neck, I tasted blood and asphalt, I smelled the pungent rubber tire against my nose. My vision halted me for what seemed like hours but was less than a second.

I should have died, Night Vale. For it was in my vision. Yet I did not. The truck honked again, and the man in the passenger seat who was not short waved his fit and cursed at me. On the back of the truck were several wooden crates emblazoned with a white labyrinth above a black square. The crates glowed from within. I do not glow from within. I am darkness from within. I crossed the street, the angels moaned, and I wet myself.

It is a beautiful day in Night Vale. How was your morning?

And now the news. There is peace in our time, Night Vale. We hold a parade today to celebrate the end of the Blood Space War. The Blood Space War ended many years in the future, and we celebrate armistice today. Time, you see, is not a line but a (-) [0:07:10], which is kind of like a donut. And we are living within the donut. If we were to look out across a hall in the middle of the donut, we would see other times that have happened both before and after us. This presumes we can see time, which we cannot. We can only describe visually the shape of things that have no shape. Here is an incomplete visual description of things that have no shape. One: death is a bottomless pool of clear water. Two: wind is a question mark. Three: morality is a thermos. Four: love is an overfull shopping bag with a broken handle. Five: fear is a cinderblock tower with a single door and no windows. I hope that makes sense to you, dearest listeners. Because it does not to me. I’m neither a scientist nor a poet. I’m a radio host. I merely repeat to you that which I have learned. And what I have learned is that time is shaped like a donut. Beyond that, I have no comprehension.

When you woke up this morning, Night Vale, did you remember a life you never had? Did you experience the faint memory of a conversation, of a smell, of a feeling that never happened? Jamais vu, I believe the French say. The French say so much. And what do they know of peace? Today, I celebrate peace, however I do it alone. I broadcast my feelings to no one. Night Vale is empty, and I am its only citizen. Yet I have a vision of a town full of people. One of those people is a man, a radio intern named Cecil Palmer, but he is not here. No one is here. No one has ever been here. Has he died? I do not know. He simply is no longer here. You do not remember his years of fine reporting on this very radio station, because you never heard those reports. I did.

I remember things that never happened, yet I have no evidence of any of it. Let me describe to you the shape of Cecil Palmer. He’s a line of leafless mesquite trees, he is a glass factory, he is a golf ball sized (hell) [0:09:37], he has a voice like distant highway traffic. He loves coffee and handshakes, he wears tight clothing, and has never once worked with modelling clay. He covers mirrors with cloth and has an irrational fear of glowing lights beneath locked doors and dark hallways. You cannot know any of this, because Cecil is my vision, not yours. He is real all the same. He is to be my replacement when I retire. But he does not exist, so I can never retire. I am your permanent host. I can still see his face. I’ve said it before and I will say it once more. What deception is human sight!

The parade for the end of the Blood Space war has begun! There is no one attending, because no one lives in Night Vale. Perhaps we’ll reach a day when no one has ever lived. An emissary has arrived in town to lead the parade. The emissary’s an astronaut, bloated white arms and a mirror for a face. The emissary walks slowly through our empty city streets. I do not know why I broadcast this to you, dear listener. For you are not even here. No one is here, except for me and the emissary, who walks like a marionette under the wobbly control of a novice puppeteer. And the angels, whose moans are songs and whose fingertips are (-) [0:11:11] rods. Also there’s the two men in the cargo truck who are driving far beyond our town. And somewhere there are the French, who are inventing phrases to describe, I don’t know what.

The parade of absent floats along empty streets (-) by a mirror faced marshmallow of a grand marshall approaches our radio station. I will enjoy getting to see the festivities up close and describing shapes out of the shapeless.

And now the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner. Kids, did you know that everyone experiences time differently? Physicist Albert Einstein once said: “There’s no business like show business. Like no business I know.” He said this while starring in “Annie Get Your Gun” in London’s West End. The performed the title role ten years before Irving Berlin even wrote the musical. This is because Albert Einstein experienced time differently, but only when it came to songwriting. He had the complete discography of both Leonard Cohen and Kendrick Lamar before either were born.

And perhaps, like you and I only hear music after it is written, we experience time differently in other was. Like say our births. Think about your birth. You don’t remember it, do you? This could be because you’ve forgotten it, but how do you forget something that so powerfully impacted you? I would argue that your birth was the important moment in your life, and you have forgotten it? I cannot believe you’re so cavalier as to allow the memory of your entry into this world to dissipate like steam from a screaming kettle! No, you do not remember your birth, because it has not happened yet. I am sure this is scientifically true. It can be the only explanation. You experience time differently. One day you will be born, and you will experience awe and pain and confusion. You will begrudge the lack of input you were given in this decision. You did not ask to be born, and yet pow, bam, squish, there you are, or were, or will be.

Earth is an (--) [0:13:32] during a flood. Memory is the chipped bark of the cedar tree. Time is a donut. This has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner.

The parade has ended. The street moments ago crowded with no one are once again still empty. The celebration of peace has ended, and another beautiful day comes to a close. The sun, like a shopkeeper with no customers, leaves work early. And the radio softly reminds us the shapes of the shapeless.

Oh! Oh dear, you startled me. Listeners, the emissary has appeared in my studio without warning, without even opening a door. And they’re sitting in the chair next to me and slowly rotating. Their visor is open, and I’m being forced to stare at the ineffable darkness within the emissary’s helmet. This seems like a good time For the weather.

[Subspace” by RAQIA https://raqia.bandcamp.com and https://www.instagram.com/raqiaband/]

Have you ever forgotten where you put your keys? You were certain they were on the mantle, but they were not. Have you ever missed an appointment because you were sure it was on Wednesday at noon and not Tuesday at ten? Have you ever remembered a life you did not lead? Has a carefully collated series of words ever made you uncertain, unconfident or un, just un? Un as an adjective onto itself.

The emissary arrived from the future, from space. The emissary told me changes were made, and those changes became mistakes and those mistakes became truths, and all of it would need to be undone. “Night Vale is a vibrant and full city with tens of thousands of people,” the emissary said. “Yet here you are, Leonard, the only person in Night Vale.” I nodded into the dark onyx of the emissary’s face screen. “How old are you, Leonard?” the emissary asked. I did not know. I still do not know. The emissary revealed to me a newspaper clipping. From the Night Vale Daily Journal obituary section dated November 1983. There was a photo of me and a story about my life: my childhood, my radio career, my wife, my children – my death. It was all true and yet I remembered none of it, except for the last part. I looked at my obituary photo. I read how I died. Under cargo truck wheels on Mesa Boulevard. In print, everything looks true. “What deception is human sight,” I said. The emissary lifted their trick gloved hands to their neck, unlatched the snaps and removed their helmet. I saw the face of an old woman, with sunken tearful eyes. “I am the general,” the emissary said, placing her enormous soft paw upon my hand. “I have tried to save myself, my soldiers, my town, my planet, through time travel. Every time we lose a battle, I return to before it even happened and fight it again. I fight each battle over and over, until we have won.” “You’re an excellent general,” I told her. “Of course I am,” she snapped. “In battle. But each time I interfere in the timeline, I create a widening ripple of historical changes. And now Night Vale is empty, on the verge of never having existed at all. This must be undone. Do you understand me, Leonard?” I nodded yes, to hide the fact that I did not understand. The emissary pointed to the moon. An enormous piece of the moon was missing. I did not remember that the moon was broken, but also I rarely look at the moon out of disdain. “Like the moon, time has broken,” she said. “Night Vale should be full of people, and you should have died long ago, Leonard,” she added. “Do you understand?” I shook my head no, to hide the fact that I did understand. “I’m sorry, Leonard,” she said. If Night Vale is repaired, you will return to the grave.” “But you have achieved peace,” I argued. “I have achieved peace,” she said. “And in doing so, I have made it so that no one in this city, or this world, or this universe, ever lived. I have achieved an infinitude of emptiness. Leonard, look.” She touched my shoulder with one hand, and with the other, she indicated once more the moon. When I looked, the moon was again whole. I looked back at the general and she was gone.

I hear now a voice, not my own, like distant highway traffic. I do not think I should be alive, but I do not know what else to be. Am I a ghost? Am I a god? Am I at all? Whatever it is I am, I reject my end. I embrace my existence, even in a world with no one to acknowledge it. I never wish to die, Night Vale, and still I refuse to do so. I am a broadcaster. I do not stop broadcasting simply because I do not live!

Stay through next for grackles hatching from long dormant eggs, and anything else I wish to describe, real or not. For you do not hear me anyway. And until tomorrow, See ya Night Vale, See ya.

Today’s proverb: Ask your doctor about dogs. Have a long conversation about how good dogs are. Show each other pictures of dogs.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #welcome to night vale transcripts #episode 148 #the broadcaster

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