#cannibal clay au

[drinkinboilingcoffee]

Your delicious body heat It's so warm inside of me It's too bad you don't have more meat on your tiny body Oh, you're dying? What do you mean? You say that I can't eat Oh, but it's so good, it tastes so sweet How dare you deprive me?

Little thing for an AU me and @glitch-1983 are making!

[razzle-zazzle]

I bet Lola scares the shit out of branch's brothers, like purposely snapping her head 180 at them and just generally being a menace, the only reason they're not already dead is because branch still cares about them.

Initially I thought that Lola wouldn't know about the brothers, but now I realize it's very likely Branch could have brought them up when he was little. Either way, she kinda forgor that little detail, so when she comes to visit and Branch casually mentions his brothers are there? She's so surprised she forgets to crack her neck when snapping her head around to look at Branch.

And yeah, she scares 'em. But not particularly because they left Branch behind; she pulls similar shit on everyone! Girl's gotta have her fun somehow!

What's really funny is the brothers hearing Branch refer to anyone as "Mom" what with how their birth mother was out of the picture before Branch's egg hatched. Lola is very smug (ecstatic) about being called Mom. This does not help the situation.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Infestation.

Written for a lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Gyutaro x Reader (Demon Slayer).

Word Count: 3.5k.

TW: Modern AU, Implied Non//Con, Long-Term Stalking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Voyueristic Themes, Blood/Bruising, and Mentions of Cannibalism.

You only got to tour the apartment once before you signed the lease.

A ‘realtor’ with piercing eyes and silver hair met you at the door twenty minutes late with a heavy ring of keys in one hand and a disposable cup from an upscale coffee-chain in the other, muttering something about traffic as she let you into the dank, dark space. She explained, as she shoved open creaking doors and tried her best to clear the dust off neglected furniture, that her uncle owned the building, that she and her brother had stayed here for a while before she found another place on the other side of town. You asked if her family was close-nit, and she looked away, mumbling ‘something like that’ under her breath. You asked if she did this kind of thing for her uncle often, and she gave you a strange look and didn’t answer. You didn’t have the courage to press the topic. She had the kind of presence that made you want to shrink into yourself, to agree with everything she said and do anything and everything you could not to get on her nerves. If, at any point, she’d put a contract in front of you and told you to sign on the dotted line, you probably would’ve done it. If the apartment hadn’t been in the state it was, you probably would’ve asked her for it yourself, just to try and get on her good side.

The space itself was, somehow, even worse than the listing had made it out to be. The lights flickered, the walls were water-stained, and you couldn’t fully open the fridge door without lodging the handle against the cabinets on the opposite side of the kitchen. If you hadn’t been so desperate, you might’ve walked out in the first fifteen minutes, but you were, so you held your tongue and nodded along and let her sit you down in front of a manilla folder, already plotting out how you’d politely refuse and thank her for her time and beg the owner of the studio a few blocks north to give you another chance. That was what you thought you were going to do, at least, until you saw the rent.

“That’s… not what it was on the listing,” you muttered.

“That’s the rate. Take it or leave it.”

“Without utilities?”

“With. But you’re on your own if you want cable.”

“When would I be able to move in?”

“If you can get me out of here in an hour or less, whenever the hell you want.”

You signed everything she put in front of you, barely bothering to pretend to read the countless forms. She left you the keys, apologized for how loud the other tenants could be (something that must’ve changed since she moved out, you guessed – the entire floor was dead quiet), and in two days, your former roommates had sent you off with a tearful goodbye and, for the first time in longer than you could remember, you finally had room to breathe. A musky, beige room that you were pretty sure you’d have to have fumed sooner or later, but still – room to breathe.

And you were thankful for it. At first, at least, you were thankful for it.

~

And then, three months in, things started to go missing.

Which wasn’t that bad, on its own. You’d lost things before, and you weren’t the kind of person who’d break out the salt and thyme the first time one of your socks went missing, or you couldn’t find a pen you just seen a few days ago, or a mug you could’ve sworn you’d left on your bedside table the night before somehow made its way to your kitchen counter by the next morning, its contents drained but its clay handle still warm. You took it in stride.  You laughed and smiled as you told your friends about the soft creaking you would sometimes hear coming from just behind drywall, the creepy stains on the bathroom floor that just barely look like dried blood when you squint, and you ignored what you couldn’t brush off so easily, kept the hours you spent lying awake at night because you just can’t shake the feeling of unblinking eyes prying into your flesh, the bruises and cuts you’ve decided to blame on thin mattresses and sharp corners to yourself.

You didn’t tell anyone when your missing things started reappearing, either.

Not that you really could. You didn’t know how you’d start to explain the cold feeling of dread that knotted in your chest as you lingered in the doorway to your bedroom, how to laugh as you told someone, anyone about the tattered remains of a shirt you hadn’t seen in weeks that were currently spread across your bed – all ripped to shreds and stained with the same chalky, white substance you couldn’t bring yourself to give a name to. It was all you could do to stare at the mess from a distance, biting the inside of your cheek as you tried to ignore the bitter taste rising up from the back of your throat. Your closest neighbor was two floors down, and you’d only spoken a handful of words to the building’s other occupants as a whole, but still, half-formed fears of faceless stalkers and angered spirits gnawed at the back of your mind. It was probably--

Mice, you decided. It was probably mice. You didn’t know what an infestation looked like, never had to deal with one before, but for what you were paying for a place like this, there were bound to be mice. That’s all it could’ve been. Cute, harmless mice.

Still, you never found it in yourself to tell anyone about your little infestation.  

~

And then, seven months in, the realtor let herself into your apartment.

It was a small miracle that you’d been awake at the time, that you were buried in a small mountain’s worth of blankets on your worn-out couch, reading some mindless contemporary romance when you heard the lock click, when you saw the same young woman who’d shown you around that first day step over the threshold – her expression one of mild annoyance and more than a trace of exasperation. She didn’t seem to notice you, not at first, not until you cleared your throat, sitting up in a half-hearted effort to make yourself more presentable. You tried to think of something to say, to ask if there was an emergency, but instead, made that much meeker and that much smaller by her aura alone, you just found yourself mumbling, “Can I help you?”

Her eyes widened as she shot to face you, her shock apparent. “You’re still here?”

“…yes?” Were you not supposed to be? You weren’t sure how long your lease was supposed to last, hadn’t talked to the landlord beyond a single, minute-long call when you first signed on. You’d been paying your rent, but still, there might’ve been a notice that you missed, a clause that’d slipped your mind. You didn’t know why the landlord would choose to address that by asking his niece to barge into your apartment in the middle of the night, but the panic remained. “Is something wrong?”

Her lips quirked, something coming across her features that you weren’t able to read in the dim light. “You’ve been away, though, right? On vacation? Staying at a friend’s house?”

“No, I… Was I supposed to be?” You pushed yourself to your feet. “Is there something wrong with the building?”

“The building’s not the fucking problem,” she snapped. You recoiled, but she didn’t seem to care, just letting out an irritated groan as she went on. “He knows he’s not supposed to take this long. Muzan’s going to be—” She cut herself off, throwing her head back and rubbing her temples. She clenched her eyes shut, and only when she opened them again did she seem to notice your discomfort, your muted distress. Just as quickly as she lost her composure, she regained it, her sneer softening into a small smile and her posture straightening until she looked not like a woman who’d walked into someone else’s apartment with no warning or explanation, but a passing acquaintance you’d been the one to approach and who was simply too polite to tell you that she had better places to be. “My apologies for the disturbance. I’ll make sure to call ahead, next time.”

She waited for you to nod, to pretend you knew what she was talking about before starting back toward the door, leaving just as suddenly as she’d come. Without giving yourself time to think, you rushed after her, leaning against the doorframe. You couldn’t imagine how she’d gotten here. The lights hadn’t worked since the day you moved in, and the hallway was as pitch-black and as endless as it’d ever been. “Wait!” She glanced over her shoulder, her smile already strained. You drew back, but forced yourself to go on. “It’s not a big deal, but I think this building might have a rat problem.”

She took a moment to respond.

Finally, as her grin broadened, she said, “There aren’t any rats.”

That night, you woke up screaming, covered in your own blood, and missing a piece of your thigh.

~

And then, a year after you first set foot in that godforsaken apartment, you met him.

‘Met’ might’ve been the wrong word. It implied something soft, something cute, something harmless – like mice or ghost stories or miscommunications. From the moment you snapped awake, a searing pain in your shoulder and hot blood already drenching your chest, he was all aggression, all bared teeth and dark eyes and gore-soaked lips curling back into a smile just as sickening as that of the woman who had to be his sister, if only because you couldn’t bring yourself to believe that your misery extended beyond the reach of their fucked-up family.

You couldn’t bring yourself to believe this was happening at all, but if you had to, you were going to tell yourself you had someone, other than yourself, to blame.

He was on top of you, straddling your waist, one hand planted next to your head and the other curled loosely around your throat, his palm pressing the delicate junction between your windpipe and diaphragm, making it difficult to manage anything but quick, shallow breaths. He’d never been this close before. You’d seen him out of the corner of your eye, occasionally – little, half-remembered blurs in the darkness; distorted splotches you’d tried to write off as depressions in the drywall or a trick of your own paranoia-ridden mind – but never like this, never close enough to see the muddled whites of his eyes, the pale grey tenor of his skin, the sharpened points of his teeth where your blood didn’t quite blot them out. On instinct, you tried to sit up, to bolt from underneath him, but he only had to flex his hand where it was wrapped around your neck and you were frozen, not willing to test his patience or your own perseverance. You didn’t know if he was strong enough to snap your neck, but he’d already proven that he could tear you apart. If he hadn’t already decided he was going to eat you alive, you’d rather not do anything to put the idea in his head.

You did what you could to go limp, to seem as small and unimposing as possible, and yet, he still let out a breathy chuckle as he shoved you downward – until your back was flat against the mattress and he was allowed to hover as far above you as possible, casting himself as something endlessly strong and impossible to grasp and impossible to escape as anything else that lurked in the dark.

“Easy, now. Wouldn’t want to get yourself hurt, would ya?” His voice was as terrible as the rest of him, raspy and barely audible yet dripping with corrosive, acidic arrogance at the same time. “It’d be a shame if you made be bruise that pretty skin. Loses some of its flavor if you beat it up too much.”

So he was going to eat you. You couldn’t pretend to be surprised, couldn’t say a nightmare featuring fanged monsters with hungry mouths hadn’t accompanied every new missing chunk of flesh and discolored bitemark, but your breath still hitched in your throat, your body going tense beneath him. Your distress was muted, but not subtle enough to escape his prying eyes. His grin widened, the corners of his lips cracking and splitting open. “You scared, little mouse?”

You hesitated, thinking for a moment before nodding. There was a bark of a laugh, a row of blunt nails burrowed into the space just below your jugular. “What do you think I’m going to do to you?” He asked, arching his back and leaning toward you, coming close enough for the tips of his messy hair to brush against your skin. “Tear you apart? Gut you and keep your hollowed-out husk as a trophy?”

There wasn’t a delay, this time. It was all you could do to wait until he’d finished to spit out the one thing you couldn’t seem to get off your mind. “Eat me.”

There was a long pause, agonizing and infinite.

Then, something sparked behind his eyes, and his smile took on a sickening lilt.

You could practically hear your heart beating out of your check, feel something deep in your chest twist and writhe as he dipped even lower; his face soon buried in the small of your neck. His hand fell away, drifting lower – his fingertips skirting over your side, groping softly at your hip before drifting to your wrist, to your hand. There was a clumsy attempt made to intertwine his fingers with yours, not helped by your own unchallenged immobility, but eventually, he managed to take your hand in his own. His skin was cold to the touch, and yet, you still felt like you were burning wherever his body pressed against yours. “No, no, I’m not gonna do anything to hurt ya. Not that badly, at least.” His voice lightened, his drawl softening around the edges. Like he was trying to calm you down. Like he thought anything he said could possibly calm you down. “I don’t have the stomach to binge like that. The last guy Daki dragged in wasn’t like you. All muscle, no flavor, had to choke down every bite. I would’ve swallowed you whole as soon as you as walked through that door just to get the taste out of my mouth, but you looked so damn cute, all oblivious and shit – I just didn’t have the heart to.”

 He straightened his back, but didn’t pull away. Rather, he stayed as close to you as possible, his scarred lips brushing against your neck, then your shoulder, finally settling on your collarbone. He couldn’t be human. You didn’t decide that, you knew it. Nothing human or mortal or natural would have so many scars, or be so pale, or have teeth so sharp – even the gentlest touches violent enough to break the skin. Not that he tried very hard to be gentle. There was the faint feeling of rough lips ghosting over your skin, and then a sharp, sudden piercing sensation; flesh and muscle splitting apart underneath the first hint of pressure. “Not that I didn’t want to,” he muttered, his breath cold against your skin. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had a decent fucking meal? If I had my sister’s self-restraint, I’d already be down to the bones.”

And yet, he didn’t stop himself from latching onto the shallow scrape, his tongue running over your skin as he let out a deep, guttural moan, the sound only slightly stifled by his proximity. You held your breath, clenching your eyes shut as he lapped up the thin trail of blood that flowed outward, over your chest. Visions of hearts torn from chests and pale hands digging through split-open stomachs flitted through your mind, but in the end, he only jerked back was a sharp laugh – more lively than it’d ever been before. There was a certain light to his eyes now, too, a new sense of rejuvenation you almost couldn’t bring yourself to recognize in the same creature who’d stalked you for months, who’d knocked on your walls and watched you at night and given you so many chances to run away, so many chances that you’d been too hopeful and too idiotic to take. You felt him shifting above you, heard your sheets rustle, and you braced yourself, going stiff in preparation for a pointed nail stabbed into your throat, or a skull-crushing blow to your head, or--

Or, for him, it, whatever he was, to kiss you.

You hadn’t known to expect it would be as brutal as it was. What little delicacy, what little gentleness he had was gone. For longer than seemed possible, your world was one of clashing teeth and probing hands and lips pushed against yours with enough force to bruise. You didn’t know whether or not he was trying to scare you, but the gesture was more violent than affectionate – messy and overwhelming and enough to have you on the edge of tears by the time he drew back, panting. He opened his mouth, but you were already talking, words spilling from your lips without reservation. Appeals to ‘please, don’t hurt me’ blurring with an incoherent blend of ‘don’t kill me’ and ‘I’ll do anything’ – anything you could think of, anything that might’ve gotten him to give you the space to breathe. Some of it made sense, most of it didn’t, and all of it seemed to fall on deaf ears.

If he was listening, if he cared, none of it earned anything more than a wry smile, a soft kiss to the top of your head. At that point, you were so desperate, so distressed, you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into it – only whimpering as he hummed gently and drew you upward, until you were the one sitting in his lap, cradled in his arms. It occurred to you, not for the first time, how much bigger his frame was than yours, how small you felt in his arms. Like a bird with an injured wing, unable to fly and trapped in.

Like a mouse, your neck already snapped by the impartial hammer and your body caught in the maw of something much larger and much more dangerous than yourself.

“You’re shaking.” He was laughing, but you were. You couldn’t stop. Your body refused to listen to you, to push him away, to run, but you just couldn’t stop yourself from shivering – trembling violently enough for it to border on convulsions. “What’d I tell you the first time you freaked out, huh?”

That he liked the way you tasted. That he’d been watching you for months. That he’d thought about killing you and, if he got hungry enough, he’d probably think about it again.

You swallowed, willing the knot of dread at the back of your throat to loosen. “That you weren’t going to hurt me.”

“And you don’t think I’d lie to you, do ya?”

It would’ve been kinder if he did, if he pretended to be something remotely human. “I don’t.”

“Because I haven’t, and I’m not. That’d just be a waste, 'specially when I haven’t gotten half of what I want out of ya, yet.” You were dragged away from his chest, poised to face him. You were given a few seconds to stare up at him through the darkness, to try to begin to process what was happening, what he was doing, before a scarred palm was cupping your cheek, before he was kissing you, again – shallowly, fleetingly, before moving upward, pressing his lips against your forehead and dipping back toward your neck.

This time, he wasn’t content just to content just to hold your hand. You could feel his fingertips skirting over your thighs, leaving strips of numbness spreading across whatever he made contact with, making an attempt at delicacy before his attention drifted and his touch grew rougher, his hold bruising, his skin frigid where it pressed against yours. Against your better judgement, you leaned into your paralysis, not returning his bizarre affection, but making no effort to push him away, either. You tried to hold yourself straight, but not stiff, to keep your eyes open and your jaw locked into place, but even your neutrality was enough to encourage him, to spur him forward. You barely had time to brace yourself before you were being shoved downward once again, before you were being pinned against your own thin mattress with enough force for the jutting springs to dig into your back. Again, he was above you, and again, you were powerless beneath him, just as scared as you’d been when he was just a ghost of fear lurking in your peripheral.

“Don’t worry, little mouse.”

Just as helpless as you’d been when you couldn't see the threat at all.

“I’m takin’ care of you, now.”

[secretpostsposts]

Hello so I have a question that I have been meaning to ask about for probably 2 days but what would happen if the brothers from your au (Beloved little brother AU) met my Troll au (One of the au about the infected au but mines a little different) my au isn't really in any app where you could ready cause I only use it when making up stories in my mind... I never write them cause I'm not a good writer... Anyways here's the version of branch in my AU (If you have any questions because this is kind off confusing then pls ask because I really wanna know how the brothers would react to this little au of mine)

Ok... someone dared him to go to the forest with a spear just incase the creature (The one that's supposed to be a myth lurking in the deep dark forest at night...which carries around a virus a dangerous one) is actually real...and stay in the forest for 2 hours....he never came back and went missing for 2 weeks...when they found him he looked different and acted more hostile... He was covered in blood... It didn't look like all of it was his... The thing they got disturbed the most was the Bite mark that had black veins growing.... Whatever happened in that forest and the days he was missing must have made him crazy with paranoia, anxiety, fear, and worry... he was still holding the spear he brought... it was covered in blood... his friends (The snack pack) surrounded him trying to reassure him that everything is going to be ok... but stepping forward towards him while he was near an edge of a cliff was really a bad idea... he must of been hallucinating from the way he looked at them... the last step back he took made him slip and fall from the cliff which he landed on spikes below piercing his body.... killing him...

But I saw how you don't like the idea of branch dying so let's change that to extremely injured if that makes it any better...

Note: he is grey with few scratches and bruises but the main problem in the Bute mark where he is infected... But considering we changed his fate to getting killed to extremely injured he would be contained in a containment room...

P.S: the reason why he went crazy is in the explanation... He didn't wanna kill or infected anyone else....

Effect/Symptoms: aggressive... Hungry... Crazy/insane...and hostile.... And other effects/symptoms (Cannibalism...)

That's all sorry if this is long...

John had a plan, he went for his other brothers, they would get Branch back and if necessary they would take him to Vacay Island where they could take care of him and keep him safe like they were supposed to do.

He went to Bruce first, he found him through the postcard; It was crazy to find out that he was married and had 13 kids, that was a shock to John; Then they went for Floyd, they were at one of his concerts, it was magnificent; finding Clay was more difficult, it took them 3 days to find Clay, it was a strange encounter, since they had to deal with Princess Viva, they didn't even know that she was not with the rest of the Trolls, she decided to go with them to find her sister Poppy, they were about to leave her alone because Viva was hesitant at the entrance of the sanctuary, John just wanted to go look for his baby brother, he didn't want him to be any further away from his siblings, his family who wanted him safe, but Viva he was making it FUCKING hard for them, he didn't like the girl for it, he could even see that Clay was upset with his "friend" for it.

So they arrived at Pop Village, they talked to some trolls but every time they talked about their Little Brother they went the other way, many ran in the opposite direction shouting for a Poppy, Viva got excited when she heard the name sister, she was alive and that made her made me very happy.

But they were in panic, worried and scared to death, afraid that their little brother would not be here, that it would be late and he would be... Gone.

But then Poppy arrived and a group of friends with a very stupid name approached them, King Peppy was with them, it was a nice family meeting between members of royalty, but Brozone just wanted to find his little brother, see him, hug him. just keep it safe.

When they asked about Branch, he could see how they smiled and all the joy was erased from their faces, Viva looked confused by that, Floyd sobbed by that.

John felt cold, while Bruce and Clay tried to calm Floyd down.

Poppy jumped up and said that Branch was alive and well, as far as he could be, that he was sick, and that they couldn't see him.

John told him that they were brothers, that they were his brothers, that they needed to see him.

One of Poppy's friends pointed to Floyd and asked him if he was Floyd, he obviously said yes and although Peppy didn't seem like he wanted to take them to Branch, Poppy did.

He took them to a bunker, his little brother's bunker, Branch's home, he showed them some rooms, those rooms screamed their names everywhere, just like the rooms at Grandma's house, Branch had copied the rooms, waiting for them to They came back, and now they are here, they just had to apologize and everything would be fine.

He took them to a deep place in the bunker, it was a large room and what looked like a large glass with small holes at the top for air and an even smaller door in which there was a broken plate with food lying around, it was dark at the end. , they couldn't see anything.

And then they saw a tail, John recognized that lock of hair, how many times did he not have to untangle the hair and that lock in the tail when Branch played on the branch at his house, always getting covered in leaves.

Floyd ran towards the glass, drawing Branch's attention, they went after him when something crashed against the glass with force. Clay fell to the floor from shock, Bruce walked away gasping and covering his mouth.

Floyd didn't move, his hands were still on the glass, he was pale, shaking and crying without saying a sound; John was at his side reeling in shock.

Poppy explains that Branch went to the forest because something or someone was being violent, a lot of trolls were scared because someone almost hit them, and Branch went to take care of it, and he didn't come back for 2 weeks, when they went to look for him they found him out of his mind, bathed in blood and that it was not his, at least not all of it, with a big bite on his arm, he was more paranoid than ever, he was violent and he was lashing out, they had to knock him out to bring him here, it was a room where Branch put aggressive animals wounded, where Branch would care for them and then release them.

John wasn't listening to her, he could only see his little brother, his sweet and innocent little brother, he looked bad.

His eyes that were so big and cheerful were cloudy, his pupil covered almost his entire eye, he could barely see the beautiful blue that was once there, his hair was a chaos, his teeth were all fangs and his skin, his arms were full. from a bite, and his mouth had blood.

His brother looked like a wild animal...

He had been eating himself, refusing to eat anything but meat, and even meat sometimes didn't feed him, or so Poppy said.

Branch was banging on the glass when he heard her speak, screaming like an angry animal.

"Branch..." Floyd spoke to him, and Branch stood still as an entrance, just looking at Floyd, and looking at the others, at Clay on the floor crying, at Bruce and John Dory.

"..YOU...ARE BACK..." Branch was smiling, tapping on the glass, John could ignore the blood and wounds; he would swear his baby brother was excited to see them, that he was happy to see his older siblings; as if this were normal

"Yes Branch, we're back." John put his hand on the glass, and his brother's bloody, clawed hand rests on top of his, smiling at his brothers.

I needed to write that, and I love seeing more of your Au, I'm not such a fan of the Infected stories that you've been doing, sometimes I don't understand the story because I lose the thread, so I don't understand them much (but I am a fan of the zombies), so I needed to write something because I like your work!

Well continuing with this, the brothers moved to the bunker (except Bruce who came and stayed for 2 weeks and then returned to Vacay Island), they took care of Branch, John Dory got a muzzle, because one time they tried to get him out of the cage ; They were furious, how dare they put their little brother in a cage like an animal, they are their brothers, they can handle it; So John got a muzzle, because he almost bit Clay when they tried to get him out, and with the muzzle it was easier, they healed his wounds and made sure he looked better.

Bruce fed him, but they had to tie him in an iron chair because the wooden one destroyed it easily, then it was difficult to feed him, because Branch refused, and he started biting his arms again, Bruce realized that Branch liked it. blood, so he started drawing blood with a syringe and a bag, when John Dory found out he did it himself and Floyd and Clay joined in, Branch looked like a child who was given his favorite milkshake when they served him a glass.

And then it was the food, he didn't eat anything, John Dory hunted animals and gave them to Branch, raw, because he didn't seem to like it cooked or sewn, and then he accidentally killed someone, John was shooting a fleet to hunt a small animal for his little brother's breakfast tomorrow, when someone passed by, it was dark, he didn't see it, but it wouldn't be his first death, but it would get him in trouble if someone found out, so he took him to the bunker, he had a fight with his brothers for bringing the corpse, and then, they don't know how Branch got loose, but Branch threw himself on the body, his brothers moved away by instinct, they could never be afraid of their baby brother, and Branch looked so happy eating the poor unknown troll , that they couldn't take that joy away from him, it was sad that some trolls disappeared, but his little brother needed to eat, no one can blame them for wanting to take care of his brother.

No one was allowed to enter the bunker, not Snack Pack, not Viva, Peppy, and much less Queen Poppy.

They don't mind killing as long as their brother can eat and be happy, he's calm when he has meat so he's easy to deal with, Floyd keeps saying it's like dealing with Branch when he was 2 years old.

They are his brothers.

They know how to take care of it...

This was what I had to post, and now it turns out that I deleted a previous question for the wrong answer and two more for deleting the wrong post, it's a sign of what my life will be like in my new cycle at the university (I have to come back on Monday god I have a headache)

And your owner is Au I would like to know more!

[puzzled-pegasus]

obligatory Moral Orel werewolf au bc damn it you guys have a point

I'm gonna draw some werewolf themed Clay art at some point or other but before I do im gonna dump a bunch of thoughts about it onto yall

First of all Clay is of course the main werewolf, but where did he get it from? His mom before she died? His dad? His mom might make sense. Like instead of just jer heart giving out, big surprises can bring out her wolf, so maybe she was so shocked by Clay's suicide prank that she flew into a feral rage and ended up turning jer son before her heart gave out?

Then he started to turn on the full moons, but his dad would treat him like an animal when he wqs in animal form and lock him up so he didn't maul anyone, and Wolf Clay would scream and howl and Arthur tried sometimes to smack him to shut him up but when he went away Clay kept howling cause he wanted the attention (or something idk)

Clay's mom had had a wolf hunting trip planned with him but since she was dead there was no way Arthur was gonna take him, and Arthur made sure Clay knew

i'm not sure yet how alcoholism correlates to the lycanthropy but maybe it like, turns him whenever he drinks too much even though it's usually only on the full moon? Or maybe he feels like he doesn't need to hide it so much when he's drunk and it slips out? Idk yet.

But anyway as an adult, he locks himself in his study on the full moon, as well as in the evenings when he plans on getting wasted enough for the wolf to come out.

I think he would turn Orel around the time of Trigger, to prepare for the father son wolf hunting trip. Orel doesn't make a good hunting wolf, but he has a hard time controlling his wolf the first week or so leading to the events of Trigger

And ofc the hunting trip Clay goes absolutely nuts and hunts a bunch of animals while Orel is horrified. Clay eats someone's dog. Orel wonders whether that's cannibalism.

During the rant, Clay turns on and off (turning back into a human when the mask is on but he stays a wolf longer the more it slips), and Orel watches in horror as Clay keeps shifting from his dad to a snarling beast screaming to be put out of its misery and back again on a dime. During the rant, the lines seem to blur between Orel's dad and the beast, and the moments where he screams or yells or grumbles in the original story are actually howls and barks and snarls slipping out.

Orel starts turning too with the strong emotion, and he barks at his father, "It's because you become a monster when you drink!"

"Oh, do I? Drink IS nature, Orel, the monster IS nature!"

Anyway I got a little excited about this but yeah this is my thoughts abt werewolf Clay. Man he's such an interesting character even though he's such an awful person wow

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

Fortunetelling On Sea Stars (Our Future Will Never Leave The Depths)

by Anonymous

Wilbur blew a bubble in excitement. He was doing it. He wasn't going to let fear or judgment stop him.

But first, he needed advice. There was only one person he could get good advice from- the wisest mer in the ocean. The Interpreter of Her Will.

Usually, a siren like Wilbur wouldn't take a single word from a mer to be worth more than a chunk of rotting coral, and mer likewise to sirens; sirens saw mer as uppity little brats who hid behind the blessings of the Goddess of the Sea, while mer saw sirens as violent heathens who stole magic not gifted to them in order to survive. The feud between the two went in and out of outright war. Sirens would have easily killed out the smaller, weaker, less magical mer ages ago, if it weren't for Her intervention.

But Wilbur didn't care about that!

OR; Wilbur is a siren with a question only the ocean can answer. And the only way to ask the ocean anything is to ask the Interpreter.

OR OR; Diet Dark Wilbur Merfolk AU

Words: 2442, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Dream SMP

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Other

Characters: Wilbur Soot, Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson | Philza

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Sally the Salmon/wilbur Soot, Technoblade & Phil Watson | Philza, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson & Technoblade

Additional Tags: Mentioned Kristin Rosales Watson, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Sally the Salmon (Dream SMP), Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot-centric, MerMay 2023, Crack Treated Seriously, Diet Dark, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Siren Wilbur Soot, Good Person Wilbur Soot, He's trying to end the blood feud, emphasis on trying, Possessive Wilbur Soot, Siren Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Immortal Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson is Called Philza (Video Blogging RPF), Merperson Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Immortal Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Kristin Rosales Watson is Called Trixtin, Deity Kristin Rosales Watson, Merperson TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toddler TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), sorta - Freeform, Merperson Sally the Salmon (Dream SMP), Siren Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Bad Person Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Phil Watson | Philza are Best Friends, Sleepy Bois Inc Are Not Related, Wilbur Soot's Significant Other is Named Sally the Salmon, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Language Barrier, Implied Cannibalism, Mentioned Kidnapping, It's just freelance adoption!

[growling]

the homunculi in the GIANT ENEMY WORM CANNIBAL mdarc au official name pending we're working on this being somewhat network like connected even after their post-escape scattering or just simply wandering in groups of 2-10, and having most of their beefs n other conflicts toned wayyyyy down due to knowing their memories pre-project: homunculus didn't really belong to them (though it HEAVILY varies with individuals n shit, like, Yomi probably wouldn't be allowed into the Annual Resistance Grill Events if he didn't constantly shittalk his original to drive the point home. But Martina thinks he has several unadressed issues for this), I can do some crazy dynamics between characters who either never even met or fucking hate each other in canon. Anyway Yomi & Kurumi masterchef buddies since for a long time I headcanoned them both as being really good at cooking (I actually still have a big post on some mdarc characters cooking and food related headcanons it's in the works somebody needs to yell at me so I'll start working on it again..)

hmc Kurumi: hiding in the darn wilderness and picking off bolete foragers for sustenance suckssss because firebugs keep crawling on me and this food is so bland. no salt in sight also I don't like raw the texture is so icky :(((( hmc Yomi: make a simple stone slab for frying shit which you can light with either flint, lumber or glass, there is a bunch of flat rocks by the stream roughly 2 kilometers away, downstream there is a bog with flax and cranberries growing. You can make oil from flax seeds by boiling it in water, though it will be pretty diluted but oil is oil. for the seasoning you have wild garlic, juniper which was once known as poor man's pepper by the way isn't that a mere trifling speck of knowledge, peppermint, and a bunch of berries scattered around, also Swank has an actual stone mortar and pestle AND a goddamn DIY smoker in his Swank pit and we regularly steal them. Hoarding piece of shit I hate him. If I knew how to use clay I would already made some pots to ferment shit in or make The Stew, alas my dainty feminine hands aren't suited for this kind of labour but Aide might be...... still no salt though no sea in sight fuck us I guess this sucks hmc Kurumi: thats cool but how do you just know this. *distracted by plant* also are those blackberries can I eat them hmc Yomi: whatthE hell that is nightshade DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH YOU STUPID CHILD you'll get brain damage and die hmc Kurumi: ok :( i miss my grandpa mr hellsmile. i really miss him

[waywardrose13]

Crimson Leaves- Chapter Seven: Calm Before the Storm

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

Crimson Leaves- Zombie Apocalypse AU series

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The dead have risen. Amid a global pandemic that causes the dead to prowl the Earth, a leader of a small camp in North Carolina fights for survival. Y/N Y/L/N was certain of three things: One, only a bite would turn you. Two, the brain must be destroyed in order to completely kill the thing. Three, trust no one. When a stranger is brought to her camp half alive, Y/N must make the decision to throw him to the walkers, or let the mystery man heal within the gates. As Dean Winchester recovers from a zombie attack, he worms his way into the camp, and eventually into Y/N’s heart. Love is a dangerous game, especially when it’s played with the dead.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, language, some fluff, *Graphic depictions of gore and murder*, implied cannibalism, death

Bingo squares: None for this chapter​

A/N- This chapter was commissioned! Thank you to the beautiful individual who motivated me to write this chapter. This one is for you:)

<<Chapter Six

“Seriously?”

Y/n’s heart nearly leaped from her chest. She cursed under her breath and turned slowly to face him. Smiling sheepishly, she tried to ignore the flutters of butterflies in her chest at the sight of Dean: arms crossed, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. Why was an angry Dean turning her on? And why was she letting it?

“Hey, Dean,” she said. She sent him her most innocent smile, which was not reciprocated in the slightest. “Why are you up so early?”

“Because I’m a light sleeper and I heard you leave,” he replied. “Haven’t you learned from last time? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I have a list,” she said, shrugging. “People need these items and the runners can’t get them.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re personal items that people trust me with,” she said. “I have to go.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m amazing.”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“I’m endearing.”

Dean sighed and rubbed his temples. “Okay, well I’m coming with you.”

“Dean-”

“Not up for discussion. I don’t want to imagine what would have happened if you were alone last time. I’m coming with you.” Dean gripped her chin and planted a quick kiss on her lips before stepping around her to open the gate. “Come on, you.”

Y/n’s lip quirked into a small smile. She slipped through the gate, Dean right behind her. “Ladies first” he had said the first time they left on a run together. She hadn’t taken it, of course. He had sauntered through the gates when she scowled at him. But now, she brushed a hand over his bicep as she passed, giving him a sly grin that he sent right back as she walked through the gates. He latched it back up and followed Y/n down the marked path before he reached out silently to intertwine his fingers with hers. She sent him a shy smile and squeezed his hand.

The sun hadn’t risen quite yet. The hints of a rosy pink bled through the trees from atop the mountain. The sunrise over the mountain-top was gorgeous. A perk of being on the east coast.

The two settled into a comfortable silence. The birds began to wake, their melodious songs echoing off the trees, creating a calming morning atmosphere. It wasn’t very humid, and the temperature wasn’t too high, so the air was comfortable, a soft wind blowing atop the mountain. With mornings like these, it’s hard to think of the death and destruction happening on Earth right now. These moments of tranquility were cherished by Y/n. She knew it couldn’t last, but she liked to pretend. 

They arrived at the Jeep in no time. Dean offered to drive, and Y/n reluctantly let him. She knew the roads better, but she was still tired, so she conceded.

“We aren’t going into Brevard today,” she said. “When you get to the fork, take a left instead.”

“Copy that,” Dean said. 

They drove in silence for the most part, one of Dean’s hands still laced with one of Y/n’s. Y/n huffed a small laugh at the thought of the last time they were outside the walls of the camp on a run. How she had been so annoyed and pissy with him. How he had called her a grade-A bitch.

Now, their hands were laced and her skin was abuzz with the feel of him. That attraction and that feeling had been there, hidden beneath denial and anger and self hatred. But Dean had set that feeling free. He had nudged open the door to her heart and let those feelings loose.

And it scared the fuck out of her.

She knew she wasn’t easy to be around. She knew she wasn’t easy to love. She knew that before the apocalypse. She had always had a temper. She was always a bit odd. She had been through some shit in her life that molded her into someone who locked away her trust and lashed out when she was hurt. 

It’s not like she wanted to be this way. A build up of unresolved trauma, the dismissal of her own feelings, and not knowing how to express her emotions in a healthy way led to it. 

So, no. She wasn’t easy to be around. It’s why most people in her life left. Even her own family had a hard time dealing with her sometimes.

“You make us all miserable.” 

It was so long ago, she couldn’t remember if it was one of her siblings or parents, but those words had stuck with her for a long time. And it stung, even after all these years. She wished she could fix it. She had always wanted to be loved despite her flaws.

She knew Dean didn’t love her. She knew the capability of someone loving her was low. But he cared for her. And he shared her affections.

She just hoped she didn’t scare him off.

The general store was nestled in yet another small town at the bottom of the mountain. The runners didn’t know about it. They traveled mostly west or to Brevard. But Y/n had come to the small town on a few occasions. It was one of the last untouched towns. Long abandoned, it wasn’t on many maps, and the general store still had many valuables to spare.

“What are we looking for?” Dean asked as they stepped inside. He closed the door softly behind him and locked it. The store was dark and full of cobwebs, dust, and leaves, but the shelves were still intact and covered in items. They weren’t full, but they had enough.

Y/n read over her list for the tenth time. “Some enemas, condoms, and hemorrhoid cream.”

Dean stared at her. “Personal. Right.”

“Told you,” she said, setting off into the isles. “Not everyone trusts all the runners. As their leader, most people entrust the more personal items with me. I think they know if they asked the runners for stuff like this, stuff that doesn’t benefit the camp as a whole, the runners would ignore it.”

“You’re a good leader, Y/n.”

Her skin warmed at his pride. “Thank you.”

They searched the store for the items, finding them all as well as a few more packs of batteries, lighter fluid, and a half empty tank of gas in the back. They poured the gas into the Jeep’s tank, stuffed all of the items into Y/n’s backpack, and climbed back into the car.

***

“That went by much more smoothly than our last outing.”

Y/n whistled and nodded, slumping down onto her couch when they got back to her cabin. They had dropped the items off at the respectable tents, dumped the batteries off at the nerve center, passed the lighter fluid off to the kitchens, and returned to Y/n’s cabin before their daily duties.

“I would say so,” she said, reaching a hand up for Dean to grab. He grinned and took it, sinking down onto the couch beside her and lifting her up into his lap. She laid her head in the crook of his neck, his hands resting on her waist and knee. 

“What do you have planned today, Lord Commander?” Dean asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “I’m stuck at the nerve center today. I have some role change requests and Luke and I are drafting a plan for some cabin construction.”

“Really?” Dean asked. 

“Yep. We’re growing rapidly. We’re thinking about some bunk houses, that way people don’t always have to stay in tents. There’s a man who worked construction who’s currently over in security, but he said he’d direct the building efforts.”

“That would be a lot of work,” Dean said. He peered down at her. “Where would the materials come from?”

“It would be mostly wood. Maybe some clay to help keep the logs together. But if we build a sturdy enough structure and use some of the tarps over the roofs to keep the rain from pouring in, I think we could build decent log houses. They wouldn’t be perfect, but the tents are filling up and we’re running out.”

Dean nodded at her words and squeezed her hip. “Not a bad idea.”

“Of course it isn’t. I came up with it.”

Dean chuckled. “So modest.” 

She looked up at him, their eyes locking for a moment before Dean bent down to plant a chaste kiss to her lips. 

Y/n didn’t think she would ever get used to Dean kissing her. Every time he did, she felt as if she was swept up into a new dance amongst the stars, or as if she was soaring up into the sky. Every touch sent her skin aflame and every kiss left her breathless in the best way. He was her drug, and the more of him she got, the more of him she craved.

He lifted her and laid her back on the couch, his hands warm on her hips as he held her down, skimming them up her sides. She arched into his touch and kissed him feverishly, wrapping her legs around his waist to rub against him. Groaning, he broke away from her to duck into her neck, kissing the skin there.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped as she grinded against him.

“Yes?” She asked sweetly.

“Keep doing that, and I won’t be able to hold back,” he said. She knew that wasn’t true. If she told him to leave and never come back, he’d respect her wishes. But his words still sent heat slithering to her core.

“Who’s asking you to?” 

Dean growled and nipped her earlobe. “I don’t want your first time to be us rutting against each other on your couch like a couple teenagers.” He bucked his hips into hers, though, making her gasp. “When we fuck, we’re going to do it right.”

When.

“So sure of yourself, aren’t you?” She asked. 

Dean pulled back to look her straight in the eye. “Very.”

And he kissed her again. 

This time, he pulled her up to his chest, keeping her legs locked around his, and stood. How he did that so gracefully with her wrapped around him like a koala, she didn’t know. But he carried her across the room and to her bed, where he broke apart and set her down gently.

And took a step back.

Dean laughed as Y/n sagged with a pout. She looked up at him through her lashes and reached for him again.

“You’re cruel. Come here.”

“I told you, I won't do this now.”

“You said not on the couch,” she pointed out. She snapped her fingers. “Come back now.”

Dean grinned and clasped the sides of her head, bending to give her one last gentle kiss.

“I thought you weren’t ready.”

Y/n thought for a moment. Twenty-three years of sexual frustration had built, and he was right in front of her, willing to be her outlet. And in the moment, she was definitely ready. But taking a step back…

“We don’t have to do it now. Just come lie with me.”

“I need to shower,” Dean said. He shifted uncomfortably and Y/n’s eyes flashed down to where his jeans were definitely straining against his crotch. She smirked and looked up at him again.

“Naughty boy.”

“It’s your fault, Lord Commander.” He pointed at her and shot her a wink. “Your fault.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and Y/n laughed. A warmth had spread over her chest and seeped into the deepest parts of her heart. That hole that had formed inside her, the one that had concaved in on itself when she lost her family and sunk into a survival mode that changed her and tore her very being apart, had begun to fill.

And she had Dean to thank for that.

She wasn’t in love. Of course, she wasn’t sure what love really was. But she felt herself falling. She knew she was falling. Which was ridiculous, right? It wasn’t as if she knew him very long. Not even two months had passed since she met him. Yet he was nestling into the depths of her heart and mind, rooting himself there.

Fuck was it terryfiying.

He was helping fill that empty void she always felt. But what if she lost him? What if she lost him like she lost her family? The ones who mattered most to her? She didn’t think she would be able to handle losing someone she loved again. 

And while she could easily lose herself in love, in a romance that she had wanted for so long, it wasn’t what was important. The camp was the most important thing in her life right now. She wouldn’t let feelings get in the way of protecting the camp or its people. 

Perhaps throwing herself into her work would help stow those feelings away. They would be kept at bay so she could focus, so that maybe she wouldn’t inevitably become hurt by his leaving. Because everyone in her life left. What would make him so different? He could say he wouldn’t leave, say he wouldn’t do the same thing as everyone else had. 

But every one of those people who left said the same thing, yet they still turned their backs on her.

Sighing, Y/n slumped further onto her bed, burrowing into the blankets and pressing her head into the pillow. She had been up so early that morning and exhaustion was weighing down on her. She had been working throughout the day and into the night before waking up before the sun the next day. She was beat.

As her eyes began to droop, Dean emerged from her bathroom. She peeked and eyes open and watched as he toweled off his wet hair, dressed in simple jeans and a henley. Hanging the towel on the rack before he sauntered over to the bed where Y/n was laying. He gently reached down to run a hand along the back of her head.

“Are you okay?” He asked, fingers lightly caressing her head, worry etched into his face.

“Yes. Why?” 

“You seem sad,” he told her. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and rested a hand on her back. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” she promised. She sat up and locked eyes with him. “That’s kind of the problem.”

He cocked his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know how to keep myself from falling for you,” she said honestly. May as well speak the truth in the apocalypse, no beating around the bush when you could die at any moment. “I don’t know how to keep myself from getting hurt.”

Dean frowned. “Is that what’s happening here?”

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat and gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know.”

Dean hesitated but nodded briefly and looked away. “You might want to figure that out.”

“I know.”

He sighed and squeezed her hip affectionately. “I thought I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.” He still didn’t make eye contact when he added despondently, “don’t you trust me?”

Y/n’s heart thumped roughly in her chest. “Of course I do.”

“Then why do you still question my motives? Why don’t you believe anyone could love you?”

Suddenly her heart was in her throat. Love her? He couldn’t love her. This couldn't be love with him. Not yet. Maybe infatuation or attraction, but he couldn’t possibly love her. He seemed to catch what he said because his face turned red and he stiffened. 

“Because everyone always says that. They never plan to leave in the beginning.”

“Well sorry, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me,” Dean said.

“For now.”

He rolled his eyes and stood up, beckoning her to the door. “I don’t want to argue with nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense if it’s true,” Y/n muttered, taking his hand. He scowled.

“That in of itself is nonsense,” he said. “But come on, let’s get some work done before we say something we regret.”

Before the two could reach the door, it crashed open, Luke’s frantic face stepping into view as he nearly fell inside with the force he used to open the door. Y/n jumped and Dean crouched into a defensive stance automatically.

“Jesus, Luke!” Y/n said. “What the hell?”

“It’s… you have to look… I don't even…” Luke sucked in breaths rapidly, his face turning ashy pale as he hyperventilated. Y/n wasted no time in moving in front of her closest friend and second-in-command, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Breathe, Luke,” she said. “Like me. In, hold, out, good. Again.”

He did his best to match her breathing, the terror still written on his face and glowing in his eyes, body trembling. He looked as if he had seen a ghost.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

“The barbarians. The runners left this morning for a hunt. They hadn’t come back in time-”

“Wait, they didn’t? Why wasn’t I informed?” Y/n asked, fingers tightening on Luke’s shoulders.

“Well… Mikela thought it best if we didn’t tell you. You’re finally back to health, well for the most part. Don’t think we haven’t noticed how you stare into space sometimes or forget something right after it happened. Your head is still healing and-”

“It doesn’t fucking matter.” She let go of him roughly, moving to the door. “I’m still the fucking leader.”

“We need a leader who is well enough to lead. She came to me and-”

Y/n spun around to face him. He stumbled back on the look on her face. She was furious, feeling betrayed. “Excuse me?”

“I’m second in command. I didn’t think it was right so I came to you and-”

“I’m not some fucking weakling,” she snarled. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not, and that’s okay. You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine in a long time,” Luke said. She nearly vibrated with rage.

“I’m fine enough to lead this camp. I’m fine enough to fulfill the duties I promised to fulfill when I took this position. You are second in command, not first. Which means I am the one they come to. Not you.”

“I know,” he said quietly. He looked down at his shoes. 

“Now. What the hell happened?”

“Runners two and six went hunting this morning.”

“Sophie and Gary. I wrote the schedule,” she said flatly. Luke nodded.

“They didn’t come back. So Mikela went out with runner three, Matthew, and-and they came back but we need you. Just… come with me. I have to show you.”

Glancing at Dean for a moment, who looked back at her with equal confusion, Y/n followed Luke outside. Some people were gathered by the front gate, but the guards were holding their line firmly. The small crowd of people parted to let Y/n through.

“What happened?”

“Where’s Gary?”

“If they’re dead, I blame you!”

Y/n stepped through the gate that the guards opened for her, ignoring the shouts from the crowd. Mikela was there, face as stony as ever, with Matthew and Richard at her sides. Y/n cocked her head.

“What happened? Luke was very vague.”

Mikela jerked her head behind her and led Y/n through the trees. Clouds covered the sky, but slivers of sunlight cut through the curtain of gray and down into the breaks of the leaves. They were on alert as they walked, Matthew, Dean, and Luke trailing behind the two women as they went.

“Why is he here?” Luke asked.

Y/n glanced back at them. Dean had turned his head to glare at Luke, who tried not to look in his direction. Y/n shrugged.

“He’s going to be a guard. He needs some field experience.”

Luke scoffed. “You’re only letting him trail you like a puppy because you’re fucking him.”

Everyone stopped walking collectively. Luke had paled and taken a step back, knowing he had gone too far. Dean’s face hardened as he gripped Luke’s shirt collar and dragged him within inches of his face.

“Watch your damn mouth,” he snarled. Luke shoved against Dean’s chest hard and stumbled back as the man let go.

“Luke,” Y/n spoke calmly. He turned to her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“If I hear one more word from your mouth, Dean won’t be the one you have to worry about. Speak to me or any other woman like that and I’ll boot you from your role here, and then contemplate your stay here at the camp. Is that understood?”

Luke nodded and swallowed hard. 

“Good,” Y/n said. “You’ve tested my patience enough today. Go back to the camp and stay there.”

“Yes, Lord Commander,” he said, trying to lift the spirits with her nickname. But it didn’t work, and he turned to slink back through the trees.

“Come on, we don’t have much time,” Mikela said lowly, gripping Y/n’s elbow to tug her along. They only walked for about a minute before she stopped and turned away. “Look.”

Mikela lifted her hand to point a few yards away. Y/n followed her finger and gasped in shock before she almost cried out in horror. She slapped her hands over her mouth to muffle the sounds. 

There, strung up by his neck, Gary hung from a thick branch of a tree. His eyes had been ripped from his head- dark, bloody sockets remaining. His throat had been hacked at, his clothes had been stolen, and his body had been utterly disfigured. Chunks of thigh had been cut away, one of his arms was missing.

The only way she knew it was Gary was by the tattoo on his chest, a family crest that sat over his heart. It had been cut into with a knife, an X marking it.

Y/n thought she may faint. Her knees wobbled at the sight and she quickly turned away, forcing the vomit that threatened to come up down. 

“Oh my God.”

“We haven’t found Sophie. We think it was the barbarians.”

“You’re sure?” Y/n asked. Mikela nodded and held out a piece of paper. It was crumpled and bloody. 

“This was nailed to his foot when we found him.”

Y/n took the paper tentatively, clenching her jaw as she read it.

“Thanks for the meal and for the fun. They’ll have to do until I get you back, Y/n.  -R.”

Y/n looked up at Dean, fear gripping her heart. Rick. He was still alive. 

“Why?” Was all she could say. Dean shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment.

“It has to be them, right?” Mikela asked. “R. He’s one of the guys who we fought last year. One of the guys who took you?”

Y/n nodded and folded the letter before shoving into her pocket. She cleared her throat and loosed a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, this was the barbarians. Rick. He uh… he’s threatened me on more than one occasion. He’s pissed that I got away from him again.”

“So what do we do?” Matthew asked. Y/n looked between the three of them, chewing on her lip as she thought. Sighing, she turned to the body hanging in the tree and winced.

“We have to give him a proper burial.” She took her switchblade from her pocket and put it in her mouth to hold it as she hauled herself up the tree, climbing it enough by the branches to reach the rope that held Gary hanging. She suppressed a gag at the smell of blood and decay and flicked the knife open. She sawed at the rope a few times until it gave away and Gary fell to the ground. “We’ll bury him in the cemetery with the others.”

“I’ll run back and grab a sheet or something,” Matthew said. He broke out into a run, desperate to get far away from their mutilated friend.

“Poor Gary,” Mikela said softly. “He was always so nice.”

“And what about the other one? Sophie, was it?” Dean asked. “You think they… they took her?”

“I hope not,” Y/n said. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “God, I hope not.”

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[narumitsu-is-life]

Decided to go with Clay just being human- Anyways claypollier hcs for this au.

GEE Apollo, how come capcom lets you have TWO boyfriends?

Clay had known about Apollo’s secret since they were kids, Klaiver only recently had found out a little ways into the relationship.

“HEY APOLLO GET OUT OF THE TUB KLAIVER BROUGHT HOME MCDONALDS” -Cut to sea monster Apollo laying face-down in the bathtub-

Apollo hugs with both arms and tail in sea monster form, he has accidently squeezed his boyfriends too hard before.

“Hey Apollo?” “Yeah babe?” “If you eat a fish....is that cannibalism?” “Go the fuck to sleep Klav.”

Klaiver writes so many cheesy ocean themed love songs after falling for Apollo. Clay thinks he’s playing favorites but he really just doesn’t know how to write a space song.

Klaiver almost had a heart attack because he’d gotten up to find Apollo after realizing he was no longer cuddling two people, shined a flashlight towards the fridge- And that’s how he learned that all sea monsters have an eyeshine, because he was met with a pair of big glowing eyes in dark. Apollo had gotten up to raid the fridge at 2am, like Apollo does.

[where-s-all-blue]

Hopeless Heroes AU

Support Hero Pack

Law/Surgeon of Death

Law, most commonly known as Surgeon of Death, is a special type of support hero, who is capable of using his ability both defensively and offensively during missions.

He prefers to work on the background, finding his calling to be in healing rather than in fighting.

He was the one who completed the suppressants, which he refers to as devilfruits. These pills are used to suppress abilities that are hard to control to give the heroes the ability to blend into the society smoothly, add control over them and to switch them if the powers prove to be damaging the body of the holder.

He is one of the closest friends of Stealth Black, being one of the few who knows his real identity due to the fact that Law has been the one to patch him up often.

He's a graduating student at the university, while his power does give him a leverage on the field of medicine, he decided to go over the formal training to become an eligible doctor.

His favourite past time is relaxing in a pile which consists of polar bear like creature known as Bepo and his two assistants called Penguin and Shachi. Sometimes they're joined by Usopp, a tech specialist.

Law is also one of the smartest people in the HQ, who has been able to figure out the secret identities of most heroes including Hunter.

Zoro and Law share the same passion for things like ninja, samurai, superhero movies and robots.

Bartolomeo/Barrier

Became a hero upon witnessing the temporary team which consisted of Stealth Black, Hunter and Rubber Man.

He holds great admiration towards the trio and has even studied their fighting methods in order to become a better hero himself.

His main ability is to create barriers, which makes him ideal for damage control and saving missions.

Rumour has it that he has cannibalistic desires, but they were quickly debunked by Barto himself stating that Man Eater and Cannibal are very different terms. He just likes to go out on dates a lot.

He's one of the few heroes who are willing to be interviewed, he provides good distraction and his comments have put a lot of civilians at ease over the wellbeing of the heroes while also explaining why they can't take part in interviews.

Nami relies on him for some juicy hero rumours.

His greatest dream is to be paired with ASL, Stealth Black and Hunter.

He immediately drew parallels between Stealth Black and "Prince".

Like many in the support team, Barto doesn't really like Germa 66 as they tend to leave a lot of citizens in danger along with a lot of destruction. He was glad to learn that 03 left the group and wished him good luck.

He was the one who suggested the colour scheme and the crown to Usopp upon learning that he was working on a suit for Prince/King.

Bartolomeo has a civilian boyfriend whom he affectionately refers to as Prince Charming.

Dr Kureha

Healing specialist.

Currently training the next generation healers, Law, Marco, Caesar and Chopper.

She's also the wife of Dr Hiriluk and the adoptive mother of Chopper (he hasn't been officially adopted yet though).

She's also the supervisor of medical team.

Kureha was notably incharge of project Devil's Fruit, which was left unattended upon the deaths of Hiriluk and his two assistants, who just so happened to be Law's parents.

She sees great potential in her apprentices, which is why she's extra hard on them as her way of attempting to keep them on the right path.

Can and will paralyse you until your body has been completely healed. Pressure points are a bitch.

Was present during the deaths of Roger and Rogue, still blaming herself over them as she wasn't "fast enough" in a situation where nothing could be done.

Rushed to save Ace and Sabo with Garp upon learning what the science ward was doing to them during project REVIVE. She also alerted Dragon about her bad feeling regarding Sabo's family, leading to his eventual saving.

Fully accepted Dragon's resolution to form his own team of heroes, even giving him her at the time top assistants and students.

Keeps in touch with Dragon to tell him how his son is doing.

Affectionately calls Ace "Spitfire".

Marco/Phoenix

Hero who revolutionised what it means to be a support hero with his ability to both fight and heal.

He classifies as support hero, but more than often he goes where he feels like he's needed the most, which just so happens to be in middle of action.

His mother was a healing type while his father was a mix of fire and a bird, hence his ability to turn into an actual phoenix.

If he knew how, his singing would have the same effect of bringing hope and courage to those who hear him just like the mythological beast itself.

He studies traditional medicine directly under Dr Kureha while having formal training from his own university years.

He's a friend and a role model to Ace, often hanging around with ASL even outside their missions.

He is incapable of getting drunk, which is the reason why he often sasses the heroes who tend to party hard as a revenge due to the fact that he's also the one to look after them.

He's pretty much sassy gremlin uncle and most people adore his sarcastic nature.

Bonnie Clay

Part of the diversion team, which was created with the intention of helping to maintain the double lives of the heroes without them being caught.

Usually Bon is paired with Bartolomeo and the duo get along quite nicely.

His special ability is Mimicry, which is perfect for him to pose as his coworkers. Usually he does that to also cheer others up.

Thanks to his special placing in the HQ, he is aware of the most heroes' identities.

He looks up to a vigilante known as Queen, who works with Dragon and is even rumoured to be his lover.

Bon is a fashionista of his own right, his expertise lying in visual kei and kawaii fashion.

Bon's closest friend in the HQ is Luffy, to whom he is very dedicated to as he helped him break out of his former life.

He used to be part of Crocodile's criminal organisation, being lured there as a child from an abusive home life. But unlike Miss Sunday, Bonnie Clay chose to become a hero upon being given the opportunity to by Shanks.

Caesar Clown

No, he and Buggy aren't actually related.

He was formerly contained to a government facility due to his questionable fascination to poisons and gas.

The United Nations chose to hand him over to the United Heroes to ensure that if his intelligence was going to be used, it'd be for something good.

Doctor Kureha has been extra hard on him, constantly steering him away from the more destructive path.

He honestly doesn't really realise that what he does is bad, he was literally raised to be a living weapon and as such emotions and compassion aren't his strongest points.

Caesar is always paired with Law, who appears to be the only one capable of keeping him in line. Nobody knows how he does this and at this point they're too scared to ask.

There was a time when Doflamingo tried to get him to join the Donquixote Family, but Law's stories about what kind of person he was made it so that Caesar was too afraid of the mad man to actually go with it.

Even if he's technically a captive, Caesar feels like he's being treated like a human in the HQ, which is what he had been wishing for most of his life, wondering what it was like to have a normal relationship with other people.

Chopper

Currently, he's the youngest person in the HQ (15), thus he isn't allowed to go on the field.

He was abandoned by his birth parents to the test facility where project REVIVE took place, ultimately becoming one of the test subjects.

He was rescued and illegally adopted by doctor Kureha and doctor Hiriluk, who have been his mentors up until the latter's death.

Kureha is planning on having him take over as the leader of the medical team once the time comes for her to retire.

Chopper prefers the humanoid reindeer look over his actual human one, it makes him feel more confident and in control. It also seems to make others smile.

When someone is stressed, Chopper tends to climb onto their laps, refusing to move until they've relaxed. His soft toy like appearance has helped a lot of workers.

[woundjob]

19 22 26

19. Do you prefer canon-compliant, AUs, or something in-between? 

canon is my clay and i mold it until it doesnt suck anymore. im not sure that answers your question. peace be with you

22. Do you listen to anything while you write? 

this is not a joke i am currently listening to tik tok by kesha

26. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try? 

yeah i have this great hannibal without the cannibalism wolfstar au thats been burning a hole in my frontal lobe but im worried itll be too much of an undertaking. might post my sketches tho idk

[critmasexchange]

Post Deadline Pinch Hits #1-3

PINCH HITS #1 - #3

We have three (3) Post Deadline Pinch Hits. These are due by 23:59 on December 27th.

To claim, please direct message the comm with which PH(s) you’d like and your AO3 name (DMing is required to preserve anonymity).

Crossposted to the Dreamwidth Comm

PINCH HIT #1

For Owlmoose

Request 1 Art or Fic Fandom: Critical One-Shots: Bar Room Blitz   Jayne Merriweather

Summary Given Jayne's loyalties, I'm really eager to know what she's been up to during the time of Campaign 2. Mix it up with any other characters you like, but please keep it gen, and if there is violence I'd rather it not be too detailed or graphic.

Request 2 Art or Fic Fandom:Critical Role Campaign One   Pike Trickfoot & Grog Strongjaw

Summary Friendship fic please. I would love a story or artwork about the two of them growing up together, and getting into and out of trouble in Westruun.

Request 3 Art or Fic Fandom:Critical Role Campaign Two   Group: Caduceus Clay & Fjord & Melora | The Wildmother

Summary I'm quite fascinated by this entire situation and would be eager to see nearly anything focused on it. Gen only please.

Request 4 Fandom:Critical Role Campaign Two   Group: Fjord/Jester Lavorre

Summary This ship is getting really adorable and I'd enjoy pretty much anything focused on it. I prefer vanilla to kinky and character-based stories to porn without plot.

PINCH HIT #2

For Wiccy Request 1 Fic Fandom:Crash Pandas: Too Trashed Too Curious  Ringo, Sass Car, Guy on Motorcycle, Reggie Burns Group: Rhinestone & Albert T. "Baldpaw" Skunk, Group: Izzy/Vin Diesel

Link to Dear Critter Letter

Request 2 Fic Fandom: Critical Crossovers   Group: Beauregard Lionett & Grog Strongjaw, Group: Lockheed & Nugget & Professor Thaddeus & Trinket, Group: Melora | The Wildmother & Professor Thaddeus & Trinket, Group: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Shaun Gilmore, Group: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Taliesin Jaffe, Group: Nott the Brave & Scanlan Shorthalt

Link to Dear Critter Letter

Request 3 Fandom:Critical One-Shots: Thursday By Night   Fic Group: Vampire Liam O'Brien/Vampire Sam Riegel, Group: Vampire Liam O'Brien & Vampire Sam Riegel & Vampire Travis Willingham, Vampire Matthew Mercer

Link to Dear Critter Letter

Request 4 Fic Fandom:Critical Role Campaign One   Group: Grog Strongjaw & Scanlan Shorthalt, Group: J’mon Sa Ord/Shaun Gilmore, Group: Keyleth/Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III, Group: Shaun Gilmore/Vax'ildan, Tiberius Stormwind

Link to Dear Critter Letter

Request 5 Fic Fandom:Critical Role Campaign Two   Group: Animals of the Mighty Nein, Group: Animals of the Mighty Nein & Melora | The Wildmother, Group: Animals of the Mighty Nein & The Mighty Nein, Group: Avantika & Uk'otoa, Group: Beauregard Lionett & Professor Thaddeus, Group: Caduceus Clay & Fjord, Group: Caduceus Clay & Fjord & Melora | The Wildmother, Group: Caduceus Clay & Jester Lavorre, Group: Caduceus Clay & Pumat Sol, Group: Caduceus Clay & Pumat Sol & The Simulacra, Group: Fjord & Beauregard Lionett, Group: Frumpkin & Sprinkle & Nugget & Professor Thaddeus, Group: Jester Lavore & Nott | Veth Brenatto, Group: Jester Lavore & Sprinkle, Group: Pumat Sol & The Simulacra

Link to Dear Critter Letter

Request 6 Fic Fandom:Critical Role Campaign Two   Group: Beauregard Lionett/Dairon, Group: Beauregard Lionett/Keg, Group: Caduceus Clay/Caleb Widogast, Group: Caduceus Clay/Eadwulf, Group: Caduceus Clay/Fjord, Group: Caduceus Clay/Fjord/Melora, Group: Caduceus Clay/Melora, Group: Caleb Widogast/Essek Thelyss, Group: Caleb Widogast/Essek Thelyss/Yussa Errenis, Group: Caleb Widogast/Jester Lavore, Group: Caleb Widogast/Mollymauk Tealeaf, Group: Caleb Widogast/Nott | Veth Brenatto, Group: Caleb Widogast/Nott | Veth Brenatto/Yeza Brenatto, Group: Fjord/Melora | The Wildmother, Group: Jester Lavore/The Traveler

Link to Dear Critter Letter

Request 7 Fic Fandom:Critical Role Campaign Two   Frumpkin, Henry Crabgrass, Jourrael | The Inevitable End, Keg, Kiri, Marius LePual, Orly Skiffback, Professor Thaddeus, Sprinkle

Link to Dear Critter Letter

Request 8 Fic Fandom:Critical Role RPF   Group: Dani Carr/Taliesin Jaffe, Group: Laura Bailey/Sam Riegel, Group: Liam O'Brien/Sam Riegel, Group: Marisha Ray/Matthew Mercer/Taliesin Jaffe

Link to Dear Critter Letter

Request 9 Fic Fandom:Yeehaw Game Ranch   Any Character

Link to Dear Critter Letter

DNWs which apply to all requests: Hard core BDSM (including things such as nipple clamps, butt plugs, strap-ons, gimping, kinbaku, testicle/genital torture and humiliation), Big/little dynamics, age play, Lactation, Blood play, vore, inflation/stuffing, sounding, medical kink, body modification/body horror, descriptions of broken or breaking bones (saying a bone is broken is fine, detailing the sounds/feelings or descriptions of what it looks like after are not), description of eye trauma (saying eye trauma occurred is fine, describing it happening or what it looks like after are not), bestiality, rimming, water sports, scat, feet (as a kink or really any descriptions of them), Death!Fic (mentions of canonical death(s) is fine), unrequested setting AUs, unrequested non-canonical pairings, unrequested gender/sexuality identity headcanons/fanons (I do not consider WOG to be canon in most cases), heavy gore, mpreg, pregnancy/birth, characters under the age of 13, genderswap, first person pov, 2nd person POV (unless otherwise requested), poetry, clowns, underage (under 18) romance or sex, descriptions of child abuse, blood relative incest, cannibalism and zombies.

PINCH HIT #3

For Wildheartsneverdie Request 1 Fic Fandom:Critical Role Campaign Two   Group: Beauregard Lionett/Jester Lavorre

Summary Request 1: Beau and Jester. Friends to kissers, baby! Does Jester realize she doesn’t need a stinkin’ man? Are they college roommates? Do they mutually realize their feelings might be more than just friendship? Anything focusing on them becoming more than friends will melt my heart, so get creative with this one.

DNW: Please nothing with graphic violence, character death, non-con, scat, vore. No a/b/o. No incest.

Link to Dear Critter Letter

Request 2 Fic Fandom:Critical Role Campaign Two   Kiri

Summary Request 2: The continued adventures of Kiri. What kind of shenanigans does she get up to after departing the guardianship of the Mighty Nein? Does she make any new friends? Give me lots of fluffy fluff.

DNW: Please nothing with graphic violence, character death, non-con, scat, vore. No a/b/o. No incest.

Link to Dear Critter Letter

Request 3 Fic Fandom:Critical Role Campaign One   Group: Taryon Darrington & Vex'ahlia

Summary Vex and Taryon Darrington. What do these two besties get up to at the Slayer’s Cake? Do they have a mysterious customer? Do they need a special ingredient for a special bake? Best friends forever!

DNW: Please nothing with graphic violence, character death, non-con, scat, vore. No a/b/o. No incest.

Link to Dear Critter Letter

Request 4 Fic Fandom:Critical Role Campaign One   Keyleth, Pike Trickfoot, Vex'ahlia

Summary Ladies Night Out, Vox Machina Edition. I want to see the ladies of Vox Machina hanging out together, having a nice time or getting into trouble. Is there a little romance on the side? That’s for you to decide!

DNW: Please nothing with graphic violence, character death, non-con, scat, vore. No a/b/o. No incest.

Link to Dear Critter Letter

Request 5 Fic Fandom:Critical Role Campaign Two   Jester Lavorre, Beauregard Lionett, Yasha, Nott | Veth Brenatto

Summary Ladies Night Out, Mighty Nein Edition. I want to see the ladies of Mighty Nein hanging out together, having a nice time or getting into trouble. Is there a little romance on the side? That’s for you to decide!

DNW: Please nothing with graphic violence, character death, non-con, scat, vore. No a/b/o. No incest.

Link to Dear Critter

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

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?

[greenninjagal-blog]

Bury the Body ch2

Hey remember that time I made [this] serial killer au as a joke off the prompts from @sandersidesquotes and then two days later Thomas made the DWIT video? hahaha, wouldn’t it be cool if that one shot suddenly got, like a plot and stuff. 

TW: Attempted Murder, Blood, knives, stabbing, arson, burns, choking, causal talk of killing people, mentions of suicide, romanticizing of serial killing

Words: 4629

Quick Taglist: @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm @holliberries @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @treasureofpriam

Read on AO3

They ran into a problem in the first four hours of the trip. Multiple problems, actually.The first of which began in the initial turn of the train carriage just barely outside of the city Logan had haunted for so long. Although, since he wasn’t sitting next to the window, it was easy enough to see around the white T-shirt murderer when the other was laying on the seat and scrolling through his phone so casually. Logan watched from the corner of his eyes as the city faded to suburbs and then to rolling hills and highways filled with bumper to bumper traffic. 

The smiling man and his hooded brother chatted on endlessly about who they wanted to kill next, about how exactly one of them was going to cut them open, about the rumors of a cannibal running around the western coast, about what the afterlife was probably like, about nothing at all.

Then the train had carried them around a long bend. Logan blinked.

And the man in the hoodie was in a choke hold in the middle of their private little carriage, his face turning red, and a dazzling gleam of a smile behind his ear as the man in white laughed.

Logan watched with boredom as they struggled, pulling his legs onto the seat when their mess of limbs stumbled in the five feet of space they had. The man in white’s phone hit the ground, and cracked under the pressure of his own heel. The man in the hoodie clawed his fingers over the powerful hands that were choking him, his own knife having dropped to the seat cushion when the attack began.

The smiling man cooed at the sight of his brother being strangled, that smile pointed and full of teeth. He pressed his hands on his rounded cheeks grinning, always grinning, “Aw, Virge! Can you see his smile? It’s so pretty!”

Logan was not surprised when the other did not respond. His eyes were wide, red at the edges, his tongue twitching in his throat whenever he tried to take a breath that was not coming. There was a coldness to the scene that Logan found disappointing: a coldness of such an empty overpowered death. The man probably didn’t even need both hands to choke the life from the hooded victim—the size of his one palm was enough to wrap around the throat and crush the vocals.

Why couldn’t any of them see how distant this type of death was? Why would they prefer it to the embrace of flames?

Logan was about to turn back to his phone when a shadow passed over the carriage.

A shadow and a fanged smirk from the hoodie serial killer. 

He jumped, kicked his feet off the seat, and then launched himself backward to the floor, with his attacker underneath him. The motion was fluid and quick and Logan tutted at the way the killer in white slammed his head into the edge of the booth seat they had been sharing. 

The grip loosened.

The hooded victim coughed precious air into his lungs. His fingers carted the carpeted flooring until he found his knife again. He didn’t use it, but instead twisted back around into his attacker with his free hand and jabbed into the depression of the other’s armpit.

“Aw, it’s over so soon,” The man with the fake smile said sorrowfully.

Logan watched as the man in white recoiled at the strike, drawing his body in on itself, despite the fact that his prey was inches away from him. He gasped in pain—whatever feeling normal people classified as physical pain, and his entire arm fell limp to the floor.

“V!” the smiling man moaned, “You made him upset! Make him smile again! Please?” 

“Fuck…you…” the hooded man coughed out and leaned back on against the seat right against his brother’s swinging legs.

“Language!”

The man in the hoodie points his knife at the man who had attacked him, his eyes were cold as steel, unbreakable and frigid with deadly intention. “I’m gonna… disassemble you, Princey. And stuff you… back in the toy box you came out of!”

The other laughed again, curling in on his chest, Logan thought he saw him spit out a bit of blood. “They’re never going to forget how I killed you, Twenty Eight! Never!” 

When Logan left for his smoke break nearly an hour and a half later, both of them had settled back onto their respective seats. The smiling man was watching the scenery pass by them, humming a catchy pop tune, the man in white had complained about the cracked screen on his phone for twenty minutes, and the man in the hoodie had retreated into a ball in the corner, ever so subtly rubbing the edges of his overgrown sleeves over the bruises on his neck.

The designated smoking area was in the middle of the train on a platform car with peeling red and yellow painted fencing that kept people from falling off. Logan was not surprised to see he was alone.

The clouds had begun to darken and the rumbling of thunder could be heard over the screeching of the wheels on the rails. A cool breeze divided the warm air of the day and carried the ashes of his cigarette from the post he was leaning against. His lighter danced between his fingers, flicking on and off, close and near, and watching the flame with a close intensity. Perhaps too close. Should any other passengers have trespassed into his sacred space and if they were from his little city, they might have put two and two together.

Or maybe Logan was giving too much credit to the normal people he walked among. Logan smelt like fire, like ashes, like death, and yet none of them had picked up on it.

Logan twisted the flame again; the warmth brushed his fingertips. Logan had long since run out of words that could possibly describe what it felt like: like pressure where there was nothing, like heat, like something his mother had told him so many times not to do, don’t do it Logan! Stop it! Logan! 

He had cabinets of melted candles and drawers of fireworks. Lighter fluid had covered every surface in his apartment at least once in the time he had been there. Matches always burned to his finger tips and washed down the drain on nights where he couldn’t go outside. The fire detector had been deactivated for years.

He spent too long staring at the flames. But how could he not stare? They were gorgeous, dancing idles. So fleeting, so rare, so powerful. They smelled so sickly sweet, so bitter and callous and unforgiving. It burned and burned and burned and Logan was its faithful observer, its devoted worshiper, a quiet architect.

Logan took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the blistery smell of his smoke. 

His lungs refused to cooperate.

Logan barely had time to yell before he felt the pressure of something thin, of something strong and unassuming and wrapping around his neck yanking him backwards. Logan felt the pressure of it, felt the bursting of his eardrums and the staggering weight of someone behind him. He didn’t—couldn’t feel the pain. 

He could feel the rush of blood down his neck where the wire was so close to slicing his throat like a slab of wet clay.

“Smile, Logie!” A cheerful tone hummed. Logan felt the vibrations down his back. “Smile for me!”

Logan’s lighter tumbled from his hand—or rather from the two working fingers he had been holding it with—and fell into the open air. The flames disappeared. Icy coldness flooded Logan’s veins like snakes striking at his rapidly beating heart. 

He rammed the smoldering edge of his cigarette into the mass of flesh behind him and twisted. There was a yelp—a scream followed by haunting laughter. The wire loosened. Logan fell forward. His attacker fell back.

“Owww! Logie! That wasn’t nice at all!” The smiling man said between hiccups of pain. Logan thought he saw tears behind those round glasses of his, but to be honest he was more concerned with the sticky fluid dribbling down his neck. His fingers were dyed red, dyed the color of wine, it was warm and wet at the same time. 

The smiling man twisted the handles of his wire—a clay cutter Logan thought distantly—and showed off the whites of his teeth. The rounded burn was on his side, where his pastel sweater had ridden up and left his pale skin exposed. Logan thought the mark looked gorgeous: angry and blistered and just a few seconds short of never coming off of him.

Logan rolled the stick in his hand, and his tongue flicked between his teeth, wondering what the rest of that soft pale skin would look like covered in those burns, smelling like the smoke, feeling like a braille story book that Logan got to write himself. The scream had been too short, too sudden, but Logan found his stomach fluttering at it. 

Oh, it was a promise. A promise that he could get more from the man in front of him with such a convenient little thing.

The man’s eyes danced over Logan, cold and cutting and so excited. Logan’s lips twitched.

“It’s no fair that you don’t feel pain!” The man said.

“And you sneaking up behind me with wire was fair?” Logan countered.

“You looked so sad being here all alone!”

“Perhaps I prefer the loneliness.”

The smile crinkled. Logan could hear the way the other’s teeth grinded together, the way his saliva cracked and bubbled when it was pressured by the expanse of the face muscles to hold the strenuous crescent.

“No one ever prefers the loneliness, kiddo!”

It sounded like a fact. Like a threat.

Logan raised his cigarette between them. The ashes on the edge of it valiantly attempted to keep embers glowing and finish the job it had been sent to do.

The door at the end of the car swung, accompanied by the obnoxious laughter of someone who couldn’t read a room. It was loud, earth shatteringly so. The voices that came suddenly, the squeal of wheels on the rails, the whistling of the wind through the windows, and the thunder in the distance.

Logan froze, his cigarette hummed between his fingers, sticky blood dripped down his neck staining the collar of the shirt he had been wearing. 

He saw the twisted faces of the other passengers like staring in a fun house mirror. Eyes widening, mouths gaping, half a scream on their lips, a cellphone flashing and sirens going off. The trip would be over, the prospect of burning the flesh gone in a puff of smoke because of a poor couple in a wrong time, wrong place scenario.

“Aw Logie!” 

Then the smiling man was pressed up against him. Their glasses clinking when their faces collided, when his hands deceptively cupping his jaw line and pushing them both out of the limelight. The man’s eyes closed but Logan’s stayed so wide open. He could make out every single freckle on the other’s face. Logan felt the breath on his skin, then the precarious chapped lips on his own. 

It was a parody of a kiss, of something sweet and romantic. The man’s hands were too rough, the blisters on his palms tore at the skin around the slice through Logan’s neck, his teeth bared and bit down on Logan’s lip like a ravenous beast; his body was heavy and controlling and somehow not at all warm.

“Hey, buddy! Get a room!”

Logan stared at the man in front of him, at the man kissing him, at the man who was trying to kill him. The fluttering in his chest spread like a plague, Logan knew, because there was simply no other reason that his hand snaked around the other’s waist and held him in place.

Neither of them moved until the door to the other end of the car closed. 

Then Logan stubbed the remaining embers of his cigarette into the smiling man’s collarbone. His grin curled momentarily into a snarl and the other man launches himself away from Logan, away from the blood, and the smoke, and Logan let him tumble to the floor.

“This isn’t fun anymore,” The other said petulantly. “Not fun at all!”

He gave Logan a chilling smile, too much teeth, too wide, too white. Then he turned around and left Logan in the room with his bleeding neck, cigarette, lighter and pulsating bottom lip.

The scent of burned flesh was carried away by the open air of the train car and replaced with the smell of rain.

***

Their private compartment was still intact when Logan reentered it a partial rainstorm later. He had to wait for his neck to stop bleeding, and for several other people to clear out of the hall before he stole through the shifting compartments and found their carriage again. 

His lighter had taken a deep dive when the smiling man had attacked him, but Logan was thankful it hadn’t been lost forever. The silver box was scuffed and scratched and needed replacing but Logan preferred it to any others. It was the reliable one that had ignited the baseball captain’s backyard shed on fire, the car in the parking garage, the suburban house in the middle of the night after he had dismantled the fire alarms.

Not to mention it made such a beautiful light when he flicked a switch. It made such glorious instantaneous heat.

It seemed that neither of the twins had been killed or had managed to kill their other companion although it appeared that at least one more attempt had been made. The knife sticking out of the backrest and the carvings on the floor were hard to miss when he rolled the door back open.

“Oh, he’s back.” The man in white said. There was a nick on his forehead that wasn’t there before, and although it was shallow, the thin line was precise and swift. If Logan had to guess, he assumed that it had been the hooded man attempting to remove the smug look from his face.

“Hi, Logie!” The smiling man hummed again upon seeing him. “It’s been so long!”

“It’s been twenty minutes,” Logan corrected him. He reached out and plucked the knife from his seat. The black handle was sturdy but it light compared the steel blade on the other end. It was sharp, too—sharp enough that Logan knew not to hold it towards himself when all three of the people in the room with him were one train turn away from launching at him. 

“So long! I was so bored! V, tell him how bored I was!”

“Shut up,” His brother snapped, and buried himself in his jacket. “I’m mad at you.”

“What? Why!”

“You said I couldn’t carve Princey’s face off and make a Halloween mask out of it.”

“That’s because it would rot before Halloween came around, kiddo! We can’t have that!”

The other man grumbled something into the zipper of his jacket. His brother laughed at whatever it might have been. Rain danced on the window.

Logan had never been a fan of the rain. It made materials damp and changed his perfect gas-flesh ratio for his perfect kills. How many times in his teens had he cursed the sudden thunderstorms in his backyard when it stopped him from ritually destroying his sisters brand new textbooks and those stuffed animals from her boyfriend and her love letters that she never sent and hadn’t missed? 

Then the smiling man gave a great big gasp, something that stole all the oxygen from the compartment. His brother lifted his head ever so slightly, a withering glare in place, and the man in white shot to a sitting position with his phone as a weapon.

“Don’t do that, Twenty Nine!” The man scolded him, “I almost bashed your skull in right now!”

The man laughed that signature fake, signature grating laugh. 

“What’s so wrong with that, kiddo?” He asked, “Is it wrong to kill someone as messed up as me?”

“You’re not messed up, Pat.” His brother said, “Stop saying you are.”

The man in white leaned forward, the heels of his boots clicking and leaving a few dirt crumbs on the polished floor next to the knife carvings. “I’d really hate to mess up my count, puffball.” There was a whiteness to him, to his words that reminded Logan of bleach. White and watery and dangerous to get too close for too long. 

The look in his eyes was clinical: all the warmth bleached out and left this mockery of a shell in its place. 

The smiling man clapped his hands. “There might be something wrong with your brain too!”

His brother batted him with his sleeve, “No! He’s mine!”

“We can share!”

“No, we can’t! I don’t want you playing with his brain! You always drop them!”

The smile widened. Logan could see his tongue flicking between his teeth. 

“Sorry Vee-Vee! I just love the sound they make when they hit the floor.”

“Did you have a reason for such an atrocious gasp, or were you merely attempting to provoke me into lighting you on fire right now?” Logan asked. The threat was hollow and empty, but only because a good fire in such a confined space would provide more than a few problems. The first of which was there was no distance to watch from, the second being the train was bound to stop the moment they realized there were open flames although he had never gotten a chance to set an actual train on fire—

Logan felt the lighter in his pocket grow heavy again.

Would it burn slowly? How long would it take? How many would it take into its ruby embrace? How much--?

“We should play a game!” The smiling man said.

Logan’s thoughts stuttered to a pause, unlike the train that was chugging allow at a steady pace. “A game?” 

It appeared that the comment had acquired the attention of the others as well. His brother brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his hands around his legs. (Despite the hoodie, Logan could make out the purple and blue bruises around his neck from not too long ago. He absently poked the cut on his neck, and reached for his bag—surely, he had something to cover up his own injuries, correct?)

The man in white plopped his head into his hand and studied the smile on the other’s face. “I do like games.” He tapped his manicured fingers on his phone, emphasizing the cracks on the black screen. “I’ll allow it.”

The man in the hoodie shoot him a dark, annoyed glare, as if he was just barely holding back snap that would derail the conversation.

The smiling man clapped, “I love games, too! It will be so much fun! You’ll all be smiling at the end of it!”

“Pat—” His brother started but stopped himself quickly when the smiling man shoved a hand in his face.

“Trust me V!” He giggled. Logan caught sight of the puckered cigarette burn on the nap of his neck when his arms flailed. “It’ll make everything so much more fun!”

“What is the game?” Logan asked, if only to keep them on track.

“Well I was thinking that it’s so hard to—” He stopped to draw a line across his neck and stick his tongue out. There were tears in his eyes from how wide he was grinning that made the entire scenario more lighthearted than it should have been. Logan’s neck pulsed as he threaded through his bag for a scarf or something to cover the murder attempt. “—each other, so I was thinking we could make up rules we have to follow every day! If we don’t follow the rules, then the others get to kill us, no exceptions!”

Lightning shattered the sky behind him, casting him in an ethereal glow for a fraction of a second. Rain pounded at the window, much harder than from when Logan had been walking back from the smoking car.

“What kind of rules?” Logan demanded, “Who gets to decide them? Who gets to enforce them?”

“We would!” The man exclaimed pointed at all of them. “And the rules could be anything! Like no petting dogs in this state, no drinking water—Oh! What if it was no sneezing! Anyone who sneezed we could kill!”

“But who gets to kill them?” The man in white said. “If I don’t get to be the one to kill Robert Downer, Jr, then I will lose it.”

“Lose what?” The boy in the hoodie asked, “It can’t be your brain, because you don’t have one of those.”

The man in the white reached out one of his hands and it had the other man scrambling away. Logan ignored them in favor of analyzing the smiling face in front of him. The longer he spent looking at him, the more Logan was sure the man’s skin was made of plastic: even the freckles seemed painted on perfectly symmetrical on both halves of his face. His toothy grin could have been childish, but Logan doubt either of them could be judges of that. Actually, he doubted any of them in the private carriage had enough of a childhood to know what “childish” looked like.

“I guess the person who chose the rule for the day will get to make them smile!” The smiling man said.

“And what if the rule maker was the rule breaker?”

The man looked less certain, his smile turning thoughtful as he debated the question. “I guess they’ll have to kill themselves, right?” He laughed again.

“Okay,” Logan found himself saying. “I’ll play.”

He watched the stars form in the other’s eyes, and for a second Logan had difficulty identifying where the fake smile started and a genuine one appeared. For someone who looked like a doll, he was much louder than them when he squealed.

“Really, Logie? You will!”

“It would be beneficial to me,” Logan said, “Assuming that while we are playing no other attempts of assassination will be allowed. I do not have the time to scrub the blood from all of the clothes I own.” He pinched his glasses, “Also, I would like to go first.”

“What if I don’t want to play this game?” The hooded man said, “It sounds dumb.”

“You’re just afraid of losing.” The man in white said.

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“I’m not! It is stupid! Just like your face.”

“My face is the most handsome thing you’ll ever have the honor of looking at, Foundation Freak.” The man in white shot back. “And if its so stupid, then you shouldn’t have a problem winning until it’s my turn?”

“Fine!” The man in the hoodie scowled and dragged his hood tighter over his head, “Fine, I’ll play!”

Logan turned ever so slightly to look at the man next to him, “Neither of you will be attempting to go first?”

“No,” The man said with an expression that was sharper than the knife Logan had in his hand. For the first time Logan wondered if perhaps there was something else going on in his head beside an incessant urge to kill (people, things, time).

“It’s all yours Logie-bear!” The smiling man said. 

Thunder rumbled over the sound of the train tracks.

“And whatever I say will last until when exactly?” Logan asked.

The man in white turned around his phone. Between the cracks in the glass, the time printed out just past six in the afternoon. “A full twenty-four hours, Calculator Watch.” His smug smirk haunted the dull lighting. “Choose wisely.”

As if Logan had ever done anything differently.

“My rule is this,” Logan said, enunciating each word, “For the next twenty-four hours we must refer to each other by our actual legal names.” 

“Our…legal names?” The man in the hoodie echoed as if he had never heard the term before. “Like…our real names? I can’t call Princey, “Princey”, anymore?”

“Ah!” The man in white said jumping to his feet and causing the carriage to shake, “That’s a rule break! I get to kill you now—”

“We haven’t started yet, dumbass!” The man argued. “And if we had, Logan would get to kill me. Not you!” He kicked a foot out at the other’s knee. 

The man yelped and stumbled backwards, with a slew of curses. “Of course we’ve started, Twenty eight—fuck!” 

“You broke the rules too!”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

Logan looked to the smiling man.

Said smiling man was tapping his chin, with a clever sort of smile. “Well this is fun,” He said softly, perhaps seriously. “You aren’t even going to start a little easy are you, Logan?”

The name sounded strange coming off his lips. Like he had pulled the water from the air and frozen it in a single breath. The fluttering in his stomach came back, as memorable as an atomic bomb in his chest. Dangerous and deadly and something to be avoided at all costs and yet Logan found himself wishing it would stay.

“Why would I?” He responded. He turned to the other two in the compartment. “The game will start now, if you both are finished arguing.”

“But it’s not fair!” The man in the hoodie huffed. “No one knows his name! We only know your name because we saw you at your job! How are we supposed to talk about—about him if we don’t know how to talk about--.”

“My name is Roman Prince.” The man in white cut in. “You may refer to me as Roman.”

It was strange, Logan thought. For him to give up an advantage like that. Surely it would be better for the others if they didn’t know his name at all. But Logan detected something coming from him, something about his aura that darkened the moment that the hooded man had opened his mouth to complain.

“Aw shucks, kid—Roman,” The smiling man stuttered, “That was really nice of you! I’m Patton Sanders! And this is my brother Virgil!”

Logan finally found what he was looking for in his bag: the turtleneck that he had packed should the option of a late night in another city come about. It would at least be enough to cover the slice on his throat from questioning glances.

“What about you?” The man in white, the regal Roman Prince, asked Logan.

The weight of the knife in his other hand was heavy, the pressure of it sitting on his fingertips somewhere between too cold and too hot. Logan recognized the style of it: the hilt matched the one he had left in his kitchen strainer after he pulled it from his arm and had threaded the gaping wound closed on both sides.

He was certain the amount of blood he had lost between these few days wasn’t as healthy as possible. The headache, too, wasn’t the best. And the dryness of his mouth.

If Logan was smart he’d bid them all goodbye at the next stop and head on his merry way. Maybe he’d find a naïve girl who needed a ride home and send her up in smoke. But Logan did not like missing out on things, especially not the chance to burn the plastic smiling man across from him again, to hear those pleas, and that delicious, desperate scream of his. If he left now, he’d never get to see what happens next.

Wouldn’t that just be awful?

“Logan Ackroyd,” Logan said, “I wonder if you’ll be able to remember it.”

Lightning cracked down on the countryside, washing the windows with light and rain pellets and the promise of murder.

Part 3

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

Bedlam

by leo_grayscale

"...And that gift of protection ran through his chest, his heart. Blood seeped through Wilbur’s coat, staining the worn brown leather a deep crimson red. A trickle of blood dribbled from his mouth and stained his teeth. Wilbur slumped around the sword. Phil’s eyes looked blank as he yanked the sword from his chest.

Tommy hadn’t cried then. He didn’t scream, he didn’t fight. He stood there and watched as his brother, the only other he could commiserate with, the only other who understood Tommy intrinsically, dead and gone."

Or:

A Tokyo Ghoul AU of Tommy's story. No knowledge of Tokyo Ghoul required before reading.

Words: 1898, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Dream SMP- Tokyo Ghoul AU

Fandoms: Dream SMP, Minecraft (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: Gen

Characters: TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot, Phil Watson | Philza, Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo, Other Character Tags to Be Added

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Tokyo Ghoul, Child Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Evil Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Inspired by Tokyo Ghoul, Cannibalism, Blood and Violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Temporary Character Death, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Family Issues, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Avian Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), okay. that should be all the tags we need for right now, sleepy bois will become family, after they work out their issues, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

[sadlittlenerdking]

That Which Binds

The Magicians

Queliot 

Word count: Holy shit clocking in at 5.1k

Summary: canon compliant up to 3x05 and then it goes super au. Quentin and Eliot love each other, but there’s a wedding. Don’t we all just want that happy new beginning?

He keeps expecting the doors to the throne room to burst open and for Quentin to stand there, huffing and puffing as he yells, “Stop the wedding!”

But Eliot says I do, slow and cautious, with his eyes locked on the door rather than his soon to be husband.

Idri squeezes his hand and pulls him closer, gazes at him in the way Eliot just wishes Quentin would allow himself to. It’s not even sweet, not really. Maybe it’s loving. But Eliot can’t be assed to care. Isn’t sure he could even identify if he did care. “I do.”

The doors remain shut as the audience applauds their royal marriage. Hurrah. Eliot forces a grin as he leans in and presses a chaste kiss to Idri’s lips. Ignores the pounding in his chest that resembles something shattering inside him. They turn to the audience, and bow.

Fillory and Loria are united.

Eliot's eyes flit across the room and meet Margo’s. Her jaw is set, and before he can even offer a nod in her direction, she’s storming out of the throne room. Maybe she’s off to kill Quentin. Part of him is pleased at the idea. But the dumber part . . . God. The idiotic part of him is still hopeful the doors will smash open, and Quentin’s just late. Late is okay. Late means he tried but something stopped him.

Late means he cares.

It almost feels as if he’s underwater as they make their way across the dance floor. The sounds of the music pump through him, but they’re far off and fuzzy, as Idri pulls him close and smiles into Eliot’s jaw, whispering dirty little nothings that Eliot would have enjoyed in another life, Eliot keeps his eyes locked on the doors. Before the alternate timeline this would have been perfect. This would have been everything. After he and Quentin walked through the clock and lived their lives—after they formed a family—Eliot honestly doubts anything will ever amount to even a fraction of what he and Quentin had. But, he gets to have sex with someone that actually arouses him. What a fucking prize.

In the past, it would have been.

He closes his eyes and whispers back to Idri, pretends to be a loving husband, talks about perfect wedding planning and gorgeous center pieces. How happy he is. Even still, though, every time he’s spun or they turn, behind his eyelids he can still sense the formidable structure of heavy wooden doors that remain closed.

He was so sure. Quentin seemed to finally understand what was going on with that giant overthinking brain of his. It seemed like he was finally willing to admit it. What he felt in the past life—what happened after Eliot died. He’d started opening up. His feelings were more on his sleeve than tucked away in his messenger bag. He’d smiled at Eliot every time he entered a room, the way he used to look at Alice. He’d held his hand beneath the dinner table. He’d been so openly and blatantly jealous when Idri proposed their nuptials resume.

Fuck. He’d even kissed Eliot not even twelve hours ago.

Every kiss, Eliot could count all the important ones on one hand, every single one had been Quentin kissing Eliot. Last night, he’d practically shoved Eliot up against the tree and kissed him like it would replace the words he couldn’t get out past his stuttering.

Why didn’t he come?

Why didn’t he stop the wedding?

Why does Eliot keep letting himself get hurt when it comes to Quentin Coldwater?

He sighs, deep, and opens his eyes. It’s because he loves him. From the moment he lost his words when Quentin stumbled up to him that first day; to the day he died in Past Fillory. Even now. After Quentin continues to do everything but choose him.

All Eliot’s ever done is choose Quentin. Drunk, stoned, or even as a clay version of himself. Quentin runs through Eliot’s blood. It’s like the great cock said: they’re brothers of the heart. Quentin holds Eliot’s heart, and he squeezes and he squeezes until it practically maims Eliot. Over and over again, until all that’s left is dust. And then Eliot’s heart rejuvenates, and the whole cycle starts up again.

And the worst part is Quentin doesn’t even realize it. Doesn’t realize just what he’d give up if it meant another stolen kiss beneath a hidden tree at the edge of the castles property line. If it meant watching him with their grandchildren one more time. If it meant...

If it meant the man holding him right now were him. Idri is a wonderful man and will no doubt be a fantastic husband. But.

Eliot’s been, for all intents and purpose, married to the man he loves already. And he’s already in one unhappy marriage.

One unwanted marriage.

And now here he is with another.

He’d been so certain that Quentin would stop the wedding.

Why hadn’t he?

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He frowns, turning with the tune of the music, “Julia?” He asks, stopping, “What’s wrong?” She opens her mouth to say something but stops, glancing at Idri where he still has his hands on Eliot’s waist. “What’s going on?” Eliot shrugs away from Idri, “Excuse us,” he mutters, but he’s already dipping away before Idri can respond, “Why do you look like death warmed over?” It’s true. She’s clammy, her clothes are disheveled, and if the smell emanating off of her is anything to go by—she may actually be death warmed over.

“You need to come with me. Back to Earth.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?” He asks, “I’m not sure you’re aware, but this is my wedding,” He outstretches his arms to emphasize the point. Part of him wants to scream at her. She’s Quentin’s real best friend, isn’t she? She could explain why he’s such a fucking bastard. “That I have very carefully, and with an immense amount of effort planned—“

“It’s Quentin.”

Eliot pushes his shoulders back and lifts his chin. Of course it is. It’s always Quentin. Quentin is Eliot’s life. Quentin who didn’t care enough to stop the wedding. “You mean the Quentin that decided not to come to my wedding?”

She makes a face, unimpressed, “He couldn’t.”

Two can play at that game. Eliot crosses his arm, doubly unimpressed. “Oh? Enlighten me. I’d love to hear his excuse for this one—“

“He almost died. Actually—he did die.” She shrugs a shoulder, “I brought him back.” Jesus—his heart can’t even figure out whether or not to crash out of his chest or if everything’s okay. Talk about emotional fucking whiplash. He’s torn between wanting to rip her hair out of her scalp and hugging her.

She did bring him back. Maybe no hair pulling. For now. “From the dead?”

“From the dead, Yeah. Are you coming or not?”

He considers it, relaxing his shoulders. He tries to tell himself that it’s okay. Quentin’s not dead. Anymore. God, when did magic get so fucking complicated? “How did he—“

“The Neitherlands. We found another portal and—we were attacked. He was shot with a fucking arrow. The cannibals were hungry or something. I don’t care, to be honest.”

Eliot swallows, thick, and forces himself not to imagine sharp arrows piercing through Quentin’s fragile little body. Oh, but there they are. Like tiny little needles at his brain. “How did you—,” His voice cracks and he looks away from her. Cant take whatever signature Julia look she’s giving him. “How?” He tries again.

“Does that really matter? He’s alive, but he keeps asking for you.”

He clenches his jaw and nods, “Let’s go.” Glancing back across the dance floor, where his new husband is talking with Tick, Eliot decides its probably for the best if he doesn’t announce that he’s leaving. “Out the back,” He adds, nodding towards a door separate from the rest of the room.

They make it out without too many interruptions, and back to the neitherlands in near record time. “Aren’t the fountains frozen?”

She nods. “But not when I touch them.” And as if to prove her point, she leans forward and delicately places a hand overtop the frozen water. And it all starts moving again, shimmering in the fountain as if it’d never been frozen in the first place. She starts to move over the water, “Come on.”

He looks up from the water at her. “How are—“

“I’m a goddess, apparently. It’s not really the subject at hand. Can you just—“

Eliot sighs, so much of his life is unexplained. He’s learned by now to just roll with the punches no matter how banged up he gets. So he steps over the side of the fountain and dives in.

**

Quentin’s lying on one of the couches, hand tossed over his eyes, chest heaving like he’s in a ridiculous amount of pain. “Why is—“

Julia shakes her head and rushes to his side, dropping something to the ground beside him, “Come on, Q,” She says, soft, “Wake up.” Oh.

Nightmares.

Quentin jerks awake, hand slamming into the side of the couch with a soft thump. He flinches as his other hand goes to wrap around his stomach. That must be where the arrow hit him. Eliot stands at the edge of the living room, unsure of what he’s expected to do, other than watch. And wonder.

Had Quentin been coming to stop the wedding after all?

Or was something more important?

When Quentin calms down, he seems to finally realize he and Julia aren’t alone, as his gaze slowly rakes up Eliot’s body, from his shoes all the way up to his face. “Eliot,” He breathes. His voice is even hoarse. God, all Eliot wants to do is wrap him up and never let go. Hang onto him and keep him from ever getting hurt again. He starts to push up from the couch, but Julia puts a hand on his chest to hold him down. “You’re not dead but you’re not fully healed. Don’t try to get up.”

“But—“

“Q, I don’t even know how I saved you the first time. Don’t ask me to risk not being able to do it a second time.” Quentin sighs, nodding silently as Julia stands up and points a finger at Eliot. “I’m going to leave alone with him, but if he dies while I’m gone—“

“Like I would let anything bad happen to him,” Eliot retorts, tone a little more biting than he intended. She may have brought him back, but she was there . . .

“Good.” She turns around and walks out of the living room without another word and Eliot turns his attention on Quentin.

God, what is he even going to say to him? I’m sorry I hated you for not coming to the wedding when you were dying? I’m sorry I kept thinking about how much harm you bring to me instead of all the good? How cou—

“You’re thinking louder than me,” Quentin muses, “That’s. That’s a feat.”

Eliot can’t help it, he chuckles before moving to sit on the edge of the coffee table. And when Quentin reaches out his hand, he doesn’t hesitate to lace their fingers together. “You are the reigning champion of overthinking,” He murmurs, as he looks down on their hands. It’s like they were made to fit like this. Idri’s hands are large, almost as large as Eliot's, which makes hand holding clunky and awkward. But Quentin’s are just a little smaller, calloused and warm and the perfect fucking size to fit in Eliot’s.

Quentin heaves a sigh, and Eliot turns his eyes up to his face. He’s pale. A little clammy. “I missed it, didn’t I?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. “The wedding?” Eliot opens his mouth to say it’s okay, but Quentin squeezes his hand and barrels on, “My chance.”

And Eliot swears his heart stops in his chest. “What?”

Quentin makes a face, turning his eyes up towards the ceiling. His jaw trembles. “I had a plan. I was— I was going to fix this. Break down the doors and beg you not to marry him. I just—,” He pauses, turning his attention back to Eliot, eyes glistening. “Eliot, I’m so sorry I realized too late. I— I should have realized. I shouldn’t have been so afraid back then. We raised a child—we. We were perfect. Together. And I—i was scared. And I had the chance to—to maybe make it right. But I fucked up and got shot by a fucking flying arrow and—“ He breaks off with a shake of his head.

Eliot watches him for a few long moments, heart racing.

Fuck.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Come on Eliot, you can hold it in. Don’t cry. Don't—

“El . . .”

Fuck.

He pulls his hand away to wipe at the tears welling up on his eyelashes. “I’m—“

Quentin reaches up and grabs his hand again, pulling it back to him, right over his chest and holding onto it with both hands. “I swear I wanted to be there, Eliot. I—I just needed a plan. And I had one.”

“A plan wouldn’t unite two nations, Q. There’s nothing you could have done.” It’s true. Even if Quentin had burst through the throne room doors and screamed, ‘Stop the wedding!’ at the top of his lungs, it wouldn’t have changed anything. The wedding wasn’t about love. The wedding was about uniting two nations. Making their kingdoms stronger. Actually stopping the wedding probably would have resulted in a war. Especially after Margo accused Ess of an attempted assassination and threw him in the dungeon without so much as an hasta la vista.

“Margo was going to marry Ess,” Quentin says. “She—I talked to her about it after I kissed you. She was going to marry Ess. I just had to show up and stop the wedding, and she was going to do the rest. But I fucked up,” He makes a sound disturbingly similar to a whimper, “I finally stop overthinking and get shot with an arrow because of it. I’m so sorry, El. I’m so, so—“

Eliot swoops forward and presses his lips to Quentin’s temple. “It’s okay,” He whispers into the skin, “It’s okay. This isn't your fault—“

��Stop that.”

“What?”

Quentin pushes him away, it’s gentle but it still stings. “Every time I fuck up, you—“

“I what?”

“You forgive me.”

Eliot shrugs a shoulder. “It’s usually not your fault.” Quentin raises an eyebrow, and okay. It usually is. Practically every bad thing after Quentin came to Brakebills has been Quentin’s fault. But, “That’s love,” Eliot murmurs, “I—“ He shrugs, because there’s no other way to put it. That’s what it is. He loves Quentin, for better or worse. “I can usually find a defense for everything you do.”

Even when it came to Quentin pushing him away after they got together in their past life.

“El…”

“We’re going to figure this out.”

“How? You can’t divorce—“

Eliot shrugs, pushing off the table to kneel by the couch and rest his forehead against Quentin’s. “I don’t know. But we will.” He pulls away just enough to look him in the eyes, “We always do, don’t we?” When his wife left him, they figured it out. When they had to raise a child, just them, they figured it out.

When they got stuck in the past trying to solve an impossible puzzle— they figured it out. Every problem that’s come their way, be it caused by Quentin or some stupid God being a dick, they figured it out. They always find a way. That’s who they are. They don’t give up, no matter how much they want to, because they have each other, and then depend on one another.

Now that he knows for sure, he’s not going to stop until he figures out a way to get out of this marriage and finally get a chance with Quentin. To finally get the life they deserve.

Just as he’s about to say as much, Margo crashes through the front door. How? He can’t even be bothered to ask.

“What the actual horse shitting fuck, Coldwater?” She screams as she storms into the living room. “What the fuck were you—“ She stops at the sight of Eliot, “El. Everyone’s looking for you back at the castle.” He’d figured as much. “But that’s not the point.” She turns her glare back on Quentin, “We had a plan you fucking overthinking, selfish weasel!”

“You shouldn’t have to marry someone you don't want to, Margo.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to Eliot. “Honey, I’ve done it once. And he’s dead now. Do you really think I can’t handle Ess? He’s much easier to control. A little sex here and he’s done for the next three days. I’m not worried about him.” She turns her attention back on Quentin, eyes squinting accusingly. “Why do you look like shit?”

“He died.”

“I died.”

She stares at them for a few long beats before groaning, and looking up at the ceilings, “Can my friends please stop fucking dying?!” It really says something about the sorry state of their group that she doesn’t question how he’s still here if he’s dead.

They eventually make it back to Fillory. Margo’d had the key, which allowed her to get to Earth, but even still, time had once again moved a lot faster in Fillory than it had on Earth. The wedding decorations and guests have all disappeared. In fact, the only sign that anything that happened actually had happened, is the extra seat in the throne room for Idri. And many of Idri’s belongings in Eliot’s room. And, obviously, Idri, waiting for them is a big indicator.

“You’re back,” He says, though there’s no shock or even indignation. “Come, let’s talk.”

Eliot squeezes Quentin’s hand once before letting go and following after his husband. God. His husband. That’s somehow worse than him having to get used to saying his wife.

Wait, no.

No, it’s not.

They go out to the balcony in the throne room, and look out over Fillory. Neither of them say anything, not at first. Eliot, though he’ll never admit it, is too afraid to be the first one to speak. Too unsure of how to go about saying ’this wedding was a mistake and I hate that I went through with it and I hate that I can’t get out of it’ in a way that won’t send their two kingdoms into instant war.

Idri looks at him, thoughtful, and sighs. “The king. You love him.”

With a short, sardonic laugh, Eliot nods. “Yeah. I do.”

“And you’ve only just realized this?” When he doesn’t respond, it’s Idri’s turn to nod as he turns his gaze back on the sweeping view of the land surrounding the castle. “The wedding?”

“Obligation.” It’s the truth. There’s no point in lying anymore.

They go on in an uncomfortable silence as Eliot looks down at the ground beneath them, his arms crossed over the side of the balcony. “Tell me,” Idri says, finally, “Have you tried being with another, besides your wife, since magic disappeared?”

“Th—“ He cuts himself off. Because no, not in a world without magic. But in the past. Where there was magic. But technically Fen hadn’t been born yet. So, theoretically, it made sense that that night with Quentin was possible. They’d never really even thought to question how they’d done it. They were too busy, well, doing it. “No,” he settles for. Because how does he explain that they traveled through time, then didn’t, but still remembered everything that technically didn’t happen? Easy—he doesn’t.

“I did some research after it was clear you were probably not returning.”

Eliot frowns, turning to look at him, “I’ll always come back. Fillory is my home—“

“Returning to me, Eliot.”

“I’m—“

Idri holds up a hand. “Without magic, there are no spells or entanglements. No one thing binding two people together for as long as they live.” He smiles softly, almost sad, “Without a god, any spell he cast on the people of Fillory or the castle—it’s like it never existed. The world he created lives on. But the magic of it is gone.” He raises his eyebrows meaningfully and looks out over the grounds again. “I told you about my first love, when we first met. Love is not something one gives up. Not without a fight.”

Eliot takes a slow breath in, the words sinking in as the air settles in his lungs. No spell means no forced eternity. No spell means—

“W—what are you saying?”

Turning his head just slightly, to look at Eliot out of the corner of his eye, Idri asks, “Would your high queen willingly marry Prince Ess?” Each word is slow to settle. Slow to morph into something with meaning. Eliot can’t even think to answer. Can’t even begin to try to find the words to express his confusion and gratitude and god, the confusion is the strongest of them all.

“I—“

“Our kingdoms alliance is important,” Idri adds, turning to face him full on. “But forcing you into a marriage that will separate you from the person you love? I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t. I imagine the two of you have been through so much already to get you to this point. And, though, the idea of you and me sounds… explosively magnetic. I won’t ask you to make another sacrifice. Love is sacred. I wouldn’t ask you to give that up. Not when you don’t have to.”

As amazing as this all sounds, “We’re already married, though. Divorce doesn’t even exist here.”

“Divorce?”

“Exactly!”

“There’s a ceremony of sorts. No practitioner or anything required.” He looks down with a half smile and reaches into his pocket, “It’s quick, and simple.” He lifts his hand, and in it is the cloth that was wrapped around their wrists during the wedding. “Together, we must rip it in half. The bond will be broken because there’s no magic holding it together. And then, you’ll be free to be with the man you actually love.”

Eliot’s mouth falls open as he stares down at the cloth. Days of stressing and working up the courage to have this talk, and it’s all as simple as breaking a piece of cloth? Days of holding Quentin at arms length for fear of not being enough? And all they have to do is rip a cloth?

It can’t be that simple.

Their lives are not that simple.

“I don't understand why you’re doing this.”

Idri laughs, gently, closing his fist around the clothing, “Because nobody wants to be miserable for the rest of their life, when happiness is just a few steps away. But I need to be clear—we can only do this if our kingdoms are still united.”

“Margo and Ess.”

He nods. “Margo and Ess.”

That was part of their plan. And she thinks she can handle Ess. Thinks it’s not a big deal. But he can’t ask her. He can’t make her make that decision for him. Eventually she’ll come to resent him—

“I’ll do it.” What? He flips around, eyes wide as Margo stands in the doorway, blinking innocently with a knowing smirk on her lips. She rolls her eyes at him and nods at Idri. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry your infuriating, son,” She offers a shrug, “Maybe even teach him a thing or two about being a decent human being.”

“Bambi—“

She narrows her eyes at him, “El, sweetheart. You made a sacrifice once already for everyone when you married Fen. And you did it knowing you’d never be able to leave Fillory. You did that shit knowing you’d lose practically everyone and everything and any chance at a decent boner,” She takes two careful steps towards him and pokes him directly at the center of his chest, “It’s my turn to be the good guy. You’ve filled up your quota.” And in true Margo fashion, she doesn’t even allow him a chance to say no before she’s turning to Idri, “Alright, king sexy. Let’s rip up that cloth and get this marriage train on the tracks. I may need a new dress, though, my other one’s covered in blood.” She scrunches up her nose, “And maybe a new bed, as my now deceased husbands throat was slit by his mother while we were sleeping, and there’s a whole lot of blood stains.”

Idri smiles at her and opens his fist, offering the cloth to Eliot. “Shall we?”

“Don’t we need scissors or—or something?” Idri shakes both his head and the hand holding the cloth, “It’s—we can do it right here, right now?”

Idri glances back at Margo, “Do I have your word that you will marry Prince Ess?”

“Swear on everything important to me. Which is really just Eliot and Quentin. I’ll marry Ess.”

“Then yes,” He looks back at Eliot, “Right here, right now.”

“And how will people know—“

“I’m sure the marriage announcements will make it clear what’s happened, Eliot. Please,” He motions towards the cloth, “Don’t doubt your ability to be happy.”

Margo, less kindly, adds, “Seriously, El, if you don’t take that fucking cloth—“

Eliot reaches up, moving faster than he even knew he was capable, and Idri holds tight to his end as Eliot pulls at it with every fiber of strength in his body. The cloth rips almost too easily, and he falls backwards, crashing against the side of the balcony. His breath whooshes out of him as he collides with the wall, and something heavy lifts off his chest that he hadn’t even realized was there. He looks across the balcony at Idri, who seems to realize the same weight’s lifted, but he doesn’t seem as surprised.

Margo smiles sympathetically. “Happens when a vow is broken, El. I felt it when — well. You know that story already.” When her husbands throat was slit while she slept beside him. Yeah, he knows that story well enough.

Idri smiles at them. “Now that our business is concluded,” Eliot can’t help but notice that he’s also a little breathless, “Margo, we need to go speak to Ess. And Eliot . . . I believe you have good news to share.”

Margo scoffs, “Q and I were listening in on this whole thing. He knows everything already. He’s just waiting to be polite.” The ‘and to give Eliot the opportunity to change his mind’ goes unsaid.

There’s a small sigh and a quiet, indignant, “Damn it, Margo,” from just outside the doors, and then a sheepish Quentin peeking his head out with a guilty smile. “… Hi.”

Laughing, Margo presses a kiss to Quentin’s cheek with a quiet, “Don’t fuck it up!” And pulls Idri through the throne room and out of sight.

Quentin chews on his lower lip as he steps onto the balcony. He’s staring down at the ground in front of his feet, like he’s suddenly frightened of anything and everything Eliot might say. So Eliot breathes out through his nose, and huffs. “Well,” He says, “You’d better not miss the next wedding, or it’ll be horribly embarrassing.”

Quentin’s head jerks up, “What?”

“What, what?”

“No—El—what?”

“We’re obviously getting married.” He smirks down at him as he takes a single step closer, waiting for Quentin to make the next move. And Quentin does. He takes one step, as well, cautious and careful until Eliot moves again. And so the game goes until they’re standing inches apart, Quentin gazing up at him with those stupid doe eyes and his lower lip sucked into his mouth. “I can’t have you running off with some other debonair High King.”

His lower lip pops out of his mouth as he smiles and looks away, towards the throne room and back. A slight pink tints his cheeks. “I don’t know,” He says, moving in, closing the few inches between them, but still so far because he’s so god damned short. “You just got out of a relationship—“

Eliot’s hands move of their own accord, until he’s got one wrapped around the back of Quentin’s neck, and the other on his lower back, “Q,” He whispers, leaning down, so close he can feel Quentin’s breath on his eyelashes. “Shut up. And say you’ll marry me.”

He pretends to think about it for a moment, “I can’t do both of those things— it’s shut up or say yes. Which is it?”

“God, you’re a loser.”

Quentin grins up at him, his arms coming up to wrap around Eliot’s waist, “A loser you’re about to spend a second lifetime with.” The corners of his lips twitch as he unwinds one arm, to reach up and wipe at a tear from Eliot’s cheek. God, since when does he cry? And why is it happening without his knowledge or control? “Happy tears?”

Eliot lets out a small, choked up laugh and nods, “The first of the kind.”

“I mean you kind of sobbed when Rupert got his first girlfriend.”

Shaking his head, Eliot narrows his eyes, “You promised to never mention that.” But he can’t help the smile that follows the statement, and decides he can’t help leaning down to press his lips to Quentin’s, either. It hadn’t been too long ago that Quentin had pushed him up against a tree and kissed him like it was all he knew to do, but somehow it felt a lifetime ago. And then there was the kiss. The perfect kiss that actually was a lifetime ago.

Quentin pulls away, his thumb stroking the damp skin beneath Eliot’s eye. “Happy anniversary, Eliot.” The words that started it all.

“Get out of my head, Coldwater.”

Quentins quiet for a moment before he swallows audibly and leans up, on the balls of his feet, and says, right up against Eliot’s lips, “Never.”

He wonders for a moment, why he loves this man.

But then, he remembers a moment both lifetimes and yet only a few years ago, of a fresh faced, confused student, stumbling into his life, and staring up at him with big brown eyes, and a bag full of books. And he doesn’t have to wonder anymore.

They’re always been Quentin and Eliot. Even before they knew each others names. Some things are stronger than death and misery, and gods and magic. Some things are stronger than destiny.

Some things defy the odds.

They just happen to be one of those things.

And considering their outrageously terrible luck—“We’d better get married sooner rather than later.”

That’s one of those things Eliot doesn’t want to push.

Quentin laughs and pulls him in for another kiss.