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angry-geese · 3 years

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Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Warnings: nsfw/mdni. oral (fem recieving), face riding, fingering, pet names, thinly veiled praise kink, biting/marking, body worship (???), tender sex. not the healthiest relationship dynamic. toji kinda needs his own warning. afab reader, fem pronouns.

Word Count: 2.3k

The last little beam of goldening sunlight fills the room as the sun sets. The movie—which you’ve long since stopped paying attention to—has turned to credits. Toji lays with his head in your lap, hands folded on his chest. The scarred corner of his mouth twitches as you card your fingers through his hair.

He’s not sure why he keeps coming back. But he keeps doing so. Toji doesn't quite know how to put it in words. It's not love—or so he’d say—because there's only two things he loves in life; gambling, and killing. If there was a third, it would be you, so you take this with a grain of salt. He looks forward to coming around, even if he groans and complains when you call him over. He sees something in you, even if he can't put it into words. In the beginning you were just a quick fling. A warm mouth, and a wet cunt. Sometimes you’d cook too. Which was nice. He’d kill someone just for the gyoza you make.

When he fell for you, he fell hard.

It was obvious to seemingly everyone but him. His gaze lingered a little longer than normal, he found his thoughts turning to you more often, he’d mention you even without provocation. He’ll never say it out loud, but he likes spending time with you. You know that, even if it would be nice to have him say it. The man is a mess, there’s only so much shit you can give him for it.

You let out a squeak as he hauls you into his arms, letting your body hover just over his chest. His gaze drifts down your figure, studying every dip and curve of your barely-clothed body.

“Stop! Wait!” You playfully claw at his chest, but there's some sense of urgency behind it. “I'm too heavy!”

He notices you trying to scramble away and sits up, pulling you into his lap. He doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands; they ghost up your sides, coming to rest on your hips.

“What do you mean you’re too heavy?” He asks. “Sweetheart, I could lift you with one arm.”

He’s not lying. He can—and has—thrown you around. He’s not the best with words, but it’s oddly comforting. Being so open with his affection is a foreign feeling to him. Love in a traditional sense is a bit new to him. Toji deserves more credit than he’s given. You’re so many things to him: strong, sturdy, beautiful.

He tilts your chin up, your gaze meeting his. There’s a look in his eyes that you can't quite read.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks.

You don't.

His fingers ghost across your skin; there but barely. You’d be lying if you said you hadn't tried to recreate the way he touches you; the way his long, skilled fingers make you writhe. Every past lover of yours pales in comparison to him. Your hands don't feel the same. It almost makes up for his fleeting nature. Almost.

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, the scarred side of his mouth twitching. His calloused hands cup your face. The warmth of his skin is inviting, and makes you lean in even closer. You feel yourself slowly giving in to him.

He leans back. You wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for the evil sounding chuckle that leaves him. He watches as your eyes widen. Your brows knit in frustration.

“You stopped breathing there,” he says, “did you want me to kiss you?”

“No teasing,” you say, your voice weak.

Toji presses a quick peck to your forehead. Then your nose. Then the curve of your jaw.

“It’s my job to tease you,” he says, giving your thigh a squeeze, “I like watching you writhe.”

Toji smooths a hand over your hair, brushing it back from your eyes. The gentle touch makes goosebumps raise along your shoulders. You visibly sulk when he pulls his hand away.

“Please,” you say.

The kiss he pulls you into is rough and needy. Toji nibbles at your bottom lip until you allow his tongue to explore the wet cavern of your mouth. He tastes faintly of alcohol. He doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands. They wander up your sides, kneading the soft flesh of your hips and breasts, tugging your skirt up your hips to reveal your already wet pussy.

When he pulls away, an audible smack echoes through the room.

One of his hands slips between your legs, his large, calloused fingers tracing circles around your clit. You practically melt against his touch. You fit so perfectly against him, your chest pressed against his, your knees planted on either side of his thighs. Each moan and gasp that threatens to spill past your lips, choked by his tongue, spurs him on further. Your face buries in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. He doesn't smell like much of anything; laundry soap and shampoo he stole from you.

You whine as he pulls his hand away, aching for his touch. So close yet so far from your own release. He offers his hand to you. Obediently, you take his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digits.

“Strip.” He orders. You comply.

Your—his—shirt comes off first. Slowly you pull it over your head, tossing it aside. The corner of his lip twitches when he realizes you have no bra on underneath. His hands come up to palm at your breasts, gently tugging and pinching at the sensitive flesh of your nipples. Calloused hands squeeze eagerly at them, admiring their roundness.

Next goes your skirt. Momentarily you have to shift off his lap to slide it down your legs. One of his hands gropes appreciatively at your ass. He lands a quick slap, admiring the way your ass jiggles, chuckling at the soft gasp that leaves you. It stings, but you wouldn't consider it painful. His hand smooths over the red mark he’s left.

"Look at you," he says, "my good girl.” His laugh comes from low in his chest. The heat that rises to your face is undeniable. Out of embarrassment your hands raise to cover your face. Instinctively your arms cross over your chest. It’s not like he hasn't seen you like this before.

“Don't hide yourself,” he gently tugs your arms down, admiring the way the moonlight reflects off your skin, “I want to see you.”

You straddle his thigh. The way you grind down against him is far from subtle. He notices the way your face contorts with need- and the small wet patch your cunt leaves on his thigh.

He’s ready to show his affections with his tongue. Rather unceremoniously he lays back, guiding your hips to settle over his chest. His dark hair pools around his head.

“Be a good girl and ride my face,” he says.

There's no hiding the way you blush. From chest to forehead you’re bright red. Even the tips of your ears take on a pink color. His hands trail down your sides, squeezing your ass and hips. You settle over his face, thighs on either side of his head. The warmth of your skin spreads to him.

His tongue dips in your folds, swirling around your clit. He presses kitten licks to your clit. Toji’s touches are always achingly close to where you need them, but not quite. His touch is fleeting in nature; just like him. Your fingers bury in his hair, guiding him to where you want him most.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t tease!” You whine.

His grip on your thighs tightens, pulling you down against his face. Your needy clit is lavished with affections from a hot tongue. His skilled tongue traces circles around your clit, gently sucking and nipping at the sensitive bud. Aside from your own moans are the sounds of a man very content with what he’s doing. He could die happy with his head between your thighs.

You grind down against his face, content to chase your own release. Heat pools low in your stomach, building with each skilled flick of his tongue. You’re reduced to a moaning, babbling mess, crying out his name like it’s a prayer.

The knot in your stomach snaps.

Toji lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, holding your hips down. It takes a moment for the overstimulation to register in your lust-addled mind. His tongue still works eager circles around your clit, seemingly unaware of your writhing form. The lower half of Toji’s face glints in the dim light. His hair is a mess, sticking out in all sorts of directions from your desperate grip. A sleepy, mischievous grin spreads across his face. It's not often you see him so relaxed.

Your post-orgasm haze leaves you sensitive, and shaky. His hands run over your flushed skin, his eyes hungrily taking in your form. Though he’s not the most verbal with his affections, his eyes can’t hide what goes on in his head. He takes you in all at once, yet piece by piece too. His eyes say what his mouth won't.

“Did you think you could get away that easily?” He asks.

You swallow hard.

He guides you to sit in his lap. You straddle one of his large thighs, palming his growing erection. With the change of position, his bulge grinds right against your leg. Toji’s eyes darken in warning. He lifts his hips just enough to shove his pants down. His cock springs free from his boxers, the tip glistening with precum. It's built like the rest of him, long and thick, the hairs towards the base are dark and a bit unruly. The head takes on an angry red color. His size is a bit intimidating, but he always makes sure you’re prepared enough to take him.

You lower yourself onto him slowly. You fit around him like a glove; the warm, velvety walls of your cunt clenching around him. He watches your face for any sign of discomfort, though you show none.

“You can take more than that, can't you?” He asks.

You nod.

He still gives you a moment to get used to his size. His hands find your hips, giving them a tender squeeze. Your arms wrap around his neck, your breath hot against his skin. The intimacy of the situation doesn't go over his head. He leans to nip at your earlobe, cooing in your ear how good you’re doing, how well you fit around him. Toji trails wet, open mouth kisses down your neck. The gasps and moans that leave you as you shift to get more comfortable makes his cock twitch.

“My good girl,” he coos, “taking all of me like this.”

He guides your hips as you bounce on his cock, his nails digging into your plush thighs. Toji can't pry his eyes away from the way your breasts bounce with each thrust. Greedy, calloused hands palm at your breasts, working your nipples into stiff peaks. Sweat beads in his hairline. You don't think you’ve ever seen him so focused.

One of his hands moves down to toy with your clit, working circles against the bundle of nerves. He notices how your breath hitches, how your lips have been bitten pink, how your pupils have shrunk down to pinpricks. You don't.

His hands find your hips, momentarily lifting you off his lap, laying you down on your back. He fucks into you with rough, unforgiving thrusts. His pace is brutal.

Toji grunts as your nails rake across his back, leaving angry red marks. His lips latch onto the fleshy part of your neck, sucking and nipping in a way that makes you whimper. A collar of dark marks nearly circles your neck. It brings him an odd joy seeing you marked up in such a way. People know you’re his.

There’s not one specific thing that sends you over the edge, but a mixture of everything. From the way his skilled fingers toy with your clit to the way his cock leaves none of your sweet spots unstroked.

Your legs clamp around his waist as you cum, crying out his name. With the way you clench around him, pulling him back in, he isn't far behind.

His thrusts grow sloppier as he nears his own release. Toji’s praise turns to broken sentence fragments about how good you’re doing, and how beautiful your body is underneath him. For just this moment his stoic nature fails, and he lets his affections pour fourth.

“You’re gonna take all of it.” He says. “You’re gonna take all of my cum.”

And you do.

Hot, thick ropes of his cum spill into your unprotected womb, spilling out and running down your thighs in streams. To stifle his grunt, he sinks his teeth into your shoulder. A small, pained whimper escapes you.

As he pulls out, he’s hit with a pang of regret for not using a condom. Aside from the mess, he doesn't want to knock you up. That doesn't stop him from shamelessly leaning back and admiring the mess he’s made. Any bit of worry he has is quickly forgotten.The sight of your fucked-out form leaking his cum lights a whole new need within him.

He pulls you to lay on his chest, your head resting in the crook of his neck. His strong arms wrap around you, pulling you flush to him. Your bed would probably be more comfortable, but he doesn't want to risk moving you. A sleepy, content smile spreads across your face. His quiet heartbeat acts as a lullaby. You find yourself nuzzling into his chest,

“You better stop that, sweetheart,” he says, “unless you want a round two.”

#jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #not sfw

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violettelueur · 4 years

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— JUJUTSU KAISEN EPISODE SIX || AFTER RAIN

↳ featuring : fushiguro megumi + kugisaki nobara + zenin maki + inumaki toge + panda from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : mention of death + EXTREME grammar issues

↳ form : story

↳ published : 25 february

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 2.6k

↳ synopsis : within the jujutsu world, there were three famous clans to be aware of, the Kamo clan, Zenin clan and the Gojo clan. However, unknown to many sorcerers there was one last family that was known to be apart of the three, only for them to disappear after the golden era leading some to speculate that they had died in battle after the sealing of ryomen sukuna, but....

↳ previous episode : curse womb must die II

↳ next episode : assault

↳ barista’s notes : hey hey hey~ let me admit, i have no idea how to write the next episode since you don’t see anyone in them except for gojo and itadori (domain expansion episode) ʕ ᵒ ᴥ ᵒʔ so i might have to improvise something now...BUT there’s nothing much happening in this episode, so i hope you still enjoy it even when there is no action or anything interesting going on ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆

BEFORE READING, I NEED YOU TO BE AWARE OF THIS:

1. the whole story belongs to Gege Akutami and the credits go to them and them only

2. the spell curses used belong to Tite Kubo due to them being the ‘Kidos’ being used on the manga and anime ‘Bleach’ - but none is mentioned in this chapter

2.5 for the ‘cursed spells’/kidos (bleach) i will link this video here and tell you the time stamp to check out what i am intending to show - remember i add a few twist here and there by adding the katana to link with Y/N’s cursed technique

no cursed spells used this episode...

3. if you are confused on anything, please don’t hesitate to message me since i know this whole thing is so confusing

“We’re in!” Fushiguro and Kugisaki simultaneously answered with determined looks on their faces before turning back to look at you, waiting for your answer.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, you knew that you had no way out of this since they looked so motivated for you to join, even if you disagreed with them.

“This is such a drag, but fine, I’ll join in too,” you replied with a small smile on your face leading them to nod at you before turning back to your seniors.

“But if I decided this training and exchange event is pointless, I’m quitting instantly,” Kugisaki mentioned.

“Same here,” Fushiguro commented, causing you to kick both of them on the back much to their surprise.

“So you drags make me do this event, only for you to dip when it’s pointless for you, besides I heard there are some interesting sorcerers in the Kyoto side, so prepare yourselves,” you stated before stepping down the few steps you were in front of before standing between them.

“Well, people this cocky are all more worthwhile to train,” Panda mentioned with his arms folded with a determined look on his face.

“Bonito flakes,” Inumaki said in a softer tone.

Looking up to the sky, you couldn’t help but brisk in the sunlight that was shining lightly down upon you, leading you to raise your hand over your face in order to not be blinded.

‘I wonder how I’m going to hide from this one now?’

ꕥ

“You’re late, Megumi,” Zenin obviously mentioned, as her head was turned with what seemed like to be a wooden combat pole in her hand as it casually leaned against her shoulder.

“Kelp,” Inumaki stated, as he was sitting on the ground, also having his head turned to look at the Shikigami user, ignoring what seemed to be a race between Kugisaki and Panda going on behind him.

“What were you doing?” Maki asked curiously, as Fushiguro made his way down the stone steps towards his upperclassman while zipping up his blue track top.

“What does it matter?” Fushiguro then questioned, not giving the weapon-wielder sorcerer a clear answer since he thought there was no need sharing the fact that he went to visit the mother of the man (that Itadori want to save) that had been killed by the special-grade curse back at Eushi Detention Centre to pay his condolences.

“Zenin-senpai...what kinds of people do you want to save as a jujutsu sorcerer?” Fushiguro queried, as he processed to stare down upon the ground trying to hide his emotions to compose his stoic nature, causing the mentioned sorcerer to turn her head once again to look at the other student.

“Huh? It’s not like I care if my actions save anyone,” Zenin answered in a matter-of-fact tone, causing Fushiguro to look to the side with an ‘I’m done’ expression.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” Fushiguro muttered in a lowered tone, leading Zenin to instantly become annoyed as she eyed at the erratic-haired boy with instant irritations in her eyes as well as expression.

Suddenly…

“FUSHIGURO! Quit asking interview prep questions! Switch with me! I’m sick of these school uniforms! Let me go buy some cute tracksuits!” Kugisaki shouted in a fit of rage, as she was strangely spun around in a dizzy circle like she was at a funfair circus as a clueless gymnast before being thrown in the air by Panda.

“What are those two doing?” Fushiguro confusingly asked as he watched the amusing sight process while his classmate landed on the floor.

“Falling practice!” Panda announced as he pointed his finger in the air like what he was doing was obviously.

“Mustard leaf,” Inumaki stated as if to confirm Panda’s answer, as he too looked at the ridiculous scene.

“You’re both weak in close quarters, after all,” Panda stated, as he informed his younger classmen on why what he was doing, made sense to the training that he had planned.

“By the way, where is Y/N? She was with you when you both left to do whatever you were doing,” Zenin questioned, as she looked around the area behind her to see if you were there since she did miss your presence the last time you both met.

“She said she needed to go somewhere important, but will be back as quick as possible,” Fushiguro recalled, as he remembers after you both met with Tadashi’s mother, you informed him that you had to go somewhere for the time being, but didn’t tell him where you were exactly heading off to.

“That’s fine, I guess,” Maki replied back as she processed to swing around the wooden pole she had in her hand with such grace and accuracy before continuing with, “if what that idiot Gojo said to us about her is true, she could beat all of us in an instant, she’ll probably be perfect in the individual’s battle,”.

“Okay, land a blow on us,” Zenin stated, with her palm out, as if inviting Fushiguro to attack her.

ꕥ

“I’m here, mother”

As of right now, you were holding a small bouquet of a beautiful arrangement of blue hydrangeas paired with white roses with some incense sticks in one hand, while the other was holding a wooden tub filled with water with a wooden ladle as well as a plastic white bag with items you quickly brought from the corner store causing you to quickly place your items down before leaving the delicate bouquet in a safe area.

Digging through the white plastic bag, you pulled out a cloth before removing the stubborn tags that refused to be taken off as you processed to soak the material before beginning to wipe down the marble gravestone that towered you as your crouched down before cleaning the vase that you had also brought from the corner store - yet you were surprised at the fact there were no weeds to be pulled.

After you had quickly clean the gravestone, you picked up the incense sticks in their rightful holder before lighting them up with a match (that you also brought from the store) before carefully removing the paper that held the flowers to gently place the floral plants in the same neat arrangement in the now cleaned vase.

Making sure the china vase was placed in the middle, you grabbed the wooden ladle that was in the wooden bucket, making sure it had enough water before standing back up on your feet to pour the clear liquid over the grave as you then placed the ladle back into the bucket.

Placing your hands together in prayer, before internally thanking your mother for protecting you as well as expressing your gratitude for her.

“They’re your favourite flowers right?” you gently asked, as you stared down at the flowers that were beautifully sitting in the vase. “Those were really expensive you know, I wonder how you were able to buy them so often without any regrets,” you muttered with a small smile before crouching back down as if you were going to look eye to eye with the gravestone like your mother was going to be sitting in front of you.

“I've been found…but...I wasn’t as bad as I suspected, the people at Jujutsu Tech are such drags but they’re really nice people,” you expressed, as you continued with, “I’m sorry I took so long to visit, you know Sendai to Tyoko is a really long journey, technically that’s both our faults since we agreed that we wanted to rest in Tokyo if we did pass,”.

Looking at the marble stone in front of you, you could see the thin smoke of incense that was slowly swirling into the air, as if it was trying to hypnotise you with its graceful movements. However, even though you knew you had to get back to Jujutsu Tech as quick as you could, you couldn’t help but utter a few more words to your late mother.

“I miss you mum”

ꕥ

“Ah- am I late?”

At this current moment in time, it seemed like training had taken a pause since everyone was seated somewhere close to the stone stairs that lead the way down to the track field.

“Where were you? I needed you to train Megumi more,” Zenin asked, as you carefully made your way down the stairs with another white plastic bag in hand before making your way to your upperclassmen with one hand holding each handle, leaving an opening that was large enough to let her have a view on the contents inside.

“Sorry, I was visiting someone, but I got you guys some refreshments since I know you all were going to be tired by the time I came. Oh! The orange juice is mine by the way,” you mentioned, as you swiftly grabbed the orange carton from the bag as if someone was going to steal it if you didn’t.

Smiling at you, Zenin leaned away from the tree bark to see what she could choose from the bag, before reaching in, to grab that bottle of water as her choice before you processed to hold the bag around for everyone to get a pick on what beverage they wanted before you took a seat on the steps between Fushiguro and Inuamki.

“Where’s Kugisaki?” you asked in curiosity, as you looked around the fielded area only to not find your classmate leading Fushiguro to explain to you that she went out to buy a tracksuit since she didn’t have one, causing you to realise that you probably needed to change later but for now, you didn’t find being in your school uniform since the slit on the side of your long skirt, made it easier to move as well as deal with the warm environment that was coming in for the season at the moment.

“Gojo, your katana is a cursed weapon right?” Fushiguro asked, causing you to look at him weirdly after stabbing the straw into the carton before giving him a nod as a way to reply to his question.

“I agreed with the others that supplementing my close combat with weapons is the best choice right now, but with my cursed technique, I want to be able to free both hands at any time, with katanas, you lose time sheathing them,” Fushiguro explained, as he placed the pads of his fingers together while looking down at them.

“How do you carry your weapon when your cursed technique is used by your hands as well, also how did you manage to hide the chain attached at the end?” Fushiguro asked as he looked up at you, only to be surprised when he saw you looking at him with an annoyed expression.

‘That’s one way to somewhat expose me, I guess’

“I can utilise my technique by using only one hand, although there are times when I have to use both hands like you. However, I rarely unsheathe my katana, so it usually hangs on my back,” you described, causing Fushiguro’s to concentrate on you, trying to understand your technique since it seemed more complicated then you made it look at your battle with Sukuna.

“About the chain, the red charm cancels the chain being constructed since it will use my cursed energy, not a lot for me, but it’s a drag since I need the extra bit. When the charm is off, I use my curse energy to conceal before clicking my fingers to reveal it, if I want to, and when I use two hands, I can use the chain to pull it back,” you explained, causing the second-years to be surprised at the amount of cursed energy you have to use to employ such a simple weapon - maybe it wasn’t as simple as they intentionally thought.

“How much cursed energy do you possess, Y/N?” Panda asked as he placed his paw on his chin in a thinking posture, only for Fushiguro to answer the question.

“She has a lot more than she is showing right now, I don’t know how but she can hide it,” Fushiguro stated, causing you to smack the back of his head before placing the neglected straw back to your lips since you were desperately craving the citrus content that was in the carton.

“Zenin-senpai, you often carry more than two around with you, right? How do you do that?” Fushiguro queried as he rubbed the back of his head to soothe the pain you had given him.

“I made Panda carry them,” Zenin answered, as she pointed at the classmate leading to the animal sorcerer to proudly show off his muscles as if to inform you and Fushiguro on how strong he was.

“I shouldn’t have asked, part two,” Fushiguro muttered under his breath, causing you to giggle internally at the statement as you wondered what he must have asked the first time since ‘part two’ was in the sentence.

“Some sorcerers keep cursed spirits that can store and retrieve objects,” Panda presented a well-thought idea, even though there was a disadvantage to that.

“He can’t do that. It’s a rare thing and it takes time to tame them, as well. But if you find any, let me know,” Zenin countered, before Panda replied for the payment he wanted if he ever finds a curse for her, causing you to zone out from the conversation as you processed to stare down at the step before you, that was slightly darkened by the shade of your shadow.

In curiosity, you took a side glance at your classmate only to notice that he was in deep thought, leaving you to figure something out for him while he thought of his own solution.

‘His shikigami uses shadows for a medium, then if that is the case…’

Using your hand that was occupied with your orange juice, you leaned forwards slightly, letting the tips of your fingers touch the stone step below you while making them land in the middle of your shadow.

“I think you can do that,” you stated in a quiet tone, causing Fushiguro to look in your direction only to see you staying still in the position that you had set yourself in before slowly pulling yourself back up to sit in a normal position, leading Fushiguro to go back to what he was in deep thought about.

‘I don’t get it, though. Why...did you run back then? What a waste of talent, but the girl back at that place, she knows how to use her technique extremely well’

“You possess such intellect, such skill, such power and such talent and yet you refuse to go against me with your full potential, are you mocking me?”

‘I have the potential to beat special grades? Is that what he meant by that?’ Fushiguro thought, before turning to look at you to discover you were looking into the distance while continuously sipping on your orange juice like the addict you were.

‘What was she trying to tell me? It seemed like L/N knows something...intellect?’

Slowly but curiously, Fushiguro began to reciprocate your previous movements by letting his hand touch the step between his legs before waiting for a second to see what you were trying to inform him, only for his hand to steadily go deeper into his shadow leading him to widen his eyes at this discovery.

“Tuna, tuna,” Inumaki mentioned, as he pointed at Fushiguro since he noticed what he was doing, leading Zenin and Panda to look at their classmate wanting to know what he was trying to bring their attention to.

“Huh? What?” Zenin asked in confusion, before turning her head in the shikigami user’s direction to realise what he was doing.

“Senpai, I think I can do it,” Fushiguro stated with a rare smile, before looking in your direction once again to see you were still staring at the field in front of you.

‘Such intellect…’

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comrade-meow · 3 years

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When The Drummers Were Women

By Layne Redmond

Yes, guys, there was a time in our history when the primary percussionists and drummers were women. The first named drummer in history was a Mesopotamian priestess named Lipushiau. She lived in the city-state of Ur in 2380 BC, which at that time had conquered all the surrounding city-states. She was the spiritual, financial and administrative head of the Ekishnugal, the most important temple in Ur dedicated to the moon god, Nanna-Suen. Her emblem of office was the balag-di, a small round frame drum used to lead liturgical chanting. In 2380 BC, Lipushiau ruled!

From the civilizations of Anatolia (Old Turkey), Mesopotamia, Egypt, Greece and Rome, the Goddess and the frame drum emerge as the core trance and mystical religious traditions. The frame drum was once at the center of the oldest rave like gatherings — it was the oldest technology for altering consciousness. The mystery rites would last for days at a time with nonstop drumming and dancing. Get this in perspective — this was church. Quite a different religious experience than I had growing up! A frame drum is defined by the diameter of the drumhead being much larger than the depth of its shell. The shells range in depth from 2" to at most 6". They range in diameter from 4" to 30". Most of these drums are portable and can be held in one hand.

The frame drum most often has a skin on only one side but sometimes it may have skins stretched across both sides. Bells or jingling and rattling implements may be attached to the inside rim, and in ancient times were believed to add to the drum’s power to purify, dispel and summon. Very often the drums were painted red, the color of blood, or sometimes green, the color of vegetation, the primordial colors of life. Mystical designs and symbols might also be painted on the skin head or the wooden frame. Threads or ribbons knotted with ritual prayers or chanting often hung from them.

Although this frame drum is similar in appearance to the shaman’s drum found throughout Asia and North America, there is a major difference in how they are played. The shaman’s drum is struck with a bone, horn or stick. The Mediterranean frame drum is played with the bare hands. While striking a drum with a stick gives a single deep resonant sound, finger techniques allow more variety: a deep, open tone, a slap, a high-pitched rim sound, or a soft brushing sound. This difference in stroke technique has led to differences in construction. The inner edge of the rim of the Mediterranean frame drum is often beveled and its skin is usually thinner, to enhance the sounds produced by fingers and hands. Hand or stick? I have not been able to determine which technique is older - the shaman’s drum played with a stick or the frame drum played with bare hands. The use and basic constructions of the drums are so similar that they probably both grew from the same root techniques of altering consciousness. In every ancient Mediterranean civilization I studied, it was a goddess who transmitted to humans the gift of making music. In Sumer and Mesopotamia it was Inanna and Ishtar; in Egypt it was Hathor; in Greece, the nine-fold goddess called the Muse. Musical, artistic and poetic inspiration was always thought to spring from the Divine Feminine. One of the main techniques for connecting to this power of inspiration was drumming.

The drum was the means our ancestors used to summon the goddess and also the instrument through which she spoke. The drumming priestess was the intermediary between divine and human realms. Aligning herself with sacred rhythms, she acted as summoner and transformer, invoking divine energy and transmitting it to the community.

The earliest known depiction of any drum was painted on a shrine room wall in 5600 BC in a Neolithic city in what is now Turkey. The shrine room wall depicts a group of ecstatically dancing figures, some of which appear to have percussion instruments. A band of human figures clad in leopard skins play various percussion instruments as they dance ecstatically around a large bull. One figure holds a horn-shaped instrument in one hand and a frame drum in the other. Other figures carry what look like shakers or rattles, as well as bowed instruments similar to the Brazilian berimbau. The excavating archaeologist, James Mellaart, has unearthed numerous other shrines in this city honoring a great goddess, and he believes that primarily priestesses tended these shrines. To date, the wall painting is our oldest evidence of a goddess-based tradition in which the frame drum was used in ecstatic rituals.

From 3000 to 2500 BC, written records of the Sumerians describe the goddess Inanna as the creator of the frame drum, along with all other musical instruments. They tell of Inanna’s priestesses who sang and chanted to the rhythms of round and square frame drums. Along with the written texts, numerous figurines of women playing small frame drums have been found. These drumming rituals were carried on in the later worship of Ishtar, Asherah, Ashtoreth, Astarte, and Anat in Mesopotamia, Phoenicia, Palestine and Assyria. Somewhere between 2000 and 1500 BC, the frame drum arrives in Egypt. James Blades reports, “All records from this period (Middle Kingdom) show the performers as women; in fact the whole practice of the art of music appears to have been entirely entrusted to the fair sex, with one notable exception, the god Bes, who is frequently represented with a drum with cylindrical body (frame drum).

”Another text described the priestesses as the composers and choreographers of the music and dance used on religious occasions. In the Cairo Museum there is an actual rectangular double-headed frame drum from 1400 BC that was found in the tomb of a woman named Hatnofer. Also surviving from the Ptolemaic period is the skin head of a frame drum on whose surface is painted a woman playing a frame drum in front of the goddess Isis. The inscription on the drum reads, “Isis, Lady of the Sky, Mistress of the Goddesses.”

It is important to comprehend the significance of women’s control of sacred music and dance in Egypt. Religious ceremonies based on music and dance can synchronize the underlying energy of the mind and directly influence our perceptions of reality. Ritual influences our modes of awareness that both underlie and transcend the normal patterns of consciousness. Rites can be used to rouse and shape group emotion and behavior, developing a continuous shared consciousness. Music vibrationally transmits states of mind directly from consciousness to consciousness. Thus, politically, music can resonate simultaneously on far more levels — emotional, spiritual, intellectual and physical — than can words alone. As music initiates changes in group consciousness, it can affect vast social and economic cycles.

The Biblical lands have also yielded numerous images of women playing the frame drum. Old Testament texts refer to the tambourine as the toph, which as been translated as the timbrel and the tabret. Exodus 15:20, “And Miriam, the prophetess, sister of Aaron and Moses, took a timbrel in her hand, then the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances.” In some legends it is said that Miriam parted the Red Sea with the shamanistic power of her drumming.In Greece, some of the most beautiful representations of the frame drum are found on the red figured vase paintings from the fifth century BC. The frame drum entered Greece from several different directions — from Cyprus, one of the main centers of the cult of Aphrodite where the frame drum was prominent from at least 1000 BC, and also from Crete, where it was used in the rituals of Ariadne, Rhea and Dionysos.

Pre-classical Greece also saw the introduction of the cult of the goddess Cybele, from Western Anatolia. The tympanum, the Greek frame drum, was the main instrument of the maenads, the women initiates, in the worship of Cybele and Dionysos, and the priestesses of Artemis, Demeter and Aphrodite also played them. Both single-headed and double-headed frame drums appear, once again played almost exclusively by women.

The Romans saw the last great flowering of these rites when the religion of Cybele was brought to Rome in April of 204 B.C. She was described as, “Cybele, the All-Begetting Mother, who beat a drum to mark the rhythm of life.” Rome was the cultural center for the mystery religions of Cybele, Dionysos, Isis and Dea Syria — all of which used the frame drum in their ecstatic rituals. These practices flourished until the Roman Empire officially adopted Christianity in the fourth century A.D.

In the ancient world, prayer was an active, trance-inducing combination of chanting, music and dance, and initiates often danced the sacred spiral into the labyrinth. The classic labyrinth is a single path meant for meditative circling. To enter it is to experience a ritual death; to escape from it is to be resurrected. The danced line into the labyrinth was a sacred path into the inner realm of knowing. Dancers holding a rope signifying Ariadne’s thread (that allows participants to find their way in and out of the maze) followed a leader into the labyrinth, spiraling right to left, the direction of death. At the center they turned, dancing out in the direction of evolution and birth, all to the driving rhythms of the frame drums. Another function of the frame drum was to create a prophetic trance state in which the priestess could foretell the future. The most dramatic mode of prophecy was uttered in inspired rhythmic speech. In the depths of ecstatic trance, the oracle was possessed by the goddess, who rapped in powerful rhymes directly through her lips. The Greek word for this state of transfigured consciousness is enthusiasmos – “within is a god” – the root of our word enthusiasm.

Ecstatic prophecy has many parallels with shamanism. Prophetesses sought inspiration through a number of external stimuli, including fasting, ingesting honey, inhalation of burning herbs or essential oils and intoxication via alcohol or psychotropic plants. Cybele’s priestesses relied most heavily on the trance-inducing properties of music and dance. The rhythms of frame drums, cymbals and flutes moved them towards the consecrated, concentrated state of divine revelation.

The Dionysian rites are the most widely known of all the mystery schools and have an enduring reputation as drunken sexual orgies. This is due to the later descriptions by Christian political leaders to whom the ancient mysteries of the goddess along with ecstatic drumming, dancing and in this century, rock and roll, have been labeled devil worship. Our word “orgy” comes from orgia, derived from the root word meaning “deed.” The term was used for the celebrations following initiation in mysteries, which might or might not include sexual imagery or behavior. Its ancient connotation seems to have been simply “secret rites.” Their aim was the ecstatic transformation of consciousness through rhythmic movement of the body.

Historians have associated the maenads, priestesses of Dionysos and Cybele, with unbridled sensuality and socially uncontrolled behavior. The word maenad means “mad women.” Their erotic longing for union with the Divine found expression in wild, barefoot dances to the primordial music of flute and drums, their unrestrained hair flying wildly about their faces, snakes wrapped around their arms. According to some reports they drank blood and tore wild beasts limb from limb. Not too far out of line from what might take place at a contemporary summer rock festival!

Wine was indeed an important part of the Dionysian mysteries. External stimulants were always used in pursuit of higher consciousness, for divine intoxication with the spirit of the deity. References to drinking blood may actually allude to a communion rite in which the fruit of the grape represented the blood of the deity, as it does today in Christian communion rites.

Mastery of the precise musical rhythms required to align the devotees’ consciousness with divinity suggests a control and sophistication of technique that contradicts the historical image of wanton frenzied women. Creating rhythms powerful enough to move hundreds of people into ecstatic trance states required skill, discipline and endurance.

With the ascendancy of Christianity, Cybele’s great temple in Rome was destroyed, the Vatican was built on the site and the new priesthood banned the priestesses, instruments and music associated with her rites. Not only was the frame drum banned from Christian religious rituals, its use in secular contexts was also frowned upon by the Church, in particular its use by women. The Catholic synod of 576 (commandments of the Fathers, Superiors and Masters) decreed: “Christians are not allowed to teach their daughters singing, the playing of instruments or similar things because, according to their religion, it is neither good nor becoming.

”For 3,000 years women had been the primary percussionists in the ancient world. As Europe pursued this policy of disallowing women to learn music, they effectively barred them from the professions of composing, teaching or performing.

The last 30 years have seen a dramatic rise in the number of professional women musicians, but there are still few women pursuing drumming. Although little is known about the history of frame drums and the women musicians who played them, it is an important part of our percussive history. And the ancient traditions of using drumming for spiritual purposes can point out what we have lost.

At contemporary rock concerts we have all the trappings of ritual without the spiritual purposes. Flashing trance-inducing lights, loud rhythmic sound, chanted and sung words, but often with no higher purpose than to momentarily entertain or to glorify the individual performer. And no matter how much idolization some of these quite gifted musicians attain, they are often driven to attempt to fill the emptiness with drugs and alcohol.

Yet I remember concerts that hinted at the search for wider realms and dimensions of being. The first concert I ever saw was a show by the Monkees. But what blew me away was the opening act — Jimi Hendrix. I had no frame of reference for where he was taking me. I soared with him beyond the known on the piercing sounds and songs of his guitar. Yet in the end he burned and beat that beautiful guitar to pieces. I had experienced something profound and transformative, but it had ended in destruction, leaving me bewildered and yearning for something more. I have spent the rest of my life looking for the pathway into the ecstatic that leaves me transformed, whole and euphoric.

This article was Originally published in DRUM! Magazine’s December 2000 Issue

#Anglo.txt

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jui-imouto-chan · 4 years

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How does Atsumu and Osamu fit into the story? I love them both especially in a hinaharem, so I'm curious!!

Part 10

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[Image Description: A screenshot of a reply from a user named @mickybloginb379 . The text written is, “Miya Twins as foxes and maybe Fox Kita too? Kita finding Shoyo first and repeatingly visiting which leads to the Twin’s getting curious, and circling around shoyo’s legs at the same time :)” End ID]

•

I got carried away OTL. This may have been influenced by me watching too much NatsuYuu

•

Hinata was not pleased with this situation.

Pressing his back to a a withering tree, his eyes darted around as a shiver passed through his body. The graveyard was quiet, although the tranquility that some found when cleaning the tombstones was evidently not present within Hinata.

A breeze broke the eerie stillness, sending a few leaves aloft, which then skittered across the ground whence gravity recalled them. Hinata whimpered a bit.

“I just need to clean up the grave and place and offering. Clean and offering. Clean and offering...”

“You can’t clean a grave from behind a tree.”

Hinata screamed, backing further against the tree, the bark digging into and scratching his skin through his shirt. “Wh-Who—Ghost?!”

From the white robes to the silver-and-black hair, the guess wasn’t unfounded.

“Nope.”

Hinata could’ve cried from relief.

“Are you lost?”

“N-no. I think....”

It was clear as day that the other was unamused by his momentary incapability, rolling his eyes and grasping Hinata’s wrist softly to tug him away from the tree. Hinata’s cheeks burned. Despite his mild mortification, he felt a wash of gratitude flood him.

Eventually, Hinata was stood before his father’s grave, and his palm was pressed snugly against the silver-black haired person’s. Their fingers loosened their clasp, but didn’t unwind fully, not until Hinata heard the jingle of bells and a breeze brush his side, his hand suddenly empty.

And then, with another gust and another jingle, the other returned, a broom and dustpan firmly in his grasp. “I’ll bring something to clean the headstone with. Sweep the ground, for now.”

Hinata really shouldn’t have been surprised that this person was supernatural, honestly. His features were far too serene and eyes too present for him have been just a normal person around his age, after all. Not that Hinata knows very many normal people.

The two of them cleaned quite efficiently, and the other, introducing himself as Kita Shinsuke, even brought incense for Hinata to light. Hinata offered him some of the food his mom had made as the offering for his father, but Kita said it wouldn’t be right to eat it if it wasn’t intended for him.

“Then if I make you something, will you eat it? I wanna thank you for your help! You really saved me today!”

“I’d be willing to eat what you make, although I won’t say I like it if it doesn’t taste good.”

Hinata smiled determinedly, “I’ll make the best lunch ever, I promise!”

Kita, despite his strong inclination of doubt, couldn’t help but smile back, albeit nearly unnoticably.

•

Kageyama was thankfully not home for the first five attempts at making Kita a lunch box, although he did bear witness to the latter half of them, which was still unfortunate. Hinata’s mother would have scolded him, but she and Natsu were too busy speculating about why he was making the lunch and occasionally strolling in to assist him.

“It’s done!” Hinata cried after the twelfth try. Kageyama dutifully kept his mouth shut, for once, eyeing Hinata’s hands and steering the redhead to the bathroom to clean up.

•

“Kita-san!!!!” Hinata called out to the cemetery, his bright aura dispelling the eeriness of the location. “Kita-saaaaan!!!”

“You shouldn’t shout in a place like this. It’s rude,” Kita murmured, his hand settling over Hinata’s mouth. “Will you behave?” The redhead nodded, and Kita slowly removed his palm. “So, what’d you need?”

Hinata proferred a box wrapped with a yellow cloth dotted with cats. “I brought you lunch, like I promised!”

Kita looked a little taken aback, and Hinata wondered if he was imagining the way Kita’s hair seemed to twitch. “You remembered?”

“It was only like, two days ago! How could I forget? Especially when Kita-san saved me from ghosts and stuff—”

“—That didn’t happen. There wasn’t a single ghost—”

“—it’d be ungrateful of me if I didn’t make good on my promise!”

Kita’s almost couldn’t handle watching Hinata break out into a grin. His eyes felt strained, like he was staring directly into the sun, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Softly, he let the corners of his lips push up, and he accepted the box gingerly.

“Let’s eat elsewhere,” he offered, urging Hinata to hold onto him by the shoulder. He jumped, one foot landing before the other onto a hill of long grass overlooking flower fields. A forest stood off to the right, and a single tree sat behind them, providing a bit of shade.

Hinata wasn’t quite prepared for the sudden transport, stumbling to his knees before gazing around in wonder.

Kita helped him up. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“Yeah!”

Eventually the two of them settled to the ground, Hinata watching anxiously as Kita opened the lunchbox.

Kita paused, observing Hinata’s jitters. “It’s not poisoned, is it?”

He shook his head, Kita breathing a chuckle.

“It was a joke. Thank you for the meal.” His hands pressed together in a momentary prayer, and then he lifted a single octopus-hot-dog-weiner to his mouth. Hinata watched him intently, and Kita knew before it hit his tongue that Hinata put in a lot of effort when making the meal. Just that info made it delicious, but once he’d swallowed it, he eagerly sought more, trying some of the riceballs and vegetables on the sides. He saved the fruit for last.

“Is it good? Do you like it?”

Kita nodded serenely, offering an octodog to the redhead. Hinata immediately latched on and slid the octodog out from between the chop sticks. Kita had to avert his eyes, only to spot the bandages wrapping Hinata’s fingers and parts of his palms.

“You’re hurt.”

“Oh, yeah! I accidentally chopped my fingers, and burned them. I stopped hurting myself as much after the fourth try, though!”

“How many tries did you take?”

“Twelve!”

“Sounds like you wasted a lot of food,” Kita commented. At that, Hinata pulled a pouty smile on his face that was a bit too adorable to not gain amusement from, though Kita consoled him with a ruffle of his hair.

They descended into a comfortable quiet.

After ten minutes, which. Kita almost wished could have been eternity, Hinata tugged on his sleeve. “Will you let me make you lunch again?” He mumbled, looking up through his lashes.

•

“I smell food.”

“That’s just because you’re a damn glutton.”

“What was that? You wanna say that again you bastard?”

“If I’m a bastard then so are you!”

Fists flew, the sound of fighting accompanied by shouts and grunts. Kita stepped in just as Osamu bit Atsumu’s calf and Atsumu yanked his hair.

“Why is it that every time one of you speaks, it comes to this? Do you find amusement in wasting your minimal energy on healing injuries that could have been avoided?”

The twins’ ears flattened against their skulls, their big, dejected eyes ineffective against Kita’s bland disposition.

“Sorry.”

Kita breezed past them, starting up the electric kettle to prepare himself some tea.

Osamu and Atsumu perked up at once.

“Your steps are bouncier,” Atsumu piped, at the same time as Osamu commented, “You smell like food.” They then made eye contact with each other and pointed, simultaneously saying, “Oh hey, you’re right!”

The two small fox spirits proceeded to prod at him endlessly regarding his seemingly ‘good mood’, and the tiny smile he had as he batted them away seemed to only fuel their suspicions.

“Woah... Tsumu, he’s got more energy, too.”

“Yeah, it’s radiating!”

They likely absorbed some of the stray energy coming off him, growing a little taller. Instead of looking like toddlers, they now were the equivalent size of a six year-old human. It was almost strange to see them this way.

Kita didn’t let his confusion show on his face, though his tail swished slightly, enough to peek out of his robes. His ears also raised off the top of his head, finally, twitching as he considered where the extra energy came from.

Was it the lunch?

“Kita-san, what did you do? Did you eat someone?”

“No, I don’t do things that I don’t let you two do.”

The twins seemed to communicate with just eye-contact, and it was one of those rare occasions where Kita couldn’t quite decipher what they intended to do with the information they had.

•

Hinata always felt antsy during the moments Kita prayed--just between the “Thanks for the meal,” and the first bite he’d take of the food Hinata prepared for him. This time, Kita brought with him a small snack in exchange for Hinata’s.

“You’ve gotten better,” he commented after a swallow. He always wiped his mouth between bites instead of licking his lips, meticulously keeping the tissue folded in a particular manner. “I think the fried rice could use a bit more salt next time, though.”

“Ah, thank you! I’ll remember that!”

It felt like an escape to spend time with Kita, somewhere far away and unknown. Like a secret retreat, away from all of the other supernatural beings that he contracted, and away from the stress of school and tests and life. Hinata felt like he got more chipper than usual after their picnics.

Unbeknownst to Hinata, the same could be said about Kita. They’d only meet once or twice per week, and yet the silverette couldn’t always keep his smiles at bay even days after their lunches. Furthermore, the surges of extra energy from the meals helped him keep a better eye on his troublesome junior foxes, even allowing them to ‘age up’ when they’d latch onto him.

Speaking of those troublemakers...

“Did you hear that?” Hinata asked him, peering over at a spot in the long grass. “I think someone’s there.”

Kita sighed, brushing off his pants and preparing to grab his companions and send them home. However, before he could begin to walk over, Hinata was crouched in front of the patch where the twins hid, smiling at them disarmingly.

“Are you two lost?”

The silverette joined him with a hand on his shoulder.

“They’re not lost, don’t worry. They’re with me.”

Hinata grinned at them. “You’re Kita-san’s friends? Nice to meet you!”

Their eyes widened just a bit, tails swishing.

Kita knew it was inevitable that the twins would get interested, but he should’ve known that it was going to happen much sooner than he’d have ever hoped.

•

Days later, Hinata presented two extra boxes, one with a silver-blue wrapping and the other with a sunset-gold. “I’ve brought some for them, too. The little foxes.”

“Atsumu might not eat it,” Kita warned, “Although if Osamu eats first, then he’ll probably get hungry and give in.”

“Which one’s which?”

Kita’s eyes gleamed. “I’ll let you figure that out.”

The twins did not come to spy on them this time, but Kita dutifully brought the lunchboxes to their cabin once Hinata left. As expected, Osamu dug right in, and Atsumu held out as long as he could before giving into his competitive nature. The twins choked on the food in their efforts to finish eating before the other (Osamu won), but when they finished, their bodies were at the approximate age of 13.

Even more impressive than that, though, was that they remained older for a lot longer than they usually do with extra energy, reverting back gradually over the course of a few days rather than the standard overnight regression.

If Hinata’s cooking alone could produce such results, then what would a contract do? ...What would his blood do?

Kita closed his eyes and banished the thoughts before they could fully manifest.

•

• Part 10 of (?) •

• I really liked writing Kita. I feel like he’d actually really like Hinata, since Hinata’s always been really hardworking and puts in all this effort to be better. I think Hinata would really like that Kita’s attentive and a good listener, so he could ramble endlessly if he wanted and Kita would be content to listen. •

• Also, anybody curious as to why Osamu and Atsumu ‘age up’ and ‘revert’ to a younger state? •

•• Send Asks for more! Feel free to ask about characters and send Headcanons! Or if u wanna just talk Haikyuu/ships, I’m good with that too! :) and for other parts, search the “summoner au” tag on my blog and you’ll find em! ••

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#kita shinsuke #hinata shoyo/everyone #hinata harem #haikyuu #hinaharem #kitahina #atsuhina #miyahina #miya atsumu #miya osamu #osahina #hq #haikyu #miya twins #osahinaatsu #atsuhinaosa #atsuosahina #summoner au

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tae-cup · 4 years

Text

Down With The Ship | FINALE

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female!Reader

Summary: Captain Jeon Jungkook; a beautiful mess of blood and gold. His greatest treasure, may also be his greatest downfall.

Genre: Pirate!au

Warnings: Angst, some fluffy stuff, panic attacks, blood

Rating: T for Teens

A/N: Alexa, play Roslyn by Bon Iver and St. Vincent. aaaaaaand that’s a wrap! I’m honestly in love with this series and kind of want to make some spin offs, but I need to focus on like...my big series now XD

Thanks for sticking around!

Word Count: 8k Words

Other: Masterlist

Up with your turret Aren't we just terrified? Shale, screen your worry From what you won't ever find

Him had a face. Him had a name. Eun-kyung haunted your dreams. The deep blue of his irises visited you at night and his soft hands touched your waist, your arms, and legs. The most innocent of touches giving you the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach.

You were broken out of your trance by a hand waving in front of your face. You blinked, startled.

“Oh, sorry.” You murmured, brushing back a strand of hair as you met the gaze of the frowning captain.

“Are you sick? Tired?” The genuine concern that tinged his voice was new to you.

You smiled softly and shook your head, turning back to sketching out the map before you. It was so nice above deck where you and Jungkook sat on the planks. He dictated anything interesting he saw and you sketched the coastline.

“I’m alright, Jungk-Captain.”

He paused, looking at you for a moment. Then he turned back to observing the land mass ahead. “You can call me Jungkook. I don’t mind.”

His words made you smile a little and you didn’t know how his heart quickened when you smiled.

“I see a large mountain in the distance. It seems to be of cold climate.”

“That explains the wind.” You rubbed at the pinkened end of your nose. He noticed you shivering and, in an action that surprised both you and him, he shrugged off his coat and handed it to you.

“Stay warm, Y/N. And head inside soon before you catch a cold.” He then wandered back below deck without another word.

You liked the way your name rolled off his tongue. His mouth moved around it harshly, like a command, while Eun-kyung always spoke it like a soft prayer on his lips. The callous nature of the man did not surprise you, he was a pirate after all and Eun-kyung had simply been your guard. But he was so much more than that. If Eun-kyung was the sturdy land, Jungkook was the crashing sea. And you had always loved the sea more than the land.

You stood at the side, biting your lip in concentration. The murky water below reminded you of the day you walked the plank almost a year ago. It had been terrifying and calming at the time, but now it just gave you fond memories. You still weren’t allowed off the boat since you were a wanted woman. The thought sent you back to the weight that had been hanging on your shoulders. Were they still looking for you? Was Haneul getting closer? Every day it felt like you could turn a corner and he would be right there.

You gripped the pen tighter as you traced the coast. The air was chill and your ears were freezing, but Jungkook’s coat was wrapped tightly around you, the sleeves rolled up to keep from dragging on the page. You hummed a little to yourself, just admiring the sights before you.

It was odd how the ocean, so vast and oppressive at times, could fill you with such joy. The emptiness of the sea, no soul within miles, would put a normal person on edge, but when you loved the salt in the air as much as the crew of BTS, the loneliness didn’t seem all that bad.

Jungkook was on his daily rounds to make sure people were on task. He checked in on Jin who was cooking lunch. The older man quickly shooed him out of the kitchen, waving a wooden spoon as the captain shouted his protests.

Then he visited Namjoon, his trusty second, but he was busy reading a book. When he had entered the man’s cabin, he had simply peered up at him unamused and went back to reading. Who knew the captain of his own ship could be so easily rejected by his crewmates? He didn’t even bother with Yoongi, fully knowing the man was asleep.

Surely Jimin will need my help with something? So he went to visit the blonde haired man. But he was busy cleaning and claimed he didn’t need the help. Hoseok was quite obviously steering the ship and Jungkook didn’t really need to help there. So he ended up standing beside you, thoroughly tired of his crew.

“It’s like every time I try to do something nice for my crewmates, the universe rejects me.” He sighed, feeling a little more melancholic than usual.

It was nearing the anniversary of the mutiny and though the blood was long washed away, he didn’t really want to spend it on the boat. You made a noise of acknowledgement, still focused on your drawing.

“Words would be nice, little miss.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, but smiled nonetheless. “Oh boo hoo. No one wants to babysit the captain.” You turned to face him, a smirk on your face.

His cheeks grew red and he opened and closed his mouth. He didn’t know if he wanted to kiss or slap that smirk off your mouth. Was it scary that the urge to kiss you was stronger? To him it was terrifying. He already had six weaknesses composed of his crewmates, but having a lover? That would be his downfall, he just knew it. So at what point did the pros outweigh the cons? He would see to it that they never did. For his and your own sake.

The captain still couldn’t help tracing his eyes over your profile. From the slope of your nose to the outline of your lips. Then he studied your hands, the way you held your pen, the way you focused on the paper.

“How long are you going to stare at me, lover boy?” You teased, having grown comfortable with the captain.

You spent most of your time with him to help him navigate and work on the various maps. It was sort of exhausting to have one way conversations with him, but you were okay with it; it was like home.

“Sorry.” His response made you frown slightly, but you returned to your work.

“Does Namjoon dislike me, or something?” You asked cautiously, not looking up from your sketch.

“No...I think he just...has trouble trusting people.” Jungkook huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of his face.

The door that led below deck flung open with a crash and Taehyung stumbled out, looking out of sorts. He immediately went to the side and hurled out his lunch.

“Taehyung, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” You dropped your pad and pencil onto the deck and ran over to look at him. He was pale and wide eyed.

“Just a nightmare.” He choked out, squeezing his eyes shut.

You caught the glistening in his eyes before he left to sit against the wooden siding of the ship. He leaned his head back, brown hair splaying out in all directions, and pulled his knees in close to his chest. The man took deep breaths.

“Must have been one hell of a nightmare.” You murmured, your tone concerned, and you were. You had never seen the man so disoriented. He was often a wild card between serious and loving, but never had you seen him off guard.

The man didn’t respond. His hands gripped his knees. The captain watched his crewmate in sympathy. With a sad expression, he tugged on your arm.

“Y/N, we should leave him be. There are some things you don’t have to know about.”

“His name was Sam.” Taehyung whispered. Jungkook stopped, glancing back at the gunner with curiosity. When he didn’t continue, Jungkook took that as his cue to leave. He dragged you away, disappearing below deck.

His mind was spinning. He went in circles, memories playing on repeat like a video. Taehyung could feel Sam’s warm breath on his neck, the way his hands held his, the way he brushed against him. The man would always claim it was an accident, but Taehyung knew it wasn’t.

While the lull of the sea usually brought him peace, today it reminded him of everything he’d done wrong.

“Aish, you need to let it go already.” Sam sat next to him, his ethereal form hovering above the deck.

“You died right in my arms, Sam. It was my fault for not shooting the man before he shot you.”

“You were processing, it’s okay.”

“Why did I hesitate the one time it mattered?”

“Because you’re human.”

Taehyung bumped his head against the side several times, trying to make the ghostly spirit go away. It was taunting him with a love he could no longer have.

“How can you forgive me?”

“You did all you could.”

“Why aren’t you mad?”

The ghost stood and crouched in front of him, body passing through Taehyung’s knees. He could almost feel the man’s touch, his ghostly fingertips tracing his cheek. Then the wind blew and reminded him of the simple chill that caused it.

“I could never be mad at you Taehyung.”

The man swallowed, watching the specter lean in, his ghost lips brushing over his warm ones.

“How can you say that, Sam?” He said weakly. “When you’re the one with a bullet in your chest.”

“If you weren’t a pirate, Hoseok, what would you be doing?” You sat on the railing that overlooked the main deck. Your legs swung back and forth. The pilot thought over your question, his eyes still set on the horizon.

Hoseok, despite his sunny personality, could look rather serious, possibly angry, when he thought hard enough. He twisted the wheel, sending the boat closer to the mainland.

“I think I would be a dancer.”

“You dance?”

“I wanted to.” He corrected you. Then he released a sigh and placed a pole through one the rungs to hold the steering wheel while he took a break. “It wouldn’t have worked out. It wouldn’t have been a living.”

“Can you show me?” You asked. He raised an eyebrow.

“You want to see?” There was hope in his eyes as he spoke, his words holding an excitement.

“Yeah, for sure!” You smiled widely, eager to see your crewmate either wow you or make you laugh.

“Alright! But you’re getting in on it too, okay?”

“That wasn’t the deal.” You crossed your arms. “Besides, I only know some ballroom dancing.”

“I’ll show you!” He exclaimed excitedly, taking your hand and leading you out to the main deck.

He bowed lowly, pecking your hand with his lips. You instantly flushed bright red and he looked up at you with a sly smile.

“May I have this dance?” He asked.

“Most certainly, kind sir.” You played along, curtsying.

He chuckled and took your arm in his so you were facing opposite directions. Then he began skipping around in a circle, humming out a beat and melody. You laughed, forced to follow along with his antics. He then switched arms and continued the dance. Then he unhooked his arm, spinning you around in a circle.

You fought to regain your balance, the world spinning as you let out more squeals of excitement. He then held up his arm, intertwining his arm with yours. Your hands touched, fingers pointing upwards as he took a step forward, leading you in the new dance move. You both laughed in delight, dancing to the rhythm of the sea and humming a tune only you two knew.

There was a loud cough. The entire crew stood there, even Yoongi, watching you with varying expressions. Jimin looked eagerly between the two of you. Yoongi just sighed, but he didn’t move back below deck as he usually would. Jin was holding back a laugh and even Namjoon let his lips twitch into a smile. Jungkook looked the least pleased.

“Hoseok, don’t you have a job to do?” The captain barked.

“Sorry, captain.” Hoseok bowed and started leaving. You quickly grasped his arm, pulling him back.

“Stop it, Jungkook.” You hissed, not bothering with the title. “You’re always trying to ruin the fun, loosen up and live a little.”

The crew stood still, glancing between the two of you. Jungkook turned on his heel, letting out a huff of air, his nostrils flaring. The rest of the crew awkwardly shuffled from foot to foot.

“Jimin! Get over here, I can see you want to get in on it.” You winked, moving around to push the male towards Hoseok.

The older man easily took the younger in and started showing him the steps. You then shoved Namjoon and Jin together. Yoongi glanced at Taehyung who smirked.

“No way.” Yoongi scoffed, ready to go back down below.

The others were already getting into the swing of things, switching partners and letting playful banter slip in between the melody they all started singing.

“As I was a-walking down Paradise Street.” Jin sang, his voice clean without a warble.

“To me way-aye, blow the man down.” The others chorused.

“A pretty young damsel I chanced for to meet.” Jimin rang out next, his voice like a bell and just as beautiful.

“Give me some time to blow the man down!” They all sang back, erupting into laughter.

Taehyung reached out and grasped the older man’s sleeve.

“Yoongi, I think it’s about time you joined the world of the living.” He stated firmly and dragged him out to dance with the others.

It was soon a mess of laughter and drunken singing, although no one was drunk; they acted like it pretty well. Hoseok was clapping in time to the beat. You wanted to throw yourself into the mix, but you didn’t have a partner. The most eligible man was pissed off below deck, most likely brooding.

You wouldn’t have it. You marched down below, despite how much you hated the claustrophobic feeling of being below deck. You pounded on the captain’s office door and he responded with a stern come in.

You marched inside.

“Captain Jeon Jungkook if you don’t go out there and dance right now, I’m going to drag you out. You can spend all your life hiding from your crew and holding up in your office when everyone is bonding. And you also need to stop brooding like some edgy man baby! Seriously! Loosen up!” You paced, ranting to the captain who sat looking amused at you. His arms were crossed and his eyebrows shot up at the words ‘man baby’.

“Excuse me, is that anyway to speak to your captain?” He frowned, effectively cutting you off. “Maybe I have been too lenient with you and the crew.”

Then he caught himself in the mirror and sagged, suddenly lost in thought. That was something Captain Rogers would say. Except, when he looked at you, you weren’t shaking and crying, you weren’t flinching at his gaze. Instead, you stood straighter.

“You need to be more lenient to yourself, Jungkook.” You stepped around the desk and he swiveled his chair around to face you.

Jungkook had such a youthful face, it was a shame he spoiled it so often with frowns. You could almost see the stress wrinkles already forming. You reached forward, harmlessly brushing your hands with his. He pulled his hand away like you’d burned him.

“Is everything...is everything alright Jungkook?” You asked quietly.

He couldn’t think. The world was spinning. Being in that office, being touched, watching himself in the mirror, it was already painful enough. When he looked at you, it wasn’t you that stared back, he only saw Captain Rogers. His breaths came out hurried and short.

“Look, I’m sorry if I’m pushing you to do something you don’t want to do, but going outside your comfort zone is good sometimes, okay?” You reached out once again and firmly held his hand in yours.

The brush of skin on skin made him nauseous. Your grip was suffocating. He felt like he was drowning. The room felt stuffy, his breaths came shorter and shorter. His eyes wildly gazed around your face, begging to see you and not Captain Rogers. But he only saw the old man’s yellowed grin staring back at him, his lips spewing your words. The anger was back, a simmering pot of rage.

“Don’t touch me.” He said softly.

“What?” You tilted your head, trying to understand what was happening.

“I said don’t touch me!” He ripped his hand away and stood, staggering back a couple of steps. “You don’t know anything about me!” He barked.

His hands trembled and he held his stomach, trying to hold onto its contents. The ghost touches were still there, making him bend over as he tried his best to keep down his lunch.

“Get out!” He shouted. Then his voice went quiet as he trembled. “Just get out.”

He pointed weakly towards the door and you simply nodded and left, as much as you wanted to help him.

He crumpled to the floor, taking in deep breaths as he ran his hands over his arms. I am in control. I am in control now. It was a soft chant in his head as he sat in his little office; his cage.

You couldn’t sleep. The memory of Jungkook tainted your mind. Your heart had been racing since you left his office. He hadn’t arrived for dinner, but Jin delivered it to his office. He didn’t say his usual goodnights to the rest of the crew and so the day ended bitterly. Everyone knew something was wrong with the captain and you didn’t want to pry, but you knew it had something to do with what happened today.

The utter terror he had stared at you with had made your heart drop instantly. The way he flinched when you touched him sent you tumbling into a spiral of self doubt. What mattered was no longer how he made you feel, but how you had made him feel. Was he okay? Did he eat his dinner?

You took a deep breath. With both Eun-kyung and Jungkook haunting your sleep, you could no longer rest. You stood and made your way out to the main deck. There was no wind tonight. The air was still and the ocean eerily calm. The stars twinkled brightly like a blanket of holes in the dark night. The moon was a perfect circle, providing ample light. You leaned against the side. The waves lapped playfully against the wood of the ship. There was a gentle breeze that blew through your hair every so often.

Your nightgown wasn’t the warmest thing to wear, but you didn’t plan on being out for long. It was so quiet your ears rang. There wasn’t a single soul for miles and miles. The peace was nice.

“Can’t sleep?’ The familiar rumble of the captain’s voice met you in the silence. \

His soft steps made their way to stand beside you. He leaned against the railing. Your heart thumped. You shook your head in response to his question. Jungkook let out a soft sigh.

“Yeah, me neither.” He agreed, eyes trained on the dark sea below.

You shifted awkwardly, making sure to keep your distance. You turned to him, admiring the way the shadows fell on his face in the moonlight.

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t know what was happening and I pushed you. It was wrong. I’m really really sorry.” You said earnestly, hands clenched. He inhaled sharply, shutting his eyes and nodding.

“I know. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. I’m not a very open person.” He confessed. “It was just...something that happened in the past.”

You didn’t want to pry so you nodded and left it at that. He scooted closer to you. You took a step back. He snorted.

“I’m not fragile. I just had a moment there.” The captain said, but his tone was a little saddened.

You fell silent. He shifted toward you and you didn’t move a muscle.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” Your hair was ruffled by the wind again. He was mesmerized by your beauty. Pros and cons be damned.

“You make me feel...things I didn’t think were possible.” He admitted. “I think I like you...a lot, but I was never taught love or really kindness at all growing up. So I would probably never be able to love you the way you want because I just don’t know how but-”

“Wait, you...like me?” You froze, eyes widening at the captain.

He looked more like a stuttering school boy, clearly having never matured much in the love department. You let a smile break out on your face at his almost nonexistent nod. You resisted the urge to grab his hands.

“Good, because I like you too.” You confessed, your face heating up. He grinned, then tentatively reached for your hands.

“I want to learn. I want to try, but you’ll have to be patient with me, Y/N.” He explained cautiously.

Then he carefully took your hands in his, ignoring the way his skin crawled at the contact. Your wrists. Wrists that had never had a bruise on them. His wrists. Wrists that were a permanent shade of purple and blue. He could try. For you he could try.

You returned to your room that night, your heart thumping wildly. The simplest of touches, holding hands, had sent your heart soaring. Your mind was running wild with the picture. That night, you dug the gold wedding ring out of your bag. You held it up to the moonlight, watching it shine and glint of the metal. Then you unlatched the cabin window, letting the cool air infiltrate your room.

You stuck your hand out and let go, watching as the golden ring that acted as your chain went tumbling all the way down into the water. It’s impact was a mere ripple in the dark waters.

It had been months since you set foot on land. You hadn’t missed it, not really. The swaying of the ship you had become accustomed to and as long as you had your crew, you were happy anywhere.

The dashing captain set foot next to you and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Being off the ship gave you a sense of dread. The shackles of social norms and manners were shackles to weigh on you.

“Hey, you’ll be okay.” Jungkook said calmly and you took that as a sign you should move. The other members accompanying you were Yoongi and Jin.

You were paranoid and that was only made a little better by Jungkook being there. You browsed the shops, full well knowing Jungkook could buy the whole town with his money and still have enough left over to last a lifetime. You picked up a necklace, the silver chain was made of delicate links. There was a yellow amulet attached.

Jungkook leaned over you, his skin still never touching yours. He had revealed very little about his past and even then it was rather cryptic. All you could do was assure him that whatever happened when he was growing up was wrong. From the scars on his back and arms, you could piece together a little bit of his story at least. And it wasn’t a story you wanted to read.

Jungkook fingered the jewel for a moment, turning it over in his hands. He then held it up to the sunlight and sucked in a breath. It’s genuine. He thought to himself. Then he handed it back over to you.

“You should get it.” He said quietly, his breath hot against your ear. “It suits you.”

Heat crawled up your neck and he smirked as you paid for the necklace without a second thought. The feeling of being watched didn’t disappear as you continued shopping.

“Y/N?” An all too familiar voice called. It caught you off guard, your breath hitching.

You had always thought Haneul had a similar voice to Eun-kyung. The resemblance was uncanny as your supposed fiance appeared. Jungkook immediately stood on guard, hand moving to his waistband where his gun was holstered. Haneul was not a bad guy. He was stuck in a similar predicament as you.

“Y/N, I can’t believe it’s you.” The man breathed. “Everyone thinks you died!”

“Good!” You spat, standing firmly next to Jungkook. The crowd had yet to notice the scuffle breaking out. “So where’s your back up, huh?”

“I don’t have any. I seriously didn’t expect you to be here.” Haneul held up his hands as a sign of mercy.

Jungkook didn’t loosen. It was like something bad always happened to you when you went on land. It was a little exhausting at this point.

“Please, you and I both didn’t want this, but if I don’t bring you back and marry you, I’m going to be disowned. My parents can’t have a bachelor son who couldn’t even keep track of his fiance in their image.”

You almost felt bad for him. You had both been forced into the situation and while you fled and started a new life, he was forced to bear the brunt of your actions. And for that I’m sorry. You thought, but you didn’t have the decency to voice your thoughts.

“There’s no way she’s going to marry you.” Jungkook’s eyes were wild.

He began playing the part of the maddened captain everyone saw him as. And you saw it too, just for a moment. Was there any way out of this predicament without violence? Surely Haneul would not let you simply walk away. He had been waiting a little over a year to find you and keep his head from being disowned. There was no way he was about to let you go.

“If she doesn’t, It’ll cause a massive uproar in the houses!”

“Good.” Jungkook spat.

You knew how chaotic that would be. While you were technically a pirate who cause chaos all the time, you were not a crew who did so ‘just because’. This just didn’t have a good reason. Besides, the noble houses were still a part of the hierarchy of society. What would happen if they were thrown into such unrest?

“You still have a search warrant out for you, Y/N. The prices have been upping since your departure.” Haneul spoke. You frowned in response. “It’s at 500,000 gold shillings. That’s enough to last a man most of his lifetime in comfort.”

“Yes, I know how many shillings that is.” You said bitterly.

You thought over your options. Running was out of the question. There were two of you and one of him. Your disadvantage would be running through the crowd and Haneul was always a fast runner. The second option was to stay and talk to him, but that gave him ample time to call for backup. The third option...was not one that would please Jungkook, but it was also the best way to get Haneul to stand down.

What can ya say? If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

Jungkook was reaching his breaking point. Your lightest touches were reversing years of mental and physical torture. While he’d never be whole ever again, you filled the space well enough. You were humming softly to yourself, a tune only you knew, as you filled in the key for the newest map.

“Y/N?” He called, watching you look up. Your eyes were curious as you stared at him. He felt his breath hitch at the way your hair fell perfectly around your face.

“What is it, Jungkook?” You asked.

“Thank you.” He said.

You tilted your head, eyebrows knitting together in the cutest expression. You set your pen down and reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. You made sure not to brush your hand against his cheek.

“For what?”

“Everything.” He said vaguely, years of practiced poise coming in between him speaking earnestly with you.

“Are you alright?” You stared intently into his eyes. You placed your hand on his forehead without thinking to check his temperature. Yet, his skin didn’t crawl at your contact. His forehead was warm, but normal, which meant he wasn’t sick.

Jungkook had a dam. It was a high wall and it built itself higher every time he held back his emotions. Behind was a swirling tide of tears and pain waiting to be released. The waters swelled once more. He bit his lip and started building the wall higher. His doe eyes widened as he tried to keep the tears at bay. When he looked into your eyes, you seemed to genuinely wonder if he was okay. When was he ever okay?

He inhaled shakily.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.” You said without hesitation, shoving the papers in front of you to the side. The ink rolled onto the floor. He laced his fingers together, knees bouncing as he pondered what to say.

“Okay.” He released a breath. “I need to start at the beginning.”

When his story was told through and through, no detail spared no matter how gruesome, he finally met your gaze. In your eyes were...tears. You looked devastated and as much as you wanted to reach out and hold him, you knew how much he disliked skin on skin.

“What they did to you was wrong, Jungkook.” You said firmly, though your voice shook at the very last word. He closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair.

“I’ve been trying to convince myself of that since I was 18. But it’s easier said than done.” He felt the dam breaking. The wall was old, cracks letting out small streams of water.

“We can help you. We’ll be with you every step of the way.” You cleared your throat. “I will be with you every step of the way.”

The captain felt like a small child under your warm gaze. He was once again a vulnerable boy, one who couldn’t understand the evils befalling him. He threw his hands over his face, scooting his chair back and curling over in his lap. His head hit his thighs to avoid your eyes. The dam broke.

Haneul was tired. Tired and angry. A year of berating, pitied looks, and whispers behind his back had let the rage build up. He let it brew, blaming it all on you. You were the reason he was being disowned. You were selfish. You put him through this. Yet, he sat next to you, a bowl of soup in front of him and an anxious crew watching.

He carefully picked it up, examining the contents. Broth. Carrots. What else was in there? It couldn’t be too bad. You watched him with a smile, knowing he was probably going through the same thought process as you had.

“And there’s nothing else in this?” He said skeptically.

“Just carrots and soup!” Jin defended. You snickered behind your hand. Jin turned and slapped your arm. “It is!”

“If that’s just carrots and soup, then I’m just a brain on wheels.” You chuckled.

“Seriously!” Jin shouted. Haneul sighed and took a sip.

He swallowed. The crew held their breaths. Then he went and took another bite. You gaped.

“Oh it’s not too bad, Jin!” Haneul smiled, but his ears were growing red. “It had a little, achem, kick.”

Jin puffed out his chest and crossed his arms. “See! You all underestimate me. Or maybe…”

“Don’t say it.” Yoongi groaned.

“I’m just saying you might just be wusses and Haneul here can actually stomach it because he has the balls.” Jin clapped the young man on his back.

The captain sputtered at that. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” The older man pointed at the captain. “You don’t have the balls to drink the soup, all of you. You just complain.”

“I bet I can drink more than you!” Taehyung pointed at Yoongi. The pale man’s face dropped, his expression of neutral impassivity.

“You’re going to lose that bet.”

Haneul watched the crew, still trying to get out of his habits as a nobleman. He needed to blend in, get you to trust him. He cleared his throat, which was still burning.

“I’m going to get a bit of fresh air.” He declared, his body still sore from spending a night in the jail. You nodded at him and he hated the happy look on your face.

Why did you get to be happy when he was miserable? Weren’t you the one who ran away from the problem? He glanced at your ring finger, but there was no glint of gold. The captain had several rings and earrings, but nothing on his ring finger. You and the captain were speaking quietly to each other. Haneul saw the captain smile when he spoke with you.

He dropped the message off the ship and prayed the tide would take it where it needed to go. Then he breathed in the sea air. He hated the ocean, always preferred land. He heard footsteps and knew it was you. You stood there, observing him for a moment.

“What are you doing?”

“Missing home.”

You narrowed your eyes. He had yet to walk the plank, he wasn’t a true crew member yet and you were allowed your reservations. You remembered Jungkook’s words. We all hold a deep love for the sea. Yet, here Haneul was moaning about home. It only helped to set in more of your suspicions.

“I get that.” You said quietly. You took a place next to him.

“I don’t understand the universe, Y/N.” He started slowly. You faced him, confusion written on your face, but he didn’t turn to face you. “You’re so happy, so free. You get to do the things you’ve always wanted to do while I’m still constrained.”

“I followed what I wanted to do. If you don’t want to live a life at sea, then we should drop you off at the nearest village and you can be on your way.” You said softly.

“You don’t understand! Y/N! You ran away from your problems! Why do I have to be punished for your mistakes?” He trembled with rage, the powerful emotion pulling at him from all edges and bursting at the seams.

“I’m sorry, Haneul.” you said, seeing how he truly felt. The anger that was dripping off of him like honey had a bittersweet taste. “I’m doing what I love and you should too.”

“I can’t be a nobleman if I’m disowned. There’s not a suitable girl within the houses for another five years.” He bit his lip and looked to the night sky. “Which is why I need to bring you back.”

You took a step away from him, itching to go back below deck.

“You can’t be serious, Haneul?”

“You had your little adventure, you got to be a pirate, yay. Now let’s go back and maybe we can salvage your reputation.”

“Reputation?” You sputtered. “This has nothing to do with that. I’m never going to go back with you.” You said furiously. “We’ll be dropping you off at the nearest village first thing.”

He turned to look at you finally. A haunting look was in his eyes.

“And how far away is the nearest village?”

“A day and night away.”

“And you really think our parents wouldn’t have sent a ship with both of us missing?” He chuckled darkly. You backed away.

“What did you do? Haneul what did you do?” You screeched, racing away as he laughed. You flung open the door to the lower deck where the crew was still eating happily.

They all stopped talking, taking in your ragged form. Immediately, Jungkook stood and went to you. He didn’t touch you, but he had concern written on his face. His gaze was steely, but you didn’t cower.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asked, his voice hoarse.

“Where’s Haneul?” Jimin piped up.

“He tricked us.” You took a deep breath and met your lover’s gaze. “Haneul tricked us.”

Taehyung yawned, his guns resting on his lap. The ghost of Sam hovered nearby.

“You should get some sleep.” He chided.

“I know, Sam.” Taehyung grumbled. “But I have night watch and I won’t let my crew down.”

“Will a ship really attack? I think Haneul may have been bluffing.” Taehyung could almost feel his breath. The gunner shook his head.

“No can do.” He replied, fiddling with his guns.

“Then let me rest, Tae, so I don’t have to watch you do this to yourself.” The ghost pleaded. Taehyung smiled a little.

“Nope. You’re staying right here, Sam.” He murmured. The man watched the horizon. No one was in sight for miles. Maybe he would just shut his eyes for one minute.

One minute too late.

The sound of hushed voices woke him up. He knew those voices were not his crew’s. Then his eyes traveled to the brooding black ship sidled up next to them. Taehyung flung himself up, lurching towards his guns. Sam was gone. How many crews were going to be slaughtered on his watch? His heart quickened. Taehyung didn’t have time to feel the guilt of this information, he needed to act.

The gunner opened the door to the lower deck and quietly shut it behind him. Then he raced to the captain’s office.

“Come in.”

“Captain, they’re here. They’re on the upper decks, we need to attack while we still can.” Taehyung said breathlessly. Jungkook’s eyes widened.

“How did they board? Nevermind, what matters is that they’re on the ship already.” He stood and opened his drawer that had a gun in it. Then he flung open his office door. “Gather the men. We’re going to battle.”

BTS had never really been in a battle. They often had the upper hand in a situation and crews went down without a fight. But it was at this moment that you remembered that everyone in the crew could hold their own.

Yoongi held a harpoon and he was tangoing with an invader. Their figures were mere shadows in the moonlight. You had taken a knife from the kitchen, but you didn’t want to attack in case they were your men. The only sounds were the rhythmic pounding of the sea and the grunts of the men wrestling on the deck.

There were a few cracks of light as gunpowder fizzed in the air and stung your nose. It was like an awful hellscape. You stepped in a liquid and prayed it was water and not a puddle of blood. Lifting up your foot to examine, your fears were confirmed.

You sidestepped a body that was flung off the side. You knew the man to be an enemy because Jin’s face lit up in the moonlight in front of you. He was breathing heavily, a dried streak of rusty blood down his face.

“Y/N, get the rowboat ready. We need to leave, they’ve brought too many men and we’re only seven.” He shouted over the commotion.

The crack and pop of several guns went off at once, lighting the sky up with gray smoke.

Hoseok ran over, looking a little worse for wear. He had a bruise forming on his cheek and a painful gash on his arm.

“We’ve got to go, now.” He grasped your arm, trying to pull you away.

His face was serious, angry, pained. All emotions you never expected to attribute to the man. Jungkook. You turned to watch the figures. You recognized Jimin’s blonde hair.

“Jimin!” You shouted as an enemy approached him with a knife.

Jimin turned, the sweet boy looking at you with wide eyes. The cabin boy was never meant for battle.

A guttural scream of rage came from the side and the hiss of a gun going off lit up the deck. Taehyung’s face was illuminated, thoroughly pissed. He refused to hesitate again. He wouldn’t let another crew member die on his watch. He shot at the would be attacker, but you assumed it must have been adrenaline making his hand shaky.

He missed. In all your time on the ship, Kim Taehyung had never missed a shot. Everything was working against you. Taehyung jumped in front of Jimin, resulting in him getting punched in the nose, blood instantly spurting.

You tore your grasp away from Hoseok.

“Y/N, stop!”

“Hobi! The crew needs me!” You shouted, racing towards Jimin.

You pulled Taehyung up and grabbed Jimin’s arm as Jungkook shot the enemy dead.

“Tae, get up, Jimin, help him.” You wrapped a dazed Taehyung’s arm around Jimin’s shoulder.

The cabin boy nodded at you and you could see the steel behind his eyes. The timid boy was anything but timid. Jungkook ran towards you.

“Y/N, you need to get off the ship. The others are already going to the rowboat.” He said, his voice hurried and his eyes wide.

Your eyes trailed to six familiar shapes climbing into the rowboat.

“But someone needs to stay behind to release it.” You said quietly. Jungkook nodded.

“I know.”

“You can’t really be suggesting yourself, you self-sacrificing bastard?!” You shouted, feeling tears pricking at your eyes. His face was sculpted perfectly in the moonlight, a white spotlight beaming down just for him.

“Please, Y/N, I don’t have any other choice. A captain always goes down with the ship.”

“No.” You stood firmly, tired of being pushed around finally. You inhaled sharply. “I have nothing to return to. I won’t let you do this alone.”

“Y/N…I love you” He sighed and then, out of character, he drew you into a hug. Your breath hitched. His skin didn’t crawl at the touch. “Please don’t do this.” He whispered.

“I love you too, Jungkook, but-” You started, rubbing his back. You looked over his shoulder. “Jungkook!” You screeched. The man tensed in your hold, turning around just in time to see the figure coming towards him.

Everything slowed.

The captain pushed you away, and faced the man. There was this terrible high pitched noise in the background. The last enemy had found you and you recognized him. Myung-suk. And there were more coming. The glint of steel meeting flesh flashed in your eyes. You reached out for him, your lover. His face went pale.

His inky black hair glistened in the moonlight. His blood stained the floorboards and there was still the screeching sound. You met his eyes one last time. His lips mouthed ‘it’s okay’.The man threw the captain’s lifeless body off the side of the ship. The screeching sound, you’d come to realize, were your own screams. His body was nothing more than a ripple in the sea.

The world went back into motion. You immediately kicked the young soldier in the chest, effectively winding him like you’d seen Namjoon do once or twice. Then you took a big fistful of his shirt and pushed him off the side of the ship, not hearing his cries over your own. You whispered a prayer for Jungkook and cursed Myung-suk.

May Jungkook become one with the sea and may Poseidon have no mercy on the man with the bloodied knife. Your hands shook, pain overtaking your mind. You didn’t have time to sob. The ship was headed towards the rocks. The crew was still in the rowboat, waiting for someone to release them.

Mourning would get you nowhere. Despite the aching cavity in your chest, your crew needed you. He would have wanted that. So you refused the urge to dive right into the sea after him. You just wanted to be one with the sea, to let it wash over your wounds. Instead, you ran down the decks you had spent the last year of your life on. The ghostly memories of your crewmates flooded back to you.

You saw Namjoon first, his memory turning to look at you.

Ah, you’re the new crew member, I see? Welcome to the family.

You swiped at your eyes. Yoongi’s ghostly form stood, his harpoon in hand, the memory reminding you of sunny days.

Y/N, stop looking at me like that. If you want to know how to fish, I’ll show you. Here, c’mere.

You let another teardrop fall. The wheel sat empty as you passed it. Hoseok’s memory stood there, turning the ship, whispering with Jimin.

Y/N! Want to dance?

Jimin smiled, his eyes crinkling wonderfully.

Y/N, I’m sorry for sleeping on the job last night. Thanks for covering for me!

His chuckle was beautiful. Seokjin had his hands on his hips.

I didn’t put anything in that soup, you wusses. He argued.

Taehyung leaned his head on the side of the ship.

It’s nothing, just a nightmare.

You tried to breathe, but the worst memory was next.

The sky seemed to clear as you went through it once more. A well built man stood on the end of the ship. The night of gunpowder fell away. His hair ruffled in the wind. He turned to you, a smile on his face, doe eyes crinkling in delight. Jungkook held out his hand, his captain attire as crisp as ever.

Are you ready, little miss?

And you almost took his hand.

You tore your eyes away, turning to where the crew now rested. Six in the boat, one at the bottom of the sea, one staying on the ship. You started lowering the ropes, ignoring the shouts of the crew. You felt a ghostly presence and you just knew it was him. Jungkook placed a hand on your back, guiding you through the motions.

“Sh, it’s going to be alright. Stop shaking, love. You’re doing so well.” He whispered words of praise.

“Y/N, stop, just climb aboard.” Namjoon’s words suddenly hit you. You stared incredulously at the man.

“So we can all die?” You shouted. Tears traced their way down your cheeks. “Namjoon, do you trust me?”

The man looked unsure, a pain behind his eyes. He looked down at the sea, his eyes drifting to the place his oldest friend perished. He looked devastated. And he was. His heart was breaking open for the young boy who deserved better, the boy who despite all odds, worked to make a name for himself. But above all, he was glad that his body was resting in the waves of the place he loved the most; The sea. He couldn’t mourn, he had to do his job as a first mate. He had to become the leader the crew needed. He couldn’t hesitate and let them all perish. You weren’t budging either.

Did he trust you?

“Yes.” He responded softly. You nodded and let the ropes fall, placing the boat gently into the water.

You couldn’t stop the tremble of your hands. All you wanted to do was cry, fall to the floor and let the sobs overtake your body. The boat drifted into the ocean and the rope fell away. The other ship blasted a hole into the side of BTS. You tumbled to the ground, sobs finally wracking your body. You watched the rowboat headed toward the shore.

“Get up.” Jungkook urged. “Y/N, get up.” His voice was firm, his ghost as clear as day.

“Jungkook, I-”

“You shouldn’t have, love. I should’ve been there.” He whispered. “You should find another way out. Don’t sacrifice yourself for a foolish captain like me.” You could almost hear his sheepish smile.

You stood, placing your hands on the side of the ship and watching the water come closer. You sniffled, letting your stomach drop as the ship sunk farther. Your eyes were glossy with tears, your heart shattered, so with all the courage left in your body, you turned to face his ghost. You hair flew in the breeze and the moment was of peaceful contrast to moments before.

“No, I’m going down with the ship.”

You were falling. The world seemed to slow, going still as if you had halted in mid air. The waves welcomed you home, embracing you to your bones. Taehyung’s smile, Jin’s laugh, Yoongi’s quiet nods, Hoseok’s dancing, Jimin’s eyes, Namjoon’s voice, Jungkook’s face.

They held you close, but Jungkook’s ghost held you the tightest as the rest faded away. When you looked up, there was no shadowy figure diving in to save you. It was just dark, the light of the sinking BTS illuminating the water.

The ghost of his lips hovered over yours as the sky sank farther out of reach. Your lungs filled with water, body finally being overtaken with the sea. Black ink fell across your vision as Jungkook’s ghost whispered words of praise. A bittersweet ending to the ship of the Bulletproof Boy Scouts.

You glimpsed his face, his ethereal body hovering above you, now one with the ocean. The crew had always been a mess, a tragically beautiful mess, but him, most of all.

Sea and the rock below Cocked to the undertow Bones, blood and teeth erode With every crashing node

Taglist: @lovelyseomin @yoongi-sugaglider @merakiiverse

#bts #bts x reader #Jeon Jungkook #Jungkook x reader #Jungkook #JK #tatawrites #pirate au #fluff #angst #Down With The Ship #major character death

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five-hxrgreeves · 4 years

Text

I Won’t Back Down - Five Hargreeves x OC

Word Count: 3,467

Oh, we've got to hold on, ready or not You live for the fight when it's all that you've got Woah, we're half way there Woah, livin' on a prayer Take my hand, we'll make it I swear

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Pt. 5- The Road to Hell...

Five Hargreeves has never claimed to be a people person. Even growing up surrounded by six other kids, he preferred to lock himself in his room and work on equations than actually interact with them aside from what was mandatory. That didn’t mean he didn’t care for them- because he did, at least where Six and Seven were concerned- he just liked his space and it was in this space that he discovered his potential for time travel.

When he’d first broached the subject with his father he’d been promptly shut down leading to one of their many quarrels and another punishment. That was not enough- never enough- to deter him from pursuing something on his own, though. He was smart enough to figure it out without help. The boy also made sure word of it never got out to his siblings; most wouldn’t care and think that he was just rubbing it in like the cocky way he usually did but Six would give him worried, warning glances and Seven would try to talk him out of it in her own shy, quiet way.

It was best to keep this to himself.

He’d been practicing his special jumps for years now and had advanced in leaps and bounds- literally. While he was still limited to short distances he could do more at once than he ever had before and they were pin-point accurate (he could actually land on the head of a pin if he felt like doing something so ridiculous. He didn’t.) Time travel was just another aspect of his powers, as linear as his jumps were and as straight forward as any equation usually was for him. He’d done the math and it was ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent possible that he would be successful; the point-oh-one was an unnecessary margin of error that he allowed himself just in case. Every mathematician had their occasional inaccuracies.

Five had made sure to repeat the equations over and over, too, to double and triple check his work. Now, he felt ready to present the subject again and have evidence that it could be done. Distantly, he heard the robotic woman they called mother ring the bell, a tradition that signaled their meal was ready. Setting down his chalk, the boy left the room and met his siblings at the stairs, completely silent apart from their footsteps approaching the table. The recording their father liked to listen to, Herr Carlson, was already playing as they stood by their seats waiting for the man himself to arrive.

They sat in number order beginning with Reginald’s seat, with Number One being on the left, Two on the right and so on until the last three; Five was on the left, Six was across from him and Seven at the head.

“Sit!” their father barked and the children followed the command without delay, pulling out their chairs almost in sync as they sat down.

Now that the speaking part of the meal was over, they turned their attention to the various tasks that they did at the table while eating, the recording continuously playing over the sounds of their activities. Five clenched his teeth slightly at the irritating repetitiveness of it all and stared down the table at the man he called his father, watching him take a drink from his cup.

Knowing he wouldn’t get the man’s attention if he tried talking, the boy gripped the handle of his knife and stabbed it directly into the table.

“Number Five?”

“I have a question,” he said coolly.

“Knowledge is an admirable goal, but you know the rules. No talking during meal times,” Reginald answered, not even sparing a glance up from his plate, “you are interrupting Herr Carlson.”

Irritation prickled along his spine and the boy dropped the utensil roughly against his plate, “I want to time travel.”

“No.”

“But I’m ready,” he responded flatly, “I’ve been practicing my special jumps, just like you said,” he stood and demonstrated, feeling a flicker of pride when he landed right by the man’s elbow.

“See?”

“A special jump is trivial compared to the unknowns of time travel,” he answered, not deigning to look at him, “one is like sliding along the ice, the other is akin to descending blindly into the depths of the freezing water and reappearing as an acorn.”

Five forced himself not to snarl at his father’s terrible explanation. He really hated riddles. Instead, he let out a sharp breath, “well, I don’t get it.”

“Hence the reason you’re not ready,” the man said, as if that was all the answer that was needed. He took another sip from his glass.

Five accidentally looked down the table to where Six and Seven sat, knowing that this would be a surprise to them. He rolled his eyes internally at Seven’s predictable reaction as she shook her head at him, looking slightly fearful. He turned back to his father, “I’m not afraid.”

“Fear isn’t the issue. The effects it might have on your body, even on your mind are far too unpredictable,” he threw his own utensils down and finally looked at the boy, “now, I forbid you to talk about this anymore.”

The boy’s lips curled into a sneer at the thought of someone trying to control his powers when who knew them better than him? Reginald may be their mentor but what did he know about the extent of their abilities? He turned on his heel and stalked away, ignoring his father’s shouts. He picked up speed as he left the dining room, running, running, running out the door, on to the street.

The fresh air hit his face, spurring him on after the drafty, stale air of the place he called home. Preparing himself for the first jump, he mentally checked his calculations and tore a hole through time.

Around him, the scene changed. The darkness of the evening was replaced by bright sunlight showing a warm, sunny spring. He scoffed, “not ready my ass.”

Fueled by his success, he jumped again, his heart leaping as the scene changed to winter, the previously open buildings changing as they lost business. Adrenaline pumped through him and he wondered exactly how far into the future he could go. What would he see? Predictions from Six’s science fiction books were unlikely but he could still come back and tell his brother all about the future.

He leapt again, blue light shining around him as he created his third portal. The boy suddenly stilled, watching as the familiar sights around him turned to ash and dust, rubble and burning fires stretching as far as the eye could see.

Something akin to terror rose within him. This wasn’t right. How could it be when the world had been so vibrant around him seconds before?

He forced his legs to move, running along the dirt path that stretched on for miles. The sky was a dark, ashy gray that gave away neither time nor date and the falling particles burned his lungs when he breathed causing his breath to shorten rapidly and gasp in his chest.

Five froze outside the familiar building, all grandeur now rubble and fire as he stared up at what was once his home. No. What about his siblings? His family?

“Vanya!” he cried out, forcing himself to be heard over the crackling fire, “Ben! Dad! Anyone!”

No answer came in the nearly silent world despite him looking around wildly for someone, anyone living. He could go back. The answer came to him suddenly on its own accord and hope surged in his chest as he forced his hands into fists, blue shining around them. He pushed against the fabric of time, trying to calculate a way out. Nothing.

“Come on!” he pleaded, he didn’t want to be stuck in this burning hell.

“Shit,” was his next word as his powers failed, sucking away the sudden hope.

His hands dropped and he stared around at the landscape, as desolate as he felt. How was he going to get back? He dropped to his knees in front of the remains of his home- a home that had been whole and filled with life minutes before.

Five wasn’t sure how long it had been when he forced himself to pull away. Night would be coming soon and there were other survival things that needed to be done. How had their father known how to prepare them for this?

The thought crossed his mind as he stood, eyes catching sight of a still-standing newspaper holder. He ran over to it and opened the broken glass front, pulling out one of the papers. April 1, 2019 read the date, the headline was one that would be burned into his memory even after years of living in the apocalypse.

Then, he saw the first bodies lying in the rubble. The hand of a man was sticking out of a pile, clearly clutching at something. Five ran over to it and pried the glass orb out of the stiff, cold fingers. He wiped off the red, wet residue on the face of it, revealing a dark brown iris. It was a glass eye.

Still holding it, he followed the arm to a blonde-haired man with a cut next to his eye. Something niggled at the back of his head but he pushed it away. No, it couldn’t be. His siblings were still alive. Of course they were.

He ran to the next pile where a dark-haired man and dark-skinned woman were covered in rubble- both with their eyes closed and covered thickly in the falling ash. His feet skittered in the loose blocks but he made his way towards them, placing his hands on their shoulders and shaking them roughly. Please, he thought desperately, please be alive. Just be asleep.

It was a foolish, naïve thought but he couldn’t push it away.

Farther on, another man with a fur-trimmed coat was lying facedown in the rubble, eyes closed just like the others. Five’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the damning tattoo on the man’s arm: an umbrella inscribed in a circle. The same one all of the Hargreeves children had, except Seven.

There was too much evidence to deny the terrible conclusion that formed in his mind.

Five forced the prickling tears at the back of his eyes away. He’d never been a crier; Reginald had beat that out of them at an early age. Still, he hadn’t even recognized his siblings until he’d seen the tattoos that bound them together. Then, he’d added rocks on top of their partially-buried bodies as a makeshift grave. That had been when he’d almost cried, when the last possible sighting of his siblings’ faces had finally been covered. They weren’t really his siblings, though, because he didn’t know them in this timeline. He knew their fifteen-year-old versions, back in 2004. This shouldn’t matter to him.

(It did.)

The boy tilted his head up and stared into the dark sky until his eyes burned for a different reason. Water was going to become a precious commodity; he shouldn’t waste what hydration he had on crying.

Again, he pulled himself away, telling himself it was useless to linger over the dead. He couldn’t help those siblings. (But oh, how he wanted to.) They were somebody else’s family. His were still alive in 2004, blissfully unaware of the fate that awaited them. There was still something he could do about that.

Five turned and walked away, steeling himself to face this strange, new hell.

He wasn’t sure what was worse. The dusty, dark days or darker nights. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. There was no sound except for howling wind, the crackling of fire and the creak of the wagon which was piled with necessary items like food cans and a supply of water that he’d found, his best prize.

By now, he’d covered himself entirely to keep the ash from burning his skin, a mask over his face to help his breathing and goggles to protect his eyes. These items were all found by scavenging around the city. He’d left the familiar block of the Academy behind and had begun searching in other buildings. These were more family-styled homes and he occasionally came across the bodies of little kids or parents which caused him to quickly turn away before the little food he’d eaten made its reappearance.

There was still no one who seemed to have escaped whatever disaster had ended the world. He’d been on his own for seemingly days now, not another living soul in sight, just stinking, dead bodies partially or fully covered by rubble. The boy tried not to think about them too much. It wasn’t that they disgusted him- well, the adults didn’t- but living in the world of the dead while he was still living was not a thought that sat comfortably in his mind.

Rubble shifted haphazardly under his hands as he searched for food, the cleared space revealing the short, dark hair of a woman. He moved to another spot immediately, continuing his search. Then, he froze.

Unless his ears were tricking him, there was a tinny bang, bang, bang coming from somewhere. The hits were too evenly spaced to be anything but purposeful. The hope that he’d thought had died suddenly resurged full force and he scrabbled over to the sound, “hello?”

His voice was hoarse and uncomfortably loud. The banging continued, “hello? Is anyone there?” he tried again.

There was no answer except for the continuous hitting sound. He shifted the rubble around on top of where he thought it was coming from until a dark crack appeared between the broken pieces, “hello? Can you hear me?”

The sound was definitely louder now and he made an effort to make the hole bigger, muscles tensing as he prepared for a maybe not-so-friendly encounter. Then, it was large enough to see inside. The pale, dirty face of a girl looked up at him, her eyes squeezed tightly shut against the apparent brightness. How long had she been trapped under there? Days? Weeks? It was clearly awhile from how thin her face looked.

Five wasn’t even sure if she was real and he was just imagining the whole thing. He couldn’t help the disbelief that entered his tone as he asked, “what the hell?”

That wasn’t the best response to seeing the first human- alive- that he’d seen in however much time it had been, but like he’d said, he wasn’t a people-person. The girl didn’t respond, eyes still screwed up in a way that made her face look scrunched.

“Here, grab my hand, I’ll help you up,” that was better, he decided, and extended said hand to the girl.

After realizing she couldn’t see it, he grasped her hand himself and startled at how small and bony it seemed. He pulled her out easily and wasn’t surprised to see that the rest of her matched the gaunt face and frail hand.

“Open your eyes,” he tried, “slowly. How long have you been down there?”

The girl shook her head, most likely answering both questions. He sighed and turned, “hold on a second, I’ll get something to help.”

Five returned to his wagon before she could protest and shifted around in his items, pleased when he found another pair of goggles. Stumbling slightly back to her, he placed them in her hand, “here, they’re not sunglasses but they should be better than nothing.”

He watched as she put them on, struggling slightly with the strap until it was secure. Her face relaxed and her eyes opened cautiously. Five tried not to suck in a startled breath. Her pupils were so large only a thin, blue line could be seen around them. It was kind of creepy if he was being honest. Immediately, she shut her eyes again. He didn’t blame her.

“What’s your name?” the boy tried, never one for small talk but knowing it was important.

The girl opened her mouth to answer but no sound came out. She shook her head.

He let out an irritated huff, “fine, then is this your house?”

She nodded, confirming that yes, it was.

“Are there any supplies in your basement?”

Another nod.

“Is there anything I need to know before going down there?”

Again, she nodded, then paused, seemingly trying to get her words to work. When they didn’t, she made an open-close motion.

“Now isn’t the time for charades.” He wanted to tack on moron or some similar insult but he forced himself not to. She wasn’t one of his siblings.

The girl did the motion again and held her cupped hands up to her face, as if she were reading.

“A book, you want me to get a book,” the disbelief was back.

When she nodded vigorously, he sighed, “fine. Where is it?”

The question made her still, uncertain of how to act out the location. Then, she drew a flat, rectangular shape in the air and two smaller ones on top of it. He really hated riddles.

“I don’t get it,” he grumbled, frustrated, “just tell me they’re easy to find.”

The girl nodded again, “fine,” the boy decided, “I’ll get your stupid books. Wait here.”

The darkness didn’t bother him as he descended into the basement. Reginald would never let his adoptive experiments be afraid of something so silly as pitch-blackness. Then, Five’s foot hit something on the bottom step that almost made him loose his balance, “shit!” he cursed, righting himself.

The boy bent down and felt for the obstacle, startling at the waxy feel of a candle. Well, maybe she’s not a complete moron, he allowed. He felt around for matches and soon a small, golden glow lit up the dark space. He was surprised to find the basement completely intact. Then he immediately wrinkled his nose. It stank like hell.

After several minutes of searching, he found the partitioned food in the back storeroom, the paint cans with broken lids and the tools, which he rooted through to find the most useful ones. He was especially pleased when he found a rope. Then, he turned to make his way back to the surface only to pause at the bottom of the staircase. Her stupid books.

Five remembered seeing a desk at the edge of the circle of light so that’s what he went to find. On the surface sat three books: a used notebook and two published authors. He added those to the steadily-growing pile and clambered out messily, fighting to keep his balance as things spilled out of his hands.

Irritation pricked at him when he saw the girl was still standing, unmoving and eyes closed, right where he’d left her. Scratch that earlier thought, he grumbled, she is a complete moron.

After placing the things in the wagon, he made his way back over to her.

“Here,” he said, stuffing the requested items into her arms.

Her facial muscles twitched into what was probably her first smile in days, a sign of gratitude, he knew. He brushed it off, “you better open your eyes, we’re moving.”

She shook her head and his annoyance grew, “well, I’m not guiding you the whole way. There’s too much searching to be done and night will be here soon. You either open your eyes or I’m leaving you here.”

He wouldn’t, he knew. If she was the last human left alive he didn’t want to lose his only source of humanity.

Luckily, that caused her to open her eyes even as her face screwed up in pain. He pursed his lips in displeasure and studied her outfit, “the mask will help but you have to cover up. The ash burns and I don’t have any way of healing you if you get hurt.”

She seemed to be understanding about that and after some difficult maneuvering- and several close calls where he’d had to catch her- they made it to the wagon where he began handing her the extra clothing he’d found.

Once she was set up appropriately, he picked up the handle of the almost-full wagon. The girl tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?” he asked shortly.

She handed him the spiral-bound notebook, opened to the first page. On it, in slightly loopy, readable handwriting was the opening sentence: My name is Lola Gimbel and I was born August 1, 2004.

#The Umbrella Academy #Umbrella Academy #five #five hargreeves #5 #hargreeves #tua five #five hargreeves x dolores #five hargreeves x oc #five hargreeves x reader #Five x oc #five x dolores #five x reader #human dolores #dolores isn't a mannequin #pre-tua #apocalypse

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aeterno-if · 3 years

Note

Could I maybe get Rozun and the prompt "You had a bad night" ?

Yes, you can!

[prompt from this list]

Nights in the mountains were beautiful. They were the reason the city was carefully and lovingly carved from solid rock in treacherous lands. Stars hung overhead in the darkened sky, scattered shards of pinprick light.

Rozun pulled their coat tighter, fastening the button on the collar and nuzzling their nose into the fur lining. The nights were beautiful, but they were also incredulously cold. Rozun had left the warmth and comfort of the monastery dorms for peace: a hidden balcony mated with a slab of mountain rock and only accessible through a crowded and dusty storage closet.

Though, maybe not so hidden if the stone planters of pipe ash were any indication.

High above the balcony were lit windows of the solitary Lunari, readying themselves for sleep with prayer; below, clifface, and further a reflecting pool, still further the twinkling city of Umbrael.

Rozun leaned against the stone rail, resting their head on folded arms, the pressure shooting pain through their right hand. They sucked in a sharp breath of air, gently flexing bandaged fingers outward, waiting for the terrible ache to pass.

Water had not prevented swollen blisters from the iron’s touch.

Neither had the other children’s unabashed laughter.

The child carefully pulled the hand to their chest, remaining hunched over the railing. Master Afal had refused to send Rozun to the healer, insisting the tears and searing flesh were part and parcel of smithing.

Blood is the living component of passion.

Tch.

Surai had carted them off to the healer hours later. She had sat holding their other hand as Healer Inza removed barely clinging skin and slathered a cooling salve on the remaining damage. The wound would heal, though only time could tell how long the damage would linger.

The breeze picked up, churning a cold gust from the north and sending the balcony door slapping against its frame. Rozun buried their face in the crook of their arm, stifling the tears warming their eyes. They hated it -- the cold, the pain, the monastery itself. An old dusty building filled with old dusty people and old dusty ways.

“A child?” A voice asked. The door had stopped swinging in the wind. “Out of bed?”

Rozun hastily wiped their nose on their sleeve and turned toward the voice, head bowed and eyes downcast.

“Sorry, Master.”

Rozun made toward the door, embarrassment creeping to their cheeks.

“Stay, child. The air is clean here. Unless you would like to breathe Master Kellan’s supper as perfume.”

Glancing up, Rozun met the gaze of Master Illwys. Peppered hair rough in the breeze, a thin smile on his face. The Lunari moved to join Rozun at the railing, hands folded inside thick robes.

“What do the stars show us tonight?” he asked, looking to the sky.

Rozun followed his gaze, tilting their head all the way back to take in the darkness once more. Patterns emerged, idols and creatures: Erna of Stilguard, the Serpent, Selene’s Axe.

“It’s always the same this time of year,” Rozun said, sniffling from the cold.

Master Illwys hummed in his throat. “Our world is ever moving, so are we.” He looked back to Rozun, the child already a head above the others their age.

Rozun let the words drift on the air and fall back to silence once more, hoping Illwys would only dismiss them back to the dormitory.

“Young Noa told me there was an injury in the forge today.” The man glanced at the hand held to the child’s chest. “Usually Master Afal is quite alert with his pupils.”

Rozun chewed their cheek, feeling the stone sitting in the back of their throat again. Their cheeks flooded hot and all at once embarrassment and shame fought anger in their belly. They had no care for Master Afal, as it were.

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“No?”

Rozun shook their head and all the words jumbled, sticking to the roof of their mouth, only to be expelled in a barking sob. They were crying, hiding their face in their coat sleeve. The child’s shoulders shook, throat ached from the thick. A hand rested on their back, rubbing small, soothing circles.

Illwys remained beside Rozun in silence as the child wept.

When Rozun’s tears softened to sniffles, Illwys spoke.

“The present is not forever, child.” He gently brushed wet strands of unusual silvery hair from Rozun’s cheeks. “No person on any land conducts your fate.”

“Master Kellan says the stars…”

“The stars are only tools.” Illwys nodded toward the courtyard. “Our pools have depth, child. If the scriptures were to be starkly understood, we would be nothing but puddles of rainwater.”

Master Illwys placed his hands on Rozun’s shoulders. “Distinction is not a life sentence of demerit. If this is what you and the others feel, then our teachings are not adequate for expanding minds. Do you follow?”

Rozun sniffled, eyes puffy and nose red. Master Ilwys’ words were nice, but they did not change the circumstance. Rozun did not and never would look like Surai, or Noa, or Illwys, or that damned Roger. But the pain and tears had wrung Rozun dry, so they nodded and leaned into Illwys’ guidance back through the storage closet and into the chilly depths of Novok’l.

#anonymous #aeterno prompts #ro rozun

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ampleappleamble · 4 years

Text

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"...Did I fuck this up?"

Edér looked up from his whittling, focusing his good eye on the little woman. The other eye was still swollen shut, shiny and painful from their fight against his late Lord, but with some rest and the help of Raedric's priests-- Kolsc's priests, now-- he and the rest of his friends would be good as new for the trek back to Caed Nua tomorrow.

"Ain't too many ways I can think of to fuck up killin' a terrible murderin' bastard like Raedric," he mumbled around his mouthful of smoke, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Unless y' think we didn't kill him enough, or somethin'."

Axa's lips smiled, but the rest of her face did not follow suit. Her party was spending the night in a corner of the Berathian priests' sleeping quarters in Raedric's sanctuary, and she sat on her borrowed bed gently rocking to and fro, her knees drawn up to her chest, her sharp little nails worrying tiny holes in her trousers.

"The Legacy makes men mad. Perhaps it does worse to women. I do not know." Raedric had looked Axa over, then, had glanced toward his bedchamber where his own wife lay dead in their marital bed--

"No, we killed him exactly the right amount, I think." The smile was already gone, soundly quashed by the memory. "I just... feel like I may have acted in haste here. Like there's something I'm missing about all this that's going to bite me in the ass later, when I least expect it." She pressed her chin into her knees, curling up as tightly into herself as she could.

--if i make myself small enough i can just hide away from all this and no one will see me--

Kana chuckled, idly leafing through a massive tome that dwarfed even his sizable lap as he reclined in the worn armchair next to Axa's bed. "Yes, it is a rough sea, the world of the ruling class! So many nerve-wracking social calculations to make, always looking over one's shoulder... The political alliances to take into account, then the family alliances... But even the Ranga Nui himself and his own son are at ideological odds! And if you're discovered as a fair-weather friend, paying lip service to either or both--"

"I think," Aloth interrupted, "perhaps, that you've made your point, Kana." The elf was just as irritable now as he had been the morning that old drunk had showed up at Caed Nua, and his half-healed broken rib was not helping to improve his mood.

And now the in-fighting begins in the Lady of Caed Nua's inner circle. Axa felt her guts redouble their efforts to destroy themselves, anxiety churning inside her like acid. "Gods, I'm ill-suited for this politicking horseshit. Why did I think I could do this? I'm Ixamitli, we don't... nobody 'owns' the land, that's not how--"

"Oh, don't get me wrong!" Kana pressed on, seemingly oblivious to Aloth's peevish attitude. "Just as hard lands forge strong people, rough seas often yield great rewards. For instance, when we return to Caed Nua on the morrow, we can look forward to seeing your Brighthollow manse restored to its former beauty and prestige! Well, in part, anyway. All because of your actions here today and Kolsc's gratitude!"

"And even if you weren't gettin' somethin' out of it," Edér added, "you're the kinda lady can't rest without knowing you did the best thing y' could. Point being, y' had to do something, long-term consequences be damned. And like I said earlier, if y' have to do something, it's hard to go wrong with killing a mass-murdering shitheel like Raedric. No matter how bad Kolsc might turn out to be, better him than what we had goin' on before." He casually brushed the wood shavings from his lap, either ignoring or unaware of the annoyed glares and whispers from the priests in the room.

Axa glanced across the room at Aloth, who simply lay on his back in his bed in the corner, eyes screwed shut, his grimoire too heavy to hold in his lap without irritating his wounds. "Maybe," she sighed, lifting her head from her knees, "I should just hire on an advisor. Someone who actually knows what they're doing, to help me navigate these choppy waters." Her gaze flicked to Kana, a wicked little grin popping up on her face. "You know anyone who needs a job?"

The aumaua laughed, a thunderous noise that filled the small room. "Everyone I know is either in this room or in Rauatai, my friend! But I take your meaning. However, my own experience with the gentry is limited to the court of the Ranga Nui, a profoundly different environment from the one in which you find yourself, so I'm afraid I'd be more of a hindrance than a boon. And--" He glanced over at Edér, his smile half apologetic and half cheeky-- "I hope he'll forgive me for saying so, but our Edér doesn't seem like the sort to hobnob with the nobility."

The folk man snorted. "What tipped y' off?"

"That leaves you, Aloth," Kana continued, smiling in the elf's direction. "If I recall, you were raised among the gentry in Aedyr, were you not? That's a bit closer to the political system and aristocratic power structure here; any insight you have into that world would surely be invaluable to our Watcher. You're qualified, intelligent, you're clearly quite learned, you're... capable in battle. Why, you even came to the Dyrwood with the express purpose of finding a patron!" He was getting excited now, leaning forward in his seat, gesticulating passionately. "And here she is! What marvelous serendipity!"

Axa couldn't help but be charmed by Kana's enthusiasm, and she appreciated his effort to lift the wizard's spirits. "That's not a bad idea, actually. What say, Aloth?" She couldn't see his face from where he lay, but she could see his ears were bright red.

Not a fan of being the center of attention, I see. She felt a sudden surge of sympathy and warmth towards the man, and found her own ears reddening soon thereafter.

"I wouldn't take the gig 'f I were you. She can't even pay you, 's what I heard." Edér winked at her, taking his attention away from his whittling for just a second, then hissed with pain and surprise as his knife slipped.

Kana shook his head, his grin as wide as ever as he regarded the farmer with pity. "O, poor man! He who thinks coin is the sole and lone benefit of working for a prestigious, powerful woman like our Watcher! The true rewards of such a vocation are not in material wealth, my friend, but in the challenge! Rebuilding the glorious Caed Nua from the crumbling ruins... The intrigue of the political world of the Dyrwood... the tension, the drama... not to mention the treasure trove of ancient Engwithan secrets just waiting to be discovered in the Endless Paths!" He sighed like a lovestruck maiden telling her friends of her handsome beau. "Ah! I'm so envious. Were I more well-suited to the position, I'd have accepted her first offer in an instant! As it is, it seems I'll have to settle for hired muscle. Either way, I couldn't ask for a finer directress!" Now Axa's entire face was getting warm, and she found herself unable to look at Kana, although she could feel his eyes on her, his smile, warming her like gentle spring sunlight.

"Aye, I wager ye'd leap at a position 'neath 'er, slick-a-britches."

Aloth very quickly clapped a hand over his open mouth-- the loud pop! filling the little room-- and then came the long, shuddering groan of pain muffled behind his fingers, the sudden movement having yanked at his sore ribs.

Axa immediately flopped over onto her side, laughing like Hel, unable to stop herself. Edér's eyebrows leapt up his forehead, surprise and delight clear on his face, his wounded thumb stuck firmly in his mouth.

"...She seems impressed. I think you've got the job, my friend!" Kana chuckled, flipping to a new page in his gigantic book. He paused, considering, and then leaned forward in his seat, cocking his head with curiosity. "...Did you say 'slick-a-britches'?"

"No. I didn't. I said nothing." The elf's voice was quiet and short and clipped. "I'm in immense pain and I'm speaking complete and utter idiotic meaningless nonsense. ...Can we please talk about anything else." Axa was still giggling, tip of her tongue sticking out between her front teeth. He squirmed with embarrassment, and it hurt.

"As you say. How about this animancy research?" The scholar lifted the huge tome on his lap, tilting it up to show Edér as he crossed the room to wash and wrap his thumb. "I'm no animancer, to be sure, but from what little I've managed to decipher from Osyra's records, she may have been onto something!"

Aloth bristled, his breath hitching as he exhaled a bit too sharply. He had said 'anything else,' hadn't he. "All any animancer has accomplished, at the very best, is to swell their own ego and their own coinpurse. In particular, Osrya was a dangerous, insane monster who mutated kith into abominations. I have no interest whatsoever in reading anything that woman may have seen fit to record."

Anyone else would take the man's curt tone and disparaging language as the opposite of an invitation to continue. Kana continued with renewed gusto, "But if what Osrya posits is true-- and as far as I can tell, her methods are logically sound, if not morally-- why, then this may just provide the solution to the Legacy that the Dyrwood has been searching for these 15 long years!"

Axa had stopped laughing a while back, but only now did she sit back up. She remembered the animancer's words, recited them aloud with an accuracy she would not ordinarily expect from herself--

"It must be a localized effect. Something which strips the soul from a body, as the bîaŵacs are known to do. I have detected, even so, lingering traces of essence upon the bodies of so-called Hollowborn. This suggests that the soul itself has not been wholly destroyed. It remains, I think, intact somewhere."

Everyone-- even Aloth, lifting his head from his pillows-- looked at her, dumbstruck. The few priests remaining in the room hurriedly shuffled out, angrily whispering prayers to ward their souls against blasphemers.

"Um." She coughed, suddenly uncomfortably self-conscious. "That was... what she had to say, anyway. Before we killed her. ...If I'm remembering correctly."

"That's... what's in here, more or less, yes," Kana blurted, his ever-present grin tinged with nervousness as he shut the enormous book.

"So, what," Edér drawled, squinting at his half-finished carving as he turned it this way and that, "Hollowborn got a soul, but... somethin' or, or someone takes it from 'em soon as they're born?" He furrowed his brow, frowned at a blotch of red on the misshapen wooden thing in his hand. "And... what, hides 'em somewhere? Eats 'em? Why?"

"That would depend, it seems, on who or what is manipulating the souls, I would think." Kana actually frowned, now, staring blankly into the book. "Although I'd be hard-pressed to identify a creature capable of manipulating souls on this grand a scale, for this long, with this much apparent ease and consistency... short of, perhaps, a god." He glanced furtively at Edér, holding up his huge hands in deference. "Not that I'm attempting to implicate any particular deity..."

The farmer shook his head slowly, eyes shut tight with conviction. "Don't worry about me thinkin' that. Like I said before-- I can't and won't believe that Eothas was the kinda god would do somethin' like this."

"Do you believe, then, as some in your country do, that the recent prevalence of animancy is to blame?" The scholar was fumbling for a bit of charcoal, now, eager to take notes. "Keep in mind, the Vailian Republics has not suffered a similar Hollowing despite being the leading animancy practitioners on Eora--"

"Whether the recent uptick in animancy has caused the Legacy by inviting the ire of the gods is nigh impossible to know, and thus pointless to discuss," Aloth interjected, "although I certainly wouldn't put it past many of the gods to come up with a bizarre, horrific punishment like the Legacy in retribution for any slight from us kith, real or perceived.” He glanced balefully at the door the Berathians had shut behind them as they’d left. “What can be meritoriously discussed is what to do about the unbridled, barely educated charlatans taking advantage of a terrified and exhausted populace, using the Hollowborn crisis to feed their sick curiosity and their pocketbooks both. That is the everyday reality of animancy that must be dealt with in the Dyrwood." He winced in pain, his impassioned argument a bit too much for his battered body. "...Ahem. In my opinion."

"I don't think I know enough about any of it to have much of an opinion about it, bein' honest." Edér scratched the back of his neck, squinting in confusion as Kana eagerly copied down the conversation, his attention ping-ponging excitedly between each successive speaker. "I feel like that whole world is way, way beyond my ken." He smiled over at the orlan, glad to see her relaxing and engaging with other kith instead of clutching her knees and staring into the middle distance. He'd seen enough of that during the Saint's War. "...Although some of 'em are tryin' to do somethin' about the Legacy, at least. I guess. This animancer was a crazy piece of shit, but she's also the only animancer I ever met, 's far's I know. So I don't really got a lot to go on. Y'know?"

"Caldara was sweet, and extremely helpful." Axa felt an odd little tug of nostalgia at the memory of the dwarf, her warm, motherly smile. "Of course, she was also dead when I met her. So you'll kind of have to take my word for it. That said, ultimately I have to agree with you: I don't know enough about animancy to pass any sort of judgment on it just yet. It seems potentially useful, perhaps even miraculously so, but also extremely volatile and dangerous." The little woman paused, stretching her sore limbs, and then laid back down on the bed with a long, cathartic sigh. "Perhaps once we reach Defiance Bay, we can get a clearer picture of what the day-to-day animancy trade is really like. Until then, I must, in good conscience, reserve all judgment on the subject."

"A wise choice, but a laborious one. Never let it be said that our Watcher takes the easy way out!" Kana rose from his seat as he spoke, seeing that the orlan was getting ready to settle in for the night, and crossed the room to his loaner bed. "Speaking of hardships, I've heard tell that the poor weather over the last few days may have delayed the work on Caed Nua's eastern barbican. If, once we return, we find that to be the case... and if you're amenable to a bit of dungeon crawling after all this fresh air and sunshine..."

Axa half-groaned and half-laughed, like a good-natured mother finally losing patience with her annoying toddler. "Yes, Kana, I promise we will explore the Endless Paths. I already promised you before, too, remember?"

"Forgive me!" Kana chuckled as he reclined, his feet dangling over the edge of the too-small bed. "I don't mean to wheedle you, rest assured. But once I get an idea in my head, I tend to focus on it so intently as to neglect politesse!"

"We've noticed," Aloth grumbled.

The massive aumaua turned to Aloth in the bed next to his, smiling still. "That reminds me-- I've never heard that one before, 'slick-a-britches'. Did you mean to say I slicken others' breeches-- or britches, as you say-- or did you mean my own breeches are slick? As in, ah, lubricated for easier removal? I didn't even know you spoke Hylspeak! You must teach me some!" He wore no malice on his face, only open, honest wonder, and for some reason that bothered Aloth more than if the aumaua had been outwardly hostile.

Axa cackled maniacally in her bed, thrashing her limbs and rolling about. Aloth slowly, deliberately pulled his coverlet up over his chin, then his nose, then his brow. His facial expression did not change.

---

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #wip #i finally finally feel satisfied with this bit #only one more longer bit and one more shorter bit to write before the chapter's finally done~#this was v fun to write but o my god it took five false starts and almost a month to compose a first draft

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emoboijk · 4 years

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bts | summoned

You repeat their names as a mantra, as a prayer, as a guiding light when you feel scared. How were you to know it would summon them? :: You accidentally summon the 7 demons that make up BTS and they tell you to fulfill your contract they have to fuck you. —poly bts, demon au, smut

08 :: seoul | summoned m.list

2,592 words

in this chapter ↝ turns out, you’re the dessert at the dinner table

warnings :: domesticity!; fluffy fluff; oral sex; sex at the dinner table

"C-can I?" you stutter, sitting heavily in Hoseok's lap, "Can I just...come to Seoul?"

He chuckles, grinning widely, "Of course you can."

"And...what?" your brow furrows. So many unbelievable things have happened in the last...month? Oh god, you realize, it's only been a month and it feels like forever. "Stay with you guys?"

Hoseok's hands can't keep still, so they trace up your thighs and beneath your (Yoongi's) t-shirt. His hands stroke up and down your back, pausing at the curve of your bare ass to squeeze happily. "Well, where else would you stay, silly?"

"B-but," you stutter again, cursing at yourself for being such a mess, "is that allowed?"

This time Hoseok smirks, eyebrows raising like a challenge, "And who, do you think, could stop us?"

"But...the contract—?" You lose your train of thought as Hobi stretches forward to plant kisses on your neck, sucking and biting the skin until a purple bruise sits beneath your ear.

"There's nothing in the contract," he whispers against your skin, tongue lapping at the beads of sweat that appear there, "that says we can't bring you to our place."

You run your tongue over your lips, pressing down with your teeth. Your hands have snaked into Hoseok's hair, scratching circles lightly with your nails. You want nothing more than to go to Seoul. You want to see their apartment and meet their dogs and sleep in their beds. You want to see their kitchen and their shower and their agency. You want to go to their favorite restaurants and their rehearsals. You want to watch movies and eat dinner and then have the ever-living-lights fucked out of you. And then you want to shower with them and wear their clothes and snuggle into them as you drift to sleep.

But that's exactly why you're afraid to go.

Namjoon is last. And Namjoon is the only one who hasn't yet taken his turn. And you know that he will once you're in Seoul. And then it will be...over.

"We aren't going to leave you," Hoseok whispers. Again. It's the second time tonight that he's said that, and you still don't believe it.

The contract looms in your mind and with it the fear that all of this (the texting and social media and clothes and attention and the sex, all of it) is simply to fulfill their contract. And once Namjoon takes his turn...it will all be over.

"Please come," Hoseok says. He pulls away, hands on your back to watch you with wide, pleading eyes, "Please. Just trust me on this."

You run your hands through his hair, push it away from his face. You can feel your heart constricting in your chest, your mind clearing from subspace as he pleads for you. It's such a foreign feeling, and you're not that big a fan of being in control, but you do realize this has to be your choice.

And what if you say no? Namjoon would just take his turn here, wouldn't he? And it would still be over afterward.

So you might as well trust him—trust them.

"Okay," you say softly, "I'll go."

"Really?" he grins, leaping upward to catch your lips with his own, pecking them over and over in overjoyed enthusiasm.

You grin because you can't help it, his energy is infectious. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and squeeze, laughing because your answer has made him so happy. You lean back, pressing your hands to the back of his neck, absently letting your thumbs toy with the hoops in his ears. "When do we leave?"

"Oh," he blushes suddenly, looking away from you, "Kinda already did."

You blink, straightening in your position on his lap, looking around. You are no longer in your room. In fact, you are so much not in your room that there are five others in this new room, all watching you. Watching you, who is straddling a naked Jung Hoseok, while you are naked but for Yoongi's Fear of God t-shirt.

You gasp and, before you can think about it, hit Hoseok playfully on the back of the head. "You could've warned me!"

"Sorry," his cheeks flush, "I was excited."

"Hey Joonie," a voice says, you and the six other sets of eyes turning to the hallway where the voice is coming from, "I have some new ideas about that track you played for me yesterday and I—" Yoongi stops abruptly when he steps fully inside and sees you there. He grins, "Kitten."

"H-hi," you blush, looking down as seven sets of eyes now turn their attention back to you.

"Put some clothes on," Jin says, stepping forward to similarly smack the back of Hoseok's head. He disappears from beneath you so that you land softly on your knees on the soft leather couch he'd been sitting on. Then Jin leans forward and gives you a soft kiss on the lips, "Hello gorgeous. Have you eaten? We were just about to have dinner." You realize now that Jin is wearing a pink, frilly apron over a turtleneck and jeans.

"No, I'm starving," you say, looking up at him.

Jin pinches your cheek cutely, "Good, I'll fix you a plate." He turns on his heel and walks down a hallway that, you can only assume, leads to the kitchen.

"Do you want a tour?" Taehyung says, picking up your hand from behind you. You crane your neck to see him, Jimin, and Jeongguk standing eagerly behind you.

"Yes, please," you grin.

They help you off the couch, your bare feet landing softly on the floor, wincing when the wood is colder than you expect.

"Here," Yoongi says, waving his hands so that a pair of knee-high black socks appear on your feet. When you raise one up you see little toe beans stitched into the bottoms.

You flush and nod your head, "Thank you."

When you turn back to the maknae's, you find Jeongguk crouching down, "Hop on!" he says, "The Jeongguk Express is about to leave!"

Giggling, you climb onto his back, gripping his shoulders as he stands and steadies himself with your added weight. He hooks his arms beneath your legs and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, kissing his cheek.

Taehyung takes one of your hands and tugs both you and Jeongguk forward, "Let's go, let's go! I want you to see my room!"

As you pass him, Namjoon looks down at his watch, "Jin said twenty minutes! Don't take too long!"

"Okay!" Jimin calls as you race down the hallway.

It's a long hallway, doors placed periodically along both walls. You try to count but now Jeongguk is fully sprinting after Taehyung, laughing like a child chasing a kite. You squeal when he skids near the end of the hallway and turns abruptly, socked-feet slipping as he tries to start running again. In front of you, Taehyung is skipping backward, grinning happily, and you can hear Jimin trying to keep up behind you.

You curl over Jeongguk's back like a koala, giggling into his neck and gripping his shoulders tightly. You feel his hands tighten on the backs of your legs and suddenly he lunges forward, moving quickly past Taehyung and stopping abruptly at a door ajar.

"Hah! I win," he declares. He bounces you up and down on his back gleefully, twisting his neck to say again, "I win."

"You win," you say proudly, rubbing your nose affectionately against his.

Then he turns and sticks his tongue out at Taehyung and Jimin, who are both out of breath and slowly catching up. Jimin shoves Tae playfully and says, "Why would you taunt him like that?"

Taehyung just shrugs and takes off his cap, fixing his sweaty hair before putting it back on. He strides up to the door and pushes, "This is my room."

It's smaller than you would have thought. Although the bed is quite large and so is the closet. It's messy, too, with various articles of (you notice absently, extremely expensive) clothing strewn about. There's a gaming computer and a Switch and the blinds are open so that light streams in.

"I like it," you beam at him.

"Wait till you see mine, noona!" Jeongguk says, turning to a door opposite this one. It's also slightly ajar so, because he's holding you up, he nudges it open with his head. You giggle as he steps into the room for you to see.

Jeongguk's room is neat and organized. Half of the room is consumed with gaming and editing computers, there are multiple cameras scattered about and a couple of sketchbooks by an iPad. The other half of the room is a closet and a bed in dark sheets.

You smile and, because he's there, you nudge your nose into his cheek before kissing it. "It's great," you grin against his skin.

"Let's go see mine and Hobi's," Jimin says, turning and walking back the way you came.

The three of you follow him quietly before you squeeze Jeongguk's shoulders and say, "Aren't you tired?"

"Even if I wasn't an all-powerful demon," he says, leaning his head back so that it rests against your shoulder, "I'd be able to carry you all the time."

You blush, trying not to think about how soft and romantic (but also horny and wet) such a simple statement makes you. You also try not to think of your bare pussy pressed against his back, getting wet without underwear to stop the slick from staining his back.

You make it all the way down the length of the hallway before stopping at a door. Jimin turns the handle and pushes inside, revealing the largest room by far. There are two full-sized beds, a large closet on one side, and a television. Both beds have been made, but one has a laptop and a few books spread over it—Jimin's, you think. Hobi's bed is clean, but there's a small cluttered desk with an expensive computer system near it.

Just as you cross the threshold, Jin's voice resonates through the apartment, "It's going to get cold!"

"We'll have to show you the rest later, noona," Jeongguk says, immediately turning and walking toward the sound of Jin's voice. When he puts you down in the kitchen, Taehyung walks up and wraps an arm around you.

"Do you want to sit with me?" Taehyung whispers in your ear.

Blushing you nod cutely, "Yes, please, but uh—" you pause to see where each of the other members are before whispering, "Can I have some underwear?"

"Huh? Why?" Jimin pouts from beside you both.

You worry your bottom lip and mutter, "I really don't want to get any slick on your pants."

Across the room, Jin chokes in surprise, turning abruptly to look at the three of you. Your eyes widen and you turn into Taehyung's embrace, flushed. You whisper softly, "Is super hearing part of the demon thing?"

"Yes!" Yoongi calls from the other side of the room.

"Fuck," you whine.

"Naughty language for such a cute princess," Taehyung chuckles. Then he taps your ass over the t-shirt and you feel underwear appear on your hips. "Take a peek," Tae whispers, "they're cute. Jin-hyung picked them out."

You turn in his embrace and lift your shirt to expose a pair of baby blue lace panties, a little bow in the center. They are really cute, damn.

The table is similar to the one they conjured in your kitchen. And again, although there are easily eight spaces, there are only seven chairs to claim. So you let Taehyung guide you to his spot and sit comfortably on his lap.

Like the lunch you'd had a few weeks ago, this dinner is chaotic. There are almost always three or four different people talking at once, languages, and food, and puns flying across the table haphazardly.

Taehyung keeps you in his lap with his arms secured around your waist. He then winks and flirts and cons Jimin and Hoseok and Yoongi into feeding him throughout the meal, often times taking a bite and kissing it into your mouth in a way that is only slightly functional but is completely erotic.

So erotic that by the end of the meal, when Tae shifts you from sitting on both thighs to straddling just one and then begins to bounce the knee so that he hits your clothed clit almost perfectly every time, you're already a wreck.

"Ah, ah, ah—! Tae...hyung," you pant as his leg bounces faster up and down beneath your pussy. Before you can stop yourself, your hips snap back and forward, looking for any kind of friction.

Tae leans forward and nibbles on your earlobe, "What happened to not getting any slick on my pants, hmm?"

"I just bought her that underwear," Jin pouts from the head of the table, nevertheless watching with his eyes glued to you. You notice only vaguely that Tae has pushed away from the table so that you're on complete display for the six of them.

"Not that I don't enjoy this," Namjoon says to the room, nobody's eyes shifting away from you, "but this will take a while and we have a photoshoot in the morning."

"I could go for dessert," Yoongi offers, and the next moment he's slipping beneath the table. He crawls underneath it until he's kneeling in front of your and Tae's chair, his face even with your crotch.

Tae moves you to sit between his legs, and Yoongi's hands work up your thighs, "Spread her, Tae," he says.

Tae hooks his knees beneath yours and spreads your legs wide, your pretty underwear suddenly gone so that your flushed, dripping cunt is fully on display. When you look around the table you see that everyone is watching you.

You clench your eyes shut, your body flushing at all of the attention. Your mouth falls open when Yoongi's small tongue begins lapping with kittenish licks at your clit. He uses his fingers to spread your pussy lips, exposing the clit and suckling on it harshly. Two fingers stroke your folds before he finds your entrance and plunges them inside, sinking them in to the knuckle and scissoring.

"Ah," you moan, leaning into Taehyung's chest and thrusting your hips forward, seeking more pleasure as Yoongi closes his mouth around your clit and sucks in earnest. His tongue flicks across the little bud relentlessly, your body spasming before you can even think, his fingers thrusting through the orgasm until your body stills, slick, and arousal gushing from your tight hole.

"I want a taste," Jimin whines and when you open your eyes, you find his head between your legs beside Yoongi's. The elder backs away and allows Jimin in closer, the younger man licking long stripes up and down your folds as he scoops up your juices with his tongue.

When he's finished he says, "It is like dessert, nice and sweet."

You're a panting mess, resting against Taehyung's chest and barely keeping yourself upright. Namjoon stands before you with a smirk, leaning down to whisper in your ear: "Time for bed, princess?"

You nod cutely, letting your eyes slip closed and your body sag against Taehyung's chest. You feel Namjoon's hands cup beneath your arms and he lifts you like a child, holding you against his body as you lazily wrap your legs around his waist.

"Let's go then."

author’s note—not my best work, but rest assured the next chapter is so freaking good~

09 :: daddy ↝

m.list :: wips :: ao3

taglist ↬ @beach-bitch-bitch-beach ; @biogirlabroad ; @chulchuchi ; @fawnzilla ; @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore ; @youarejesting

#bts #poly bts #demon bts #bts x reader

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twig-tea · 1 year

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Be My Favorite Ep 10 Musings

I can't stop thinking about the parallel of the three conversations with parents that happen in this episode:

Kawi and his father, in which his father asks Kawi to promise not to stagnate if he dies [and the fact that they left this conversation to this episode rather than the last one feels intentional]

Pear and her father, in which her father underscores for her that a "perfect life" life is not a stagnate goal, it's going to keep moving and be complicated and the things you might think you want now might change later, and as you keep living it your circumstances will change, so aiming to be resilient and open to change is a better goal

Pisaeng and his mother, in which his mom tries to discourage Pisaeng and Kawi's relationship because she wants to protect Pisaeng from harm, and Pisaeng (beautifully delivered by Gawin) begs to be allowed to be happy, which is not the same thing as safe at all

Because as we saw from Kawi's initial future, staying still is not happiness. And as we saw from his third future, getting your "perfect life" is not necessarily happiness either; and neither is keeping your heart safe by not going for your goals (see: Gawin in that third future). And as Max told us before, happiness is worth staying and fighting for.

And we saw Kawi put that into effect right away when he called Pisaeng's mom at the first hint of trouble, even though it turned out he didn't need to, he still got rewarded with her blessing.

But one step forward is not a full behavioural change, and he's still hesitating to have this important conversation about sex with Pisaeng. So I'm hopeful that that conversation will happen [has happened? 🤡]

The link is to @dribs-and-drabbles' poll about this potential clown theory in which Pisaeng time travelled in ep10 when we saw him turn the music globe thing that I also thought maybe had happened and am invested in having maybe happened, though as I keep saying, this show keeps surprising me and coming up with ways things happen that are even better than I thought, so I'm not holding on too tight.

Because all of these threads are coming together so beautifully!

Also btw: all three conversations had the parent expressing regret or a belief that they'd made mistakes to their child. Kawi's dad wished for a do-over, Pear's dad talked about the harm he caused by holding on to his anger for Pear's mother, and Pisaeng's mother admitted she may have made a wrong judgement. There's something beautiful about these parents being able to admit to their children that they aren't perfect and have made mistakes in the episode when their kids start to get their feet under themselves. Everyone in this show is allowed to be so human.

[For that reason I'm not going to pass judgment on what happened at the end of the episode yet because if this show is predictable about one thing, it's that it will show us more of the picture later, and that additional info often changes the meaning of what we saw.]

#be my favorite #be my favorite meta #no character should be perfect this is my ultimate agenda #it just needs to stick the landing!#holding a prayer circle that this show sticks the landing #because if it doesn't I'm going to be inconsolable #be my favorite ep 10 #be my favorite spoilers

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blackwatch-gwyn-active · 5 years

Text

It's You (Poly!PharMercy x Reader / Poly!McHanzo x Reader)

PharMercy-

Angela’s POV

Wow, I looked at Fareeha’s arms and I was surprised to see my name. I mean, I knew since we were kids but this was a first for even me. What was the most surprising was that most people only have 1 name on their arm but we both had a special name on our left arms, the name of our second soulmate, (Y/N). We were not expecting to really meet them because the odds of meeting them were going to be slim yet fate has a funny way of showing it.

“Pharah, what is the status of your fuel reserves?” I ask her as I was patching up Reinhardt for battle against Talon’s agents.

“It is fine for the moment Mercy but there is a problem, I see a few civilians that look to be possibly injured about 300 meters from you, I will get McCree with them until you arrive. I think one of them is trying to help those that are injured but I am trying to hold off the riff-raff as long as possible.” she radios back as I worry but know that she can handle herself, she was once a part of the Egyptian army and she was one of the best soldiers we have in Overwatch.

“Go to her, Dr. Ziegler, we will handle this from here.” I hear the loud laughter of Reinhardt and I rush off, thanking him.

I rushed off but not before I hear someone yell, “Look out!” Only to turn and see a young person pushing me out of the way of flying bullets from Reaper’s guns. They took the worse amount of damage, a few bullets lodged in their back but it was on their arms that shocked me; In black ink was the names Fareeha Amari and Angela Ziegler. It was as if the world stopped moving and that my blood ran cold.

“(Y/N), shhh, stay with me.” I whispered as they were coughing up blood, not realizing that my arms were showing their name.

“I am glad I got to meet you, Ms. Ziegler.” They were coughing more as I finally managed to stop the extra bleeding as I radio to Fareeha.

“Fareeha, we need assistance down here, causality to a civilian, you have to see this.” I am breathless as I look at them.

“Shh, it's ok, Fareeha will be here soon and she will take you to safety.” I whisper as I see a blurb of blue land by me and when she sees her name, I could feel the anger from her even being about 5 feet from her.

“Angela, take them to safety, I will clear out the riff-raff and I don’t want them anymore harmed.” She says through gritted teeth as she takes off and I call for Reinhardt to assist me and carrying them.

“Justice rains from above!” is heard along with many explosions as I see Reinhardt rush with (Y/N) and I to the dropship.

“It’s ok, min kärlek, rest, you are safe now.” I whispered as they were put on a medical bed and I started my work, saying a silent prayer that we would not lose our beloved as quickly as we had found them.

***Time Skip***

2 hours of surgery and many cups of coffee later, I finally was able to sit and look into their condition but was surprised to see a sleeping Fareeha holding their hand as she tightly held it, refusing to let go even in her sleep. I leaned against the wall and smiled before going to fetch her a cup of tea for her, knowing she must be parched from her long day.

“Min Soldat...wake up.” I whispered as she slowly woke up and looked at me with loving eyes until she looked at them.

“It's hard to believe that they were near us all along. They were the one I saw helping the injured from the rubble until you arrived.” She says with a smile as I look at them too.

“Ja, they pushed me out of the way of Reaper’s bullets, resulting in their current condition. I am just glad the bullets missed any vital organs or nerves.” I whispered as she nodded.

“Malak, they are just like us, defending the innocent and helping those they love...They are a true hero...they are our wali batal.” she says with a small smile as I sit by her and hold her hand, nodding as we await for you love to wake up, ready to start our new life with them.

McHanzo-

*Hanzo’s POV*

It was supposed to be a routine mission: get in, get the information, get out but someone had to be an idiot and cause a distraction. Only Jesse McCree could cause such a problem but what can I say, we are soulmates. But there is one person missing from our little group, the 2nd name on both of our arms. That name is (Y/N), our 2nd soulmate.

“I said I was sorry.” I heard him say behind me as I roll my eyes and changed my bandages for the 2nd time that day. The last mission turned out to be that Jesse cannot keep quiet, giving away our location and I got grazed with a bullet on the arm.

“I said I forgive you but you still need to learn to keep yourself under control. Lena was almost killed because of your actions and she would have been fatally wounded if it had not been for Hana, Satya and Zenyatta.” I reminded him as he pouted and sat down beside me, assisting me if needed.

“Do you think they are out there, Hanners?” I heard him ask me as I sighed and looked at the arm that hold their name and I let out another sigh.

“We can only hope, huckleberry.” I whispered as we tried to relax. We met when the recall happened so we were both surprised that we have yet to meet the 3rd member of our little love triangle but like all things, it takes time and it will come when it is ready.

“I am going to get some whiskey, are you coming for a drink?” He asked me as I shook my head and prepared to meditate.

“I will be here when you get back.” I informed him as he nodded, kissed my temple and left me alone to think. But before I could meditate, both my dragons appeared and they looked a curious as their master’s mate was about the missing mate.

“Do not worry great spirits of the southern wind. All will come to pass when time is ready for it.” I say with some sorrow in my voice but I know it is because I share the same fear. What if they do not want to be stuck with a ex-clan leader and an outlaw as lovers? What if they do not love him like he hopes they do. With that thought in mind, he gets up and prepares to go to town, just to clear his mind.

***Slight Time Skip***

He saw happy couples running around and holding each other and he felt a bit jealous. He loves Jesse with every fiber of his being but without (Y/N), he still felt like he was missing part of himself. He hummed softly to a nameless tune as he watched his surroundings. Yet, as he then turned a corner near a ramen shop, he heard a gentle song being sung near him and he was drawn in like a moth to a flame. He knew the song as one that he has heard Genji talked about, it was an older song but the part that he was more drawn to was how their voice not only explained the story but still held hope.

“Thousands of cherry blossoms dwindling in the light. Though I can’t hear your voice, keep what I say in mind- This bouquet that surrounds is iron poison, see, looking down at us from that big guillotine. Darkness has just engulfed the universe we know the lament that you sing can’t reach ears anymore. We are still far away from reaching clear blue skies. Go ahead, keep shooting, with that ray gun, Fight!”

He was drawn in and then he saw a person who was dressed as a westerner but the way they were handling a bow reminded him of his days in his youth. He took a step and landed on a stick but before he could react, he saw an arrow fly past his face, missing him by mere centimeters.

“Have you come for information regarding my soulmates because if so, I will put you in the grave first before I allow either of them to be harmed.” He drew his own bow and was prepared to fight them but when he saw their arms, he was shocked.

On one arm was the name Jesse McCree and the other was surprisingly mine, Hanzo Shimada.

“Answer me assassin...have you come to hold me as ransom because I will go down fighting before I allow harm to come to either name on my very arms.” They said with some vengeance in their voice as I lower my bow but had no problem returning it to stance if need be.

“You would protect a ex-clan leader and a man who had ties with Deadlock Gang...why?” I asked and they growled as I then hear what I was not prepared to hear.

“I have lost enough as it was! I lost my family, my friends and I should be dead but as long as I have these two names on my arms, I will fight to my last breath to keep them alive. Both Shimada-Sama and McCree will live even if it cost me my own life!” They yelled as they started to shake from what I could have guessed as either rage or fear. Before I could answer in kind, both dragons went to them on their own accord and circled their master’s mate, surprising them.

“Wait...If this is what I think it is...then you must...Hanzo?” They ask as I walk to the light and before I could respond, I hear another familiar voice.

“Hanners?” I turned to see McCree at the end of the alleyway and were surprised to see the dragons surrounding this new person but suddenly connected the pieces when he sees their arms. “Is that...them?” He asks as I nod.

“Yes, Airashī Baka...That is our soulmate.” I say as I kneel down and I am surprised by what I see.

“Anata, you are not harmed are you?” I asked as they shake their head and are shaking from what I could guess is crying. McCree kneels down and sees the the same person that we see. They have fought to keep us safe no matter where we were and yet, even faced with possible death, they would die to keep us safe.

“Howdy (Y/N), its nice to see a face finally with a name.” He smiles as they wipe their eyes and look at him.

“Now don’t be surprised Darlin’, we have been looking for ya for an awful long time.” He holds them and pulls me in as we tell them that soon, we will all go home together and for the first time in a long time, I can truly be happy. We have our family together and we will do anything to protect each other; until death do us part.

PharMercy:

*min kärlek- my love

*Min Soldat- My Soldier

*Malak- Angel

*Wali Batal- Guardian Hero

McHanzo:

*Anata- You (mostly used as familiar ‘You’ but can also be used for a significant other/Similar to honey or sweetie)

*Airashī Baka- Loveable Idiot

#poly mchanzo #poly pharmercy #overwatch x reader #overwatch imagines

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7deadlycinderellas · 4 years

Text

In the dark of the moon, I planted 2/4

A03 link

They stay at the inn for not quite two years.

Willow has managed to find her a couple of simple dresses, in nondescript brown, that she can wear over her shirts when she’s helping them inside.

And inside there is always so much to do.

Gendry has taken up clearing out the little forge, and often goes out to fix hinges or pot handles or whatnot that need fixing, when they need fixing. When there’s nothing that needs it, he comes inside. He misses it, but tells Arya it’s no matter, there’s hardly any spare iron so it’s not like he can experiment or make things for fun. Some of the children, the older boys especially, watch him curiously, but most abandon the post when he is discovered to be taciturn and gruff.

Inside, everything constantly needs scrubbing, from the floors to the pots. Linens need washing, floors sweeping. And while she hated the word “lady” Arya was hardly allergic to work, especially work that let her forget a little.

On the third night they are there, Willow drags the copper tub into the kitchen after supper and insists Arya have a bath.

“No offense Arya, but guests won’t want to stay here if you smell as bad as you do now.”

Arya pouts as she sheds her clothes.

“Why only me, why aren’t you getting on Gendry about it?”

“Gendry took his yesterday, he asked for it.”

Arya still grumbles a bit as she strips and climbs into the water, but she admits that Gendry had come to bed the night before smelling better than he often did.

Willow offers her a rag and piece of hard soap and she and Jeyne continue cleaning up for the end of the night. Thankfully, Hot Pie had left to eat his own supper in the main room.

Arya scrubs at every inch of her skin until it is red and tender. She feels as though she could peel her very skin off and emerge a whole new girl.

Wearing a dress and scrubbing floors, she feels like she could transform bodily into this new girl, a girl who wasn’t dead inside. Who maybe didn’t have parents but had long grown used to this fact. Who didn’t dream of heads cut off and throats slit at night and about taking her sword to those responsible during the day, spilling their heart’s blood onto the snow.

When the water has gone dark and murky, Arya stands to dry off and redress. She’s distracted, but the sudden realization of what has become of her own body.

She was pale and gaunt, but she knew this. She had some scars, though she had not examined them. The roundness of her breasts was new, they previously having been little more than flat pink circles on a chest resembling a wall.

She’s poking at them curiously, when she hears Jeyne snort behind her.

“Never seen them before?”

Arya frowns.

“They weren’t here last time I had a chance to look.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll grow tired of them soon enough.”

Jeyne’s not there later that night, when she’s on the bed in just her shift. Gendry’s outside still, making sure the fire in the forge is out and the entrance isn’t being littered with abandoned tools and toys. She takes the few minutes she has to herself, pulls the shift off, and takes a closer look.

The cool air makes her nipples hard, and this shocks her enough she quickly pulls the shift back down to her waist. There’s a slope to her hips now, though the bones still stick through her skin. The thatch of dark hair between her legs doesn’t shock her, though admittedly, it is rather more wrinkly and coarse than expected.

Investigating further, curious about the bits where her moon’s blood comes from, evokes very strange feelings in her. Each tentative touch makes her feel warm and her heart race. Flushed, she finds she enjoys it, and keeps up the clumsy touches until she hears Gendry’s voice downstairs.

His voice seems to make the feelings increase, and Arya has to fight the urge to keep going, to find out where this all goes, but she forces herself to pull her shift back down and crawl into bed.

This new Arya would have to discover herself more later.

A few minutes later, Gendry enters and joins her in bed silently. When his breathing evens, Arya rolls on her side to watch him for a moment, feeling strangely guilty.

They’ve been at the inn a sennight when Hot Pie tells Arya about Brienne and Podrick.

“Big woman she was,” he tells Arya, “Blonde, serious, carried a big sword. Seemed like the sort of woman you might know. She was looking for your sister so I told her I’d seen you.”

Arya wants to yell at him, but yelling at Hot Pie is like yelling at a baby, ineffective and makes you feel like a monster. Arya can’t believe she was once frightened of him.

“When was this?”

“Bout half a year back. I think she was headed to the Vale.”

Arya nods. That makes sense. Maybe she had run into the Hound by now. She hopes he had no idea what direction she had gone.

She wonders where the mystery woman would even take her. Part of her thinks she would have liked to meet a tall, strong woman who carried a sword and traveled with a squire. The other part of her knows she couldn’t have trusted her.

Many days, most of the children stay inside, helping with chores when they can, bickering and running about when they can’t.

The rain keeps up, falling harder and harder, sometimes becoming sleet or hail.

On the rare clear days, the inn empties out. The older girls make runs for supplies, the boys to look for work.

Some of the boys go into the woods near the inn to try to hunt or trap, but they rarely bring anything back. Arya tries to show them how to tie their snares better, but most of them laugh her off. She stuffs down the urge to fight them. It would do nothing but make her and Gendry unwelcome.

At supper time, when most of the inn’s meager guests wander in, seeking either food or a bed, Arya and Gendry eat in the kitchen with Hot Pie, trying to stay out of sight, and listen to the gossip.

Nothing that comes out of King’s Landing is that interesting. King Tommen’s marriage, the rise of the Faith Militant, none of it interests Arya at all.

The rumours from Winterfell interest her more. Interest here, meaning enrage. Some say Roose Bolton’s bastard claimed Winterfell by marrying Sansa Stark, others Arya Stark. Arya’s not sure which one makes her angrier.

The first night she had heard it, she told Gendry she would be out late.

She borrows Jeyne’s axe and takes it a dozen times to a stump out behind the inn. The rain has not slowed that night, and when she returns, Gendry tells her she looks like a drowned rat.

“I don’t know which would be worse,” she admits as she changes and crawls into bed, “If Sansa was really married to him- I can’t imagine it was willingly, not to the son of the man who betrayed our mother and brother- or if some poor girl is being passed off as me and that’s what people are going to believe has become of me.”

He reaches out and gently touches her shoulder. It’s the most physical contact he’s initiated since before, and it makes her shudder.

That night she dreams she’s Nymeria again. If Sansa is indeed in the clutches of the bastard of Bolton, then Arya wishes her all of her wolf dreams, and all of her wolf’s blood.

Arya finds many days she enjoys watching the children play. It’s no surprise to her that lowborn orphans play just like highborn nobles, she should know, she’s played with both.

One cloudy day, she spies Eben and Deren playing at swords with sticks, as she often had. Her heart twinges, thinking briefly of Mycah.

“You’re gripping it too tight,” she calls out to Deren, who’s holding onto his stick as though for dear life, limiting his movement, “No one’s going to yank it from your hand.”

Not in a proper fight, she thinks, though in a brawl it has possibilities. Cutting the sword hand too is a good thought.

“What would you know about it?”

Arya’s muscles stiffen. She doesn’t wear Needle at her hip here, it’s tucked safely upstairs. She wears a dress most days. Most of the orphans don’t think her anything but an ordinary girl. She’ll show them.

It takes her two swift movements to knock Deren off balance and wrench the stick from his hand. He’s stumbled back, blinking in shock. Three more fluid movements, and she’s knocked the other stick from Eben’s hand.

He scrambles to pick it back up, and three seconds later, Arya’s disarmed him again.

By the time either Eben or Deren can keep their sticks in their hands around her, more children have gathered to watch.

“Did you remind them to stand sideface?” Gendry asks later, amused.

“Can’t stand sideface if you can’t even keep your sword in your hand.”

It’s after about six moon’s that they overhear one of the older boy’s saying that Lord Beric is dead.

He doesn’t speak of it as though it was a battle though.

“Thoros could only raise one, and Beric told him to let him go, gave away his life willingly.”

Arya ignores the rest of his words. She mutters to Gendry.

“One more off my list. Good.”

Her list is still repeated, often under her breath, a prayer to chase away the nightmares.

The nights are becoming colder, so Arya takes the axe and chops more stumps. She comes to bed with her shoulders burning, and Gendry already asleep.

She wonders who it was that Beric wanted Thoros to raise instead of him.

Jeyne gives her a look the next morning and tells her that if she’s got that much extra anger to get rid of, she can chop wood properly, in the mornings with the rest of the boys.

The weather turns a bit, and occasionally, the rain turns to snow. The snow is barely even close to what Winterfell got in the summer, and when most of the other orphans shiver and shake, Arya steps out onto the powder and spins around, amazed at how the snow has decorated the landscape. She teaches the younger children that day how to make snow people.

Sometimes the children even come to her with their wooden sticks, asking her to show them how to play fight. She’s nearly sick a few times thinking of any of them having to use a real blade.

Unfortunately, with the weather turning comes the scarcity of winter, even if winter is still only coming. The day comes quickly that Elinor comes back from the next village empty handed, as the mill wheel has quit turning in the river.

And with the coming cold, Arya comes to long for the walls of Winterfell. Even in the depths of the coldest winter, the hot springs would force hot water through the walls, warming the stone. It’s inhabitants might fear a famine or a siege, but never freezing.

The first night that the chill takes its place in the air, Gendry rolls on one side and throws an arm over her and presses his nose into her hair. Arya freezes, eventually realizing from the soft murmurs he makes that he’s not quite awake.

Her heart thunders in her chest all the same. Neither of them say a word about it in the morning, but it happens again and again, eventually nearly every night.

When the snow comes, Arya ignores the other boys and ventures out on her own. She carries Needle, though she knows it’s not a hunting tool and several lengths of rope. She traipes through the snow with careful ease, remembering the snows of summer below her feet.

Snares aren’t too hard to figure out. After setting them, she continues through the wood. Snow hares are about, and she thinks she spies a doe. If she is to become a hunter, she must learn her prey. She thinks on her days of chasing cats, and wonders if it’s much different. She doesn’t even remember the rabbit she’d caught on the way to Harranhal. She thinks she ought to remember a beast she killed with her hands. She has more sympathy for the rabbit than she did for Polliver.

One of her snares picks up a duck. Arya wrings its neck before carrying it back. Ducks are good in winter, with their thick layer of fat.

The fat makes it roast up all nicely when Hot Pie cooks it for supper. When she walks out of the woods carrying it, she sees several of the children scatter.

“You’re getting a reputation,” Gendry informs her, when she stops by the forge after giving the duck to Grace to take to the kitchen.

“A good one?” She asks.

Gendry laughs.

“Some of the girls are in awe of you. Some of the boys are terrified of you.”

“Good,” she responds, though her insides twist. Maybe this new Arya is frightening, instead of frightened. The cat instead of the mouse.

The snow also makes it easier come the days that Willow orders all the orphans into a line, strips them down and bathes them in the big kitchen tub. They have to make more trips to fill it, but the snow doesn’t weigh as much and it takes little more time to melt than it does to heat.

Arya stays as a third set of hands. She and Sansa used to carry Rickon around like a doll, she’s had a fair hands experience in wrangling small children.

When the last orphan has been dried off and sent to bed, Arya goes to join them before Willow grabs her wrist and drags her back.

“You too,” she says,

Arya groans, having been hoping to get her bath in the morning, in water that hadn’t already been run through by all the others.

She strips and runs herself over with the soap and cloth as quickly as she can get away with in the murky water. She’s just standing and drying her hair off when she hears a voice by the door.

She turns, and all she sees is Gendry’s glowing face. His blue eyes meet hers for a long moment and she feels herself blush from her face down to her breasts. She makes no move to cover herself. He scurries away, and she sighs.

Jeyne comes and touches her shoulder as she finishes dressing.

“I try not to pry too much, and the two of you did come in together...but we’re not hurting for room, you can sleep separately if you need to.,”

It’s ridiculous, but Arya’s chest hurts at the idea of sleeping alone again after so long.

“It’s not a problem for me,” she tells Jeyne, “But I’ll have to talk to Gendry to see if it is for him.”

When she returns to their room, Gendry’s lying on the bed flat on his back, but not under the covers, so Arya knows he’s not asleep. He turns away at the sound of her approach, and her ears glow when she realizes his hand had been lingering on the front of his breeches, and wonders if he’d scurried hearing her come upstairs, as she often did in the mornings. Still, she lays beside him in her shift.

She sighs deeply before speaking,

“You don’t need to beat yourself up over it, I know it was an accident.”

There’s a long gap of silence before she continues.

“And it didn’t make me feel bad.” It didn’t feel anything like watching the men in King’s Landing leering at serving girls, in fact, “It...actually felt sort of nice.”

She feels him shift, and his voice demands, a little hoarse,

“Nice?”

She laughs.

“My sister and her closest friend used to call me “horseface”. I grew up always thinking I was ugly. It’s nice to know I’m not.”

She doesn’t get a response from that, so she cuts to the chase.

“Jeyne asked me if we want to sleep separately from now on. I told her I didn’t mind. Do you?”

“No!” he says, immediately, rolling onto his back and sitting partially up. His voice softens a bit when he continues. “When you sleep beside me, she doesn’t appear in my dreams as much.”

Arya’s touched. It never occurred to her, but sleeping beside him, she hasn’t had nearly as many nightmares as she had after the wedding. She puffs up her chest.

“Good. Maybe we’ll get to the point where we can get her out of the rest of your head too, and she won’t poison perfectly normal thoughts,” she pauses, “Like accidentally seeing a friend naked, and being disgusted with yourself for daring to think she was pretty.”

Her heart flutters, wondering if he’ll try to rebuke her words, but he says nothing.

Arya wonders, falling asleep, if he’ll still be willing to hold her at night after this. She gets her answer in the morning, when he’s pressed somehow even closer to her than he’d laid before, from head nearly to foot. She feels something hard pressing into her backside.

It’s not that she doesn’t know what’s happening, Gods know the men on the way to Harrenhal were not even a little shy, with their cocks or their words. But after last night, she still has trouble connecting their crudeness with Gendry.

Her face goes red, but her mind races. She tries not to dwell on how thin her shift is, how easy it would be for Gendry to lift it over her bum, pull his cock from his breeches and be inside her. She wonders how it would feel. He must know she can feel him, she wonders if he can feel her.

She freezes solid when she hears Gendry grunt, and roll onto his back, throwing one hand over his eyes and muttering about the early sun. He stands, dressing and leaves the room saying something about a bath.

As soon as she hears the door stick, she furtively lifts her shift over her hips and dives her fingers between her legs, finding herself warm and slick and so, so sensitive. Her fingers have, in their time, learned where this all goes, and it’s barely a few minutes before she rolls and presses her mouth into the pillow, grunts and groans threatening to turn into howls.

It’s a few days later, while out hunting, that she thinks she catches a glimpse of Nymeria.

It doesn’t take too much attention, because it’s that same sennight that they hear that Stannis has gone north.

They had looked at each other, curious, in the kitchen when the guest talking had spoken. He had said that Stannis had gone to aid the Night’s Watch.

“Do you think..she went with him?” Gendry wonders, voice quiet from behind the kitchen door, so as to be unheard..

Arya frowns.

“It sounds like he took his wife and daughter with him, so it makes sense.”

Her stomach churns, threatening to upend itself, at the thought of the Red Woman in the same place as Jon. She was nearly sick at it. She can only hope her attentions are drawn away, perhaps one of the other boys of the Night’s Watch, forbidden from touching girls, had the so-called King’s Blood. She didn’t want what happened to Gendry for anyone, but least of all for Jon.

The snow falls more heavily, and the cold seeps in. It’s in everything, the air, the floor, the bathwater, the well-water, the benches. Arya sometimes chops extra wood just to feel the heat it brings to her flesh. Near the only thing it’s not gotten into is the stew.

Which is good, as food is being stretched thinner. When seated in the kitchen, Arya and Gendry watch as Hot Pie shakes his head as he’s forced to stretch the bread dough thinner and thinner. Arya even spies one day when he is forced to mix a bit of sawdust in to make enough for the loaf. Even Hot Pie’s face has gone pale and thin. He makes few pies in winter.

Arya goes out to hunt, but her returns are diminishing. The ducks have flown south, and the hares become better at hiding. Sometimes she swears she hears a wolf howl, and she whispers a prayer for them, her old friend or not.

When the rivers freeze, the number of guests actually begins to pick up, as the river with the broken bridge can again be traversed. Arya and Gendry begin preemptively eating their supper in the kitchen every day so as not to have to hide their faces.

Ends up being a good thing the day that even Jeyne and Willow go out to greet one of the men of the Brotherhood.

Arya and Gendry don’t recognize the voice, but they keep quiet all the same. It sounds young, almost as young as Arya. Neither of them can eat a bite while they listen.

“Is it true Lord Beric’s dead?” they hear Willow ask.

“Aye,” the boy replies, “And it’s not been the same since. We were all for following the Lady’s orders are first. Devoted she is. We had no objections to killing Lannister and Frey men, but…”

Arya feels her stomach sink. She herself would like to spill the blood of as many Lannisters and Freys as possible, but the boy speaking sounds so frightened...

“We caught a squire the other day, boy was barely my age. She declared him guilty and had us hang him same as all the others.”

Arya’s nearly sure she’s going to be sick now. Whatever she’d thought of Beric, he would have never sentenced a child to hanging.

Willow and Jeyne, to their credit, both sound horrified. They offer to let the boy stay here, but he declines.

“Winter is coming,” he admits, “And I know you lot probably barely have enough for yourselves. You’ve sheltered us many a time, even if the others have forgotten you, I’ll do my best to keep around.”

And Arya knows it’s winter, even if the white raven hasn’t been seen.

One night, Gendry sits on the end of their bed, deep in thought.

“What is it?” she asks, changing to her shift again

“Should we move on? Like you said before?”

Arya thinks on it. It might be a good idea, especially with knowing the Brotherhood is still active and more bloodthirsty. But…

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea. There’s food, at least for now. We don’t know how the rest of Westeros is doing…”

It’s winter now, and for all Arya can say about winter as a Stark, she knows she’s a summer child.

“And-” she continues, stuttering, “I actually almost feel safe here.”

The words sound foreign on her tongue. She can’t remember the last time she felt safe.

Gendry nods though, and Arya’s heart swells that maybe he feels the same way.

“We should keep our ears open though,” he says, “In case we need to run. Whatever happens, we’ll do it together.”

With a rush of happiness, Arya kneels beside and hugs him. She can do this now and he doesn’t flinch. Part of her still doesn’t believe that he’s staying with her, will only leave if she does.

The next bit takes a head full of bravery, that comforts Arya that her old self is still under her second-hand skin. All she does is press her lips to the stubbled skin of his cheek. It’s so innocent, childish even, that she doesn’t expect to feel him stiffen.

Her heart sinks.

“Did she take that too?”

It’s pretty dark in their room, but she can still make out Gendry’s closed eyes, his shallow breathing.

She knows she should pull back, but she’s sick and tired of the witch hovering over every single moment between them.

Arya presses her lips to the corner of his eye this time.

“Would it help if I called you stupid between?”

Gendry chuckles, and shakes his head roughly.

“Just keep it up. I’m so...so incredibly tired of only being able to remember touching her. I’m sick of her being able to have such power over me. I don’t want to give her even a little bit more thought. I only want to think of you.”

Arya grins, her blood singing. Even after all of this, part of her still wondered if he’d reject her, still thinking of her as a little girl, covered in mud and with empty eyes, or as a princess he would be gelded for even thinking of looking at like this.

Her lips find his cheek again, then his nose, then the corner of his mouth.

She waits a minute, and raises a single eyebrow in his direction, before finally covering his mouth with her own.

Young Arya never really thought this was something she would want, always thought romance was more Sansa’s wheelhouse than hers. The Arya that is here and now though, knows how hard and cold winter can be without someone beside you.

The snow continues to fall. Game becomes even more scarce. Arya and Gendry both struggle to peer into the other orphan’s bowls, to make sure the little ones are getting more than they do.

During the day they work and chop and spar with the children to try and keep their blood rushing.

At night, they try and kiss that warmth into each other. Gendry’s fingers are as unsteady as ever, but growing more certain. Arya merely giggles, grateful that her own nerves and inexperience won’t hold them back.

The boy from the Brotherhood turns up twice more.

The first time, he merely speaks of the Brotherhood’s Lady, and more of her hangings.

The second time, he talks about how frightening she is to behold.

“Thoros had been certain she was too far gone, had been gone too long, but Beric insisted. Her neck still hangs open, slit from ear to ear, her skin still sags from being submerged in the Green Fork for so long…”

The image drags something to the forefront of Arya’s mind, and it makes her still. She can think of nothing else. The boy does not describe anything else about the Lady, but she remembers those men outside the Twins. Their words are burned into her mind like a horse’s brand, never to leave, to haunt her to the end of her days.

Her mind says it’s such a small chance, but…

“I’m leaving in the morning,” she tells Gendry that night in bed. “I’ll take Nan and follow that boy back to the Brotherhood.”

Gendry shoots straight up beside her.

“You can’t! It’s not safe, not with the snow, and you heard him, they’re hanging anyone now, why would you ever-”

“I think the Lady, the Hangwoman they speak of...I think she might be my mother.”

Gendry’s face goes stony, his words stolen from him.

“I know, I know it’s stupid, impossible to even imagine, but if there’s even a tiny chance, I have to find out…”

Gendry grabs and squeezes both her hands tightly.

“Let me come with you then. Let us find this out together.”

Arya smiles, grateful, and it’s at that moment, that she knows in her heart that she loves him, truly. It’s somehow both monumental and completely inconsequential.

“No,” she tells him, pulling his hands to her heart, “I won’t have you put in danger. Stay here and protect the others if need be. I will come back. I won’t leave you, or let you leave again.”

Gendry’s face is torn, seeking so hard for something he could say that could change her mind, but there is nothing. Instead he kisses her, fiercely.

Pulling back slightly, Arya whispers against his mouth.

“Hold me tight tonight, I’ll need, or I won’t be able to make myself leave.”

And he does. Holds her and kisses her with fire, hands touching with confidence where he’d previously only caressed. He weaves his fingers through her hair, runs his palms down her back, slides his fingers down the front of her shift to her round tits. His hand comes to rest on her thigh, close to the hem of her shift.

She grins, wickedly, against his mouth. She rests her hand atop his.

“For when I come back,” she promises, “I’m going to go seek one of my ghosts. Then I’ll come back, and we can fight one of yours, head on.”

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #gendrya #fic

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thats-how-i-role · 4 years

Text

Sea Salt By The Sea Shore

A/N: The title was funnier in my head. Also this technically goes with Day 6 but shhhhhh. I had to do research about SNOWBOARDING. Which I surprisingly knew even less about than I thought I did. For the record, this is a halfpipe.

They put in their headphones, swiftly as to not get Amalthea’s attention as she blabbered into. They tuned into the local news station, where the segment had just switched to sports. And once again, as they have been for weeks since the crash, Jem was the top story.

Regan, the stout news anchor began as a photo of Jem holding their first Olympic gold medal appeared next to him on screen. “Folks, today some news that shook the Olympic world to its core was announced. As twenty four year old Jemon Morale, who is known for being last Winter Olympics Gold Medallist in the halfpipe circuit, has announced the fact they are retiring.”

“Now, if you haven’t been following this story, let’s catch you up.” Regan switched to a different camera angle as a new graphic appeared by his face. One of Jem in their snowboarding gear after they qualified for the Olympics when they were nineteen. “Jemon Morale was America’s underdog in the 20xx Winter Olympics, as they rose to the spotlight as being the first ever openly non-binary Olympic athlete. Quickly, they received support particularly in millennial circles, and became an LGBTQ+ icon for the sports community. Although, nobody was expecting them to get gold on their first try- with a twenty to one Vegas odds- Jem succeeded on the half-pipe. Not only becoming the first non-binary gold medallist, but one of the youngest that the Olympic world has seen in the past few decades.”

Another camera angle, another graphic. This one showing Jem on their knees, crying as they were announced the winner of the gold medal. “Throughout the past two years, Jemon had appeared on multiple talk shows, and different sports magazines. As well as promoting brands anywhere between underarmour, and frosted flakes. They quickly became America’s favourite.”

Jem felt Amalthea, a slender woman with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes, tug one of their headphones out. “Jem, are you listening to me?”

“Yeah totally.” Jem replied, eyes still transfixed on the screen.

“What’d I say then?” Amalthea questioned.

“Yeah totally,” Jem answered, completely not paying attention to her.

As another graphic appeared, one with Jem shaking hands with fans right before the qualifiers started for this year. Jem remembered that day so clearly, and yet it felt like so long ago. Regan continued, “because of their massive success, Jem was the favourite to win all the way up to the Olympics. But at the criticized event of the semi-finals, horror struck the world.”

This time, the camera zoomed in on Regan’s face with no graphic. “The winds were high on the day of the semi-finals, where many experts say that it would’ve been safer had the event organizers post-poned the event until the winds had calmed down. Yet in the moment, the event continued. With Jemon’s points putting them in the lead, the final round was approaching.”

The frame had left Regan, showing the live feed their news reporter had caught on camera on that day. Regan’s continued the story through voice over as he narrated what happened, “As you can see, Jemon lined up and took off into the half pipe smoothly. Achieving their first fourteen hundred degree spin on the first jump.” Jem flipped their snowboard around 3 and a half times, flawlessly besides the dismount. The landing was shaky as the wind pushed them farther into the half pipe. “But as Jemon flew up in the air for their second fourteen hundred, tragedy struck.”

Suddenly, present Jem was flashed back into the memory. When they went up in the air, hearing the cheers from their adoring fans. Succeeding on completing the spins, Jem counted in their head. One, two, three, land.

Land. That’s all they had to do. But they couldn’t.

They felt themselves get pushed through the air, further towards the ledge of the halfpipe. Jem went into panic mode, and even though this only happened in a couple seconds, time slowed for them. They curled into themselves, grabbing the top of their snowboard to try and get their legs over the ledge so they could slide down the side of the halfpipe relatively unscathed.

It almost worked too.

Because Jem fell towards the ledge at sixty four kilometres per hour, and their weight easily increased to almost two hundred pounds with all their winter gear, it wasn’t going to be an easy crash in any sense of the word. Jem didn’t work fast enough as their back leg clipped the ledge, bending and snapping the opposite way of their knee. Jem, feeling the pain shoot up to their spine, let go of their board, and they got completely turned around.

All they remember before their head hit and skid down the side of the halfpipe was the pain.

The next thing Jem remembers after the crash was waking up a week later in the hospital, with screws and metal pins in their left leg.

Jem came back to their senses, in the town car as the crash was shown on their phone screen. The video ended after Jem’s face grinded against the snow, shattering their helmet and goggles. The doctors said that they were lucky they didn’t lose an eye. But it was hard for Jem to even imagine that they were lucky as they gazed at their casted leg.

The screen went back to Regan, with a photo of the paramedics loading Jem into their ambulance. “After much deliberation of Jem’s injuries, it was leaked from an inside source that they were going to need to go through extensive physical therapy if they wanted to even walk properly again. The crash left Jem’s hip dislocated, their shin was shattered and their knee was completely torn out of its socket. Not to mention the torn ligaments and strained muscles. All of which were in Jemon’s left leg.”

The next camera angle featured the photo of Jem last night, standing at a podium with press surrounding them. Regan continued with, “Last night, Jemon gave this statement regarding their future in their career.”

Jem didn’t think they looked half as distraught as they did getting up on the podium. Jem began their speech, “Thank you one and all for coming tonight. And thank you for your hopes and prayers for me and my family as we pushed through these trying times over the past couple months. But as my recovery continues, and after getting a second and third opinion from trusted physicians, I am saying that I will never be able to compete again. I will continue my physical therapy in another facility down south. I’m sorry to all my fans,” at this point Jem’s voice began cracking the slightest bit, “I’m sorry to all those who supported me in achieving my dream. And from the bottom of my heart, thank you for making my dream come true. Even for a little while.”

The camera panned back to Regan, who had a solemn look on his face. “A teary eyed statement from Jemon Morale, and what will probably be their last public statement for a long time. I do want to say on behalf of this network, it was a pleasure covering your journey. We wish you all the best. In other news...”

Amalthea had finally ripped the phone out of Jem’s hands, effectively tearing the earbud out of Jem’s ear as well. “What the hell Mal?” Jem yelled, rubbing their ear to soothe the pain.

“You are the worst glutton for punishment I have ever met Morale.” Amalthea criticized, smacking them in the arm. “Anyways, Jimmy Kimmel wanted to to see if you could make it-“

“No.” Jem answered.

Amalthea flicked them in the nose, “I’m not letting you become a hermit down here. People want to hear from you Jem!”

“You’re trying to come up with things so I can keep paying you to do your job.” Jem stated, starting to toy with their cane. “The job which you’re terrified of losing because now that I am a washed up, cold, son of a bitch, I don’t really have a need for you anymore.”

Amalthea gritted her teeth but kept her voice as calm as she could. “I’m trying to give your fans what they want. We used to both want that.”

She stared Jem down to the point where guilt began to weigh in their shoulders. After a moment Jem sighed, “Fine. Set me up with Jimmy in a month, I just got here and don’t want to leave so soon.”

Jem looked out their window, as they passed by a boardwalk. This sunshine state was much different than what Jem was used to. No snow, and a fresh smell of the sea. And with that small inspiration, Jem got an idea.

They knocked on the window separating them from their driver, “Thorne, pull in here. I wanna go for a walk.”

Their driver nodded as Jem unbuckled their seat belt and readied their cane. Amalthea’s eyes widened, but really didn’t want to fight about this. So instead she just said, “Try and be back in ten. And take in some of the sights, maybe it’ll remove the stick shoved up your ass.”

Jem chuckled, opening the door. “Thanks Mal.”

With that, Jem left their town car. The boardwalk was alive with tourists and music. The sun beaming down on everyone was relaxing, although it was quite overbearing for Jem who had spent most of their life surrounded by the snow.

Leaning half their weight on their cane, they made their way up the wooden platform. They silently hoped that the sunglasses on their face would be enough to hide their identity. Although somehow, even here Jem’s face had graced some newsstands. But this was going to be a fresh start for them.

Right?

Wrong.

As they kept to the side of the boardwalk, they watched as the waved floated below them. The sun shining off the ocean was absolutely breathtaking. They couldn’t help but feel like they were at peace. But all good things must come to an end.

“Hey!” Someone shouted at Jem. Jem turned towards the yelling, and saw three, burly men approaching them. “You’re that guy, right? The snowboarder.”

Jem nodded, giving the men a thin lipped smile, “Yep, that’s me. Are you guys fans?”

The aggressive manner in how this man and his friends cornered Jem into the railing was telling them the exact opposite. But the man kept with a large, but obviously sarcastic smile.

“Kind of, give or take.” The man said, taking a puff from his cigarette. “I really thought you had some potential kid. You were truly one of a kind.” There was a moment of silence, that Jem was about to thank the guy in but then he continued, “I even put some money down on you.”

Shit.

Jem put the hand they didn’t have gripping their cane up defensively, “Okay, I see how it is.”

“Do you?” The guy dropped his cigarette on the would and put it out with his boot. “Because, I couldn’t get my son the game he wanted because of you.”

To sass or not to sass, that is the question. And unfortunately for Jem, since their accident they’ve been leaning more towards the former. “Buddy, it sounds like if you couldn’t afford buying something for your kid, then you had no business in putting your money down elsewhere. You cared more about getting more money then making your son happy.”

With that, the guy’s face fell. Fury is becoming etched into his features, but Jem continued. “Your deadend job isn’t paying you enough, or maybe you’re just lazy and refuse to ask for more hours. Maybe you’re just a coward, who thinks it’s unmanly to ask for help.”

Jem laughed to themselves, before delivering the killing blow, “The truth is, you’re emasculated when your pride takes a blow. And because you’re that sensitive, I may not have a gender, but somehow I’m still twice the man you’ll ever be.”

Now, in an hour after all this unfolds if you asked Jem if they regretted their actions here, they’d reply, “no, not really.” Despite any logical person would say yes.

The burly guy nodded to his friends, who immediately closed in on Jem. Jem instinctively tucked their bad leg behind their good one and leaned back towards the boardwalk railing. They deserved this, they know that. So they were gonna roll with the hits.

One of the friends snatched Jem’s cane from them, throwing them off balance. Jem quickly grabbed onto the railing, as the guy with their cane hit them in the stomach with it. Jem’s only response was a grunt.

A crowd began to form around them, some people taking video and Jem knew that surely enough this would be their next headline. The friend took Jem’s cane and tossed it over the side of the boardwalk, into the water. Jem tried to spin around and grab it, as somebody came up from behind Jem and knocked them over.

It was difficult for Jem to process what was happening, even as they went crashing head first into the water. They quickly were able to spin right side up, but couldn’t keep their head above water. Every desperate claw towards the surface, every time they tried to take a gulp of air, it was to no avail.

Jem’s vision began to blur, in a sense it was peaceful. As if this was what Jem was waiting for. After all, hadn’t Jem done everything they were meant to do? Their journey in life was over, their dream destroyed because of one mistake. Everything was over.

Or had it just begun?

Jem felt arms come around them and pull them up towards the surface. They gasped for air, coughing up some of the water. The strong arms wrapped around them gently patted their chest as Jem heaved.

“It’s all right mate, I got you.” The voice said. Jem peeked over their shoulder to see a man, with dark hair and green eyes. Not far off in the distance was a small boat, and Jem felt a small rush through their veins.

Yes, the next adventure had just begun.

#campaign 1 #jem #alveyn #my writing #my ocs #au week #friend ocs

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intricate-oeuvre · 5 years

Text

say it before you run out of time || B. Hardy || part IV

part I part II part III part IV part V part VI part VII part VIII part IX part X part XI part XII part XIII

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: Ben and the reader have been friends since childhood. And along the way reader falls in love with him. But it might be too late when another girl shows up claiming that she’s his girlfriend.

Warnings: drinking, smoking, horrible writing tho, if you really search maybe some suggestive content, actually not really.

A/n: send me your go to go party song! I want new music to listen to! Thank you for reading!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***gif- courtesy of google // if it’s yours hit me up so I can credit you

“Seriously, not in the mood for a drink.” you explained and rolled your eyes.

“Come on, you are at the party, why can’t you have one drink with me?” Brad furrowed his brows as if he was offended.

“I am really sorry, but not now. Maybe later, when I find my friends.” you said, now feeling little uncomfortable.

“What, you don’t respect me?” Brad insisted. Oh, now he was going with this bullshit.

“Just come and have some fun.” he continued.

“No, thank you. You can have fun with out drinking too.” you said. Not that you mind drinking at certain events, but you just didn’t want to get drunk with some stranger and alone.

“Maybe then we can have fun in other ways?” Brad asked, leaning closer to you.

“Umm, what?” you leaned away in disgust, starting to regret even that you let yourself be stopped in the first place.

“You know what I mean, baby. Or is there a boyfriend that I don’t know about?” Brad smirked not backing off.

Well, part of you wished that you had boyfriend right now, but at the same time you didn’t want to lie about that.

“No, I don’t.” You answered carefully.

“I could fill that spot if you want. And not only that spot.” Brad gave you a suggestive wink.

You really wished that someone would save you from this right now. And somehow Gods heard your prayers.

“What spot?” voice asked cheerfully while strong hand wrapped around your shoulders. Turning your head, you looked to the left and stared at Ben, who had come out of nowhere and saved you from this misery. With small smile gracing your lips you stared at his side profile, until realizing that he had asked a question, thus making you look at Brad.

“I was here just asking her if she wanted to join me later.” Brad started with smug grin.

“Join for what?” Ben asked, his eyebrows slowly furrowing as he shared a look with you.

“For some fun.” Brad said, taking a sip from his cup of whatever was mixed in it.

“Fun? Doesn’t sound like you.” Ben turned to look at you, tapping you shoulder.

“I didn’t agree to anything.” You said to Brad, crossing your hands.

“Not yet.” Brad smirked at you.

“I won’t.” you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, come one, you are gonna miss on this?” Brad said gesturing to himself.

“I think she will, mate.” Ben said looking at him.

“And who are you? Wait, you are that dude that Nina sleeps with.” Brad pointed at Ben.

Ben narrowed his eyes at Brad. You mentally cringed at what Brad had said.

“Ok. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?” you rolled your eyes, pulling on Ben’s arm to get him away from Brad.

“Was he bothering you?” Ben asked, still throwing a look over his shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter, because you saved me right in time.” You said, navigating your way to the drink table.

“Are you sure?” Ben asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Yep.” You gave him a tight smile and offered him a bottle of beer.

“Cheers.” You continued, clanking your glass of cocktail to bottle of beer.

“Cheers.” Ben eyed you suspiciously.

“I am sorry. Nina’s friends are little bit…” Ben apologised, searching for words.

“Over the top?” you offered with small chuckle. Ben smiled at you, letting his green orbs take you in. With shy smile you looked away and let your eyes roam around the mass of people.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Nina on your hand?” You said after a while.

“She’s catching up with her friends.” Ben said, taking a sip of his bear.

Both of you were catching up on some stuff, your uni work, his job, you gushing about Frankie, when you noticed change of the song.

“One hand on my shoulder, get a little bit closer, come on, make a move, yeah, skip through all the small talk, I'mma see you with the lights off, so let’s go to your room now…” you mumbled along the lyrics. Ben only watched you with amused look on his face.

“Sorry, I really like this song.” You laughed looking at Ben. He only raised his hands up in surrender and chuckled.

“Go, join Maddie and Rose.” He nudged your side and pointed where Rose was making suggestive gestures towards you. For a second you thought on what to do.

“Fuck it.” You said, downed your cocktail and handing the glass to Ben, turned to join your friends.

“I need somebody, body, their hands on my body, body, you could be that somebody, body, keep me satisfied, hear me breathing, breathing, don’t want it, I need it, need it, we’re getting heated, come on and keep me satisfied.” You sang alongside your friends.

“Just imagine this with some certain green eyed boy.” Maddie leaned closer to your ear. At that you let your eyes wander back to where Ben was standing, now surrounded by his mates. For a split second your eyes met. With slight grin, Ben tipped his beer at you and took a sip, letting his eyes slip back to his friends. That made you search for Nina in the crowd. There she was. Sitting on the couch with her girl friends and some guys and laughing, second later getting up and making her way to Ben, just to pull him back to the couch and snuggle up to him.

“Don’t.” You said to Maddie, lump forming in your throat.

“He has a girlfriend.” You said leaning back and looking at her.

“From what I gathered they aren’t a thing. Well, they aren’t dating officially and it’s kind of complicated.” Maddie explained. Briefly you wondered how Maddie had learned that information in such short period of time, but then you furrowed your brows and looked back at the couch, where Nina was still being all over Ben.

“Doesn’t seem so.” You said sadly.

“Whatever, doesn’t matter, we are here to get some fun.” Rose cut in.

“Don’t take my word for it, but I really hope, that something works out between you two.” Maddie said reassuringly.

“Are you making reference to Ari? Break up with your girlfriend?” Rose turned to Maddie.

“Only sometimes.” She smirked.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” You tried to smile.

“TRUTH OR DARE!!!” someone yelled in the crowd and couple of people started to move out in the yard.

“Come on, this sounds like fun.” Rose pulled you and Maddie outside.

Looking around the circle you noticed that there were a lot of unknown faces- Nina’s friends. But somehow gods were making fun of you. Rose and Maddie sat on each side of you, but turned out that Ben was sitting right across you, but Nina two guys left of him.

“This is just a game and no one should take offense, got it?” Some girl declared.

“Stick by the rules…” she continued, but some guy on her right interrupted her:

“BUT PLAY DIRTY!”

You were thankful that, at first couple of rounds everyone was still timid, but as it went on, it got dirtier. We’re talking about, telling your secret fetish, which friend you would fuck, crazy sex stories, doing weirdest dares- body shots, kissing random person, loose piece of clothing. It all escalated quickly. So, you kept your calm and played in defense, carefully weighting your options before choose truth. As the party went on and some people started to leave, part of the circle disappeared. For like fourth time the bottle landed on Nina.

“Truth or dare?” someone asked her.

“Dare, give me something good.” She smirked.

“Make out with Dom.”

Without hesitation, Nina got up and sat besides Dom, one of the guys that had been sitting on the couch with her earlier.

“See, they aren’t dating.” Maddie whispered to you. You didn’t answer, just turned your eyes away from Nina and Dom who where getting it on and glanced at Ben. He seemed unbothered and disinterested in what was going on with Nina. More interested in the cigarette that was in his hand and one of his friends who sat beside him talking about something.

“Done. Who’s next?” Nina said, spinning the bottle but not leaving Dom’s side.

“Won’t you look at that?” Nina smirked as bottle stopped at you.

“Truth or dare, y/n?” Nina asked. Hearing your name, Ben looked at you, suddenly interested in game.

“Truth.” You said.

“That’s boring.” Nina pouted and looked around. Her friends were silently starting to chant ‘dare’.

“Fine, dare.” You said and swallowed. Nina smiled devilishly at you, thinking on the dare to give you.

“On who ever lands this bottle, you have to kiss.” Nina smirked and spun the bottle again. And for everything holy it stopped on Brad.

“Are you kidding me?” Rose groaned out loud for you. You hesitated, he already had tried to hit on you in his drunken state and now you really didn’t want to make out with him.

“Couldn’t it have landed on someone else?” Ben said rather loudly, but aimed it at his friends to make it more nonchalant.

“Do you have a problem, boo?” Nina raised eyebrow at him.

“Actually, yeah… he already blew his shot with y/n. And got turned down. Don’t stroke his ego.” Ben shrugged.

“Hey!” Brad groaned.

“No hard feelings, lady told you no. Respect that.” Ben explained.

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do? Give her new dare?” Nina rolled her eyes at Ben.

“Go for it.” Ben said and blew out smoke from his cigarette.

“Fine. Since you like rugby so much, boo. Tackle her in the pool.” Nina said with smug look on her face. Oooo came from people around.

“But she—” Ben started.

“Let’s do it.” You said clenching your jaw and looking at Nina as you got up. Ben shot you a worried look.

“What are you doing?” Maddie got up with you.

“The dare.” You huffed.

After a minute you were standing at the edge of the pool where the deep end was. Maddie, Rose, two of Ben’s friends were standing around you.

“You are insane.” Rose said holding your hand.

“Then pray for me.” You said and looked behind yourself to look at the water. That morning it had seemed a lot calmer than now when it was getting cold and it was dark as hell.

“We will be standing right next to the edge if anything…” one of Ben’s friends say.

“Thanks.” You smiled at him.

“Like good old times.” You tried to smile when Ben walked up to you.

When did it start playing Thru These Tears by LANY???

Shit.

“Come on! I don’t have all night!” Nina yelled from behind, out of the splash zone. All four of your friends took a step back, except for Ben.

“Trust me.” He said and gently turned you around, facing the pool.

“I won’t let go, alright?” Ben whispered, his hands still on your shoulders.

“Please, don’t.” You whispered back, your voice starting to shake as you stared at the water.

“Let’s go rugby player!” one of Nina’s friend yelled. Next moment Ben’s hands disappeared.

The worst thing about this?

Water terrified you because you didn’t know how to swim.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tags: @brianandthemays @queen-turtle-boiii @rogahloveshiscar @radiob-l-a-hblah @scarsout @sara-1705 @babydazz @mercurycrowley @drowse13 @ironicallyrog @moe-jazzello @forbbidensunlust @virtualsheepeat

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy smut #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #ben hardy x oc #ben hardy x y/n #ben hardy x female reader #bohemian rhapsody #woman in white #xmen #Warren Worthington III #mary shelley #part IV #sibyroot series

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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 4 years

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16th August >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections /Homilies on Matthew 15:21-28 for The Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A: ‘Woman, you have great faith’.

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Matthew 15:21-28

The Canaanite woman debates with Jesus and saves her daughter

Jesus left Gennesaret and withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. Then out came a Canaanite woman from that district and started shouting, ‘Sir, Son of David, take pity on me. My daughter is tormented by a devil.’ But he answered her not a word. And his disciples went and pleaded with him. ‘Give her what she wants,’ they said ‘because she is shouting after us.’ He said in reply, ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the House of Israel.’ But the woman had come up and was kneeling at his feet. ‘Lord,’ she said ‘help me.’ He replied, ‘It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the house-dogs.’ She retorted, ‘Ah yes, sir; but even house-dogs can eat the scraps that fall from their master’s table.’ Then Jesus answered her, ‘Woman, you have great faith. Let your wish be granted.’ And from that moment her daughter was well again.

Gospel (USA)

Matthew 15:21–28

O woman, great is your faith!

At that time, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. And behold, a Canaanite woman of that district came and called out, “Have pity on me, Lord, Son of David! My daughter is tormented by a demon.” But Jesus did not say a word in answer to her. Jesus’ disciples came and asked him, “Send her away, for she keeps calling out after us.” He said in reply, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But the woman came and did Jesus homage, saying, “Lord, help me.” He said in reply, “It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Please, Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters.” Then Jesus said to her in reply, “O woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And the woman’s daughter was healed from that hour.

Reflections (5)

(i) Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

The issue of racial inequality was very much to the fore in the weeks after George Floyd was killed by a policeman in Minneapolis. Those weeks have forced us all to look at our own attitudes to people of different races. Certain forms of racism were such a normal part of everyday life in the past that for those of us of a certain generation it was often difficult not to be infected by it. We may not think of ourselves as racist in any way, but we can discover to our horror that perhaps there is some underlying racist prejudice buried deep within us that only comes out very rarely, but when it does shocks us to the core.

The issue of race and of how one race views another has been around since the dawn of humanity. There is even a trace of it there in today’s gospel reading. The woman who approaches Jesus is described as a Canaanite. ‘Canaan’ was the name for the territory that became the land of Israel, and the Canaanites were the people who were dispossessed when the people of Israel captured the land of Canaan, having left Egypt and after spending forty years in the wilderness. The Canaanites were the traditional enemies of Israel. The people of Israel continued to view them with great hostility in the time of Jesus. They thought of them as an inferior race. When Jesus is in the region of Tyre and Sidon in the south of modern day Lebanon, he is approached by a Canaanite woman. The attitude of Jesus towards her is very untypical of his attitude to those in need throughout the gospels. His first reaction to her urgent plea on behalf of her sick child is one of silence. ‘He answered her not a word’. Many of us may have felt that when we came before the Lord in our need, on our own behalf or on behalf of a loved one, we were met with silence. It was as if our urgent prayer disappeared into thin air. At such times, we can easily get discouraged and give up praying. Yet, this Canaanite woman was not going to be put off by silence. Having shouted at him from a distance, she now come right up to him and kneeling at his feet says, ‘Lord, help me’. It was her seriously ill daughter that needed help, but such was the identification of this desperate mother with her sick daughter that she prayed, ‘help me’. It is a wonderful portrayal of a mother’s fighting love for her child. When Jesus does finally speak directly to her, what he says does not sound very promising, ‘It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the house dogs’. It is a little one line parable, but it is fairly clear that the children are the ‘lost sheep of the house of Israel’ and the house dogs are the likes of this Canaanite woman and other pagans. Jesus seems to be articulating the fairly standard prejudice of his people towards Canaanites. Identifying a people with an animal has been a fairly standard form of racist abuse in the course of history.

We might be tempted to ask, ‘What is Jesus at?’ The woman’s retort to Jesus shows both ingenuity and wit. Both of them would have been well aware that children often eat untidily and the pet dogs in a home gobble up what the children let fall. She is saying to Jesus that house dogs like herself can benefit here and now from God’s favour to Israel revealed through Jesus. With her retort, the racial boundary between herself and Jesus completely collapses. He pays her a compliment that is unique in the gospels, ‘you have great faith’. This woman is the only person in the gospels whom Jesus addresses as having great faith. This gospel incident foreshadows the breaking down of racial barriers that will characterize the early church. Within the early church, there was no distinction between Jew, Samaritan or pagan of whatever nationality. As Saint Paul would say in his letter to the Galatians, ‘There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus’. Indeed, in today’s second reading, Paul says that just as Jews have received God’s mercy, the pagans are now receiving God’s mercy, because God desires ‘to show mercy to all humankind’.

That is the message of all three readings this Sunday. The embrace of God is not a closed circle. All have the mercy of God available to them. In the words of today’s first reading, God’s house is to be a ‘house of prayer for all the peoples’. A lot of meetings take place in circles now. Circles have a value; they are egalitarian in shape. Yet, circles can easily become closed and difficult to penetrate. God’s embrace is not that kind of a circle; it is an ever expanding circle that seeks to draw in all sorts of people. The calling of the gospel is to keep widening our circle until it becomes as wide as God’s circle, so that we cease to recognize those different from us as alien, but as a brother and sister in Christ, a brother and sister in humanity.

And/Or

(ii) Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

We tend to admire people who ‘stick to their guns’, who have a conviction about something and hold to it, even when put under strong pressure to do otherwise. We need strong convictions, based on good values, on the values of the gospel, but we also need to be flexible enough to allow our convictions to be shaped in new and better ways.

It seems from today’s gospel reading from Matthew that one of Jesus’ convictions was that God had sent him to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. He solemnly announces to the pagan woman, ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel’. Jesus understood that only later, after his death and resurrection, would there be a mission to the pagans. What we find happening in today’s gospel reading is that Jesus allows this important conviction of his to be reshaped by the persistent pleading of a pagan woman on behalf of her sick child. Jesus met her initial plea with silence; he met her second plea with a comment that can seem a bit shocking to us, ‘It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the house-dogs’. The ‘children’ were the people of Israel; the ‘house-dogs’ was a standard term that Jews used with reference to the pagans. The woman was not deterred either by Jesus’ silence or by his comment. With a mixture of perseverance, humility and humour, she expressed a willingness to eat the crumbs that fell from the children’s table, as the house dogs often do. Jesus recognized her ‘great faith’ and ministered to her and her daughter there and then. Here was a woman who succeeded in reshaping Jesus’ strongly held conviction. The gospel reading suggests that Jesus recognized that the Spirit of God was speaking to him through this woman’s passionate love for her daughter and her equally passionate faith in God’s presence in Jesus. Here was a woman who, from a Jewish point of view, was a complete outsider. Yet, she became, in a sense, Jesus’ teacher, and Jesus allowed himself to be taught by her.

The gospel reading suggests to us that, like Jesus, we too need to be open to the Spirit speaking to us through those we meet on our life’s journey. In our conversations with people, we can discover that some of our deeply held convictions are being unexpectedly challenged. We can find ourselves questioning what we had been very sure about. It can happen that such questioning can bring on something of a crisis for us. We might even find ourselves wondering if our faith is growing weaker. It may be, however, that God is simply purifying our faith, as it were. God may be showing us that some of the convictions of our faith are too small, that there is more to God’s purpose for our world and for our lives than we had realized. Jesus’ convictions were reshaped by someone who was very much an outsider, a woman in a man’s world, a pagan in a Jewish world. In a similar way today, God can speak to us in unconventional ways. Those from whom we think we have the least to learn can often have the most to teach us. A pagan woman’s passionate concern for her ailing daughter showed Jesus that the gospel ministry to the pagans could not wait until after his death and resurrection. The passionate commitment to the healing of others that is often to be found among those who do not see themselves as part of the church can sometimes reveal for us the deepest meaning of the gospel. We pray today for the openness to recognize and respond to the movement of the Spirit, wherever it is to be found.

And/Or

(iii) Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

We tend to admire people who ‘stick to their guns’, who have a conviction about something and hold to it, even when put under strong pressure to do otherwise. We have less sympathy with those who change their views to suit the situation, who express one view to one person and a very different view to another person. We rightly feel that such people are not to be trusted or relied upon.

Yet, from another perspective, ‘sticking to our guns’ is not always the best course of action. We need strong convictions, based on good values, on the values of the gospel, but we also need to be flexible enough to allow our convictions to be shaped in new and better ways. Sometimes we discover, in dialogue with others, that there are dimensions to some issue that had not occurred to us; sometimes our experience of life teaches us that the issue is more complex than our conviction initially allowed for. We need a certain flexibility around our convictions. As people of faith, we need to be open to the possibility that the Lord has something more to teach us, that our strongly held views may not always fully correspond to the Lord’s view of things.

It seems from today’s gospel reading from Matthew that one of Jesus’ convictions was that God had sent him, initially at least, to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. He solemnly announces to the pagan woman, ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel’. A little earlier in Matthew’s gospel, when Jesus was sending out the twelve apostles on mission, he said to them: ‘Go nowhere among the pagans, and enter no town of the Samaritans, but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel’. Jesus understood that the initial focus of his mission and that of his disciples was to be the renewal of the people of Israel, his own compatriots; only later, after his death and resurrection, would there be a mission to the pagans. What we find happening in today’s gospel reading is that Jesus allows this important conviction of his to be reshaped by the persistent pleading of a pagan woman on behalf of her sick child. The woman needed to be very persistent, because Jesus was not at all inclined to move beyond the circle of the lost sheep of the house of Israel. Jesus met her initial plea with silence; he met her second plea with a comment that can seem a bit shocking to us, ‘It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the house-dogs’. The ‘children’ were the people of Israel; the ‘house-dogs’ was a standard term that Jews used with reference to the pagans. The woman was not deterred either by Jesus’ silence or by his comment. With a mixture of perseverance, humility and humour, she expressed a willingness to eat the crumbs that fell from the children’s table, as the house dogs often do. Jesus recognized what he called her ‘great faith’ and ministered to her and her daughter there and then.

You might remember in last Sunday’s gospel that Jesus referred to Peter, the rock on which the church was built, as a person of little faith; this Sunday we hear Jesus addressing a pagan woman as a person of great faith. Here was a woman who succeeded in reshaping Jesus’ strongly held conviction. The gospel reading suggests that Jesus recognized that the Spirit of God was speaking to him through this woman’s passionate love for her daughter and her equally passionate faith in God’s presence in Jesus. Here was a woman who, from a Jewish point of view, was a complete outsider. Yet, she became, in a sense, Jesus’ teacher, and Jesus allowed himself to be taught by her.

The gospel reading suggests to us that, like Jesus, we too need to be open to the Spirit speaking to us, teaching us, through those we meet on our life’s journey. In our conversations with people, we can discover that some of our deeply held convictions are being unexpectedly challenged. Unlike Jesus, we may not have the freedom to respond to this challenge there and then. However, when we walk away from the conversation and begin to think about it, we can find ourselves questioning what we had been very sure about. It can happen that such questioning can bring on something of a crisis for us. We might even find ourselves wondering if our faith is growing weaker. We may find ourselves asking, ‘Am I loosing my faith?’ It may be, however, that God is simply purifying our faith, as it were. God may be trying to open us up to a new horizon that we had not thought even to have existed. God may be showing us that some of the convictions of our faith are too small, that there is more to God’s purpose for our world and for our lives than we had realized.

Jesus’ convictions were reshaped by someone who was very much an outsider, a woman in a man’s world, a pagan in a Jewish world. In a similar way today, God can speak to us in unconventional ways. Those from whom we think we have the least to learn can often have the most to teach us. A pagan woman’s passionate concern for her ailing daughter showed Jesus that the gospel ministry to the pagans could not wait until after his death and resurrection. The passionate commitment to the healing of others that is often to be found among those who do not see themselves as part of the church can sometimes reveal for us the deepest meaning of the gospel. We pray today for the openness to recognize and respond to the movement of the Spirit, wherever it is to be found.

And/Or

(iv) Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

We know from our own experience that people can surprise us. We expect them to behave in a certain way and then, to our amazement, they behave in ways that far exceed our expectations. Our initial expectations may have been based on what we had heard about them or how we might have experienced them in the past. When we are pleasantly surprised by others, we need the humility to revise our original assessment.

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon, a predominantly pagan area. We are not told why he went there, but it does not appear that he travelled there to preach the gospel. In Matthew’s gospel, from which today’s reading is taken, it is only after he rose from the dead that Jesus sent out his disciples to preach the gospel to the pagans. When he withdrew to this pagan region, he was perhaps looking for some peace and quiet, where he and his disciples would not be disturbed. He may not have been expecting to be approached by anyone from the pagan population. However, his expectations were shattered. A pagan woman approached him and asked him to take pity on her by healing her disturbed daughter. It is striking how strongly this woman identifies with her troubled daughter. She asks Jesus to take pity on her, even though her request concerns her daughter. Such strong identification will not come as a surprise to any parent here this morning. That kind of identification is not something you find only in families, as is evident from the strong identification between many of our parishioners and our guests from Kenya this morning.

After the woman’s initial request, there follows one of the strangest exchanges between Jesus and another person that is to be found in any of the gospels. Jesus initially ignores her by remaining silent; he then lets it be know that his mission, at least for the moment, is only to the people of Israel; he then restates that position in what seems to us a rather insulting way by declaring that he is here to feed the children, the children of Israel, not the housedogs, the pagans. Surely that kind of response would have been enough to stop anyone in their tracks, but not this woman. As a housedog, she declared herself happy with whatever scraps might fall from the children’s table. Finally, Jesus caves in and declares to her, ‘Woman, you have great faith’, and grants her request. The sense we get from this story is that Jesus was taken aback by this woman’s exceptional faith. The expectations he had going into this pagan area were shattered. Here was a woman who had such trust in Jesus and in his healing power that she simply would not take ‘no’ for an answer. Jesus must have left that region with a different view of pagans to the view that he had before he entered it. The woman, in a way, turned out to be Jesus’ teacher. He learned a lesson from her – don’t underestimate the housedogs! She might have made him think again about the timing of the mission to the pagans. Perhaps, after all, they couldn’t be expected to wait any longer before they heard the gospel and experienced its life-giving power. Jesus learned something from this woman. God, in a sense, was speaking to his Son in and through her.

If Jesus’ meeting with this woman taught him something, the evangelist’s account of that meeting has something to teach all of us. God can speak to all of us in surprising ways. There was a very popular book by a well-know Jesuit writer some years ago entitle, ‘Surprised by God’. The gospel reading today encourages us to let ourselves be surprised by God from time to time. Like Jesus, we can sometimes find ourselves going to a place where we don’t expect much to happen or, maybe, meeting up with people from whom we don’t expect to learn much. Having gone to this place, having met these people, we discover that, in fact, we learn something very important. I think we often learn the really important lessons of life when we are not trying to learn anything. The really significant human encounters in our lives, the ones that have most to teach us, are often not the ones we have planned or organized or arranged for ourselves, but the ones that just happen without our having done anything to make them happen. We can receive as much from the unexpected interruptions as from what we have carefully arranged. God can touch our lives in places we would not normally associate with God, and at times when God might be the furthest thing from our minds.

Jesus initially tried to keep the Canaanite woman at a distance; yet, he allowed her to break down his resistances. The gospel reading suggests that the people we are tempted to keep at a distance from us may be the very people who have most to teach us, the very ones who are most likely to reveal God to us. It invites us to ask ourselves, ‘When God comes to us through unexpected people, when God comes in strange guises, are we as open as Jesus was to having our own resistances broken down?’ The story we have just heard challenges us to leave ourselves open to being surprised by God.

And/Or

(v) Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

We have all become very aware of the terrible persecution of Christians in Northern Iraq at the hands of the militant Islamic group, ISIS. The city of Mosul in Northern Iraq has had a Christian presence for almost two thousand years. They still pray in Aramaic, the language of Jesus. In recent weeks the last Christian left Mosul. Mosul is part of the province of Nineveh which is being subjected to a massive religious ‘cleansing’ campaign to rid the region of those who do not share the belief of the new occupiers. As we know all too well this cleansing effects other religious minorities, such as Yazidis. Muslims in Iraq who are appalled at what is happening to the Christian community there have taken a stand against this brutal treatment and some have paid for it with their lives. A professor of law at Mosul university was killed by militants for speaking up against what is being done to Christians. Several sectors of Iraqi society have taken up the phrase, ‘I am Iraqi, I am Christian’, in support of Christian communities under persecution. Pope Francis has called the Syriac Patriarch by phone several times to express his solidarity with Iraqi Christians and to reassure the Patriarch that he is following the news out of Iraq with concern.

The primary symbol of the Christian faith is the crucifix, a reminder to us that Jesus died a victim of violence. Although violent towards no one, he was violently put to death by a coalition of religious and political authorities. The most significant person in early Christianity after Jesus was Paul. Although a violent man in his early life, after his meeting with the risen Lord on the road to Damascus he, like Jesus, was violent towards no one but, rather, was violently treated by many and was eventually beheaded in Rome. Both Paul and Jesus were able to recognize the good in those who were different from them and even in those who were most hostile to them. Paul’s most violent opponents were the people of his own race, especially those zealous for the Jewish Law, among whom he was once counted. Yet, in this morning’s second reading, he expresses his conviction that those who are most opposed to him and to the gospel of God’s Son will one day come to experience God’s mercy. ‘God has imprisoned all people in their own disobedience only to show mercy to all mankind’. We have here a very generous vision of God’s merciful love, which is a long way from the ideology of ISIS but very much reflected in those Iraqis who have taken up the slogan, ‘I am Iraqi, I am Christian’.

Paul’s generous vision of God finds full expression in the ministry of Jesus. Jesus, like Paul, was a Jew. He had a strong sense that his mission was to be initially to his own people. He wanted to renew Israel and a renewed Israel would bring the gospel to the pagan world. It was only after the resurrection that Jesus launched the mission of the gospel to the pagan world as well as the Jewish world, ‘Go make disciples of all nations’.. In this morning’s gospel, however, Jesus is approached by a pagan woman. She is described by Matthew as a Canaanite woman, ‘Canaanite’ being a term traditionally used in the Bible for the enemies of Israel. Her need is great; her daughter is seriously ill. Yet, Jesus seems very reluctant to respond to her desperate plea. He tells her that his mission is to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. In a mini parable, he tells her that the food intended for the children (the children of Israel) cannot be given to the house dogs (the pagans), or the children will go hungry. With great humility and humour, the woman expresses her prayer afresh in the language of Jesus’ parable, ‘even house dogs can eat scraps that fall from their master’s table’. In other words, the children and the dogs can feed together. Jesus immediately recognizes her great faith and responds to her request. In a sense, Jesus is helped by this woman to see her not as ‘other’ but as one of his own, a member of God’s people. Jesus encountered faith from an unexpected quarter and it changed him. His eventual response to her reveals that the embrace of God is not a closed circle. It is always expanding outwards.

The worst forms of religious fanaticism always draw narrow circles, with no tolerance for anything beyond that circle. This was not the way of Jesus or the way of Paul. It is not the way of the gospel. Something of that expansive spirit of the gospel was very well expressed by a young Muslim man in Baghdad who uploaded onto his facebook page a photo of himself wearing a crucifix and a note in which he said that he had spent many lovely moments with his Christian friends and had learned to love them as a brother and sister and friend. ‘Today’, he said, ‘we are all Christians, even myself’.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

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