#how surreal is it that i get calls where some fool is fighting for his goddamn life because he had to have his doccy pepper | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsclydebitches · 3 years

Note

Until proven otherwise, my headcanon is that both Ironwood and Watts survived and are going to team up again out of necessity lmao.

HI, ANON. So let me tell you about how this simple, silly sentence sent me down a 4k writing rabbit hole. “Lol I’m going to write a little parody about that” I thought to myself and then somehow? It got serious?? I honestly don’t know what this fic is, but I’m chucking it at everyone anyway.

Also, I changed the whole “Atlas and Mantle are immediately submerged in water” plot point because it’s my coping mechanism and I get to choose the canon we ignore.

***

Once upon a time there were two villains having a Very Bad Day.

The first, Arthur Watts, had survived an explosion, being buried under rubble, and the threat of a ten-story drop only to find himself suffocating amidst a magically produced fire. A horrible way to go, all things considered. Painful, of course, but more importantly, no self-respecting man should die with soot on his clothes.

Or leave behind a charred corpse.

In fact, Watts had just begun to acknowledge the full indignity of his death when the momentum he'd felt — just there on the periphery of his awareness — suddenly ceased, Atlas crashing into Mantle and throwing him with a squawk in the process. His head took a nasty hit against one of the desks, the smoky gray of the room growing darker, and by the time Watts had come to, the fire had been replaced by water.

Ice-cold water, lapping up to his knees.

"Well," he said, lifting a sodden boot. "I suppose this is an improvement."

***

Elsewhere, James Ironwood — former General of the now sinking Kingdom of Atlas — was lying facedown on the stone of the outer vault, contemplating his choices. Upon reflection, no, he didn't regret what he'd done, but it would have been nice if things had turned out...any way other than this.

"Fuck," he said to the empty hall, enjoying the reverberation. He deserved that much at least.

In time, Ironwood was able to pick himself up off the floor, supported as much by the fact that he'd been knocked out by his own blast as his shaky, barely-there aura. Up the elevator running on emergency dust reserves, through the corridors that groaned ominously under damaged supports. Ironwood headed towards the military headquarters purely out of habit and as he did the sound of water grew stronger, almost like waves, until there was an inch of it across the floor, more trickling in from the staircase. Ironwood had been watching his boots splash with each step, almost mesmerized, and didn't look up until another pair unexpectedly entered his view.

Watts froze in the act of wringing out his pantleg, eyes wide. His expression, the water, how the hallway tilted downward at a slight angle... it all felt like something out of a dream. Ironwood just watched as Watts watched him, until his eyes traveled to the gun clipped on his belt. Ironwood hadn't even realized he'd picked it up.

"Here to kill me, James?" Watts said.

"No." He knew it was true as soon as he'd said it. The mere thought of starting another fight right now was... exhausting. "Do you intend to kill me?"

"Oh really. Does it look as if I'm in a position to fight you? Do use your head for once. I have no weapon, no aura — damn fire ate it all up — I feel as if I've swallowed a hot coal, I am wet — "

Ironwood turned partway through the ramble, meandering back up the way he'd come. He'd passed through two checkpoints before realizing that Watts was not only still talking, but following him.

"What do you want?" he asked, more to shut the man up than out of real curiosity. If Watts was capable of reading the difference between the two, he didn't show it.

"Cinder."

"Cinder?"

"I don't make a habit of allowing people to try and murder me without consequence, James!"

"She's gone."

"Yes, thank you for that stunning bit of info! There's no possible way I could have realized that for myself. What's gotten into you? They left us, fool. Salem, Cinder, Neo, Emerald, even your so-called allies... they all deserve the worst that we can grant them. Though right now, I'd settle for wringing that idiot Pietro's neck. Ten years I gave to that research and he rendered it obsolete with a single report, all because he wanted to play father to some stupid hunk of metal. I never would have gone to Salem if — " Watts cut off, hands balled into fists.

Ironwood just blinked dazedly, coming to a halt. He searched his uniform, the scroll he'd stashed there miraculously whole. Dimly, he registered that he should be feeling some sort of emotion right now.

"I can do that," he murmured.

"What?"

But Ironwood was already keying in the code, the desire to complete a task, any task, taking hold. Watts looked on, mouth twisted in a deprecating sneer.

"I already took out communications, in case you failed to notice."

"But not the trackers I had installed in my top scientists." Ironwood held up the screen where a small, red dot was blinking. "Pietro's still here. Looks like he's out near the mine with a second aura signature. If you want to...?" He wasn't going to finish that sentence.

"I see," Watts said in a tone that heavily implied he didn't. "And you'd just give me this information out of the evilness of your heart?"

Ironwood considered that. "I killed a man yesterday, tried to kill two others, and was ready to bomb all of Mantle to keep the rest of my Kingdom safe. I don't care what you do with the man who betrayed me."

"...fair enough."

Except after five steps Ironwood realized that Watts wasn't following him. He was looking down at his arms, still as a hunted hare.

"You put trackers in all your scientists?" he asked.

"A requirement I implemented after you went missing."

"Ah! Ingenious. Lead the way then."

***

The way led to the tundra, an environment that neither of them were prepared for. Watts was wet from the waist down and Ironwood had long ago learned that snow and metal didn't mix. Neither had the aura for the kind of storm that was raging either. Luckily, the panic of Salem's invasion had left plenty of vehicles to purloin and soon they were speeding East with the heat on, the faint beeping on Ironwood's scroll growing stronger.

He'd felt the impact of his city crashing down and the two of them had clamored out of Atlas' husk, dropping into rubble and cracking ice. Still, the true destruction wasn't evident until they were moving away from it. Through the rearview mirror, Ironwood could see pillars of smoke from fires that the water hadn't yet smothered, dark shadows that could only be grimm, and Atlas itself, plunged halfway into Mantle. It wasn't noticeable from this distance, but all of it was sinking.

"I was lucky," Ironwood said, his voice hollow. His eyes flicked back to the expanse of snow ahead of them. "If Atlas had tipped the other way, the vault would have flooded. I'd have drowned."

Watts snorted. "I'm lucky. That damned water put out Cinder's fire. I'd have burned."

Neither felt particularly lucky and for fifteen more minutes, neither was keen to discuss it.

***

Once upon a time, two heroes were having a Very Bad Day.

"You've got to be shitting me."

Maria paused in the act of bandaging Pietro's leg, mechanical eyes narrowing at the two figures that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Watts sucked in a breath at the duo. Ironwood gave a small, awkward wave.

Then he nodded his head at the scene: one old, exhausted woman and a paraplegic currently bleeding into his chair. "So... going to kill him?"

Watts ground his teeth. "Well now that just feels like a fool's errand. Look at him. He's pathetic!"

Pietro was slumped at an uncomfortable angle, sporting a gash in his leg and an impressive display of bruises across his face. Maria, in contrast, seemed to have only lost her hair tie.

"Pathetic?" she spat. "Your lackey did this!"

"Who?"

"Angry girl with the creepy arm."

"Ah, it all comes back to Cinder." Watts pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, thank you for recognizing that I was her superior, but no, I didn't send her to kill the likes of you. Must have done it on her own, the little idiot. Don't believe me? I was in jail at the time, if I recall correctly. Isn't that right, James?"

"You were helping me hack Penny."

Maria let out a skin-crawling cackle. "Why do you think the girl was here? She blew a hole in the bottom of Amity! Penny tried to hold us up, but..." she swallowed, still pressing against Pietro's leg, but turned warily towards them. "You hacked her? You did that? What precisely do you think happens when a man who never learned to apply aura as a shield crash-lands in this hunk of junk!"

"I expect most men in that position perish," Watts said smoothly. "The fool is lucky to be alive, but he won't be for much longer if you keep trying to staunch the wound with your soiled gloves. Move aside."

"Get away from me!"

"Oh, put your stick down, you old bat. I'm trying to help."

"Why?" Ironwood hadn't realized he'd spoken until Watts was glaring daggers his way.

"So I can kill him later myself!"

Still surreal. Still dream-like in its absurdity. Ironwood listened to the bickering between Watts and... Mary? Maria? He wasn't even sure. He wandered away, content to gaze out through one of the windows at his Kingdom. Or what was left of it. He idly massaged his left arm, trying to rid himself of a pain that wasn't there, and when the howl of a grimm reached them across the snow, he shivered.

His unlikely companions screamed at each other loud enough to reverberate through the whole building. There were the sounds of two bodies trading blows, but only for a moment. Pietro, voice groggy and high-pitched with terror, demanded to know where his daughter was.

"She's dead," Ironwood said. He didn't turn to see their expressions, didn't need to. "Winter she... she defeated me as the Winter Maiden. That can only mean one thing."

"One thing to you, perhaps." Ironwood did turn then, watching stoically as Pietro tried to right himself in his chair, Watts cursing as the leg continued to bleed. "Where is she? I want to see my little girl. I can heal her, fix her — " he broke off, doubling over with a cough that splattered more blood into his hands.

"Maybe you could have," Watts said, a cruel satisfaction in his voice. "If her little friends hadn't made her human."

Some of the pieces fell into place then. His Lamp, long missing, had apparently wound up in Neo's hands, then Salem's, before it was finally used by Cinder. Watts described — with immense pleasure — the plan the group had concocted and the wish they'd asked of Ambrosius. He'd been a bit preoccupied with bomb duty to learn the details, but he knew that Cinder lived and Ironwood, it seemed, knew that Penny had perished. What a tragedy. Do you know how to bring back the non-mechanical, Doctor?

Ironwood honestly thought the old woman was about to kill him, murderous intent put on hold only because Pietro collapsed then, curling in on himself as sobs wracked his frame. The only words that escaped the mess of tears were "Penny" and then "Maria," one hand reaching out blindly for comfort. Pietro found it, the two holding onto each other as Watts sat at their feet, grinning up at the display.

Ironwood thought only, So that is her name.

The other, crucial bit of info was that everyone was gone. Dead or evacuated, it didn't matter. As far as any of them knew, they were the last four in Atlas, with Salem on her way to destroy whatever kingdom next took her fancy. It was over. They'd lost. And despite the horror of it, the realization was oddly freeing too.

When Maria asked in a tone edging on hysteria what precisely they were going to do — because it seemed this was a "we" situation now — Ironwood suspected she meant in the short term. What were they going to do about their wounds? The grimm? Finding and reaching the others? But those were foolish concerns, the thinking of someone who'd never had a kingdom's life in their hands. Ironwood knew there was only one answer here, the same one he'd had from the start.

"You can do whatever you like," he said. The metal of Amity sparkled against the rising sun, leaving splotches of color behind his eyes. "I will defend Atlas."

Maria's mouth dropped open and Watts stared. Even Pietro ceased his crying long enough to suck in a breath.

"Defend it from what?" he asked.

Ironwood shrugged. "The grimm. Salem. I don't know. I don't care. To quote a former friend, I have never wavered in defending the Kingdom of Atlas against its enemies and I don't intend to start now. This is my city and I won't leave it."

"It's sinking!" Watts cried, overlapping with Maria's, "We need to help" and though so much softer, quieter, more innocent than the spittle Watts was scattering across the floor... that single word sank its teeth into Ironwood. The woman may as well have stabbed him.

"Help?" he said. "Help? I tried to help! Everything that I have done in the last two days — the last two years — my life! — has been to help not just Atlas, but everyone I feasible could. Don't talk to me about help when you and Ms. Rose did everything you could to stop me. I had planned to help the world and you all lied. You betrayed. You set your weapons against me and kept me from saving what parts of my Kingdom I could. Tell me again: what precisely did you do to help?"

He'd crossed the distance, one hand on his holstered gun and the other leaning against Pietro's chair, using it to leverage himself down into Maria's space. Ironwood didn't need to see her eyes to know the emotion they held.

"I," she spit, "didn't try to bomb a city."

And just like that the fight in him was gone. It had barely existed in the first place. Ironwood straightened, swaying slightly on the balls of his feet. "No. You didn't. So it's as I said, go help if you want. If you can." His gaze slid to Watts. "You were one of her men. That says it all." Pietro. "You helped them reveal Salem to the world. Will she have time to destroy the other kingdoms before the grimm do it first?" Maria. "And I don't know you, but you don't earn a prize like that without seeing combat." Ironwood lifted his metal finger, tapping it against Maria's goggles. She flinched away. "Can you honestly say you haven't made mistakes?"

"You and I are nothing alike!"

"I didn't say we were."

Ironwood turned and walked away, as steady as he could manage as the world grew a little darker, despite the sunrise. Behind him Watts' voice rang out like a shot.

"So that's it then? The captain goes down with his ship? You idiot!"

He paused. "Not quite. It turns out I'm not the only idiot around these parts. Ms. Rose left the vault open." One last turn to savor their shocked expressions. "That's where I'm going. There are still plenty of airships if you'd like to leave, but just remember: they abandoned you too."

Perhaps he should have been surprised that by the time his boots hit the snow, three more footsteps were sounding behind him. Frankly, in fourteen hours time Ironwood would barely remember their conversation, let alone everything that came after it. One of them drove back to the sinking city. Someone tested the ice before they cautiously crossed it. Someone else dispatched the stray grimm foolish enough to get in their way. Ironwood saw and heard none of it. He walked with the determination of a wind-up toy, wobbling now that he'd reached the end of his string. Cool blues, a shining gold, and then beautiful, miraculous grass. Ironwood ignored the murmurs of amazement behind him, dropping directly to his knees.

When his palms hit the ground, only one was capable of feeling how soft it was.

I need to update my arm, he thought, even as he curled into a ball and passed out.

***

When he woke they were already running out of time.

For the first two days Ironwood barely spoke to the others and thus he never quite figured out why they'd stayed. Had it been hopelessness? Spite? The all consuming thought that there was nowhere else to go? That Atlas, for all its rubble and slowly rising water, wasn't any different from what the rest of Remnant would look like soon?

Why not here then?

Especially when the vault, filled with wildflowers and an endless sun, made for such an enticing retreat.

"Soil's farmable," Maria said, running some of it through her fingers. It was a statement of fact, nothing more, and the three of them stubbornly ignored the implications of it.

"There's — " Pietro coughed, self-consciously clearing his throat. "There's plenty to salvage. Machinery to pull water from the humidity in here. First aid supplies. We could section off an area for our wa — "

Watts seethed. "If you finish that thought I will — "

"What?" Maria arched a brow. "Kill him? Like you've been saying for the last day?"

Day? Ironwood blinked. How long had he been out?

"I will!"

"Like you'd be able to. Just try it, beanpole."

They argued, and they threatened, but none raised their hands to one another again, and when they finally dispersed across the kingdom to collect what they could, none of the acknowledged what it was for.

Ironwood waded through the remnants of his home and didn't think about building another. Because the idea alone was absurd.

"Don't let the door slam shut," he'd said when they’d first left, nodding to the stone slab that had appeared after Penny had first arrived. Ironwood watched the three exchange glances, unsure if he was joking.

Fuck if he knew.

***

Those four days — or five, if Ironwood counted the one he'd lost — were conducted in a strange state of frenzy. None of them were in a position to be working on such a project, but when had the world ever cared for their needs? Pietro stayed behind in the vault, cataloguing what they'd found and making lists for what was still needed. His chair, while dynamic, wasn't meant for the sort of terrain Atlas had become and his wound was still healing.

He also seemed to appreciate the privacy, frequently mourning his daughter with an honesty that made them all uncomfortable.

Maria went off to do the Gods only knew what, disappearing for hours at a time, then coming back wet, cold, and carrying little. Though she always had information. Which parts of the city were too grimm invested to traverse, which were now completely underwater, which were too unstable as Atlas tilted like a ship, disappearing beneath the waves. It gave them all focus and, surprisingly, something like hope. Whatever else she carried was usually small, such as the seeds filched from the bio laboratories.

"Couldn't take them all," she said, critically surveying the land, "what with so many of the labels getting lost in the crash. Don't want to eat something your lot has experimented on."

"You should. If we're lucky you'll mutate into someone bearable." Watts, taking stock of the clothing they'd gathered, didn't seem to realize that Maria was flipping him off.

He went on a deep dives (sometimes literally) for salvageable tech, most of it of a practical nature, but other pieces... not. Nothing had shifted Ironwood's world view quiet like day two, walking in on Watts looming over Pietro, assuming there was another fight brewing... only to overhear them exchanging theories, the conversation filled with as many insults as legitimate claims. Still, the seeds of camaraderie were there, and were perhaps easier to grow than originally thought. After all, Watts had once been one of them and Pietro, for all his heroics, had once entered Ironwood's office with a manic gleam in his eye, rambling about giving an aura to a machine. Defense technology at its finest!

What was it Glynda had said? Ah yes, agreeing with young Ms. Nikos about how "wrong" it all was. But desperate times, desperate measures and all that.

They'd had that discussion, of course. Soon after Ironwood awoke, talk of Amity began again, this time about whether it was possible to send another message. With enough time and effort, not to mention luck... a short one, perhaps, and only sent to an individual scroll. But what was the point? Who would they call? When no one could — or would — answer that question, the idea was dropped.

In the days since, Ironwood had fantasized about messaging Glynda. One of the few who'd ever been a true friend, perhaps the only one left alive who might care that he was still among the living... if Ms. Rose's message hadn't killed that too. Not that it mattered. Even if Amity wasn't a hunk of metal gathering ice, Ironwood hadn't a clue what he might say to her.

Dear Glynda,

Thank you. Sorry. Good luck.

Sincerely,

General James Ironwood

P.S. If things had ended differently, I would have asked for a second dance.

How ridiculous.

So he walked the broken streets of Mantle and climbed the streets of Atlas, more and more of it disappearing every day. Their hoard grew though, born of not just military property, but personal belongings as well. It wasn't as if anyone was coming to claim them. Unless more magic was at work, both cities would be miles beneath the ice before anyone crossed the border again. Still, Ironwood would always pause before packing away what he found in the hastily abandoned houses. Bedding. Utensils. The literal shirt off someone's back. He'd changed into jeans and a thick sweater the second day, taken from a collection of civilian clothes he'd placed into a locker years ago and promptly forgot about. The uniform felt... obsolete now, no matter that his goals remained the same.

He'd encountered Maria on one of those trips, admiring a basket of yarn in some nameless Atlesian's living room. Her shoulders had tensed at his approach, but she just snorted at the sight of him.

"You knit?" he asked, unsure of what else to say.

"No."

"Crochet?"

"No."

Ironwood didn't know any other crafts that involved yarn. "Then why are you taking it?"

Maria hummed. "Just a thought. That I might, someday, try to learn." She shook a book she’d pulled from the basket: Knitting For Beginners.

A stray thought indeed. The thing they still didn't talk about. The closest they got was on the fifth night when an explosion sounded outside, massive enough to unsteady them even deep within the vault. By the time all four of them had made it out and onto one of the roofs, the sky had turned a sickly yellow, followed by black tendrils that raced, turning, back and around on each other until everything went dark. The only light came from what little electricity they had running on generators and a red aura, pulsing from the West.

From Vacuo.

Realistically, it might have meant that they'd won. It wasn't as if Ironwood had any idea what the death of an immortal witch looked like. But the night wore on and they had no idea because that unnatural, starless black never receded. In time, Pietro wandered off and returned with two bottles he'd pilfered from somewhere, cracking the tops off on the side of his chair and passing them around.

They still didn't say it aloud, though the sky and the alcohol said enough already. Ironwood kept his eyes on the watch his mother gave him, hours ticking by until sunrise was long overdue. Atlas felt even colder now and that red, seeming to inch closer, sent a different kind of chill down his spine. The grimm that still prowled below had taken off hours ago, summoned by some unheard call.

Ironwood downed the dregs of his bottle and threw it into the city.

"Come on," he said. Ordered maybe, or asked. He wasn't sure he knew the difference anymore.

Blankets. Glasses. As many non-perishables as they could find. Generators. Tool kits. The building blocks of renewable energy. Clothing. Decorations. Wood to build small, individual dwellings.

Watts hoarded laptops and a small mountain of batteries, never showing them what he was working on, intensely protective.

Maria grew obsessed with entertainment, snagging every book, game, and video until there was a veritable library piled on the grass. She kept muttering about deserving a real retirement.

Pietro built a shrine to Penny, a simple stone monument to the left of the doorway. He tended to organize their supplies there, occasionally reaching out a hand to brush the code he'd inscribed with a laser. Whatever meaning it held, Ironwood couldn't read it within the ones and zeros.

And he... he found a cat. His last day, picking his way across dwindling islands until his eyes found the small, electrical fire just out of the water's reach. The cat had wedged herself into the rubble above it, trying desperately to keep warm.

She was as black as the sky above them and Ironwood was sure, when he reached out, that she'd run, terrified of his prosthetic hands. They certainly weren't any warmer, but she weakly crawled into them nonetheless. Ironwood held her securely against his left side, where his heart and flesh were, and thought with an absurd, internal laugh that he'd at least saved one.

There was so much left to do still, but their time was gone. That evening, eating what little they had the stomach for, water began to pour from the vault's elevator. First a trickle, then a deluge, until there was a sizable waterfall to admire. Ironwood sat on the steps with his unnamed cat on his shoulder, watching inevitability creep towards him.

He could still lie though.

"There's still time," he said, addressing the three behind him. "If you head up the elevator shaft and down the west hall, you can still break the surface. Find one of the remaining airships. Fly away."

Watts scowled, avoiding his gaze. He remained leaning against the doorway though.

Maria and Pietro exchanged glances.

"I'd carry you," Ironwood offered to Pietro. They both knew it would be a death sentence with their combined deadweight, but he'd do it anyway.

"No," he said softly. "I did all I could already."

Maria. She was harder to read with those goggles, but it wasn't peace on her face. Guilt, more likely, but that had never stopped any of them before.

"It's damn cold out here," she muttered and marched back to the grass. Pietro followed her, Watts trailing not far behind. He turned back though.

"You coming?"

Ironwood didn't answer and eventually Watts left, heading into the meadow that stretched until you lost sight of where you'd been — and then reappeared there. A tiny pocket dimension, born of a magic now lost to this world. Ironwood figured that a bit of water and ice couldn't break it.

Probably.

He watched the flood cover the floor of the vault, then lap upwards, one stair at a time. There was a part of him, a part unimaginably tired, that thought he might just sit there. Keep rooted until the water was so high it was too late to do anything. That would be easy. Fitting, even. Shouldn't he go with his kingdom?

But then the cat — his cat — dug nails into his shoulder and Watts said something that made Maria screech. Ironwood sighed.

There were still things to protect, simple as that had become.

He turned his back on Remnant, now encased in an eternal night, and walked to the three who remained, cowering in an eternal day.

Ironwood allowed them one last choice and when they all nodded, he kicked the vault door shut.

#tw suicidal thoughts #rwby #fic things #rwby fic #Ironwood #Watts #Maria #Pietro #idk what this IS #post-apocalyptic RWBY I guess #with a side of questionable people not talking to each other #Anonymous

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sepublic · 4 years

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Night Drivers/Return to Wartwood!

This episode was REALLY GOOD you guys!!!

Like, this was a PHENOMENAL return to the show after a months-long hiatus, and genuinely action-packed, hilarious, and had me on the edge of my seat! It was just SSSOOOO enjoyable and I’ve got a lot to say about it!

Firstly, I LOVE all of these continuity references, to Anne reading Bessie’s manual, Wally being Walliam, as well as that off-screen reference to Hop Pop and Polly being given that wish list ahead of time! It really makes the journey feel all the more cohesive and connected, bound together… And likewise, I love Anne and Hop Pop’s dynamic as the eldest of the family who have the most common sense and have to look after everyone, it’s great! I love Hop Pop’s dream gag and how he’s fairly certain there’s something symbolic to discern, but he can’t tell what- That’s a mood, and really all of his antics and declaring himself a god within was hilarious. Anne’s mood conversely starting nice but turning dark was great, and I legit expected some nightmare fuel before the reveal that it was just licorice; And shoot, now I want to try licorice-flavored froyo! I’ve got a few yogurtland coupons, but I doubt that’s a flavor, at least as far as I remember…

The monster and background design in Amphibia remains particularly impeccable in Night Drivers, like that snake with what appears to be a decoy prey animal in its mouth to attract good Samaritans; Or even just the rocks having skeletons and bones smeared across, implying they’ve crushed and run over plenty of other passengers on their way down! That foggy bit was legitimately surreal and creepy and reminded me of Silent Hill and this one movie called The Mist, I believe- I’ve never watched it but I get the general premise, and I wonder if that scene was an homage? Also, that Frobo cameo was AMAZING and clever, how it’s grabbing for the Plantars… And that joke about Anne eating Hop Pop was hilarious, I’m sorry but like; Hop Pop is HIGHLY underrated in my opinion!

The whole chase sequence from Man Door Hook Car Door Hand, or however it goes… The entirety of Night Drivers really reminded me of those urban legends, and the twist at the end where the hitchhiker is actually a helpful ghosts; It was some nice lore and world-building, but also reminded me a LOT of this one story I heard… Which, it was probably a reference towards, but this season really makes the world of Amphibia feel so much more fleshed-out and real, perilous and kind of messed-up, etc.! I saw the twist with Zachariah being helpful, but you know what they say; It’s about the journey, not the destination! Well, actually, it IS about the destination, it’s why Sprig and Polly decided to drive at night in the first place, to get to Wartwood; Speaking of which…

Return to Wartwood! Another amazing episode, I love that bit of Ivy hiding in a disguise, I saw it and couldn’t be fooled; And I’ve MISSED Wartwood, it’s felt like a year since we’ve last seen it! Which, we technically saw it in the first episode of the summer last year… But it was such a brief passing-through, that coupled with the hiatus between Seasons 1 and 2, and it DOES feel like it’s been over a year to finally get back to good-old antics here! I actually felt the homesickness and joy of the Plantars here… And as I said before, that gag about only Hop Pop and Polly knowing, but to THEM of course they remember, and them just helplessly slapping the floor of the Fwagon was surprisingly humorous. I have to wonder how their shopping trip at Newtopia would’ve gone differently, had they remembered the wish list! And don’t be so hard on yourself Sprig, YOU didn’t know of the wish list, so you can blame it all on your sister and Hop Pop; Besides, you have those broken halves of a staff…?

I love how Anne has progressed and grown into like, the exasperated, common sense person who’s getting tired of the antics now –even if she’s not fully immune herself- and wants no part in things, her growth feels clear and impeccable here. Seeing the Chicka-lisk from the intro FINALLY debut was like seeing the Intro Worm from the Owl House in its season finale; A wonderful surprise to really tie things together! And that whole sequence where the Plantars perform a satanic ritual just to get away from their responsibilities, that Loggle jumpscare, just the realization that they’re already wearing cloaks at night with candles and a glowing red circle; The escalation had me rolling!

The Plantars were surprisingly thoughtful in their choice of monster, even if things still went wrong because the townspeople have learned to be more defiant, no thanks to Anne and Hop Pop; The gag of Toady being used as a petrified shield, only for Mayor Toadstool to realize he WAS petrified… Those two frogs looking into each other’s eyes, Maddie knowing about the whole thing, I love it! It just flowed and was done so well, the whole bit felt like a video game boss fight, especially with Hop Pop and Sylvia dodging the shockwaves… The Chicka-lisk being pretty chill was kind of adorable, and I enjoyed the callback to the town’s formations against outside monsters, with this one ACTUALLY working… But for completely unexpected reasons that had me burst in unexpected laughter. Though, for all I know, it WAS the intent to offend- But regardless, seeing Toadstool welcome Anne as part of the formation and she can just roll with it and KNOWS… It’s such a welcome development from the very first episode, the growth is real and it feels like a journey we’re looking back upon!

Also, Anne’s sword skills were freaking amazing, as was her deflecting the petrification beams; Can’t wait to see more of that in action, she’s quite the fighter and Paladin at this point, and I kind of want to see more of the townspeople in action as like, something that they can rally for in later battles and story events! I really want an action-adventure game for Amphibia now, actually… I mean, I’ve always wanted one, but now it hits harder, especially with the recent Legend of Zelda vibes from the newest trailer.

…Also, SPRIVY KISS I WAS SQUEALING LIKE ANNE THE ENTIRE TIME THEY REALLY ARE THAT ADORABLE YIIIISSSSSS!!!!!

This episode was a WONDERFUL return to the show that blew my expectations out of the swampy water with the pacing, the direction, the humor and moments, the callback and action, the surprising horror bits and chaos; And I appreciate the Plantars being called out as the chaos family, they’re like the Tooks in the Shire from the Hobbit! This episode was timed well, it does feel like a return to home after so long, and it makes my heart warm as I feel sentimental and happy… I’m honestly down to just a few episodes of getting back to Wartwood, to those good old times before the story beats return with Marcy and Sasha! Here’s looking forward to next week, F-Annes!

#amphibia #amphibia anne #anne boonchuy #amphibia hop pop #hopediah plantar #amphibia sprig #sprig plantar #amphibia polly #amphibia ivy #amphibia maddie

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years

Text

New Seductions (Ao3)

(Wenzhou one-shot - WoH episode 14 alternative scene - NSFW)

Yakalskovich on ao3/ @omgpurplefattie requested: I'd very much like to see what happens when, after they run into Ye Baiyi and the truth about the nails comes out, they finally get up close and personal again, and WKX realises what limits the nails set, and finds out how he can please his A-Xu despite them, working with the limitations set by the nails.

So this is my take on that!

Wen Kexing’s feet land solidly on the rain-slicked wood of a bridge in another of the inn’s courtyards. Gu Xiang’s pleading and crying is a grating addition to the relentless maelstrom of his own thoughts, and even though he’s left her behind a courtyard away her voice is still pinging around his head along with everything else that has happened over the course of the evening. The horrible things he’s learned and realized.

Destroyed meridians. Self-inflicted. Ten years - no, he refused help so it’s two years. He’s dying. None of them can escape death. So much death. Had his entire life not been marked by it since childhood, Wen Kexing might begin to wonder just what he’s done lately that was the final straw to earn such horrendous karma that it’s now spreading to those around him as well, making him the hub at the center of a wheel of painful torture. A spoke for his few true allies in the Ghost Valley, the Bureau of the Unfaithful. A spoke for Gu Xiang. Another for his parents. For his Ah-Xu. Anyone in his radius must be subjected to a life of pain and sorrow, it would seem.

He trudges along without thinking too much where he’s going, but when he realizes he can go no further he looks up and is unsurprised to find that he’s in front of Zhou Xu’s door. Where else would he go, after all? Where else in the world could he possibly go like this?

“Ah-Xu,” he calls weakly. He places the hand not holding the remainder of his xiao against the wood but makes no move to try to force it open, much as he might want to. It’s grounding, in a way, to press against the cool wood, to have something so steady against his palm. Steady is good. Feels good. He presses harder and leans in until his forehead is resting against it too, and that’s even better. Perhaps he’ll stay just like this for the night. As long as it’s Ah-Xu’s door he’ll stay until he’s forced to move, and even then when he is it will hopefully be to return himself to his Ah-Xu’s side.

If two years is truly all they’re going to get then he’s going to plant himself at his love’s right hand and never stray, and when Zhou Xu is gone Wen Kexing is going to leave the world behind to grieve for him in peace and quiet, where no one else can reach him.

“Ah-Xu?” Wen Kexing calls again with a gentle tap of one nail against the wood.

He huddles closer to the door and tries to imagine that it’s his Ah-Xu that he’s trying to curl around, that he could somehow make him safe with nothing but the circle of his arms, that he could heal him with nothing but the strength of his devotion. Raw power to make up for his lack of more delicate knowledge that he so desperately regrets not learning when he had the chance. The door feels nothing like when Zhou Xu is in his arms and his imagination can’t fool him otherwise, but he comforts himself with the knowledge that Zhou Xu is on the other side of it at least, that even though he can’t see him or feel him he’s still close by. It may have to be enough.

“Ah-Xu,” he begs the wood an inch away from his nose. “Let me in.”

He’s getting cold, standing there out of the rain under the eaves but already soaked from head to toe with it. He’s still cold from the flush of horror when he’d seen the nails in his love’s chest and heard what it means, as well, and though he could return to his own room and change his clothes to become physically warm he’s not sure anything will make him truly feel warm down to his bones again but holding his Ah-Xu close. He’s been waiting a lifetime for this man to hold him and light that fire in the hollows of ribs, in all the empty spaces of him - he can wait longer for it to be given again even if the weight of their two-year deadline is already bearing down on him and making him anxious to have whatever he can of his lover now, before it’s too late.

There are other things he needs to do. This farce of a Heroes Conference is far too soon, plans need to be set in motion. He needs to send someone trustworthy to check on Luo Fumeng. ‘Places’ needs to be called and each player set in their spot before his final call of ‘action’ on the revenge play he’s been planning for his whole life. He doesn’t have time to wait.

But more than that, he doesn’t have the strength to leave. Not now, not like this.

“Please,” he says so softly he can’t imagine it carries through the door, which is the only reason he’s not upset that it comes out as more of a whimper than anything else.

He’s just preparing to sink down to the ground and rest there against the door for the night when the wood suddenly disappears and he stumbles - right into Zhou Xu’s arms.

“Ah-Xu!” he gasps, eyes hungrily taking in the sight of him though it’s only been an hour or two since he stormed off after their fight. Even if pressed he won’t admit that he’s searching for any changes, any sign that his love is about to suddenly die in his arms.

“Lao Wen,” Zhou Xu says and it’s admonishing, stern, but not nearly as angry as before. That’s fine, Wen Kexing would welcome it even if he was still angry. At least Zhou Xu would still be here, calling his name, holding him steady with a too-hard grip on his elbows. “Why are you completely drenched?”

“It’s raining,” he replies numbly.

“I know that, why didn’t you -“ Zhou Xu’s eyes flick down to his hands at his sides and his brows furrow. “What happened to your xiao?!”

Wen Kexing looks down as well and brings the remains of the instrument in front of himself, studying it with a detached sort of curiosity. He raises his free hand to curl around the shards that were once the middle of the flute before he had destroyed it.

“Hey!” Zhou Xu yelps as he lets go of his elbow to tug on his hand instead, pulling his fingers away from the sharp, jagged points. “What are you doing? You’ll hurt yourself,” he fusses and it’s so surreal, hearing Zhou Xu of all people worry about Wen Kexing hurting himself after revealing the truth of what he’s done with those fucking nails, that he can’t help but laugh.

It’s a rusty, crackling, hollow sort of laugh as it escapes him in fits and bursts. He’s still staring at his hands so he watches Zhou Xu take the flute from him, and then he’s just staring at the floor when Zhou Xu turns away to set it on the table in the center of the room.

It’s only when Zhou Xu returns and puts a hand under his chin to make him look up and meet his eyes that Wen Kexing realizes he’s not actually laughing at all. The next tired sob rattles in his chest and Zhou Xu’s expression goes tight with worry, perhaps flavored with some of the anger he’d defended himself with earlier.

“Come on. You need to dry off,” he sighs a moment later and Wen Kexing allows himself to be ushered further inside so Zhou Xu can shut the door against the storm still raging outside. He manages to stop his ‘laughing’ as he trails behind his love without a second thought, perfectly content to follow as long as Zhou Xu is going to allow it. He doesn’t even bother paying attention to where they’re going, he just drags himself along in Zhou Xu’s wake and stops when he does only to realize they’ve stepped behind a privacy screen. There’s an empty bathtub stored neatly away for the night and a stack of clean, soft towels set aside on a stool, all of which Wen Kexing takes in with a sort of detached, numb neutrality that’s quickly becoming a very comfortable space to exist in.

He stays put for so long that Zhou Xu sighs softly and begins working on getting him undressed himself, which Wen Kexing stands obediently still and steady for. Each sodden layer that gets removed is arranged neatly over the screen to dry until Wen Kexing is left standing there wearing nothing but his hairpin while Zhou Xu turns to snag a towel from the stack.

It’s certainly not the first time they’ve been in some degree of undress around each other, but for reasons that are now obvious Wen Kexing has never actually seen Zhou Xu naked, and he abruptly realizes that he has never been entirely naked either. Whether that’s thanks to convenience while they’ve been traveling or an unconscious choice not to disrobe completely if Zhou Xu won’t, he’s not sure. But when Zhou Xu turns he seems utterly unaffected by the miles of skin now available for him to see, to touch, and as he begins dragging the towel over Wen Kexing’s arms and shoulders his expression stays closed off. Distant, even when he’s right there with his hands on his body with the intent to take care of him in such a mundane, practical way.

Wen Kexing continues to stand still and lets Zhou Xu rub him down with the towel, his eyes never leaving his face though Zhou Xu keeps his own gaze on his hands as he works. He finishes the task with them face to face as he slides his arms over Wen Kexing’s shoulders with a fresh towel in hand to start carefully squeezing and rubbing the water from his hair.

And he’s so close, but Wen Kexing feels like there may as well be all of the Central Plains between them.

“Ah-Xu,” he finally finds the will to mumble. A small knot of tension in his jaw loosens slightly when Zhou Xu instantly meets his gaze.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Zhou Xu murmurs, soft under the vestiges of hurt and irritation lingering around his eyes.

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve already lost me!”

Wen Kexing’s breath hitches as he sucks in a gasp and he finally finds the motivation to raise his hands again, to reach out and touch, but this time instead of grabbing for Zhou Xu’s robes he cups his face, palms tucked against the lines of his jaw, fingertips digging in just under his ears and his thumbs caressing the soft warmth of his cheeks.

“I thought we had more time,” Wen Kexing admits, voice as firm as it can be while he’s unable to raise it above an agonized whisper. “I thought we had more time, Ah-Xu, I-“

Wen Kexing’s quickly spiraling panic is stopped in its tracks, at least for the moment, by Zhou Xu leaning in to kiss him hard and fast.

Zhou Xu is not a gentle lover. Wen Kexing had been unsurprised to learn that very quickly over the course of their short (and rather hurried) relationship, but it’s only now, as he thinks what he always does, that he realizes why.

He touches me like it’ll be the last time he ever gets to.

Because it might be. Because that is, in fact, the reality that Zhou Xu has to live with every day. He estimates he has two years left but Wen Kexing had heard the resignation in his voice, the acceptance that whether it’s two years or two months or two hours, it won’t make a difference. He’s saying his goodbyes to the world now, just as they’re finally getting a chance to explore it together.

For the first time since they came together like this, Wen Kexing fights back.

He bites Zhou Xu’s lip hard enough to make him jerk in his arms, clearly startled. He slides his hands into his hair and yanks on it to force his head back so he can bury his face in his neck to bite and kiss there too, staking his claim, trying to show Zhou Xu exactly how savagely Wen Kexing longs to keep him.

“Lao Wen,” Zhou Xu snaps, a warning, but Wen Kexing doesn’t care enough to heed it, and it’s not exactly effective when Zhou Xu is hauling him in closer by a bruising grip on his shoulders anyway.

He runs out of steam soon enough though, unable to keep up the harsh biting for too long even though it’s clear Zhou Xu doesn’t mind it.

“Are you done?” Zhou Xu asks, perhaps with something a little like his usual dry humor though there’s still the sharp bite of irritation in it. Wen Kexing replies first by sliding both arms and one long leg around him, and then, softly-

“Never.”

Zhou Xu sighs long and slow right next to his ear, one hand gliding up and down his back and leaving trails of soft heat in its wake - he’s still chilled from his time in the rain, and Zhou Xu is like a furnace against him. Wen Kexing relaxes slightly as Zhou Xu slides his hand up to rest against the back of his head, cradling him close as he turns his head to nuzzle against his ear.

“You’re still cold,” he murmurs softly. “Go get in bed and I’ll be there in a second.”

Wen Kexing takes a few deep breaths in before he complies, reluctantly unwinding himself from Zhou Xu to pull back. He studies Zhou Xu’s face for a long moment to make sure he isn’t lying about joining him and only when he’s reassured himself does he retreat, snagging Zhou Xu’s comb off the dressing table on his way to the bed. He sits down in the center of it with the blanket tugged over his lap and his damp hair pulled over one shoulder to begin combing the tangles out of it with long, slow movements. His hands go still and his eyes - previously half-shut with a mixture of exhaustion and muted pleasure for the feeling of the comb in his hair - go wide when Zhou Xu steps out from behind the screen.

He’s naked. Completely and utterly bare, and while of course Wen Kexing’s gaze is drawn first to the nails holding his meridians in place, he also can’t help but stare greedily at the rest of him that is finally free for his perusal.

“Let me do that,” Zhou Xu says with a gesture at the comb as he approaches and Wen Kexing is powerless to stop him from taking it from his frozen fingers on his way to settling in behind him. Right behind him, in fact, as he parts his legs to rest them alongside Wen Kexing’s lap and presses close enough that they’re flush, Zhou Xu’s chest against his back and his chin resting on the opposite shoulder from his hair. He lowers his newly-freed hands slowly to his lap as Zhou Xu wraps his arms around him to continue combing his hair for him as if they do this every day.

“Ah-Xu…”

“Hm?”

“Can you tell me about the nails?”

“What do you want to know?”

A dozen questions rush to the tip of his tongue in response to such an open invitation, but in the moment none of them feel right, or truly important. He mulls over the issue for a few long, quiet minutes as Zhou Xu continues combing his hair, hands uncharacteristically slow and gentle as he works.

“What does it feel like?” he finally settles on, the question whispered into the peaceful hush around them, nothing but the muffled sounds of the storm outside and their quiet breathing.

Zhou Xu stays quiet even longer than Wen Kexing just had, but he can feel that he’s going to answer him eventually so he stays quiet as well. Part of him chafes at the delay, that sensation of time bearing down on them - the heartbreaking and inevitable end of this - still too strong for him to be able to truly be patient. But he knows if he pushes too hard that Zhou Xu will retreat instantly, push him away, and he won’t be able to stand that. Not now.

He takes a deep breath in as Zhou Xu sets the comb aside once he can run it through the loose sections of his hair with no resistance, and he goes willingly when Zhou Xu pulls him to lie down with him, the pair of them safely cocooned under the blankets where it’s nice and warm and some of the chill can finally leave his skin.

“It doesn’t feel like much of anything,” Zhou Xu finally murmurs as Wen Kexing turns on his side to study his profile while Zhou Xu keeps his gaze on the ceiling above their heads, laid out perfectly on his back, his hands resting on top of the blanket over his chest.

“Bullshit,” Wen Kexing replies instantly, but even that comes out sounding gentle. Zhou Xu just shakes his head a little with an achingly sad smile that Wen Kexing instantly wants to kiss away from his lips. His Ah-Xu should always be smiling of course, but that smile should be happy. He’d destroy the entire world and lay it at his feet if it made his Ah-Xu happy.

“No, I mean it. Besides the pain, which you’ve already known about, it doesn’t..feel like anything. I’m losing my senses.”

Wen Kexing goes very very still for a moment as he processes that, and then he pushes himself up onto one forearm to look down at Zhou Xu, to move into his space and force the other to look up at him instead of the ceiling.

“What?”

Zhou Xu huffs out a sigh and reaches up to pinch at the bridge of his nose and rub at his eyes with his fingertips. Wen Kexing stays right where he is - he wants answers, has wanted them for a while, and he’s going to get them - so he’s still precisely in the same spot when Zhou Xu drops his hand again and opens his eyes to find the silent demand for those answers in Wen Kexing’s steady gaze.

It doesn’t take more than the span of a few breaths before he gives in with another sigh. “The nails..when I created them, I designed them to..steal the senses, to make it impossible to do much of anything once they’ve been administered, along with destroying all of the victim’s internal force. The way I applied them slowed the process down, but I can’t stop it.”

Wen Kexing keeps studying the lines of Zhou Xu’s face as he considers the implications of that, as he holds the new information up against what he already knows of his soulmate and a few idiosyncrasies he’s noticed about him slot a little too neatly into place.

“So..you don’t eat very much because-”

“I can’t really taste it.”

“And..You never let me touch you when we have sex because-”

“I can’t really feel it.”

“So when we sleep together you’ve never actually-“

“No.”

Wen Kexing takes a slow breath in, holds it, and exhales slowly again as he leans down to press his forehead against Zhou Xu’s, his eyes slipping shut.

“Can you feel it when I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

Wen Kexing wastes absolutely no time in pressing their mouths together and he’s relieved that Zhou Xu returns the kiss without a moment of hesitation. He leans into it, kissing him long and slow in an attempt to soothe some of the aching in his own chest and hopefully to communicate to Zhou Xu that he’s here, that he doesn’t want to even imagine living any longer without him by his side. With such things on his mind it’s only natural that he would drift closer and closer, and in fact he doesn’t even really consciously notice that he’s moved until Zhou Xu’s arms wind tightly around his waist to finish reeling him in as close as possible and suddenly he’s very aware that he’s sprawled out on top of his lover - and that there’s absolutely nothing between them to separate them anymore.

“Ah-Xu,” he mumbles into their kisses which have long gone slick and hot and clumsy. Perfect.

“I can’t…” Zhou Xu mutters, frustration creeping into his voice as he shifts his hips a bit, and Wen Kexing immediately shushes him (gently) and tries to soothe him with another deep kiss, only relenting when he feels Zhou Xu shiver and then relax again.

“Do you trust me?” he asks into the hollow between the corner of Zhou Xu’s jaw and the soft curve of his ear. It’s a slightly dangerous question to ask considering the fight they’d had just hours ago, and he’s perfectly ready for the answer to reflect the anger he’d pushed his lover to out on the balcony, but when the answer comes it’s instant and earnest.

“Yes. More than anyone.”

“Let me try?”

He pulls back enough to meet Zhou Xu’s eyes only to find them full of uncertainty, which he supposes is only to be expected, and underneath it a particular flavor of vulnerability he’s not sure he’s been allowed to see before this moment.

“I don’t think there’s anything that will work,” Zhou Xu mumbles but Wen Kexing is nothing if not stubborn, especially in pursuit of his Ah-Xu. He smiles and presses a feather-soft kiss just above Zhou Xu’s upper lip, deliberately missing his mouth just to better feel him smile despite the fact that he also rolls his eyes.

“I won’t mind if it doesn’t work,” Wen Kexing promises in between little sips of more kisses, his eyes wide and pleading in his best pout to try to be as convincing as possible. “Can’t I just want an excuse to touch you for a while? I’d really like to, I can keep coming up with more reasons if you want them. But I think it’s worth trying anyway.”

For a few minutes there’s silence again but for the rain outside and the sound of their lips meeting and parting without any discernible pattern. It isn’t the first time they’ve taken their time kissing like this but of course it is the first time that they’ve done it when Wen Kexing can feel miles of warm, smooth skin pressed against his own and that alone would be enough to make him embarrassingly eager. He has to be patient though - if he tries to push Zhou Xu is just as likely to balk and call the whole thing off as he is to agree, and he just can’t take that risk.

“Alright,” Zhou Xu eventually murmurs between one heated kiss and the next. “You can try.”

Wen Kexing takes a slow, deep breath in to attempt to calm himself enough to take his time.

“Does it hurt to touch the nails?” he asks against the curve of Zhou Xu’s bottom lip, soft and warm and slightly swollen already from his kisses.

“You don’t have to try to avoid them, it’s fine.”

“Ah-Xu. Does it hurt?”

A long pause, a sigh, and then a reluctant, “Yes.”

“Mm, I won’t touch them, then. Can you feel this? No looking, just tell me if you can feel it.” Wen Kexing rests his weight on one elbow to free up his other hand to run his fingertips slowly up and down the outside of Zhou Xu’s thigh. He marvels once again at the feeling of it, all that warm, surprisingly silky skin made available to him and his wandering hands.

“A little,” Zhou Xu murmurs, frowning slightly in concentration. Wen Kexing watches his face carefully as he digs his fingers in harder - not enough to bruise or even to hurt, probably, even if Zhou Xu’s senses weren’t dulled, but it’s certainly not gentle except for how tender he feels as he does it. He keeps pushing in in slow increments until he sees what he’s looking for - Zhou Xu’s eyelids flutter and his lips part ever so slightly.

“You can feel it more now,” he murmurs before Zhou Xu can speak and the man nods as his expression does something complicated. It doesn’t seem negative, at least, so Wen Kexing is willing to let it pass without comment to instead focus on the task at hand - literally. He takes careful note of how much pressure he’s applying and then he slowly drags his hand from the outside of Zhou Xu’s thigh to the top, and then over to the inside to rub his fingertips in small, firm circles against the tender skin. Zhou Xu responds instantly, parting his legs a little further to give him more room to work.

He takes his time, just stroking and rubbing wherever he thinks Zhou Xu might be even slightly more sensitive in an attempt to help him feel his touch, and all the while he kisses him whenever the mood strikes him. That, at least, always has the desired effect, and eventually he has Zhou Xu breathless and shivering slightly underneath him.

“Lao Wen,” he breathes as Wen Kexing is pressing slightly sloppy open-mouthed kisses along the graceful curve of his collarbone, moving towards his shoulder.

“Mm?”

“I still can’t -”

“I’m nowhere near done with you yet, Ah-Xu. Let me work.”

“Lao Wen…”

“Ah-Xu.”

“You’re only going to be disappointed.”

Wen Kexing props himself up on his elbow again to look down at Zhou Xu in shock and affront, brows drawn tightly together as he searches for any sign at all that his lover may be joking.

“Disappointed?” he parrots after a moment, incredulous. “Disappointed?! Ah-Xu, for once you’re letting me have my way with you without rushing or pushing, I can finally kiss you as much as I’ve wanted to since that night by the river, I’m going to find any way I possibly can to pleasure you, and you think I’ll be disappointed?”

“Yes! If nothing makes me feel good then yes!”

“Don’t you feel good now?” Wen Kexing asks softly with a glance through his long lashes that makes Zhou Xu tip his head back to sigh gustily for the fact that Wen Kexing has his number so thoroughly - he knows precisely what to do to get right at Zhou Xu’s heart.

“Yes, I feel good,” he finally grumbles. Wen Kexing doesn’t bother to say ‘I told you so’ in so many words, but the sentiment is clearly there in his answering hum as he bends to his task again with renewed fervor. “But-”

“Enough, Ah-Xu!” he snaps, though he immediately apologizes by pressing a few soft kisses to his lover’s shoulder. “If you are disappointed then tell me so and I’ll try something else. If you’re not, trust that if I didn’t want to be right here with you, doing exactly this, then I wouldn’t be.”

Wen Kexing waits for a long moment of excruciating silence for Zhou Xu to push him away or tell him to stop, but in the end all he does is bring his hand up to the back of his head to draw him down more firmly against his shoulder and relax into the stretch of his widely-spread legs again with a soft sigh.

Wen Kexing takes a long moment to close his eyes and compose himself, to remind himself not to rush, not to accidentally hurt Zhou Xu in the course of trying to find what makes him feel. When he feels he can continue he does so happily, pleased to feel Zhou Xu growing more and more languorous under his touch. Even if they can’t find a way to get him sexually satisfied tonight, Wen Kexing would still be plenty happy with finding a way to get his perpetually-tense Ah-Xu to just relax.

“Lao Wen!” Zhou Xu finally gasps, though, and just like that sexual gratification is definitely at the very top of the agenda. He zeroes in immediately on what earned him the exclamation and chases it with a single-minded intensity.

It’s his fingers, he knows it is. He’d worked up to sliding one inside the tight heat of Zhou Xu’s body - the digits slicked with his own spit and some of the pre-come leaking steadily from his thoroughly ignored erection - a while ago, but just like with everything else so far he had decided to take his time. It’s only now that he’s stretching him open with a second and doing more with them than a simple slow thrusting, and he does it again, curls them up as much as he can and pushes slowly in again - and Zhou Xu’s back arches right off the bed.

“Perfect, Ah-Xu, absolutely beautiful,” Wen Kexing purrs as he begins to do only that, or variations of it, and within moments Zhou Xu is trembling underneath him. He’s quick to readjust his free arm a bit to slide it under Zhou Xu’s slender waist and hold him close as he closes their mouths together in a heated kiss as he continues moving his fingers inside of him, now hunting for something else that could make him gasp like that while still giving him enough of what they already know feels good to keep him pleasured.

Wen Kexing quickly discovers that as long as his mouth is free (and ‘free’ just means ‘not currently full of Wen Kexing’s tongue’, whether he’s still kissing Zhou Xu or not is apparently irrelevant) Zhou Xu can’t seem to help but call his name in a voice that sounds thoroughly wrecked. As soon as he realizes this extremely important fact he makes a point of withdrawing enough to breathe each time he curls his fingers again, and he’s rewarded with the best of both worlds - kisses that curl his toes interspersed with desperate cries of his name that are quickly growing louder, less controlled.

It takes a little longer of this before Wen Kexing can concentrate enough to find what he’s looking for, but when he does he worries for a moment that it won’t be as pleasurable for Zhou Xu as he had hoped. Wen Kexing is nothing if not stubborn, though, and so he keeps trying, keeps nudging and pressing and rubbing until Zhou Xu yanks him into a desperate kiss, all teeth and gasping breaths, in a clear attempt to muffle himself as he moans so loudly even Wen Kexing’s ears go hot with what little blood hasn’t made its way to his cock yet.

Wen Kexing holds him close and kisses him messily as he refines his process further and further, only repeating actions that make Zhou Xu whimper or moan into the possessive press of his tongue until he finally feels Zhou Xu shudder and arch his back, tearing free of the kiss in the process only to orgasm completely unrestrained. Wen Kexing has just enough common sense left to hope for others’ sake that the adjoining rooms are empty, but he personally doesn’t give a damn if others can hear or not. His Ah-Xu is finally satisfied, finally feeling as good as he deserves, and anyone who can’t appreciate that should just make themselves scarce.

Wen Kexing doesn’t stop as Zhou Xu begins to quiet again, though he’s still panting hard and occasionally making little noises that Wen Kexing will very generously not call whimpers to his face, though that’s absolutely what they are.

“How did you do that?” Zhou Xu finally groans, sounding completely wrecked as he covers his eyes with one hand - very rude of him, when Wen Kexing’s hands are busy holding him around the waist and fingering him through his aftershocks and so are unavailable to uncover him again.

“I’m still doing it, in case you haven’t noticed. Must you ask?”

“Shut up,” Zhou Xu mumbles but the beginnings of a smile are curving at the corners of his thoroughly abused lips. “I meant how when I can’t..I didn’t...Lao Wen I can’t even get hard!”

“Mm. There are other ways,” he teases with a kiss to the back of Zhou Xu’s hand over his eyes and a flex of his fingers still buried inside of him. “And you agreed that I could try to find what works for you.”

“I did..and you did,” Zhou Xu mumbles as his smile fades into..something else, though it’s hard to identify the expression with half of his face hidden.

“Ah-Xu you’re so cruel to your soulmate,” Wen Kexing sighs dramatically. “I’ve worked so hard and yet I’m not allowed to see your beautiful face as my reward? So cold to me, Ah-Xu.” He holds his pout with an effort (he desperately wants to smile instead) until finally Zhou Xu relents enough to uncover one eye to glare up at him (extremely unconvincingly).

“All you do is stare at me, Lao Wen, you can survive a few minutes without seeing my face.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” Wen Kexing sighs as he ducks in to kiss his cheek. “I miss it already, I will never see my fill of you and when I can’t see you I dream of you inst-mm!”

Wen Kexing melts into the kiss Zhou Xu has interrupted him with without an ounce of shame or hesitation. It’s quick and filthy, as their kisses usually tend to be, and Wen Kexing can’t help but to roll his hips for a bit of friction on his neglected erection.

“Lao Wen?” Zhou Xu mumbles around his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Hm?”

“Your turn.”

Wen Kexing breaks the kiss enough to talk, lips still brushing against Zhou Xu’s anyway as being any further apart in this moment seems completely unbearable.

“No, it’s fine this was for you-“

“Lao Wen!” He goes still at the tired frustration in Zhou Xu’s voice. “Shut up and just get inside me.”

“Mmm my soulmate is so romantic,” he teases after a moment’s hesitation as he slowly withdraws his fingers and checks to make sure that he’s dripped enough while pleasuring Zhou Xu to ease the way - and yes, he’s already made quite a mess of both the sheets and Zhou Xu’s thigh, which is unsurprising. “I make tender love to him and he says to me ‘shut up and get inside me’, I’m truly humbled to be the recipient of such sweet advances.”

“You knew what you were getting into,” Zhou Xu scoffs, finally removing his hand from his eyes. Wen Kexing meets his gaze just in time to watch them go a bit glassy and unfocused as he slides his aching cock inside of him.

“I did know,” he agrees, sounding a bit strained. “I knew and I have never wanted someone so desperately as I want you.”

After that there’s no room for coherent thought, let alone any further flirting or teasing. There’s only space in him for loving Zhou Xu, for showing him just what that love makes him yearn to do. Zhou Xu holds him close for all of it, kisses him and murmurs to him so gently that Wen Kexing might feel inclined to tease him for it if he were capable in that moment of being anything but utterly, passionately, eagerly Zhou Xu’s.

He stays right where he is after he finishes, his weight resting on his forearms on either side of Zhou Xu to avoid crushing him as he presses their foreheads together and takes the time to appreciate the simple intimacy of sharing the same space, of being connected as intimately as they are and in no hurry to part. Zhou Xu’s hands are skating slowly up and down his back again and it’s only now that he’s thoroughly warm that he realizes his lover’s hands are actually cool to the touch. Where before they had felt searingly hot when he needed them to be, now they’re soothing on his overheated skin and his entire expression softens into a besotted smile as he nuzzles his nose against Zhou Xu’s.

“Perfect,” he mouths against Zhou Xu’s lips, not even bothering to put so much as a whisper into it. He doesn’t need to - Zhou Xu smiles back and Wen Kexing knows he understands.

Not a single one of their problems are gone, and he knows that. It’s just very difficult to worry about such things anymore when he finally has his Ah-Xu fully and completely, when his soulmate has allowed himself to be vulnerable and known and held and loved. The peace they keep trying to find together will be shattered again soon, he’s sure, but for now they have this, and for now it’s enough.

#word of honor #word of honor fanfic #wenzhou #wen kexing #zhou zishu #working my way through my wips lol

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knight-engale · 4 years

Text

Grudging Romance (Valerius Route)

This idea seemed to be well-received, so here goes! Everything here was written by me, copied from my AO3.

There was something about you that intrigued him the first time you met. You unabashedly spoke to him in a casual, if sometimes disdainful manner; a way no one had really spoken to him before. You seemed to be his opposite in many ways; passionate and fiery where he was calm and collected.

And you know what they say; opposites attract.

It started out as “coincidentally” being near you during your investigation efforts. He might not have approved of it (as far as he was concerned, Devorak was guilty and there was no disproving it), but he was curious to see how it played out.

He would be in the library, browsing books, while you were going through Julian’s desk. You’d be pacing in the gardens, talking to yourself and surrounded by floating diagrams made of light, and he’d be doing paperwork on the veranda.

Any way to be close to you without raising suspicion.

(You realized what he was doing after the first few times, of course. Even though you were busy, you definitely noticed him around. It was a little weird at first, but you got used to it.)

One day, you presented Nadia with every scrap of evidence you had in Julian’s favor. Valerius found himself enamored with the way you came to your conclusion. Your determination and confidence almost swayed him.

Almost.

Once you’d finished, he shook your hand. Having your hand clasped in his own felt far better than he wished to admit.

He wasn’t surprised when the execution was cancelled. Disappointed in Nadia, yes, but not surprised. You seemed so thrilled to have come out on top. Seeing you reveling in your triumph gave him a strange feeling in his chest.

The Masquerade soon followed. He wanted to keep to himself, content to do as little socializing as he could get away with (and drink as much wine as possible). You, apparently, had other plans.

You asked him to dance and were pulling him away before he could refuse.

Dancing with you was...pleasant. He guided you through unfamiliar steps during a slow song, and you led him during a faster, more energetic song. It was surprisingly enjoyable.

But all good things must come to an end.

When the Masquerade started becoming Hell, you only panicked a little bit. Relatively speaking, anyway. He was far more shaken up than you were. This was not what was supposed to happen.

When the palace started literally coming apart, your quick thinking saved his sorry behind. It was unbearably attractive. (You saving him, I mean. Though I don't doubt that he has a nice posterior.)

When you, Nadia, and the magician Asra determined that the Devil--the Devil!--needed to be bound and defeated, you turned to him for support. Not to ask him to help you, really. Just for a vote of confidence.

Why you went to him is a mystery he doubts he will ever solve.

You admitted to him that you were scared. So you had that in common. It was strangely comforting to know that you were scared, despite the brave front you put on. (Such a front was a good trait. You’d be an acceptable leader one day, should the need arise. Perhaps at his side…?)

He has never been a particularly emotional person, so comforting you was endearingly awkward. Your amusement at his stumbling only made it worse.

Then you kissed him. Any train of thought he might have had was tossed out of his mind.

He added this moment to the list of ways you’ve baffled him. He had a feeling that the list was far from complete.

When a strange compulsion called the wayward pawn back to the Devil’s side, yours was the first name he called as his mind fought against his limbs. When your efforts to follow appeared to be in vain, and you shouted empty words of comfort, his heart hurt.

When the Devil gloated over his victory, Valerius held to the hope that you would succeed against him. How fitting, that the person he had initially looked down on should be the one he turned to for salvation.

Days passed. That is, he assumed it was days. In the Devil’s world, time seemed to move differently. He clung to the hope that you would arrive and...and save him. Not just from his imprisonment. He knew what he had become, over the last three years. He wasn’t entirely human anymore. He wanted out of these deals. Needed to be in control of himself again. No one else would do it for him. You were his only hope.

Endings:

Upright Ending

When you arrived in the palace, empowered by the magic in the air, power crackling at your fingertips, his heart skipped a beat. Maybe multiple. He didn’t care that Nadia or Asra were there--all that mattered is that you were there. You’d come for him.

You were understandably startled when you saw him, stumbling out of a partially ruined hallway. Then you were relieved. No, he wasn’t hurt. Yes, he’d been as safe as he could be, under the circumstances. Yes, he wanted you to help him. You sent Nadia and Asra ahead so the both of you could have some privacy.

The first few moments after you nullified three years’ worth of deals felt surreal. He felt more like himself than he had in far too long. The delight in your eyes was more than he could bear. He initiated the kiss this time. It was time to own up to how he felt.

His confession was not flowery. It was not emotional or drawn-out. It was a simple statement of fact, spoken plainly as you held each other. Somehow, you had won his heart without knowing and without trying. And more surprisingly, his feelings were reciprocated. As stern and cold as he was, you had somehow come to love him.

The next bit was something of a blur. You confronted and bound the Devil. He doesn’t recall the details; his head was spinning too fast. The magical and temporal realms divided again. There was still work to do. Restoring order would not be an easy task, but you would work on it...together. (Well, together with Nadia.)

Reversed Ending

You were notably startled when you saw him, stumbling out of a partially ruined hallway. Then you were relieved. No, he wasn’t hurt. Yes, he’d been as safe as he could be, under the circumstances. Yes, he wanted you to help him. You sent Nadia and Asra ahead so the both of you could have some privacy.

He was still dazed when you confronted the Devil. Dazed enough, in fact, that he almost didn’t realize when all red-hot chains pulled him away from you. Then an all-too-familiar panic came over him, worse than it had ever been.

He could barely breathe. Couldn’t shake the dread and terror writhing in his stomach. He’d disobeyed a god, and the time of reckoning was at hand. He’d been a fool to think that maybe you could have helped him escape the consequences.

He saw you as if through a fog. There was horror written on your face. There was pain where the chains touched him, where the Devil’s claws tapped harshly against his throat.

His heart pounded in his chest. Then it very nearly stopped when he heard your trembling words.

“I want to make a deal.”

No. No, you couldn’t. His voice died in his throat even as he tried to make you change your mind.

The terms were set. His safety, in exchange for your surrender. As long as you did not fight back, the two of you would come to no harm. And so the deal was struck.

For the second time that day, the chains binding him fell away. This time, there was no tender moment of peace shared. This time, you ran. Ran as far away from the palace as you could get.

You finally found some form of rest in what you said must be the Heirophant’s realm. What was left of it, anyway. You hoped that the promise of safety would postpone the realm’s collapse.

And so began your life in hiding. It was deceptively peaceful, yet Valerius could not help but glance over his shoulder every so often, anxious that somehow the Devil had found a loophole in the deal.

Perhaps one day, someone else would come along and do what you had not had the strength to do. Perhaps, if the world survived that long. At least you had each other.

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fanfic #the arcana valerius #fanfiction #consul valerius

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yodawgiherd · 3 years

Text

You Were Never Truly Gone ch2

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Well, you guys asked for it, so enjoy a few chapters of my post-canon world. Thank you all so much for the lovely comments/kudos, I appreciate every single one of you <3 So for you all, I'm writing this - The end that I would want for Eren and Mikasa :)

It was a beautiful day today. Looking over the waves at the rapidly approaching Paradis shore, Armin couldn’t keep the excited smile away from his face. Soon, he would be seeing Historia again, and they would work together to achieve peace. But that was not all, he reminded himself, fist clenching over the feather in his hand.

Today he would see Mikasa and remember Eren with her.

It would mark three years since the end of the war and his sacrifice, and Armin couldn’t help it – he felt anxious. Mikasa was doing great usually, she was her own person and not a shadow in the past. But this day, when all of them gathered around the grave to thank the person that saved them, was always a trial by fire. He would be there for her, he and everyone else, they would help her push past and return to her normal self. That he swore, both to himself and his dead best friend.

“What are you thinking about?”, Annie’s voice from behind made him jump a bit in surprise.

“N-Nothing. Or well, the anniversary I guess…”

“I could say, anytime you are worried you get a wrinkle.”, Annie reached out, tapping the center of Armin’s forehead, “Rrrrrright here.”

With a smile he swiped her hand with his own, letting their fingers intertwine. The edge of Annie’s engagement ring felt cold against his skin, reminding Armin of the day when he finally gathered his courage and asked her the question. It still felt surreal sometimes, that he was engaged to her. Too good to be true.

“Can you two stop being so disgustingly in love?”, Pieck appeared on the deck, “I don’t want to throw up.”

She lit up a cigarette, watching the shore grow closer. Armin was tempted to let go of Annie’s hand because of Pieck’s request, but she tightened the hold and wouldn’t let him. Yea, Annie was never the one to let herself be pushed around.

“Are the guys ready?”, Armin asked instead, “We will be meeting the queen soon.”

“Jean keeps styling his hair and Connie is teasing Reiner because of the letter sniffing.”, she let out a large puff, watching the smoke curl in the salty sea air, “But other than that, we are good to go.”

Their work was important. Being a group from both the scouts and warriors they were the peacemakers, the ones that kept traveling between the nations to try and keep the fragile ceasefire brought upon by Eren’s actions. Armin’s mood turned sour. Eighty percent of the world was destroyed and still, the leaders were at each other’s throats. The sacrifice gave them chance, but it didn’t magically fix everything, there was still a lot of work to be done.

When the ship finally pulled into a harbor the rest of their group stepped out of the cabin. Jean, looking slick as ever, Reiner tailed by smirking Connie. Pieck threw the cigarette butt into the ocean, dusting herself off before meeting Armin’s eyes.

“Shall we?”

He nodded, throwing the feather into the ocean too. Over the gangway and down, Armin took a moment to help Annie jump down, help she didn’t need but appreciated nevertheless. The others noticed of course, and Jean was the one who spoke up.

“You get engaged and suddenly you are a gentleman, is that it?”, he grinned, “Whipped even before marriage, what a way to go.”

“Ah, as if you are the one to talk.”, Pieck pushed past him with a smile of her own, “I’m pretty sure you weren’t working so hard on your hair for the “history books”, were you?”

“It’s not like that…”

Ignoring whatever excuse he tried to voice, Pieck joined Armin and Annie on the shore, and soon they were gathered again. Then it was finally time to walk over to where Historia was standing in front of her honor guard, flanked by Kiyomi on her right.

“Ambassador Arlert,” rang the queen’s voice, loud and clear, “It is my pleasure to welcome you back to the Paradis island.”

“It is an honor, your majesty.”, bowing deep, Armin was mirrored on both sides by his friends, and when he straightened there was a spark of amusement in Historia’s eyes.

But protocol was protocol.

“I’m sure that you must be tired after your journey,”, the queen said, “Join me for some refreshment.”

Not waiting for an answer, as she was the queen, Historia turned and walked in the direction of the large tent, her guard splitting flawlessly to let her pass. It was a demonstration of military discipline and an effective one at that, making Armin frown. So much death, and it was not enough.

As soon as they were inside, away from the public eye, Historia changed immediately. Throwing herself onto him, she hugged Armin tight, grinning like a maniac.

“I missed you so much!”, she practically squealed, pulling back to look at the others, “All of you too!”

Catching up felt like regressing towards the old times. Armin was almost tempted to say careless, but that was never the truth with them. There was always something – first the titans, then the rumbling, and now whatever this fragile peace was. But there would be time to worry later, so Armin relaxed instead, letting Historia’s cheerfulness infect him. They talked about everything, about Armin and Annie’s engagement and Historia admired the ring on Annie’s finger, modeled after the one with a secret blade she used to wear. Jean recounted the events of their travels after, all the cities that they visited, and all the wonders that they saw since their last meeting.

But then the stories were told and it was time to get down to business.

“Historia,”, Armin said,” how is the situation here?”

Her happy smile soured immediately.

“Bad. The army holds a very important position in the government, and they are not giving it up. The Yeagerists and growing with every single month and I have no idea how to stop them.”, she frowned, “Every time I’m in the city I swear that I can hear them chanting that Fight, Fight.”

“Do you think that they planning to overthrow you?”, Reiner spoke up, but Historia shook her head.

“No, they have no reason to. I am not much more than a puppet queen at this point, they have most of the control, and keeping me as a figurehead lets them work in the background.”

“Can’t Kiyomi help you?”, Pieck asked, “Hizuru military is recovering well, from what I’ve heard.”

“She could, but she is not going to.”

“Why is that?”

“Kiyomi wants Mikasa, she wants her to come to Hizuru, marry and become shogun’s wife, continue the bloodline.”, Historia was annoyed, and it showed in her voice, “She expects me to tie Mikasa up, stuff her in a shipping crate and send her against her will. The hag.”

It made sense that the queen was extra against anything like that, her being in similar situation years back.

“And since I told her that she can go stuff it and I would never force Mikasa into that, Kiyomi grew sort of cold towards me.”

She sighed.

“But we can talk about that tomorrow when the formal meeting happens. Today you guys have other plans.”

“That’s true.”, Annie nodded, “We have to see Mikasa.”

“And Eren.”, Connie added.

“I wish I could go with you, but unfortunately I have a lot to do before we meet tomorrow.”, Historia walked over to Armin, hugging him again, “Give her my love, okay?”

She moved over to the exit, only stopping to add: “And him too.”

With the queen gone the group left the shore, ignoring the stares of the soldiers. Some called them traitors, Armin knew, the Yeagerist faction condemned their peace-making efforts as cowardness.

“Hey,”, Annie squeezed his hand, “Don’t mind them. They are fools.”

He smiled at his girlf-… fiancé. Damn.

“I know, but they are fools with power, and that’s dangerous.”

“I wonder if they would be this warmongering if they knew what Eren’s true goal was.”, Jean said, “All he wanted was peace.”

“It’s not like we can tell them, they would never believe us.”, Pieck had a new cigarette hanging from her lips, the burning tip moving when she spoke, “To them, Eren was a God of War that paved the way to Paradis supremacy.”

They didn’t speak more after that, passing the soldiers and heading out of the harbor. The island nation had grown considerably in the three years, and buildings with concrete replaced the once green fields. Yet that didn’t go on forever, and before too long they were walking in nature’s embrace again.

“Maybe we should have taken a car,” Connie huffed as they walked, “Or a horse.”

“The exercise will do you good.”, Annie called over her shoulder with the typical cold expression.

“We do have a horse,”, Reiner tapped Jean’s shoulder, “Right here.”

“Hah, that was a good one, maybe you could make those jokes more often if you didn’t spend so long on sniffing the queen’s letters.”, Jean shot back.

Back and forth they bickered while Pieck smoked with an enigmatic smile, Armin and Annie leading the group while holding hands. There it was, the familiar field with trees, a lone hill in the middle. Excited to see Mikasa again, Armin let go of Annie and broke into a run, leaving his friends behind. They all ran like this, years back, with Eren in front and Mikasa right behind him, letting him take the lead. Armin was always hopelessly last in those races, but he never did mind hat. Now, he was the only one running.

Up and up, over the green grass and to the tree where Eren’s final resting place was. With a smile, Armin finally got high enough to get a view of that place, but the greeting shout on his lips died when he saw what was happening. Yes, Mikasa was indeed there, but that was not all. Far from it.

Stunned by the scene in front of him, Armin stared, watching the stranger kiss his friend with fervor. Their kissing was passionate and Mikasa was more than into it, her hands roaming all over the stranger's back. If that was not proof enough, Armin knew that she has the ears of a huntress and could easily hear him coming, but she was too deep in the moment to notice. Blushing slightly, feeling like he was intruding, Armin silently walked down the hill where the group just arrived, everyone looking at him with a question on their faces.

“What’s wrong?”, Reiner was the first one to speak, “Is Mikasa not there?”

“She is… it’s just…. I…”, Armin scratched the back of his neck, looking everywhere but not at his friends.

How was he supposed to explain this? Yet when Annie stepped closer, taking a hold of his cheek and forcing him to meet her gaze, her icy eyes speared right through and pinned him in place.

“Armin, what happened?”

Yeah, he could not hide the truth from her.

“Mikasa is there, but she’s not alone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She is with… someone…”

Now everyone was speaking over one another.

“What?”

“Who?”

“What the…”

“Is she okay?”

“Is he…”

It would probably go on forever if Annie didn’t raise a hand, calming the mess. When they all fell silent, she fixed Armin with her famous stare, letting a single word fall from her lips.

“Talk.”

So, Armin took a deep breath. And talked.

“Mikasa is sitting near Eren’s grave but she’s not alone. She’s making out with someone, and from what I saw she’s enjoying it very much.”

A stunned silence followed, the cigarette falling from Pieck’s shocked mouth. Somewhere high overhead, a bird darted towards the endless horizon.

“Well, I… Uhm… Guess we should be happy that she’s finally moved on?”, the words were awkward, and Reiner knew that, but he pushed them out, “I’m glad that she.. you know... found someone?”

“I agree but does she have to do in front of Eren?”, Pieck said, her brows furled in a frown.

“That does not sound like her at all.”, Annie agreed.

“What, you guys think that he minds?”, Connie noted, “Like.. is he watching her or something?”

“It’s disrespectful, that’s what it is.”, Jean was staring at the tree, voice tense, “He doesn’t deserve that, having his girl kiss a stranger on his own grave.”

“Mikasa is not his girl,” Annie disagreed, “He doesn’t own her.”

“I didn’t mean it like that….”

“Regardless,” Pieck cut in, “I think that it would be best to let Mikasa speak for herself.”

Taking the lead, she took the first steps towards the tree.

“Let’s go.”, Annie agreed, following her friend.

Soon all of them were moving.

Mikasa was still there in the same position, Armin noticed, still in the arms of that stranger. His back was to them and her eyes were closed so she didn’t see them coming, immersed in the kissing, the whole situation made only worse by the small giggle that left her lips when the guy pulled back for a moment. Look, Armin loved seeing her happy, but watching it happen here felt… wrong.

The pair totally ignored them, lost in the kissing, neither of them noticing the group that was a few feet away from them. Finally fed up with it, Jean cleared his throat, loud enough for them to hear. Mikasa’s eyes shot open as she pulled back from the kiss, her cheeks reddening immediately. Her gaze shot between the stranger’s face and them, embarrassment evident.

Slowly, very slowly the guy untangled himself from her arms, standing up and pulling Mikasa to her feet too. Only then did he turn, and Armin’s mind went blank.

No.

There was a ghost in from of him. A blushing enemy of humanity with kiss-swollen lips that didn’t let go of Mikasa’s hand after helping her stand, keeping them linked. An island devil that looked at each and every member of their group with a fond smile. Next to that beast, Mikasa hid her face in the red scarf, eyes ticking between everyone. The grave was still there, Armin saw, the small headstone with those fond words on it, a few flowers lying on the patch of ground. And yet….

The dead man, the walking corpse, the impossible, he opened his mouth and spoke.

“Hey guys, long time no see.”

#eremika #snk #chapter 139 #139 spoilers

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ijustwant2write · 4 years

Text

First and Last-Robb Stark x Reader

(GIF credit to @hvitstark)

Tags: @amirahiddleston @bloodorangemoonlight

Requested by anonymous: 'hi! first of all, your stories are amazing and i love them so so much! now, i hope im not bothering you, idk if you're still taking requests or not, but if you are can you pls write something where the reader is the youngest daughter of a powerful lord and he has come to winterfell to discuss marrying her to robb? this can either be pre-canon (so robert hasn't come north yet) or in some sort of au where nothing happens and all the starks are alive and well :) thank you so much!'

Characters: Robb Stark x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

(Y/L/N)=Your last name

Warnings: Mention of smut, self doubt, arranged marriage, fluff

(A/N: I MISS WRITING FOR GAME OF THRONES, MY BABIES)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There was a buzz around Winterfell castle as the final touches to preparations were made. The (Y/L/N) family were as noble as the Starks, and as it was their first visit to Winterfell, there had to be a good lasting impression. Catelyn and Ned were overseeing the servant's, trusting that their children's nannies or advisors were making sure that they were ready for such guests, they were not to make a fool of the family.

"I've heard that the women are all trained to be warriors since birth." Theon told Robb as he was being dressed in his finest clothes.

"From who?" Robb asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

"Wouldn't that be something? No wimpy, defenceless woman that constantly seeks your help, or spoils fun things such as hunting."

Robb knew his friend had only heard such rumours, though was still intrigued."She is a lady, I doubt she would have been near any fighting."

"Their women are strong Robb, proper Northern lasses. They are interesting, not like some of the ones who have visited before."

"They were boring to you because you couldn't even lay a finger on them."

He chuckled."In them more like."

Robb ignored Theon, he had always been so vile when talking of women."I wonder what they're here for. Father hasn't mentioned anything, I don't think he knows either."

"You can't be serious?" Theon scoffed. He gestured for the servant dressing Robb to leave now that he was finished."Come on, think about it."

"Just tell me."

"They've got a daughter, a year younger than you. Now, what do you think that means?"

Robb's eyes widened."No, no, father would have told me about it first-"

"Technically, nothing has been said about any marriage. Maybe that's what Lord (Y/L/N) is here for, not just for a friendly visit. And your father might not know about it yet."

Panic set into Robb's mind. His father had warned him that marriage propositions would be made, especially since he wasn't betrothed to anyone from a younger age. However, it was a small thought to him, most of his teachings had been about how to be a good lord. But having to face it was a completely different feeling. Perhaps Theon was wrong, his father hadn't even hinted at the idea. Now nervous, he took his cloak, wrapping it around himself before leaving his room, and maybe even meeting his future bride.

The pair made their way to the courtyard, hearing that the (Y/L/N) family were to be arriving very shortly. Robb's palms were beginning to sweat in his gloves, the mere thought of marriage making him dizzy. As he stood with his siblings, he ignored the fussing his mother made over them, making sure they were presentable.

(Y/N) made sure her hair was still neat and her braids were still tight in her hand mirror, damning the bumpy road beneath their carriage. It didn't help that her hands were shaking too, though she only noticed this when her mother took the mirror away, replacing it with her own hand.

"Relax (Y/N)," her mother calmed her, giving her a gentle smile,"we will be right beside you."

"He's not going to like me."

"And why's that?"

"He's probably heard all the rumours about how our women are these amazing fighters that aren't afraid of anything, and I'm the absolute opposite."

"For starters, we do not have all these women that go into fighting for the sake of it, you know that. And he doesn't know that your father is proposing this agreement."

"Have you met him?"

"No darling."

"So you don't even know what he looks like, let alone if he is kind?"

"The Starks are a wise, merciful and kind family. I am sure that his parents have raised him well. Their people seem to love them."

(Y/N) went to ask her mother another question, but was interrupted by the shouting of guards. They had arrived. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as the carriage slowed down, willing it to keep moving just a fraction longer. When it stopped, she hid her panic well from her mother, though a mother's instinct could always sense when her child was scared.

Lord (Y/L/N) had been riding up front for the last few miles, and was announced first as he dismounted his horse. He smiled as he approached Nedd, firmly shaking his hand.

"Lord Stark, it has been many years since I last saw you." he started.

"Yes," Nedd began,"in fact, Robb has only just been born."

(Y/N) heard his name, her heart beat thumping in her ears.

"Well, there are a lot of greetings to be made. My wife," (Y/N)'s mother was assisted out of the carriage, and (Y/N) heard her meeting the family,"and my daughter, (Y/N)."

As she emerged from the carriage, she hadn't expected how silent it would be. Everyone was watching her. (Y/N) carefully stepped out of the carriage, gripping onto the foot man's hand. She joined her parents, curtsying to the Starks.

"Thank you for opening your homes to us, it is a pleasure to finally meet you."

"And you Lady (Y/N). I am sure you have inherited your mother's beauty, and your father's wisdom." Nedd could see the young girl's hands were clasped together, stopping them from shaking.

"Not sure how much of that is left." her father joked, relieving the tension.

"Let me introduce you to my family," Nedd walked down the line, each curtsying or bowing,"my wife, Catelyn, who you already know, my eldest Robb, Sansa, Ayra, Bran and Rickon."

It was all too surreal for (Y/N). Here she was, facing the man that could become her husband and he had no idea. She tried to look at him, take in his details without staring, meaning she couldn't do it for long. Robb was also looking at her, dreading when her father would make the suggestion. Something deep in his gut told him that Theon was telling the truth, that perhaps a proposal was on the cards.

"He doesn't need to show me around Winterfell!" (Y/N) protested as she got settled into her room.

Her father sighed."(Y/N), I don't have to do this, but I am giving you a chance to get to know the boy. I could easily just throw the suggestion in their face."

"I know but...father I have a bad feeling about this."

He stopped her pacing, holding onto her hands."You will be fine. You're smart, so you know how to strike up a conversation. You're just nervous."

"Yes, I am. Father, you wouldn't make me marry someone who...someone who would hurt me, would you?"

"Of course not! If I believed the Starks were bad people, then we wouldn't be here. But this family is one of the strongest there are, and believe me, I've never seen a more honest family. You are safe here, and you will be loved."

(Y/N) walked out of her room feeling no less scared. She knew Robb would be going through the same struggle, though it didn't help her. Her footsteps were slow, too slow, her body knowing that she didn't want to go. Robb was exactly the same on the other side of his home, arguing with his mother before she forced him to leave his room and meet the girl, even if they weren't going to be married; in future, she may be a close ally. They were now stood at either end of the same corridor, freezing at the thought of having to be by each others sides for the rest of their lives.

Readjusting their postures, they composed themselves before approaching each other. This was it, the first time they would be alone together, perhaps the conversation that would define their relationship.

"Lady (Y/L/N), have you settled in well?" Robb asked.

"Yes, thank you Lord Stark. Your home is very beautiful."

"Please, my father is Lord Stark. You may call me Robb."

"And you may call me (Y/N)."

A good start, though many people dropped formalities when they weren't the people in charge. Robb offered to take her around Winterfell, which she politely accepted, racking her brain to think of topics to speak about. The small talk continued, until Robb started getting bolder with his questions.

"I've heard that your armies are full of women, that they are trained to fight since birth."

'Of course this question came up' (Y/N) thought.

"We do have a number of women. It is an extremely old tradition. Our lands did not have as many people as they do now, so when enemies would strike, everyone had to fight. And as the ears have gone on, we've kept that tradition alive, though there aren't as many women as there used to be."

"Are you trained in any weaponry?"

(Y/N)'s voice dropped."No. Ladies aren't allowed to."

"Oh." she hated the look on Robb's face, his expectations being dissapointed."That's understandable. Though my youngest sister, Arya, she does not abide by those rules."

"She doesn't?"

"No." he chuckled."A needle is far too small a sword for her liking."

They stopped walking, looking over the wall of Winterfell. (Y/N) was used to similar views back home, it wasn't too different. The noise of the people distracted her, and she turned around, watching them go about their lives. These were the faces she would be seeing almost everyday, if Robb and Nedd agreed to their marriage. And with dinner approaching faster than she liked, the answer was looming closer and closer.

After their walk, Robb had escorted (Y/N) back to her room to change for the meal that night. In his own room, Theon was there once again, prodding at Robb, wanting to know everything and more.

"So, what do you think?" Theon asked.

"I still don't know her very well. I can't make a judgement on her yet."

"OK, then what about how she looks?"

"She is a beautiful woman, but that doesn't mean I'll immediately like her."

Theon raised an eyebrow."But it helps."

Robb nodded."I guess so."

(Y/N) praised her handmaid as she finished her hair, calming slightly once she was satisfied with how she looked. Her mother entered the room, sighing as she saw her daughter fretting. The handmaid was dismissed, making (Y/N) realise that her mother was there, impulsively running to her; they shared a tight embrace, (Y/N)'s hands shaking as she clutched on.

"I don't think I can do it." (Y/N) breathed out.

"Yes you can. This is part of being a woman. You can do this, and we have chosen a family that will love you, they'll keep you safe."

"Mother, he doesn't like me, I just know it."

"He will. Everyone likes you."

Her mother knew that there were no amount of words that would ease her panic. All she could do was wipe away her tears, take her hand and lead her to the hall where dinner was being set. (Y/N) was stronger than she thought, and very likeable; she would fit into Winterfell just fine. It was Robb that was unpredictable.

"Father," Robb made a beeline to Nedd in the hall, desperate to speak to him alone,"may I quickly speak with you?"

"I know what you're thinking about." Nedd suddenly turned around.

"Well?"

"Well, we don't actually know if Lord (Y/L/N) wants an arranged marriage-"

"And if he does?"

"If he does, I shall speak to you in private, as will he with (Y/N). I presume that she doesn't know anything of it. Robb, I'll want to accept, but I need to be sure that you will too."

Everyone could feel the tension as they sat for dinner, Robb and (Y/N) having to sit beside each other. Their parents were in full conversations, the Stark siblings bickering already, whereas Robb and (Y/N) found themselves unable to start one themselves.

"Now," (Y/N)'s father stood, raising his cup,"I want to make a toast."

Everyone raised their own cups, knowing what his speech would include. They had been waiting all day to know what he wanted.

"Thank you once again for letting us into your home, it has been many years since my wife and I last visited, and actually, we were expecting (Y/N) at that time. But Winterfell has not lost its charm. We have been each others banner men throughout this time, and have fought beside each other in victory. I trust that our alliance is strong, but I am willing to make it stronger."

(Y/N)'s head started to spin, her chest tightening. She couldn't even look at her father. The words started to muffle, she couldn't be here to witness it. Without thinking of her manners, she mumbled under her breath, excusing herself as she abruptly stood and ran out of the room. She had no idea of the layout of the castle, running aimlessly, as if she could get away from this problem.

"(Y/N), are you alright?" She heard Robb call her.

She stopped, hiding her face in her hands, pure embarrassment stricken across it."I'm sorry, it's just..."

"I understand, it's a scary proposition."

"Yes, but I've known for so long."

"What?"

Her hands flopped down to her sides, using what bravery she had to face him."My father has been wanting this for so long. He loves your family, and not just for your power."

"There's something more to this."

"There's been another lord trying to marry me, but my father doesn't want me to marry. He told him we were already engaged. He showed up only last week. Robb, I would have told you if I thought I could."

"I understand."

"It's not fair that we've known for so long. My father can be a little dramatic at times."

"It's fine my lady, really."

"I know you need to discuss the answer with your father."

"You speak as if you know what that is."

"After today I think I do."

"And why is that?"

"I'm not what you think I am. I'm probably the most boring women in my land, and I'm supposed to be the one leading them."

"Is this about the army of women?"

"You would be surprised how many men don't like me after hearing that."

"I'm not one of those men."

"You're not?"

"I mean, we know this decision is ultimately up to our fathers."

"I suppose so."

"(Y/N), I can't judge your personality or even your own judgement, since we've only known each other for one day. But seeing as we know what our future entails, I feel that we should be open to get to know each other."

"Thank you Robb, I would very much like that."

#robb stark #robb stark imagine #robb stark imagines #robb stark one shot #robb stark x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones one shot

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stardustryewriting · 4 years

Text

It’s weird

Synopsis: Drunk Zoro and mildly drunk Sanji have a conversation, that sober Sanji can’t seem to shake from his mind. It’s all weird, after all.

Also on A03: here

Sanji would say, he wasn’t sure what caused this. But that would a lie. He knew what caused this, he just didn’t think that that little thing - that happened two years ago by now - would still be relevant at this point. And okay, maybe calling it a ‚little thing‘ was a bit of an understatement, considering Kuma was a warlord but still. No need to bring it up again, really.

And to be fair to Zoro, he didn’t exactly bring it up, per se. He just had drank too much. And then admitted that he was worried sick about Sanji while he was in the hands of Big Mom. Which he wasn’t, he was in the hands of Judge and the Germa, thank you very much. But also, Zoro had used his name and not Cook, or some other insult. (Not that Sanji considered ‚Cook’ an insult, Zoro just had a very insulting way of saying it.) So Sanji was willing to take it as a compliment, instead of as the start of an argument like he usually did. He reassured Zoro that he was fine, and wouldn’t leave the crew again and that should have been it. But it was’t.

„You don’t get it“, Zoro had slurred and in retrospect, the slurring should have been a sign to end the conversation before it got out of hand. Zoro always drank so much, that slurring indicated he consumed an insane amount of whatever alcohol they had. (Sake, it was usually Sake.) And if it went to his head that much already, maybe having a conversation was a bad idea. But Sanji had some alcohol too - not as much as Zoro or he would be dead - so he did the stupid thing instead.

„What don’t I get?“, he inquired, and that was really the beginning of the end.

„I care about you. I wouldn’t fight with you all the time if I didn’t. You’re important to the crew, too. A great cook, food always tastes good. Shouldn’t have left in the first place. Would’ve kicked Big Mom’s ass, for sure.“

Rambling proved to be an even greater red flag than slurring. Zoro never rambled, Sanji should’ve been skeptical. Just as he never said nice things about Sanji. Or used his name. This whole evening was very surreal. And if Sanji had been the master of his senses, he would have stood up and went to bed, before it escalated. Maybe he could have poked fun at Zoro the next morning, and they could have fought it out, like they always did. That would’ve been funnier, at least.

„I care about you, too“, he said instead. It wasn’t a lie even though he always thought he would die before he said it out loud. (He did almost die at Whole Cake Island, but he willingly chose to ignore that.) But then he thought hell would open up and take Zoro down, before the swordsman would admit he cared for Sanji, and that didn’t happen either. Alcohol made their heart to heart somewhat more honest and way more uncomfortable. At least from a sober perspective.

„Nah, not like that“, Zoro disagreed. Thinking back on it sober - not that Sanji was even nearly as hammered as Zoro had been - this was where everything went down the drain. And he would love to blame it on Zoro exclusively but he couldn’t. Zoro might have opened Pandora’s Box, but Sanji was stupid enough to look inside, instead of slamming it shut, like he should have.

„Sure I do“, he argued, „I care about you same I care about Luffy and any other crewmate. I wouldn’t regularly stock up on Sake if I didn’t.“

And that was it for Sanji. But it wasn’t it for Zoro.

„You don’t care like you care about Nami and Robin“, he mumbled. Zoro had actually mumbled. And that was so much more out of character than the slurring or the rambling that at first, the meaning of the sentence didn’t fully hit Sanji.

But when it hit, it hit hard. Hard enough to make him choke.

And then, because maybe he really was the weak, sentimental fool Judge always thought he was, he said: „But I do. I would’ve died to protect you from Kuma. I don’t think I ever worried about someone more than I worried about you that day.“

Which wasn’t a lie. At least that was good. Or maybe it would have been better if it was a lie. Maybe then Sanji wouldn’t have been as confused and Zoro could have made a joke about it the next day. And then Sanji would have made a joke back and they would have fought and everything would have been normal.

Or maybe it would have been better if they had the chance to talk it out that night. But Luffy had immaculate timing as always and when the captain asked Zoro to eat with him, of course the swordsman agreed. And then, Luffy had realized that the food for their feast was almost out and made his way to the kitchen - Sanji’s kitchen - and Sanji went to defend their provisions from the captain, which effectively ended his talk with Zoro for the night. And for the next couple days. Which was very uncomfortable.

The Thousand Sunny was a great ship and it had a decent size for the Strawhats. But it was too small to avoid each other. Especially considering that Sanji’s workplace was also the place where the entire crew ate. And Luffy insisted on them eating together. Zoro did his very best to avoid Sanji during the day, probably in the crow’s nest if Sanji had to guess, and Sanji did his very best to spend as much time as possible in the kitchen, but they couldn’t evade each other completely. The bathroom was shared, as were the sleeping arrangements. It made not seeing each other effectively impossible.

Not to mention that the others caught wind, too. Which was to be expected, because usually their fights were regular, happened in the very least once a day, but they have been quiet for a few days now and no one knew why. Which might be not true, considering Robin had been throwing some knowing smiles his way for days now and as beautiful as Robin’s smiles usually were, this one unnerved him. He would take Chopper innocently asking if him and Zoro had a real fight this time over that any day.

Sanji sighed, looking at the last potato he had to cut before he would go to bed. Not matter how hard he would think about it, it wouldn’t change anything. He said what he said, as did Zoro, and neither of the two knew how to handle it. At least they had something in common.

A humorless laugh left him, as he began peeling the potato. And then he let it fell out of his hand when someone cleared their throat behind him. He quickly grabbed to again before he turned around to face Zoro. And then he fiddled with it, giving his hands something to do, while he waited for Zoro to speak. He’s seen someone look both as uncomfortable and as determined as Zoro did right now.

„Look, I’m sorry“, Zoro said and Sanji almost lost his grip on the potato again. He wasn’t sure what he expected exactly, but an apology wasn’t even on his radar. What was Zoro apologizing for, anyway?

„I - what?“, was his eloquent response and he stopped peeling now. For good measure, no need to cut himself, after all.

„It’s clear you didn’t understand what I meant that night. And that you very clearly understood the next morning. And that you’re uncomfortable now. I’m sorry I said that. Should’ve taken it with me to the grave like planned.“

Laughing probably wasn’t a good response to that. Sanji knew he would be deeply insulted if someone laughed at him, after he showed vulnerability like that. But he couldn’t help it. After days of nothing, of Zoro not even looking at him, that was what he got? It was comical.

But apparently Zoro, much like Sanji, was deeply insulted. Not that Sanji could blame him for that.

„Yeah, ha ha. Ain’t it funny Zoro has feelings? I got it, Cook.“

„No, wait please“, Sanji pleaded, still laughing, but trying his best to keep it in, „that was just really unexpected, please just give me a second.“

Zoro crossed his arms before his chest and huffed annoyed. But he wasn’t leaving, so Sanji did his best to reign in his laugh and calm down. The situation was serious, Zoro was serious and Sanji should be serious, too. So he took a deep breath, straightened his back and looked Zoro in the eye. Which normally would be the start of a fight. Now it just made this situation weirder.

„Sorry, this is just really different from our constant arguing“, Sanji tried to explain. Zoro raised an eyebrow but remained silent. What did it say about Sanji that he knew exactly what this raised eyebrow meant? He really knew Zoro all too well.

„It’s weird“, he said and Zoro hummed in agreement, which was a beginning, „and it’s probably even weirder that I don’t hate it. Talking to you that night was nice, I meant what I said. Which, I never thought about it, not like that, not as intense, but I definitely meant it when I said it. I care for you, which is not that weird, I care for everyone in the crew. But I care for you really deeply, more than usual and that might be the weirdest revelation I had in years. “

Zoro shifted his weight from one foot to the other and Sanji really wished he still had the potato in his hands. Anything to stop them from fidgeting. He didn’t really know what to say now, he said his piece but Zoro seemed to wait for something. Or maybe Zoro was thinking, too. Which was unusual, Zoro might not wear his heart on his sleeve like Luffy did, but he never shied away from saying his piece either. Sanji considered his potato once more, just to have something to do for his hands. And to not have to look Zoro in the eye.

„It is strange“, Zoro agreed eventually, „but I don’t hate it.“

And then he dropped his hands from in front of his chest and took a step towards Sanji. Just one, like he was scared Sanji would shy away. Which he wouldn’t, but he could appreciate Zoro’s concern. Which would have been insulting in another setting, but this was way different from any other setting the two had ever found themselves in. So he could appreciate it, and silence the little voice in his head, insisting that Zoro just implied he was weak. He knew for sure, that Zoro didn’t think of him as weak, after all.

And Sanji supposed he could meet him in the middle, so he took a step towards Zoro, too. And cupped the man’s head in his palm. And leaned in to kiss him. Which Zoro somehow managed to make into a competition for dominance. And then, when Zoro won and they parted for a quick catch of breath, he smirked triumphantly at Sanji.

That Asshole.

#zosan #one piece #zoro #op zoro #roronoa zoro #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #i hate tagging sanji as a vinsmoke getting together drunk talks

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

You parked on the side of an empty back road, careful not to stop in any spot that might be muddy. It hadn’t rained for a few days, but with the weather lately, you couldn’t be too careful. The last thing you needed was to have to call Erik and confess to him that you did indeed go out to the woods to take pictures and were now stuck in the mud and needed his help.

A small part of you felt guilty. His concern wasn’t completely unfounded. If he’d had gotten hurt working on a backdrop by himself, whether by falling off a ladder or being hit by a light, you would be hesitant about him doing it again. But each of you were your own person, right? Independent not codependent?

Okay, it was probably time to lay of the self-help books for a while. You took one modern philosophy class and it had been a downward spiral from there. Perhaps it was time to give the supernatural genre a try.

The trees smelled intoxicating. Mixed with the humidity in the air, it was the kind of scent that could outperform even the most expensive of perfumes. It was an aroma that surrounded you, engulfed you in its arms the further into the woods you went. The peaceful smile that pulled on the corners of your lips were automatic, involuntary. Not that you would fight if you could. Despite the rumors of wolves running around, you were comfortable here.

Deep within the forest, a wide, oval clearing full of browned wildflowers rested. Bits of green here and there tried to break through the foliage that had died during the harsh winter. Their odds of making it through might not have been great, but you admired their tenacity.

These clearings were common in the woods and yet, they were your favorite places to capture. From one angle, it could seem like you were lost in a fast labyrinth of Mother Nature. Another, a prairie that belonged to another region entirely. The possibilities were endless if you really thought about it. And each clearing, you’d discovered, was unique within itself. Its shape, the plants it held, the thickness of the grass. You knew you hadn’t found every one yet, but you were determined to someday. For now, though, you would have stick with this particular clearing that you had visited before, as it was close to the road for a quick getaway, should you need it.

Sliding the bags off your shoulder, you crouched down and dug through until you found your notebook. The pages were unlined, which allowed you to right down your thoughts and ideas at odd angles. To you, it gave the otherwise somewhat boring inside a more artistic aesthetic. The plain leather cover was soft in your hands, worn from the amount of use and abuse you’d put it through. It wasn’t exactly common for photographers to write out their ideas before shooting. Some drew out the scene they wanted to capture, trying out different angles in their imagination. Most didn’t do any sort of prep like this at all. But you preferred to write it out, especially since most of your ideas tended to come at the most inconvenient times. Scribbling down half-coherent words tended to be quicker than a sketch.

After a quick review of your latest ideas, you tossed the notebook down and turned on your camera. You took several test shots, adjusting each settling until you came to the look you were searching for. Long shots and close ups, you photographed nearly every square foot of that clearing in order to get that one picture. That one picture that took everyone’s breath away, that made them stop and tilt their head every which way in order to take the scene in at all possible viewpoints. You wanted to them to see the world the way you did.

So in tuned to what you were doing, you hadn’t noticed the pair of eyes watching you from the shadows. They gave off the faintest glow filled with curiosity as they hovered in the air. You snapped a few photos in their direction, still unaware of their presence, and then lowered the camera to look back on the shots. At first, when you clicked through the pictures, you didn’t notice the tiny amber dots that blended in with the foliage. But by the fourth picture, you stopped.

Never before had you been scared by this place. Then again, the only animals you’d ever encountered before were rabbits and deer and other mostly harmless critters. These did not look like the eyes of a friendly Disney sidekick. Ice ran down your spine. You couldn’t run. If it was a predator, that would only encourage it. So, you tried to remain as still as possible while lifting your eyes to the spot that the animal was hiding. Perhaps there was a chance that it wouldn’t sense your fear and would take your stare down as a reason to walk away.

No such luck.

The leaves under its paws rustled as it stepped forward into the sun.

A tannish wolf with a long black strip down its back revealed itself. But it didn’t look menacing. In fact, though you might have been fooling yourself, it seemed almost… curious? Confused? It was hard to read the expression since you couldn’t fully compare it to a human. With slow, thoughtful steps, it came closer. You tried to remain still, tried not to move. The strain was causing your legs to tremble slightly. Now, you felt tremendously stupid for not listening to Willa’s warning about wolves. Was this considered an ironic moment? You weren’t entirely sure since language arts had never been your strong suit.

Unable to keep you upright anymore, your legs gave out. At least you landed on your butt with your camera hanging safely around your neck. Your fingernails dug into the dirt next to you as the wolf came closer, still at that same cautious pace. Harder and harder, your heart pounded in your ears. The wolf paused for a few seconds before continuing on. Could it hear your terrified pulse? Silently, you said your goodbyes as the wolf erased all space between you. Its muzzle nudged your cheek, coming to a stop near your ear. It sniffed deeply, then jumped back.

Your eyes widened, somewhat relieved that it hadn’t pounced, but also confused. Why wasn’t it attacking? Why did it look spooked?

The wolf sat back, head tilting back and forth as it studied you. It made no threatening moves or sounds. The tips of its ears perked up and it let out a sound that was eerily similar to a scoff.

“I guess you’re not hungry then?” An odd thing to say out loud to an animal that couldn’t talk, but you blamed it on the shock of the whole situation.

The wolf responded with a short puff of air before lowering itself down to its stomach.

This was… surreal. All the other animals you’d ever encountered had either kept their distance or ran away at the slightest sound. And yet, here was this wolf, laying in front of you, not vicious or aggressive. It was almost… cute, in a way.

“You’re a strange creature,” you said out loud. The wolf apparently took that as a sign to come closer. Crawling on its stomach, it took came to the point where it was almost able to rest its head in your lap-

The shrill sound of your current favorite song ripped through the air. You gasped, jumping up to your feet and running to your bag where you desperately searched through the pockets until you found your phone. It was Willa.

“Hello?”

“Hey, where are you?”

“I, um,” you glanced at the wolf who had jumped up to its feet. “I got bored so I’m just out driving around. Why?”

“Jiyoung called and asked last second to switch shifts at the coffee shop and so I’m free for the evening. And I’m hungry.”

You laughed a little at her not-so-subtle hint. “Alright. Give me twenty minutes to get back to the dorm. How does brick oven pizza sound?”

“Like heaven.”

“Okay, then. See you soon.” You ended the call and looked up, meeting eyes with the wolf. It never broke contact and in turn, gave you a bit more bravery. Lifting up the camera, you snapped a single shot of the wolf. “I’ll be back.” A strange promise to make, but you said it anyway. You wanted another encounter with this mysterious creature. Gathering up your things, you hurried out of the clearing and back through the trees to your car, still sitting on the side of the road.

It took less than twenty minutes to make it back to the university. Back at the dorm, Willa was lying on her bed, scrolling through her phone mindlessly. She sat up as soon as you came through the door.

“Fun drive?” she asked.

You shrugged. “It was fine.”

“No exciting scenes to snap?”

Her tease made you roll your eyes. “No, not really. Now, come on. I thought you said you wanted to eat?”

Not missing a beat, Willa jumped up from the bed, snatched up her purse, and pulled you out of the room, contemplating out loud which signature pizza sounded good.

Minseok growled as he ran through the forest. How he could have possibly lost those three was beyond him. Being unable to find them now was even more stupefying. They were loud, how could he not know which direction to take? He had to be careful. This part of the forest was close to the back roads and Junmyeon was worried they were being spotted too often. If the three them weren’t paying attention-

Click. Click. Click.

Minseok brought himself to a halt at the strange sound. There wasn’t any sort of pattern to it, but there was an underlying shuttering that seemed vaguely familiar. Too curious to just ignore it, Minseok headed in the direction e suspected it came from. Once he found the answer, he’d go back to finding the others.

The sound led him to one of the many clearings in the woods. A person wandering around the area taking pictures seemed to be the source, a camera in their hands. You appeared to be alone. Odd since not many ventured out in the forest by themselves. The isolation didn’t seem to bother you, though as you carelessly went about your task.

Staying in the shadows, Minseok watched your back as you continued to photograph the nature around you. Something… something strange was tingling in his shoulders, like the muscle beneath the skin had fallen asleep. Without prompt from him, his paw moved forward. He should be leaving. Be gone before you spotted him. But he couldn’t do it. Something told him to wait.

That’s when you turned around. By the way you kept taking pictures, you hadn’t seen him. It wasn’t until you lowered the camera to review the film did you freeze. And you weren’t the only one.

Something in Minseok’s world snapped when he saw your face. His muscles contracted, shivered and ached.

Go! an inner voice urged. He tried to turn his body in the opposite direction of you, but failed. Not that way! He had no choice but to obey. So he stepped closer to you. Your eyes snapped up, meeting his own. In his chest, his heart accelerated. What was this? What was going on?

Slightly fighting each movement, Minseok broke out from the tree line and into the clearing. It was obvious you were frightened. And he was breaking all the rules by revealing himself. Logic could not win, however. He kept walking. Even after you fell backwards, he was only able to pause for a brief second. Your rapidly beating heart was loud in his own sensitive ears. But he wasn’t so sure that it was completely out of fear. He needed to be closer. So closer he went. The whiskers of his muzzle brushed against your cheek, sending a lightning bolt through his body. He took in your scent and reeled back.

You smelled human. You were human. But… there’s something different about you and he couldn’t fathom what it might be.

“I guess you’re not hungry then?” you said oddly.

Minseok laughed. Well, as much as he could with this ribcage and these vocal cords. Overwhelmed, he adjusted to a more comfortable position. The feeling in his chest was almost all consuming and it weighed him down. He’d seen plenty of humans on his runs, but this had never happened before. Was this something that would only happen because he was in his wolf form? Or would he still feel like this if he saw you on two legs?

With a glimmer in your eye, you sighed, “You’re a strange creature.”

Taking that as sign, he tested the waters and pulled himself across the grass with his front paws, closing the gap between you.

A song suddenly cut through the air and forced him to a stop before he could rest his head in your lap - an action that he was itching to try out. You jumped up with a gasp and ran to the bags resting at the bottom of a tree. Frantically, you searched the pockets until you found the source of the noise, answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, where are you?” asked a female voice on the other end.

“I, um,” you glanced over him, making him jump to his feet. Will you tell your friend the truth? “I got bored so I’m just out driving around. Why?”

He almost let out a sigh from relief. Talk of an overly friendly wolf would be bad, especially if it spread through town and more people ventured into the woods to try and encounter him.

“Jiyoung called and asked last second to switch shifts at the coffee shop and so I’m free for the evening. And I’m hungry.”

You laughed. “Alright. Give me twenty minutes to get back to the dorm. How does brick oven pizza sound?”

“Like heaven.”

“Okay, then. See you soon.” You hung up the call and met his eyes again. Impulsively, you took one last picture of him, which he didn’t shy away from. “I’ll be back,” you promised softly.

Minseok could no longer feel the ground beneath him. He just stood there, watching as you ran through the trees in the direction of the road. When his senses came back to him, he noticed a small brown square hidden among the tan grass. He went closer to inspect what the object was. It was a notebook.

It must be yours.

Scooping the leather-bound book in his mouth, he took off after you. Following your scent through the forest was easy – it stood out like a pink flower in a sea of green grass. But he wasn’t quick enough. He caught the sight of your tail lights far down the road. He would have to keep a hold of the notebook until he saw you again. You did say that you would be back.

Or you could track her down?

Minseok shook that thought away. How would he ever explain that without giving away his true nature?

Giving up for the time being, he turned around and decided to head back to the house. There was no way he could find the others now. And with you gone, the elated feeling disappeared, leaving him weighted as if he were being dragged down into the earth. Each step was anchored down. It took him much longer to get back to the farm house.

Several other members were scattered about the house, either working on their studies or clowning around. Your notebook tucked between his clothes and held close to his chest, he headed up to his room. After a quick shower, he got dressed once again and sat on the end of his bed. In his hands, he flipped the notebook over and over. He contemplated opening it. But that would be invading, wouldn’t it? But he wanted to find out about you.

So he pulled open the cover.

Inside, in the top right hand corner of the first page was your name. He smiled, saying it softly over and over. It felt… right on his lips. Your face hovered in his mind. It fit you so well, like a jacket tailored with perfection.

The nature of wolves was an odd kind. There was a constant urge to belong. To belong to a pack and then… to belong to a person.

Ever since he was young, he was told about how someday he find that special person whose soul was connected to his. Fate predetermined who that person would be and no one could ever fill the void that existed until that person came along. Ordinary humans would never experience that kind of feeling, that kind of love. The type of love for the wolf that could only be given by one person.

A mate.

Was that what you were? None of his brothers were mated. They were all free – some taking more advantage of the situation than others. Occasionally, they would joke about who would be first. Some thought it might be Yixing, given his soft heart and the genuine warmth he radiated. Others liked to joke that it would be Baekhyun or Jongin, the big serial daters of the pack. Minseok, though, had his money set on Jongdae. That wolf had barely been able to give in to the call of the pack when he first joined them all. He was verbally against the idea of mating, more so than anyone else. Opening up to people was not a strong suit of the younger wolf and Minseok couldn’t wait to see what kind of journey that would be once he was forced to.

Minseok would have been the last person on everyone’s mind for the mated list. Not for any malicious reasons, just because he didn’t venture out very much beyond school so the odds of meeting someone new were low. Or so he thought. He liked being out at the house, being home. He was the very definition of “homebody”. Ironic that he ended up meeting you out here.

Knock, knock, knock.

He looked up and quickly hid the notebook beneath his pillows, just in time before Junmyeon, the alpha, peaked his head in. “Minseok?”

“Yeah?”

Junmyeon looked back towards the hallway. “Yeah, he’s in here!” he yelled. “Tell Jongdae to stop worrying!”

Minseok laughed. Naturally, they leave him behind but then they get worried. He was the eldest, always looking after the others. And yet, oftentimes, it didn’t feel like that.

Where he thought that might be the end of the checkup, Junmyeon, instead, closed the door behind him and sat down on the bed beside him.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Minseok nodded. “Yeah, of course. Why?”

“I saw the look on your face when you came in,” Junmyeon explained. “You looked troubled.”

The two of them weren’t the closet out of the whole pack. In fact, there were times where it was awkward between them, the role of the alpha and the role of eldest clashing at times. But other times, he was the best one to turn to.

“What do you know about the mating aspect of us?”

Junmyeon pursed his lips, thinking. “The mating aspect? Only the basics, really. That when you meet that one person, that’s it. And you’re supposed to live happily ever after.” He laughed at the cheesy line, releasing some of the tension.

Minseok couldn’t help but laugh along. It died out soon, though, as his mind went back to his current dilemma. “They always say you just know after one look. Do you think that’s right?”

“Yes, I do,” the alpha confirmed. “That’s all it takes. You feel it in here.” He tapped his chest, right about his heart. “Minseok? Why are you asking about this?”

He weighed his options. If this wasn’t what he thought it was and the others found out, he would never hear the end of it from them. But having someone validate his theory would ease some of the strain.

“I think I found her.”

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #minseok x reader #kim minseok #xiumin #exo werewolf!au #exo werewolf au #exo series #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo supernatural au #untamed wolf universe #Catching Rain

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porkchop-ao3 · 4 years

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A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 62)

Plans

Sorry for the delay but better late than never! This is a pretty long chapter so hopefully that makes up for it. Warning for use and mention of alcohol abuse.

Tagging @emily-strange and @actuallyhansolo ❤

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

The night it all fell to shit was a weird one. It was like we were hanging in some kind of dysfunctional family limbo. Dutch left the tent where Micah was still fighting to stay alive against all the odds, and he glared at our little group of black sheep from across the camp. We'd grown in numbers, though, even if we weren't all sitting together in a posse, people were with us in spirit. Kieran and Mary-Beth had come over to see how Arthur was doing, and to make it very clear that they were firmly with us; they didn't trust Micah, never had and never would. They couldn't comprehend how Dutch was acting the way he was.

Lenny showed his support not through words, but by silently stopping by and patting Arthur on the shoulder, nodding at him once. Karen was blind drunk but she yelled at Dutch's closed tent, chanting the words 'snake' and 'die' before Bill dragged her away and deposited her on her bed roll. In fact, Bill and Javier looked like they were the only ones who had outright sided with Dutch, and I wasn't sure if they actually believed that Arthur and the rest of us were traitors, or if they were just siding with him out of blind loyalty. Javier kept looking over at us, something like regret and confusion in his eyes but whatever he was feeling obviously wasn't strong enough to have him leave Dutch's side. Bill, though… Bill was just full of contempt and whatever he believed, it certainly wasn't any conclusion he'd drawn himself.

Everyone else was just tiptoeing around, not seeming to firmly align themselves with anyone. These were the people who openly sympathised with Arthur and made it clear they didn't believe that any of us were the rat, but also joined Dutch at the table outside his tent where he was smoking a cigar – looking dark and pensive, miles away and stewing within a thick black cloud – to offer him similar words of comfort. The likes of Reverend Swanson, Pearson and Tilly. Even Miss Grimshaw, who seemed a little conflicted about the time she poured into nursing Micah, she didn't condemn either side. She just marched around with a perpetual sad frown, reeling at the way the family she'd tried so hard to keep moving crumbled around her.

I felt terrible. But it could all have been avoided if Dutch hadn't been so twisted by Micah. If he'd just listened to the people that mattered the most, his 'sons'. But it seemed he'd picked his side. Though I did wonder what would happen if… or when Micah succumbed to his injury.

"I think we should go," Arthur murmured to me quietly, as he pushed his stew around his plate. It was odd eating dinner at such a time, but there was still plenty of stew left in Pearson's pot and nobody wanted to let his hard work go to waste. Limbo. A weird feeling of normality caked in tension. Like when a marriage is breaking down but both parties are still trying to plod along, going through the motions.

I looked up at him immediately from where I sat on the bed next to him. "Now?"

Arthur met my eyes. "Well, there's nothing left here," he said. I pondered his words. It was funny. For weeks and weeks I'd longed to hear him say that, to get a concrete agreement that we were to leave and get away together. But now that it was served to me on a platter, I felt so odd.

"You don't want to see if Micah pulls through?" I questioned.

"I… I'm with Charles. I don't think he'll pull through," he breathed, looking back down at the plate.

"No, but," I began, not knowing where I was going.

"You don't want to leave?" His question wasn't judgemental or annoyed.

"Yes, I do. This just feels so surreal. So sudden. It almost feels like it'd be wrong to just pack up and leave after this has happened, like we should stay and try and sort it out somehow. Though I don't know how…"

"I know what you mean. But I'm worried about you, Micah pulled a gun on you. And I don't know what's in any of these fools' heads, there's no telling if someone's gonna try and do the same thing. And I don't know if I want to stick around and save anything that almost took you away from me, or condoned it."

I paused for a while, then finally nodded.

"Just eat up," he whispered, nodding back at me with a brooding look in his eye. "We'll start packing–"

His head jerked as something caught his eye. I followed his gaze and spotted Dutch getting up. My heart thumped painfully when for a moment I thought he was going to come over, but instead made a beeline for the horses, not looking anywhere but ahead. Without saying a word to anyone, he climbed up onto his Arabian and left. Just left. Everyone stared off in surprise, not really knowing what to say about it.

"Where's he going?" I breathed.

"I have no idea," he mused.

"Should… should we go after him, try and talk?" I asked, meeting Arthur's eyes. He looked into mine for a while and I could see him thinking, coming to some sort of silent conclusion that made his expression sour before shaking his head sharply.

"I don't think I wanna talk," he told me bluntly and I couldn't help but be shocked.

"You don't even want to try? Not that I think you have an obligation to," I said softly and Arthur shrugged his shoulders with an attitude I'd never seen in him before then.

"I'm done. And I mean it. I had plenty of doubts about him before this, and now I just can't see a way of fixing things. He took Micah's word over mine. He treated you like the root cause of all our problems and he couldn't care less that Micah almost shot you," he ranted, getting progressively more pissed off.

I looked away and thought very hard about what to say next. I was sorely tempted to say fuck it, and agree to run away with him right then and there. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. Not leaving the likes of Mary-Beth, Lenny, Abigail and Jack all here to suffer the consequences of whatever Dutch planned. Some people had made their mind up, but others… It was clear to me that they saw security in Dutch that they didn't have elsewhere. They were stuck.

"What if we ask around, and leave as a group with whoever wants to come?" I suggested. It wasn't the first time I'd said something like it, but this time felt different, like it was actually reasonable. That it actually might work.

"And then what?" He asked me.

"We'd take our things and go, find somewhere else to camp for a while, and then figure things out when we're not sitting in a camp full of people who might just want us dead," I said bluntly. His lips parted, his eyes bored into mine. The stare he gave was intense, and made me feel as though this was a turning point, a moment with huge gravitas and consequence.

"I think… I think that'd be our best option," he quietly agreed. "But what will we do about money, Dutch has–" he stopped, remembering something, eyes casting across the camp, settling on the Marstons’ tent. "Hold on a second."

Arthur got up, depositing his plate on the table by his bed before crossing over towards the tent. He called out for Abigail and John, and was ushered inside. I sat and waited, frowning to myself just slightly, pondering his sudden actions.

Javier strolled past my eyeline, between Arthur's tent and the Marstons’. Without giving it much thought, I called to him. He paused, casting his gaze to me almost in surprise. He stood there for a few seconds, cigarette hanging from between his fingers, a dusting of ash floating down as the stub burnt away with his inaction. He looked at me expectantly, though he moved no closer.

"Javier," I sighed sadly, shaking my head, "surely you don't trust a word Micah says. How could you? You know exactly what he's like–-"

"I don't," he told me bluntly. "I think he's full of crap," he shrugged his shoulders.

"So why are you acting like Arthur and John and the rest of us are the villains?"

"I… I don't… think that," he stammered, losing some of his conviction, speaking very hesitantly. "This situation, muñequita… this is messed up. But all I know is that you guys aren't being loyal to Dutch. And that matters to me."

"Why Dutch? Why should we be blind-loyal to Dutch when he doesn't care about us?" I frowned deeply, aggravated by his expectancy.

"He cares. Dutch always cares."

"He's pouring all our resources into saving a man who was about to shoot me in the face. He doesn't give a rat's ass about me, or Arthur. Because if I was killed in this camp, you know it would destroy him, the guilt he would feel–" I shook my head abruptly. "Dutch has never liked me. And that's fine, I don't care, but Arthur and I– we love each other. We're in this for the long haul. But Dutch doesn't want to see Arthur happy."

"He doesn't wanna lose Arthur to you. And that's exactly what's happened; Arthur wants to leave this gang to be with you, and you think Dutch should be perfectly happy about that?"

"If he saw Arthur as a son rather than a well trained gun, an asset to his criminal gang, then yes. He should be perfectly happy about him wanting to get out of this dangerous world and settle down," I answered bluntly, shrugging my shoulders and looking at him like I couldn't for a moment understand why he didn't see it.

"Criminal gang? That's the way you see us all?" He cocked his brow, finally taking a number of steps towards me.

"Not at the start. At the start you were all so hopeful and free. Now you're a bunch of penned in animals, lashing out and doing anything and everything to survive with no thought to anyone but yourselves. And this ain't an insult, though you'll surely take it as such. This is what Dutch's decision-making has done," I answered, keeping my eyes on his and not backing down. Javier was good. I knew he was. He was just being led into the fire by a smooth-talking egoist.

Javier was quiet for some time, twitching a little, his jaw clenched tight. He did not want to listen.

"Dutch saved me. He gave me hope when I had nothing, put food in my belly, shelter over my head, safety. Without him, I would not be the man I am today. I may not even be alive," he shrugged cluelessly, "and you want me to abandon him?"

"I don't want you to do anything," I sighed, finally breaking eye contact. "This is your decision to make."

"Listen, I–" he began, voice softening. "I always liked you. When Micah told us today about you and the Pinkertons, sure, I had my doubts about you. Now, I… I don't believe you're working against us. You have no motive, especially since you and Arthur…" he trailed off, sighing.

I looked up at him again, waiting for him to make his point, though he took his time.

"But I cannot betray Dutch. I can't leave him, not now, not when he is the reason we're all still alive."

I almost told him that he was also the reason why we had to run so fast, always pushing his luck, killing Cornwall, Bronte, robbing banks in huge cities, inserting himself into a fight that wasn't ours with Eagle Flies and making things worse for them. Pissing people off left and right and acting as the ringmaster for the world's deadliest circus.

“Where did Dutch go, anyway?” I asked, instead.

“Said he needed to clear his head. He’s really hurt, you know,” he told me and I was so close to rolling my eyes.

"He had his chance to listen to us but–” I began, then trailed off, “what's the use? I can't change your mind, Javier. I just hope things turn out right for you," I sighed.

His lips parted, but he didn't know what to say. Eventually, he dropped his wasted cigarette and then carried on walking.

Arthur came out of the Marstons’ tent just a moment later, an edgy, agitated but somehow hopeful look about him. He came to me, immediately beginning to gather his things from around the tent, putting them away in his chest. I watched him with a confused frown, lips hanging open, about to ask him what was happening when he told me anyway.

"We're going. Us, with those three," he told me very quietly, but in a rushed, urgent tone of voice.

"Now?" I got up abruptly.

"Yes. We gotta move while… while Dutch's gone. It'll be easier," he told me, "maybe some folk'll come with us. Would you do me a favour, princess?"

"Of course, anything," I blinked at him, stunned.

"While I'm packing up, you go out there and you… you talk to anyone who's on our side, okay? You see if they want out. And you tell 'em to pack up."

"Wait, how is this gonna work?"

"Abigail–" he began, realising he was at full volume before dialling it down, "Abigail knows where all our money is. She's got a key, she stole it while everyone was distracted, when Micah was telling his pack of lies about you. She felt like things was gonna blow up, and she was right. We got a key to all the money, every penny we been putting away for safekeeping," he rose up and closed the space between us. He cupped my face, his eyes were bright and alive, truly, for the first time I'd seen in a while.

"So, what, are we gonna take it?" I balked in a hiss of a whisper.

"No, not… not all of it. But we'll take our share," he told me, then pressed his lips to mine briefly, but firmly, "we deserve some of that money, it's ours. It's ours, John's, Charles'..." He trailed off, he sounded like he was trying to reassure himself more than me.

"Damn right we deserve it," I encouraged, nodding my head, "hell, I bet you put most of it in there."

"We're just gonna take enough for us, just what's fair. We ain't gonna screw the rest of 'em over. We… we…" he stammered, his eyes dropping to my mouth. I could see the light dim from his eyes and I could feel the guilt he was experiencing like it was seeping from his pores.

"Arthur, it's okay. What we're doing is okay," I whispered to him, wrapping my arms around him and hugging him tight, "Dutch ain't left us many options. It's clear his mind's made up and he don't deserve a moment more of your time. Taking a little money from the communal pot… that's the least you deserve. All them years; he's lucky this is all you're doing."

"What if he comes after us?"

"Then I'll kill the bastard myself," I said through clenched teeth. "He ain't ruining another moment. This is a good thing, baby, this is… this is the moment. The right time, what we've been waiting for."

"You're right," he breathed, turning his head towards my hair and inhaling my scent.

"Come on. Keep packing, I'll go speak to the others," I said.

"Abigail's gonna sneak in and get the money. She knows where it is, it's in that cave," he told me so quietly that even I struggled to hear. I pulled away from his embrace and nodded. I kissed him once more, then exited the tent.

I scanned the whole camp, my eyes landing on Charles where he was on guard duty. It seemed so strange, again, that the menial jobs people did day to day were still being carried out. I guessed that people were just trying to cling on to normality. I sped over to him first, catching his attention when I was a few places away, he turned to look at me and grew tense at the urgency in my gait.

"Charles," I breathed, reaching him and touching his arm, glancing around once before continuing, "Arthur and I; we're getting out of here. The Marston's too. I ain't asking you to pick a side, I will never judge you for your decision, but–"

"Of course I'll come. You needn't ask," he told me in his no nonsense tone, tilting his head up slightly in a small display of pride and loyalty. A smile broke across my face.

"Well then," I breathed with a laugh, "I suggest you gather your things. We ain't lingering."

"Of course," he nodded.

"And will you tell Sadie? Give her the same option to get out of here? Anyone who you think might wanna come," I requested and he nodded again.

"So this is really happening? We're splitting the gang?"

"What gang?" I grunted, turning and looking at the tattered ashes of what was left. Charles said nothing, but I knew that he saw it too. He patted my shoulder twice, and then headed off.

Of the gang members left, there were few I wanted to ask. Some were far too loyal to Dutch; obviously the likes of Javier and Bill, others I just weren't close to. I never spoke to Strauss or Reverend Swanson; even Uncle, I didn't know any of them well enough to entertain the idea of asking. I figured Arthur would ask those sorts of people if he felt it was the right thing to do. It interested me to see that some people were already packing, though I knew they hadn't been asked yet. I assumed it was a case of fleeing the sinking ship. Pearson was one of those people, Trelawny – a man who seemed to come and go like the rain – was another. Mary-Beth was too, though she was doing it kind of slowly and subtly as if she didn't want people to notice that was what she was doing. Kieran helped her.

I made my way over to the girls' wagon, where Karen slept, Tilly woefully held her head in her hands, and Mary-Beth quietly folded away clothes and trinkets into a case around the side.

"Ladies, may I… could I speak with you?" I asked, watching as Karen groggily lifted her head, and Tilly looked up. Mary-Beth hummed her acknowledgement but didn't stop what she was doing.

"Arthur and I think it's best we move along, given the circumstances," I began softly, timidly. Tilly gave a humourless laugh.

"You think?" She queried. It wasn't mean-spirited. It was just tired and sad and disappointed. She was taking it hard.

"And we figured we'd ask folk if they wanna come too. The Marstons think it's a good idea too. I don't want this to seem like I'm asking y'all to pick a side, but I want to give you an option for if… if you don't wanna stay here no more. You ain't stuck," I continued, meeting Mary-Beth's eyes. Her lips parted and she was stunned, hesitant.

Karen grunted and slumped back down on her bedroll, ignoring the suggestion for the most part. I looked at Tilly. She stared off distantly, her mouth slightly pursed. I waited for her to say something, half expecting some anger or upset similar to that of Javier's, I thought she was just as loyal to Dutch as he was.

"I'm not going with you. But I ain't sticking around here neither," she told me, striking me full of surprise. "Things just went too far today, people pointing guns at each other, accusing everyone of everything, this ain't no place for nobody. Listen, I'm glad you have a way out of here. And I'm glad that that little boy does too," she pushed herself to her feet and pointed in the direction of the Marstons' tent. "But I… I don't think I want any part of this no more."

I nodded slowly. "I understand. Tilly, all I want is for people to do the right thing for themselves. And I want them to be safe. If you think leaving all of this behind is the right thing for you, then I'm fully behind you. You've been kind to me, just like everybody else. I appreciate the time I've known you," I told her carefully. She fidgeted a little on her feet, but nodded.

"Thank you, I– I wish nothin' but the best for you and Arthur," she told me, then with a final nod she disappeared around the wagon. I presumed she was gathering her things.

"I knew it," Karen slurred, her cheek pressed into the ground. "I knew she was outta here. Jus' like you, and jus' like Mary-Beth," she added. I couldn't help but frown a little, and Mary-Beth met my eyes, but Karen chuckled drunkenly. "I don't blame a single one of you. Get out before this thing kills you."

"What'll you do, Karen?" I asked, sitting down beside her. She lifted herself up, propped up on her elbows.

"Me? Don't worry 'bout me. I got places I can go," she told me, a dizzy smile on her face. She didn't seem to be bogged down by the gravity of the situation. The booze was to thank for that, of course.

"Like where?"

"I don' know. Places. I'll be fine."

"I'm worried about you," I admitted, remembering how my mother got when she drank too much. The scene before me looked too familiar for comfort.

"Y'all keep saying that. Stop it. Let me live my life," she muttered. I knew from experience there was no reasoning with a person in this state. No way to make them realise their self destruction.

"You're welcome to come with us, Karen, if you wanna get out of here," I assured her, patting her shoulder.

"I'm with Tilly," she muttered, "this whole thing's a mess and you can run off as a group but you'll fall apart too. Ain't nothing you can do. Nothin' ever lasts," she cried out bitterly, her face screwed up in a wince that was full of anger and pain and I thought of Sean. I thought of the fact that she was clearly close to him and I thought of how things began to fall apart along with his death. I was choked up. I cleared my throat and brushed a loose ringlet from Karen's face and she peered up at me like she didn't know how to respond.

"I'm so sorry, Karen," I whispered.

"For what, what'chu done?" She asked. I simply shook my head.

"I'm sorry that things have fallen apart," I added.

"Can't be helped," she sighed, reaching up and squeezing my hand. I was never particularly close to Karen, so the act warmed my heart.

"Um, may I speak with you?" Mary-Beth squeaked like a mouse above us, gingerly edging towards me and looking at me with concerned, arched brows.

"Of course," I nodded, then rose to my feet after giving Karen's hand a squeeze back. I followed Mary-Beth away from listening ears until she turned around and stood before me, fiddling with her fingers.

"I'm so sorry, but I can't come with you," she blurted out, and I already began to shake my head, holding my hands out reassuringly, but she continued anyway, "you know Kieran and I? We– I promised him–"

"Mary-Beth, it's okay. I ain't asking anyone in a bid to make 'em feel like they gotta. You have your own plans. I'm glad," I smiled at her.

"You sure? It's not that I don't trust you and Arthur and the others to keep everyone safe, it's just…" she trailed off and sighed, looking across the camp to where Kieran was. I put my hand on her shoulder.

"I know. You go and be with him. I know how you're feeling; take your chance to get away and build your life together while you still can," I told her, then opened my arms and let her decide if she wanted to hug me. She did. She closed the gap between us and squeezed me tight, rubbing my shoulders.

I felt like I wanted to cry. Why did this feel like a goodbye? More than just a goodbye for now, but a permanent one? I swallowed back the sudden wave of emotion I felt and patted her back a couple times before we parted. She offered me a small smile and took my hands in hers.

"I hope you build the prettiest of lives. We all deserve a little happiness, don't you think?" She told me quietly, and I nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I think we do," I whispered. She squeezed my hands, then headed back towards the wagon to continue her packing.

I exhaled and turned around to look at the state the camp was left in. It was full of people packing up; a scene that wasn't by any means new or different, it'd happened time and time again already. But the fact that people were packing for themselves this time… there was no sense of community, or togetherness. It felt like an ending. A dissolving of a family that once was so strong; it was heartbreaking, but somehow inevitable. Once there was differing ideas and loyalties pulled in different directions, things would change. And they changed in the most destructive of ways; with Micah laying shivering and sweating and close to death, with Dutch running off alone and abandoning the camp for the first time ever, with the majority of people deciding that it was too late to salvage anything. Deterioration until there was nothing but a scattered collection of parts left to make the best of things.

All because of Micah Bell.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fanfiction #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #atink #reader insert #rdr fanfic

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kisskissbanggang · 5 years

Text

Prowl pt. 3

[30Min. Read/9.6K Words – Wolf!Bang Chan x Female Reader, Human!Jisung x Female Reader, – Monsters!AU, Mostly Plot, NSFW/Smut – Vampires & Werewolves, Mysteries, Suspense, Love Triangles, Jealousy, Name-Calling, Blood, Violence, Tense Situations, Bad Instincts, Power Plays, Marking, Questionable Coping]

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You awoke with a gasp, bolting upright from where you lay, almost as if you were just now finishing your collapse from the previous night. It felt like a small blessing to find that you were still on the couch in the reading nook of the bookstore. The only curiosity was that you found yourself clothed once again.

A clatter down one of the aisles startled you and you got up, warily stepping past a badly splintered bookshelf. Jisung was picking up a stack of books, presumably having tried to carry too many in the first place. It was his turn to be surprised as he whirled around to see you. You winced at the violet bruise on his cheek, and he softened as he realized you weren’t some intruder.

“You're up? Is it that time already?” He asked incredulously, more to himself than to you. “I’ve been cleaning all afternoon and I feel like I got nothing done. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, reshuffling your thoughts into place as you finished waking up, “did you get me dressed?”

“Of course,” Jisung shrugged, “I figured it'd be no fun to wake up after a night like that and find yourself still naked.”

You smiled softly at the sentiment, helping Jisung pick up the rest of his stack.

“So you fucked the wolf,” he said plainly, catching you off guard and not looking at you anymore. You fumbled your books onto the floor and all you could do was stare at them for a moment before sighing and picking them back up.

“Did he tell you that?”

Jisung laughed sarcastically with an exaggerated nod. He still wouldn't look at you. “Yeah. He told me. That’s, like, all he could tell me. Stupid worm, she’s too good for you, worthless trash, you don’t deserve those bites -- take your pick. It all sucked.”

You reached over and delicately examined the bruise on Jisung’s face, bearing through his grimace and looking him over. It took him a moment to lean into your hand, almost as if he missed you.

“And, of course,” Jisung continued, “he beat the crap out of me, so that was no fun, either. The whole encounter was growling and laughing and so much punching.”

“I’m so sorry, Jisung.” It was a terrible line, but what else could you say? You felt awful, terrible, like you did this to him. Maybe you did. You roped him into this, just like Chan did to you.

“It’s fine. He came to his senses and left when he realized you’re no good to him asleep. No kidding, he said that -- she’s no good to me asleep. What a creep.”

You shook off the uncontrollable shiver that spiked down your back at the thought, that Chan's desperation was affecting him in such a way.

“What even happened between the two of you?” Jisung asked. “Is that why you’re involved in all this?”

“No, Jisung, I promise. I had no idea he was wrapped up in this when I met him and he had no idea I worked at the library.”

“You know you can’t trust him, right?” Jisung gave you a hard stare, shelving the books in his arms and pausing with his arms crossed. You mirrored him.

“Of course. I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“Good. Because that monster killed Shepherd and the last thing I need is you holding a torch for the guy.”

“Excuse me?” You shifted your weight, leaning in to Jisung’s personal space now. His eyebrows raised, part annoyed, part surprised at your intensity. He squared up.

“Which part do you want me to clarify?”

“Start from the top,” you shot back indignantly, keeping toe to toe with him.

“Fine. He killed Shepherd. I got back from the post office and the store was trashed, and the whole pack watched while that creature, that asshole--” Jisung stopped, choked up and still shaken from his recollection. You softened but stood your ground. You still didn’t want to believe him. I care about innocent people getting hurt, they don’t. The words still ricocheted in your skull and garnished every thought that passed. Chan cared if innocent people got hurt, so he couldn't have killed Shepherd. It was as simple as that.

“What did he do, Jisung?” You asked quietly, tamping down the quiver in your voice. You had to know what he believed, see if it made any sort of sense with your understanding of this whole surreal mess.

“Just what I said he did,” Jisung grumbled, still trying to navigate this cloud of grief and confusion hanging over him, “he killed Shep. I got here and the store was a wreck, and Shepherd was trying to fight off that monster. Alone. The rest of the pack was just staring at me, like I was interrupting or something. Your wolf friend was yelling something but I couldn’t even tell what through all that was going on. Next thing I knew, he pushed Shep onto that broken bookshelf over there. Stabbed. Impaled. I told you it wasn't fair, what they did to him. That asshole killed him, and they all watched before they dragged the stupid wolf away.”

Your gaze drifted from Jisung’s misty eyes to the ravaged bookshelf he’d gestured towards, the same you passed on your way into the aisle to find him. Chunks were missing now, likely in some evidence locker somewhere, matching the evidence tags that were left in their place. Your mind pulled in all directions before settling on the one that made the most sense.

“Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like,” you offered after a pregnant pause. Jisung eyes snapped towards you, narrowing in his resumed anger.

“Excuse me?” He asked carefully.

“Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like,” you repeated, getting a little more confident now, “there has to be something you missed. Chan saved my life. He wouldn't have killed Shepherd, and definitely not willingly.”

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Jisung spat with a laugh, “I thought I could trust you.”

“You can!” You threw back. “I just think there has to be more to this.”

“I don't think so,” Jisung scoffed, “it all looks pretty plain to me. But whatever, take that monster’s side. I can do this on my own. I was just fine before you came along, anyhow.”

“If you’d just listen for a second--”

“For what?!” Jisung snapped. You backed up a step as he got more heated. “So you can tell me I didn't see what I'm positive I did? Try to convince me that the scene waking me up every night didn’t really happen? Are you going to tell me this ‘Chan’ is actually some hero? I can’t believe you,” Jisung lamented miserably, “I really can’t.”

Jisung shook his head, turning his back on you as he picked up more books and roughly reshelved them. Each book made a racket as he shoved them back into place. Your fists clenched where your arms were crossed. The tug-of-war happening in your head only worsened. Finally, you turned your back as well. In fact, you walked straight out the door.

Jisung didn’t say a word as you left, stinging more than you’d liked to admit. Only problem was, once you walked out the door, you realized Jisung really was too good to you. The truck was gone. You checked around the back of the store — there really was no sign of it. Even after the brawl with Chan that morning, Jisung still got the truck back to your aunt’s. You bundled up, tucking into your coat with a sigh and beginning the trek up the main road, up towards the A-frame up in the hills. The hike would probably be no problem with so much on your mind.

Why were you suddenly so concerned with Chan being innocent or not? He was a pig, a horrid dog with a regrettably handsome face and charming personality that more than likely wanted nothing more than to play nice until you gave in and fed on him again. You could see right through him the other night in the front yard, pretending to be so sweet and so sincere that all you could see was desperation. So, then, why did your mind keep tumbling through your memories and pulling up how he looked the night you’d met, the way he’d smiled at you across the bar, the way he’d looked at you after he was able to leave you alive at the library? It felt ridiculous to think that Chan might be a cold-blooded murderer, but why? Just because he told you he’s a good guy? No, you realized, he could very well be the monster Jisung insisted he was, and you were probably a blind fool for ever denying it.

Something in the way Jisung had spat the word was eating at you. Monster. Jisung wasn’t lying to you.You didn’t doubt that he saw Shepherd die. However, whether it was by Chan’s sole doing you still couldn’t bring yourself to be sure.

The conflicting ideologies bounced around in your head as you climbed the hill to your aunt’s house, arms crossed in an attempt to shield yourself from the cold. Now you were just consumed with the look in Jisung’s eyes when you’d fed on him. What was keeping you from being a monster? Did you look just as lost as he did? Were you just as broken, reeling and coping from such recent proximity to death? Jisung’s admission of being really fucking lonely now hit a little too close to home for your liking. You’d been lonely for a while now, too. It was easy to be a recluse when almost all your friends from your previous life were day-dwellers and you were still too ashamed to reveal yourself to your family. Maybe wanting to find your way again was what was keeping you from being a monster. You’d hoped so, because the feeling was beginning to become too familiar. You’d finally found someone close to a kindred spirit for the first time in a couple years, so why were you insistent on doubting him? It was all too much. Instead of going straight inside the creaky old house, you rounded back to the patio, pulling up a seat at the fire pit. Suddenly, your aunt appeared on the back porch, wrapped in a blanket with two mugs of coffee.

“Hey!” She called out, “Did you just come out here? I thought you were still in your room when I saw the truck in the yard but I finally went to your room today and you were gone! I've been wondering where you are all day. I got up to see you! Were you out with a boy? I heard word at the diner that you've been palling around with Mr. Shepherd’s boy.” She gushed, hitting you like a fire hose and topping it off with an actual wink.

You blushed, sinking into your chair as she rushed over and pulled up a seat next to you. Now you were suddenly feeling very aware that you were wearing yesterday’s clothes. Did she know that? Your aunt was just as warm and welcoming as ever, expressing how much she missed you now that you were nocturnal. How could you see that sunrise you loved so much as a child? If only she knew how far down that sentiment stung. She asked if you thought you’d like to see a therapist. You know, because of your aversion to sleep. Her support caught you by surprise. Would she understand if you explained more? You knew you were still too scared to try, but you couldn’t help but hold onto some hope. You drifted through the conversation, oddly confronted and comforted at the same time at how she insisted on reaching out. As you finally bid her goodnight and climbed into bed, you felt restless, cramped and worried thinking of both Chan and Jisung and wondering if they were alright.

You stayed in bed when you awoke the next night. Whether it was out of spite or stress, you weren't sure, but you were done for the day and it had just started. That is, until a rumble sounded in the driveway. Your aunt could be heard opening the front door, squealing a cheerful greeting to someone.

Jisung?

You slumped out of bed and pulled on a sweater and some jeans, barely retaining the stamina to deal with this as you headed downstairs. The sound of your aunt’s gushing preceded your shock at just what you were seeing in the yard.

Jisung stood in front of a gorgeous car, an old Shelby Mustang in starkly perfect condition. Jisung was a sight as well with his hair pushed back, a simple black jacket revealing a pressed shirt and tie underneath. You were taken aback, caught off guard by how handsomely he cleaned up until he grabbed your attention.

“It's so nice to see you, too,” he placated your aunt as he gestured towards you, “but do you mind if I--?”

“If you--? Oh! Of course, you two go right on ahead,” she practically fluttered waving you both off as Jisung smiled cordially. His eyes were screaming. He reached forward, grabbing the cuff of your sleeve and pulling you off the porch and leading you back around to the fire pit again. You looked back over your shoulder, to him, and back to the car again.

“Where did you-- why are you--” you stammered as he tugged you along. You resumed your previous seat at the fire pit, this time Jisung taking your aunt's place.

“I've had a weird day. I knew Shep’s will was going to be executed, but I didn't realize it would be today.”

“You didn't?”

“No. A lawyer showed up to the house this morning and invited me to come back to his office. No one else was there. Just me.”

“So you got--?”

“Everything.” Jisung’s eyes were wild at the re-telling. You didn’t blame him. It was a lot to take. “The house, the store, his money… The car. I've never seen it before but sure enough the lawyer just had it there for me.”

“Jisung,” you soothed, finally reaching a hand forward to put on his knee, “that’s really exciting. Mr. Shepherd really cared about you.”

Jisung stared at your hand on his knee, but he didn’t move it. “There was more. A journal.”

“A journal?” You asked quizzically. He nodded furiously.

“A journal. Shepherd’s. It was on the driver's seat when I got in. It starts maybe fifty years ago, and it was awful, it--” Jisung bit the rest of his sentence down, unable to go on and his chest filled with panic. You let go of his knee, this time gently facing him towards you by the shoulders.

“Jisung,” you softly called out to him, and he looked at you, shaken but grounded again.

“It mentions a first journal,” he tried again, “but I don’t know where it could be. I tore the house apart looking for it. He mentioned bookkeeping along with it, so I checked his office maybe five times. It’s a wreck by now.”

“What about the store?”

“I wouldn't know where to begin,” Jisung shrugged helplessly.

“Take me with you,” you offered. “We’ll come up with something.”

Jisung waited on the porch while you made yourself a little more presentable, unable to escape the prying assumptions of your aunt and join you upstairs. It wasn’t like he could just tell her, ‘you’re absolutely right, I had sex with your niece and I like her a lot but maybe not like you're hoping.’ He was stuck politely nodding and awkwardly making small talk when you came running down the stairs and out the door, now with a jacket and some proper shoes on.

Jisung was quiet as he drove and you took a moment to just admire him, how natural he looked in the car and how good it was to see him despite the bruise still healing on his cheek. Before too long, though, you were distracted with how disquieted he looked.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” you gently suggested.

He thought hard about this, chewing on his lip as he considered what to say. “It’s the journal. It’s… It’s worrying. It suggests some things I was never prepared for.”

“Like what?” You asked, concern welling up inside your gut and practically weighing you down to the seat.

“Like…” He really considered it, choosing his words carefully. “Suggesting that maybe you were on to something. But I need to be sure.”

Jisung pulled the car into the alley behind the shop and got out, making a show of actually unlocking the back door. “Apparently,” he sighed sarcastically as he flipped through keys, “not keeping your doors locked is a bad habit to get into and an even harder habit to break than I thought. I'm still forgetting.”

“Small town syndrome?” You half-grinned.

“Worse. I'm learning I'm really bad with locks in general.”

You shared a laugh as he finally got the right key in the lock and let you both in. A shiver forced its way down your back: the store felt even colder than the last time you were in here for some reason, physically or not you couldn't tell. Jisung reached into his jacket and produced a small, thick, leather-bound journal and leaned against the door frame leading into the store.

“Like I said,” he sighed, “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“You said the journal mentions bookkeeping along with the first volume. Do you have a safe?”

“Sure, but I don’t have the combo on me. Any other ideas until then?”

“Well,” you shrugged, already seeing where this was going, “can I see the journal?”

“Oh, come on, you don’t need to do--”

It was too late. You grabbed onto the spine of the journal and attempted to slide it out of his hands before he stopped you, his fingers tight around your wrist. “Please,” he gently pleaded, “just trust me. I'm not ready yet.”

You stared hard at Jisung before giving in to yourself and leaning in, your wrist pulling in his grip to wrestle him closer and kiss his parted lips. He stared back at you, almost like he was wondering just where you got an idea like that… Until you slipped the journal from his distracted hands. A small key fell from within the spine of the binding and clattered to the floor between you.

“Not fair,” Jisung whined, “that’s a dirty trick.”

“And it got results,” you teased sympathetically, “now what would this go to?”

“I have no idea,” he wondered, “I didn’t even realize it was in there.”

“Bookkeeping, right?” You asked, as you handed him back the journal. He nodded, looking thankful as he tucked it back into his jacket. You scanned the room, thinking of where a small key could go when your eyes landed on the roll top desk you had first noticed the other night. Jisung’s eyes followed you as you crossed the floor to the desk. The top opened just fine, revealing the contents of the desk to you in dusty but otherwise fine condition. You began tugging on drawers to see if anything was stuck. Finally, a small set of drawers wouldn't budge as you pulled and you lined up the tiny key with the petite keyhole. Jisung’s eyes widened as you produced another small journal from the drawer, just like the one you’d handed back to him. He reached for it, giving you a puzzled look as you held it back from him, pressing it to your chest.

“Jisung,” you said gently, stepping forward to take his hand, “you have to trust me, too. I want to know what's going on.”

“I know, I do, too,” he struggled, “I just don't want… I'm not ready.”

“You won't be,” you reassured him as you leaned in to kiss his brow, “but I'm here.”

Jisung nodded as you led him by the hand through the door and back onto the shop floor. You leaned against the front counter under the lamp there to gently pry open the old journal.

3 May, 1922 --

A crash came banging through the back door. You both jumped and Jisung fumbled for his keys.

“Oh fuck,” he frantically muttered, “I didn't lock the door behind us--” He pulled you away from the counter, ready to run when a voice came from the back room.

“Wait! Wait,” Chan breathed, taking in lungfuls of air as he held himself up against the door frame.

“What do you want?” You asked sternly, stepping in front of Jisung even as he moved to step in front of you himself.

“I -- the others -- they're coming for you.”

Jisung did step in front of you now. “Why are they doing that?”

“After the other night,” Chan panted, “we all met up, they smelled you on me, I didn't even think of it when I went to see them, and now they're looking for you and I couldn't stop--”

“‘The other night’?” Jisung asked you over his shoulder, cut off as the front door of the shop rang. Jisung winced.

“Jesus Christ, Jisung,” you groaned sharply, even as Jisung turned you around and stepped back in front of you. You both watched as Chan strode around, ahead of you, head high and confident after he finally caught his breath.

“What a good boy, Chan, leading us right here,” the man up front cloyingly greeted. The pack was here.

“Get out, Rand, I told you all you don't need her. There's tons of them out there.”

“Tons of them out there, but none right here in town. Except her,” the man pointed right at you and you felt trapped, exposed, the breath freezing in your chest. “Less work to do if we have her right here at our disposal.”

“Not her, Rand,” Chan ordered. The man poked at Chan’s chest and shoved him out of the way. Two wolves grabbed onto Chan, holding him back as he struggled. He pointed at Jisung now. You could feel him freeze where you held onto the sleeve of his jacket.

“You, boy,” Rand called over. Jisung stayed firmly in place. “Chan forgets he's not the leader. I'm the one who takes care of our dealings. My condolences for Mr. Shepherd; he was a good man, but we never got to finish negotiating. That's why we're here. Give us the girl and tell us the information we're owed, and we'll leave. We'll get out of town.”

“And if I don't?” Jisung called back down the aisle of the store. He was doing his best to sound big, as if he was confident and had any idea what was going on. Your eyes darted to the splintered bookshelf that had ended Mr. Shepherd.

“Then we'll just take her, clean out the store, and leave you to rot,” Rand chuckled. “One of these books has to have what we need. And how long before someone in this town even cares that you're gone?”

“Enough, Rand,” Chan warned, “get out or--”

“Or what?” He asked him simply, striding forward to get in Jisung’s space. He was tall, with broad shoulders on his slim frame, a scratchy beard unable to hide a thick scar on his neck. He looked down at Jisung. “I honestly am sorry for what happened to Shepherd. We don't want trouble. Give her to us and tell us--”

Rand spat out a curse as Jisung promptly spat in his face. Jisung looked back over his shoulder to you once again. “Get in the car,” he ordered. You nodded, slipping your hands into his jacket pockets to search for the keys before Jisung shoved the larger man back, only for Rand to lift him, effortlessly, and toss him against the counter. Jisung grunted as he crumpled to the ground, scrambling to grab the journal that had fallen from his jacket. He reached for it, crying out as Rand pressed a boot to his hand and picked it up. You looked behind you towards the door -- one of the pack members had circled back through the other aisles to block your way out.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be petulant, boy,” Rand scolded as he lifted his foot off Jisung’s hand and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt. Jisung struggled as he was lifted back to his feet. Rand held up the journal with a dark grin. “This wouldn’t happen to be what I think it is, would it?”

The wolf behind you capitalized on the thick silence of the room, suddenly lurching behind you and getting ahold of your arms. You screamed, silenced by the wolf’s hand over your mouth as you struggled. The wolf dragged you closer and he and Rand traded: you were thrust into the larger man’s arms as Jisung was held back now. You shared frantic glances with Chan and Jisung as the taller man looked down on you. One of the wolves holding onto Chan was younger, maybe Jisung’s age, freckled face stricken with fear as he and Chan had a hushed argument.

“When did Shepherd bring you here, little one?”

You scrunched up your nose, wincing as he brought his face closer. He smelled like rotten veal and something you couldn’t quite place, almost like kerosene. “He didn’t bring me here,” you gruffly told him, praying you sounded more confident than you felt, “I didn’t know of him before I got here.”

“Lies,” Rand shook his head as he leaned in, breathing you in as he sneered back at Chan. “She’s lovely, Chan. We never should've left her back at the library.”

“Let her go, Rand,” Chan feebly warned again.

“Or what, runt? You’ll leave? More for us.”

Chan tried to step forward as Jisung continued to struggle, but both boys stopped when Rand pulled your head back by the hair, bending you back down over the counter. “Careful, boys. I'm feeling a bit hungry. Wouldn’t want to make it worse, would you?”

You whimpered, trying hard to pry Rand’s hand off of you before the other also gripped your throat.

“Now,” Rand lined out, his thumb rubbing circles over your throat as he looked back at Chan, “I'm doing this to teach you a lesson. We each have our property, our territory. We will all get our use out of her, but I'm the one taking her with us. She's mine now.”

It was quick, Rand’s fingers tugging the collar of your sweater down and his teeth on your shoulder, sinking in, the pain searing through your brain before his words ever did. The scream that escaped you was unnatural, purely animal as Rand bit into you, his teeth twisting to ensure the flesh was mangled. He stood up, looking pleased as Chan stood behind him, stunned and infuriated. Rand dove in for another bite, only to be interrupted as Jisung finally threw off the wolf holding him and barreled forward into you both. The hand on your throat let up just enough for you to drive a knee between yourself and the larger man, but you could hardly stand at the moment. Jisung had somehow managed to wrestle Rand onto the ground, fueled by rage that caused him to land blow after blow to his face. Blue and red flashing lights glowed through the front window -- apparently someone had heard all the commotion. A wolf reached forward, picking you up over his shoulder and trying to carry you off as you kicked and screamed the best you could. Chan took the moment to shake off the two wolves holding him back, lunging forward to get the wolf to drop you when you heard the distinct click of a knife. The two stood off, trying to figure out the best tactic when Chan charged, spooking the wolf into toppling over with you in tow. The blade drove right into your thigh as you dropped to the ground, adding a whole new level of stinging pain to what you were still reeling from. Jisung was still pummeling the older man and you watched, a ragdoll in Chan’s arms as he picked you up and herded you to the door.

“Jisung!” You yelled back, trying to wriggle out of Chan’s grip.

“Go!” Jisung yelled, dropping his guard long enough for Rand to get a hold of him again. It was as if the larger man hadn't just been battered with how effortlessly he grabbed Jisung by the hair and knocked him into the counter ledge. The sickening crack was the last thing you heard as Chan dragged you to Jisung’s car and pushed you inside. He dug into your pockets for the keys and jabbed them into the ignition, the car rumbling to life around you as he stomped on the gas.

Your vision was fuzzy as you got a look at Chan in the passing streetlights. You wondered when he had gotten attacked, how he came to be covered in so much blood -- before you realized it was your own. The leather of the bench seat was cold where you lay, your head up against the door. Chan was still breathing hard, and he took his sleeve to wipe some errant blood that had ended up on his chin.

“How are you doing?” He asked, eyes fixed on the road.

“Just fucking dying,” you laughed meanly, and you realized you were wheezing. “I can't believe you got me into this.”

“Look,” Chan sighed frustratedly, “I did my best to warn you.”

“I don't need to hear it,” you hoarsely shot back, “just get me somewhere where I can lie down and maybe get some rest.”

“That's what I'm doing,” Chan grumbled. “I know you're mad at me, but can you try to be tolerant of my existence long enough for me to make sure you're okay?”

“Whatever,” you huffed. Chan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing as you grabbed his handkerchief out of your pocket and pressed it to your shoulder.

“I'm just glad you're safe,” he remarked, still not quite looking at you. He bounced his left knee as he chewed on his lip.

“Are you alright?”

You wished you didn't care.

“I'm fine; it's stupid. It's just this full moon coming up.”

You looked up, out the window over your head. The moon was hanging heavy in the sky, almost threatening in how full it was. You looked back at Chan. He agitatedly wiped at your blood on his skin again, even with only a ghost of it remaining.

“I deserve to know what's happening,” you said, looking down your nose at him. Chan sighed.

“I can't tell you what we stole from Shepherd,” he began, “because we didn't steal anything from him. That night at the shop, we brought him the books he told us to take from the university.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then what happened? How does a job like that turn into flat-out murder?”

“Shepherd's fucking crazy,” Chan shook his head. “Rand has been running jobs like this for years, but getting all these books for Shepherd has been insane. But it always seemed worth it. I totally got it, and I was always able to hold my cover, but that night… We gave him the last books. And he told us what we needed to get next.”

“What was it, Chan…” You asked, unsure if you wanted to hear the answer. The whole thing sounded ludicrous.

“Vampires. He wanted us to bring him vampires. One each for anyone who wanted a cut. Young, healthy, live vampires. And Shepherd mentioned plenty living back at the university and… I guess Rand noticed me remembering you.”

Your hands clenched. You couldn't believe what Chan was trying to pull on you. Whether you were feeling sick from losing so much blood or hearing this information, you couldn’t tell. The whole thing was so ridiculous. But, you figured, there was no sense in not humoring him. “What happened, Chan?”

“I… I tried to stop it,” he explained, his voice shaky now, “I tried to tell Rand this is wrong and I tried to tell Shepherd we weren't interested. The old man pulled a fucking gun on me. Who knows what was loaded in there. He said we were in too deep to back out now, and--”

“You killed him.”

“... I killed him.”

You paused, taking in the sight of Chan driving Jisung’s car before you realized you were parked now. Chan had pulled back around to the parking lot of an old motel on the side of the road, long forgotten for being too far from the town proper for tourists. As it existed now, the building had persisted long after being consumed by opportunistic graffiti artists and vandals. You tried to shake off your dizziness.

“Where are we?” You asked quietly.

“Somewhere safe,” he replied, “where me and one of the others have been hiding out off and on. He’s new, newer than I am. He’s taken this life so much harder than even I did… So I shouldn’t be surprised he ratted out where I was to Rand the other night.”

“He sold you out?”

“Felix is scared. He was turned and his family threw him out. He just wants to do what he can to survive. I can’t fault him for that.”

“Chan,” you murmured, “I'm so tired.”

“I know, princess,” he sighed, “let’s get you inside.” You glared at him for the pet name, but nonetheless you didn’t fight him as he opened the door and pulled you out and into his arms. He carried you through the decrepit lobby, down the rear staircase and winding through the cold concrete hall until he reached the boiler room, barely lit by a few camping lanterns. Here, a couple makeshift beds were fashioned from mattresses dragged from upstairs, shoved up against the pipes that lined the room. He gently set your limp body down on the edge of the mattress, his eyes wandering over your bloodied form. He tugged off your coat and dropped it to the floor, the material thunking on the cold concrete from the journal concealed in the pocket. Next, he peeled off your soaked sweater, your thin tank top underneath only marginally dryer from the wound on your shoulder. His straying eyes lingered at the bite, his fingers twitching where they reached for the button of your jeans.

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked.

“You were stabbed, idiot,” he sighed as he shook himself out of it, “I need to look at it.”

“It’s fine, you dumb fucking dog--” you ranted, cut off into a hail of curses as Chan raised an eyebrow and stuck his thumb against the wound. You grumbled as you slapped his other hand away from your jeans and unbuttoned them yourself. He untied your boots and set them on the floor before he pulled this layer off of you as well, the denim sticking to the congealing blood and making you grimace. He paused at your exposed thigh, the wound shining. You saw the rise and fall of his shoulders shake as he took in the sight, the smell of you under him. Your foot jabbed into his chest.

“Don’t fucking think about it,” you warned.

“I’m sorry,” he lamented, “I really am.”

“Tell me what you were trying to get from Shepherd,” you prodded, trying to get back on track, “tell me what the vampires are for.” You had to know. Your feelings rested on the precipice of hatred and you had to know. Your head was reeling still. Chan stared hard at you, almost silently preparing you or himself, or perhaps both.

“... A cure for this. Something to turn us human,” he murmured. You stared, aghast, a fire igniting into blazes in your gut. You watched as Chan unwittingly tried to distract you. “I figured it out, by the way -- what else you smell like. What I couldn’t place. It’s a fox. You smell like a fox that hung around my grandmother's garden when I was growing up.”

Your hard gaze softened at his charming sincerity, but that blaze in your belly only grew. Still, your voice was soft, almost sweet. “Chan,” you quietly pleaded, “I’m so tired.”

Chan was snapped out of his aimless, distressed staring as he regarded you. He quickly nodded and got his arms around you to lift you into a better position in his bed. His warm scent of veal and mahogany lit you up, danced around your senses like an old friend, but it only served to pull you further down. You were upset. You were furious. You were weak and famished.

“What the fuc--!” Chan sharply cursed, frozen as you sank your teeth into his neck. He tried to pull back away from you, only for you to yank him down, between your legs and pushing you back down against the mattress. He almost cried out again, only to be interrupted by you withdrawing your teeth and piercing him once more. You realized you were moaning. The blood washing down your tongue and throat instantly gave you a head rush.

“I was so hungry,” you groaned against his throat, “after everything you put me through tonight, I'm starving.”

He shoved off of you, landing on his ass on the concrete and scrambling back as you felt confident enough to stand again. He slapped a hand down to his leaking neck. “I can help you,” he quickly offered, “we can do that, but you just need to calm down first--”

“No, Chan,” you shook your head, taking your time closing in on him as he continued to back up, “I can’t. I can’t believe you’d try to pull this on me and try to get me to believe this crock of shit.”

“What part sounds like shit?!”

“The part where you just happen to be a good guy for killing an old man. A cure? For lycanthropy? You might have had a chance before that.”

“It’s true,” he sputtered defensively, but you could see his eyes in the dim lanterns illuminating the room: fully blown out, eager to fulfill either of your bloodlusts.

“How could a vampire cure you?” You asked flatly, not caring for any answer but just enjoying watching him squirm.

“He didn’t tell us!”

“Because you killed him? You’re a monster, Chan,” you seethed as you stood over him.

“No, I'm not,” he feebly shook his head. You simply nodded.

“Yes, you are. You’re a fucking monster, and nothing can change that. I didn’t choose to be like this, just like I didn’t choose to get dragged into this. My life has been taken from me twice now, and you’re responsible for this one.”

“Please, I’m sorry,” Chan begged, “tell me what to do.”

“I can’t tell you what to do,” you said, curious as to where this grin on your face came from. You were positively incensed, but you were burning. You were excited. “But I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I’m going to fucking tear you apart.”

Chan finally tried to scramble to his feet, only to be halted and trip on the chilled concrete as you stepped onto one of his loose shoelaces. The strength coursing through you confounded you as you drew close, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and shoving him back onto the mattress.

“What are you going to do?” He asked timidly, and that boy from the bar all those nights ago was gone. Staring up at you was a trapped animal, eyes wide and shaking. The only difference was the electric hunger lying behind this thin veil of fear. He gulped as you climbed onto the bed and sank onto his lap, his Adam's apple bobbing and catching in his throat.

“Oh, Chan,” you sighed as you melted against him, “I'm going to eat you alive.”

Chan froze, one hand clutching the sheets and the other gripping your waist as your teeth pierced his neck again. He cried out, in ecstasy and pain, his legs stiffening under you as his whole body clenched.

“Look where your animal instincts got me, you stupid dog,” you laughed meanly. He watched, engrossed as he was confronted again by your thin tank top, soaked with the blood leaking from Rand’s bite. Just with what you'd drank from Chan so far, you had already begun to heal. Now you would just be left with a nasty scar from the older wolf. You grabbed Chan’s hand and made him feel it, his fingers touching the healing bumps and scars. He winced. “See, you dumb mutt? You let another wolf try to claim me.”

“I would've never--”

“Too late, Channie,” you condescended as you leaned back down and dragged your teeth over his skin, “he said I was going to be his. What would that mean in your world? Would he eat me? Fuck me? Breed me?”

You let out another hysterical laugh as Chan growled, nearly roaring before you bit into him again. His rage instantly snuffed out into pleasure as he mindlessly rutted his hips up against you.

“I would've never let that happen,” Chan panted between guttural moans, “he'd have to kill me before I let that happen.”

“But it almost did happen, you stupid runt.”

Chan did let out a roar now, catching you off guard as he rolled on top of you. “Never call me that again, you awful leech,” he gritted before his own teeth trailed just below your existing mark, to just under your collarbone. He hesitated. You did as well, feeling this bizarrely tender moment of the animal in Chan wanting so desperately to share how he felt about you. Instead of his teeth, though, it was just his lips, gently pressing to your skin. “He can’t take you from me,” he breathed against you, “no one can. You're mine.”

Despite the reignited fury in your chest, it was your turn to moan as Chan’s hips still furiously ground against your dampening panties. You shoved him onto his back once again, clambering back onto his hips and whipping his belt out from his jeans before looping the leather around his scrambling wrists, fighting to push you back off.

“What makes you say that?” You spat as you tied his wrists to one of the pipes behind his makeshift bed, “What makes you think you just get to claim me like that?”

You cut off one of Chan’s likely cheeky remarks as you unbuttoned his flannel shirt under his jacket, getting a good look at his sculpted chest before your own teeth grazed over his collarbones. “I knew it from that night at the bar, and you were such a fucking bitch,” he laughed under his breath, “you tried to just feed on me before--” His breath caught in his throat as an actual whimper as your teeth dragged along his collarbones. “And when I said goodbye to you in the library, I knew you were mine. No one else's, not Rand’s, not that stupid worm you're hanging out with--”

“But didn't you see, Chan?” You cruelly teased him, your grinding only working his jeans lower on his hips now that his belt was gone. He tugged at his impromptu restraints. “Didn't you see him hold me down and take a bite out of me in front of everyone?”

“I did,” he whined, eyes screwed shut through his moans, “and I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill him right then and there.”

“Are you sure you're not a monster?” You smirked. “That worm’s name is Jisung by the way, and I like him.”

Chan pulled uselessly at his wrists, blood pooling under his neck and into his hair on the sheets. He smelled perfect, almost unreal, and it felt like you were trapped under ice, like you were at the mercy of whatever was compelling you at the moment. You easily popped the button of Chan’s jeans and yanked his zipper down, a whimpered cry escaping him as you got his warm length in your hand.

“I don't care if you like him,” Chan gritted out, an errant drip of sweat falling from his brow, “you know you're mine.”

“Are you sure? Because he doesn't call me a stupid leech when he fucks me.”

Chan thrashed underneath you, only resulting in thrusting up into your tight grip. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“No, darling,” you condescended, “who knew I'd enjoy someone being gentle with me?”

“Stop pushing me there!” Chan begged, crying out again as you leaned in to bite him once more. He was right; you were endlessly provoking him, but it was terrific. You reached between your legs, moving your panties aside just enough for Chan’s cock to nudge up against you. He watched, hopelessly enraptured as you moaned at the feeling.

“Where am I pushing you?” You asked. “Jealousy? Are you jealous thinking of Jisung fucking me?”

“Yes,” Chan pathetically whined as he uselessly tried to thrust up into you.

“Are you jealous thinking of Rand claiming me?”

“Yes,” Chan moaned desperately, whimpering as you barely sank lower on his leaking cock.

“Why are you jealous?” You cruelly provoked.

“Because you're mine,” he groaned. “You’re mine, I can feel it when I look at you. I feel it in my fucking skin.”

“Good boy,” you grinned darkly as you rolled your hips down onto his, taking his length deep inside you and immediately riding him into the sheets. Chan cried out, looking pale from the blood that had drained from the multiple marks you’d made on his neck.

More, begged a little voice in you, lying somewhere behind your conscience and reasoning.

You obliged, your fingers curling into his hair and pulling his head to the side as you bit into him again.

“What if I told you I feel safe with Jisung? I don’t have to worry about him trying to eat me or getting mixed up in bullshit like this.”

“You feel safe with Jisung because he’s weak,” Chan insisted, his breath coming out in tortured gasps, “he can’t protect you like I can. Come on, please let me fuck you. I missed you.”

“Be patient and be grateful, you dumb dog. And Jisung doesn’t have to protect me,” you shook your head, “because this is the most trouble he’s ever been in. And you’re a part of that trouble.”

“I just need to get you away from Rand,” he groaned as he rolled his hips up against yours.

“That isn’t the problem, Chan,” you admonished as you bucked your hips back down on his. It was difficult, focusing past the little voice in your mind and the blissful ecstasy coursing through you as you fucked Chan, his blood and his cock in you making you feel effervescent. Your orgasm lay somewhere with that small voice, waiting. “You think I'm afraid of some big, bad, wolf?” You laughed cruelly at Chan fighting wildly against his restraints underneath you.

More, the small voice within you whispered, he can take it.

Your hips slowed on his and he looked up at you, eyes wide and uncertain.

“You really do feel that way,” you marveled quietly as you melted down against his bare chest. “You really want me even after all this.” You nuzzled the ravaged skin of his neck before slowly, gently kissing his lips. Chan was silent, almost reverent as your kiss lingered.

“I want you,” he nodded earnestly, almost drunk, tipping his chin up to press his lips to yours again. “You’re mine.”

“Does that make you mine then?” You asked him as you began working your tight heat up and down his dripping length. Despite the little voice goading you to move on, you were actually curious for his answer.

He nodded sincerely. “Yes, I'm all yours.”

“Since when?” You asked, watching his little shivers at each moan that escaped you.

“Since I knew you were mine,” he groaned, now only holding onto his restraints instead of pulling. His words made your head spin, but you couldn’t tell if it was the sentimentality or the absurdity or the sincerity of it that was doing it for you. It could’ve been all three. All you knew was that you didn’t want it. Not now. Not when you needed to focus on getting out of town now. The little voice in your mind coughed up again.

Do it, it urged, teach him a lesson.

You bounced harder on Chan’s cock, savoring the way he fit up inside you and lusting over each moan for you he gave. Having him unravel for you fueled you in no way you predicted, this animal completely at your mercy and yours for the taking. He whimpered and whined and groaned for you, hissing under his breath as you dragged your nails down his defined chest and abdomen. He looked so pretty for being so drained, hardly enough blood in him to flush his cheeks and so breathless every hushed curse was hoarse. Meanwhile, you felt more alive than you had in years. Your orgasm was coming in hot and you relished the sensation. Chan watched you expectantly as you kissed him again, your lips trailing down to his neck and ultimately his clavicles. His eyes closed, now pliantly letting you drag your teeth over his skin. This was the longest they’d ever been extended.

“The only problem with all this,” you whispered, fighting through your pre-orgasm haze, “is I don’t belong to anyone.”

Chan’s eyes shot open as you sank your teeth into his chest, crunching and twisting as Rand had done to you. It had the desired effect, shocking Chan into the perfect orgasm to push your own. He screamed as you did, his knuckles white where he gripped the belt tying him to the pipes lining the room. His orgasm flowed hot into you and you were almost lost in the fog still clouding your mind before you realized how much blood was spilling from the wound. You instantly sobered, suddenly aware of what you'd done. Your fingers reached for him but stopped, wavering moments away. A cough hacked from Chan’s chest, small flecks of blood dotting his lips from when he must've bitten into his cheek.

“Oh god, Chan--” you breathed, horrified at the sight of him.

Fine, the little voice fought back, he's a wolf. He'll be fine. Tomorrow should be a full moon and he'll be good as new.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” He asked, a drunk roused from his sleep.

He looked as good as dead. Chan gasped for breath as you slid off his lap, hair matted to his forehead with sweat and any color he had left gone. You stared, wondering just where the hell you got an idea like that from.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, unsure of what to do.

“Me? I'm fine, just fucking dying.” Chan smirked tiredly at you and you thrust your hands in his pockets for the keys and stumbled off the bed, still unbelieving of what you just did. Rand hadn't drained you of most of your blood before ripping into you. Now Chan’s breath was shallow in his chest as your hands desperately searched for your clothes. “Starting to think I'm not the only monster here,” Chan mused.

“What're you talking about?”

“I didn’t tell you about the fox you smell like, because it wasn't like any of the ones I caught or hunted with my granddad growing up.”

You warily stood after loosely pulling on your boots, backing up to the door of the boiler room.

“You smell like a special fox,” he continued, still struggling to catch his breath, “that would come poking around the garden looking for food. Until one day, it killed my grandmother's favorite hen. And she was livid. She charges out of the kitchen with a shotgun, and she blasts the stupid thing and she buries it.” Chan laughed, almost as if you were just sharing stories over beers and not watching him bleeding all over the bed.

“My granddad threw a fucking fit,” Chan chuckled grimly, “because burying it will only bring more trouble. And it does. But she insists it’s good for the soil, and it’ll serve as some lesson to the others. For weeks my grandmother is blasting away vermin and knocking pots and pans together to get foxes and wolves and bears away from her garden, until one night my granddad drags me out of bed and makes me hold a lantern as he unburies this fox and throws it out to the treeline.”

You could swear you could see your breath, you or the room were so frozen.

“That’s what you smell like, princess,” Chan smirked, “this dead thing that belonged in the ground, but not where it was buried. Just bringing more trouble. Cardamom, lilies, and trouble. And look at me... Face it, you’re a monster. That’s why you’re mine.”

Enough. You shook out your jacket and threw it on, running down the hall as Chan laughed behind you. You ran up the stairs and through the lobby, and you ran as you burst through the front door, gasping as you were faced with the freckled boy from the pack. He stared back at you.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, and ran to the car, jumping in and revving the engine. The car barreled back towards town, but you were so dizzy you weren't even convinced you were driving. Chan wasn’t going to make it, and you ran. There was no way he’d survive the night, and you had abandoned him. Why did you care? You didn't care. You still hated him. Even if you were his. Even if that was bullshit. But he didn't deserve to die like this.

The car pulled into the alley behind the shop and you tried to open the door before you found it locked. You flipped through the keys and wrenched open the door, stumbling in.

“Jisung!” You yelled, running into the store. Jisung popped up from the couch, gladly accepting you as you ran into his arms.

“Oh my god,” he breathed as he held you tight, “I'm so glad you’re okay, you’re -- what happened to you?”

You stepped back, following his gaze down. You were covered in more blood than when you left.

“Did Chan do this to you?” He immediately started in as he shook his head in disbelief. His bandaged fingers started examining you, wavering at the healed bite you’d suffered earlier that night. “I can’t fucking believe it. What did he do to you? I had my doubts when he was taking you, I wanted to stop it--”

“Jisung.”

“What?” He looked up, bewildered at the tears welling in your eyes.

“He didn’t do anything… I did.” You fell back into Jisung’s arms and he put his confusion aside to comfort you the best he could. He guided you down to the couch and sat with you beside him. The tears stinging your cheeks felt so similar to the tears you shed the night you were first turned. He held you close, and you got a good look at the stitches on his brow, a nice addition to the black eye that still never finished healing.

“Oh, Jisung,” you sighed as you looked at it.

“It’s fine,” he shook his head, “the wolves scattered after the cops showed. The cops haven't believed me until now, so when the medics came I told them it was just an attempted smash-and-grab.”

“At least we have the journals,” you attempted to lighten up. Tomorrow was a full moon. Chan would be fine.

“Not quite,” Jisung admitted.

“What?”

“I don't remember anything that happened between telling you to run, and the cops questioning me. I searched the store when I got a chance. The first journal is gone. But at least we still have the one from the desk.”

You dug into your jacket pockets, freezing when you all you felt were Jisung’s keys.

“Jesus,” you breathed, “it’s fucking gone.”

“Holy shit!” Jisung exclaimed, making you jump. “Where the fuck do we go from here? How do we protect you if the last people we want to are there ones who have the answers?!”

“Jisung!” You shouted back, getting his attention back as you grabbed his hands. “I have to get out of town. If I can go in the direction of an answer, that's better than nothing. I need you to tell me anything from the journal.”

Jisung stared hard at you, nursing at his bottom lip before he ultimately nodded. “I… The journal mentions a girl. She worked for Shepherd for a few summers until she graduated from the university… She worked in the research department as well.”

The confusion that sprouted from information like that only sat in your gut, with no momentum. “Just a girl?”

“A vampire. But by the end of the diary she's fucking dead.”

“Jisung, tell me her name--”

“Why?”

“Because if her name is Lia, she's still alive.” You got up, dusting yourself off as Jisung stared wondrously up at you. “I’m a mess, so if I can crash at your place before I get out of town--”

“Why aren’t I coming with you?”

“Why do you want to?”

Jisung sighed, looking around at the bookshop, destroyed numerous times by now. “There’s nothing for me here. Not right now. There’s some closure if I go with you. Let me come with you.”

“Are you sure, Jisung?”

“I am,” he nodded, taking the keys from your hand with a small smile, “I'm all yours.”

[To be continued.]

#skzsmutnet #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #bang chan breakdown

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angelaiswriting · 4 years

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The Assistant (14 of ?) | Vladimir Ranskahov x fem!reader

[original picture found on: pinterest]

✏️ Pairings:

(almost official) Vladimir Ranskahov x fem!reader

Anatoly Ranskahov x OC (Paulina)

✏️ Requested by @kellydixon01 : Y/N–hacker, big mouth, even bigger attitude–is the new addition to Fisk’s team. Sent to help the Ranskahovs, she immediately gets on Vladimir’s nerves. But as time passes, they start to take a liking to each other, even if none of them is willing to admit their feelings. Yet.

✏️ Previously on The Assistant (aka I’m shit at updating): Y/N returns home after having spent some painful days in Wesley’s hands and finds Vladimir waiting for her. He unexpectedly takes care of her, gives her a safe place to stay (’just so that he can keep an eye on her’), and as a consequence, they find themselves slowly growing fonder of and closer to each other.

✏️ A/N: sorry it took me one year to update :) many thanks to Alice for the great ideas that helped inspire me again! 💛 more weird things are coming, I don’t even know what this story is aymore lmao we going from serious to crack in the matter of one chapter my homies

✏️ Warnings: nothing, just some stubbornness on Vlad’s part, mentions of terrible singing, fluff with hand holding !!! and a surreal situation with an old friend.

✏️ Word-count: 4,577

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ULYANA

Days turned into weeks much quicker than he would have ever thought but the truth was, Vladimir enjoyed Y/N’s presence in his apartment. He had even caught himself calling it ‘home’ once or twice – never out loud, of course, always in his mind, but it was in there that it bore more meaning.

She had unofficially moved in with him – just so that I can keep an eye on her, he had told his brother, but both Vlad and Toly knew that the former would never manage to close his eyes long enough to have a good night’s sleep if he had to add her to his list of worries and responsibilities. She had moved in with him and suddenly the walls of his apartment had stopped closing in on him, and the shadows had turned a tad bit lighter, his demons a bit paler.

He had only ever lived with his brother – even before America, when their life had still been in Moscow and he had a girlfriend to call the love of his life. It had been him and Toly; it had always been the two of them ever since their mother had died and they had been left alone in this world. So now he wasn’t used to it – wasn’t used to sharing living spaces and taking turns for his morning shower; wasn’t used to helping someone prepare breakfast in the silence of the kitchen, and he was still learning how to use Netflix. But it had taken him less than he thought it would take, to get used to someone else’s rhythms.

It will only be for few weeks, he had told her at the beginning, on that Monday morning of almost two months ago. After that, he’d send her away to his enemy-friend in Russia, where she’d hopefully be safe, but Vladimir had yet to take that step forward. He hadn’t picked up the phone, nor had he sent an email to one of the men he still had back home to see if Sokolovsky still had an eye on the former kings of the Capital. He simply hadn’t reached out and the plan he should have given shape to still remained confused and untouched, its silhouette still vague in his mind.

The reason behind that was probably the fact that living with her felt easy. Easy and comfortable, almost homely in a way, and he found himself allowing her that very benefit of the doubt he had never truly graced her with before she had gone missing for three days straight.

He never told her these things, of course. He kept them locked inside his mind and his heart, and part of him foolishly hoped that she would pick up on them on her own. That she would look at him one morning, looked right into his eyes, and see something that would light up a lightbulb inside her head. Almost like a cartoonish a-ha! moment, that’s what he hoped for, and he was ashamed of it every single time his thoughts stopped on that. That would be the easier way, and he wouldn’t have to open up to let her in, for she would see and crawl her way to the center of his soul without him being able to stop her.

But then they had started going back to work, back to the garage, and he had found himself opening up a lot more easily than anticipated. There was no more screaming nor fighting coming from his office, and he had even given her permission to use his desk when he wasn’t there.

Little by little, he had let that whatever-this-is feeling he harbored for her consume the weld joints of his armor. A joke thrown his way just before she left with Petya to go to lunch; a cheesy punchline chuckled in the silence of his office when he least expected for her to open her mouth; and then all those Friday nights out at some bar that had somehow become a tradition.

“This job is starting to get boring.”

She dropped down into the chair in front of his desk, laptop abandoned on the new leather couch he had bought a few days after she had shown up again – it was time I threw old one away, that had been his excuse, but deep down he knew he had done all that for her. He had even gone that one step forward and bought her a nice coffee table – and then one of those fancy trays with legs he still didn’t know the name of, just so that she could keep her laptop in her lap without actually burning her thighs. A new desk would have probably been the best solution, but in his mind that meant admitting to everyone that he was doing something for someone else, someone that wasn’t family nor business, and… Well, he just wasn’t ready. What he really wasn’t ready for, though, was for her to understand. And that truly went against all the silly hopes he had, but he was scared, and while Tanya wasn’t on his mind that often anymore, he didn’t want to fuck up –or to get fucked up by yet another person.

“What do you want me to do?” His groan was just a bluff, a way to pretend like he was still the same Vladimir that had welcomed her – if so one could say – on her very first day at the garage. “Give you time off?”

She picked up a pen from his pencil holder and twisted it between her fingers. “I don’t like doing taxes, that’s not part of my job.”

He chuckled for a moment before he covered it with a cough. “Aslan is helping Sergei prepare for the trip, and others barely know any math.”

When all his words were met with was a huff, he dared a quick peek above the frame of his laptop and found her already staring at him. She had taken her glasses off, but still had the indentations of the bridge on the sides of her nose.

“It’s almost time to go clock out,” she pointed out, tapping the pencil on the top of his computer. “Everyone’s already gone home… You’re the boss, we could be leaving whenever you want.”

His right eyebrow rose in an amused expression, and he had to swallow down that chuckle that was threatening to come up again. What was it about her that had this effect on him? And why was he only now embracing it? Inside, he was burning with the desire to cave in and let her win, go home – home – and watch TV, maybe order pizza or Chinese. But a new meeting with Fisk’s man was coming up and soon both Aslan and Sergei would leave for a business trip to Florida, and he was behind on his schedule.

“I can’t.” He offered her a weak shoulder shrug before hinting at the couch with his chin. “But you can call it a day if you want. I have to-”

But she pushed the lid of his laptop down until it closed. “You have to do nothing. I saw what you’re doing and what you have already done. You’re good, Vlad, you can finish early today. When was the last time you took it easy?”

They stared at each other, and he truly did his best to not look away. The truth was, he didn’t know when that was. Sure, he had taken some time off when she had come back beaten and battered, and when she had moved in with him, on the other side of the corridor from her own apartment, and he had stayed home with her. But he had still been busy – busy with her and with his anger, and then the drinking and the kissing… It hadn’t been pure rest; he wasn’t even sure he knew what that was.

“We can’t afford mistakes if we want to fool weasel,” he frowned, a hand moving over his computer to open it again, but hers was still pressing it down.

She chuckled – both at his choice of that word and at the despise in his voice. “One day off won’t kill you, come on.”

He never pushed her as much as he had used to before the accident, but she still looked drained that day, even despite that playful façade she had put up. So, he ended up caving in. It was weird, to feel allowed to do something, take it easy – and for himself, not someone else. He didn’t need anybody’s permission to do anything – or to not do something – but it was almost as though part of the weight he carried on his shoulders had been lifted off of him.

“It’s Friday anyway,” she reminded him as she put her things in his car, a few minutes later, and he found himself grinning behind her, safe in the knowledge that she couldn’t see him.

Friday meant booze and bars, and it was thanks to them that he had gotten to know her better and she… well, he did try opening up a bit more, and alcohol surely helped. But it was one thing to spend all week thinking about spending time with her, doing something normal, civilized people did, and it was another to realize that she was looking forward to those nights probably just as much as he.

“Maybe we could reach the others,” he proposed in the spur of the moment, before he had the time to truly think his proposal over, his brother’s invitation still fresh in his mind. “Just for this once,” he quickly added, but she was already turning toward him with a bright smile on her face.

Vladimir had vague memories about the night before. Sergei and the guys had gotten him absolutely hammered, but he was fairly sure he remembered Piotr howling something vaguely similar to We didn’t think you two lovebirds would make it when he and Y/N had shown up at Anatoly’s place. The only thing he was sure of, when he woke up above his blankets and still dressed in his now-crumpled suit, was that there was no way in both heaven and hell that he had driven himself and his girl back home.

“Are you still alive?” came a drowsy voice from the corridor.

When he twisted his head to the side, she was standing there, just like that night of many weeks ago, leaning against the frame of the door. She had just gotten out of the shower, he noticed when he managed to take in her wet hair still dripping droplets of water onto her shirt.

He heaved a sigh, a noisy one, straight out of his nose, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth and give her an actual answer. Too laced with sleep and grogginess, he just laid there, and somehow, whatever that entailed, in his mind he felt like a fish.

“I’ll take that groan as a yes. Coffee will be ready in a few if this headache doesn’t take me out before I reach the kitchen and the pills.”

It was ten minutes later, when he was finishing getting dressed, that his brother knocked on his bedroom door and almost scared the crap out of him. For the first time in forever, his heart jumped up in his throat and as he whipped around, he almost tripped in his own feet.

“What the fuck, Tolik?” he groaned, Russian scorching and angry in his mouth as he tied the drawstrings of his sweatpants.

Good morning to you as well was the answer he got as he stared as his brother walked forward and sat on his bed. “The living room is messy,” Anatoly pointed out matter-of-factly as he looked around in the room and put the keys to his brother’s apartment back into the pocket of his jacket. “I didn’t even know you had books somewhere.”

Vlad’s brows furrowed. “Did you come to criticize my apartment?”

The other shrugged. “So, did you tell her?” he grinned – a big ass grin that went from ear to ear and that threw uneasiness on Vladimir like a bucket of cold water on the head. “Y/N,” he added when his brother grimaced in annoyance and confusion.

“Tell her what?” He feigned ignorance, and not because he was trying to play coy, but more because he wanted to avoid talking about feelings with his brother. It didn’t matter that he found himself calling him in the dead of night, with a closed-up throat and confusion thrashing his mind as he tried to figure out what, exactly, was making him feel the way he felt.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Vova. Even the guys are starting to notice.”

So maybe his memory of Piotr yelling lovebirds in his brother’s living room wasn’t a faulty memory. The possibility that that had actually happened stopped his mind from working for a moment. “Notice what?”

Really? was saying the look on Anatoly’s face. He stared at him, chuckled to himself, and then he stood up to close the distance between them. With his brother’s hands cupping his face, he felt like a child again. “You took two weeks off of work, that never happened, not even back in Moscow. And they all know you spent them in here with her. Then,” he went on, hands now leaving his face, “you made her workstation a bit more comfortable: new couch, new coffee table, even a new tray table for her laptop. That’s all new, and I have to agree with them in saying so.”

“You didn’t tell them…”

“About you calling me after midnight, trying not to cry because you had been kissing her and you were scared because you enjoyed it?” Anatoly scoffed, and then he scoffed once more at Vladimir’s annoyed expression. “Why would I? I’m your brother, and you’re your own person. You’re old enough to take care of yourself.”

A faint okay was Vladimir’s answer, heart beating wildly inside his chest. His gaze wandered back to the hallway, hoping and praying that she wasn’t there, whether it was accidentally or not.

“You dueted Can’t Help Falling In Love yesterday.”

His head turned back to Toly so fast that he got whiplash and for a moment, a brief second, he risked losing his balance. “What?”

“It was terrible, Paulina was still laughing when I left this morning. Drunk karaoke is not for you – for neither of you. And if you didn’t end up going at it on my living room floor, someone up there truly is looking down on us,” he chuckled. “Everybody was probably too drunk to remember about that this morning, so don’t worry. What you should worry about, though, is telling her.”

It wasn’t like his brother was wrong and he was right when it came to swallowing down anything that got thrown his way – both the blessings and the curses. It was more of a matter of pride, it didn’t matter that he did call Anatoly in almost-tears more than once when he should have been fast asleep. It was also his business, and it wasn’t like it interfered with his job: he still slaved off, he still put his ass on that chair and did what he had to do. The only thing he hadn’t done was pick up the phone and call Sokolovsky, but that was because he didn’t really need him, because he was more than capable of taking care of her, of keeping her safe.

Most of the time, that was.

“Did you come to talk about my feelings?” He wasn’t on the verge of losing his cool, but he did want his brother and his accusations out of his bedroom.

“No,” was the reply. “Your feelings are your own, but it sure does hurt me to see my brother choosing pain over happiness over and over again.”

“I am happy.”

“Yes, for now. But then what? When pretending like you don’t feel anything won’t be enough anymore, what then? You’ll close up again, kick her out?” One of Anatoly’s hands covered his cheek and again, it was like being back home, and it was his mother’s hand the one on his face, warm and homely and safe, distracting his thoughts from whatever his father had been throwing at them that day. “I love you, brother. I always will, even if we have our own lives outside of the garage. And the last thing I want,” he sighed, “is going back to my woman and have her rant about the both of you being too stupid and blind to hold each other’s hand in public.”

Vlad frowned, his head tilting back a bit as he stared at his brother in disbelief.

“I’m kidding. But I do love you and I do want you happy. I don’t know what goes on in that thick skull of yours anymore, but I know what you’re doing to yourself. She won’t eat you alive, she won’t laugh in your face. If anything, after the terrible singing you both did last night, I think she might cry happy tears.”

He removed his brother’s hand from his face and took a step back. “I’ll ask again: Did you come to talk about my feelings for Y/N?”

Instead of saying So you do have feelings for her – because that was what he could read on his face – Tolik sighed in surrender before lifting his gaze to the ceiling for a moment. “No,” he eventually groaned. “Ulyana called. The sink in her bathroom keeps on leaking and she needs help.”

“So? Do you need my permission to go?”

“Fuck off, mudak.” He read disbelief in his brother’s eyes – disbelief more than annoyance at his petty ass. “She hasn’t seen you in months, she’s worried. After all she did for us, you up and leave? She asked explicitly for you, Vova. Just go, fix what needs to be fixed and spend some time with her – she hasn’t gone to bingo afternoons in forever.”

Ulyana had been like a mother and a grandmother all in one, back when he and Anatoly had first arrived in New York with barely anything in their suitcases. They had left everything behind, but had found a friend and ally in her. She had helped them – probably more than she should have – and they had reached their current position also thanks to the goodness of her heart. Ulyana’s tiny apartment felt and smelled like home, like a Russia they’ll probably never live again. Like home and hopes and all kinds of promises, shining under the sun.

It did make him feel bad, facing the accusations of abandoning Lina to her fate just because he had relapsed into something he didn’t want to give a name to. It was like a stab wound to the heart, and his heart didn’t ache just for anybody. She had become more of his responsibility when Tolya and Paulina had gotten together and he had been happy, for a while. But then his demons had got strong again, drawn the curtains of his mind, and even Ulyana’s place had turned dark and cold, and he had felt like there was no more space for him there.

“I’m serious, Vlad: you have to go. Take Y/N with you if you have to, but if I get a call from her, saying that you didn’t show up…”

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, and those three seconds felt longer than three hours as he stood there, under his brother’s accusatory gaze. “Fine, yes, I’ll go.”

The drive to Ulyana’s housing block was long and silent, stretched out even more by the crazy Saturday afternoon traffic. Y/N had yet to ask her usual bunch of questions about what they were going to do and where, exactly, they were going to do it. It was a blessing because he was sure that Ulya was his best-kept secret – after what she had done for him and his brother, without ever expecting anything in return, keeping her out of any kind of trouble was the least he could do.

But he hadn’t visited her in forever, so, whether his actions had managed to get the FBI to knock on her door or not, she was still going to be pissed. In her own way, that is – without violence nor harsh words, and that was truly something he had never been used to.

When they eventually arrived at their destination and he stopped the car in Ulyana’s unused parking lot, for her husband had died twenty years or so ago, he turned in his seat to look at Y/N, suddenly nervous about what he was about to do. It felt almost like a leap of faith, opening up about such a secret to someone like her. That was where that stupid ‘benefit of the doubt’ kicked in, even though, deep down, he had already started to trust her long before that day.

“What’s up?” she asked as she unlocked her seat belt and looked out of the windshield to try and understand why he was still in the car.

He couldn’t read her expression with those shades she was wearing, her sight still sore and sensitive, for her headache was still there, even if a lot lighter compared to what had almost cracked her head open just that morning. It was probably for the best, that he couldn’t look at her in the eye; it was like he wasn’t facing her at all, and it gave him the illusion that he wasn’t exactly spilling some beans, somehow.

“We’re going to meet someone,” he started, hands still gripping the steering wheel. “She is… my friend. I’m sure you know nothing about her.”

Y/N lifted her sunglasses up, looked at him through squinted eyes, before turning towards him with her whole body on the seat. “I know nothing about… who?”

“You will see,” he replied after a moment of indecision, torn as he was between telling her now or introducing her to the old woman when she would welcome them into her home. “It has to remain this way, though. A secret. It won’t end up in one of your files,” he added, hinting back at the files she had put together about him and his brother and Tatyana and everyone back at the garage, and had then shown him a few weeks back.

“Do you want me to pinky promise that?” she chuckled, but he knew that she was serious, only trying to downplay and lighten the atmosphere in the car to put him at ease.

He scoffed at that and simply opened his car door. “Let’s go.”

Inside, the building was a bit more run-down than he remembered it to be from the last time he stepped foot in it. The ceiling lamp in the entrance, a closed space with only the glass door as a source of light, wasn’t working when they walked in, and the staircase had a gloomy look to it when they walked up the steps.

Behind him, he could feel Y/N’s gaze drilling holes in the back of his head, but there was nothing he could do. There was also no need to do anything right now, when she’d see who this whole thing was about in a matter of minutes and judge the whole situation by herself.

“Ulyana Filimonova,” she read the oval plaque right above the peephole when he rang the bell. “Who’s this? I didn’t know you-”

But the door opened and an old lady, shorter than her by a whole head, stared Vladimir down to the ground with an accusatory gaze and a wooden spoon in her hand that, judging by the look in her eyes, she wasn’t scared to use as a weapon.

“Vladimir Borisovich! Where have you been?” Her voice was high and indignant as she spat angry English like it were bullets. But then her gaze landed on Y/N, standing half-shocked, half-amused on Vladimir’s left, and she stared at her with parted lips for a moment before she grinned, the look in her eyes melting away and fading into unexpected happiness. “Ah, finally a girlfriend!” she exclaimed, making Vladimir choke on his spit. “I was getting worried, my boy! But that’s good. I always said you need a softer touch in your life, da?”

Sputtering, Vladimir was about to protest when ‘the girlfriend’ tugged harshly on his hand and gave him a look.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Miss!” she smiled, stretching her hand out to introduce herself.

Ulyana was still talking when she moved to the side to let them in – first Vlad and then Y/N, whose arm she took in hers right after closing the door. “No ‘Miss’ around here,” she joked. “I’ve been happily married for almost forty years and even though my Shura is long gone, I still carry rings around my neck,” and she pulled out the chain from underneath her flowery blouse. “But please, get comfortable, I’ll go put on some tea!” she smiled, accompanying them into a tiny but tidy living room and showing them the two-seat couch. “Vlad never brought anyone home, it’s nice to be finally meeting his love!” And with those words, she left in a hurry.

“Who the hell is this woman?” Y/N whispered when she turned to look at Vladimir, sitting as stiff as a pole next to her. “This is the most surreal situation I’ve ever lived so far.”

“She…” He cleared his throat, still confused as to why Lina thought Y/N was his girlfriend of sorts. Maybe girl friend, with that tiny space in its middle, could be considered correct, but there was definitely no relationship between them – not yet, at least. “She helped me and Toly when we arrived. We used to live two doors down the corridor. She taught us better English.”

She nodded. “I’m surprised you managed to keep her off the records. I’m surely not the best at my job, but I consider myself good enough, and I never got a whiff of her.” She paused for a moment and Vladimir did his best not to look at her, but only spied her expressions from the corner of his eye. “Why does she think I’m your girlfriend?” she asked then, voice soft and almost shy, as she threw a glance in the direction the old woman had disappeared into.

Vladimir sighed, eyes rolling of their own accord as he relaxed against the back of the couch, his shoulder pressing right against hers. “She’s always thought I needed woman in my life. She says that ‘I’m too rough around edges,’ that I need someone to show me the good side of things.” He turned his head, then, and instead of meeting a look that mirrored his, he found her smiling softly at him, almost too lost in her thoughts to pay any attention to him.

“It would be a pity if she found out that we’re not… Y’know, a thing,” she reasoned out loud, taking his hand in hers just a few seconds before Ulyana came back with a box of Danish biscuits.

God bless Ulyana I guess! 🤷🏻‍♀️

Feedback always appreciated, suggestions always welcome as well :)

TAGS (to be added to or removed from any list, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892 @mblaqgi @becs-bunker @gruffle1

The Assistant: @flowers-in-your-hayr

People that might be interested: @kind-wolf @sweetvengeancee @brobachev

#angelaiswriting #the assistant #vladimir ranskahov #vladimir ranskahov imagine #vladimir ranskahov fanfic #vladimir ranskahov x reader #vladimir daredevil #vladimir daredevil imagine #vladimir daredevil x reader

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rex101111 · 4 years

Text

Blood runs in Cycles.

Rating: T, some blood, cursing, references to past violence.

Summary: Anji knew Baiken’s past wasn’t...pretty, even beyond the destruction of their home. He just never expected to meet it so suddenly.

Fandom: Guilty Gear.

A PROPER GG FIC!! AND WITH BAIKEN AND ANJI!! WHO WOULDA THUNK IT

sad as heck ya’ll, check it out on AO3 if you wanna

Anji had seen his fair share of…troubling things. He'd seen his home burned to nothing, his people quarantined away from the rest of the world, he'd looked over the shoulder of one of the most dangerous men in the world and saw things that would have driven anyone to gibbering nihilism.

He'd sought out those horrors, purposefully diving head first into the dark and twisted truths of the world, some odd need to know all he could driving him ever deeper, ever forward onto the abyss of the world.

Driven by the shadow of death, nothing would stop him from seeking these things out.

Compared to that, traveling with Baiken was a breezy jaunt through the town square. Taking lives didn't faze him anymore, though he never actively sought it, he had simply long since accepted that his lot in live put him in opposition of not a few people. He protected himself when he needed to.

Death was a familiar touch of ice at his back, he never hesitated to fight back.

Even with all that, when a child, no older than fifteen years of age, burst out of a random corner while they were walking through a small village with a knife in her hand and charged at Baiken with a blood thirsty roar of rage…he froze.

For all the horrors of the world, for all the grotesque monsters he had faced, a child with a weapon was always a harrowing sight.

Baiken was of the same mind, it would seem, since she had only barely stepped back in time to dodge the attack, the tip of the blade catching on her clothes and only barely missing the flesh of her midsection.

The shock ended as soon as the girl turned for a second attack, Baiken's fist digging into her stomach with an audible meaty thunk as the air got knocked out of her lungs. The attacker dropped her weapon and clutched her stomach with a miserable groan, quickly crumpling to her knees as Anji and Baiken starred down at her with varying amounts of shock and confusion.

Several passersby seemed to consider intervening, either to help the girl or hold her down so she won't try to attack again. Their considering ended as soon as they recognized Baiken and himself, quickly making themselves scarce, probably to call some local muscle.

Anji couldn't say a word, no witty remark came to mind as he looked between the girl kneeling in the street holding on to her lunch and the rip in Baiken's clothes that was almost a hole in her gut.

Baiken's gaze was unreadable, her fist remaining suspended in the air where it impacted with the girl, as if the counter attack was a reflex made with no deliberate intention. She slowly lowered her fist as the girl raised her face to glare at the older woman, hate and anger set deep in pale blue eyes, nearly white from the glare of the midday sun.

That was no accident, Anji realized, the girl knew exactly who she was attacking. He'd be impressed if this situation wasn't horribly surreal. Baiken's eye narrowed at the girl, a hint of reproach gleaming through, only growing stronger as the girl peered at her dropped weapon.

Not a knife, Anji vaguely noted, but a Tanto. A rather expensive, not to mention rare, weapon, clashing with the threadbare rags the girl was wearing.

The girl clenched her teeth and a fist, eyes flitting between Baiken and her weapon, as if considering if she could rush for it before the samurai could stop her.

The samurai lowered her hand to the hilt of her sword, her wrist leaning lazily against the pommel as she narrowed her eye at her attacker. "Don't-"

Before she could finish her warning the girl leapt with a hand outstretched towards the weapon, face determined and twisted with single minded propose. As soon as her fingers closed around the hilt of the Tanto, Baiken's heel landed on her knuckles with bone cracking force.

Baiken let out a disappointed sigh, "warned you."

"Damn-" The girl choked out from between her teeth, tugging at her hand to try and get it from under Baiken's foot. "Shut up! L-let go damn it!"

Baiken scoffed and ground her heel with a sneer, "and let you try that stupid shit a second time? Fat chance kid." The girl growled in anger and pain, grabbing at Baiken's ankle with her second hand to try and move it. "…that's just sad."

"SHUT UP!" The girl screamed, throwing a punch at the foot crushing her hand, tears of either pain or frustration at the edges of her eyes, "JUST SHUT UP!"

The outburst actually surprised the samurai enough to move her foot, the punch barely registering in her mind as the girl got back to her feet with the knife clutched firmly in both hands.

A few droplets of blood fell from between her braised and bruised fingers.

Anji finally found enough sense to break out of his trance and place himself firmly between the two, facing the attacking child with arms raised in a placating gesture that fell utterly flat as a snarl twisted her face further.

His eyes jumped from place to place as he took her in properly for the first time, slim build with dirty, sun burned pale skin (homeless, 15 at the oldest), various pale scars on her arms and legs (scrappy, angry, unafraid), rough cut black hair framing a gaunt face and two pale blue eyes.

(Constantly trying to look at Baiken behind him, a target in mind…oh no.)

This needed to stop, right now.

"So hasty!" Anji called out to her, a friendly smile slipping on his face with practiced ease, voice level and diplomatic. "Most people make a bigger thing of trying to kill us, they get so dramatic and plot so thoroughly, and yet here you are!" He laughs appreciably, making his best effort to look impressed with the girl who looked at him like he was everything wrong with the world simply because of where he stood. "Right out of nowhere! Caught me off guard! Both of us!" He looked over his shoulder at Baiken, a desperate glint in his eyes, "isn't that right?"

Baiken saw through him so quickly he was frankly ashamed of himself, her face a stone mask deflecting the silent request he sent her. She was not in the mood to humor his sympathy. "Anji-"

"That's right!" He quickly shouted over her, hearing the girl gnash her teeth the moment Baiken started talking. "Not that I hold it against you, mind, but I honestly think we all started off on the wrong foot here." He stepped closer in her direction, each footfall slow and methodic so as to not draw attention as he spoke. "So, why don't you just give me that weapon and we can-"

"Get." She ground between her teeth at him. "Out of my way."

Anji stopped short, peering at her from behind his glasses for a long moment, the girl leaning away slightly at the sudden pressure she felt as he did so, her hands shaking as she tightened her grip on her weapon.

Her eyes.

He’s seen them before.

Baiken scoffed, moving to step forward herself to meet her attacker head on…stopping when Anji raised an arm to halt her. "What are you-"

"Just a moment."

She threw a snarl at the back of his head, "she's not going to listen to-"

"Just let me try." He hissed, turning his head just enough so she would hear him, voice tight and angry.

Baiken blinked at him, taken aback, before she shook her head and sat down on the dirt road, taking out her pipe. "One, you get one."

"STOP IGNORING ME!" The girl screamed waving her weapon in the air, eyes gleaming in rage and taking a heavy step towards him. "WHY WON'T YOU LEAVE!?" She pointed her weapon at Baiken again, "I JUST WANT TO KILL HER! AND I'LL KILL YOU TOO IF YOU DON'T MOVE! WHY WON'T YOU-!"

"Do you honestly think you have a chance?" He snapped, the girl flinching as if slapped, her jaw clacking shut. "Do you have any earthly idea who this is?" He pointed at Baiken while he sent a derisive glance back at her, "some girl with a knife she has no idea how to wield and dressed in rags, what makes you think you stand chance against her?"

She strikes, a guttural, nearly feral, scream of rage accompanying a savage thrust of her knife, aimed right at his heart. He doesn't strike back, merely puts a hand on her wrist to stop the tip of the weapon half an inch before it touches skin and keeps a firm, vice like grip.

He doesn't strain as she tries to pull her arm out, and deftly moves his feet away when she tries to stomp him and holds her at arm's length when she tries to kick at him. His voice is calm and patronizing as she struggles. "Look at this dear, if I can make a fool of you, what do you think she'll do?"

In a fit of utter desperation, she closes her jaw on his hand, teeth sinking into the flesh between his knuckles. Blood drips from the bite mark to the ground and down her chin, her other hand reaching out to his fingers to try and dislodge them.

Outwardly, he only raises an eyebrow at her, unaffected and even bored at this last ditch attempt to justify this suicidal tirade of anger. Inwardly, it takes every inch of restraint he can muster not to gather the girl in his arms until she calms.

Her eyes, glimmering and shining with so much rage and so much sorrow it makes him sick to his stomach. Anger enough to burn the world down, laser focused on a single person. Years, God knows how many, spent without a roof over her head or the guarantee of food, sustaining herself on what could only be naked spite.

He'd have to be blind not to see the parallels. And those same parallels are what stops him from any attempts to comfort, to pacify, to show kindness. If her anger at Baiken is even a fraction of the anger the samurai herself displayed in years past, any regard he shows her would be the ultimate humiliation.

He wonders if Baiken sees it, but right now he doesn’t have the time to ask. And if he was being honest with himself, he doesn’t have the nerve.

He waits for her to tug at her weapon again before he lets go, causing her to stumble back a few steps before she got back into her unsteady stance. “What happened?” Anji asks once she catches her breath, her gaze flickering between him and the samurai sitting behind him, calmly puffing on her pipe. “What did she do to you?”

She stops short, like she wasn’t sure she heard him right, “what?”

“What did she do to you,” he says again, crossing his arms inside his sleeves (so she doesn’t see them shaking) and looking down at her behind his glasses, “that would make you so willing to throw your life away?”

Part of him dreads the answer, but he knows Baiken well enough to accept that her path was bloody enough to cause some collateral damage. He tended not to think too deeply on who she was before they met, of the lives she took, having heard enough rumors about the lone samurai carving a bloody swath through Central Asia to hazard a guess.

Besides, what right did he have to judge her? His ledger dripped red just as much as hers, if she didn’t deem it fit to share her sins with him, he would not drag them out of her.

There was no avoiding it now, the result of one of those sins was standing right in front of him. He knew there were two ways this conflict could end, he needed time to think of how to make sure it didn’t end with a corpse on the ground.

“What did she do to me?” She spits, outraged, narrowing her eyes at him, “what she did was murder my father!” She stabs the air in Baiken’s direction, face stuck in a snarl, “like he was nothing! She stabbed him in the gut and left him to bleed out on the street like a dog!” She breathed heavily, her snarl staying in place as her weapon began shaking in her grip, wailing and screaming, “he didn’t do anything to her! He was all I had! And she killed him!”

Her breathes are halting, Anji could see her barely suppress her sobs between her teeth. She tightens her grip on her weapon, blood dripping between her fingers, and this girl, barely half Anji’s height, takes a heavy, grave step forward.

He barely holds his ground.

She squares her shoulders, and growls, “so I’m going to kill her.” Her voice had suddenly gone steady, sharp as the knife in her grip, and she takes another step, the sound of her bare foot hitting the dirt echoing in his ears. “so out of my way.”

He takes half a step-back, barely an inch of ground, and his heart sank as he realized there was nothing he could do.

“You’ll try.” Baiken’s voice came from behind him as she walked past, gaze focused on the young girl, “and you’ll fail.”

The girl growled and coiled up, as if ready to strike.

Anji held up a hand, weakly, “Baiken-“

“You had your chance.” She cuts him down mercilessly, still not looking away from her would be killer. “She was never going to listen to you Anji.” She puts her wrist on the handle of her sword, but doesn’t draw it. “Don’t blame yourself for what happens next.”

Her words were like a strike to the face, but something in her voice kept him from speaking up. He looked back and forth between the two, Baiken standing straight and calm while her opponent crouched low to the ground, and slowly backed away with his head bowed. Leaning his back on a nearby wall and crossing his arms, he took a breath before raising his head to see how this will end.

Whatever happens next, he’ll simply need to live with.

After a moment of silence, the girl charged again, with the same ferocious roar that started this sordid ordeal, aiming for Baiken’s stomach. The samurai side stepped the strike with the most minimal movement, lightly turning on her heel to let the attack pass her harmlessly as stuck a foot in the attacker’s path, sending her tumbling to the ground with a groan.

Baiken didn’t follow up, simply letting her get back on her feet and strike again, slashing at her wildly. None of the attacks touched her, or even came close, and the girl began breathing heavily between her teeth.

She stepped back from Baiken, who simply continued to stare silently at her, hand still resting on her sword without drawing it.

“Fight me!” The girl screamed, her weapon shaking in her hand, “stop running away! You don’t get to just stand there!” She swiped at the air in front of her uselessly, “you owe me a damn fight!”

“Why?” Baiken asked, coldly, calmly, face impassive, “who did I kill?”

“My father!” The girl screamed again, confused and enraged, “ten years ago! Don’t you dare tell me you don’t remember!”

“I killed a lot of people ten years ago, kid.” Baiken replied simply, rolling her shoulder nonchalantly, “shit, I killed a lot of people two years ago,” she looked up at the midday sky, humming thoughtfully, “fathers and mothers, brothers and sister, too damn many to count.” She lowered her gaze back to the girl, “so you’ll need to be more specific if you want me to remember.”

“Monster!” Charging at Baiken again, her slashing more wild and frantic than ever, her movements sloppy but quick and yet still failing to strike home. “How dare you!? How dare you!? I saw you! I saw you ten years ago, right in this place!”

Baiken circled around a wide slash and stood behind her, waiting for her to turn around and keep attacking her, the slashes beginning to slow down as her strength started to drain.

“I saw you stab him! Right in the stomach! Gutting him like a fish! Like he meant nothing!” Her arm began to shake, but she refused to stop as her tirade continued. “Right on this street! He looked right at you!”

Baiken stopped of a sudden, her eye widening slightly.

The girl blind with rage and tears, lunged towards her with all the strength she had left, “how can you not remember!?”

This strike came closest, touching the fabric of Baiken’s kimono, but it was stopped from going any further when she caught it between two fingers. The girl, finally spent, released her death grip on the weapon and falling to her knees with a defeated sob. “Why did you kill him?” She asked, breathlessly, quietly, sounding like the child she was for the first time since she appeared from the alley. “Why…? Why…?”

The girl sobbed, her raged replaced with fathomless sorrow, while Baiken simply looked down at her, without a single word, utterly untouched.

(Unbidden, the image of a monster made of metal with a red mane of hair towering over the girl came to Anji’s mind. He would never speak it, he would take that thought to his grave, but something told him Baiken could see it too.)

“Because he tried to kill me.” Baiken says suddenly, voice stable and calm, “I killed your father because he tried to kill me.”

The girl snapped her head up to look at Baiken, as if she wasn’t expecting an actual answer, and once she fully understood it her face hardened to a scowl, some of her anger returning, “liar!” Her voice had gone hoarse from all her screaming, and she coughed as she shook her way back to her feet. “My father wouldn’t hurt anyone! He was a good person! He-!”

“Loved you?” Baiken spoke again, flatly, making the girl stop short, “I’m sure he did, I’m certain he loved you very much.” Baiken lifted the knife to look at her reflection in the blade, slowly turning the weapon back and forth in her grip, her voice soft and far way, “loved you enough to make sure you had a roof over your head, food in your stomach, clothes on your back.”

She tossed the knife into the air casually, the girl taking in a shocked breath.

“He loved you enough to do whatever it took to make sure you had a good life, that you would never want for anything.” She watched the knife spin in the air for a few long seconds, “loved you enough to give you something to protect yourself as he went out at night to earn the money you two needed.” The knife began to drop back down. “Loved you enough to risk his life, to go against someone with a price on her head.”

The girl shook, in horror, in anger, in a million different emotions Anji couldn’t recognize, and whispered, “liar-“

“He loved you enough to kill for you.”

“LIAR!”

The knife landed, blade first, right between them, and the sound of it sinking into the ground echoed in the air for a long moment.

“You have his eyes.” Baiken says suddenly, sounding exhausted all of a sudden. She waited for a reaction, but the girl simply let out another sob, so she sighed and went on. “He didn’t sneak up on me like you did, he came to me head on, shaking in his boots, and begged me to let him kill me.”

The girl hugged herself and shook her head, looking away but saying nothing.

Baiken kneeled in the dirt to pluck the knife out, and began closing the distance between them, “he told me he had a little girl, he told me he couldn’t find work, that she would starve if he didn’t bring in food.” When she stood right in front of her, Baiken kneeled to be eye level with her. “Of course, I refused, I didn’t care about him, or his little girl, and so when he attacked me-“ she grabbed the little girl’s hand and placed the knife in her grip, making sure that she held it tightly, “-I killed him.”

Anji felt ill, his hands shaking in sleeves, but he couldn’t move his feet, the pair five feet in front of him, yet they felt like they were across a fathomless chasm, in a world he couldn’t reach.

Baiken, without a word, placed the edge of the knife to her neck, pressing it to the flesh just barely enough not to cut the skin.

“What’s your name?” Baiken stared right into the girl’s eyes, unwavering, “answer me, what is your name?”

The girl, unable to move her hand and shaking, gulped a lump in her throat, “Yuna.”

“Yuna.” Baiken repeated, quietly, “ten years, how many people have you killed up till now? How many people have you killed to find me?”

“I-“ Yuna stuttered, out of breath and not understanding what was going on, and continued to fumble over her words, “I-I didn’t-“

“Right, didn’t think so.” She pressed the knife closer slightly, just enough to draw a thin line of blood, Yuna flinching away as far as she could at the sight of it, “you attack like someone who has no idea how deadly a Tanto is, it’s more than just a sharp piece of metal, you need to be precise, to know exactly where you need to strike to cause the most damage, to kill with the absolute minimum of effort.”

A few drops of blood hit the dirt at their feet, Yuna’s breathing becoming more uneven, nervous.

“In the right hands, a Tanto could kill in a single, well considered stab.” Slowly, she let go of Yuna’s hand, the knife still at her throat, “but in the hands of a wild animal, it’s useless.” She stayed there, on one knee, the sharp edge digging into her skin, “killing someone is the easiest thing in the world, but with a Tanto, you need to do it with a clear head.”

All Yuna would have to do is push forward, less than two inches forward, but Anji could see she was frozen to the spot.

“You came at me with rage, directionless, pointless,” she reached up and swept a few stray hairs from Yuna’s face, so she could meet her gaze cleanly, “and that’s why you couldn’t hit me, but now, with your mind clear…can you do it?”

Yuna’s hands started to shake.

“You don’t know about revenge.” Baiken continued, quietly, “you think you do, you think you’ve lived with it long enough to understand it, to understand what it costs you, how it twists you and changes you.”

Yuna started crying, clenching her teeth as Baiken went on.

“You don’t, I do, I spent longer than almost anyone else on earth with nothing but revenge driving me forward.” She chuckled humorlessly, “I know what that search can do to a person, better than anyone else, it turned me into a killer, into a monster.” Her gaze went soft, her mouth forming a subtle smile, “into someone who killed a father trying to keep his daughter fed.”

Yuna let out a sob, but still didn’t move.

“But you? Only ten years, that’s barely any time at all.” Her voice was somehow encouraging, and Anji wondered how he could feel so at peace while a knife was pressed against her neck. “You still have time, still a life to live…so.” She tapped blunt side of the Tanto, making Yuna flinch. “This is the only chance I’ll give you, a chance to take your revenge before you turn into a monster like me, if you have the resolve, if you are prepared to carry that burden for the rest of your life…then all you have to do, is push forward.”

Tears streamed down Yuna’s cheeks, her gaze glued to the thin trail of blood running down Baiken’s neck.

“I don’t owe you a fight,” Baiken made sure Yuna’s face remained in her sights, “but you were right about one thing…I don’t have the right to run away from you, so, if you can, if you know for a fact that this is what you wish to do…kill me.”

Yuna pushed forward, for barely a tenth of an inch…before the knife slipped from her fingers and landed in the dirt with a soft sound. She covered her face as she cried, falling to her knees again, “I-I can’t…” A sob, pathetic and young, painfully young, “I can’t…”

A few onlookers hurried on, and the sounds of the village continued as normal, as if nothing had happened at all.

Baiken stood up, and Anji wasn’t surprised to see he wasn’t relieved. As Baiken began to walk away, a hand on her bleeding neck, Yuna started to get to her feet, shaking all the way up, glaring at Baiken’s back while tears still streamed down her face. “Why?” She hiccupped, wiping her face and nose in a way that almost made Anji’s heart give out, “why didn’t you kill me? You-you could have easily…”

Baiken was quiet for a second, and then she shrugged, “I don’t kill kids, I’m not that far gone yet.” She looked over her shoulder at Yuna, the knife still at her feet, “the rest is up to you, if you give up on revenge…good, there are better things to waste your life on.” She grabbed her sword and unsheathed in less than a blink, cutting a nearby bench clean in half, “but, if you don’t, if you come at me again, as an adult, with intent to kill, I won’t be so merciful.”

Yuna gaped at the sliced bench, and then looked down at the knife, the tip stained red, and picked it up without a word.

“If you can’t let go, if the pain still burns in the bottom of your stomach…learn how to use that Tanto, and find me.” She put her sword back in her scabbard, walking on, passing Anji as she did, “whenever you’re ready.”

Anji removed himself from the wall, looking at Yuna from the corner of his eye for a moment, before sighing and turning away, “wait.” The sound of her voice, still hoarse and raw from her screaming, stopped him, and he slowly turned to face her, the girl walking up to him with surprisingly calm steps, “you know what she’s done, don’t you?”

Anji laughed, mostly from surprise, already guessing what she was getting at, “yes, of course I do.”

“Then why did you protect her?”

“Why didn’t you kill her?” His answer was given with a smile, tired and sad, “I know you wanted to.”

“I-“ She growled, “She’s a monster.” She deflected, frustration evident in her voice, “she said as much-“

She stopped when Anji laughed, loudly, suddenly, and shook his head, “oh, sweetheart, you really do have a long way to go if you think that of the two of us,” he smiled at her, the smile he knew showed a glimpse of the life he lived, Yuna taking a step, “that she is the monster.”

Yuna stared at him, taking a step back as he smiled quietly at her, eyes suspicious and spiteful, “what do you-“

“Make sure to practice daily,” he said, cheerfully, a larger smile smoothly fitting over his features, knowing, accepting, that this girl’s fate was out of his hands, “even if we never meet again, and I should hope that we don’t, learning to use a knife can help you live in more ways than you might think.”

Without another word, he turned away from her, and soon found himself back at Baiken’s side as they walked, just as they started before a reminder of the past burst from the shadows.

They walked for a long while in silence, the dark of the night slowly descending on them.

“If she did kill me,” she said of a sudden, voice perfectly calm, “what would you have done?”

He opened his mouth, to answer, and only then realized that he didn’t actually know what he would have done. The idea of her death was a shadow he never acknowledged, the way she carried herself in life and combat made it easy to believe it would never happen.

He abandoned so much to be by her side, to try and keep her safe, to try and make her happy, with all he had done and all he had seen, being with her was the one thing he was confident he would never regret.

He wondered, if another shadow from her bloody past came for her, would she do the same as she did with Yuna? Would she so easily throw herself away?

“Would you have let her kill you?”

“Yes.”

He stopped on the street, his heart cold.

“What else would you have me do?” She stopped a few steps ahead of him, her back a mile-long wall, “kill her?” She stopped there, shaking her head, “you didn’t answer me question.”

He opened his mouth again, and again, nothing. “I-I don’t know.”

They stood there for a long second, quietly, before Baiken looked at him over her shoulder, every inch of her face exhausted, “alright,” she was quiet, more quiet than he ever heard her, more than he thought he deserved, “but if we see her again, or someone like her again, I expect you to have an answer.”

She started walking again, and after a few seconds Anji did the same, matching her pace easily.

Their pasts were full of shadows, of bloody grudges, of broken families and burn homes, he knew this. Knew it to his bones. But until today, there was only one shadow he had been worried about, the shadow of Justice and the Gear Maker, their long shades clouding Baiken’s future and whether or not she even had one.

He had ignored the shadows they themselves had cast on others, there was too much to think about when it came to his own demons, so much that he never spared a thought for the demons they left in their wake.

…It was a valid question then, if another shadow came for him, for her, for them, what would he do?

They were a few miles away from the village, from Yuna, from the place where Baiken let a father bleed to death on the street, before he spoke again. “Whatever I end up doing…” He started quietly, slowly, evenly, “…I doubt it’ll be any worse than anything else I’ve done for you.”

Baiken looked at him as they walked for a moment, sighing and then looking away, “that’s what I’m worried about, Anji.”

He thought of asking her the same question, to put the same pressure she decided he needed to be under all of a sudden…but he knew her well enough to figure the answer on his own.

He would just need to hope they would never need those answer. Anji has had more than his fair share of shadows to last him a lifetime.

…He hoped Yuna wouldn’t start collecting her own.

(This would pass, be forgotten, just another sad story to add to their combined collection of hundreds.

But, not truly forgotten, they would never speak of it, not to each other or anyone else they knew, but they would know that, somewhere, in a village, a shadow would practice with a knife, a shadow they both left on the dirt road and that knew their faces, and would one day seek them again.

Yuna would remember, always, how it felt to see blood run down the edge of her knife, and one day, she would need to decide what she would do with it.

Baiken could only hope her choice would be different then hers.)

#guilty gear #Baiken #Anji Mito #stuff rex wrote #blood runs in cycles #oooof this took a while #i actually started writing this months and months ago but lost the plot #...and then suddenly the plot flew at my face and I had to write it down before it ran off again #so here you go

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