#its the white trash hippie kid raised by that man that makes me want to call ewan mcgregor a pussy

[brainjuicey]

somebody said we twist in our self made cages but that’s redundant, derivative and self-pitying. i disdain the idea of holding ourselves back. i was born here, in the dark and muck and i’ve held my arms to the sky until it rained blood down on us and washed clean. do you not feel the same way? i’m sorry for you because you want to feel sorry for yourself. what a miserable way to be, to think that existence is a prison created by your mind. your mind that is you. you are you and you choose to think that you’re choosing to cage yourself? what a freak.

[worldsover]

Dal Segno ft. Chuu

length ✦ 3570

genres ✧ music making; oral fixation; facefuck; subby!Chuu

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Composition is only fifty percent of the process, you've heard, but it's closer to ten for you. For the importance of a solid melody and chord progression with the right instruments and singer, a song becomes less than the sum of its parts with bad mixing because all that effort goes to waste when you can’t hear something, or when something is too loud, or when a certain je ne sais quoi is wrong. But you do know. You don't have to be a chef to be a food critic but it certainly helps. Avoid muddling the lows as it waters down the soup. Carve space in the highs to prevent too much salt from killing the taste buds. Have at most five sounds at a time or else the flavors clash. Focus on these basic techniques to guide you as repetition wears down your mind. Funny. Repetition legitimizes especially in music yet here you are fatigued by repetition as though you weren't down four cups of black coffee. Repetition legitimizes. “From the sign,” the translation reads. Notation, simply instructing a musician to return to a certain point in a piece. You recognize it as an intro song you wrote years ago.

Glass and foam separate the undersized room. Cheap ramen and dampness in the hot air contribute to the odor. You would keep the fan on, if it were worth the extra time filtering out faint noise from recordings. The only scent that keeps you sane is a slight strawberry flavor lingering in the room. Jiwoo. Your muse. A large clock holds both of its hands near one with the lack of natural light muddling whether it’s AM or PM. Studios were always underground man-caves whether they were discount rooms or the signature workspace of the biggest producers. Here you are in the former. Look down at the Macbook and all the wires, sliders, and knobs. Deep breath. “Take 63,” you say into the cheap control room microphone.

“Not good enough.”

“Again.”

“One more.”

Look up. Jiwoo sucks on a grape lollipop. You stare. Watching her fixated on getting all flavor out of the purple sweet derails your flow state. See, work had a rhythm. Listen, volume up, hotkey to copy this clip, volume down. The obvious innuendo sends you offbeat. That perky butt bending over to get a notebook filled with lyrics entrenches the folds of your brain. She didn’t have to wear that skirt. You’ve seen that skirt already and you wish she weren’t wearing it. Oh, you really wish she weren’t wearing that skirt. Guilt sets in. You’re a trusted coworker, she, a naive girl. It takes a while to find your groove again. Your stare has yet to cease until she finally returns the eye contact with candy still in mouth. Her pink tongue laps to secure all the sugar and red pillows engulf the ever-shrinking circle. Pop. Anyone else and it would be calculated action.

“Oppa." Her voice resounds in your monitor headphones. "I don’t know if these harmonies really make sense. Why did you write the second voice to cross down below the main line? Plus it goes so low."

“To be fair, you wrote both of those melodies and you said you wanted them in the same song. Tell me anywhere else they’d work.”

“Ugh, let’s figure this out later. Next song.“

Dozens of takes later and Jiwoo’s frustration causes her to make mistakes. Sometimes she even tries to start singing with the sucker in her mouth. For the character she plays, you know she’s a professional and that she can be better. Yet hours later, she still could not get the vocal runs right. Incomplete songs bloat your project folder: "Jiwoo - Mania", "Jiwoo - Look Closer", "Jiwoo - Untitled Idea 21". Just a small side project that the company approved during another ample period of break time between comebacks. That’s why the director didn’t even let you use the company’s facilities, instead opting to rent out this cheap closet of a studio. At least no one would be mad about the amount of time you spent recording together.

You shift seats from the leather office chair to the white lovechair, the only two pieces of furniture that fit comfortably in the room. Jiwoo follows suit and leaves the recording booth, really more of a phone booth in square footage, while she huffs and puffs on her candy.

“I’m tired, oppa,” she says.

“Me too, Jiwoo. May I remind you that I’m not getting paid extra for this. Are you gonna focus or what?” your voice just a few cents down, just a bit harsher.

“I, I’m sorry.” A lick anyway. Her meek tone disappears, “Ya! You know how good your royalties are gonna be. Sole producer and all that. Plus, here you are still doing all this work for me." Why were you working so hard on this? "You know, if you just taught me how to use Ableton-”

“Then I’d be out of a job.”

Jiwoo frowns, “Wow, selfish much? You could’ve joined me as a trainee.”

“Nah, no way. Fish dance better.”

“Shut up, oppa. You would’ve easily made it with your, um, musical talent.” She clamps down on the lollipop with her mouth.

“You good? What was that?”

“Let’s," she stands promptly, "get back to recording.”

Crack. Jiwoo bites down on the lollipop and throws the stick in the trash. In ten minutes, she nails the verse she spent hours trying to get right. It'd be really nice to know what catalyzed that rally. You'd ask but driving Jiwoo back to her dorm is quiet as usual.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Make a good impression on someone, anyone, on your first day as a mixing engineer. That’s why you returned to the Blockberry Creative building with an extra bar of Melona in hand. A simple bribery. Light beamed down between two skyscrapers on a short girl with long hair and strands of bangs adorning her forehead. She stood outside the lobby, introducing herself to every passerby. You had to pinch her cheeks, the intrusive thought screamed.

She scurried up to you. “Hi! I’m Kim Jiwoo and I’m going to become an idol!”

Ah, a trainee. You already knew she was destined to become one. Well, not literally, you weren’t in charge of that. But her overflowing charm was impossible to ignore. You had to tease her though, “Are you sure?”

“Hey! What would you know about that, mister?” she said.

You bit down on your mango. “Mister? First of all, I’m only a high school senior,” her lips rounded in surprise, “And second, I’m your new audio guy, and I know for a fact they’re debuting you girls in order of talent.”

“Woooow. Well, I’ll have you know, I have a great voice!” She certainly spoke lyrically.  “Wait a minute, I didn’t know they hired people that young.” You pointed at her. “Okay, I’m in high school too. But that’s different, idols start this age.”

“I guess. I’ve been making music ever since I was a kid, and they liked what I had,” you said and Jiwoo nodded in understanding.

She fluttered her eyebrows. “Sooo, is that mango ice cream for me? Oppa?” A little surprised she already called you that, but it sounded right.

“No, I have this unopened strawberry-” Jiwoo snatched the half-eaten cold treat from your hand, and started licking it. Trouble she would be.

You spent many recording sessions together, alone after all the other members left. She cozied up to you because her little musical snippets had to become full-fledged tracks and you helped her out every time.

Something changed over the years however. Your interactions became colder. It felt like you were the only one who she would respond to in a deeper voice. Jiwoo wouldn't pepper you with silly acts or mess around. Maybe she took you more seriously which is how you managed to make more songs together regardless. Then, you stood idly by and watched her debut. Who didn't love her? But when she was with you, you missed the playfulness, the ice cream and her riffing over your playful guitar strums. It turned less of a hobby and more of a job though you never regretted any second with Jiwoo regardless.

Under the Earth's largest natural satellite, you shared a simple meal in black bean noodles. She was still in her hippie outfit from the comeback, and you handed her your jacket since it was cold. You realized, there was something else there that you were too inexperienced to notice. Your bodies' radiation replace the chill in the air, a bubble with just the two of you eating on the grass in a park near your dorm. A cliche slurping on one noodle and Jiwoo pulled away. In embarrassment, like a damn anime character, she hiccuped. Good thing you didn't close your eyes when you leaned in.

“Wanna make an album together?” Jiwoo says.

“Sure.”

You threw away the noodles’ package and escorted her home. That was all you expected anyway. Fine.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

“That’s enough!”

Three goddamn weeks. It's been three goddamn weeks and you've barely made any progress.

Barge into the booth, slam the door shut and raise your tone, just below a shout, “I've had it up to here! You know how many of my songs have been mashed together in some unholy quest for your perfection? Just one unknown something is missing and either you start complaining or we move on to the next."

She backs up from the mic to the insulated wall but you continue, paying no heed to her, as you spout your piece to the artificially cold air, "You know how much time I’ve spent outside working on these songs? These are songs I’ve saved up over years. And you trash them like they’re nothing. How do you even manage to record LOONA tracks?”

Regret sinks in. This was your passion project as much as hers. Was it frustration from the recordings? Weeks of the same routine and it took until now for you to give in to your temper.

"It wouldn't even be that bad! If you could just one time, you could be cute or cheerful again with me, or,” Fuck. So stupid. You don’t have to take your friendships for granted like this. You’re lucky enough she treats you as much. “Hold on. Wait, I'm-"

Examine her face. It’s not sour and she hasn’t stormed out or even slapped you.

“No, no. You don’t have to say it. I’m. I’m sorry oppa.” She looks down. “I'm the one messing up after all." Her heartbeat a harsh snare drum. "And you. You're. Different. Looking at you always made me feel some, something funny. Not funny but? Ugh. I wish I could explain it.”

You hold in your confusion.

She blabbers on, “Like, are. Are you mad? I promise you, I,” A nervous breath, ”I like you. Okay?"

Your confusion grows like the length of your silence.

"I’m just acting how I really am with you. Do you want to maybe, I don't know, like," her voice decrescendos, "Um. Punish me?”

Your heart, your brain are deprived of blood as it all rushes down. Did you hear that right? Not an apology, not retribution, but a call to punishment? Misinterpreting her, the consequences would be dire but that damned demure tone for such an erotic request. Was Jiwoo the exact type of slut constructed in your mind? The one that made you feel sinful for even imagining. No, no, there's no way.

Too late. Jiwoo must have noticed the absurd bulge now. It had to be these Adidas pants today. Fuck it. Life can’t be lived fully without risk. Hopefully, the same switch turned in her mind. You remove all ire from your face and say in earnest, “Do you like games?"

She lights up a little. You sigh relieved.

"Let’s try…”, you say, ”Strip recording.” She lights up a little more, so you go on, ”If I mess up anything, the mix, the composition, the arrangement, I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Your choice. And every time you mess up-”

Jiwoo unbuttons her denim shorts and brings them down her tight legs.

“D- did I say now?”

However, with her resolve steeled, she continues pulling them. "So what? I did mess up, right?" she says coquettish. Deliberate the turn she makes when she bows down to remove the shorts from her legs, Jiwoo reveals a hint of her innie pussy on that same little ass that ran through your mind earlier. A small trace of her thighs glistens, the only thing reflecting the single lightbulb’s glow in the microphone’s abode. She turns back to face you. "Please. Punish me."

Step closer until Jiwoo backs up to the soundproofing. She’s an eighth note away from your face, flashing her beady eyes and a coy smile, ”Where's your underwear?" A little drop spills out onto the floor, "And why are you so wet, Jiwoo-ah?”

Red on her cheeks, like she only now realized her dishevelment in front of you. “You just… Something about you snapping at me. I don’t get it either. I knew you'd do it, some day, I wanted you to," she mumbles in her best efforts to answer you.

“Have you ever worn underwear to the recordings?”

Those efforts continue to fail.

"Oh, Kim Jiwoo. What do I do with you?" One of your hands grabs her cheek. The other crawls down her back to grab her cheek.

“Oppa… Do I have to say it?”

“I want to hear every." Smack. "Word." Smack. She slips a moan.

“Can you," she says, "can you use my mouth?”

You disguise your long pause as thought, teasing the bare skin of her ass with your exploratory fingers to bide time, but it's an expression of your shock. The interruption helps you come up with a more suitable punishment however.

“How about this then. Every time you mess up, you have to give me a blowjob. Call?”

“Call!” Once more, unprompted, she kneels down in front of you and claws away your track pants. You roll with the punches.

"Oppaa," with an pronounced pop and in a sing-songy rhythm, "I've always wanted to know, if your dick-" It certainly didn't need Jiwoo's dainty hands pulling on your boxers, as it would've sprang out on its own with how like diamond your cock is getting.

"Fuuuck," the first profanity you ever hear her utter, she lilts. "Please. Oppa. Fuck my face?"

After all she said, she could still surprise you. Bring your hips forward and just as you would've her pussy, tease Jiwoo’s lips with the head of your dick. She parts them open, starved, anxious.

Hold her by the chin. "Wait."

She freezes at the command. Again, like foreplay, rub her lips with that head making them turn redder and more plump. You sweep aside her bangs to see her begging eyes. More importantly, slide your dick up to her nude forehead to slap as a first act of retribution. “A-ah!” Jiwoo stutters as you slap her face with your manhood again and again. Bring your cock back down and she's already a mess without you even having entered her mouth. A little drool from her shut lips gently massages your balls while a bit of precum drools from your slit to meet those lips.

Jiwoo mumbles as best as she can with you holding her jaw shut and your dick on her lips, "Please. Please. Shove your dick in me. I need you in my mouth."

You squint your rough eyes to command her.

Muffled still, "Oppa. Please. I. I need to taste you. You just, you're so thick and you're so long and cock is perfect and please I just-"  Loosen the grip on her chin to let her envelop the entire tip with her warm lips. "Mmmmm..." the moan resonates a saw wave and your stern resolve fades away on your first entrance into her face but it returns as her teeth rub against you. She quickly readjusts her jaw but it takes multiple attempts of you pulling out and her sucking you back until only silken lips hold your cock's head. Finally. A focused glint in her eyes. She endeavours to keep your tip in her mouth as long as possible.

You were mad at her earlier, weren't you?

Recall this anger and press yourself into her with all your hips' strength, working against the force of her lip's airtight suction. Saliva leaks to betray the seal. Jiwoo's prying tongue explores the underside of your cock but you reach an impasse while she's not even halfway down the shaft. You shove your dick deeper but to no avail and tears roll down her eyes joining the fluids coating her lips. Thus you exit back out. And back in you go to repeat and repeat and slowly increase your rate, becoming rough sex with her diligent mouth. All the positions you’ve imagined fucking her little pussy, you picture using her throat instead. Even in this compact studio, the couch, chair and desk would provide ample support for you to use her in many ways. The dirty thoughts inspire your speed right now. She slurps and gulps at every quick plunge but you realize her moans and rumbles aren't just incoherent reactions. You decelerate.

“Ah, ahhh, ahhhhhh… Ah’ve ahways- Hmph.” She slurs as she tries her hardest to communicate while her airway is blocked.

She slides up your cock to catch some air, “Thought about it- Mmm.”

“Your dick in my mouth and it’s just so pew, fect- Ahhh.” Jiwoo's lips let go gently then her tongue sticks out to lick up your cock and she shows off a trail of spit leading to your tip. A less patient man would’ve jerked himself off right there to grant her eyes and open mouth's unison request to feed on your cum.

Instead you retort, “You think you’ve earned it? Not even halfway down. Going nowhere, just like our recording sessions, huh?”

“Shut up!”

“Oof.” You’re already weak in the knees so Jiwoo's one handed shove sends your tailbone to the floor. Since you’re still dazed by her confounding strength, she takes initiative and kowtows her head into your lap to crawl down your cock with her tiny lips. Fondling your balls, Jiwoo starts from the furthest point she could muster on your shaft up to your cock head. Her tongue follows back and she starts playing under your tip to swirl that tongue around the most sensitive parts until it explores your slit. You buckle and groan. Jiwoo sucks and spits and sucks while she circles only the most minimal twisting motion of her lips on your head. This is the Jiwoo you know. Relentless. Only now your load is her magnus opus.

Her right hand strays downwards and her face on your dick blocks a full view but you can tell that hand is working as intensely as her mouth. As she strokes herself with more vigor, she starts humming a satisfied melody on your tip. In kind, your subtle grunts turn into full-bodied moans. You're a single measure away from your coda so you reach down and pull her off your cock by grabbing her neck.

You glare into her. “Desperate little girl, aren't you?”

Her breath is stilted and she's nearly shaking. “Please…” she sobs, ”You, you want it as bad as I do right?” Of course. “Won't you just cum for me?” Not now. Not when you have putty in your hands.

“You're making a mess. You can't take me all the way down. And I see that it’s not just your saliva coating the floor.” Point to the spot where she kneels, her drool joins a stain growing ever larger with a strand of juice from her pussy flowing as you continue to berate her. Then you point to her hand. Ha. “Were you playing with yourself using my pencil?”

“No… Wait!”

You back off. “Your top’s a mess too. Anyone can tell I just fucked your face.” You take off your black hoodie and give it to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow for our next session.”

“Wait, we didn’t book tomorrow, did we? Also, you can’t just leave me like this! Oppa!”

"I said, I'll see you tomorrow. I have to go,“ you remind her, ”Ha Rin’s picking you up. And give me back that pencil.”

She hands it to you, unable to meet your eyes despite hers lusting over your cock. You'll definitely use the alluring musk on it for later to save you from your self-induced blue balls. Exit the booth. Of course she barely waits to use your hoodie the same way since she doesn’t notice you lingering in the room. Instead of hiding the grey long sleeve that soaks her neck, your used sweatshirt covers Jiwoo’s face as her fingers make the mess on the floor larger.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

Swear to god I’m not just writing the cutest idols to write for. I mean maybe I am but also this answer from @nsfwtwicecatcher​ and all the subsequent pictures that I found of Chuu pouting inspired me. Also, this was a longer piece but I kept spinning my tires on it and decided to split it up, so look out for more.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Fermata, the aforementioned sequel

[straydawg-writing]

𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦.

- 𝓚. 𝙯𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙮𝙘𝙠

• hunter x hunter series

⋯✰⋯

Chapter 3—

"Don't they have anything at least a LITTLE flattering? I get they're like hippie-extremists, but not all of us want to look like a sack of potatoes," you complained, swiping through their clothing racks that screamed no-potential-whatsoever.

You'd finally arrived at NGL headquarters, only for them to make the three of you throw out your phones and clothes. It's like they were still living in the 18th century.

"It's only clothes. Just pick whatever," Killua replied while browsing through the selection, though he looked equally as aggravated and bored. He did have at least some style that he wanted to upkeep.

Gon on the other hand didn't seem to care.

"You think they have anything green?" He wondered out loud.

You pulled out a set of white pants with a blue long sleeves top.

"Hey Killua."

"Yeah?"

You shoved the set into his arms, giving him a bright smile.

"Try this on, I think it would match your eyes well."

"Idiot. The Chimera Ants won't be looking at my eyes when we're fighting them." Pink dusted his cheeks as he looked to the side, avoiding eye contact.

He bought the outfit without even trying it on.

Gon pouted. "Wait, what about me?"

You pulled out two more similar sets. One was a pair of green pants and a white tank top, while the other was burgundy pants with a black top. That one was yours.

"We can all match!" You grinned, relieved you finally found something that wouldn't make you all look like homeless children. "Well, sort of." The sets were still different colors, but they retained the same general style.

"Oh, great idea Y/N! I'll go change into it now," Gon beamed, nearly skipping all the way to the changing room with his brand new green pants. It was about time he put on something different for a change, you inwardly joked.

Killua was already walking back from the stalls when Gon ran past him.

"Wow Killua, look at that drip~" You whistled, checking out his new outfit.

"You're so hopeless," he sighed, bonking the top of your head.

You rubbed where he had hit and stuck out your tongue, pretending to be hurt. It was the truth though, he looked really good in the outfit you had picked out. Peeking at him while he wasn't looking, you discovered that the tight-skinned long sleeves accentuated his arms in a way you'd never noticed before, hugging his lean muscles. You were right about the royal-colored shirt bringing out his pretty blue eyes. And the way his pale skin and white hair contrasted them even looked a little heavenly...

God, what were you thinking? If Killua heard you right now he'd hit you over the head another 20 times over. You looked to the floor, hoping he wouldn't see your growing blush.

After all three of you had changed into your new clothes, the hunt for the Chimera Ants began. Kite was on his own horse, while the rest of you fit on the second one due to your small frames. You were holding onto Gon's torso as he took control of the reins.

He was like a natural, his whole body moving in sync with the horse in strong determination. You trusted him, knowing that wouldn't just let you topple over. You weren't really used to horses, as they weren't typically found roaming around the jungle.

Then there was Killua, who was standing stick-straight on the horse like it was nothing.

"How do you even do that?!" You called out over the sound of galloping hooves.

"Huh, Do what? You mean this?" Killua smirked, doing a handstand.

You couldn't believe him. The boy had no fear at all.

"You're crazy," you stated, turning around to face Killua and leisurely leaning your back against Gon.

You had finally mastered balancing on the horse without having to hold onto him— but you had nowhere as near the skill Killua did.

"Maybe I am, but you love it," he teased, still upside-down. Temptingly enough, his white locks of hair were hanging upside-down too.

Slowly, you leaned forward on the palm of your hands, steadily closing in the distance between you two.

"Sure, I do. You got me there," you cooed, catching him off guard.

"Huh.." He sweatdropped, turning bright red. Killua's balance was starting to wobble.

Then, exploiting his moment of weakness, you tugged on his hair knocking him over.

Satisfied, you rested against Gon again. Thankfully the boy didn't seem to mind.

"Show off," You said, sticking your nose in the air.

"Man, that was so unfair!" Killua whined, sitting back down on the horse and dragging his hands down his face.

You crossed your arms, ready to deliver some witty comeback, when you noticed some bees in the distance that looked like they were carrying something. Squinting your eyes, you saw that they were flying in closer.

"Hey guys, look at that," you pointed out. The horses stopped as one of the bees dropped the paper in Kite's hand.

Help!!

Chimera Ant Nest, Rocky Area

Notify Hunter Association!!

An SOS? And it appeared to be written in blood.

You cast a worried glance at Gon, who looked disturbed.

"It's Ponzu..."

Ponzu...? The name wasn't familiar to you at all. That must be somebody Killua and Gon knew from before you had met them.

The bee fluttered defeatedly around you before making its landing on your ring finger. Kite made the decision to leave the horses, with a message for the Hunter Association.

Even though they ran faster on foot, it didn't take much time until you came across an unsettling scene.

Or, what was left of Ponzu.

Blood soaked the ground. Articles of ripped-up clothing scattered the dirt, and there was not even a bone in sight. The putrid smell of iron overwhelmed your nostrils.

It was fresh blood.

If you had arrived even 15 minutes earlier, maybe Gon and Killua's friend would not have so barbarically killed. You felt sick to your stomach.

'This wasn't done by a human'

"This was done by a Chimera Ant," Kite finished your thought.

The look on Gon's face scared you. Most of the time, Gon was a sweet boy on a journey to find his father. But sometimes, you could spot a festering darkness threatening to take over his very being. You knew he would never tolerate his friends getting hurt, but you couldn't help but wonder if Gon was self-sacrificing, or perhaps selfish?

"I hate to consider the possibility, but it's possible that NGL's underground rulers have already been fed to the queen. What will happen if Chimera Ants are born with their genes..?" Kite trailed off, studying one of the bullet casings in the murder scene.

An unprecedented biohazard never seen before in human history, is what that meant. The worst-case scenario had just happened.

⋯✰⋯

That wasn't the last disturbing scene the four of you came across. In front of you now were three decaying horses, each speared through the stomach by its own tree. They resembled grilled chicken and steak kebabs.

The scent was even worse than the last incident. This time, they were rotting. Killua and you both covered your noses, in an attempt to block out the stench.

"It's like a morning sacrifice," Gon stated.

You remembered what that was. Back at home, sometimes birds would impale their prey on sharp objects like branches. It wasn't a pretty sight, but it was the circle of life. What kind of monster could do this to not just one, but three 1,000 ton horses?

Your question was answered quicker than you had hoped.

"Trash. Those are mine!" The monster in question growled as he stepped foot out of the dense forest.

He looked like an overgrown bunny, with wings of a bird, thick-ass thighs, and seaweed green hair. And as for the vibe he gave off? You could safely assume he was just a stupid man-child.

"Wow. You're ugly," you deadpanned.

"You wanna say that again little brat?" He snarled, making the first move and charging right after you.

You quickly dodged his attack, but not before he came in contact with your arm. That was gonna leave a bruise.

Kite activated his aura, temporarily distracting the bunny-monster. It seemed to have noticed the change in atmosphere.

No way...was it possible? Had it already learned about the power of nen?

"Y/N, Gon, Killua... You three must deal with him yourselves. We'll be encountering more Chimera Ant soldiers like him. I won't be able to help you during combat, so if you can't defeat him, you will have to leave." Kite stepped back from the fight.

You nodded, Gon and Killua mirroring you. The three of you understood what hung in the fate of this fight.

"We told you before Kite, we're pros, not just kids!"

In sync, you all activated your nen together.

"Did you hear that bunny? I'm about to blow off those weird speedos of yours into the next dimension." You raised your hand in front of you, manipulating the wind to blow him away with every step that you advanced.

Killua was already in the air, prepared to test his thunder-bolt. In a flash of blue, dozens of lightning strikes were being zapped into the ant, immobilizing him. Gon's charged punch was enough to send him flying across the sky.

You saw his tail-puff shrink and sparkle in the distance as he was about to disappear, until something fast and unidentifiable swept him away.

Someone had been watching.

"He let his soldier do the fighting so that he could learn our abilities," Kite explained while walking towards the three of you again.

Gon and Killua looked disappointed. You hadn't even gotten a chance to use much of your powers during that fight. If you had finished it off, would that have been enough to prove yourselves?

"Are you coming?"

You looked up at Kite.

"There's no need to feel down, your attacks weren't that bad. You just need experience now. If you wish to become stronger, this is a perfect opportunity... But if you aren't prepared, you won't be able to endure it. Whether we win or lose, hell lies ahead of us." Kite finished off, looking at each one of you in the eye with a resolute stare.

You knew that. Gon and Killua knew that also.

Even so, all three of you were prepared and eager to do whatever it takes to strengthen yourselves and help Kite save NGL.

⋯✰⋯

Kite looked serene as the light of the small campfire lit up his features. He and Gon had caught some fish for dinner earlier, while Killua and you set up camp. Now, you sat brushing arms with Killua, who was sitting next to Gon, who was huddled up close to Kite. The night was quiet, except for the cicadas singing in the trees and the thoughts running through you and your friend's minds.

There was a lot to think about.

Gon and Killua hadn't even been given the time to grieve over the loss of their past acquaintance, before being hit with the hard-hitting truth that the Ants were already evolving at a nightmarish rate. Nobody knew how many had gone missing or even more so been eaten. Yet everyone knew that the death count had already surpassed comprehensible numbers. Most likely, not everybody here would make it out alive.

But, the three of you consistently have proven the odds wrong. You held onto that fact like you held onto your pendant.

It reassured you.

It was obvious that the three of you had become inseparable over the past two years.

After you met Gon and Killua at Heaven's Arena, you'd never left each other's side.

Nobody would be going home without the other, because you had all found home within each other.

"Hey, Kite? What was your dad like?" Gon asked.

Kite looked up at the boy, surprised by the sudden question. Turning his eyes to the starry night sky, he exhaled a breath of cold air.

"I didn't know him. He disappeared when I was a child."

Gon hummed, waiting for Kite to continue. He knew that feeling too. It was an icy and empty feeling, not having a father figure in your life to guide you, praise you.

"I have very few memories of him, but they've all muddled together by now. Sometimes I can't tell if they're real or if I've convinced myself they are."

"....I think Ging would thank you."

This brought Kite's attention back to Gon.

"Thank me for what?"

"Well... You've been like a sort of mentor for me ever since we met, back on Whale Island. If it weren't for you, I would never have even become a hunter. Maybe I'm just a kid, but the past month it felt like I.. like I had a dad."

Your heart ached for Gon, who had been searching this whole time for his father in everyone he met and everything he saw. Gently, you placed your hand over his and squeezed it, wishing you could be of more comfort to him. Wishing you could turn back time and bring Ging back to his home, to Gon.

Kite's eyes softened as he looked at the boy, who offered a wobbly smile.

"Ging would be proud of you," he said, ruffling Gon's spiky hair.

That night, the glimmering moonlight had brought out your most vulnerable selves. You felt a honey-like warmth grow inside of you— a new member had just been added to your family. Killua seemed content, happy that his friend was smiling. And Gon's eyes matched the twinkling stars as he looked up to Kite like he was the most wonderful thing.

It was a special night. You knew deep down that you would treasure it, for a long time to come.

⋯✰⋯

[fancyladssnacks]

You and Whose Army

or;

What if the Seed family were actually good and Hope County is just really paranoid?

AU fic with slow burn Jacob Seed/Staci Pratt, and not-so-slow-burn John/male!Deputy in the background.

Keeping it on tumblr for now because AO3 creates scary ~commitment~ and I just want somewhere to share it with my FC5 buddies (especially you, @avaleahblog). I have not abandoned my Fallout fics. No content warnings for this chapter but I’ll flag ‘em up as necessary.

1

Pratt hasn’t been out to the St Francis Veteran Centre in years, not since he was a rookie and got called out to deal with a vagrancy complaint. The place had been long abandoned back then, the courtyard choked with weeds and faded trash. Inside it had stunk to high heaven. Bird and animal shit and the remains of campfires caked the floors.

Today as he walks up the gravel road to the gates, it’s like stepping back into another era when the hospital was open and thriving. The front court is visible, for one thing. No ivy or knotweed strangling the iron gate, and the paving beyond is level and clean.

The new owner is one Jacob Seed. Pratt’s never officially met him, though he’s seen him around now and again. Seed and his family—two brothers, plus an unknown number of hangers-on—rolled into Hope County a few months back after buying up a suspicious amount of property. The Sheriff’s Department started getting calls soon after. Just the odd one at first, but the longer the Seeds take root on this land, the more the locals are reacting against their presence.

Most of the attention is on Joseph Seed, the long-haired preacher who bought up half the island on Silver Lake and is setting up some kind of hippy commune there. Rumour has it he’s building a chapel, but in the meantime he holds open services a couple times a week in a big white tent on his land. Folks started going along out of curiosity at first, looking to sniff around what this weirdo and his barefoot harem were up to. Probably hoping there’d be naked dancing around maypoles or some such to tide them over in gossip until winter. But whatever Joseph has to say seems to be connecting with people, because almost as many locals love him as hate him now. Of course, that’s only made family members more concerned. There’s already accusations of brainwashing and devil-worship flying around.

While the Sheriff’s Department isn’t taking such nonsense seriously, there have been enough calls to the station by now that Earl Whitehorse finally agreed to address the issue. It’s been a slow couple of days, so Earl tasked his deputies with visiting various Seed family properties to cast an eye over things. Staci isn’t over the moon at being sent to St Francis’, but Jacob’s property is at the farthest reach of the county and he’s the only one who can pilot the chopper. He casts a glance back at where he left it—set down on the grass at the point of the little lake out front of the building—then sighs and pushes through the gates.

The courtyard seems deserted. There’s a new-looking Jeep with Montana plates parked near the gates, and a couple of mud-spattered ATVs further back, but no one attending them. Over in one corner is a stack of rusting bed frames and other trash, leftovers from the hospital’s former life. Pratt strolls past a dried-up fountain towards the front doors. The weather is warming up, and the prickle down his spine and under his arms makes him wish he’d left his jacket in the chopper.

Pratt lifts the brass knocker on the lobby door. His four sharp raps cut like gunfire through the hush of the valley. He turns from the door to wait and idly examines the plastic-wrapped pallets standing by the entrance. Masonry paint, sacks of cement, plasterboard sheets. Most likely ordered from out of county judging by the volume. Pratt raises an eyebrow at the huge spools of razor wire.

A couple of minutes pass, and he knocks again.

“Hello?” he calls out, but only his own voice echoes back off the high walls around the Centre.

He considers trying the door and hollering inside, but the locals he’s talked to who had run-ins with Jacob Seed have described him as anything but friendly, so he decides against it. He wanders along the ground floor instead, hoping to catch a glimpse within. The windows on this level are guarded by iron bars on the outside and dark blinds drawn inside. It seems a waste of time and fuel to fly out here for nothing, so he turns right when he reaches the corner to make a clockwise loop around the building. Along the western wall is a row of large boxes, each one almost as tall as he is, covered over with green tarps. Staci lifts a corner up to peek underneath. It’s not a box at all, but a metal cage. The kind you might keep a vicious animal or, say, a prisoner of war in.

“Great. Not disturbing at all,” he mutters to himself.

There’s more junk heaped up ready for a bonfire in back. Open dumpsters stuffed with dead weeds and other garbage. Still not a soul to be seen.

On the back wall of the hospital Pratt finds a window left uncovered. It’s barred like the others, but when he cups his hands around his eyes and leans in, he can make out the gloomy interior.

The room within is mostly empty, just a few boxes near the door and a folding table with paint trays and rollers. If Staci smushes his face to the bars and peers all the way to his left, he can see through an open doorway into another room, and in there…

“Oh, shit.”

The section of wall he can see is lined with racks, and on those racks are guns. Lots of guns. Identical assault rifles occupy one full rack, while the one beside it is harder to make out but he thinks he sees shotguns and a large hunting bow. In a glass-fronted cabinet under the racks he can make out the dark shapes of pistols against a red backing cloth.

He shifts from foot to foot, wondering whether he should take out his phone and try to get pictures. But he’s not supposed to be here, at least not sneaking round the back of the property like a burglar, and he’s wary of taking away any evidence he might regret later.

Suddenly, all he wants is to get back to Fall’s End. He heads back the way he came and crosses the courtyard at a brisk pace. He glances back only once he’s halfway along the path. The hospital’s yellow walls are catching the late afternoon sun, and Staci can’t help but marvel at what a beautiful spot this is, nestled in its own lush, wooded valley with the vast wall of Monument Mountain curving around it like protective arms, and the lake reflecting the clouds. It’s a damn shame it’s been bought up by a family of crazies.

He jogs up the grassy rise to the helicopter and around to the side. As he rounds the tail end he stops short, boots skidding on the damp grass.

Jacob Seed is sitting in the cockpit.

One foot on the landing skid and the other in the opening, his ass parked on the pilot’s seat as though he belongs there. A sleek black rifle leans against the body of the chopper within easy reach. He’s holding a rosy red apple in one hand, turning it slowly as he strips the peel into a long spiral with a pocket knife. In a holster at his thigh is a much larger hunting knife, black and menacing against the faded blue of his jeans.

“Evening, Deputy,” he says at last, not looking up from his apple.

Staci shuts his mouth and swallows painfully, throat suddenly parched. He tries to calm himself, squeezing his already sweating hands into fists at his sides. It’s fine. Just because Seed chanced upon the helicopter doesn’t mean he knows anything else. Staci glances at the expensive scope on the rifle, and gets the uneasy feeling that perhaps he’s seen everything.  

“Mr Seed,” Staci replies. It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth; makes him feel like a kid addressing a teacher. But he doesn’t know the man well enough to call him Jacob. Maybe he should have just called him Seed; he’ll remember that for next time. At least he didn’t call him Sir.

He takes a few steps closer to the chopper, but Jacob doesn’t move.

“Do you mind?”

“Mind what, exactly?” Seed sounds bored as he finishes peeling the apple and lets the ribbon of red skin drop to the grass. He looks up at Staci then, and his eyes are a clear, vivid blue.

Pratt has never seen him up close before, and it’s hard not to stare at his scars. The ones on his face are most distracting simply due to their placement. His right cheek is marred worse than the left, pocked and mottled by what Staci assumes is a burn. The meanest scars are on his arms, angry red splotches against faded pink-brown, as though already marked skin has been injured again recently. As though his first trial by fire hadn’t taught him enough of a lesson. The thought makes Staci even more anxious.

He forces his eyes back to meet Seed’s. “This chopper is property of the Hope County Sheriff Department,” he tells him.

Jacob’s eyebrows raise in feigned surprise. “That so,” he replies. He gestures with the pocket knife at the land around them. “Well, since all of this is my property, I think that means you and your chopper aren’t supposed to be on it without an invitation.” He fixes Staci with that bright blue glare. “And I don’t recall inviting you, Deputy.”

Staci clears his throat. He’s being challenged, but he’ll be damned if he makes himself look weak by apologising.

“We’ve had a couple of reports of strange activity on your family’s properties,” he says, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops. Everything he does feels awkward and transparent. It’s maddening, and more than a little embarrassing, but he doesn’t want to draw more attention by moving his hands again. He presses on. “I just came out to have a word, but you were nowhere to be seen.”

“You’ve found me now.”

Clearly the opposite is true.

Staci nods anyway. “Mind me asking what sort of operation you’re running out here?”

Seed completely ignores the question and takes a bite of apple instead, forcing Pratt to wait for his reply while he chews. He squints against the treeline thoughtfully and swallows.

“What exactly constitutes ‘strange activity’, Deputy?”

“A lot of trucks bringing stuff in from out of county. Construction noise around the clock. Blocking off footpaths.” He shrugs. “All sorts of little things, but add it all up and it’s out of the ordinary for a quiet community like this.”

“Wasn’t aware out of the ordinary was the same as illegal.”

Pratt exhales impatiently. “It’s not. But it’s putting folks on edge. Maybe if they had an idea what was going on, it would set their minds at ease.”

Seed shakes his head, still looking into the distance. “Doesn’t matter where you go,” he sighs. “People can’t mind their own damn business.”

“Come on now, Mr Seed,” Staci says. “If everything’s above board, what’s there to hide? What are you doing out here?”

“Why don’t you tell me,” Jacob says. “You got a nice long look around. What’d you find out?”

Shit. Of course he saw him. Pratt pauses, considering whether or not to admit what he saw.

“You have a lot of guns,” he replies. “Sidearms and assault rifles mostly, from what I could tell. Not your everyday hunting fare.”

“Oh, I have hunting rifles too, Deputy.”

Staci can tell Seed is loving every second of his discomfort. He isn’t even trying to make himself look innocent. All that tells Staci is that he’s arrogant. Seed’s brother may be a fancy lawyer, but that doesn’t make him or anyone in his weirdo family untouchable.

“You care to tell me why you need that kind of firepower?”

Seed takes another big bite of his apple. “Security,” he says around his mouthful.  

Pratt shifts his weight to the other foot. “Security for what?”

“For my family’s property,” he replies. “My brother Joseph is very trusting, very patient. I’m not. I told him there were gonna be people in this county who wouldn’t want to see him succeed. You just proved me right.”

“Succeed at what?” Staci blurts out.

Seed is out of the cockpit and on his feet in one swift motion. For a big man, he sure moves fast. Pratt has to steel himself to stay put rather than backing up a couple of steps the way he wants to. The way Seed is expecting him to. Of course, he has to be taller than Staci, only by a couple inches, but he makes sure to flaunt it as he moves closer.

“Are we done here, Deputy…” He peers down at the name stitched above Staci’s breast pocket. “…Pratt?” The hard consonants grit out from between his teeth, cold and clear as ice chips.

They lock eyes for a few seconds. Seed knows exactly how intimidating he is with his bulk and his scars and those intense eyes, bright blue like a gas flame. Staci doesn’t have any of his presence, but he stares back anyway, keen to show the other man that he’s no cowering fool.

Eventually he nods his head once, holding the eye contact.

“We’re done.”

Seed steps back to retrieve his rifle. “I trust that I won’t find you trespassing on my property again.”

“As long as you don’t cause any trouble, I’ll have no reason to come back.” His attempt at a warning tone is laughable and they both know it, but all Seed does as he meets Staci’s eye again is tilt one corner of his mouth up ever so slightly.

“I’ll be sure to remember it.” Without taking his eyes off Staci, he says, “Here, Judge.”

Staci frowns in confusion, mouth opening to say What? when a blur of grey and white fur flashes past him.

“Jesus Christ,” he stammers instead.

The biggest fucking dog he’s ever seen bounds over to Jacob Seed’s side and sits, sniffing his hand before turning big yellow eyes on Staci. A long pink tongue like a slice of bacon lolls from its mouth. How long was that thing watching them? There are wolves in these mountains, and the monster sitting next to Jacob Seed is either one of them or a close goddamn relative. Heart hammering, Pratt makes a mental note to look up what the law has to say about keeping wolves as pets.

Seed leans his rifle across his shoulders and saunters off with the giant hound at his side. Staci is furious. He climbs into the helicopter, slamming the cockpit door too hard behind him, and quickly checks over the control panel in case Seed decided to fuck with anything. Everything seems fine. He’s relieved, but also disappointed he doesn’t have anything to pin on him. Jacob Seed is bad fucking news, and Pratt swears to himself there and then that he’s going to be the one to prove it.

He fumbles his headset on and fires up the chopper, scowling at the controls until he’s put air between him and the ground. As he tilts the craft in the direction of home, he glances down and notices Jacob still standing at the tree line watching him. Seed raises his right hand to his head in a mocking salute, and while he’s too far away to be sure, Staci just knows the bastard is grinning.