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brokokomi · 1 year

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Saint turned Sinner

Chapter One

Many years had passed since that beautiful yet sorrowful night. The forest had shed and regrown its leaves 9 times, the water had frozen and melted so many times the boys could not count. The lady of the house had never truly recovered from the birth, slowly withering away before her own eyes. Her husband never lifted a finger to help or comfort her. He had got his son, he needed nothing else. The eldest son of the household had grown into a healthy boy who knew his worth very well, his name was Ryota, which he tried to live up to everyday. He tried to be strong. He had everything he needed and held so much freedom that only the birds flew farther, for his brother Yoshihiro however, this was never the case. The younger brother had become accustomed to the treatment of his father, knowing from an early age to stay hidden in his cupboard sized room never daring to ask for more food. The young lad had always stuck close to his mother, always holding onto her legs as if anything else he touched would fall apart. He knew how to survive in that house, unfortunately it had turned him into a blank sullen person. Ryota had never seen him smile, not even a sneaky grin. That is, until that fateful day…when everything changed…

It was four days until the beginning of September, Ryota was outside training with one of the many soldiers his Father had employed. He had been learning to fight since he was five years old yet he had never landed a blow on this man. Never scratched him nor moved him an inch, he had never even caused the man to lose his balance. From afar Yoshihiro had watched this everyday, every month for years. But it was never the soldier he watched, nor the movements. It was his brother, you see in all the years they had been on earth they had never been granted time together. Only short moments with their mother or when eating, occasionally meeting accidentally by the lake. For the first time he moved towards the two. His expression blank and movements light, as though he had to intention to do anything except walk, he arrived in front of them both. The soldier, Sugawara , motioned for him to join. Ryota had scoffed , convinced his brother would stand no chance against him just as he had always struggled. Picking up a wooden sword he moved as quickly as the wind and landed a blow on Suga, leaving the man on the ground with a smile of astonishment on his face. Yet Yoshihiro didn’t show any sign of happiness , he simply put down the sword and helped the man up. Looking towards his brother Ryota held a scowl, after all, how could his lesser best him? How could he hold such strength and ability naturally..

After this Yoshihiro had left to sweep leaves, later bringing his mother her meal. With kind eyes she looked at her son

“how was your day my dear?” A small tired smile crossed his face

“I trained with brother and mr Suga, I beat him as well “

At this her eyes widened in surprise, she then giggled at the sight of a grown man being bettered by a child who had never learned combat. If she was strong enough to walk, she would have gone to tease him herself. Yoshihiro helped his mother sit up, fetching the bowl of udon to help her eat.

“You need not look after me child, you should eat this yourself “She breathed out, she had always known her husband fed him very little, unable to actually starve the child and look his peers in the eye. So she tried to feed him what she could. Yoshihiro only brought the ladle of broth up to her mouth, kind eyes urging her to drink. Gathering the strength to eat on her own she took the chopsticks and slowly, but surely, finished her meal. She tried not to let her sons know how sick she truly was, at least Ryota had never caught on to the severity. That same son came blasting through the doors to see his mother, Miho, “my dear boy I’ve missed you ‘’ she uttered as she embraced him. Yoshihiro hid away in the corner to avoid attention, but his brother was not so oblivious. “Did he tell you what he did today? Even though I haven't hit Suga yet “he spoke in a huff. His cheeks coming out in a small puff.

Miho nodded and smiled at her son, it warmed her heart to see her two loves be in the same room without any stress. She only wished it had happened more, and if it did, that she would be around to see it. Ryota talked and talked for what seemed like hours to Yoshihiro, he marveled at his brother's ability to talk so much., equally, he envied it. For the first time he had spent time with brother, eight years is a long time to be alone in a room with a single small window.

As the moon joined the sky for another long night Yoshihiro crept away back into his tiny room hoping to avoid any and all people, but especially his ‘father’. A volatile man undeserving of any praise, but earning of fear. Yoshihiro had never understood why his father hated to look at him, why he had never looked at him as he did Ryota. Many nights he had wondered if it was his birthmark, ‘’the scar looking thing’’ as he called it. The shape of a wave, no sharp edges, his mother had always loved it. Funnily enough he had never come to see the man as a monster, not yet. He always heard the servants spit on his name, speak of terrible acts his young mind could not even imagine. To cause someone pain on purpose and enjoy it? That was a notion he could never come to grasp…

That night as Yoshihiro lay down in his shabby futon he felt the air get cold, so very cold he shivered while wrapped in his blanket. The poor child had never spent a night wrapped in warm comforts, never in his mothers arms or beside his brother. On some occasions the servants and maids would feel bad for him and offer, but as always with a blank smile he would say ‘thank you’ and reject the offer. His young heart knew his father would do or say something unforgiving to them. As his eyes fluttered like the moths he shared his space with, he wished for tomorrow to be fun as well, he wished for another day with his mother, and Ryota.

As the sun joined the clouds for another day Yoshihiro awoke to the sound of a bang, As he peered around the corner outside his room he saw a maid on the ground reaching for broken glass, He rubbed his eyes and crawled over, ‘’ Yoshihiro! Please don’t trouble yourself you'll hurt your hands!’’, ignoring her he simply picked it up and placed it in a cloth ‘’I’ll take care of it’’ and with that he left. You see, the first time he had seen that situation his father hurt the poor girl badly, she could not use her hand for weeks, let alone work. While he didn’t quite know why people needed money or work, he understood it kept her family happy, kept them safe. He made sure the glass would not clink in his pocket, as if he was caught he would be questioned, and he was not really a fan of socialising. Talking just wasn’t his thing, unlike his loud mouthed brother who he could hear on the other side of the house. Back in his room he pulled open a small box, what was in this box you may ask? Glass, shards upon shards of broken glass, as he added the new shards he thought to himself ‘another smile saved.’’

You see, our young Yoshihiro had helped many maids, even regular servants with things that otherwise may have resulted in ‘unfortunate circumstances’. Broken cups, glasses, plates, frames, whatever it may be he helped. He had began this at age five, he discovered he could do things a little better than the other children he saw, he could run longer, hold more, and as he had learned just yesterday, hit harder too. Miho had taught him to be kind, strong and caring. Virtues she saw in him since the day he was born, she only wished he would smile more.

‘The residence was not much of a home, mere walls and echoes of loneliness gathered in every corner of every room and at the end of every corridor. ‘

As the day carried on, the maid had appeared before him again a few times. At first she was nervous he had told someone, but as always nothing came about. No fury, no punishment, just a child with a blank expression with a desire to be stuck in the shadows walking along the corridor. He began to think she was a little crazy, but paid her no mind. As he ever so quietly moved along the house he heard a bellow, a thwack, and a yelp. Mr Suga and Ryota were training once again, Ryota of course was loosing. Again. When the soldier saw the younger brother he called him over, though Ryota was hesitant, he waited for his brother to join them. A few hours had gone by since, Sugawara had never seen a child so strong, eight years old and fast as a cheetah. He hit harder than any man in the household or any man on the field, but he had no malicious intent behind any movement. Never intended to inflict pain or harm, simply win. Ryota still was yet to lay a finger on Mr Suga, this difference between the two didn’t rest well within him, raised as his brothers better he couldn’t accept that Yoshihiro had natural talent, that he was stronger. Sword or fist he could not beat either one of them, and it ground away at him. At the sound of a bell striking twelve Ryota and his brother finished up with Sugawara and got ready to leave for their lunch, Ryota rather happily ran off towards the smell of meat, only looking behind with a quizzical look at his brother once. Yoshihiro watched his brother disappear into the house, then moved to pick up wooden swords left behind to help their friend clean up , unsure of if his brother had forgot to help too…

This night felt different to both of the boys, the cold air seemed to stiffen as the evening went on, their father had dragged his wife Miho to the dining table that day despite her barely walking on her own, as she made her way back to her room her love Yoshihiro had kept tight to her weak leg solely supporting her, even though she protested as if her husband saw him there's no knowing how he would be. He had always helped her walk, since the day she collapsed outside his room with some mochi she had ‘borrowed’ from the kitchen. That had also become their special snack to eat together, she was worried it would taste too ‘plain’ for a child, but he loved it as much as he loved her. He had become her ‘little mochi’, and this always made the blank boy smile bright. When they reached the room he sensed a change in his mother ‘’ what wrong Mimi?’’ he nervously shuffled his feet. ‘’ Oh mochi my love I'm fine, Mimi just needs a moment.’’ Ryota came barreling at the two, scaring the bejeezus out of his brother in all honesty.

Ryota stopped just before them, not really noticing his mothers inability to properly stand. ‘’Night mama! ‘’ then continued to run away to his room. Yoshihiro looked at his mum with puppy eyes, ‘’ darling I am okay ‘’ Miho was never a good liar, though always preached she was to her boys. As they began to move again her beloved husband appeared (seemingly out of nowhere) with a look that very much contained anger. Miho’s hair began to stand on the back of her neck, ‘ please, please no’ she gently tried to guide her son into her room behind her, even though she felt her knees giving out already. Without a word his father came over and grabbed him by the arm, the first time he had ever touched his son…

As they reached the study he yanked the boy forward, as Yoshihiro steadied himself he noticed the maid and head servant. The poor girl looked terrified, the head servant looked furious. ‘’where is it’’ the girl began to shake, ‘’where is what, sir?’’ poor Yoshihiro couldn’t look him in the eye, he never could. ’’The glass,’’ he spoke pointedly. Unsure of what to say Yoshihiro kept a blank expression and said nothing, which his father did not like. ‘’it was from an expensive set son’’ this was from the head servant, while he was mad he didn’t wish any harm to come to a young child, or the young maid. It was no secret how cruel the master of the house could be.

As the minutes went by the air grew colder, sensing the girls fear grow higher at every sudden movement Yoshihiro decided to do something for the first time. He lied. ‘’I broke it, I ran into her, its my fault,’’ the girl looked at him in shock, with a face full of gratitude. ‘’Get out,’’ both workers flinched, ‘’ before I do something you will regret.’’ No one wasted anytime, quickly scurrying out of the room.

As Yoshihiro walked passed the maid she tried to scramble together a sentence, a thank you, anything she could. But what came out was a quiet ‘’sorry,’’ hid right eye was so bruised his birthmark blended into it. He carried on, hoping he would get to his room before his mother saw him, unfortunately he did not. It took all her strength to walk to the door of her room, and it broke her heart to see her baby like that. Her hand swung to her mouth as tears streamed down her cheeks, her eyes grew sore and puffy, she hid as he turned around. She knew if he had seen her crying he would never come to her for anything again. Sadly what he did not see, he heard. His young heart couldn’t handle the idea of causing his mother to cry, being the reason she struggled. No one in the house would tell him it wasn’t his fault, in fact no one would. Not for many years.

Ryota had heard from some whispers outside his room what happened, for the first time he was truly aware of how his father treated his brother, and equally didn’t know what to do. He decided he would try to make him smile, maybe even laugh.

The sun went down with a silent promise of tomorrow, poor Yoshihiro lay down alone in his cold box of a room with a headache he thought would last forever. He had never cried since the day he was born, but at the memory of his mother’s own tears, he did tonight.

Twelve hours had since passed, the black eye was more blue and less puffy. Yoshihiro had decided to stay in his room and stay out of his fathers way, as well as his mothers. He spent his hours by himself, playing with twigs or whatever he got his hands on. The young maid he had helped came by a few times to give him water and food, but she couldn’t do much to lift his spirits. He had learned her name now, Midori, with amazing green eyes like a field. Eventually his father had come by and scared her off, ensuring his solitude. His room was small but the sliding doors on his left wall opened to a small part of the garden. He had decided to get some fresh air, when he spotted Ryota coming towards him, almost like a baby deer which was a change from his usual abrasiveness. It was the first time his brother had come by his room, certainly the first time he had come to see him. As Ryota slowly walked towards him he caught a glimpse of something in his hand, it seemed to be wood? Bamboo? He wasn’t really sure. He tilted his head at his brother, ‘’why are you here?’’

Ryota had his hands on the ledge, standing on his tiptoes to just see over it, ‘’I made you something,’’ he spoke quietly, nervously. Yoshihiro didn’t speak back, just nervously shuffled, he didn’t know how to speak to his brother. After all, he never had before. Ryota gave his brother what seemed to be a very bad carving of a dog, ‘’it’s a friend for you to always have, so you aren’t alone.’’ A few moments passed, Yoshihiro had kept his head down looking at the ‘dog’, just as Ryota was about to asked what was wrong, he saw his brother break into a wide smile, big round cheeks and wide eyes. Small silent tears rolled down his cheek, Ryota was so shocked he couldn’t speak. He had never seen his small meek brother express any emotion before. The two sat together talking for the first time since they were born, Ryota talked the most as always while Yoshihiro was happy to listen, it was maybe four in the afternoon before either of them thought to move. Their stomachs reminding them that they do need to eat, and reminding Yoshihiro he needs to see his mother, ‘’it wasn't your fault little brother, I don’t know what you did but the lady was really happy.’’

Miho had spent most of the day unconscious, during the night her condition worsened with a high fever. When she did wake up her baby boy was at her side with warm food untouched. ‘’Oh darling, how is your pain?’’ she brought her hand to his cheek weakly and brushed his hair out of his face, ‘’ I'm okay mimi, I just tripped.’’ He tried his best to cheer his mother up, but she was so weak and tired. Something seemed different about his mother, her eyes were a little less bright and her smile a little less wide. She barely ate her meal, giving most of it to him telling him he needs to be strong for what comes next, he had no idea what she was talking about. He didn’t know what she was trying to say, what she was trying to prepare him for.

Yoshihiro stayed by his mothers side while she slept, telling her all about his day and his time with his brother, and the gift he had gotten. ‘’He gave me a friend mimi, I’m not alone now. Just like you wanted.’’ He wondered what his mother dreamed of, he had asked her a thousand times, she would always say ‘’ I’ll tell you when you’re older my little mochi, when it will make sense.’’

Yoshihiro didn’t go back to his room that night, for some reason he felt the need to spend what time he could with his mother, the halls echoed with a chilling roar of silence. The moon seemed to beam brighter than the sun ever had and the cloud began to glow. He sat with a book called ‘whims of the wild’, one he had seen his mother read a thousand times. He moved to look outside and sit with himself, he wondered what tomorrow would bring, if it would be as fun as today had been. Maybe Midori would be his next friend, he slowly succumbed to his tiredness as the howls of wolves and echoes of owls lulled him to sleep. He dreamt of a serene lake, clouds as far as the eye could see, the horizon glowing bright. If only the gods had let it stay that way…He heard his mother speak to him in his dreams, ‘’My sweet little mochi, I’m so sorry I'm leaving you alone… I’m not going to see you for some time, I can’t protect you much longer, or Ryota, you both need to be strong. Never forget how strong you can be, or how precious. Now go.’’ Then , he woke up.

As Yoshihiro opened his eyes he noticed he was no longer in his mothers room , he felt a sadness wash over him , but the young boy didn’t know where it came from. He slowly staggered off his futon, Yoshihiro looked around to try and find something out of place, but had found nothing. His young mind was suspicious of everything, curious of his own feelings he had no name for. His mother had not taught him the name for a tight chest and beating heart, it was worse than worry. He hoped he would never feel it again. As he left his room the halls were more silent than ever, the air cold and hollow walls echoed with a promise of surprise. As he wondered he saw the maids all keeping their heads down, he thought they were looking for something, but the truth was they couldn’t bare to look at him. He found Midori further down the corridor , he knew something when the poor girl also couldn’t look at him either. ‘’Midori? What's going on?’’’

Midori had left him very confused, his mother was gone? Gone where? When? Why? His mimi wouldn’t leave him, not on purpose. Thoughts raced through the young boys mind as he tried to find his brother, clutching his ‘friend’ so hard he thought he may break him. He hurried around the estate trying to find his mother, brother , any one , for hours. It was so quiet, for the first time he had freely moved around not worried about being seen , not scared of his fathers looming presence. His Bruise began to ache again, as Yoshihiro staggered from the sudden pain increase he saw his mothers favourite sakura tree, once so beautiful he thought it was the only thing to match his mother. Now burned to ash. Only things left were a few petals , he picked them up and put them in his pocket. Yoshihiro felt a calling to his mothers room , as he ran to it he tripped over every stone and stick. The closer he got the sadder he felt, sadder than he had in all nine winters.

When he finally reached his mother’s room it was cold. Quiet. Empty. He searched for any sign of his mother , but nothing was found. Then he felt a pull to a corner of the room he always saw his mother in , the brick on the corner had a crack in and was loose, he moved it and found a small bag inside and a note. ‘ Yoshihiro my love, I know when I am gone your father will not give you much to remember me, so take this,’’ inside was a locket with an engraving. ‘Ikigai’ next to pictures of him and his brother. He still didn’t know what was happening, or why his mimi wasn't here, but he knew he should take this, so he placed the petals in the locket form his pocket then placed it around his neck.

Yoshihiro decided to stop his search and sit by the once beautiful sakura tree , by now he had been there for hours. Only playing with the grass and ash , hoping the tree felt no pain. He hoped his mother hadn’t seen it this way , wherever she was. As the day grew longer he heard more people moving, talking, whispering. He slowly began to fall asleep. The stress of the day taking a toll on his smal body. As he closed his eyes he thought pf the trees blossoms, and his mothers smile.

He was woken up by yelling, and the smell of smoke. When his eyes opened fully he saw his mothers beloved room burning , suddenly all his memories of her went up with the smoke , he ran to the flames with tears in his eyes. The fire looked so bright and blazed against the night sky, and as the smoke climbed higher he saw a monster come out of them. ‘’ YOU, LITTLE RAT,’’ his father raged towards him. ‘’IVE DEALT WITH YOUR WASTE OF A LIFE LONG ENOUGH.’’ Yoshihiro stumbled backwards, truly scared of his father after what he had already done to his eye. He knew he had to leave , but the poor boy didn’t know how he would. As he looked around for an escape he saw Midori looking at him, then towards the forest that headed north. He wanted to say bye to his brother , but he knew he would be safe. After all he was the favourite son , worthy of love and nourishment.

Yoshihiro began to turn back towards the forest, the smoke heavy in his lungs and tears heavy on his cheeks , he had realised where his mother had gone , and that he would not see her again. It broke his heart to leave her memories burning behind him , but he could not bare to watch it anymore. As he ran from his father he heard mr Suga shout ‘’RUN BOY,’’ turning his head he saw the man tackle his father. He had bought him time , protected him. He kept going into the forest , until the moon had long been at its highest point and he had long since ran far away from the temple. When his lungs and legs finally gave out he was next to an open lake , it reflected the moon and stars like a mirror. Feeling the weight of what had taken place began to crush his poor heart, Yoshihiro would never be the same again. The mostly expressionless boy had been through so much in life , he wasn’t sure how he would get through what came next. He decided to become strong , to help people who had no one or had been left behind. The Yoshihiros of the world. To protect peoples smiles , as his mother had tried to protect his.

Please go to wattpad or Ao3 under the same username to see the rest of this work as i continue to update !!!

#fiction #dark fantasy #original #original writing #original character

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mlmxreader · 2 years

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The New Guy | Donald Pierce x trans!m!reader

@logan-strong asked: Hello. I can't remember if I've sent an ask before so if I have please feel free to ignore it.

But I had this idea for a donald pierce x trans!male reader who is a new part of the reaver gang. Donald takes a shine to them but nobody knows they're trans. The reader is standoffish and cold. They're also a certified badass. I was thinking one day Donald for some reason sees them shirtless and sees their top surgery scars.

summary: you're new to the Reavers, but Donald trusts you not to fuck everything up when he brings you along with him. It's just a shame that being all alone together is the perfect excuse to forget about work and the job that you're tasked with - maybe even a little too perfect.

tws: use of the word Daddy, swearing, smoking, top surgery scars

You were new to the Reavers, having joined up mostly because the money was good and you needed it to help with your transition; as a trans man, it was expensive to get the things that really, truly, made you feel like yourself, the things that really and honestly made you feel like the man you were. Sure, it was hard work and you often went back home exhausted both mentally and physically, and you often wished you had turned down the job, but then you thought of your boss, the leader of the Reavers, and you realised you had more than one reason to stay. Donald. He didn't treat you like the others, he seemed to prefer you and was even a little bit softer with you; you knew he didn't know you were trans, but you did like the fact that he wasn't so cruel and cold towards you.

You drummed your fingers on the wooden breakfast bar, resting your cheek on your hand as your elbow dug into the wood and you sighed, watching Donald; he needed you around for this one, he knew that. No one could take down an idiot with two swords and a mouth that could talk for Britain like you could. Donald trusted you, and as he skulked around the kitchen, he shot you a glare.

"If you're gonna do nothing all night, maybe you should just go home."

You raised a brow, stretching a little as you dared to let out a quiet yawn. Fuck, it was getting late and you doubted the mercenary you were after would be home any time soon. Slowly, you folded your arms on the wood and sank down enough to put your chin on your wrist. "Or not. Someone has to be here in case you fuck up again."

He scoffed, doing his best not to smile as he helped himself to the cupboards and the fridge, most of them were almost entirely empty, but he managed to find a packet of cigarettes and a box of crackers; he chucked the former your way and kept the crackers for himself as he leaned against the counter and tore the box open.

"Relax, baby," he hummed, daring to grin a little but moving over slightly so that the light didn't catch the black metal of his fingers and glare directly at you. "We'll be fine."

You grumbled, not wanting the way he called you baby to fucking claw at your insides, and lit up a cigarette. Fuck, he just had to be hot, didn't he? Of all the goddamn people in the world, the one who sent shivers down your spine and made you grin like a fool, was the one who was as cruel as he was charming. "Do you have to call me baby?"

"Why, do you like it?" He beamed, putting the crackers on the counter and daring to close in on you, his hands either side of you as he leaned over slightly, tilting his head to the side and looking you up and down. "Hm? Do ya? Or would you prefer it if you got the chance to call me Daddy?"

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head a little as you took a long drag from your cigarette, hoping that he didn't see the way your hands shook and how your eyes were a little wide as you swallowed thickly. "Shut it."

"C'mon," he rounded the breakfast bar, putting his metal hand on the back of your chair so that he could spin it round enough for him to grip your chin between his forefinger and thumb with his other hand, a sick grin on his lips. "Y'know I'm a fan of your work, (y/n)... you can tell me the truth."

You rolled your eyes at the remark, blowing smoke directly in his face as you did your best not to grab his shirt and pull him closer. "Go to Hell, Donald."

"Oh, this puppy's got a bark," Donald laughed softly, shaking his head and pulling down your bottom lip with his thumb.

You pulled from his grasp, growling softly as you turned yourself back around, leaning on the breakfast bar again as you took a drag from your cigarette, finishing it and flicking it over the bar. Sure, Donald was incredibly attractive, and you did like him a lot, but you didn't want things to get messy between you two; you were new to the Reavers, you didn't want anyone to think that you only got the job because of some sort of attraction between you and Donald - even if you had the credentials to prove otherwise.

He wasn't about to give up, though, turning you around again and standing between your legs, his hands on your thighs as he licked his lips and dared to drop his gaze down to your mouth for a second too long. "Do you bite, too?"

Unable to stop yourself, you put your hands on his shoulders for a second, but when you noticed where his eyes were, you let one hand drift to the back of his neck, the other buried in the hair at the back of his head. Donald leaned in a little, ghosting his lips over yours before you whimpered softly and tugged at his hair, a pleading look in your eyes that he couldn't help but to fucking grin at; he couldn't hold back, tugging you close enough so that he could finally claim you. His kiss was rough, and harsh, more teeth and tongue and harsh breaths than anything else, but he made you moan as you took your hand from his neck and started to tug at your shirt; still, Donald beat you to it, using his metal hand to rip your shirt so that he didn't have to break the kiss, making you laugh softly until he was forced to pull away.

Catching his breath, Donald looked at the scars on your chest, and he hummed. "Shit."

"What?" You hissed. "You suddenly think I'm fucking ugly because I have top surgery scars?"

"No," he growled. "Why the fuck would I think that?"

His chest was heaving, breath heavy as he dared to use his metal hand to trace the scars, making you shiver with how cold it was, but you couldn't help but to smile; even if you really, really didn't want to.

"So, you can smile," Donald teased, splaying his fingers out as he licked his lips slowly, admiring your body as he nodded slowly. "What else can you do, baby?"

"Fuck you," you groaned, returning your hand to the back of his neck as you bit down at your bottom lip.

He all but laughed, pressing into you a little more as he dared to let a soft growl escape the back of his throat. "You'll have to wait for that, y'know."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

#mlem writes #Donald Pierce x reader #Donald Pierce imagine #Donald Pierce x you #Donald Pierce x yn #Donald Pierce x y/n #Donald Pierce #logan 2017 #logan fanfiction #logan fanfic #logan fic #logan imagine #logan #boyd holbrook #Boyd Holbrook x reader #Boyd Holbrook imagine

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justatypicalwizard · 9 months

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The Weight of a Butterfly | Chapter 3

✦ Shinazugawa Sanemi x femReader

✦ Synopsis: Sanemi gets a new Butterfly Girl who he really doesn't like at first, or even at all. Or maybe he does? Short, heartwarming, fluff story.

✦ Warnings: reader is described as an orphan, no smut

✦ From author: This is my first book written in English. It does contain a bunch of mistakes and overall isn't that great when it comes to writing skills. Nonetheless, I have a great sentiment for it and still adore the plot, that's why I decided to (re)post it. If you want to see my writing progress you can catch up on one of my more recent works.

Word count: 1k

Waking up, you sat in your bed. It was always weird to gut up in a strange room. Now this was your room. It was big and it was only you here.

Memories from last night hit you. You and your master came to his Estate, which was close to the village, the whole way in silence. He showed you your room and left you here. You had the whole evening to think about how much you messed up. You thought about making this up for him. Changing into the clothes that you found in the cupboard, you made your way down. Your outfit was simple and white. You looked like a housekeeper. Shinazugawa was nowhere to be found.

You explored the Estate. It had two storeys and was not very decorated. There were no flowers, no paintings. Just walls, floor, and a lot of empty rooms.

Looking out of the window you spotted your master training in the garden with some dummies. The garden looked better. There were stone paths and rockeries everywhere. A few tries gave shade in some places and there was a single rocking bench to sit. You could do a lot of things in that garden.

You ran down to the kitchen wanting to make breakfast. Unfortunately, the kitchen was empty. You had to ask Shinazugawa for some cash for groceries. You found a way to the garden, took a deep breath, and pushed the doors outside.

Shinazugawa was training hard, sweat dripping from his chin and forehead. He only had loose trousers on himself which made you look at him, no matter how hard you didn't want to. His skin was strewn with scars.

Suddenly he stopped smashing his sword into the dummies and turned your way.

''What are you staring at?'' He gave you a questioning look, rather an angry one.

''Sorry master.'' You bowed. ''I wanted to ask if you would be willing to hand me some money for the groceries. I wish to make you a meal.''

''I eat at the stall where I was yesterday.'' He shrugged his arms and went back to training.

Little did he know that now you were angry. Cooking was a sanctity for you. You loved to cook and nothing was better than a homemade meal. There were so many recipes for soups, main courses, and desserts. This whole thing was about to go to trash because of a simple 'I eat at the stall'.

''I am deeply sorry master, but I need to disobey you once more!'' You stated, looking at him.

He turned your way with an unsettling look.

''You got two orders and you can't follow even one?''

''I am deeply sorry master! As a Butterfly Girl I need to take care of your health and think that eating at a stall all the time is not best for you. You need certain meals depending on your training and wounds. I will cook for you.'' This was bold, but you crossed your hands on your chest.

Shinazugawa was a bit shocked. No other Butterfly Girl ever opposed him in this matter. Why was this one so eager to cook for him? Whatever, it would only make his food cheaper.

Master made his way towards you. When he crossed past you, you could feel the heat of his body. He was really training hard. You heard some coins rattling behind you, then, something banging on a wooden surface.

''Here.'' Was all that he said.

✦✦✦

Coming back with the groceries, you made your way to the kitchen. Finally it looked like someone actually lived here. You also bought some flowers and seeds to give a bit of a charm to the rest of the house. It was for your master's mental health. Kidding, you just felt like you lived in a ghost town.

Preparing the meal you thought about how you cooked for that guy even if he was so mean to you. Yes, you made mistakes, but you barely knew him and it was all new. Whatever, it's your job and you're a hard worker.

When the late breakfast was ready you packed it all, a few small dishes, on a bamboo tray, and went to your masters rooms. He had the whole part of the house for himself. You only peaked a bit while talking to him through the garden, but you actually never stepped into his part of the estate.

You knocked on the large door. They were painted light blue and had wind likenesses on them. Someone skilled must have painted it. You heard a faint 'come in'.

Pushing the door to the side you saw your master sitting and doing... you didn't even know what. He was just sitting there. He must have been doing something, but maybe he didn't want to show you. Why must he act like such a non-human?

You put the tray on a table.

''I hope you will like it, master.'' You bowed.

He didn't move an inch.

''After you finish breakfast I wanted to ask, would you agree to a massage? You can't leave your muscles like that after a hard training session. It's not efficient.'' Of course you didn't mean any sexy massage, you wanted to give him old, good muscle breaking.

''Never used them.'' He responded.

''I insist.''

''Why are you so stubborn?''

''I want to do my job good for you.''

He looked you in the eye, but you didn't back off.

''Okay.'' He made his way to the table.

''Where do you wish to have the massage?''

''Do you need to ask about everything? Just do what you think is best and leave me.'' he got angry.

''I don't need to ask if you don't wish me to.'' This magical sentence could give you so many new perspectives here, he just has to agree.

''Whatever.''

''Good, see you in thirty in your garden, master.'' You bowed with a sinister smile.

After you left the room Shinazugawa looked at the door you just disappeared behind.

Annoying, stubborn, weak, pretty and silly... everyone of them is like that.

SERIES MASTERLIST

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #sanemi x you #college #university #college student #shinazugawa x reader #demon slayer shinazugawa #shinazugawasanemi #sanemi x y/n

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writerfae · 2 years

Text

years after they parted ways, they meet again, to see each other one last time

“You can sit over there.” Aiden pointed to the table. “Do you want tea?”

Talon nodded thankfully, then he sat down while Aiden prepared some tea. He looked around.

The house still looked like the last time he was there.

Back then he visited Aiden quite often, it was a welcoming change of scenery and it felt more private than being at court together.

There people were always watching, always talking. In Aiden’s little childhood home however, they had their peace and quiet.

It had always been comforting and being back was comforting still.

The only thing different from when he used to come around regularly was the empty chair on the porch.

“I heard your father died a few years ago. I...”

I wish I could’ve been there for you, he thought but didn’t say.

“I’m sorry,” he settled for instead.

He knew how much Aiden’s father had meant to him. He was one of the reasons he didn’t move to live at court with his brother. With Talon.

Aiden smiled sadly at him. “Thank you.”

He took two cups from the cupboard.

“I think in the end it was what was best for him. Death seems almost merciful after such a long life full of heartbreak...”

He sighed heavily. “At least he’s with mother now. I buried him next to her, so that they will never have to be apart again.”

“That is good,” Talon mumbled. “It is nice to be reunited with your love after such a long time.”

For a second, Aiden froze in his movement.

“Yes,” he said then, quietly, and continued his work. “Nice indeed.”

Silence fell between them. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t quite pleasant either.

It was a weird in-between, just like this visit, just like this talk.

Just like the two of them, even after all these years.

Talon wanted to talk, didn’t want these few precious hours he had with Aiden to go to waste. There was still so much he wanted to know, so much he wanted to say.

His look wandered outside the window.

There, in the garden, played the little girl he saw earlier, chasing around with a raised wooden sword. The image made Talon smile.

“The girl...” He almost didn’t dare to ask. “Is she yours?”

“Yes,” Aiden said without turning around. “Her name is Ashlynn.”

Though he expected the answer, it still stung. Talon had carried on with his life, just like Aiden made him promise. He had a wife and a child.

He shouldn’t be surprised nor hurt if Aiden did the same.

“And her mother?” Talon asked carefully, not sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

His tone probably gave his worry away, because Aiden threw him a brief unreadable look over his shoulder before turning back to the tea again.

“She doesn’t have one.”

Talon was ashamed of the relief he felt as Aiden continued.

“It is just me and her. There’s never been… there’s no one else.”

He took the two tea filled cups and walked over to the table, handing Talon one of them.

“Poor girl was left in the woods, all alone. I found her on a hunt and she reminded me of...”

He didn’t finish the thought, but Talon could already tell.

“Of you?” he asked gently. Aiden nodded, fingers closing tightly around the cup in his hands.

Talon could almost feel their strong grip, as if closed around his heart.

“She was lonely. I was too, after father died. So I took her in.”

Talon took a sip of his tea. It was sweet, exactly how he liked it best. Apparently Aiden still remembered. Talon smiled to himself.

“She’s lucky then. With you as her father.”

He meant it. Talon knew no one who would be better suited to raise a child than Aiden.

Picturing him as a father was easy, Talon had pictured it a lot in their years together, because it just seemed so natural.

And even after Aiden had left, Talon always saw him with a family, because everything else would be a waste of all the love he knew Aiden had to give.

“Tell that to her next time I won’t let her stay up past her bedtime.”

Talon laughed. “Ah yes, good old bedtime drama.” He knew that from his own son.

Aiden offered him an amused smile and though it quickly disappeared behind his tea cup as he raised it to his lips, it made Talon’s heart jump and he couldn’t help but follow the movement with his eyes.

“But say,” Aiden said as he set down the cup. “How is your wife? And Kieran?”

That took Talon by surprise. “You know of Kieran?”

The two men had no contact in years, he didn’t expect that Aiden knew about his son.

Aiden huffed. “I know more than you might think.”

His hands started tightening around his cup again, almost painfully so. And with it, again, the tightening of Talon’s heart.

Of course he knew that Aiden still held contact to Maya and Halea and, of course, to his family at court.

He just never thought that he would ask them about Talon.

Not that Talon wouldn’t do the same, he just didn’t expect it from Aiden. He thought it would hurt him too much.

“An heir,” Aiden continued. “Your father must be pleased.”

Talon didn’t miss the tint of bitterness in his voice, even though he tried to hide it.

Maybe he wasn’t so wrong about it hurting him. He felt the sudden need to apologize.

“Aiden, I...”

But Aiden raised his hand.

“It’s okay. You don’t owe me any apologies. I’m happy for you.”

His eyes were sad, but the way his lips quirked up into a short smile as he said it showed the other that Aiden meant what he said.

He leaned forward. “I heard he takes after his father.”

Talon shook his head. “Kieran is much more than me. He’ll be a better man one day.”

Aiden looked at him for a long while, not saying a word. Talon wondered what he was thinking.

“He must be a wonderful boy then,” Aiden suddenly said.

His lips twitched into a smile.

“Can’t say I am surprised. With you as his father.”

Talon couldn’t stop his cheeks from turning red and, embarrassed about the fact that Aiden could still make him react like that with such little effort, he quickly took another sip from his tea to hide his blush.

Aiden laughed then, short and sweet and for a moment it almost felt like in the old times, back when Aiden was still his.

Back then, Talon was sure there was no better sound than his laugh.

And hearing it again now, he still thought the same.

He smiled. “You are impossible.”

Another short laugh, teasing. “You used to quite like that about me, if I recall right.”

“I still do,” Talon confessed.

And now it was Aiden who blushed.

“Don’t say stuff like that,” he said, looking away and Talon chuckled.

Why not, he wanted to ask, if it is true? But he didn’t.

It was easier to pretend that it all was merely a little joke between old friends, lest either of them started to think too much about what it really meant.

“Anyway.” Aiden cleared his throat. “You didn’t answer my question. How is your family? Tell me about them.”

Talon looked at his former lover, wondering if it was truly wise to tell him of his family.

After all, his marriage with Elenya, however unintended it had been on his side, was the reason Aiden and him had to part ways.

Aiden was the price he had to pay for the family he had now.

And even though he still didn’t love Elenya like that, could never love her like he loved Aiden, he still felt bad to talk about the life he shared with her.

But Aiden looked back at him and it was then that Talon realized Aiden wanted to hear about it still, needed to hear about it.

He needed to hear that Talon was happy, that he had a wife and a child who loved him.

He needed to hear that all their heartbreak, all that they sacrificed, that he sacrificed, was worth something in the end.

And so Talon started to talk and though the dull sting of regret remained in both their hearts, Aiden smiled as he listened to him gushing about his son and for a short time both of them were content.

To just be here, together, and finally talk.

general tag list: @deadlycupid @writing-is-a-martial-art @writingamongther0ses @blueinkblot @wildswrites @abiandwriting @theroyalcoven @myhusbandsasemni @authortango @charleeyy @formulatingfiction @shiishki @gr3y-heron @bloodlessheirbyjacques @imstillherebitch

#no proof read we go down with this like we go down with this ship 😤#writer speaks #writeblr #wip: the knights of the alder #possible future au #writing #my writing

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 2 years

Text

WIP Wednesday

LQR & LJY

[Beginning]

-/-

“Good heavens,” Lan-xiansheng mutters above his head and Jingyi flushes a brilliant red, ashamed to have lost control of himself in front of the man like that. “Take this letter to your caregivers at the children’s home. When you’ve delivered it, return here.”

More chores to get him to leave. Jingyi stays bent double for a long moment before he forces himself to sit up and then get to his feet. He keeps his chin tucked and his eyes down as he approaches the desk to take the letter from Lan-xiansheng, and he offers one more bow before he turns and leaves. His lips are still sealed by the time his trudging footsteps have brought him to the doors of the children’s home, and he pushes one door open rather listlessly.

“There you are,” one of the aunties huffs. “Where have you been? I can’t imagine Lan-xiansheng’s punishment took that long. Were you out running around getting under people’s feet again? At this rate you’ll have enough punishments waiting to be carried out to last you all the way through your senior discipleship.”

Jingyi keeps his head ducked as he listens to the usual criticisms and threats; normally he would attempt to defend himself, but with his lips still magically locked there’s nothing he can do besides listen. When the tirade finally slows he hands over the letter from Lan-xiansheng, no doubt containing a full report of every rule he broke today while he was supposed to be carrying out his punishment. He bows again and turns to leave, slipping back out of the Children’s Home with a guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He doesn’t return to Lan-xiansheng. Instead, Jingyi uses every trick he knows to think up a good hiding spot, and then he goes there without telling a soul where he is. It takes some maneuvering to get inside the bottom compartment of one of the currently-unused guest room cupboards, but once he’s in place in the close darkness of the wardrobe he actually starts to feel a little better.

It’s quiet in here, at least, and no one can find him to make him feel upset or like he’s not as good as all the rest of the children. There’s nobody in here except himself, and he can’t be too mad at himself. He can feel guilty and sad and too-much, but he can’t be mad so it’s a step in the right direction. A few times as he waits, Jingyi hears the sound of someone walking by on the path outside. When he does, he holds his breath and keeps as still as he can until they’re gone, and thankfully no one even pauses on their way.

He falls asleep in there, held nice and tight by the walls of the cupboard, and when he wakes again it’s with a start that makes him yelp when he hits his head on the wood behind him. He holds extra still after that, so still he thinks even his heart stops (after it’s done racing with fear), but it doesn’t sound like he’s been discovered so he relaxes again. With a nap out of the way and feeling much calmer than he had before, Jingyi is dismayed to realize that his new life in the cupboard is…well…boring. There are no toys to play with, no birds to chase, no wooden swords to practice hitting things with, no way for him to get up and move. His limbs are starting to ache a little bit from laying in the same cramped up position too long and his belly is starting to growl as well, and so with a sigh of defeat he batters his way free of his hiding place to stumble out into the guest house again.

[Previous] / [Next]

#the untamed fanfic #Lan Qiren #Lan Jingyi #metaphorically speaking Jingyi is tying a little red bandana to the end of a stick and striking off on his own #Also LQR absolutely silenced him because he didn't know else to get him to stop but he didn't mean it nearly as cruelly as Jingyi thinks #nor does the letter contain what he thinks it does and all of this that's coming up #could have been avoided if LQR had just told him what he was writing #But then this fic would be a lot shorter and not as cathartic/angsty as I want so here we are

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whump-captain · 2 years

Text

the aforementioned whumper pov fic! this was actually so fun to write, the change in vibe was v refreshing (◡‿◡)

(OC, 2600 words)

---

CN: whumper POV, beating, broken ribs, swearing, restraints, captivity

---

"What if you piss her off?" Jenna asks between swigs from her reusable bottle. Her chair creaks as she leans back in it and wheels herself across to the window to throw an investigative glance outside.

Brent snorts a laugh. "What is she gonna do? Glare at me?"

He's in the corner, where some long-gone owner of this dilapidated office has for some reason installed a small bathroom segment - a tiny sink over a wooden cupboard, a hazy mirror, and a broken towel hook, all flanked by arbitrarily laid tiles. Cold water stings his skin as it washes over his hands. The drain can't keep up with the flow and the bowl slowly fills with a pink mixture of suds and liquid. Brent scrubs his knuckles thoroughly, cleaning off the blood that still feels like it's sticking his fingers together. There's red splattered across his trainers, too, and he grimaces at the sight of it. If there was time, he'd clean them right now but he knows he's just going to bloody them again very soon.

The abandoned building's old pipes make a strained hum and Jenna has to raise her voice when she says: "She has a sword, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, cause she thinks she's a fucking anime character." With a roll of his eyes, Brent turns off the tap - the noise of the pipes persists for a few mournful seconds - and shakes the water off of his hands. "I'm not scared of that kid."

"She's not scared of you, either."

"I don't give a shit." He checks the burner phone he has sent the photos from. On the chat app, a blue icon indicates Elaine received the message.

If only it were this easy in real life.

Despite what Jenna seems to think, Brent doesn't care about being feared. She has this image of him as an ego-fueled, macho gang leader; and knowing her background he doesn't hold it against her. She's too good a worker and too smart a woman for him to start shit over something so trivial - which is also why he doesn't need to know her real name. As long as they both keep it professional, it doesn't matter what she thinks about him, nor what he thinks about her. None of this is about his feelings.

That is why he can't care less about whether Elaine fears him, or even respects him. What he wants is for her to follow his rules. And those are as simple as rules can be, with clearly set boundaries and reasons. One: south of this and this line is Brent's territory. Two: any hunting job that pops up there is Brent's job. Three: if somebody comes to Brent's territory and does all of his jobs for free then Brent isn't going to have money to buy food. He's not sure how much clearer he can make this.

Those rules are known in hunter circles and it's just common courtesy to not go around killing shit in other people's neighbourhoods. He's not the only guy with a turf and though this undrawn map of London's division is complex, it should be known even to someone as isolated as Elaine. And he gave her warnings, too. After the first job she stole from him, he only sent some mates with a message to let her know she overstepped. Even the second one he let slide, though it dealt a blow to his budget that he still feels today. He met with her personally and once again explained why she's being a pain in his ass. And that didn't work either.

Brent knows that he's not always the most patient of men, but this time he feels justified in being properly pissed off himself.

"What now, then?" Jenna asks, sounding a little stiff. "Are you gonna kill him?"

Brent looks at the phone again. The sent photo shows the bloodied face of the man he has just finished beating up. Cutter, he's called, and Brent knows of him briefly through some other hunters they've both worked with. Though only an investigator himself, Cutter is fairly well known around the industry, the kind of guy who's quick to make friends on the job - and then to end up being phoned for the next one.

"Don't know yet," he answers.

"Probably should. He's a witness," she points out blankly.

"The word would get out, though." He pockets the phone. If this Cutter is as well-liked as Brent guesses, his death would make some circles in the community and likely lead straight back to him. Not the kind of rep he wants. "Nobody wants to work with a killer."

"Nora's a killer."

"And I fucking hate working with her." Brent rolls his eyes again. The less he hears of Nora's unhinged antics the better. "Also, a dead body is the last fucking thing I need right now. We've got enough shit to deal with."

"Bloody right," Jenna mutters, taking another sip of her drink.

Her gaze through the window is distant now and Brent can tell she's in her own thoughts. He's had to cut her rate since the cash troubles began. If things don't go back to normal, he'll have to dip into his own profits or risk losing her - neither of which is a good outcome. She's a damn good huntress and a reasonable person on top of that. Not a common combination these days, unfortunately.

"Things will pick up when Elaine takes her bullshit out of our territory," he tells her. "You'll see." Then he opens one of the peli-cases littering the room and rummages through the contents. "Come on, I'll need your help."

She puts her bottle away and follows him out of the room.

They make their way up the nondescript, beige-walled staircase and then through the corridor lined with paper-thin doors. Behind one of them is a former IT room: empty, narrow, with windows blocked by huge, long-broken fans. Precious little light manages to make its way past the grid of plastic slats, so the room is dim. The dusty air carries the heavy, nauseatingly sweet scent of blood.

Brent's hostage sits slumped in the corner, head tipped to the side against the wall. He twitches awake at the sound of the door and instinctively pushes deeper into the corner. Apart from that, though, the man called Cutter looks surprisingly composed for someone in his state. A small, casual smile plays on his mangled lips as he tips his head towards Jenna.

"You know, at first I thought you were the one calling the shots," he tells her lightly. "You have that quality."

Brent discreetly rolls his eyes. As if his ego is fragile enough for him to take offense to a jab this obvious. But to humour the attempt, he nods an unambiguous command at Jenna. He doesn't notice the half second of hesitation before she steps forward and punches the hostage in the stomach.

Cutter doubles over with a grunt and stays like that for a while, gasping for breath. Then he straightens back up with effort and chokes out: "Elaine is coming. She knows where I am."

"Yeah, I know," Brent answers. "That's the plan."

"What is that plan, anyway?" Cutter asks conversationally, settling back against the wall. The punch took his breath but not the ease in his voice. "Is this revenge? What did I do?"

"This isn't about you."

"Really? All the punching could have fooled me."

Abruptly, Brent takes a step forward. Cutter flinches. No new emotion breaks through the smile on his face, but his voice does falter. Brent makes no other movements. This is reminder enough.

Any other time, he would probably be impressed by the nerve of this guy. But he's not here to make friends, nor to play at some psychological dick measuring contest - he is here to get something done. This whole useless conversation is just throwing him off-rhythm, messing with the plan he had to resolve this bitch of a situation. Briefly, he considers gagging Cutter just to save himself any more pointless questions. But it's not his nerve that pisses Brent off so much that he wants to break even more of his ribs.

It's the fact that he doesn't have a god damn clue.

"This is about my livelihood," he says, crouching down, "and about Elaine fucking with everything I built."

"You could just tell her to leave."

"I shouldn't fucking have to," he cuts in, temper flaring. That's the whole point, isn't it? It's like talking to a bloody child, explaining over and over things that should be well understood by now. He looks closely at the scrapes and bruises all over Cutter's face, the deep gash on the bridge of his nose and the dried blood, so dark it's almost black. He wants to punch him again, just to get something through to his head, but he forces his muscles to relax and speaks instead:

"She knows where my territory is. She comes here anyway. She brings fucking civvies with her and makes me look like I don't have any control over what happens here. Even if you ignore the last paycheck she stole from me, she's costing me a fucking fortune in the long term. She doesn't give a shit cause she's sitting on a cushy inheritance, but I have bills to pay. Does she care? No."

"I get that," Cutter replies and for a second Brent believes him. But then he continues: "But she's not your rival. She doesn't-"

Brent snaps back: "No, she just thinks she's too fucking special to listen to what I say to her." It's like he's not even there. He repeats and re-words everything, he tries to do this in a civil way but it's like talking to a bloody wall. And so there's only one thing he can do that won't be ignored again. "So I'm telling her for the last time. Get up."

He stands back up, jerking his head towards the door. Thankfully without argument, Cutter braces against the walls, feeling around for purchase as he tries to push himself upright. His arms shake too much to hold him up. Brent sighs; frustration threatens to deepen the sound into a growl but he suppresses it. Ignoring the other man's startled flinch, he grabs him under the arm and heaves him up from the floor. Cutter groans through clenched teeth but gets his feet under him and the weight on Brent's shoulder eases. With a wave to Jenna, he leads his prisoner out of the room and back to the stairway. There's an empty server cage somewhere downstairs, he remembers. In his mind, words keep swirling in and out of shape as they form and re-form sentences that he has to hold himself back from saying out loud. It's pointless and that's what really makes his blood boil. All of this mess and all of the effort it will take to clean it up later; all of this could have been avoided if people just listened.

He staggers slightly as Cutter suddenly goes limp in his grip. He curses under his breath and nods to Jenna - but she's already close and she braces the half-conscious prisoner from the other side. Together they drag him down the stairs. It's a pain in the ass, but Brent prefers this than if he were to start talking at him again. The strange acoustics of the stairway exaggerate the sound of their footsteps into a hollow rhythm. The click of the door doubles with the echo like a kick drum.

The server cage already has a chair in it, a foldaway plastic thing that looks like it remembers the building's opening. Brent drags it over to the middle. Cutter is more awake now, he makes a strangled noise of pain as Brent drops him down on the chair. His head lolls back limply and a fresh trickle of blood from his lip paints a red line among the mess on his face. Brent pulls both his arms to the back and at that Cutter shouts, shocked back into consciousness. Brent ignores his groaning as he twists his forearms to be parallel and presses them to the back of the chair.

"Give me the cableties," he says. Jenna places the bundle of thick plastic strips in his hand. "Cheers."

"You flatter me," Cutter gasps out, a hint of a smile in his roughened voice. "What do you think I'm going to do, break this fence down with my bare hands?"

"Shut the fuck up." Brent manages to get the cableties connected and wrapped around the chair. He has to tighten them one by one, incrementally, so they don't snap like the cheap pieces of shit they are. The zipping sound of them is grating.

"I can convince her, you know," Cutter says. He's looking over his shoulder but Brent ignores him. "She knows you're serious now. If you let me talk to her, I can get it done. She doesn't even have to come here. I can meet her just outside of your territory and it would be the last you'd see of her. I can convince her."

Brent closes his eyes, just for a second. It was truly the simplest of instructions that he just gave. And even that is going completely ignored. Every bubble of his simmering anger pops at once and a sudden fire spills across his entire body, a furious energy in each tensed muscle.

With a short exhale, he opens his eyes. He gathers all that energy and puts it into one quick punch, right into Cutter's broken ribs.

The scream rings in his ears as a note of satisfaction. At least this way he's still listened to. He stands up slowly and circles the chair as Cutter squirms in it, back arched and face twisted in a pained grimace. The chair's feet scrape the floor when it moves with his struggling. Brent waits and on his knuckles he feels the stickiness of blood and dirt. Behind him Jenna is looking aside, her face a blank mask.

As Cutter slowly, painfully regains his breath, Brent crouches down again. He says:

"If you want a better chance of staying alive, the best thing you can do is to shut your fucking mouth." Their faces are level. Brent smells the blood and he knows the stench is going to stick to his clothes for weeks. "You're an actor, ain't you? Play your fucking part."

"Of bait on a string?" Cutter replies, meeting his gaze.

"Yeah." Brent stands up. The energy builds in him again and it takes all his strength to speak instead of yelling: "Bring Elaine here and then make her fuck off. If you're so sure that you can get her to listen."

That last sentence is just a taunt. Of course Cutter will be able to convince her, of course she'll listen to literally anyone else. It's just him who everyone thinks it's completely fine to blow off.

"And then you'll just let us go?" Cutter asks, voice flat. At least he wizened up enough not to try his luck with any more sarcasm. Brent looks down at him and crosses his arms. He resists the urge to wipe his knuckles on the fabric of his sleeve.

"That's gonna be up to her," he answers and, with a wave at Jenna, turns around and leaves to sort out the rest of this bloody fucking mess.

#whump #whump writing #oc whump #captain's stuff #captain's ocs #ghost ambulance #beaten #tied to a chair #captivity #the nameless henchwoman is nameless no longer!! it's a fake name though lol #man writing this dialogue was so fun but also so tricky #bc cutter is playing fuckin 4d chess over here but i can't really point that out from brent's pov bc he doesn't realize it #but also brent doesn't Want to be having any of this dialogue so that makes it fun too #jenna's having her own private crisis in the background #nobody's having a good time #(apart from me)

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legendofzoodles · 2 years

Text

From Shadows

Chapter 1 || Quietude

My eyelids feel heavy as they slowly flutter open. Propping myself up on my elbows, I sit up to better take in my surroundings and frown. I am no longer at the Ordon Spring, but instead in a small room inside of a treehouse, sheltering me from the pouring rain.

More specifically, in someone's bed.

Sighing, I drag myself out of the warm covers and examine my body, raising my eyebrows upon noticing the bandages. White sterile strips of fabric had been wrapped around my head in a haphazard and clumsy way. Perhaps my messy hair had made it difficult for whoever did it.

With a quick glance at the entryway, I carefully slip off the bandages and neatly roll them up.

After setting the small pile on the old pillow, I quietly push myself off the bed and stalk towards the the lone window. Observing the dark melancholic sky, I trace the rain racing down the glass with my finger and press my forehead against the cool glass.

Cautiously, I approach the open doorway to see a quaint wooden balcony overlooking the rest of the small living space. I’m alone here, I’m sure of it. It’s too quiet for there to be another person in here with me. Although it’s not like there’s silence, ambient noise from the rain and wind outside made that impossible.

A small smile graces my features as I explore the interior little more, carefully, for I am still in a stranger’s house.

This homeowner's resourcefulness is most impressive; not only is the house built in a tree, but all of the furnishings- including picture frames are all made of the same wood as the tree. Chairs, tables and cupboards all have the same distinct style to them. Clearly they’d been created by the same craftsman.

Once I’ve seen everything on the upper level, I walk back over to the balcony. Grasping the wooden bar, I peer over to see the lowest floor and gasp. It’s more spacious than I had anticipated: there’s a woven rug in the centre, a farmer's pitchfork on the wall, several crates and barrels for presumably storage purposes. Over the open fire stands a metal pot, full to the brim with a simple but hearty looking soup.

I probably should just leave through the front door. However...I’m not in any immediate rush right now and I’m curious. After descending the ladder, I walk further into the space and look around some more.

Various pictures on the walls show people from the village. All either posing for the painting or captured doing their everyday work. Their smiles radiate a warmth I cannot describe. The aroma of homemade soup is comforting. This entire house oozes personality and cosiness. Which makes me wonder why this place is outside of the village. Whoever lives here is clearly an active member of the community and has people he cares about.

While walking around I take a note of the horse saddle and wooden sword that are stationed readily by the front door. I was about to reach for the handle when something catches my eye. An old rustic-looking blanket strewn over something large and rectangular, sits unassumingly behind the ladder. My hand lingers on the door handle for a second, before I go over to the blanket and slowly peel it off, revealing a strange wooden bookshelf that comes up to my shoulders. I say strange, because it was completely filled with mostly books, along with a few scrolls and loose papers. Not regular ones though, these were ancient tomes and manuals, most of which were about magic.

Specifically dark magic.

Up until now, I had believed that whoever lived here was a normal, if a little lonely villager...however this discovery is concerning. This sort of forbidden craft is something a simple tradesman in a rural province has no business dabbling with. My suspicions about this person rose as I picked up one of the larger books from the collection and flicked through it’s pages. It’s beautiful dark grey hardback cover with intricate silver patterns felt cold to the touch.

I frown. This book is the work of the Interlopers. A powerful tribe of sorcerers and magic users that existed hundreds of years ago. This group of people were knowledgeable, skilled, powerful...but too ambitious. I still mourn that potential. It was unfortunate that such a talented group of sorcerers were banished from Hyrule. Had they not tried to defy the Kingdom things could have turned out different... but going back to the book, this particular volume contains a few spells even I’ve never seen before. Interesting.

The burning feeling of a presence from behind suddenly pulls me out of my emersion. I frown for the second time today. Whoever it is, owns this collection and therefore this entire house. Preparing to confront the individual, I subtly adjust my posture and turn around, slamming the book shut for extra effect.

The person in front of me is young man. He was leaning a raised arm on the ladder, his narrowed eyes flicking between me and the book I had clutched to my chest. He perfectly fits in with the rest of the house. Yet he looks nothing like what I imagine a human who owns resources of dark magic would look like. Perhaps my assumption is outdated, but in my mind I had envisioned someone old, far removed from the world and for lack of a better term, depraved. Someone who purposefully lived this far from the village in order to practice forbidden spells and enchantments undisturbed.

Yet, the man standing before me is neither old nor shifty looking. The only unusual things about his appearance are the the white patch on his cheek and bandages covering the back of his left hand.

Instead of ancient fancy garbs, he wears simply pieced together Ordonian style clothing made for working in the fields, and tattered furry sandals. Instead of a tiny, frail and hunched figure, he is tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular figure probably built from regular hard farm labour. Meaning...he wouldn’t realistically have the time to dedicate himself to learning such a demanding craft.

Nothing about him makes sense. Perhaps, someone else owned the collection? But then how could one explain the single bed on the upper floor? No, the only logical deduction is that he surely lives alone.

We continue to stare at each other. I notice that he doesn’t seem all that surprised by my appearance. Which makes sense since he must have seen my face and hair while he was haphazardly putting on those bandages. But this is surely his first time seeing my eyes...doesn’t he find them unusual? Purple is not a natural eye colour for humans and coupled with my long silver hair, I must look very strange to him yet he’s completely unfazed. His lack of a reaction doesn't put me at ease though, I wish had a hooded cloak; at least then I could hide from his dark blue eyes. Which to my surprise, don't reflect hostility but rather a lively curiosity.

"You...can read the ones not written in Hylian," he observes, voice deep and just below normal speaking volume.

"I-I can, yes." I say and look away slightly.

He is still staring at me! His gaze is distant yet intense, like he’s trying to see through me. It's obvious he has questions, while his face is mostly unreadable his eyes are practically gleaming with intrigue. Is he really not going to say anything else? No matter, I’ll just take the initiative. "How and why did you acquire these artefacts? They're centuries old- lost to time along with the scholars who wrote them- yet here they are now in the possession...of a farmer..." my eyes narrow in suspicion and my voice lowers slightly as I finish the sentence.

"Found ‘em." He simply replies, eyebrows rising slightly at my slightly accusing tone. Wordlessly, he lifts his arm off the ladder and stretches outward as he moves towards me. I take a few hesitant steps back in response and unwittingly bump into the bookshelf. It takes me a second to realise that he wants me to hand it over.

There’s no harm in giving it back, so I do. “Where? In the forest? Somewhere in Hyrule perhaps?”

He skims through its pages, stealing glances at me now and then, saying, "The first two shelf levels were hidden in a chest in what’s now my basement. I found the rest over time in Faron," he shuts the book with his left hand and puts it back in its slot. "I’ve, never been to Hyrule.”

“Why do you keep them here?”

“The folk here here ain’t so keen on magic," he says, reaching around to fold up the old blanket. “I can’t have this stuff out in the open.”

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant,” I say hurriedly, making him pause midway through shaking off the dust. “I was asking, why keep them at all? Wouldn’t it be easier to bury them in the forest or something like that?"

He slowly shakes his head and sets the heaped blanket on a nearby crate. “Shoulda, but I’m too curious.”

There’s silence again after that. I can’t really think of anything to say in response. Curiosity is a feeling I know all too well. I can’t fault him for wanting to collect them and try to understand them, even though they’re dangerous. I have to admit, that response landed a chord with me.

“You hungry?” he asks, walking over to fireplace and taking the boiling pot off the heat. “The soup’s done.”

He’s looking at me expectantly, pot lid open and ladle in hand, ready to start serving. “Um, sure thanks,” I say, and walk over to the small table next to the wood stove. A quaint dining set up.

A ghost of a smile flashes across his face as he fills two bowls with the steaming broth and sets them on table along with a couple of wooden spoons. He ushers me to sit down on an ornate dining chair and places a bowl, spoon and cup of water in front of me. I thank him and he nods, before setting out his share of the meal.

As he’s slicing some hearty looking bread, I’m becoming aware that I’m sitting on the only available chair. “Excuse me? Would you like this seat?”

The farmer seems to have gone off speaking or something, because he only shook his head in response, before putting the slices of bread in a woven basket in the middle of the table and picking up a barrel to sit on.

"Shall we switch places? That doesn’t seem very comfortable," I say, feeling my voice quiver as I stifle a laugh. His legs are comically close to the ground, making him appear shorter than me.

To this, he sits upright and adjusts his posture. "S’okay, thanks."

“Alright,” I respond, before picking up the spoon and digging into supper. The soup was delicious! It was pumpkin based, with chunks of the fruit swimming in hot liquid amidst other fresh ingredients, earthy and mildly spicy. The bread is good too, full of nuts and seeds with a soft and fluffy texture. They’re great separately, but as demonstrated by my quiet companion, it’s even better to dunk the bread in the soup.

When’s the last time I had a meal like this? In fact this is my first time having pumpkin soup and I have to say, with each spoonful it’s climbing up and up my favourite food list. In fact, I haven’t eaten since I arrived in the kingdom. For some reason I can’t stop smiling; I’m glad I took him up on his offer.

After finishing off my second slice of bread, I go to pick up a third to help mop up the last splashes of soup left in the bowl when my fingers brush up against the farmer’s. Immediately, I draw my hand back and apologise, letting him grab a slice first. However, he gently pushes the bread basket towards me with a small yet knowing smile. Why is he looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?

As nonchalantly as I can, I touch the back of my right hand to my mouth and draw it back. Distressingly, I am greeted by tiny but noticeable bread crumbs stuck to my skin. He did not provide any napkins and the 3/4 sleeve of my dress isn’t long enough for me to wipe around my mouth without being obvious. If I were to use my hands it’ll look even worse. Partway through my mental crisis, I look up and almost snort.

The man is drinking the last of his soup by having picked up the bowl and raising it to his lips, the rim of the ceramic bowl barely covering me from his line of sight. Taking this opportunity, I pull on the hem of my sleeve and quickly wipe away every stray crumb from my face.

I am about to continue eating when a loud snort almost makes me drop my spoon. The sound came not from me, but from the farmer. He then takes a sharp intake of breath, putting the bowl down and covering his mouth and turning away slightly. Not a lot sound is coming out, but it’s clear from the sharp irregular way his chest rises and falls that he’s coughing.

Oh dear, maybe the soup went down the wrong way?

To be honest, I’m not sure how to react to this. If I could just be myself, I would laugh away the tension and ask if he’s okay. But that wouldn’t feel right considering we haven’t said a thing to each other during the meal and I don’t want to embarrass this stranger. Yet, he’s being too obvious for me to believably pretend to not notice, and besides if I did that, it would just be awfully inconsiderate.

“Is everything ok?” I ask tentatively, leaning forward to get a better look at him.

Without speaking, he gives a couple unconvincing nods and raises up a hand to stop me from leaning any closer. It’s not like there’s much I could do to help anyway. So, I resolve to go back to finishing my meal, while he downs the rest of his water, before collecting his bowl and bringing it over to the wash basin at the end of the room.

With his back to me I quietly allow an exasperated sigh escape my lips as a sort of release from controlling my reactions. Ugh, I’m being so awkward. Turns out acting like a regular human is much harder than I remember it being. I used to be so good at this, so why am I so nervous? Wait, nervous? No, I’m not- why would I be-?

I’m just rusty, that’s all.

I polish off the last of my soup and the farmer comes over to collect my bowl and cutlery. He wouldn’t let me help out, so while he cleans up I remain at the table. He didn’t take away the bread basket, and I kind of wish he had because there was one large slice left and I really wanted it. Although, it would be polite to leave it as a courtesy, so I held off on snatching it up.

At this point, other than to look at more of those books, I don’t see much of a reason to stay here; the storm may still be raging outside however the rain has lightened up somewhat and I do not mind spending the night in the woods. Of course, in time I’ll have to think of some way to reward this person for helping me and treating me to that wonderful meal. That’ll have to wait though, right now I have more pressing things to concern myself with.

“Hang on.” I hear him say, which surprises me, and not just because it’s the first thing he’s said in the last 20 minutes or so. Does he somehow sense that I’m ready to leave? Or am I just being too transparent about it?

“Ok, why?” I ask.

He doesn’t immediately answer, instead he finishes drying the last cup with a piece of cloth, sets it on a rack to dry with the other things and then goes over to a storage cupboard to fish out a smallish wooden box. I observe as he comes back over, puts the box on the table and brings his little barrel closer to where I’m sitting.

"How’s your head?" he asks. His voice cracking and sounding a little horse from all the coughing earlier.

“Oh, don’t worry it’s fine. I’m not injured,” I say and subconsciously graze my fingers from my temple over to the middle of my forehead. Where my symbol/crescent marking should be. “I left the bandages you'd wrapped on the bed upstairs; that was a...nice gesture."

“Your hair was in the way,” says the farmer, lightly ruffling his own messy locks as he said this. I almost smiled.

“Hm...it is a lot,” I agree, fiddling my fingers through the front pieces of my silver hair. If I were to undo my updo, my hair would fall to the ground in a heap. “Now, I appreciate your hospitality-”

"You can use magic."

My eyebrows furrow at his interruption. Is it that a of big deal to the people living here? Why is this of any interest to someone like him? Better yet, how in the world does he know that? He has the faintest smirk on his face and his eyes have that gleam of intrigue from before. That’s what makes me realise that the medical box is still unopened.

For the first time, he takes the initiative, continuing with, “I was coming back from the Faron woods early this morning when I saw a bright flash of light coming from the Ordon Spring. When I got there the light was long gone, and I found you lying unconscious in the shallow waters. I tried to wrap bandages around your head cuz I thought you’d knocked it.”

That explains how I inexplicably woke up here, as well as a couple other things. Again, I didn’t know how to react to this. That’s the most he’s ever said. It’s like the script has been flipped and now I’m the one being grilled for information.

“What were you doing?” he asks.

What do I say to that? Should I just tell him? Nothing bad or good will happen if I tell him, it’s not like there’s anything he can do to stop what is coming. Plus it would be nice to talk to someone about all this. I sigh, “Have you heard of the Spirits of Light?”

He shakes his head so I continue, “Well you see, I was trying to contact the Spirit of Light that dwells in that spring: Ordona. Except, it didn’t work- it didn’t work for any of the others either- and it’s really starting to worry me.”

“What do you mean ‘it didn’t work’?” he asks, smirk fading into a serious expression as I talk.

“They didn’t respond,” I say, leaning an elbow on the table and resting by cheek in my hand. “Or rather...they couldn’t.”

“Why?” he asks, leaning in a little closer, resting an elbow on the edge of the table.

“Um...” I clench the fist propping up my cheek and take a deep breath. “They most likely are either hiding like in Ordona’s case or...they’ve already been taken, like I suspect Eldin and Lanayru.”

“By what? Is something after them?”

I nod and look off to the side, uncomfortable that I now have to sort through all this. “Yes, the Twilight Invasion. The faux leader of a tribe called the Twili by the name of Zant took his people, corrupted them with a dark power and brought them with him to take over your world of light: Hyrule. And I’m afraid they’ve already conquered much of the kingdom already.”

“Will they come here?”

“Yes, without question I’m afraid,” I say and study his face for a reaction.

I had half expected him to dissolve into panic or fear, but to my surprise he only slightly raises his eyebrows. “That explains why the forest has gotten more dangerous lately; prolly this terrible weather too. And these Light Spirits can help?”

“Not just help, they’re the only beings that can drive back the Twilight,” I say, “But their presence is fading from this land...it’s only a matter of time until...” My speech trails off, ending with a slow exhale through gritted teeth.

The farmer crosses his arms and looks down as if in thought and after a bit of silence he speaks, “If the Light Spirits can’t help is there anything else we can do?”

“Mm...well for now, not much. Nothing can be done until this storm dies down. Then my last resort will be to locate- I’m sorry, we?! I gawp at him. “This is something far beyond your limits. There are forces here more powerful than you could ever imagine. No, what you can do is evacuate the village, drop everything and get as many people out of here as possible. Even once you get out of the province, keep travelling every few days because there’s no guarantee that the Twilight will stop expanding, and you don’t want to be stuck in it.”

“What happens if we do?”

“I don’t know specifically...sorry, but you won’t survive long,” I say, hating that I can’t be more useful. Not just the fact that I can’t seem to properly warn this innocent man but also how ineffective I’ve been at stopping the invasion. If I’d done my job better, if the princess had just listened to me, if I’d gotten to the Light Spirits sooner...none of this would have happened.

“The protector of this village is Rusl, he can lead the evacuation,” he says, with a strange intensity in his eyes. Is it determination? Or something else? I can’t tell. “I’ll help you stop the invasion.”

“What? You don’t have to...” I wasn’t sure how to dissuade him from joining me, but one thing he said did stand out to me. Glancing at the sword and horse saddle by the door I say, “I was under the impression that you were the village protector.”

The farmer shakes his head somewhat sheepishly, “I’m not.”

Without thinking, I blurt out, “Then why are you isolated like this?”

I regret asking that the second I opened my mouth. The effect that question has on the farmer is immediate. His expression hardens, but only for a split second before he returns to a neutral expression. “There ain’t a special reason; I just prefer living here...but going back to this Twilight problem; you said there was something you need to locate?”

Placing my hands together on my lap, I look off to the side, “Not something, someone. And it won't be a straightforward journey, I don't really know where he is, or who he is.” As I say this, the boy tilts his head slightly in confusion so I quickly add, "I know it doesn’t make much sense, but I only know that he should exist and he’s the only one who can end this now."

“How will you know when you find him then?”

“I’ll just know,” I respond. “I’m sure of it.”

After a short pause, the farmer takes the medical box and goes across the room to put it back in the cupboard. “Where’d you even start looking?”

“Wherever the Twilight hasn’t gotten to yet I suppose,” I say.

He leans against the cupboards and says, “Like here?”

“Um, sure,” I say, fiddling with hands. He’s so strange, taking all of this information in without even batting an eye. His lack of reaction to the news of an incoming invasion, is just weird. “May I just say, you’re taking all this surprisingly well. I expected a little pushback, but you’re just accepting everything I’m telling you.”

“I trust you.” Is all he says, giving me a little shrug.

It feels like my first time seeing him properly. He stands tall and assured, radiating a friendly aura extenuated by the gentle orange glow of the fire. Friendly. His eyes are kind- how could I have not noticed before? Considering he has brought me, an odd-looking stranger, into his home and has been very hospitable...

“I forgot- thank you! For everything,” I say suddenly.

He’s surprised by my outburst. His face subtly brightening into a mixture of delight and he goes to sheepishly rub the back of his head. “There’s no need for that.”

“No, there is,” I say, shaking my head and standing up, “You’ve given me food and shelter from this storm. I’m busy now, but someday soon I’ll be back to repay your kindness.”

His hand falls to his side, “You’re leaving?”

“Well...” I hesitate. There’s no reason for me to stay right?

“You’re welcome to stay longer,” he says, taking a step forward. “At least until the storm clears.”

“Thank you but...I don’t like the idea of doing nothing while the Twilight continues to expand,” I say truthfully.

“Nothing can be done in this storm. You said so yourself,” he says, “Wait it out here.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

He nods, “We won’t be doing nothing. You’re welcome to the whole book collection, if you share what you know.”

This piqued my interest, and subconsciously I shift my eyes to the shelf, focusing on the spell book I didn’t get to finish earlier. “Could I also borrow couple?”

He immediately picks up on my excitement and nods with a smirk. He gestures to the lone slice of bread sitting in it’s basket on the table and walks behind the ladder. “It’s yours.”

Flustered, I quickly look at the bread slice before snatching it up and taking a huge bite, my face heating up when I catch him glancing at me from the corner of his eye. After a couple more bites I join him and together we raid the bookshelf for as many books, scrolls and journals we can in our arms (although funnily enough the farmer wouldn’t let me carry more than one).

We end up sitting side by side on the large mat in the middle of the room, enclosed in a circle of open books. Quite the cosy scene. The roaring thunder had died down by now, with the sound of the heavy rain lightening up to create a sort of peaceful ambience. Not that it was silent, well, I was still doing most of the talking- translating texts and explaining foreign symbols to my companion. It’s quite enjoyable teaching him, for he’s an attentive listener and asks specific purposeful questions.

Once it gets late, I start to get tired. Every other sentence is punctuated by a hefty yawn, in addition to me constantly pausing mid-sentence and forgetting to absorb the information, making me reread whole paragraphs. While I was finishing a page the farmer silently stands up and ascends the ladder for something. I wonder about waiting for him to get back before continuing, but the book is practically finished and he probably read ahead anyway. After he leaves, I close the book and stretch out my arms, in a manner somewhat akin to a drowsy kitten- probably looking really silly.

Before I have the chance to stand up myself, a warm quilt is draped over my body. Startled, I look over my shoulder to see him adjusting the quilt comfortably around my shoulders. "I'll bring more bedding. Or, use bed if you don’t wanna sleep here."

"Oh no, it’s ok, I'm not tired yet," I lie, not wanting to retire for the night just yet. Why I’m so tired, I have no idea. I must have slept hours after I passed out in the spring, that should have been enough to restore my energy. "Thank you for the blanket though, I was starting to get cold,” I snuggle into the blanket. “Also, I don't really mind where I sleep, it is your house."

He doesn’t answer but I assume that he heard me; as I’m turning the page of a new book he comes and sits next to me again. I don’t think anything of it until, he takes part of the blanket and wraps it around himself, shuffling closer until we’re practically touching.

"Um, what are you doing, farmer?" I mumble. Not so much protesting the gesture (I don’t actually mind it) as supposed to just being curious to what prompted the act.

"I’m cold," he replies quickly, only to pause and stare ahead, like he’s just thought of something monumental. “...my name’s Link.”

Link?!

Wasn’t that also the name of...?

Tearing my eyes away from the book and I carefully study his face, but...no, the more I look the less I see a resemblance to…him. It must just be coincidence. His eyes hold a very similar spark I suppose, but other than that I don’t see anything connecting them.

Speaking of Link, he’s now gazing intently at me. I feel my face heat up with embarrassment and I instantly break eye contact. Oh, of course, he’s wants my name. Going by the ears, it’s clear he’s Hylian (which raises some questions about why he’s never been Hyrule, but that’s not important), so I have to give him this name: "I'm Luna."

☆

Thanks for reading!

From Shadows: Link’s backstory

Masterlist

#legend of zelda #twilight princess #link #link tp #loz link #legend of zelda fanfiction #legend of zelda fanfic #loz fanfic #twilight princess fanfiction #idk if this panned out how i envisioned #writing is hard

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sansxfuckyou · 2 years

Text

Food fight

Summary: George gets cut off from making pancakes and in turn Sapnap has to finish cooking, he fucks up big time and neither have the desired meal in the end of it.

Warnings: Food, mock sword fights, swearing, small amount of pain, innuendos, thats about it.

Authors Note: @sobredunia I have no clue how you do it every damn time, but each prompt you create, each and every time, it just shoots motivation directly into my bloodstream, like, my train of is bouncing around my head, and I took foodfight to far.

It was five in the afternoon, and due to life being stressful, breakfast for dinner was chosen. It didn't happen very often that meals commonly reserved for the morning were eaten in the evening in this household, but there were exceptions. And boy oh boy, during those exceptions George did not disappoint in bringing the heat for the food part of the meal.

There he stood beside a pre heating stove with a heating pan beside him, a tray of bacon on the counter as well, half turkey half pork, and in front of him a bowl of batter he was mixing furiously, bananas and chocolate chips and blueberries added in as well. He knew it would taste delicious if no one fucked it up, which is the exact reason he blocked both doors with a chair, aware that if he let Sapnap touch a spoon for even a second things would go wrong fast.

And then it happened.

A buzz against his thigh, a specific pattern of vibrations that tore him from his trance in an unceremonious fashion. He placed the wooden spoon beside the bowl, taking a deep breath to regain his train of thought before checking to see who was calling.

It was a number he recognized to be that of the landlord, did their rent get bumped or something?

He still answered the call and tried to keep formalities and questions light until he had turned off the stove and the heating element on top, making sure to close each cupboard door as well, aware someone would hit their head on it. He then unbarricaded the kitchen door, Sapnap barreling in ready to start a dialogue, silencing at the swift and silent gesture to the phone pressed to Georges ear, instead Sapnap stood silent until he was addressed. Normally, the door was never unbarricaded when George was cooking when Sapnap was in the house, he knew it had to be something important.

"Sounds lovely, could you give me a second? Thanks," George said before pressing his hand to the microphone as he turned to face Sapnap with a grave look, the words he spoke laced with venom despite the twos relationship status. "I am entrusting you to finish preparing the batter while I discuss the rent with our landlord and if I catch you pouring roasted garlic into it, I will cut your nut sack off with a steak knife and roast it in boiling car oil."

Sapnap nodded silently, clearly afraid, George gave a soft smile before placing a gentle peck on the cheek and making his way off to the singular almost soundproofed room in the house.

Now, see, Sapnap was scared to even touch the food at this point, knowing full well that if he messed up he would be paying dearly, not to the point that George threatened though, George had a soul. Of course, the fear coursing through his veins causing his face to turn a deep scarlet from the tips of his ears down to his neck would do little to deter him from trying to help.

And with that he made his way over to the counter, grabbing the spoon before gingerly licking it.

A sudden crash sounded off in his head at the detestable taste, it made him recoil in disgust, almost made him gag. He slowly placed the spoon back down on the counter before grabbing a spare chair and pulling it over, he wasn't exactly short, but their home was tall if that makes any sense. He shook as he tried to balance himself on the chair, still unable to reach where George kept the best ingredients, right on top of the cupboards. He pulled off his socks before carefully placing his feet on the counter, gripping on the cupboard door for support as he swayed, only to have it swing open as he leaned back just a bit, the door came clean off at the hinges as he fell back on the floor with an awkwardly loud thud, a spark of pain shooting through his back, a bit more than it should've.

He released a groan of pain as he tossed the cupboard door aside, then he was greeted with the sound of rushing footsteps, George rushing in, his call on hold. He had a panicked and almost afraid look on his face, grip on his phone nearly enough to shatter it if he saw blood on the ground, then he saw Sapnap.

"Oh, you just fell down, again," George said with a sigh, still worried, but very aware that this was something that has happened before, voice already reverting to venom towards Sapnap. "Were you looking for the forbidden ingredient again?"

"Uh, no?" Sapnap responded, George pinched the bridge of his nose, phone in the other hand.

"Look, I'll only be a minute or two, don't you dare screw it up now, you've done perfectly so far, aside from falling on your back and probably fucking up your spine," George said, Sapnaps eyes widened as he realized that could happen. "Just don't mess up again, we need to have a talk after supper anyways."

"Ok." Sapnap said almost to quietly for George to hear before he left, Sapnap sitting up afterwards, aware he was running out of time to fix the batter, he stood up shortly after making sure none of his vertebrae were out of place, hearing a few cracks that made him whimper in pain.

Within a quick minute he was already balanced on the countertop, one foot resting in the sink that was half full of sudsy water, the other right beside the still hot pan on the still hot element, almost burning himself in the process. He blindly ran his hand across the top of the cupboard, his finger getting caught in a mouse trap in the process, that caused a quickly snuffed out yelp of pain as he slowly removed it before returning to his search. He quickly found the glass bottle he was looking for before bring it down slowly as to not knock his balance off, then he slowly crawled down, rereading the label.

'Spice on the way in, hell on the way out: Carolina Reaper Coco'

The flavor combo didn't make much sense, but the message did, and he sure had experienced it first hand more than once, he twisted off the cap with a retched sound being produced due to dry sauce on the edges, he was greeted with a pungent odor that made him recoil.

Oh yeah, that was what he was looking for.

He slid the bowl back and forth a bit before grabbing the spoon and stirring it once again, hoping the slightly dried consistency would be ok. He then lifted the bottle of hot sauce and tilted it just a bit, so he would get only a few drops at a time, knowing that if he added to much it would be inedible. As the scent of the sauce permeated the room, his eyes started to water, he lifted the bottle so it would stop dropping in the sauce, he spun the batter, being hit with the same aroma. He took a small taste test finding that he could barely taste the sauce having it been diluted with so much batter, he decided to pour in more.

He heard the sound of a door opening, George talking a bit, then total silence as he looked back to find George staring at him in horror, disappointment and worry due to the odor induced tears rolling down Sapnaps face.

"Fucking god Sapnap, I love you I really do, but just this once I hope you have a plan to escape my wrath." George threatened, each word ringing true, Sapnap had nothing planned, at least he didn't add roasted garlic this time.

With nothing left in stock, he reached into the bowl of batter before flinging the handful of pancake batter at George, aiming for the face but hitting his partners neck. The odor quickly had an effect, causing Georges eyes to water as he slowly scraped the batter from his neck, the thick substance like webbing between his fingers, he couldn't help but 'slurp' some of it off, slurp being the only viable word to describe what he did, the act caused Sapnaps face to darken in a shade of red that made George smirk. George flung the the remaining batter on his hands back at Sapnap who barely dodged before retaliating with a quick toss of turkey bacon lathered in pancake batter, George ducking, a piece of bacon getting caught in his hair.

That's when George started to circle towards the fridge, Sapnap grabbing the bowl of batter and circling away, both around the kitchen table. George grabbed and stacked the two trays of bacon, turkey on top, a bit of batter smeared on some pieces, he held up a piece in one hand, Sapnap loaded his hand with thick batter as well.

George chickened first, throwing a few pieces turkey bacon at Sapnap who dodged most of them before retaliating with handfuls of batter, one of which getting stuck in Georges hair. As they 'took turns' in their food fight they each slowly got covered with batter as the room was desecrated in uncooked pancakes, Sapnap somehow getting covered in more than George.

It was after about fifteen minutes that George pulled two leeks from the fridge, tossing one to Sapnap before the two initiated a mock swordfight on the table.

Sapnap had one arm behind his back, wielding his like a short sword, while George used both hands as though it was claymore. Sapnap parried each slash as he was pushed around the table before lunging at George with a few attacks that made little contact. It didn't take long for George to have his sword-leek held horizontally while Sapnap pressed down further in an attempt to toss it away.

In an instant the two where on the batter smeared ground, laughing, a piece of turkey bacon still in Georges hair and a piece of pork bacon somewhere on Sapnaps torso. George was leaned against Sapnap, his partner sticky due to being saturated with batter, but that didn't deter him from latching onto one of Sapnaps arms.

"God, you need a bath." George said between laughter, the odor of hot sauce making him tear up a bit.

"So do you, hot shot." Sapnap said, flicking Georges forehead lightly as he rolled his eyes, resting his leg on top of Georges.

"I mean, we could share a nice, hot, long, steamy-" George said, listing off reason after reason until he was met with the taste of Sapnaps batter covered hand, the hot sauce instantly taking dominance as flavor, he was sputtering a bit.

"No way, I'm still starved, I'd rather be thrown on a spit roast and slow cooked over an open flame than have sex with you," Sapnap said, quickly recovering. "Not when you have bacon in your hair, at least, like, c'mon, that's docking at least twenty seductiveness points."

"Ha ha, very funny mister so much batter in my hair you can't tell it was brown," George said before reaching up to touch Sapnaps hair, running a hand through the batter dense locks, ending up with a handful of batter. "Really though, you should go take a shower."

"What? I don't even get a single battery kiss from the love of my life, my one and only, the reason I wake up in the morning?!" Sapnap wailed, layering on the dramatics extra thick, George rolled his eyes before gripping Sapnaps chin to the best of his ability with a hand covered in batter before pulling him into a short, spicy due to hot sauce, somewhat squishy kiss, it was an odd feeling for both of them.

"There, now go shower while I make food." George said before standing up, so did Sapnap, but he was quick to speak.

"What happened to lets share a nice, hot, long, steamy soak, does it not matter anymore because I'm having a shower? How picky George, so britishly picky!" Sapnap said in an overexaggerated tone, turning away from George and bring a forearm to his head in a dramatic fashion.

"Maybe after supper I'll think about it," george said, face darking hue just a bit, but it was hard to tell with the amount of batter smeared on his face. "Now go shower, you smell like Reaper peppers."

"Ok, ok, see you soon, I hope you miss me."

"Sapnap, the bathrooms literally three rooms away from the kitchen."

"The sentiment is the same!"

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areus-in-a-little-cave · 2 years

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Re-wrote Schlatt and Tubbo's argument from Chapter three of When was the last time you saw the sky? :] It's also now like 900 words longer as a result agag

With that and the beeduo scene dealt with, I think those are the most ooc scenes fixed to be more in-character :D!! They have always bothered me so I'm glad that they're better now

Here's the scene under the cut btw so you do not have to go looking if you've already read the chapter and only want to read the new bits

Word of the incident at the prison spread through the government quickly, having already reached Schlatt before Tubbo could even make it home. While he was glad that he wouldn’t have to explain everything that had happened, it was a bit of a hindrance. Tubbo didn’t know just how much Schlatt knew, and he had a feeling that whatever would be through that door would be highly dependent on that.

Of course, regardless of if it was up to Tubbo to inform his father of what had transpired, Schlatt would eventually find out everything through Quackity. No matter how much they disagreed on topics and how Quackity spoke about Schlatt with such loathing in his voice when it was just him and Tubbo, Quackity was still his vice. And a strange dynamic existed there, one Tubbo wasn’t fond of spending too long thinking about.

Surprisingly, when Tubbo entered the white house, he was greeted by a rather worried looking Schlatt. With a sigh and a knit brow, he rested a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder and looked him over.

"How you feelin', kid?"

Tubbo shrugged. "Fine."

"How's your neck, you bruised?" Schlatt sounded genuinely concerned, which was an interesting but not unwelcome change of pace. Tubbo was glad for any sign of—well, anything good from Schlatt. He didn’t seem currently drunk and he was worried about Tubbo; these were good things.

"Sam gave me a potion, and it doesn't hurt anymore."

Schlatt sighed once more with a little nod, releasing Tubbo and turning out of the entrance way. Tubbo followed him to the kitchen, a nice room with marble countertops and wooden cupboards. The floor was dark and tiled, and there was a window reflecting the setting sun in from just over the sink.

"Now, look." Schlatt said abruptly, spinning around on his heel. "I get that it was a shit situation, but did you really have to free his wings?"

Ah, that was what it was really about. Tubbo wasn’t really sure why he was expecting much else.

“He was scared more than anything, and I just thought that if I helped him instead of attacking him he might calm down.”

Schlatt paused for a moment, crossing his arms pensively before throwing one hand up with a shrug. “Or you could'a just stabbed him.”

"He threw my sword away."

Schlatt hesitated at that, a baffled sound from his throat escaping him. "He had your sword and he still went to choke you? The man’s a sicko, Tubbo."

Tubbo paused. Maybe Schlatt was right; Phil had tried to kill him, to take one of his lives. Not only that but he’d been conscious of it, he’d spoken to Tubbo; he knew he was attacking a guard.

A guard in the prison that was holding him against his will and had been for six years and kept him sedated.

Maybe it would have been stranger if he hadn’t fought back.

"I think he was just scared."

Schlatt barked a laugh, turning towards the cupboards. "Trust me, I knew Phil before he went in. Don't go feeling sorry for him, he's not worth your time."

Tubbo just nodded. This wasn't exactly something he felt like starting an argument about. His own thoughts on Phil were muddled, confusing and a bit too vague to do something serious without much consideration for the consequences.

Well, to do another serious thing without much consideration.

Besides, he’d had one too many arguments with Schlatt lately. Whether it was the longer hours Tubbo was working or the fact that Schlatt was nearly never not hung over, or the fact that the election season was just a few months away, tensions had definitely been lower.

Tubbo watched the president pour himself a drink.

Starting to walk towards the hall, Tubbo spoke up. "I'll finish up some paperwork and head to bed a little early, I don't have a shift tomorrow. I think Sam put me on leave for a few days."

"Wait, wait, wait." Schlatt sputtered out. "You're still working at the prison?!"

Tubbo nodded, a bit confused.

"What the hell, kid? You could'a died today and you're going back?"

"Well, I wasn't planning on quitting." Tubbo tried to explain that it wasn’t a big problem, that he really hadn’t been hurt at all, but Schlatt cut him off, sounding significantly more angry than before.

"It's fucking dangerous! You could have died, Tub!"

“But—”

Schlatt shook his head. “No! Absolutely not. You cannot go back to work at that place. I mean, Tubbo, c’mon! What would’ve happened if you had died? D’you have any idea how that’d look?”

Tubbo fought back a grimace at the words. Unlike before, these words didn’t feel concerned, they were just angry. And more importantly, they stressed one fact, one Tubbo wasn’t exactly happy about.

Schlatt was an enigma. Tubbo was never sure what he wanted from him. Some days he’d let Tubbo disappear without a care in the world as to where he was or who he was with, and the other half of the time he was just overbearing and judgemental. Tubbo would be fine with either the ignorance or the arguing, but Schlatt just couldn't pick a side. It was frustrating to never know what to expect.

If Tubbo’s suit was ruffled he’d get all pissy or if Tubbo left without telling anyone, he’d tear the kid a new one about responsibilities and the importance of his jobs, or if Quackity took Tubbo to get a haircut, Schlatt wouldn’t notice for a few days.

Schlatt seemed to care more about images when it came down to it. This really was nothing out of the ordinary. It was just about how Pandora would look if a guard died at the hands of a prisoner, or how Schlatt would look if his son died at a job he allowed him to work at.

Tubbo wanted to keep his job, though. He wanted to still have the option to investigate more into Philza’s life, there was clearly something amiss.

“I know it’d be bad, but I lived. I’m—perfectly fine.”

"Jesus, Tubbo.” Schlatt groaned into his hand, setting down his drink. “That's not how this shit works. You’re not fucking stupid, are you?”

The frustration grew, against Tubbo’s wishes. A deep part of him whispered a question, asking who Schlatt was to decide these things for him? After all, it wasn’t like he wanted to be Tubbo’s father; he’d abandoned him for all those years for a reason.

Tubbo pushed that thought back down, very deep.

“I—I won’t get hurt just doing a—”

“—And what if you do? Huh?” Schlatt exclaimed, stepping close. Tubbo fought back the urge to shrink as he approached.

“What then? You think it’s gonna look nice? You think it’s gonna feel nice having everyone breathing down your neck? They’ll be calling us incompetent.”

Tubbo squeezed his hands. “I can deal with that.”

“Don’t be a fucking idiot, Tubbo.”

Tubbo bit the inside of his cheek.

He didn’t like arguing, especially with Schlatt. There was always this point—like a sled pushed right onto the peak of a mountain just waiting to slip down, for something to push it—where Tubbo’s jaw just didn’t comply and words did not want to come out.

It was less than ideal, especially while arguing.

Talking hurt, in some sense. It was like suddenly, Tubbo had some kind of link between his mouth and his exhaustion, like a fuel tank that sprung another leak with each word.

Tubbo did his best, despite how dry his throat felt.

“I’m not—gonna quit. It’s… my job, I can still do it.”

Schlatt paused, staring down Tubbo with narrowed eyes before he raised his hand slowly, let it in front of Tubbo’s forehead, and flicked him. It didn’t hurt.

“Oh, it’s not hollow.” Schlatt mused.

With a satisfied smile, Schlatt stood up straight, walking right back over to his drink.

The frustration simmered.

“Why do you care where I work? You know that Sam would never let my life be in genuine risk. Even if—” Tubbo choked for half a second, his jaw fighting him as he managed airy words. “Even if I didn’t get out, Quackity was right there. He was coming.”

Schlatt shook his head with a sound, half between a laugh and a sigh. “What, you think I’m just gonna look away? I’m your father, Tubbo. I have to care.”

Tubbo bit his lip.

The frustration bubbled, and before he could slam the lid on that pot of way too many emotions to keep it from splashing, a few little droplets made their way off his tongue.

“You certainly didn’t want to be.”

It was no more than a whisper, but in a dead silent, now very tense kitchen, it was louder than a firework.

Tubbo went too far, he knew it as soon as he spoke. It was the one thing that consistently pissed off Schlatt.

Like always, the reminder of what he’d done, that he left Tubbo behind for years and only returned once he was rich, made Schlatt’s expression darken. His hand tightened around the glass and his lip pulled into a snarl.

Tubbo didn’t want to have this argument with Schlatt again, because he already could barely speak. It would just be a haranguing.

By some luck, Schlatt simply pointed at the entranceway to the room and snapped his fingers.

"Out."

"I'm—"

"Yeah, yeah, you’re sorry." Schlatt sipped his drink. "Take a fucking walk."

Tubbo left the kitchen in a hurry.

#submission #areus rambles #areus drabble #sort of?#When was the last time you saw the sky?#btw nothing has changed story wise like #these scenes still do the same thing #they're just have better internal thoughts + better dialogue and characterization #I think at least :D

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twobraincellkentwell · 9 months

Text

An Eye For An Eye

[A Game Called Revenge]

Part Three

Series Masterlist Part One. Part Two.

Summary: The months between the announcement and the Reaping could all blur into one; and could all be described in one word. Training. Eat. Sleep. Training. Repeat. Except one day at the end of May has two unexpected visitors. Who are entirely unwanted.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the nature of content in some of the chapters. Violence. Weaponry (Knives, Swords, Axes, Tridents.) An asshole of a gamemaker. They are literally training to kill people so take that how you will. Probably a power imbalance in there somewhere.

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: Hellooo! If I say that every chapter is my favourite then I want you all to hold me to it, and correct me because I quite honestly think I probably will say that every week. But from next week, shit gets real. See if you can guess my favourite line in this one. Bonus points to anyone who knows why this chapter was named the way it is ;)

The next few months are the same as they were the first time Clio was a potential tribute, every day filled with fitness training followed by weapons training in a monotonous cycle. Every day Clio would wake up early, cook herself some kind of high protein breakfast before meeting the others at the training centre where they work themselves down until they ache, only to go back to their houses for a shower and some rest, ready to do exactly the same the next day.

One morning at the end of May, Clio stirs in her sleep, the first rays of dawn trying to filter through her curtains, fighting hard against the thick fog that envelopes the District beyond her window. With a languid stretch, she throws back the covers, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed so that her bare feet hit the cool wooden floor. Always in a good mood when she wakes up in her own bed, she smiles but treads lightly on her way out of the room, careful not to wake Cato just yet.

As she pads down the stairs, she can hear the faint chirping of birds in the trees outside the windows; the noise muted through the thick glass panes designed to keep the noise of other victors' nightmares out. Stepping into her kitchen, the fog casts a muted glow upon the room. The countertops are blurred and soft in the pale light dancing through the room while the few rays of sunlight reflects off the golden handles of utensils and the crystal jars of spices laid neatly on racks below the kitchen cabinets. Clio, keeping her steps light, moves purposefully to gather ingredients from her neatly organised cupboards before clicking the stove awake. Skillfully cracking eggs against the edge of the pan, she toasts two muffins and turns her attention to the outside world. The gardens surrounding the village, usually vibrant and bursting with colour, all lay veiled under the fog, while she could just about make out a light switching on across the street if she squints. Lost in her trance she neglects to hear the bedroom door open upstairs or his footfalls as he makes his way down the stairs and towards her.

"Morning, angel," Cato says, his voice sleepy and hoarse as he lets out a yawn while he stretches at the entrance of the kitchen.

His voice makes her jump, turning towards the sound quickly, "You're supposed to be asleep!"

Clio returns her attention to the food as Cato rounds the corner of the island, shrugging as he wraps his arms tightly around her waist, "I was but then I couldn't find you."

"Sorry babe but I was trying to let you sleep in a bit before we have to leave," Clio says, removing the now cooked eggs from the pan and sliding them onto the toasted muffins on the plates beside her.

Kissing the top of her head in appreciation, Cato responds to Clio's nudge to eat by unwrapping his arm from her frame and sliding the plates onto the island, lifting them onto placemats after she raises an eyebrow.

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

The early morning fog still hangs low as they finish their breakfast. Each victor leaves their house simultaneously, ready for the short walk to the training centre. All clad in sleek, composed activewear they inhale deeply to try and not show the exhaustion that was beginning to set in after a month of intense nine-hour training days. The doors open on their own from facial recognition as the group file into the centre and immediately head to the first floor where all the fitness equipment lives. As if part of a scheduled routine, each person jumps clambers onto a treadmill. The older victors start by walking but the younger individuals push themselves with an initial burst of acceleration finding the idea of a leisurely walk boring, and quite frankly a waste of their time. The sound of pounding feet reverberates throughout the room, each beat of feet different but regular as everyone settles into a steady pace and focuses on themselves. As their cardio hour begins to come to an end, fatigue threatens to settle in their muscles. Lactic acid builds but each person refuses to succumb, refusing to be the first to falter. Beads of perspiration trickle down their temples as their bodies continue to move, pace quickening until the hour mark passes by and the treadmills roll to a stop.

Giving themselves only a mere ten minutes to catch their breath after an hour of exertion, the victors make their way downstairs and back out onto the town square. Each of them lines up at the bottom of the plaza, the side nearest Victor's Village and one of the older victors presses a button at the side of the square that is exclusively used as a countdown in their training environments.

Three... Two... One.

A gong sounds through the plaza and each victor bursts sharply into a run, sprinting as fast as they can to reach the top line of the square; treating this as if it was the run to the cornucopia. Each one has performed this sprint thousands of times in their training years but yet no one holds back, all reaching their full speed and wishing themselves to be the first at the other end. To no one's surprise the four youngest victors win all of the sprints, taking turns in first place over the fifty sprints performed.

After another ten minute break, filled with refilling water bottles and high-protein snacks, the experienced trainers enter the facility and instruct the victors to split into pairs for hand to hand combat. The oldest man pairs with one of the trainers, given that there is an odd number and that the rest of the pairs fit perfectly with most of them having trained together for years and then mentoring the Academy's children in those same pairs.

The next hour and a half consists of sparring, a pretty even match between them. Cato's brute strength mixed with Clio's speed and fast reflexes, she almost had him pinned down a few times. Jumping back to her feet quickly when he flips her onto her back, Clio pounces onto his back, wrapping her feet securely around his waist, holding on tight as she tries her best to push herself up his back and lock him in a chokehold. Her legs loosen around his waist when his strong arms pry them from himself, making her grip around his neck slip and she then finds herself being slammed onto the mat, landing on her back with a thud for the sixth time this session.

"I'm starting to think you're letting me pin you." Cato whispers in her ear.

"Get off me," She grumbles, pushing the heels of her hands harshly into his chest and forcing him to roll off her. Cato laughs, rubbing at his chest as he watches her jump back up into a fighting stance.

Picking himself up from the floor, he raises an eyebrow at her, "For someone who has lost six times today, you're awfully eager to try again."

Clio silently waits for him to strike. When he makes the first move towards her, she dodges his swipe and quickly goes to punch at his side. What she doesn't expect however, is for Cato to have anticipated her actions, grabbing her fist in his open palm and twisting her hand around so that he traps her in his hold, back pressed to his front. Clio pushes herself backward into him, using her smaller stature to his advantage and spinning herself round in his arm until he is forced to release her hand from his tight grip.

Creating distance between them she circles the mat slowly and quietly waits for him to strike again. Over the years training with him she has picked up on his cues, he always moves his right hand in a certain direction, always throwing his weight onto his left foot to balance the upcoming right-handed strike. "I am letting you pin me," she smirks, "for good reason."

"Why didn't you just say you want me on top of you so bad?" He asks, winking at her while he turns to keep her in his sight. He lets her circle for a few more minutes, watching her chest rise and fall as he listens to her footsteps mingled with the breathing of the other pairs around him and the occasional thud as one of them is pinned to the ground. Then, getting bored of waiting for her to make the first move, he finally lunges. Clio notices his left foot jump forwards, waiting as he leans his right arm towards her in an attempt to grab at her. She uses his momentum against him, sliding to her left just in time to witness him become slightly off balance, forcing her weight against his side and flipping him onto his back. She can hear the muffled praise from the others around her; swearing she hears Brutus utter a 'nice one Li.' Holding his shoulders down against the mat, she throws her weight on top of him, straddling his waist and grinning down at him.

"You're so predictable," Clio laughs at the impressed expression on his face, "I win."

"One out of seven can hardly be considered a win, angel." He scoffs, his chest moving with laughter underneath her hands, "but I'd be lying if I said that this isn't unpleasant." Smirking, his hands move to settle gently on her waist.

"Let me up Cato," She says once she finds herself unable to stand up by his grip tightening on her waist.

"Nah I don't think I will," he smirks.

"I swear, Cato, if you don't let me get up right now I'm gonna-" She's cut off with a squeak as he suddenly twists his body, flipping her over so that she is once again pinned down, back against the harsh training mat.

"You'll what?" He whispers, leaning down so that she can feel his breath on her neck.

Clio can feel her heart rate quicken slightly under his touch, trying to hide any sign of this from her face as she goes to respond, only to be interrupted and the two to be broken out of their trance by Enobaria, "For fucks sake, tear each other apart later, we do not need to see that."

Embarrassed that she forgot where she was and it resulted in Enobaria catching them in another compromising position, Clio pushes at Cato's chest harshly again so that he rolls off of her and the two rush to stand up. The trainer calls out for the room to swap, one person from each pair moving to their left to switch things up. Clio finds herself opposite Enobaria and when she looks to each side she can see that Brutus is now paired with Lyme while Cato has one of the older men.

Stepping back into an empty space, Enobaria wastes no time in kicking the back of Clio's knees and throwing herself on top of the younger girl, kneeling on her thighs to keep her down and a hand gripping her chin. "Come on, I've taught you better than that," Enobaria taunts her, laughing from above her.

Leaning up, Clio grabs the straps of the training tank Enobaria wears, yanking her down towards her and twisting until her back is pressed against the mats, pinning her arms above her head. "I know," she taunts her back, a smirk on her face until the older woman grins, "You've left your neck uncovered."

Clio leans closer, a smirk on her face before she releases the woman's arm and jumps to her feet, "Well, I'm not going to be in there with you, am I? No one else has razor teeth."

"Don't hold back on me Clio." Glaring at her playfully for the comments on her teeth, Enobaria pulls her legs to her chest, rolling upwards to her feet, standing a few feet away from Clio as she waits for the girl's next move.

"You're asking for it," Clio jokes, stepping towards her and dodging the punch thrown her way before grabbing it and pressing it into the older woman's back. Her control doesn't last long however, as Enobaria wraps her other hand around the girl's left wrist which pins her arm to her back and uses the moment Clio relinquishes control for a mere second, to throw the smaller woman over her shoulder; falling to the ground with her when her hands pull quickly on the nape of her neck. She easily uses her now free hands to push Clio's away from her neck, this time pinning Clio to the ground and wraps both her hands around the girl's throat.

"C'mon, you need to use your speed more Clio," she says, accepting her win but not getting off of the girl, determined to continue mentoring the girl in the limited time they have. "Try and get out of this."

Clio's stronger, left hand comes up to grip Enobaria's wrist, trying to use her hand as leverage to fight free of the hold, wriggling under her before suddenly stopping to smile up at her mentor turned sparring partner, "Or you could let me go and we could start again..."

Sarcasm swims in the older woman's eyes, tightening her grip on Clio's throat slightly as she reminds her that's not how these things work in the arena, "The others will kill you in seconds Clio. You're small. They've watched your games and they know your weaknesses, so this is how they'll get you."

Sighing, Clio knows she's right. As much as my size doesn't affect my abilities, it will be fucking hard to escape if I get caught like this again, against trained victors, she thinks. Looking at her body position in relation to Enobaria's above her, she quickly tries to decipher a way out of her hold. Her chest begins to heave with memories of being in such dangerous positions; the thoughts flooding her mind suddenly changing from happier, more playfully memories of training with Cato as a child going through the academy to flashbacks of the end of her games when she found herself pinned underneath the huge, male tribute from District Ten. Her brain starts to conjure up images of the desperation on the boy's face, and she begins to feel as though she's there again, hearing her heart racing as his hand squeezes tighter and tighter around her throat. No, she thinks, I'm here. I got out. I survived.

The more she tried to push away the memory, the more vivid the images became. She shakes her head, refusing to meet her mentor's eyes above her as she tries to calm herself down by pulling at her wrists around her neck. "Please," she breathes out, "Let go of me."

The older woman frowns, her grip loosening around the girl's throat, silently asking if Clio is okay. Roughly, Clio yanks the now loose grip from her throat, forcing the woman off of her by bringing her legs into her body and kicking at the other woman's chest. "Let go of me!" She shouts, ignoring the puzzled looks from the other victors as she desperately searches the room for something she could use to defend herself; her mind not registering her environment.

As Clio's eyes continue to scan the room, Enobaria stands up carefully, watching the girl's movements, for she recognises the fear in her eyes, knowing that she was in the middle of a flashback. While Clio, in her trance, does not make eye contact with her friends, Enobaria does. Her gaze falls on Brutus and Cato, both having stopped their sparring sessions to observe Clio's movements. As their eyes meet they wordlessly communicate, knowing that they have to do something to snap the girl out of her mind. Slowly, Enobaria walks towards the younger woman, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

Clio reacts immediately, violently shoving the woman to the ground, and seeing no weapons within arms reach, pulls a shoe off of her foot. "I said." She sneers, lifting the shoe in her arm. "Let! Go! Of! Me!" T

here is venom in her eyes as she goes to swing the shoe forcefully into Enobaria's face.

The woman rolling out of the way causes a wave of realisation to wash across Clio's face as she stumbles forward and drops the shoe. As Enobaria sits up on the mat, she stares at Clio in concern, who in turn backs away from her until her back is flush against the wall, "I'm so sorry! I just..."

Quickly pushing herself to her feet once more, Enobaria approaches Clio again, whose eyes stay firmly fixed on the ground in front of her, making sense of what she was about to do when she notices the shoe that is still abandoned on the mat. "Clio, it's okay. I'm fine. You're fine."

When her gaze doesn't move, Enobaria, careful not to touch her face just yet, whispers, "Look at me." When Clio raises her eyes slowly to meet hers, she continues, "Everything's fine, Clio. You're not there anymore."

"Until I am." She says quietly, "and then what?"

Enobaria smiles sadly at her, "I don't know Clio, but we'll work through it, okay?"

Clio blinks up at the taller woman, impressed by the compassion and understanding that her mentor is showing her. She was told when she returned home from her games that winning isn't all it seemed, but she hasn't seen any of the others act out like this before. Her eyes flit around the room, grounding herself before she shakes her head, "I don't know what happened. It's been nearly two years. I should be dealing with it."

Enobaria sighs, "It's been over ten years and I still have flashbacks, Clio. We all do."

"Enobaria's right," Lyme speaks up, walking closer towards the girls, "Everyone relives moments from their games. All that matters is that you were fighting it."

Clio smiles then, "I suppose I don't really need hand-to-hand in the games if I take them out with a knife before they can get to me."

"That's the spirit!" One of the older victors shouts. Clio doesn't think she has ever had a positive interaction with the man prior to this, but as the others nod in agreement they begin to file outside to have a quick lunch break and Brutus nods softly at her, letting her know that she's okay, and after some food it will be like this all never happened.

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As the middle of the afternoon rolls around, Clio, who after the morning's hand-to-hand combat needs to release some anger, makes her way over to the knife throwing area of the training centre. The facility has the knives station in the top left corner, with the targets facing the wall in case one of the younger children misses and sends a brand new knife into the back of another potential tribute. She picks up some blades from the target board, one by one, catching a glimpse of the giant portrait of herself on the wall to the side of the targets. Each victor in the centre has a portrait of themselves hanging on the wall nearest the station of their chosen speciality; a way to inspire the younger generations. She scoffs at the picture, a professional photograph taken just before she embarked on her victory tour just under two years ago, golden crown placed delicately on her head which is positioned to look at the camera over her left shoulder, long, chestnut hair flowing behind her. Oh how different I look right now, she thinks as her hair falls out of her now loose, messy ponytail, and her face tinted pink from exertion.

Without sparing a look at the target, Clio shuts her eyes and throws one knife. Once she hears it hit the dummy, she opens her eyes and looks to see where it landed. Dead centre of the chest. Damn I'm good, she thinks as she smiles to herself.

"That was too easy." A woman's voice breaks the silence, startling her. She looks up to meet the eyes of the woman who spoke, to find the short blonde woman who in past conversations about the quarter quell has made it evident that she dislikes Clio.

"I wouldn't startle me when I have a knife in my hand," Clio replies, pointing the knife towards the woman, "unless you want one between your eyes."

The woman smirks, folding her arms in front of her chest, cockily biting back a laugh as she speaks, "Knives don't scare me, and you certainly don't scare me either."

"Maybe they should," Clio spits back, choosing to ignore the comment about her for now as she angles her body back to face the targets but keeps her eyes locked onto the blonde woman's, not hesitating to sling two more knives at the far side of the wall in quick succession. She breaks the eye contact to retrieve her knives sticking out from the targets as the woman walks casually to the wall of weapons to pick out the ones she wants.

The second that Clio returns to stand next to her, the woman begins throwing hers. Three knives hitting the middle target as she focuses intently on the knives leaving her hand before going to retrieve them. When the woman stands beside the target, Clio throws a knife directly past her ear, landing just centimetres away from her hand; but knowing that her aim was far too good to actually injure her. The woman's entire body freezes and she spins around slowly to meet Clio's sadistic smirk, "You don't want to play this game with me, Clio. You'll only embarrass yourself."

"Oh come on." Clio scoffs, "If I'd have wanted to hit you then I would've."

"You're on. Let's put that to the test." The woman snarls at her, pulling Clio's knife from the target as she walks back over to where she stood and hands over her knife.

"Right elbow." The woman says, throwing her knife towards the target, hitting the mark she aimed for.

"Left eye," Clio says, aiming for a smaller target area, before smiling to herself when the blade pierces the mark with barely a second glance at the dummy.

"Right eye." Hit.

"Left knee cap." Hit.

"Right shoulder." Hit.

"Left shoulder." Hit.

With Clio easily matching all of the woman's throws she decides to up the stakes, closing her eyes as she throws, "Chest."

Clio smirks when the woman's knife hits the target on the dummy's chest. She's a shit shot with her eyes closed, Clio thinks as the woman's face drops when she opens her eyes to see her knife sticking from an outer ring of the target. Clearing a result of not having trained properly since her own victory.

"Chest." Clio copies the woman's target, looking towards her before closing her eyes and letting the knife sail throw the air.

Clunk.

Opening her eyes at the sound of the knife embedding itself into the dummy, Clio grins widely when the knife sticks out just centimetres from where the older blonde woman's knife stays. It's her turn to cross her arms now, turning her body to face the other woman as she taunts her, "I thought you liked knives."

The older woman huffs, pushing past Enobaria who now stood next to the two of them as she leaves, defeated. With a smile, Clio watches the woman storm off before meeting Enobaria's eyes as she motions for Clio to follow her back to an empty space on the training mats.

Reaching the mats, Enobaria plucks an axe from the weapons rack, feeling the weight and measuring how it feels before gripping it tightly with both hands and swinging upstairs.

"Shit," Clio hisses as she ducks Enobaria's swipe at her head. Around them weapons flash quickly through the air, metals colliding together with loud clangs as everyone practises blocking and defensive actions. Twisting out of the way of Enobaria's upswing, she misses the axe that whistles past her head and nudges the older woman's knees on the way so that she becomes off balance and falls to the ground. The two take turns for a while, switching between offensive and defence actions as they practise disarming someone with an axe. As Clio looks around the room, seeing Brutus and Cato performing the same movements with a trident while Lyme and the oldest man rehearse breaking a bow in half over their knee, she tries desperately hard not to think about the fact it's her friends who will be possessing these weapons in a few months times. She tries not to think about having to kill her new found friends.

She can hear Cato's voice as she swings her axe upwards towards Enobaria's shoulder, hearing Brutus and a female voice taking part in a conversation before suddenly, a loud thud causes everyone to whip their heads up. Her axe goes crashing to the ground, the heel piercing the thin black mats as her gaze shifts towards the source of the disturbance - Luna.

Why the fuck is Luna in here? Clio thinks as she looks the redheaded victor from Four up and down in confusion.

"Oh I'm sorry, did I not give it back?" Luna smiles sweetly, sarcasm dripping from her voice as she looks up at Cato whose face drops at her words, the confident smirk on his face replaced with an irritated expression. Clio's gaze follows Luna's outstretched hand, which points to the wall beside her, mouth dropping open when she sees a sleek, metallic silver trident protruding from the portrait of Cato that hangs on the stone wall. The two widest prongs are embedded into the blue of his eyes, while the middle prong sticks from the space between his eyebrows. Since when was Loopy Luna able to throw a trident so well? She thinks, muttering insults under her breath at the girl for her choice of target.

Clio watches as Cato slowly turns to face Brutus, a fake smile on his face, "Get her out of here." Brutus gives a small nod, "Before I hurt her."

Luna lets out a laugh in response, her voice condescending as she tilts her head to the side, lips pursed in a fake pout, "Aww, did I bruise your ego?" Clio watches the redhead lean towards Cato, whispering something into his ear but she can't quite hear her words from her place at the training mats.

Neither of the men get the chance to answer Luna's question, for Clio, who after quickly walking around the station, yanks the trident from the stone wall. The sound of the metal prong pinging slightly from the force of her pull and the slight rip of the canvas poster echoes through the now silent training centre; everyone carefully observing her actions.

"Get out!" She shouts, walking towards Luna, trident in hand. The girl takes a nervous step back as Clio approaches, watching as the short woman hands Cato the weapon, her eyes flitting towards the newly defaced picture before she faces Luna once more. "Before I throw you out in pieces."

"And you!" Cato yells angrily, his eyes now focused on the young game-maker who accompanies Luna. This draws Clio's attention to the man, of course, as everyone in the room spins to look at the short, dark haired man who stands with his back to the double doors, leaving him vulnerable to the deathly glares of the victors who surround him. "Bringing her here?"

The man stands his ground, head held high as Cato storms towards him, the two men locking eyes, their faces contorted with anger and resentment. "Oh Hadley, you may be a victor but you can't hurt me. I'm a gamemaker now, remember?"

Laughing sarcastically, Cato's voice drips with confidence and superiority, punctuating his words with a mocking smirk as his arms raise to cross over his chest. "Don't tell me you're still mad I beat you."

The game-maker's face flushes with frustration and wounded pride, not wishing to be shown up in front of Luna; someone he is obviously trying to impress. His retort is venomous, his voice trembling through his growls of suppressed anger, "Ever the arrogant bastard. You got lucky and you know it."

"Lucky?" Cato laughs, "You really can't handle that you lost to me, can you?"

Clio sees his eye twitch, and as her eyes scan his features, she finally recognises him. Zeus Melia. Three years older than her in the Academy. Her eyes trail down his body for confirmation of her thoughts, and once they find the slightly shaky, mis-shapen right hand, with the ring finger bent at an awkward angle, she knows she is correct in her identification. This is the boy who tried to dislocate Cato's knee in the dorm rooms the month before his games, she thinks, recalling the moment the boy entered Cato's dorm room one evening with a club smuggled from the training facility only to falter once he realised the boy wasn't alone, and ended up having the fingers his dominant hand crushed by Cato's strength. "You stole my win from under my nose." Zeus spits.

"Oh please, that arena would have wiped you out in days, Melia."

"No!" The game-maker spits, crossing his arms briefly as he glowers at the taller blonde boy stood ahead of him, before he plasters the fake mask of smile back across his features, gesturing around Cato for Luna to approach, "Come now Luna, a lady like you shouldn't have to bare witness to these ruffians."

"Ruffians?" Enobaria hisses, taking a step towards the young game-maker before she is stopped by Brutus' hand on her shoulder as he interrupts her.

"I think it's time for you to leave."

"Gladly," Zeus snaps, holding his hand out for Luna to grab. Once the girl grabs ahold of his outstretched palm, he pulls the double doors open. Luna hurries in front of the man to leave the training room, taking one last long look at the facility when Zeus decides he hasn't finished saying his piece.

"You know what I think?" he asks the room full of victors, who are all glaring his way.

Before the man can finish his thoughts, he is interrupted by Clio, "No one cares what you think Zeus," she laughs.

Zeus scowls at her interjection, before his icy stare moves from the small woman to her boyfriend once more, "Still getting your little girlfriend to fight your battles I see, Hadley."

Cato steps up closer to Zeus until they are only a few strides apart, "Get out." His fists clench tightly, trying not to act on his desire to strike out at the man.

"Or what? You'll ask your girlfriend to punch me?" Zeus asks sarcastically, "Give it your worst because soon she'll be nothing but the delightful sound of a cannon."

Anger flashes over Cato's face before he reaches out and pushes the man. Hard. Zeus stumbles backwards, quickly catching his footing. "I will fucking kill you." Cato spits out, hand raising in a fist, but Brutus is already behind him, grabbing his arms and muttering in his ear to walk away, to attempt to diffuse the situation. He's livid, Clio can tell by the twitch of his jawbone as he finally relents, allowing Brutus to pull him backwards, over to the sword station.

Her eyes change instantly from concern for her boyfriend to rage, for both what the man had just said about her and how he is treating them all; as if he wasn't one of us three years ago. Her gaze locks onto Luna's frame as she speaks while she waves goodbye to Brutus, "Well, it truly is always a pleasure to see all of you. I guess I'll be seeing some of you in a few months?"

"Yes, I'll see you at the tribute parade." With that, the young game-maker leaves, ignoring the various insults being thrown his way and slamming the doors behind him. The victors watch the doors slam before turning to face each other.

"How is he still allowed in here?" Lyme asks calmly.

"Never mind how he got in, Lyme. We should be more concerned that Cato decided it was appropriate to threaten him!" The oldest man raises his voice over the murmurs of the group.

All eyes then turn to Cato, the older victors' eyes boring into him angrily. He throws his hands up in frustration, the sword now in his right hand swinging wildly, "Did you really expect me not to say anything when he was being that much of a dick? The fucking traitor."

His angry thoughts settle those of the older victors, as everyone comes to the realisation that Zeus wouldn't be able to tell anyone about the threats, and Luna wouldn't be able to speak a word of what she witnessed either, given that he was the reason she was illegally in another District.

"The boy's right." Brutus says, "He wouldn't dare say anything about the Academy now. Let's get back to training."

The victors disperse, some go back to the station they were training at before the disruption, others head upstairs to blow off some steam with weights. An angry Clio heads over to the knife station again, needing to release more of her frustration. She retrieves one of the longer knives from the weapon rack, the weight resting perfectly in her hand as if the weapon was moulded for her grip. Silently, her fingers trace the smooth, cool metal, running her fingers slowly along the edge before extending her arm, knife poised perfectly between her fingertips; ignoring the sounds of combat that carry through the room. In one swift, fluid movement, the knife leaves Clio's hand, soaring towards the target and finding the mark perfectly with a satisfying thud. Without hesitation, Clio draws another knife across her body, her movements a seamless rhythm of release and retrieval, each blade piercing its designated target with incredible accuracy no matter the position, technique or angle of release. As she goes to recall her knives from the targets, she overhears shouts, turning her head towards the noise.

"Again. Harder."

Cato is heaving for breath, lunging at Brutus who falters backwards while blocking his punches as they practise hand-to-hand combat once more, this time no doubt fueled by the younger man's fury. "Cato, take a break-"

"I said again." His words are harsh, each punctuated by a swing of his fist. He moves quickly, delivering more powerful, punishing punches that are getting difficult for even Brutus to block. The older man murmurs Cato's name quietly enough for just him to hear but he doesn't respond, instead his arm darts out in a punch that almost catches Brutus off guard. Thankfully, his reflexes kick in before his mind realises, his hand catching Cato's fist before it meets his nose. When his eyes meet the cold, flat anger that pool in Cato's, it unnerves Brutus slightly, causing him to call for an early finish to the day.

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

Part Four. Series masterlist.

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dudemanauthor · 1 year

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The Hunger

Author's Note: Hey, remember The Apathy from Volume 6? Yeah, me too. They scared the crap outta me. However, in revenge, I decided to make my own Grimm that's basically The Apathy but they work for my specific kink/fetish. So yeah, that's how this came about.

What was meant to be an easy hunt in the forests outside of Vale turned sour as a heavy storm rolled in. Team RWBY was caught outside with nothing but trees for protection.

“This way!” Ruby called out over the hammering rain. “There’s a road coming up, we might find a house!”

“I’d settle for anything at this point!” Blake added, holding Gambol Shroud over her head, using the wide bladed sword as an attempt at cover. The girls kept running, their clothes soaked through and their endurance being tested. Before too long, the girls spotted the wall of a log cabin through the blanket of trees. Their spirits buoyed, they picked up a second wind and almost sprinted for the structure. As they broke through the treeline and circled around to a door, the girls noticed a wooden sign that had clearly been removed and put back on a fair few times. The sign read in bright red letters “Grimm! Keep Out!”

“Seriously? We have to fight Grimm for our shelter?” Weiss complained, somehow having the energy to be indignant between catching her breath.

“Don’t care, going in!” Yang shouted as she went shoulder first at the door. With her speed and strength, the flimsy wooden door didn’t stand a chance at stopping her from getting inside. The rest of the team came through the doorway, weapons drawn and ready for a fight. With their adrenaline high, the team was ready to swing, shoot or stab at anything with enough black and white to even look vaguely like a creature of Grimm. After a moment of dead silence, broken only by the storm outside, the girls took a moment to breath, try to dry off and lower their guard just a little bit.

“Okay, let’s search the place. If we need to stay here for the night, we should make this place safe.” Ruby led the team through the simple cabin, even if there was very little to lead them through. The living room and kitchen they entered through was completely empty, save for some well-worn furniture, everything covered with a layer of dust showing an obvious lack of use. The bedroom proved to be equally empty, with the only things left being too large to carry out in a hurry. At the door to the final room, the team stacked up next to the door, with Yang ready to lead the way.

“Alright, ready when you guys are,” Yang said, getting into position to barge through. The rest of the team nodded silently, before a loud growl came out of nowhere. Ruby, Weiss and Yang readied their weapons as Blake’s eyes widened with surprise and embarrassment.

“That… wasn’t a Grimm, that was my stomach. Sorry, I’m kinda hungry right now,” Blake said, her face flushing red. The tension broken, Ruby and Yang couldn’t help but laugh, only making Blake’s blush deepen.

“Can we please take this seriously?” Weiss said loudly, trying to be heard over the rain and the laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, alright Princess,” Yang teased, before counting herself down. On one, she burst through the door, followed by her team, only them to be met by walls of cupboards and a padlocked and chained hatch down to a basement of some kind.

“No Grimm?” Blake said warily.

“Might be in the basement, but I’ve seen enough horror movies to know never to go into the basement, especially one with all those locks on it,” Yang answered.

“Yeah, good idea Yang. We should just block this room off and stay in the living room,” Ruby agreed.

“Should we maybe search the cupboard first? Maybe we can use them for barricades,” Blake suggested.

“Or perhaps there might be food in them,” Weiss added. Yang turned to Weiss with a raised eyebrow.

“You getting hungry too?” Yang said with a smug grin.

“N-no… I’m just planning ahead in case this storm leaves us stranded for the night.” Weiss’ entirely logical statement was immediately undermined by her stomach rumbling loudly. Weiss’ face paled even more than normal and her hands shot to her stomach. “Grr, I ate before we left, how am I so hungry?”

“Relax Weiss, you probably just worked up an appetite fighting all those Grimm,” Yang said with a dismissive wave. “Anyways, let’s get searching!” she announced as she strode confidently over to the cupboards and flung them open, revealing more and more non-perishable food stored with each cupboard opened.

“Food! We're set for the night,” Ruby cheered.

“Ugh, you call this food?” Weiss said, side eyeing Ruby.

“Relax Princess, it's just for one night. Besides, I've eaten worse,” Yang said, waving away Weiss' concerns.

“Shouldn't we deal with that first?” Blake suggested, pointing to the cellar door.

“On it!” Yang affirmed, going for a chair from out in the living room. She tore the legs off of it and jammed the door closed with them, adding that to the other barricades. “There, done. Now, food?” Yang turned to ask the team. Blake and Ruby were already going for the cans and packets, with Weiss reluctantly joining in. Yang scooped up a double armful of food and the team took their haul back to the living room before sealing off the storage room with a cupboard wider than the door, making it hard to leave the store room, but relatively easy to enter.

“Uh, guys, isn't this a lot of food for one night?” Ruby asked, raising an eyebrow at the veritable hoard of food.

“Relax, Ruby, it’s not like we won’t be able to stop ourselves, right guys? Plus, it sounds like we’re all pretty hungry right now,” Yang said to the rest of the team. Blake and Weiss agreed and that placated Ruby for now. As the team nabbed some utensils from the kitchen and settled on to the couches, Ruby pulled out her scroll and set up a distress call.

“Okay, so everyone back at Beacon should know where we are. Someone should be coming to get us soon,” Ruby said with a cheery smile, before glancing out the window at the setting sun and the near solid wall of rain. As she looked back, her team had already begun digging into their piles of food. Ruby shrugged and made a start on her food. “Man, I hope we’re not stealing someone’s food,” Ruby thought out loud as she nibbled away at her food. The rest of the team didn’t appear to hear her, too focused on eating. “Oh, wow, you guys really must be hungry.”

Some unknowable amount of time later, the sun had gone down and the only light in the room was the torch on Ruby’s scroll, bathing the room in a soft blueish white glow. Ruby hadn’t noticed the sun go down, the storm beginning to clear, or anything else for that matter. All she had been doing for the last little while was stuffing her face with all the free food, filling her mouth until her cheeks were puffed out and full of food and downing it all at an incredible speed, as if she hadn’t eaten all day. Ruby only slowed down when she heard a clattering sound from the store room that seemed to snap her out of her laser focus on the food in front of her.

“Uh, guys, did you hear that?” she said, eyeing up the store rooms blocked off door. She hopped off her seat and made her way over to the door, still nibbling on her ration bar, blissfully unaware of her bloated stomach beginning to push against her waist cincher. “Watch my back, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, it’ll be fine,” Yang said through a mouthful of food. Ruby turned quickly and saw that the rest of her team was definitely not paying attention. She rolled her eyes and went for the door. As she slowly opened it and peeked in, she couldn’t find the source of the noise, everything seemed to be as it was. While she looked around, still nibbling on her bar, she noticed a sudden pain from her thumb. Surprised, she looked at it and saw teeth marks. All of a sudden, it was as if a cloud had disappeared from her mind as she realised that her was so distracted by food that she had managed to bite her own thumb.

“Oh, geez, that’s not a good sign,” she said, before looking down. What she saw sobered her up further. Her belly was sticking out past her breasts. Her cincher pinched at her gut, the tight band splitting her round belly in two. She didn't even think she had eaten that much. If she was like this, the others couldn't have been much better. She had to warn them. Then, she felt a haze take over her mind. She blinked, and next thing she knew, she was back in the living room with a double armful of food and an even more bloated belly that before, one that made her cincher creak concerningly with every shallow breath. She shook her head to try to clear it and put the food down. “Guys, I think we need to stop eating.”

“It's fine,” Ruby heard a drowsy Blake say through a mouth full of food. Ruby looked up in time to see Blake crack open a can of shrimp flavoured beans and chug it in one go. Ruby's eyes drifted down, and that's when her eyes went wide with surprise. Blake gut was round and firm, large enough for her to need to undo the buttons on her vest. It sat heavily on Blake's lap and slowly grew as she shoved down more and more food. Ruby reluctantly looked around, as if not seeing the effects meant they wouldn't happen, but sure enough, the same had happened to Weiss and Yang. Weiss' belly may have seemed to be the smallest, other than Ruby's, but it was squashed in tight with her white dress. The seams were pulled tight and almost ready to start splitting. Meanwhile, Yang's gut outpaced everyone's by a mile. The hefty mass, round, smooth and solid, filled her lap, making her look like she was heavily pregnant, even if it was just a food baby. All three of them had glassy, dilated eyes that didn't seem to be processing what was in front of them or what they were doing, and they just kept on mindlessly piling more and more food into their mouths. Ruby was lost for words and without a plan of action as her team was lost in gluttony. Then, her mind drifting back to earlier and remembering how she snapped out of her trance, an idea formed. It wasn’t much of a plan, and it was hard to focus further with how hungry yet full she felt, but it was better than nothing.

“Sorry Yang,” Ruby said, wincing as she leaned in towards her sister. Yang had plenty of aura, so it wasn’t like this would hurt very much, but Ruby couldn’t help but feel bad as she slowly raised her hand. She brought it down on Yang’s mammoth belly, making a slap mixed with a meaty thud. Yang’s belly barely moved from the impact it was so packed full and tight with food. Her eyes went wide as they cleared up and focused, her irises going blood red.

“Aah! What the hell!?” Yang screamed, half in pain and half in surprise, at a Ruby that wasn’t too sure how to respond. As the shock dissipated, Yang looked down at her sore belly and her eyes went even wider. “When did that get there!?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but we’ve been eating way too much. Something’s messing with us,” Ruby warned.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Yang said, taking a moment to breath and cool down, even if her stuffed belly meant her breaths were shallow to avoid angering her overfilled belly. “There’s no way I should be this stuffed and this hungry, something’s wrong.” She looked up at Ruby, her eyes going back to their normal lilac and taking on a hint of a misty haze. “But I still want to eat.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Ruby reached for Yang and pulled her out of the chair with all her might. Distracted, Yang wasn’t able to fight back as she toppled to the floor. Sprawled on the floor, Yang rolled over and rubbed her sore belly

“Ow, crap, okay, gotta focus. We need to get out of here before…” Yang’s warning was cut short by the sound of fabric tearing. The sisters looked over towards the sound, and saw the seams on the side of Weiss’ dress beginning to rip apart, revealing hints of pale flesh as it poked through the little gaps it was making.

“Oh man, she’s gonna be so mad when her brain starts working again,” Ruby said with a nervous laugh.

“Maybe the rain will wake her up,” Yang suggested, uneasily getting to her feet, not fully adjusted to her new centre of balance. She grabbed Weiss and moved as quickly as her feet could carry her. As soon as she was outside and the gentle but steady rain was hitting Weiss’ face, it was as if she had woken from a daydream with a start and immediately regretted it.

“Ooh, why does my stomach hurt?” Weiss whined, her head still spinning as Yang gently let her down.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yang said quickly before turning back to the house. “Ruby! Get Blake out of there!”

Meanwhile, Ruby was doing her best to literally drag Blake out of the house. Blake was being far from cooperative, still stuffing herself as Ruby tried to get her out of the house. Ruby already knew that she wasn’t the strongest, and the extra weight on Blake wasn’t helping. The dangerously tempting food sitting around wasn’t helping matters. Ruby was doing her best to drown out the voice that was telling her to give up, sit down and pig out. She knew it wasn’t coming from her, and she knew what would happen if she did. She steeled her resolve and just kept at it. From outside, she heard what sounded like a distant engine getting closer. Someone was coming to help, Ruby knew it. She heard Yang and Weiss calling out, trying to get the vehicle’s attention. As Ruby felt like she was reaching her limit, she crossed the threshold and stepped out into the rain. Blake didn’t need to be too far out of the house before she snapped back into reality. She staggered to her feet and out of the house.

“Ugh, what happened?” Blake asked, still fairly groggy. That was when a bright light from the sky from the sky shone down on the team as a Bullhead slowly descended. On it was the portly Professor Port.

“Oh goodness, it looks like there must be a Hunger nearby. There’s no other way that responsible huntsmen in training like you four would end up looking like this,” Port boomed as he ushered the team onto the Bullhead.

“Hunger? Is that a type of Grimm?” Ruby asked, rubbing her belly, half considering undoing her waist cincher.

“Ah, yes. They give off waves of energy that afflict the mind with incredible sensations of hunger, distracting you while they go in for the kill. There are other Grimm that affect your mind differently, and they’re quite likely some of the weakest Grimm that you may fight, not that that should let you underestimate them,” Port explained, beaming with pride at his own knowledge. Then, his moustache seemed to droop. “I apologise for not teaching you of these foul creatures before now. I believed them to only be in Mistral and even then, they are meant to be especially rare.”

“Well, guess that explains what was in the basement,” Blake said with a weak smile.

One awkward ride back to Beacon later and Port was still informing the team about the Grimm that had affected them, with more information that the team could ever hope to retain. The team found his voice a good distraction from their churning, uncomfortable stomachs. As the team were debriefed by Port and sent back to their dorm room to recover, they all looked at the sorry state of each other. Their distended bellies stuck out so far that seeing their own feet was out of the question, even for the comparatively light eater Ruby. Weiss was annoyed with her own lack of self-control, especially since it was responsible for the damage to her clothing and even if she wasn't truly in control to begin with. Blake was awkwardly fidgeting with her undone vest buttons, attempting the impossible and trying to button them back up and having trouble looking her teammates in the eyes. Ruby and Yang weren’t exactly in the mood or the state to be climbing up to their top bunks, and after everything that happened, the floor was good enough. Before the team collapsed into their sleeping arrangements, Weiss quietly spoke up.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t mention this to the others, agreed?”

“Agreed,” the rest of the team chorused, before drifting off to some well needed rest and recuperation.

#chubby!rwby #stuffing

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hasthcraft · 2 years

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in-the-enemys-arms · 2 years

Text

To Erase Destiny #2

Summary: The blood spilled during Onakhe’s care for Thargoth riles Wynather, a vampire, up. The perfect distraction for Thargoth to not just flee, but to simply walk out the front door, despite his weakened state.

Content: gore, vampire sucking blood, necromancy, plotting of escape plan, fear of being caught, character death (seemingly, because everyone survives)

Masterlist | previous

#2 Luck

As soon as the door closes behind Onakhe, his trembling hands pull the blanket off his body. He shivers and closes his eyes for a moment, resting, before sloppily rolling over onto his stomach. His torso is on fire. Again, he rests, then places his feet on the ground.

The wooden boards feel dry and warm from the fireplace crackling about a few feet away. The texture feels a little rough against his skin not used to touch anymore.

Clenching his teeth, he maneuvers his hips over the edge and kneels, his upper body supported by the bed. He won’t be able to move fast or far, he reckons. His best bet is to quietly drag himself somewhere they won’t find him until he has regained some of his strength. The silk sheets and the promised food tempt him, but this could be his only chance. Once he is stronger, they will put more safety measures into place to prevent his escape.

With plenty of breaks, and careful movements, he crawls over to the chest at the foot of the bed. It creaks when he opens it, and holding his breath, he waits for Onakhe to storm through the door. When it doesn’t happen, he picks a tunic, pants, and leather boots out of the chest. The clothes are of a simple cut, beige and brown, made out of linen, and a little too big for his starved body, but they will do.

He then drags himself to the only window in the room and onto his feet, leaning against the window silk. A thick, red curtain blocks the view, so he pushes it aside, only to stare into dark, whirling clouds. Red lightning scars the sky, providing at least enough light to see the thick, tall walls separating the courtyard from a town. Around the town, fields stretch up to a dense forest. If he makes it there, he can probably lose his pursuers. But first, he has to get through the wall. Multiple guards in dark hoods and armed with spears and swords gather right next to its gate, even more on the wall, bows hanging from their backs.

Thargoth sits down, leaning his back against the wall. His legs tremble from standing up for this short amount of time. Slow and steady, he reminds himself. If he manages to start a little fire on the other side of the courtyard, and hides by the gate, maybe he can slip through while they are distracted. It would take time for the fire to grow big enough that it catches their attention, giving him enough time to get to the gate. But a few guards might stay behind, or they could close the gate before going to investigate.

Another idea would be to hide in a carriage. Surely, some things must be transported in and out of the castle, hay for the horses for example. But those would be empty when the carriage leaves the courtyard. He crawls towards the door. It’s pointless to think about it here, where he can’t assess the situation completely. He needs to go down there and look around further.

Just as he is about to open the door, steps echo in the hallway. Thargoth holds his breath, huddled against the door, and listens. A door further down the hallway opens and closes. Voices. Two women talk. One of them sounds like Onakhe, he thinks, but isn’t entirely sure.

Carefully, he pulls the door handle down, slips into the hallway, and closes the door as quietly as possible. Long cupboards narrow the short hallway with only two rooms on each side. The walls are of a light pink, contrasting the greenery on the cupboards. There’s nowhere to hide. At the end of the hallway, he can make out stairs and a banister. Too open to his liking, even less hidden than the hallway, but he doubts there is a different way to get down. Of course, he could jump out of the window, but that would draw the guards’ attention.

“Leave!” The other woman yells from behind the door, desperation in her voice. Thargoth creeps closer. If there are two opposing sides, maybe he can use it to his advantage.

“Please, you need to leave.”

“I’m not letting you torture yourself, Wyn. I don’t mind, I really don’t.”

“I won’t torture myself. I will fly to Dawnbarrow this very night. Please. I can’t have you around this long.”

“But it’s dangerous. The paladins—”

“That’s exactly why I’m heading there. Cassius is one of the few people that deserve this.”

“Wyn.” A pained whine. “You’re not some kind of punishment someone deserves. What if we pay a few of the people to give their blood? In a bowl, not with your teeth in their necks. I can collect it and bring it here, if you fear that you’ll lose control.”

“I’m already losing control, and that’s because you walked past the door with watered down blood. If you walked in with a bowl of pure blood, I would maul you like a rabid dog. And if even just one of them gets an infection from this … they already hate me.”

“Then why won’t you drink from me? I will never hate you.”

“Oni, please. Please, leave, I beg you.”

“Never.”

“Then I leave.”

Thargoth’s heart stops. Footsteps approach the door. His eyes search frantically for a place to hide. He should’ve left the door open. In a hurry, it will definitely make a noise. But the steps never reach the door. Suddenly, it’s completely silent. After a second, Thargoth can’t stand it anymore. He peeks through the keyhole.

Onakhe is right across the room, holding a knife in one hand, the other arm is stretched forward, blood running down.

“It’s all right, Wyn. Stay calm.”

Something next to the door shifts. A moment later Onakhe’s head bangs against the floor, a woman, a vampire Thargoth assumes, straddling her. The vampire, Wyn, hungrily licks the blood off Onakhe’s arm. She looks mad, her brown hair an unruly curtain covering her face. Onakhe holds her head with her free hand, groaning, and tries to sit up, but Wyn shoves her down, and twists her arm to position it better against her lips.

Thargoth doesn’t move, barely dares to breathe. It would surprise him if the vampire hadn't smelled him yet. Or heard his heartbeat. Maybe she’s too absorbed in feeding. Any movement, a single creaking floorboard, and Wyn will be on him.

“See? It’s all right, Wyn.” Onakhe reaches for Wyn’s arm.

Wyn slams Onakhe’s head into the ground, then shoves her chin up and away from her chest, exposing the throat. Onakhe’s fingers dig into the wooden boards, but she doesn’t defend herself when the vampire’s fangs pierce her neck. A scream, drowned in blood, escapes her. The vampire rips her teeth out of her throat, or more precisely, the throat still between her teeth, and spits the flesh onto the floor. Blood streams like a creek, a growing dark spot on Onakhe’s red dress. Her mouth stays open in a silent scream. Wyn slakes her thirst on the stream of blood, until no more red streaks run down Onakhe’s neck. Onakhe lays completely still, lifeless, even when Wyn rises to her feet.

Her head snaps to Thargoth, staring right in his eye and he jumps away from the door just as the vampire crashes through it. Pieces of wood rain down on him, and stick out of Wyn’s dress and hair. Wyn towers over him, and when he shifts backwards, she bares her fangs and snarls. His heart bangs against his chest, trying to escape, but his body stays frozen, awaiting death.

“Hey! What’s that noise?” A man yells from downstairs. Wyn rushes past Thargoth and down the stairs..

Because I don’t have blood, he realizes. That’s the only explanation. He pants, the fear slowly leaving his body. He’s immortal. Even if the vampire attacks him – these other people will stay dead, but not him. He has nothing to fear. He should focus on escaping.

Thargoth sneaks to the banister, watching Wyn approach a man in a black brigandine and dull metal helmet. Thargoth debates trying to warn the man, but the vampire will be faster anyway. And it’s the perfect opportunity to escape. The huge door behind Wyn probably leads directly into the courtyard. And with a vampire loose, the guards won’t pay much attention to Thargoth. The man relaxes when he recognizes the vampire’s face.

“Wynather! What happened? I heard Onakhe scream and—”

Wyn hisses, showing her fangs. Immediately, the man steps back. Thargoth can feel magic pressing down on the air, heavy and reaching unusually far. The man must be an amateur, not able to concentrate his magic into one controllable point.

“Wynather, are you out of your mind? Is that Onakhe’s blood on your clothes?”

The vampire charges, but before she reaches the man, the door to the courtyard flies off its hinges and throws her deeper inside the building where Thargoth can’t see her anymore. A wave of bodies and dark cloaks floods the room, rushing after her. The man disappears in it, leaving behind only the sour stench of rotting flesh and mold.

The way now freed, Thargoth hurries downstairs on shaky legs, and peeks out of the doorframe. The guards are gone. All of them. The gate left wide open. The guards are undead, he realizes, and the man a necromancer. That’s why they are gone. If there are any guards left in the town, the necromancer will be too distracted to stop Thargoth. He scrambles to freedom as fast as he can, hoping that the fighting noises from inside the building will continue long enough for him to leave this town behind.

#whump #mywriting #immortal whumpee #vampire whumper #escape #necromancy

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