#So in other words I left the dye to dry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kinktae · 8 months

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novocaine pt. 4 || (M)

↳ PART OF MY REWIND SERIES

Going home was hard – painful even. But falling back in love with Jimin, the boy you left behind? Downright gut-wrenching.

pairing: punk!jimin x reader

word count: 8.7k

genre: 1990s au, exes au, angst, smut

warnings: 90s slang, alcohol, fighting, car sex, oc has dead parents, bittersweet ending

A/N: PLS MAKE SURE REREAD 1-3, I KNOW ITS BEEN A FAT MINUTE BUT PLEASE CONSIDER ALL CHAPTERS WHEN READING THIS ENDING

01 | 02 | 03 | 04

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PART FOUR (FINAL)

“You’re gonna break my damn neck!” Jimin complained, eyes shutting as you moved his head closer to the shower’s stream.

“Shh,” You giggled, fingers gingerly rinsing your boyfriend’s head.

Jimin was fully clothed, head thrown over the tub’s edge, insisting that he remain dry as you washed the orange dye from his hair.

Just the other day you had MTV playing in the background as Grams and you were making cookies when the video for The Flaming Lips’ She Don’t Use Jelly came on. You hadn’t heard the song in ages; Hoseok used to belt the nonsensical lyrics religiously on early morning bus rides to high school. But more importantly, you had never seen the music video and became consumed by the lead singer’s tangerine-colored hair.

It quickly became a topic of conversation between you and Jimin, nudging a shoulder into his side anytime you’d pass by an orange car or a shelf of hair dye. A week of your less-than-subtle teasing had gone by when he finally begrudgingly agreed to dye his hair orange. You were beyond excited, even if he had only agreed to get you to finally shut up.

So here the two of you were, kneeled on the tile floor of your bathroom, random splotches of bleach and dye on your shirts, the sound of The Smashing Pumpkin’s latest CD coming from your room.

“You should be grateful you have a girlfriend that’s willing to dye your hair for free.”

“Is that what you’re doing? I thought you were trying to drown me.”

“Alright, you big baby,” You rolled your eyes, reaching over him to turn off the shower head. “I’m done.”

“Pass me a towel, please?”

His eyes were scrunched shut, hand flailing about for the towel rack aimlessly. Chuckling, you passed the wet-haired boy a towel, sitting back on your heels as you watched him pat his face dry.

“Here, let me get your hair.” You offered, grabbing the towel back from his face and onto his head, careful to be gentle as you had bleached it earlier today.

Jimin sat obediently, quietly admiring the way you took your time and cleaned the dye-stained skin around his hairline. He loved having your attention; you were always so gentle with him. His chest tightened as you hummed along to the song in the background, oblivious to the splashes of orange dye that had found your cheek.

“Oh my god. It’s hella orange.” You giggled.

Jimin pulled you onto his lap, partly to help you work more comfortably, mainly because he liked having you close.

“Does it look bad?” His warm eyes peered into yours, sounding somewhat unsure.

Brows furrowing, you paused to press a kiss on Jimin’s pouting mouth. As if there were any universe in which Jimin looked bad. Seeing as his frown ceased to let up, you kissed him once more, “You look great, Minnie. My little pumpkin.”

“Real convincing.” He glared. Stealing one more kiss from you, he helped you off him and back up off the bathroom floor.

You watched intently as he moved towards the bathroom mirror. You weren’t anticipating him to hate it, but should the situation present itself, you had made a point to buy an emergency bottle of black hair dye, ready to remedy the situation at a moment’s notice.

Jimin said nothing at first, merely tilting his head from side to side as he ran his hands threw his newly orange, somewhat damp hair. A smile broke across his handsome face.

“It’s actually pretty sick.” He grinned, clearly pleased with the final result. You let out a breath of relief.

“I told you! Admit it, I was right, you look fucking hot. No one ever trusts my artistic vision.” You sighed dramatically, earning you a chuckle.

“Alright, Picasso. Remind me again the plan for tonight?” He rolled his eyes, reaching for the hairbrush he had laid out on the sink counter earlier.

“Well,” You watched as he sorted through his hair, “Hobi left a message saying he scored all of us tickets tonight for the drive-in theater but failed to mention what time or what movie it was.”

Jimin chuckled, “Typical. And you tried calling Hobi’s line?”

“No one picks up. I went and knocked on his door before you came over. The Jungs are out of town so he’s probably kicking it at Gwen’s.” You shrugged.

While you could in theory go and look up Gwen’s landline in the phone book, it seemed like a tremendous amount of work just to locate someone who quite literally lived right next door. He’d show up eventually. He always did.

You sighed, “Man, I can’t believe that old drive-in is still kicking. I thought for sure it went under in the time I left town.”

Jimin nodded, “Nah, it’s still around. But the only people using it are the old folks who were around when it was first built. They’re still playing the same ten shitty movies on repeat.”

“Let’s just get ready and go hunt him down in an hour, yeah?”

And so the two of you spent the next hour readying yourself, Jimin styling his new hair and you waging war against the blue eyeliner Gwen had somehow convinced you to purchase.

It was just around the one-hour mark that you received a call from the very person you had been hoping to find.

“Yo, kid! Come on out, I got two tickets with your name on them!”

Jimin and you ran out onto your grandmother’s driveway eagerly, laughing as Hobi slammed on his car horn melodically, a bright smile written across his face.

“Great timing, we were just about to go break down your door.” You smiled, grabbing the two bright yellow admission tickets that Hoseok had dangling out his car window. “Thanks, Hobi.”

“Where’ve you been, man?” Jimin questioned his best friend.

“Why? You keeping tabs on me, Carrot Top?” Hoseok giggled, eyeing your boyfriend’s new hair.

“Funny.”

“I’m playin’, it looks fresh, dude. I dig.” Hoseok assured, holding his hands up as if to show he meant no harm.

You rolled your eyes, “Lemme guess, you were at Gwen’s.”

“You kidding? Her place? Her dad’s sheriff— hell no!” Hobi shook his head before a greasy grin took hold of him. “Besides, I’ve got the open crib, a pretty girlfriend, and stamina like a racehorse.”

Jimin’s giggle was instantaneous, immediately clueing you in on what exactly Hobi was implying.

“You pig. I rang you and knocked on your door!” You scrunched your nose at him.

“Like a racehorse, kid,” Hobi emphasized, only furthering your frown.

“Jeez, okay, got it… TMI.”

“So we ready to watch Jurassic Park or what?” Hoseok first pumped the air.

Jimin’s eyes went wide, “They’re playing Jurassic Park tonight?! Sweet!”

You too were shocked. The film had come out only a few years ago.

“How the hell did that lame-ass drive-in get the license for a film that recent?”

“Got the old lady to pull some strings.” Hobi flashed you both a smug look, reaching over to pop his collar out theatrically.

“So your mom gave you the tickets? Councilwoman Jung sure has pull in this town.”

You were thoroughly impressed. Hoseok struck out in the parents department. Not only did they tolerate his tomfoolery throughout his teen years, but as his mother was on the city council, they were often occupied with work, giving Hobi free reign to do as he pleased as long as he remained out of jail.

His mother’s words, not yours.

“Oh Nah, I got the tickets myself.” Hobi corrected.

You squinted at him, suspicious, “…Should I even ask how you got these tickets?”

“Depends,” His voice lowered suddenly, eyes flickering from side to side, “are you gonna snitch?”

“No?”

“I broke into the ticket booth last night and just grabbed a bunch of tickets from the drawer.” He shrugged.

Your jaw fell, “Hobi!”

“Dude!” Jimin burst out laughing.

“What?!” Hoseok’s eyes went wide, as if entirely innocent of any crime. “Why are we wigging out? It’s not like I stole money from the register! Besides, is it my fault that so many places here are easy to break and enter?”

“Tell that to Gwen’s dad when he finally locks your ass up.” Jimin teased. Your childhood friend tutted, shifting his car into reverse.

“Whatever. You still took the tickets, ungrateful bastards. Your hands aren’t clean either. The movie is in twenty minutes. I dropped Gwen off at hers so she could go get changed so I gotta bounce and pick her back up. You guys need a ride?”

“Nah, we’ll take my car,” Jimin assured him.

Hoseok began to pull out the driveway, window still rolled down. “Meet up at mine after for drinks?”

“Sure. Thanks, Hobi!”

“See ya later, man!”

The three friends waved goodbye to one another as the eldest pulled out onto the street and drove off.

“Do you really think he and Gwen were busy fucking all this time?” Jimin pondered the second Hoseok was out of earshot, making you scowl.

“I think that Hobi is like a brother to me and if I think about it too much I’ll actually barf.”

Jimin chuckled, throwing an arm over your shoulder as the two of you made your way to his car.

———

“A medium popcorn, one Junior Mints, and Buncha Crunch please.” You smiled at the concession’s attendee.

You were about 20 minutes into Jurassic Park and could make out the sound of the film as you ordered Jimin and yourself some snacks. He had offered to go make the snack run himself, of course, but seeing as it was his favorite movie playing, you decided that the sacrifice would be yours to make.

Handing over the necessary cash, you moved to the side, watching patiently as the attendant assembled your order. Just then, someone else approached the concession counter. You glanced over at the person not particularly interested, before realizing at once just who the next patron was.

“Yoongi?” You called out before you could stop yourself.

A head of faded mint hair turned towards you, his dark eyes meeting yours, and took on an expression that you could only guess mirrored your own. The kind of expression that can only be shared between two people who had their tongues down each other’s throats not too long ago.

A pregnant pause fell between you.

“Y/N. Hey.” He breathed after a beat.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you contemplated your next words, wondering what exactly to say to your boyfriend’s ex. You know… the one you had tried to have sex with.

Thankfully, the arrival of your popcorn and other snacks made it so you didn’t have to respond, a flustered ‘thank you’ escaping your lips as you grabbed your order.

“Uh, two medium sprites,” Yoongi told the attendant once she moved to take his order. You tried your best to look occupied, not wanting to look like you were waiting on the mint-haired boy even though you most definitely were.

Within a minute, he moved towards you, drinks in either hand and a sheepish smile on his face.

“So, uh… this is awkward.” He admitted honestly, joining you as began to walk away from the concession stand, deciding the spare the innocent concession girl from the unfortunate conversation that was about to unfold.

“Super awkward.” You affirmed with a nervous chuckle, hands gripping around your bucket of popcorn.

He nodded.

“Hey, so,” He came to a stop suddenly, halting your stride. “I’m sorry if I caused problems for you the other night. I wouldn’t have… I mean, I didn’t know that you were… We were also both probably way too drunk–”

“No, no, honestly, don’t sweat it!” You were quick to cut him off, not wanting him to assume that he had done anything to make you uncomfortable that night. “I didn’t know who you were either. You seemed cool and hot and, you know… I wanted to. So… yeah. ”

Wow. This just nearly beat the moment Jimin walked in on you two in the scale of awkwardness. At least you weren’t sober then.

Yoongi nodded once more, “Cool. I also wanted to. But, um… listen, you’re a cool chick and all but you should know there’s someone else. Plus, there’s the whole you being my ex’s ex thing…”

Oh god. Was Yoongi… rejecting you? Fuck, he totally thought you were still coming onto him. How utterly humiliating.

“Yeah, no, gotcha. That can literally never happen again. It’s all good.” You laughed, purely because of how ridiculous this entire conversation was. He grinned back at you, remembering exactly why he liked you in the first place that night at Guyi’s.

“No hard feelings?” He offered you a crooked smile.

“Deal.” You mused, eyes falling on the two drinks in his hand. “So are you here alone?”

You watched in interest as Yoongi suddenly turned a shade of pink.

“No, actually… I’m here with a coworker.” He told you, a certain bashfulness to his tone.

“Oh, a coworker.” A knowing smirk grew.

“I’m kind of seeing him, I guess. I don’t know, it’s too soon for labels.” He shrugged.

“So you’re seeing your coworker. Scandalous.” You teased.

“Again, sorry. If you were literally anyone but Jimin’s ex-girlfriend–“

“Oh, shut up.” You rolled your eyes at his joke, making him laugh.

The sound of various screams rolled over the area, catching both of your attentions, undoubtedly belonging to the moviegoers in response to a scary scene that must’ve just played out.

“I’m not really into dinosaurs,” Yoongi admitted lightheartedly to which you giggled, agreeing.

“Where do you work by the way?” You made casual conversation. “I just realized I never asked.”

“I work at a daycare.” He told you, making your smile drop.

Right. The daycare.

You supposed that was the thing about ghosts. They tended to haunt you.

Your chest felt hollow once more as he took a sip from one of the drinks. “Not huge on snot and boogers but the pay is decent so who cares, right?”

“Whatever happened between you and Jimin? I mean, why did you guys break up?” You said suddenly.

It had just made its way out like word vomit, desperate to change the conversation. The last thing you wanted was for him to ask if you were at all familiar with the property.

Yoongi looked at you in surprise for a split second before shaking his head.

“Jeez, how ironic.” He said, mostly to himself.

“Huh?”

“No, nothing I just… it’s funny you asked me that. Because it was you. You were the reason we broke up.” He confessed, bringing the straw of his drink back up to his mouth.

Weirdly, a feeling of guilt washed over you at his words. It rendered you silent.

“At the time it pissed me the hell off. He was dumping me for an ex-girlfriend he hadn’t seen in what? Four years? Took a hit to my ego for sure.”

All you could do was stand there looking dumb. You hadn’t the slightest idea how to react to what he was saying. Part of you was… delighted? Happy that Jimin wasn’t as dedicated to that relationship as you feared he might’ve been. But another part, a much more prominent part, felt awful. Terrible that you had hurt Jimin so deeply that he couldn’t even commit himself to another person. That he couldn’t move on.

“But anyway, it was for the best. Weirdly he did me a favor. No point in being hung up on a guy who was still hung up on the past.” Yoongi paused suddenly, scrunching his nose as he shook out his mint locks. “Dammit, I sound like such a cliche bitter ex, huh?”

“At least you’re not the shitty ex who broke his heart.” You offered half-heartedly.

Yoongi stared at you for a moment, allowing himself to freely admire the girl who had captured Jimin’s heart all those years ago. Despite your otherwise neutral expression, there was a gloom around you that he couldn’t quite ignore.

He pressed his lips together, wondering if he could offer you any solace.

“If it makes you feel any better, there’s no guarantee it would’ve worked out even if you had stayed.”

Your head tilted in confusion. Yoongi stole a piece of popcorn cheekily, popping a piece into your mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you told me yourself that night. You’re a city girl. You would’ve wanted to go see the world eventually and everyone knows Jimin has no plans to ever leave this tiny ass town. Maybe you just got the inevitable over with. So don’t beat yourself up over it.”

You were suddenly acutely aware that Yoongi had no idea that you and Jimin were back together. A wave of nausea rolled over you as you considered his words.

He was right, of course. You had always dreamed of making it out of here. Even when you were young and running down the halls of your grandmother’s house, your adventures took you far away, towards weather unlike your own, towards faces and cities you’d never recognize.

So what was it that you were doing now? Getting closure by opening up a chapter with Jimin you had closed years ago?

Jimin was the boy who had his kids' names picked out when he was in elementary school. He was the boy whose biggest dream was remodeling his parents' home so that it would one day fit his own family, the family that he wanted to start here. He was the boy who looked for you months after you went missing, and who ended a relationship because he was unable to let go of the past. He put his life on hold for you. And who was to say he wouldn’t do it again when you left?

Your feet felt heavy as if you were sinking into the dirt of the drive-in lot, crushing guilt piling onto you.

“Hey.” A voice called out, making both Yoongi and you turn to face whoever was trying to grab your attention.

It was Jimin. Of course, it was. You had gotten caught up in conversation, taking far too long to get snacks. It was only a matter of time that Jimin would head over to check in on you. His hands were tucked away in his jeans, expression unreadable as he eyed the two of you from where he stood.

“Oh. Hey.” Yoongi replied, eyebrows pulling up in surprise. His surprise was quickly replaced with confusion as Jimin walked over, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he took the snacks from you, always the gentleman.

“Sorry, I took so long. We bumped into each other and lost track of the time.” You explained awkwardly to your boyfriend through warm cheeks.

“I see that.”

You could see the way Jimin’s jaw was tense as if swallowing back words that weren’t exactly pleasant. You almost see the puzzle piece coming together in Yoongi’s mind as he looked at the two of you interact.

“Well… it was nice seeing you again. Good luck with everything.” You waved Yoongi goodbye, already heading back where Jimin had set up the car, eager to walk far from the second most awkward situation the three of you had found yourselves.

“You too.” You heard Yoongi called back, a note of disbelief in his tone, one that you forced yourself not to dissect further.

———————

You did your best to keep your eyes on the screen ahead of you, but the tension in the car was palpable. Jimin was taking those sharp short breaths through his nose like he always did when he was angry. You licked your dry lips.

“You’re upset.” You broke the ice.

“No, I’m not.”

You tilted your head against the car seat’s headrest, facing your troubled lover.

“Yes, you are.” Your tone took a soft timbre. “You’re doing that angry sulky thing you do.”

“I don’t sulk,” Jimin said, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly.

“Minnie, you sulk.” You chuckled but failed to receive a chuckle back in return from him.

You straightened up in your seat.

“Nothing is going on between Yoongi and I.”

“I know.” He said.

Your brows furrowed at his words, “Okay. Then is it something else?”

Jimin said nothing, eyes pressed against the movie screen but clearly not paying attention to the film at all. You sighed.

“Can you roll your window up?” You asked. Your boyfriend met your eyes curiously, seeing that you had done so on your side before complying and rolling his up.

The second his window was up, you were unbuckling your seat belt and maneuvering yourself across the car and onto his lap.

Pressing kisses onto his neck, you felt as he noticeably relaxed, a soft sigh falling from his pillowy lips.

“Talk to me.” Your mouth traveled onto his jaw, kisses sweet and reassuring.

“I love you.” Was his breathy response, hands gripping to sides of your thighs, pulling you closer to him.

He couldn’t say how insecure seeing Yoongi made him feel. He didn't know how to say that if you left him once, what was to stop you from leaving him again? If he wasn’t good enough to make you stay all those years ago, what would be different this time?

“I love you too, Minnie.”

His hand found the side of your cheek, drawing your mouth into his, kissing you with intention.

You pulled back suddenly, “Wait, this isn’t talking.”

“Don’t wanna talk. Just wanna touch you.” His voice was lower than usual.

Your face flushed at his honesty, unsure of whether to press further. Ultimately you gave in.

“Okay.”

Your fingers curled into his t-shirt, tongue finding his, heavy breaths filling the small space of the car as you lost yourselves in each other.

Breaking the kiss with a groan, you pulled up at your shirt. You nearly laughed at the way Jimin had already begun to tug at your bra clasp before you had even successfully removed the garment from you.

The lacy bra fell down your body, tossed aside mindlessly as he pressed a kiss onto your chest, hand working your soft flesh. You let out a breath as he sucked the supple flesh into his mouth, thumb rolling over your pert buds.

“Wait, drop your seat back, I don’t want someone from another car seeing.”

Jimin nodded, leaving your chest to comply with your request. Immediately though, his hand found the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and into a kiss.

Making out in Jimin’s car was admittedly nostalgic — the two of you having spent many afternoons fooling around whenever you got the chance. And maybe that's what the two of you were going for, slipping back into each other in a way that came naturally.

You rolled your hips into his desperately, every inch of you buzzing at the way you could feel the way he had hardened underneath you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He muttered as his thumb lolled over your sensitive nipple. You whimpered.

The sound took him back to the night of the bonfire when he had buried his head between your angelic thighs that night of the bonfire, your greedy fingers tugging at his scalp as you cried against the feeling of his tongue.

Fuck, he was hard.

His hand reached down to undo his jeans in desperation, the pressure of his strained cock in his thigh jeans too much to bare. His actions caught your attention, your teeth finding your bottom lip as you watched the anguished boy reach into his underwear and readjust himself.

Suddenly, his mouth was on yours again, hand angling one of your thighs so that he could grind his hips against it.

You were getting far more worked up than you anticipated, his hot mouth leaving marks across your exposed skin. You needed more of him.

“Do you wanna fuck me?” You asked innocently, hand pressed against his abdomen.

“Fuck yes.”

“Hm...”

Your hand dipped into his underwear, eyes glimmering in mischief as you pulled his cock out, wasting no time in working the shaft.

“Fuuuuuck.” Jimin’s voice was drawn out and pleading, chest rising and falling in rhythm to the pace your hand had set around his cock.

“Does it feel good, Minnie?” You cooed teasingly, sucking a bruise into his pretty neck.

You preened as his hips suddenly jerked up, a whine pushing past his swollen lips before he cleared his throat.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me. Sit on my cock already.” He begged.

You smiled into his skin, head moving back up to kiss him as you ran your thumb over his red tip, swallowing his moan.

“You feel so good in my hand though.”

You weren’t lying. Hot, engorged, and pulsing under your fingers, his cock was truly a fine piece of craftsmanship. If it weren’t for the cramped location that was the front seat of his car, you would’ve had your lips wrapped around him, using your tongue to remind yourself of every vein and ridge.

“I promise I’ll feel even better inside you.” He groaned.

“What’s the rush? I don’t remember you ever turning down a handjob.”

“And I don’t remember you being such a fucking tease. Clearly, things change.” He tutted.

You frowned at his tone but allowed one of Jimin’s hands to push its way between your legs and down your underwear.

You stifled a noise as he ran his fingers up and down your slit.

“Oh, love bug, you’re so wet. That for me?”

You fought back a blush, somehow still flustered at the way Jimin’s dirty talk after all these years.

“You got yourself this worked up over touching me, yeah? Fuck.”

A shutter ran through your body, pleasure running over you as he toyed with your clit. Your hand fell from his member altogether, finding leverage against his thigh as you pushed yourself closer to his feathery touches.

Your hips moved on their own accord, mouth opening as a silent moan tumbled out.

“Bet that feels so good, huh? So cute.” He praised, pinching one of your cheeks.

“Now whose teasing?” You pouted.

A whimper escaped you against your better judgment as his fingers suddenly made their way down, spreading you open as he lightly pressed against your entrance.

“Acting so tough but losing the act as soon as I touch you.” He placed a kiss against your head, spurred on by the way you had suddenly become pliant and placid under his touch. “You're practically sucking my fingers in.”

You weren’t certain if the whine that greeted him in response was from his words or the way he pulled his hand back every time you tried to sink onto his fingers.

“Please.”

“Sorry, angel. I’m not gonna finger fuck you. Just gonna sit here and play with what’s mine.”

Jimin was not usually particularly possessive but god was it hot.

If his fingers hadn’t immediately moved back to roll over your clit, you might have had the energy in you to complain, but instead, you found yourself plaint in his arm, thighs trembling.

“I’ll... shit... I’ll cum if you keep that up.”

“Bummer. Guess there won’t be any need to fuck you then.”

“Dammit! Just fuck me, Minnie!”

“Hm... I dunno, I think I’m going to need a little bit more convincing before I do–“

“Oh, please, please!” You were rambling before he could finish his sentence. “Fill me up, Minnie. I need it so badly. I can take it I promise.”

“H-Holy fuck, okay. Dirty fucking mouth. Come here, baby.”

And just like that, you pushed yourself back up onto your knees, moving to hover over Jimin’s painfully erect cock.

Your boyfriend’s hands cradled your hips as you aligned the two of you, kneading the soft flesh tenderly.

“I love you.” You promised as you sank down. He threw his head back as you fell into the rhythm that felt as natural as breathing with him.

“Damn right you do, you're my fucking girl. Mine.”

He loved the way you moved with him - loved the way you felt like the piece he was missing. He loved everything about you and couldn’t help but shower you with praise as you rode his cock, wishing he could give you more than just car sex. He felt helpless near you, nowhere near as confident as he came across. You were spectacular in every single way, smiling as you leaned over to kiss him.

——

“Tell me about New York City,” Jimin ran his fingers down your arm.

The two of you had long forgotten about Jurassic Park, now reclothed and cuddled up in the back of his car.

You raised an eyebrow, “Honesty? It’s loud and dirty. Not to mention traffic is shit.”

“That sounds… terrible?”

“It is,” You breathed, “But it’s not. It’s the perfect place to disappear. No one gives you a shit about what you’ve got going on, no matter how fucked up you feel. Everyone is just trying to deal with their own chaos and get through the day.”

“Sounds kind of lonely.” He muttered. You hummed in contemplation, wondering how it was that you felt just the opposite. It was weirdly comforting to know that no matter your story, those in the city had seen worse.

“Did you know that when you’re deep in the city, there isn’t a single star in the night sky. Not a single one.” You recounted.

Jimin tilted his head, “What do you mean there are no stars?”

“It’s like they’ve all gone missing and the sky is just this massive empty black hole.”

“How can there be no stars? Where do they go?” He laughed.

“My theory? The city needs so much power to run that they had to steal every star from the sky above them… Though I’m told it’s something called light pollution that just covers the stars.”

“I like your theory better.” He smiled.

You turned towards the massive screen, watching as dinosaurs wreaked havoc.

“There’s a complex above the bar I used to work at. They have a rooftop that you’re not technically supposed to access but everyone does anyway. At night you have the most perfect view of the city skyline. The sky is just this hazy gray color but the further out you look, the lights from the surrounding buildings start to look like little stars sprinkled on the ground. I’ve always thought of it as New York’s version of the night sky. Like looking at the world upside down. It’s just… spectacular.” You marveled.

You could still see it so vividly in your mind, how the empty sky glowed and the buildings twinkled.

“You’ve always had stars in your eyes,” Jimin said suddenly, eyes fixated on you. You turned to meet his gaze.

“Hm?”

There was an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face, “Do you remember the first night we met?”

You blinked, taken aback by his abrupt question.

“Hoseok introduced us. Second year of high school. Homeroom.”

Jimin shook his head.

“Do you remember the last home football game of our freshman year?”

Freshman year? Football game? Yeah, you remembered that.

“I mean, yeah. That was before I decided I hated school functions and only wanted to hang out with social rejects and lowlives. First and only high school football game I attended. Why?” You pondered.

“You and Hoseok were standing on the top of the bleachers. I think the two of you were trying to figure out how to climb the announcer building without dying or getting caught.” Jimin went on to recount.

“Oh, snap! I remember that! We did it, too. I remember it took me ages to convince Guyi to come climb up. Hoseok got a bunch of kids to come and join us… You were there?”

Jimin nodded at you, also remembering the way you and the thick-framed girl were close back then.

Jimin actually remembered much more than that. He recalled almost vividly how he and a few friends were called to follow the rowdy boy he knew from history class and how he led them through the bleachers and toward side the side of a building. There were two girls sitting on top already, the louder of the two turned around and waved at the newcomers, before turning back towards the sky, legs stretched out in front of her as she chatted with her best friend.

The other girl you were with, which he would later learn was Guyi, was sitting away from the edge, arms wrapped tightly around herself as she shivered at the night’s chill. She looked uncomfortable and he could hear her muttering about wanting to go back down but you insisted that the view of the stars was better where up here, leaning back on your palms as you faced the night sky.

He was taken by you immediately and spent the rest of the time on the roof glancing your way in hopes even just a quick peek of how the twinkling lights reflected off your irises.

You were all he could think about, even as the principal came screaming at you guys to come down. He thought of you as his older brother Jihoon drove him back home, silent in his seat as he stared up at the very same sky that captured your attention. He thought of you throughout that following summer and the very first day of your sophomore year, when he finally worked up the courage to tell Hoseok how he felt, leading the more extroverted boy to introduce the two of you.

And he had loved you ever since. Even now he loved you, eight years later, sat on Hoseok’s couch as you and the people you grew up with all played a drinking game, the movie since wrapped up, and the function heading back to Hoseok’s place.

He watched as you smiled and laughed with the others and imagined a world in which this could become your guys' new normal. Where every day could be just like how things were and he could just love you as easily as breathing.

But real life was never as easy as fantasies. Real-life consisted of messes and trauma and hurt feelings; there was no glossing over the past four years. And the more Jimin drank from his cup, the harder it was to keep up this game of pretend the two of you agreed on. One day you would have enough and you would leave him again.

He knew this was temporary - he agreed to it after all. He had kept you in this town despite how much he knew it hurt you to be here. Truthfully, as he sat on the couch getting far more inebriated than he should’ve, Jimin was angry. Perhaps with himself, perhaps with the world, perhaps with both — it didn’t matter in the end.

Because every day with you meant waiting for the day you would leave and what was he to do but keep on loving you?

He felt helpless.

“Where did you go?” Were his words as you sank back next to him on the couch, having been eliminated from the game taking place at the coffee table. Hoseok, Gwen, and a few other familiar faces were still sitting around it, laughing and joking with one another drunkenly.

“Huh? What do you mean? I was sitting right there.” You giggled, glancing down at the cup of liquor that Jimin had in his hand. “Don’t tell me you’re still a lightweight, Minnie?”

He was boiling, and the words were spilling up and over faster than he could make sense of.

“Where were you, Y/N? I tried to find you I– You left me.”

Something was wrong. You could hear it in his words, and see it in the way his glossy eyes threatened to spill over. He brought his cup back up to his mouth, taking a large sip. You took it from him the second you realized just how drunk he was.

“Hey, that’s enough… let’s go outside, okay? Get some air.” You were up on your feet in an instant, eyes flickering over to the group to see if anyone had heard.

“You left me,” Jimin repeated.

“Jimin. Please.” There was a desperate look in your eyes, clearly not wanting to have this conversation with other people present.

Blinking away the lump in his throat, he got up from the couch and followed you out of the room, slipping through the sliding glass door onto the patio.

The patio door shut with a quiet click, the chill of the cold night greeting you both.

“How did you just... pack your bags and leave it all behind? Leave us behind? I thought you loved me.” Jimin wiped away at his cheeks blindly, unsure of when he started crying.

“I did— Minnie, I do.” You tried your best to keep your voice level, growing emotional at the topic at hand and at the man you loved hurting.

“Was I not enough of a reason to stay?”

Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly as you struggled to answer him. You, just like him, were intoxicated and nowhere in the right state of mind to be having this conversation.

“I mean, fuck, love bug! You just left!” His voice pitched up in disbelief, clearly not aware of his volume raising as well.

You were trembling. Though from the cold or the guilt you weren’t sure.

“I-I know, I-”

“You just left and never came back? This is your home–”

“Don’t fucking say that!” You snapped, surprising both you and Jimin.

A tsunami of emotion crashed into you.

“My parents are dead, Jimin. And I know you get it, I know you lost your brother but… Minnie, I couldn’t breathe! I-I felt trapped, and… god, after they died— it was me who was dying. Yes, I was wrong to leave but I was young and hurting and.. I just couldn’t let this town kill me too.”

Your hands found your face, covering it as a wave of melancholy rushed over you.

“I was supposed to be in that fire. I ran off to Grams because of a stupid, meaningless fight with my mom. After they died, I spent an entire year wondering if I shouldn’t have just died right there with them.”

You couldn’t bear to look up at Jimin. You couldn’t bear to see the pity in his eyes as you laid out the worst of you for him to hear.

“The second I stepped out of this town was the first real breath of air I had taken since they died. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my life but I know that this town stopped being my home the second they died.”

Any and all anger had melted away from the orange-haired man.

“Y/N–”

You looked up suddenly, frown furrowed and eyes blurry with tears.

“I don’t need forever. I just need right now, okay, that’s what you said to me the night of the bonfire. You said that, remember?”

“I remember.” He sounded sorrowful.

“I love you, Minnie. I never stopped loving you. But they’re gone.” You mourned, breaths uneven. “And they’re everywhere I look in this town. I mean… why can I come back but they can’t? How is that fucking fair?!”

You were nearly inconsolable, watery eyes barely widening as your face was suddenly taken into Jimin’s hands, his thumbs brushing past your wet cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You’re right. I’ve already asked so much of you. This town has taken too much.” His eyes searched yours. “I... I wish you would’ve told me. When they died… for a year you said nothing. I thought you needed your space so I gave it to you, but I never would have if I knew you were planning to leave. What if I could’ve helped? You helped me when we lost Jihoon, remember?”

“I know...” Your answer was lackluster. Because you didn’t have an answer for him. You didn’t know why you pushed away those who loved you when your parents first died.

Was it teenage naivety? Was it fear of losing anyone else?

You wished you could give the sweet boy a solid answer. But you weren’t even sure that sober you could. God, he deserved so much more than you had given him.

“It was you and me against the world, remember? Through all the shit and garbage life throws at us. You were my person. You still are.”

“I just… there is so much out there, Jimin. So much this small town can never offer. If you only saw the cities, the kinds of people that come in and out.” You emphasized, suddenly inspired.

“What if… what if you come with me.” Your voice was small, knowing the impossibility of what you were asking him.

His eyes told you the answer to your question he even spoke.

“Bug, I… My family needs me here. Everything is here… I don’t know if I can just leave. This… this is my home.” His brows fell, rubbing your cheek apologetically.

“I know. But I can’t let you put your life on hold for me. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I strung you along for another four years. When I leave I don’t want you holding onto me. You deserve to move on and find a life here like you’ve always wanted.”

“The life here that I always wanted was with you.” Jimin cried, pulling you into him.

You buried your face into his neck and for a moment the two of you just held each other and cried.

“I’m sorry.” You said, knowing that neither of you could do this anymore.

“I’m sorry, too.” He held you tighter.

The game of pretend had drawn to a close and neither of you had won.

—

Your grandmother was awake and doing a crossword in the kitchen when you walked back home later that night without Jimin.

“Hi, darling.” Your grandmother greeted, only noticing the way your hair stuck onto your wet cheeks once you came into the kitchen light.

“Oh, bless your little cotton socks, come here.”

She held you as you cried — she cried too, knowing that this meant goodbye in more ways than one.

She slept in your bed that night, holding you close in a way that she did for your mother and that your mother once did for you. There was so much you could never repay your grandmother for. You’d spend the rest of your life calling her from every city apologizing if that's what it took for her to forgive you for choosing to leave once again. But even if hadn’t told your grandmother you were leaving, even if she didn’t help you pack your bags that very next morning, she would forgive you because all she ever wanted was for you to follow your heart.

The same heart that had her drop you off at Jimin’s the next day.

Your knuckles rapped a somber tune onto his door, the sun pleasantly hitting on your skin, very polar opposite to how cold your insides felt.

You could hear a scuffling from inside the shed, suddenly embarrassingly aware of how little soundproofing Jimin’s room had. Thank goodness it was far from the main house.

“Y/N?” Jimin called out, the door handle turning.

Panicking, you gripped the handle, holding the door shut.

“Wait! Don’t open the door.” You warned, not exactly sure what came over you.

“Why? Bug, what’s wrong?” Jimin sounded concerned but let go of the handle regardless.

You fought with your thoughts for a moment.

“I can’t... If I see your face I’ll...”

You were a coward. You swore this time you wouldn’t just disappear, you had seen the pain you had caused him. But even still, even when you came to tell him you were leaving, you couldn’t bear to see his face. You could not see the face of the man you loved so much and tell him you were leaving him. You just couldn’t.

You didn’t feel strong or brave or anything Jimin insisted you were. Hand pressed against the closed door to Jimin’s room, you felt small and pitiful, far from someone who should be asking what you were about to do.

“I’m going to say something. It doesn’t need a response now, okay?” You called out, loud enough so he could hear.

You swallowed roughly, your throat dry. “My bus ride back home is today. Noon.”

Silence fell.

Your heart was pounding in your throat, nearly blocking out the words you had spent all night rehearsing.

“If you don’t show up, I’ll go. And I won’t come back. I mean it. I want you to move on. You have to try. Don’t give up your life for me.”

Jimin was just on the other side of the door, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, having just rolled out of bed. You didn’t explain yourself further, and perhaps you didn’t need to. He mulled over your words in his head.

If he didn’t show up, you’d hop on the train and slip out of his life forever.

“But if you show up...” you trailed off as if losing your nerve. But he understood all the same.

If he showed up to stop you, you’d stay.

You knew he could never physically ask you, but if he wanted you to stay, you would. Just seeing him would crumble your resolve and you’d stay with him here forever, even if it killed you.

“This isn’t a test or anything.” You said after a moment as if the thought came to you suddenly. “I know you love me. You don’t have to prove that to me.”

His shoulders sank, realizing what you were asking of him.

“I just... I didn’t give you a choice last time.”

Your words wrapping around Jimin like an old shirt— warm but ill-fitting.

How many nights had he dreamt of you saying those exact words? How many times had he pictured the night you left going different, with you telling him your plans of leaving and him convincing you to stay? Nothing would’ve changed and you’d go back to spending every night tangled up together and every day in his passenger seat, window cracked and wind brushing past your hair as you sang along to one of his playlists.

All he ever wanted was to go back to loving you like he used to. Loving you and imagining the life the two of you would build here.

“I-I’ll stay here and… and love you and figure out all my emotional garbage. I won’t leave you again.” Your voice was shaking. “If you ask me to, I’ll stay.”

Tears found Jimin’s eyes.

From the moment he met you, way back in high school, you had talked about seeing the world. You had big dreams that couldn’t fit in this tiny town. You were larger than life and he always knew to an extent that he have to spend the rest of his life running in order to catch up to where you were.

He just never thought you’d run further than he could go.

Don’t give up your life for me, you had said as you offered to do exactly that for him.

He saw the spark behind your eyes whenever you spoke of the city. He saw the way you turned into a shell of yourself at old memories. He would break his own heart ten times over before he would ever keep you here.

But you would break your own heart ten times if it meant you could save his heart from breaking again. Because if he wanted you to say, you could try to be happy here. Maybe you could try to be happy and try to be with Jimin and try for a nice ordinary life. You wouldn’t stay for you but you would stay for him.

Because you loved him far more than you loved yourself.

“If this is goodbye, then just know that… I love you. And I’m sorry.”

Sorry was all you could ever feel in this town. Sorry for all the hurt you caused and the mess you always left behind. Sorry for yourself and the life you would never get back. Perhaps it would’ve been better if you had turned down Jimin’s advances that night at the bonfire. More likely it would’ve been better if you hadn’t come back at all.

But the one-sided conversation through Jimin’s door was your best attempt at undoing a fraction of the hurt you had caused him, however pathetic it was.

——

You were standing amongst a crowd of moving bodies, watching anxiously as other buses began to board.

“He might show up.” You muttered to yourself. “It's not too late, he might show up.”

“Darling!”

You heard your grandmother call out, and you scoured the crowd before finding her, a breath of relief finding you. She had driven you to the bus station and left momentarily to use the bathroom for a moment — you feared you might have to board your bus without seeing her again.

“They just called for my bus.” You said the second she was within earshot. She looked around with you, watching as a line began to form in front of your bus. But your eyes wandered further, looking past the line, past your bus, and Elvie knew at once who you were looking for.

“You don’t have to go, you know.” She placed a hand on your cheek, pulling your attention back onto her.

“I know…” You nodded back at her, biting on the inside of your cheek.

“…But you want to.” She acknowledged. You were her blood after all. And no time apart could undo the way she knew her grandchild.

You met her eyes regretfully, guilt written all over you.

“I’ll call you every week.” You promised.

She pinched your cheek, “Even every month would do. I will miss you greatly. And I love you dearly.”

“I love you, Grams.” You pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Stay safe, darling.”

The two once estranged family members shared one final hug before the final call for your bus rang out. Shooting the bus station one final once over for a shade of orange, you waved your grandmother farewell and joined the line, boarding and sitting on the bus within a few minutes.

Elvie stayed at her spot for ten minutes, watching as the bus drove off and took her grandchild with it, waving goodbye even when you were too far to even see her.

A tear ran down her face as she clasped her hands together, hoping that you might find whatever you are continuing to search for.

A man joined her just then, emerging from behind the wall where he had been hiding, yanking off his grey beanie to reveal a bright mop of orange hair.

“There you are. Thought you were going to stand behind that wall forever.” Elvie acknowledged him, wiping away her tears.

“Sorry... And sorry to bombard you while you were on the way to the bathroom. Did you manage to slip it into her bag?” He asked.

“Of course I did. She was too busy looking for you to even notice.” Elvie reassured, watching as Jimin stared off in the direction you had left.

Jimin wasn’t sure when you’d find it, but eventually you’d find the black cassette tape he had dedicated to you all those years ago.

“It’s a playlist I made of all the songs that remind me of you.”

If it weren’t for you rummaging through his car, the tape would’ve continued to slip his mind— a forgotten relic forged from the time in which he swore he would never see you again. Carefully selected songs forming a cacophony of bitterness, longing, anger and sorrow.

After you left him this morning, Jimin lay across his bed, listening to your mixtape for the first time in years. An emotional time capsule in the form of plastic film and faded sharpie. He remembered vividly what every song meant, he remembered every raw unfiltered feeling he held for the last four years.

He held onto you for so long.

"Thank you for giving that to her."

“I have to ask… I mean, you showed up. You could’ve given her that mixtape in person. Why hide?” Your grandmother pressed.

“I had to see her. But I knew if she saw me she wouldn’t have left, and she would’ve continued to hurt herself just for me.” Jimin’s eyes welled up with emotion. “She deserves so much more than that, even if she doesn’t see it yet.”

Because you were the girl with stars in her eyes and big dreams and he was just the boy who loved you just enough to let you go.

------------------

THE END and before you yell at me, please respect my artistic vision EEEEP!! I love these characters and want what is best for them and the only way to do that is to honor the life that both truly deserve, even if that means it's not a life with each other. I thought long and hard about how to end this series, just putting that out there bc I know a bittersweet ending can be disappointing. AAHHH ILY MWAH! <3

#bts smut #jimin smut #park jimin #bts jimin #bts fanfics #bangtan smut #jimin x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin ff #bts ff #bts fanfic

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moo-blogging · 6 months

Text

Before I sleep, here's some fluff, high school puppy love with Levi:

The summer air was thick and hot. The sun was merciless, beaming bright and warm in the cloudless sky. The wind brought nothing but dry air that made your eyes watery.

Hiding in your room with the air conditioner blasting at highest, you were dying Levi's hair. Levi was sitting topless on the floor with a piece of plastic draped over his shoulders. He had chosen to dye his beautiful black hair green. You tried to talk him out of it, but he refused to listen.

"It's our senior year, I want to be different for once." Being a supportive partner, you nodded and offered to dye his hair for him.

So here you were, in your tank top and shorts, kneeling behind him as you carefully pour a small scoop of dye onto his head. With your gloved hands, you massaged the dye in. You run your fingers into his scalp, getting the dye into the roots.

Levi sat with his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of your fingers running through his head. You slowly moved toward his face, dying parts by parts. When you reached the hair on his forehead, Levi muttered, "don't dye my eyebrows."

You giggled, "opps, i just did." You mirrored each other's grinning faces.

Once you did one around and got to the back of his head, you checked if you had applied the dye evenly. Gently moving his head left to right, you were sure you got the hair behind his ears. You pulled his head up, checking the hair in front.

Levi opened his eyes and you stared into his greyish blue eyes. You locked eyes for a moment and it felt like time has stopped. Just two young lovers sitting in a cold room, you thighs touching his warm back, and his eyes reflecting yours. No words were said but you knew the love was there for sure.

"Did you get every hair?" Levi asked.

You nodded, "yea, every single one. Let it sit for half an hour."

Levi reached for his phone and put a timer on. You walked toward your mirror at the other end of the room and started dying the tips of your hair too.

Levi's eyes widened in shock. "What are you doing?"

"It's our senior year, I want to be different too." You smiled at him.

Levi smiled back. You couldn't love Levi anymore.

#in the end levi's hair did not have much difference #his hair was too black #but you could see a tinge of green under the light #but yours? the tip of your hair looks GREEN #levi now loves to put his arm around your shoulders #showing off your green hair #levi ackerman #levi fluff #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi heichou #levi x y/n #midnight thoughts #levi x you #aot x y/n #levi ackerman x you #levi drabble

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colie-nne · 10 months

Text

it was him

pairings: formula 1 grid x fem driver!oc

warnings: none

a/n: back at it with the Valiente series. this is set in 2021 so Alex is still with red bull and George is still with Williams.

After the race, drivers from every team are expected to go and take a rest and talk about their current standings. But no, when it comes to Alex and George, it’s payback time for what Valentina had done to them two grand prix prior.

Seeing the Red Bull and Williams (George) driver together on the paddock wasn't new. Seeing that the two have known each other for quite a while, it hasn’t raised any questions from anyone.

It was, however, confusing and quite a sight to see the two tall gents seemingly drenched from head to toe in the middle of the paddock. What was not confusing was the young female laughing at the two as they look at her in disbelief. “Are you kidding me, Val?” George asked her, perplexed and quite startled that his clothes, which he was bragging about to Alex some minutes ago, were now wet. Not only that but his bag too. “Hmm, no, I don’t think so. Should’ve been more aware. Right, Alex?” Valentina laughs as she quotes Alex's words from the last time they did her dirty. The man just stood there wringing as much water out of his shirt before running after Val, in an attempt to get her wet.

Setting up their revenge prank on her, the duo sat on the couch, right in front of the door to capture her final dry moments.

“You hear anything, mate?” Alex asks George as he watches the Williams driver slowly walk back to the couch, nodding his head.

“Yeah, I hear footsteps alright.” Confirming, the two take out their phones to record this moment.

And like in the movies, they watch as footsteps stop by the door, seeing the knob slowly turn. Waiting for the final push of the door, they suck in their breath, counting in their heads.

Seconds pass by, and they release their breaths with a cheer as the bucket of water splashes down on Valentina. Jumping around as if they’ve won the WDC and hugging each other as if it’s their last.

Turning to the door, it may also be called their last. Not only do they see Valentina drenched in the blue-dyed water, but the one and only Charles Leclerc are also drenched, much more, if Val may add.

Valentina began chuckling at their half-failed prank on her, pushing away some hair from her face she looks up at Charles who was now scanning the condition of his then-white shirt.

“Ok, whoever thought of this should go and buy me a new shirt.” Stating, Charles shakes off the excess liquid on his hair and warningly looks at the two sitting on the couch, who have now gone silent.

“Look, before you get mad at me. This…” gesturing to the whole set-up,”…was for Val and Val alone and it was George who’ve come up with the whole blue dye-thing.” Alex excuses himself as he points a finger at George who was looking at him in shock.

“Albon!! You did not just pin the blame on me, mate. You said this was a team effort...” George explains in an attempt to lessen his crimes, however, Charles unconsciously drowns out any noise as she looks at the youngster beside him laughing her ass off.

Seeing her laughing even after getting splashed made him laugh as well. Now joining Val in her laughing fit, Charles slings an arm around her shoulders and turns around with the intent of accompanying her back to her team’s motor home for a change of clothes.

George, who’s now up and about, still trying to defend himself, earns a hard smack on his stomach as Alex points out that they were the only ones left in the room. Gobsmacked, the British driver looks at his friend for an explanation, making Alex shrug and tell him what had transpired just moments ago.

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aussiepineapple1st · 11 months

Note

I'm sorry if this is random but I love the idea of Vendetta Leon going to a coffee shop with his younger girlfriend who orders a coffee that is literally 90% sugar and caramel while he just stands there and blinks at her like "....would you like some coffee with your sugar?"

I don't know, this just makes me laugh.

I say that with many things. like just yesterday I was holding her plate and piece of bread(her left arm still doesn't work from her stroke) while she buttered it. She piled the butter on there and I asked if she wanted some bread with her butter🤣

Sugar Date

Words: 801 Contains: Domestic Leon, Boyfriend Leon, Fluff, Cute Banter.

It had been a few weeks after the incident in New York, having gone back to work now. He was currently a day away from sent to the other side of the country for a Recon mission, solo.

Currently you were in the bathroom, putting a bottle and cheap plastic gloves in the bin while the shower ran beside you ran. Leon's hair grows quickly, but he had been given instructions by Hunnigan to die his hair with the specific missions he had been going on. He had been noticing a lot of the enemies he had been confronting knew who he was, his dirty blonde hair and slightly stubbled face being recognised at the famous Leon S. Kennedy. He looked scruffy and the die had made his hair thin slightly, but maybe it would help with not being so recognisable to his enemies.

"I was thinking.." Leon's voice speaks over the hissing and splashing of water through the open glass walled shower. You turn towards him watching the dark dye run down his pale body, his head turning towards you, locking eyes. "How do you feel about going to that café you like?" He asked, knowing the answer was going to be a definite yes.

Your face lights up, you knew it wasn't his favourite place to go to, but you absolutely LOVED how they did your coffee with 3 pumps of caramel, 4 spoons of white sugar and whipped cream sprinkled with chocolate drinking powder on top. You hadn't had it in FOREVER!

"Um, Yes! I would love to go there!"

"Great, once I'm dressed we can head there for breakfast." His ice blue eyes look in your direction from under his now black hair, it made them pop even more.

"Yay!" You clap with excitement and leave the bathroom, closing the door slightly behind you.

-----

Once out of the shower he gets dressed in his usual shirt, tight, yet flexible, skinny jeans and black leather jacket. He sees himself in the mirror after pulling the towel away from his head, just giving his hair another once over to help it dry quicker. He looked like a mess, his beard thick and almost now completely covering his chin, jaw line and upper lip. You hadn't expressed your thoughts on any of these changes so he didn't know if you liked it or not?

Walking out of the bathroom you were waiting for him, a cute, short summer dress, pale green with frills on the loose sleeves, the elastic around your wrists. It was a cooler day today, plus you would be on the back of his bike, so you had thick leggings on under the dress and hair tied back, still letting your fringe hang loosely in front of your face. You looked super cute.

"You're staring, Leon." You say as you walk up to him, pressing a kiss to his lips as you take his hand.

"Sorry, not my fault my girlfriend is the prettiest swan in the lake." Smooth.

"Alright, stop sucking up and let's go get some breakfast." You say pulling his hand towards the door, you already had your house keys on you and hand him his bike keys.

Leon hands you your bike helmet he had grabbed from atop the drawer beside the front doors. You had specifically not grabbed it trying to get out of wearing the helmet like Leon does, but he would always insist you wear it. Reluctantly putting it on you slide behind Leon on his Ducati and both of you wide off towards the centre of Washington. Pulling up in front of your favourite café he takes your helmet from you and follows you inside.

Standing side by side in the line you both look up at the black board menu on the wall. When it came to your turn to order you order your breakfast and drink, Leon ordering toast, with poached eggs, bacon and avocado, a side of scrambled eggs and a quarter strength decaf coffee. He leads you to a spot beside the window, sitting beside the plants that framed the glass. You sit there watching all the people and cars go passed, your elbows resting on the table, fingers intertwined with themselves in front of your chin.

"Did you want some coffee with all that sugar?" Leon says resting his arms on his edge of the square table. "That's not coffee you drink, it's a cake."

"What? of course it is! They still use the beans. I could say the same for yours, quarter strength decaf? Just drink hot milk." You teased.

"Well no kisses for you today, I'll get cavities."

"Alright, old man.. You'd give in anyway."

"You're right.." He smiled, you were, he would only be punishing himself if he didn't kiss you.

🏷️: @phoenix666stuff @maehemthemisfit @greywardensaywhat @growingupnrealizing @starcrossedreaders

#vendetta leon #post vendetta #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon x reader #leon x fem reader #leon x fem!reader #leon x f!reader #leon x female reader #date #cute date #fluff #cafe date #boyfriend leon #domestic leon #aussiepineapple1st

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buildheight · 22 days

Text

“Right,” Gem says, keeping her voice steady like a hand of cards to her chest. “What do you know, then?”

It’s not so much a question as it is a threat, and Pix answers in kind. “I think we’re both aware of what’s going on here.”

It’s a bluff. Gem darts her eyes back at the group in the courtyard, then to Pix again, who gives her a bemused smirk. “Okay,” she says. “Just… don’t mess this up for me.”

“I certainly have no intention of the sort,” Pix says. A cloud passes over the sun, casting a long shadow.

This Scott smells very distinctly like llama. It’s not an unwelcome thing. Gem observes the way he talks sweetly to his herd and moves his hands through their coats. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen another Scott act like this. His clothes are garish and, by all standards, mismatched, and his hands are stained with an ever changing array of dyes. He very calmly and confidently attaches the saddle to the llama he’s working with, and it seems soothed by his presence.

“Sorry about that,” he says with a grin that reaches his eyes. “What colors were you looking for?”

The rift glows ominously, and pulses with a sick purple energy. Gem can’t keep her eyes off it.

“What’d’you reckon, then?” A voice pipes up from behind her. She bristles.

“No idea,” she says, smiling, then turning around. In that order.

“Bit weird, if you ask me,” Joel says. Gem can’t help but think of a bird puffing out its feathers to seem bigger.

“I don’t know anything about magic, really,” she lies.

Joel gives her a blank look with those familiar glass eyes. To her credit, her smile doesn’t twitch. “Right then.” He shrugs. “Not much of a conversationalist.”

“I’m sure there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Gem says, running her fingers through her hair, watching the way the strands catch the moonlight.

False doesn’t turn to look at her, but her movements do slow. It’s enough of an answer.

“I’m not just saying it,” Gem insists, but something in the way False reaches up to her hair to mirror Gem’s movements makes her stomach flip.

“I think I need a haircut,” False says instead, voice no louder than a whisper.

Gem moves to close the shutters, not looking at the moon. “That would be nice,” she whispers back.

Gem watches as Sausage orbits around Pearl. The Hermits, to their credit, have been very accommodating. They don’t ask too many questions. The dry heat of the Nether Roof is a good excuse for why her palms are sweating.

Pix, to her chagrin, seems bemused.

“Don’t say anything,” she says, hand resting on the hilt of her sword. Pix does a convincing approximation of a cough into his hand.

Gem watches as Sausage enters course for collision. It takes her every ounce of strength to turn away when he puts his hand on Pearl’s shoulder. She catches Joel’s eye instead.

“He’s a bit pants, isn’t he?” Jimmy whispers loudly. Oli was too loud in his crooning to notice the crowd ignoring him.

“Yeah,” she admits.

“I think it’s nice,” the Old Sheriff says. “He’s trying to recapture his glory years. Good reminder to us all that the past is left dead.” He spits a glob of something mysteriously dusty onto the floor.

“That’s nice?” Jimmy scoffs.

“You’ll get it one day, buddy,” Joel says, and pats Jimmy on the back.

“Darn tootin’,” the Old Sheriff agrees.

Gem feels the words stick in her throat. Someone throws a rock at Oli.

“I’m not sure I need something super new,” Katherine says, holding up two nearly identical pink dresses in the mirror. One is a bit shorter than the other, but they’re both lavishly embellished. It’s like playing dress-up. Spending time with Katherine is easy, if nothing else. She’s so very… Katherine. Watching her flutter around the room is a good comfortable feeling. “What do you think?”

“Left one?” Gem offers. “I like the matte fabric.”

“I’m going with this one. I like the shiny silk.”

“Good choice,” Gem says. “Go with what your heart says.”

Katherine laughs, and Gem laughs, too.

“Have you known?” Sausage says one night, sitting up on the roof of his tavern, watching the stars. “This whole time?”

Gem doesn’t answer right away. The cool night air feels so good on her face. There’s no need to say out loud what Sausage already knows.

“I just have one question,” he says next. It’s so quiet, so honest. Gem can hardly match the Sausage she knew with the one sitting next to her. “Why leave me there?”

It’s a question Gem has answered to herself a million times over in the mirror. Tonight she confesses. “I was scared.”

By the time Gem packs her bags, Pix and Joel have already gone.

“It’s just time,” she says to herself. She’s not sure who she’s justifying herself to. Sausage seems perfectly content to let her go. There’s nothing keeping her here.

The flight to the Rift is shorter than she anticipated. The sun setting over the Great Bridge casts a long shadow over the land, and she watches as lights flicker on in homes dotted across the valley. The corpse of Grumbot is the only thing left to wave her goodbye.

Perhaps, she thinks, people don’t need the past anymore.

#empires smp #empiresfic #empires s2 #geminitay #ficpost.net #anyway convoluted AU where e2gem pix and joel are also e1gem pix and joel #also each section is exactly 100 words. ok.#do i tag everyone. it feels wrong to tag everyone. ill tag ppl who are in more than one scene #tag spam ->#pixlriffs #mythicalsausage #smallishbeans #drabble

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saltyfishdream · 22 days

Text

Kazuha x Reader (Hogwarts AU)

Tags: reverse hurt/comfort, triggered by weather, coping with grief, gn!reader, implied past Kazuha/Friend

Words: 3.8k

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was empty for only you and Professor Minci. You gulped nervously as she started to talk about your consistent “trolling” grade, which you still had to stifle a few laughs from hearing. You grew up in a Muggle family, and of course, the Internet.

She continued with how she tried to put you with other “high-achieving students” (Diluc and Kaeya) to get your grade up or making you sit on your own (after she found that you three together were the perfect stew for chatter) but they “probably weren't the best ways for you”.

“So that's why I'd like to introduce you to your peer tutor,” She finished. Peer tutor? You don't dare raise a brow at the idea even though you wanted to. You were sure that Diluc and Kaeya’s grades dropped that term because of all the chatting in class. Would you distract that peer tutor so much you'd forget about studying in the first place?

A knock on the door stopped your train of thoughts.

“Come in.”

You were first met with red eyes. Not as dark and piercing as the crimson in Diluc's, but a shade closer to the warm flame in the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room despite the fact that he was a Hufflepuff. His hair was white for only a few red strands, which was brushed to his right.

“Kadehara,” Professor Minci continued, “Will be your student tutor this term…”

She went on with a lot of details (like how good a student Kadehara was? Or he's a sixth year who didn’t drop the subject?) that you mostly missed, before noticing that it was almost time for dinner and ushered you two out of the room.

Kadehara said, “[name], are you fine with calling me Kazuha? I'm not really used to being called by my last name–”

You only blurted out the thing that was hanging on your mind from the moment you saw him. “You should put less stress on yourself, or even that red part of your hair will turn white at this rate if you insist on tutoring me.”

Kazuha's eyes widened for a second, probably from confusion.

“A-Ah no, I just bleached and dyed my hair! Kind of, actually. I wanted to dye it all red but the dyeing spell didn't work as well as I'd imagined,” he let out a few dry laughs, even though he didn’t look anything close to feeling awkward or already hating you.

You could feel the warmth creep up your face. Those rumors about the guy who found his hair whitened overnight was total bullcrap! Why would’ve you believed it? Are you fricking stupid? And had to make that tutor think you’re stupid in non-DA stuff? You ask yourself, almost embarrassing yourself in front of Kazuha again by nearly hitting yourself in the head with an imaginary rolled-up newspaper.

And so you both got back to your own tables without saying a word.

.ೃ࿐

“Isn't it time for you to go to that student tutor?” Kaeya asked. You groaned, looking up from the magical equivalent of a Rubik's cube in your hands, the only difference between both is that it keeps tricking you into the wrong steps by changing its colors and giving you riddles then roasts you for not solving the puzzle. It was a Saturday morning and the last thing that you had the mood to do was tutoring.

You pretend to have forgotten about the whole thing. “Tutor? What tutor?”

“The sixth-year who bleached his hair with a spell,” Diluc said, hands subconsciously turning his own cube.

“Ugh, thanks for the reminder.”

That conversation a few days ago had left a much sour taste in your mouth than you'd imagined that you were dreading seeing Kazuha again. Now every time you think of anything related to hair or peer tutoring (which Diluc and Kaeya are very unhelpfully mentioning in every conversation) you would cringe for the next hour about it– even Scara telling everyone that your face keeps turning into a tomato isn’t as embarrassing as that!

Don't know what to do next? Too bad. The words showed on your cube while it made obnoxious booing sounds. Note to self: get self a set of wizarding chess that is not from Dori.

You put the cube down for it to reshuffle in a flurry of colors and launch itself into Kaeya’s hands.

And for once the cube was right. You didn't really know what to do next, go to the library and face Kazuha or think of some random excuse that can convince Professor Minci to let you off the hook.

You left the common room. You knew that Kaeya and Diluc would literally drag you to the library if you stayed for a while longer, and they weren't sick of making hair-dyeing references yet while you were more than sick of the conversation with Kazuha.

Speak of the devil, he was standing next to the Fat Lady waiting for you.

“Oh, you're finally here.” He said with a smile as if the conversation didn't happen at all. “I thought you… forgot… or something…” Kazuha’s voice trailed off further as he went.

It was so awkward that you hoped that the floor would open up like the stairs did and swallow you whole (which it sadly didn't yet).

It took something like a million years and 20 tokens for you to generate a response, “It- I… lost my book. And notes, so, uh…”

You haven't even gotten to the part of calling off the tutoring session because of that when Kazuha replied, “That's fine, there are copies of textbooks in the library… it's really a blessing, isn't it?”

You could do nothing but nod and pray for whoever Merlin is to get you out of this cringefest.

.ೃ࿐

You both go to the library in total silence. There weren’t many students in the halls early on a Saturday morning. But you just can’t relax from the lingering threat of awkwardness. You and Kazuha each grabbed a seat at the left third row as a copy of the DA textbook automatically flew to your desk and opened itself on the first page.

“Ah, right. Would it be a bit inconvenient if you don’t have your own notes with you?” He asked while handing you a piece of paper. Yep, it’s the paper you’ve never seen ever since you’ve been to Hogwarts. You put it on your side of the table, your mind as blank as how it looked. “I never had any notes for DA,” you confess. Kazuha exhales deeply. “From now on,” He stated, “You have to start writing your notes.”

You groan.

“This subject is no fun…” Mumbling under your breath, you take your spare pencil out from your robe pocket, “I have no idea why Diluc and Kaeya could pass without even studying…” They were telling you to “blame everything on the pre-war Ministry” while you were still struggling with who did what. You were that day years old when you knew that Tom Riddle had never been the Minister of Magic.

Kazuha shrugged. “Most Muggle-borns like me have to study it the hard way. I mean– you’ve never known about the society and history and whatever shit we have here so you need, like, plenty of time to get used to it.” He puts his hair down and ties it back up, not giving a care about how he was swearing out loud. In the library.

You begrudgingly force your eyes back to the parchment and textbook. “How much do you mean by ‘plenty of time’? It’s been a term and I’m still trolling every single DA-related assignment.” Holding the urge to gnaw on the end of your pencil back, you finally write down the words “DA notes” on the paper.

“Can you tell me what the first chapter is about first?” He asks, gesturing to you to close the textbook. You stare at him with the same blank expression as if his head were the DA textbook. The air solidified around you. How on Earth would you know? You’ve never really touched the textbook, and he’s talking about the first chapter? Finally, you confidently tell him your answer which is definitely right. “It’s about how to defend yourself from the Dark Arts!”

Kazuha laughed– not dryly, but fortunately heartily. “Can’t say you’re totally wrong,” He said, a hint of amusement in his voice, “But I think it’s a sign for us to go through this chapter together.”

You start reading the chapter with him, the memories about the incident last week slowly fading to make way for the words in your textbook. The whatever “grim consequences of the Wizarding Wars” didn’t seem as hard as they seem to be, and even better– you finally remember the name Tom Riddle gave himself. (Hint: it’s not Dildo-lover Rat Mom or anything dildo-related) Kazuha seemed to be a way better teacher than Professor Minci– his voice was calming, but didn’t sound boring when he spoke and scribbled down concepts on his parchment.

“You see? It’s not as hard as you’ve imagined!”

Towards the end of the session (did time pass that quick?) you were at the end of the first chapter. There was still half an hour before lunch starts and you were too lazy to go back to the Common Room yet, so you decided to chat for a while while waiting.

“First year DA used to be more fun,” Kazuha sighed, “They had At least that’s what I heard from my seniors.” He puts his own quill and parchment away.

You say, “Define ‘fun’. If you’re talking about some lame Auror droning on about how he peaked in his teenage years and gave his wand to a dead man in the end, don’t count me in.” You weren’t even sure if Harry Potter did ever come back to Hogwarts to do some speech or whatever for the first years–but it’s most likely true if Kaeya told you. Very big thanks to the trust issues everyone you knew gave you after last week.

Books in the distance flew back onto their shelves, dust falling down onto your table.

“I mean- yeah, Auror Potter did come back to introduce DA for first years, but, that was like, a couple of years ago. And if I were you, I wouldn't say that he's lame.” Kazuha’s round, autumn-like eyes fell, staring at the dust.

The air was lead. And you both were suffocating in it.

A gust of wind blew the invisible lead, along with the dust away. “Anyways, they used to have lessons on the actual stuff besides all those theories. Combatting Boggarts? Check. Resisting Unforgivables? Check. Professors who make up ninety-nine percent of the Dark Arts themselves? Check.”

He kept on talking about how they postponed all that cool stuff to the third year. You would’ve looked forward to fighting off evil creatures but you were more stuck in Kazuha’s reaction to what you said. You had to blurt and now you don’t think he’s feeling totally good with that. Great.

You headed your own ways without a word.

.ೃ࿐

It has been two months since Kazuha started tutoring you, always sitting at the left third row in tutoring sessions. Your DA grades were getting better– definitely not the best, but having four assignments in a row without a “Troll” was progress. You started to control your big, fat mouth in front of him as well. You didn’t want to risk embarrassing yourself or having him look at the dust again.

Kazuha was a great guy as well– a cool sixth-year that you could rely on. When you met him out of tutoring, he would wave, or stop for a chat with you, slightly blushing when his friends hooted or whistled behind. His kitten– which perched on his shoulder like a Pikachu– even stretched itself to you when you met Kazuha, begging for a boop on the nose. He sometimes talked about his misadventures as a first year which always made you laugh, but you could sense the hint of something else in it, whether in his gaze or tone.

You were walking alone on the path next to the Great Lake on a sunny afternoon. Diluc and Kaeya were busy talking to Dehya about joining the Quidditch team next year and they told you not to wait for them.

The blonde with the red strand in his hair, sitting next to the lake while putting a maple leaf on the calm water surface. With a gentle swish of his wand the leaf sailed away, leaving two lines on the lake. “Didn’t you watch the Quidditch match?” You ask.

He said, “No, I didn’t.” Before putting another maple leaf onto the water.

“Come on! You totally missed out on how Gryffindor whooped the butts of all those Slytherins! It took, like, three whole hours before Heizou finally caught the Snitch!” You sat next to him, looking at the maple leaf floating on the water.

Kazuha fidgeted with his wand like how you would spin your pen in class. “I… used to love watching Quidditch, but…” He lost hold of its wand, luckily catching it before it fell into the water, “The person I usually watched playing left. So, yeah.”

“Left in terms of graduated?” You ask.

“You can say it like that.”

He stopped putting leaves into the lake.

You sit in silence with him for a while. Before you leave upon seeing Diluc and Kaeya in the distance.

.ೃ࿐

Another Saturday morning. It's raining so heavily that you thought that someone was pouring buckets of black water down from the roof. Breakfast was over already and you were running late for tutoring so you had to ignore the sensation in your gut.

You grab your textbook and notes and make a mad dash to the library, passing the practically waterfalls of rain along the corridors. You look at your usual seat. He wasn't there yet despite you being already– you look at the clock– ten minutes late.

Huh. That's weird. Maybe he decided to go to a new table today for the view? You look into the dark, barely-illuminated depths of the library. Nope. Not searching by yourself.

You go up to the front table and ask the librarian Pela if she had seen Kazuha.

Pela shakes her head, before picking back up the doujinshi she was reading.

Feeling like sticking out like a sore thumb, you go back to your usual table. Maybe he just overslept like you did and he was on his way here.

Another ten minutes pass. No sign of Kazuha. You open your textbook and start studying Chapter Nine. But no matter how many times you read it, the words just rebound from your brain and back into the textbook.

You close it a bit too loudly in frustration. Where was he?

“Mmnh?” Kazuha appears in the corridor next to your table, black circles under his puffy eyes. He forces a smile and says, “Sorry for being late, I pulled an all-nighter last night and got to bed at five AM. I got myself some coffee, so… don’t worry too much about me.”

He sets his stuff down on the table and immediately starts explaining the chapter.

“… So Aurors had to undergo strict tests…” He kept speaking, eyes on the textbook. His voice was raspy– not Scara’s oh-im-so-dark-and-mysterious type, but rather the type you get when you catch a cold or have stayed up the whole night crying.

Maybe he caught a cold after pulling an all-nighter. Just maybe.

His words fuse with the pattering of the rain on the windows outside. You can’t comprehend anything he was saying while your mind is running a hundred miles per hour wondering what’s wrong with Kazuha even though you know that it’s technically not your business. You don’t even bother asking yourself to focus– your head was just too occupied with these thoughts.

He didn’t notice the fact you weren’t listening at all. “Nowadays, Aurors still have to- to… fight against… the remaining power of Tom Riddle’s followers…” He said, trailing off at the end of the sentence. You look at him. Then at the textbook, where a whole chart of different events with the corresponding years with the title “Major Breakthroughs in Defending Post-War Magical Britain from Death Eaters” occupied two whole pages.

Kazuha was covering his eyes with both his hands, his elbows resting on the table. You can hear his muffled sniffling.

Well, that was definitely more than a cold.

“Kazuha? Uh- you ok?” You felt stupid asking this question. He is visibly not OK, cold or not. The ball of panic erupted in your head. Is this supposed to be normal? Think, [name], you have to think… Why is he like this? What can I do?

Your pencil feels slippery, and if you keep the tip pressed on your notebook you’d be drawing a seismograph.

You had never seen him like this. Like, of course, you guys just met two months ago and you expect him to be vulnerable in front of you? But you always saw him as the “cool senior student”.

A flash of lightning.

You ask, “What happened?” as if your head has been struck by a Stupefy. It came out as a whisper.

Kazuha rested his head on the table, not looking at you.

The roaring of thunder broke in the library, not helping with anything at all.

“It- it’s just the weather…” He turned his back against you, conjuring a piece of tissue paper.

You put your pencil down. “Yeah, awful weather, isn’t it?” You say without even thinking, your voice sounding dead.

Lightning struck again, momentarily painting the room in white.

Kazuha closes the textbook. “I’ve always hated rainstorms,” he says, his voice still breaking, “They… they took him away. In the middle of a rainstorm.”

Your train of thought gets cut short by the thunderclap. “I’m… sorry for that.”

“No, y-you don’t have to. It’s not your fault.” The feeble candlelight flickers, illuminating his face. Fresh tears were streaming down his reddened cheeks, his red eyes looking like the Great Lake under the sunset. His light hair was slightly disheveled, which he brushed towards one side. “It’s just that… I never thought that they would be that cruel.”

The pattering sound outside seemed louder. “Tomo… I should’ve… Why didn’t I…” Kazuha muttered under his breath.

“Mind if we, uh, just,” You struggle to find the right words to say, “Talk about it?”

Kazuha nods.

“Tomo… he was a nice friend. A Ravenclaw. He was a fourth-year student when I started studying here…”

The candles flickered a few more times, teetering at the verge of totally going out before reilluminating itself.

“I got bullied for being a Muggleborn and having a strange accent, he was the only other Japanese guy here and he stood up for me so… we became friends…” He paused.

“I should’ve stopped him from being an Auror if I knew this would happen to him… He could’ve been a good Quidditch player or potionmaker or… I was just happy for him when he told me he passed all the tests last summer but just on his very first mission…”

His voice broke again. You scooted over to him. “He sent me a letter that morning about how he looked forward to it and before I could reply, that evening it rained until the next morning and what I saw on the news was that…”

You patted his back. The wind howled, as if it were weeping as well. Leaves flew by the window, which was barely holding on to the frame. You haven’t even experienced such a storm back where you lived.

“The Death Eaters killed him but didn’t take his wand. His partner told me he could’ve survived if they didn’t fire a second spell at him…”

“They really are… heartless. More than I'd imagined. It must’ve been awful knowing that,” you say.

Kazuha continued, “It was. The first spell landed on his keychain instead… Why were they so bent on… doing this? He fought until the last moment… The keychain… we bought a matching pair at a cheap souvenir store together at Hogsmeade… it cracked when the spell hit…”

“I kept it when they sent it to me. And… his kitten… I guess it helped me keep my mind off stuff for a while.”

The raindrops sounded lighter.

“… he loved cats, but his parents were allergic so he got it after graduation when he got to rent a house with his colleagues and updated me about his life and training along with a photo of his kitten every single day… And he was a good Quidditch player but quit in his sixth year. If he were a Quidditch player maybe he would’ve still been here but not…”

The sky seemed lighter as the heavy rain faded. Kazuha fell silent. “Was he happy? About being an Auror?” You asked.

He nodded. “It… it was his lifelong dream. I had thought of pulling that ‘stealing a Time-turner’ trick in those rumors… but I guess he wouldn't listen if I went back and asked him not to become an Auror. It would’ve been selfish of me to do that but there’s just that part of me that wanted to save him…”

You think aloud, “He wouldn't have regretted anything even in his last moments.”

“Huh?” Kazuha asked.

You’ve done it again. Why can’t you take control of what you say? You stare at him, trying not to let him know that your mind is rolling down the spiral staircase for the rest of the summer.

“You are right. It was always his dream to be an Auror. And he achieved it,” He said, looking back at you.

A few drops of rain clung to the window frame, occasionally dripping down.

“It was just… never your fault, ok? Fudge those Death Eaters, I bet they get haunted by Tomo’s ghost every night that they’ve gone insane in Alakazam,” You tell him, not minding that you’re (almost) swearing out loud in the library.

Kazuha coughed out a few laughs as he wiped off his tears. “It’s Azkaban! Why must you make a Pokemon reference here?”

You put up your most innocuous smile.

The bell rings for lunch.

“Anyways, uh,” Kazuha stutters while tidying up his stuff, “Thanks but... Sorry for… just… venting to you like that…” He blushes, red creeping up from his neck to his face.

You give him a playful slap in the back. “No biggie– as long as you’re feeling fine now.”

You walk out of the library. The thick layer of clouds have disappeared, leaving only a few droplets on the trees and the birds singing.

You part ways at the Great Hall as usual.

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin kazuha #kadehara kazuha #tomokazu #kazuha x reader #kazuha x you #hurt/comfort #genshin

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jedipoodoo · 2 years

Text

Secret Kingdoms Part Two (Sergeant Hunter x Reader)

Warnings: Reader gets threatened by the guards, Hunter gets a little violent on them

Read it on Ao3!

Serenno was cold. Count Dooku had graciously gifted “Princess Padme” a suite of stone rooms, two stone-faced maids, and two stone golems for guards to make sure you didn’t escape. One of the maids lit a fire in the tiny iron fireplace while the other laid out an outfit for you.

“Dinner is in an hour.” She said.

The two maids curtsied, and left without a word. The guards shut the door with the ominous clanking of a complicated lock, and your throat went dry.

An hour. An hour to plan an escape.

No, not yet. You knew the path from the courtyard to this room, but that was littered with guards and prying eyes. Everyone would see you, you couldn’t escape. Perhaps dinner would give you a better chance of studying Dooku’s foreboding castle and finding an escape route.

The dress was purple, with ruffled sleeves and a high empire-waist. Padme had always looked good in rich purples, and the royal family of Naboo had plenty of purple robes. This dress was a poor imitation, a badly dyed dress. You would know, you had dyed many fabrics before to make Padme into the best version of herself.

Getting yourself ready for a banquet should be simple enough, right?

You managed to take care of your hair so that it looked somewhat presentable, but you didn’t know how to style your own hair in the elaborate styles that Padme and the ladies of the Naboo court used

The dress was so heavy, perhaps the dye hadn’t really finished drying yet, and the gold woven into the sleeves was itchy, scratching at the skin of your arms. Did Dooku really think this was appropriate for a princess? Padme’s skin was so delicate this would have given her a rash, but your skin was worn and weathered by years of hard work.

Dooku fancied himself a king, but there was no substance behind his appearance. You’d just have to find a way to show his people.

The maids returned in time to close your dress, the sleeves made it difficult for you to reach the ties in the back, and the two silent guards walked you through the castle, leading you to the Banquet Hall.

The giant wood doors opened with an ominous creaking, and the hall was quiet.

Your heart raced with your mind. Was this supposed to be your wedding, would Dooku marry you before you had the chance to be rescued or could think to say no. You wrung your hands, palms slick with sweat, and the guards led you forward.

Thankfully, it appeared from the food and people seated at the long tables who couldn’t take their eyes off you, that this was an actual banquet.

The guards led you down the center of the Hall towards the table at the head of the room, beneath a grand stained glass window. It was hard to make out the image with the darkness of night outside, but it was certain to be magnificent in the sunlight.

One of the guards grunted, and you jumped, realizing that you had come to a stop at the throne, where Count Dooku was seated.

He stood from his throne, and you bowed your head, still terrified of being caught in your act.

“My Lord,” you whispered, in your best imitation of Padme.

Dooku stepped forward, taking your chin in his gloved hand to make you look up at him. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined, Princess. And more submissive than the rumors said.”

Your face flushed with heat. Padme definitely had more gumption in her than you did, Dooku must have been expecting that, but you still had no idea how you were going to escape! Better to let him think he had the upper hand until you had a trick or two up your sleeves. Your incredibly itchy sleeves.

Dooku raised his arms, stepping around you to address his people. “Tomorrow evening, I shall wed Princess Padme. In the morning, we shall launch our final attack on Naboo!”

Cheers errupted from Dooku’s court and your stomach sank. Marrying Padme would secure Dooku’s hold on the Naboo throne, but a swift and unmerciful attack would eradicate any resistance the people might still harbor to their new king. The one problem Dooku hadn’t foreseen was that you weren’t Padme, and you took a brief bit of pleasure at the thought that Dooku’s plot had already failed.

Dooku gave you a sickly sweet smile as the people went back to stuffing their faces.

“Enjoy yourself, my dear,” He took your hand and kissed it, “With you on my arm, no one will dare oppose us. The world is our to command.”

You had seen plenty of men like Dooku in the Naboo court, enough to know that when he said “we”, he truly meant “me”.

Despite the Count’s invitation to enjoy yourself, the two guards stayed at your back. It wasn’t like you were inclined to get to know the people plotting against your home anyway. You were shown to a seat next to Dooku’s, and servants brought you platters of pheasant and quail eggs, complete with frosted pastries and shiny fruits.

All this, and the people of Serenno were starving. It made you sick.

Even the gray-faced maids and butlers who served you looked gaunt and thin, watching as the Lords and Ladies stuffed their faces and spilled the leftovers on the floor. One maid even got desperate enough to take a bit of apple that landed next to a Lord’s boot. He smashed her fingers beneath his heel.

Dooku laughed. “Good show, Gunray!”

The squash-faced Lord laughed with his friends, toasting to their Count.

“Ah, your highness, you must meet my friends,” Dooku taunted you, “Lord Gunray of Nemoidia, and Archduke Poggle the Lesser of Geonosis were two of the first to offer me their support. My endeavor to take over Serenno and now Naboo has brought them much profit.” Dooku indicated the two to you.

You’d heard of Poggle before, he and the queen of Geonosis had insisted on a larger trade deal in Naboo, but King Ruwee thought it ridiculous to open weapons trade in the middle of peacetime. Geonosis had cut off all trade with Naboo after that, and Padme had suggested trade with the kingdom of Kamino instead.

“And of course you know Captain Ohnaka and his men from Florrum,” Dooku waved his goblet towards them. The mercenaries were drinking and dancing on the table, but Ohnaka seemed to be the only one who wasn’t enjoying the party. When he caught sight of you, he glared.

“O-of course,” You stammered.

The doors swung open, and you foolishly hoped it was the Naboo Army, led by Hunter, swarming to your rescue at Padme’s insistence. But only a tall, broad-shouldered, cloaked figure stood in the doorway, two longswords strapped to his back.

“Ah, Grievous, so nice of you to join us,” Dooku toasted him, but the rest of the room went silent again, but a distinct feeling of terror was evident in their eyes and pale cheeks as the hulking soldier made his way down the banquet hall.

“My liege,” He knelt reverently at Dooku’s feet.

“Rise, General Grievous, what news do you bring from the front?” Dooku took a large bite of pork.

Grievous coughed, and his voice came out with a wheeze. “Our campaign bodes well, five villages have surrendered to Serenno, and our spies have discovered Naboo’s camp, led by Duke Kenobi.”

Your blood froze in your veins. Even if you wanted to look away, you couldn’t. You couldn’t even scream in protest of the horrors that were being done to your people.

“Very good, Grievous. Oh yes, this is my bride-to-be, Princess Padme of Naboo. I assume you are familiar with her kingdom?”

Grievous turned to look at you with yellow eyes, and chuckled. “You have a lovely kingdom, princess. Pity to see it all go up in flames.”

Hunter left his horse in the canyon. There wasn’t much cover without it, but a strange man on a horse barrelling towards Dooku’s castle would gathered even more suspicion. Hunter and his brother’s wore little armor aside from a chestplate and shinguards, as spies they needed to move quickly and quietly. This way, he looked more like a traveling ranger rather than a Naboo soldier. He was counting on that to get him into the castle. If Dooku was collecting soldiers for hire, he could pretend to offer his services.

As a mountainous kingdom, Serenno had a smaller population than Naboo, but there were still people bustling about the market. At least half of those people, however, bore Dooku’s eagle crest, indicating their alliance to the Count-turned-would-be-King.

The tavern he found was sparsely occupied. He ordered a mead to catch his breath, and the barmaid gave it to him without a word, greedily snatching up the coins he gave her.

Hunter tried to listen as best he could, no one could best his tracking skills, but the people of Serenno just weren’t talkative. With the exception of sipping on mugs, not a sound was made. Even outside it was quiet, despite the occasional squawk of a bird.

Hunter sighed. This was going to be harder than he thought. If they were this reluctant to talk to each other, how could he get them to talk to him?

He had to get inside that castle somehow. He had to. He had to find his lady, he had to save you.

A large, firm hand clapped him on the back, almost sending him falling forward into his drink.

He whirled about and drew his knife, half-expecting a fight, but Wrecker grabbed his wrist.

“Easy there, stranger, you’ll take someone’s eye out.” Wrecker chuckled. He slung an arm around his brother’s shoulders, “You look like a man who could use a job. Why don’t you come with me?” Without waiting for Hunter’s repy, Wrecker dragged him out of the pub.

Wrecker could make himself feel at home wherever they went, and his confidence made people glance over even his wildest of habits. As he and Hunter easily slipped outside, Hunter found their other three brothers waiting for them.

“How- what are you doing here?” He hissed.

“Act natural, keep moving,” Crosshair hissed, indicating the direction of the castle. Wrecker kept his arm around Hunter to keep him from running away again.

“I’m not going back, not without her,” He insisted.

“We know,” Echo rolled his eyes, “Why else would we be here?”

Hunter blinked, but his feet had to keep moving in order to keep up with Wrecker. “What about Skywalker? And the-”

“The Princess is in good hands. It isn’t as if Skywalker is going to let anything happen to her,” Tech said, “I gave them enough medicine for them to make it back to camp.”

Hunter glanced up at the wall of the castle as they approached the front gate. Crosshair led them in a sharp turn into a dark and gross alleyway between two houses. They had a good view of the castle, but a nice hiding spot from which to plan.

“So you’ll help me, then?” Hunter shoved Wrecker’s arm off of him.

Tech rolled his eyes, adjusting his spectacles. “Well, of course we weren’t going to let you run off and get yourself killed.”

“We were promised a suicide mission to rescue the princess and save the kingdom. Pulling her highness from a river is hardly so exciting. And of course, you can’t take all the credit for killing Dooku.” Crosshair jabbed his finger in Hunter’s face.

Hunter slapped Crosshair’s hand away, “I’m not going to kill Dooku. That’ll just make things harder. I need to save her.”

“Hey, no one said we couldn’t blow up a few things on our way out!”

Everyone hissed a “SHHH!” at Wrecker, as if that was much quieter. They were all silent as a group of Dooku’s knights passed, making sure they weren’t discovered.

“Well, Hunter, what have you got?” Echo asked.

Hunter glanced at the turrets.

“There’s a catapult on each corner of the wall, but they’re all stationed outward. Once we get inside, they shouldn’t be a problem.

Crosshair took an arrow from his quiver, testing the fletching between his fingers, “How many guards on the walls?”

“Four on each side, counted them myself on our way in,” Tech said, “Though by the positioning that we can see from here, I would estimate that the back wall is guarded by a total of six guards. That could indicate either the Count of Hunter’s lady has their room there.”

“We can go in through the east wall, it’s closest to the castle, and fewer guards,” Hunter said.

Crosshair grinned. “Leave them to me.”

“How many men total in the city?”

“They patrol in groups of three, and I counted five different patrols earlier. I would say thirty, and then about fifteen more for the castle itself.”

Wrecker struggled to contain his gleeful laughter in their darkened alley corner. “I like the sound of that!” He said, cracking his knuckles.

“While it is true that the majority of the Count’s army will be stationed close to Naboo, we cannot discredit any other tricks he may have up his sleeves,” Tech reminded them.

“We know,” Hunter said, “That’s why we’re moving fast.”

The Count escorted you back to the suite after the banquet had gone long into the hours of the night, ignoring the paleness of your face. You were exhausted, and what little of the decadent food you managed to eat to keep your strength up didn’t sit right in your stomach.

At the doors to your suite, the guards took up their positions again, and Dooku gripped your hand with the intention of cutting off your circulation.

“Rest well, my princess, I cannot wait for tomorrow evening.”

You couldn’t say a word as the Count brought your hand to his lips. He kissed the back of your hand, then paused, staring at your knuckles for a moment. Then without a word, he turned with a swish of his cape, his false crown glinting in the torchlight.

You entered your room without much more encouragement, grateful to finally get a moment alone, but the shivers in your skin wouldn’t leave. You sat with your back to the door, holding yourself in an attempt to keep from crying, though it wasn’t working very well.

You hated this. You hated all of this, from the emotionless guards to the ignorant nobles to Count Dooku himself. You hated Padme for leaving you, though through no choice of her own. You hated that Hunter had gone to war, and now had no idea where you were.

If he did know, though, would he bring himself to leave everything just to rescue you? He had a distinguished position in the King’s army, an irreplaceable one at that, and you knew that the safety of the whole kingdom hinged on the efforts of him and the brothers he led. He couldn’t possibly sacrifice that much for you, a palace maid, even if he did love you.

No, you would have to escape on your own.

You pushed yourself to your feet, shaking with each step. There were several windows along the wall, though they were much too narrow for you to squeeze through. All the same, when you tried to look out the windows, there was nothing below you by a steep drop down the smooth stone wall of the castle. You shivered as the wind blew through the cracks in the wall.

There were no clothes in the wardrobe, aside from a nightdress. Your wedding dress was probably still being finished. You pulled off the heavy, uncomfortable gown made for Princess Padme and threw it on the bed. You could move around much faster in your own shift that fit you perfectly, though it looked nothing like royalty.

It was behind the wardrobe that spiked your interest. The walls were made of stone, but the wall behind the empty wardrobe was made of wood.

Slowly, inch by inch, you quietly maneuvered the wardrobe away from the wall. Without numerous heavy gowns to weigh it down, it was actually lighter than you expected. Behind the wardrobe was a door, crudely boarded shut long ago, but the wood was dry and brittle, and ready to break.

With several splinters and broken nails, you quietly pulled the boards away from the door in an effort to not alert your guards, and carefully placed each one on the bed so that they wouldn’t clatter on the floor.

The door had no handle, but you used doors like this enough as a servant. With a gentle push where the handle might have been, the door slowly swung inwards with a low creaking.

You caught it quickly, staring at the entrance doors to be certain the guards hadn’t heard. After a moment of heavy silence, you slipped in and closed the door.

You were enveloped in darkness, but also with a rush of adrenaline at your newfound freedom. The passageway that was revealed was scarcely wider than you were, and so you placed your hands on the walls to guide you. Carefully, you stepped forward and immediately found a set of stairs. You began your descent into the dark.

Many castles employed such stairways and passageways, so that servants could go about their duties without interrupting the Lord and Lady. You knew the passageways of Naboo’s Royal Castle like the back of your hand, though it appeared the one for your royal suite in Serenno had been in disuse for some time. Your hand went through something slimy gathered on the wall, and you steeled your stomach. At least it was there. The wall was there, and the stairs were solid beneath your-

The corner of one step wanted there, and you tripped forward along several stairs before you caught yourself, hissing at the pain in your knees.

“What was that?” A voice echoed up ahead. You went still and silent.

“It’s probably the dungeon, again,” One disgruntled servant told the other, “There’s no telling what the Count has down there. He’ll be the death of us all.”

“Shh! Someone will hear you!” The skittish servant hissed.

You held your breath and managed to stay quiet until you heard their footsteps fading away. At the bottom of the stairs, you came across a hall connecting the first floor in secret. The servants had moved to the left, so you followed them, hoping to move quietly enough to keep some distance between you while following them to what was potentially freedom.

As you moved, you wiped some charcoal from the sparsely-placed torches over your face and shift to pass as a serving maid rather than the Princess you were taken for. That was something you were good at.

Up ahead, the two servants exited through another door like the one you’d entered through. You pressed your ear against the wood, listening for any noise on the other side.

“G-General Grievous!” The skittish servant exclaimed. Gooseflesh ran up and down your arms and you wanted to run, but you were frozen in place at the door. “What are you up to- how can we assist you, sire?”

The general exclaimed angrily, then coughed as he overestimated the strength of his voice.

“The princess has escaped, she’s not in her room, we think she may be using the servant’s tunnels.”

You had to get out of the tunnels. If Dooku was sending all his men into the tunnels, maybe you’d have some luck out in the open. You forced yourself to run barefoot down the hall, ducking around the corner before Grievous and his men could enter. As much as Dooku made your skin crawl, his general was the stuff of nightmares, the hulking beast who persistently chased you through the woods, and no matter how fast you ran, he was always right behind you.

You stumbled down another flight of stairs and came to a door that sounded quiet on the other side, you slipped out and shut it behind you. At least stone didn’t leave tracks when you walked on it.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself and looked around. You were surrounded by empty metal fences that resembled the prison cart that was carted into the castle every few days, carrying all manner of disreputable fellow. You and Padme were never allowed to go down to the dungeons, but if you had to guess what a dungeon would look like, this would be it.

There was no torchlight, but the metal bars reflected the moonlight from the solitary window at the far end of the dungeon.

These dungeons didn’t hold any prisoners, except for a single dried skeleton. You shivered. Dooku didn’t tolerate those who stood out of line. You assumed his prisons would be full of rebellious serfs, but this was terrifying.

You picked your way through moldy hay and the remains of final meals, hearing the rats squeaking in the shadows. If you could climb up to the window, you might be able to slip out.

Your fingers brushed the wall to mark your terrain, and a roar echoed through the dungeons.

Was that a bear? A lion? You looked about the dungeon wildly. The cages remained empty.

The roar came again, no further, and no closer. You listened carefully. No footsteps approached.

You placed your hand against the cool stone. No roar. You pulled yourself onto the wall. No roar. You stayed still, another roar. This one sounded like when one of the kitchen cats got kicked aside by the butcher.

Whatever that thing was, it wasn’t after you. It was in pain. But you had no means to help it. You had to get out of this prison as soon as possible.

The uneven stone blocks provided the perfect ladder as you carefully picked your way towards the window at nearly double your height. You had almost made it, your fingers brushing the lip of the windowsill, when something grabbed your ankle.

You screamed, thinking of the skeleton in the corner, and your grip slipped. You fell backwards, crumbling to the floor at the feet of two of Dooku’s soldiers.

“Is that the princess?” One of them asked the other. You looked up at them in terror, trying to scuttle away from them. Your foot caught on a stone, sending a pang through your leg. You grit your teeth at the pain in your ankle. Oh no. Escape was impossible now.

One of the soldiers pulled you to your feet, two hands firmly on your shoulders, “Looks like we got lucky, Roger!”

“Roger, you think the General will give us those promotions we’ve been asking for now?”

“I can see the plumes now!”

These soldiers were…less than frightening, but the idea of the general wasn’t.

You didn’t have much left in your stomach, so there wasn’t much to vomit on Roger’s face, but it still made him shriek like a young nobleman.

The other Roger let go of you to help his friend clean up, and you ran in the other direction. Well, hobbled, more accurately. You ran past the servant’s entrance, that would make you a sitting duck in the tunnels, and up a couple stairs. That brought you to another torchlit hall, even and long, with another door at the end. Bunching your skirts in your hands, you ran as fast as your twisted ankle would let you. There was no point in subtlety now.

You reached for the door, and another roar shook the walls around you, sending you falling backwards in surprise.

The door opened in front of you, and you could hear the roar of pain much more clearly, as well as the rattling of chains.

“One more night should do it, and then we can release the starving thing upon the Naboo-”

Dooku stopped short, noticing you. The cloaked figure he was talking to quickly shut the door behind them so that you couldn’t see what was making that noise.

“My dear,” Dooku smiled calmly as you lay sprawled on the floor in front of him, “What are you doing out of your room, and in your underthings, no less?”

Your face flushed with heat. You felt humiliated, despite your valiant escape attempt. Dooku had you.

Roger and Roger ran up behind you, the clanking of their armor could be heard miles away.

“Sir- Your highness!” Roger bowed, panting heavily, “We have- we’ve captured the princess!” He boasted.

“So you have,” Dooku raised his head so as to look down his nose at his soldiers.

“We-we’ll take her back to her rooms now, sir!” Roger said. He went to yank you to your feet again, but Dooku held out his hand.

“Allow me, gentlemen.”

He tucked his hunting gloves under his arm and held out his hand.

You weren’t doing yourself any good on the floor, so you reluctantly took his hand and let the Count help you up. Though you refused to look him in the eye.

Dooku wasn’t looking at you, though, he was studying your hands critically, running his thumb over your knuckles in a way that made you angry. You wanted Hunter to hold you like this, you wanted him to sweep you up into his arms and carry you to be so that he could help you treat your ankle and get the rest you needed.

You banished such inappropriate thoughts from your mind, how could you be so callous as to even think of Hunter seeing your ankles?

“I-Is everything alright, your highness?” You asked.

Dooku’s eyes snapped to yours.

“Take her to my rooms. Put two guards inside this time so that she can’t escape again.” He barked. Roger and Roger bowed, then each of them grabbed your arm, pulling you towards the exit from the dungeons.

Once you were out of earshot, Dooku beckoned his cloaked assistant forward.

“What is thy bidding, my master?” the wrinkled old sorcerer asked with a mischievous grin beneath his hood.”

Dooku grit his teeth. "Ask Captain Ohnaka why the princess has the hands of a serving girl."

Scaling the wall was easy enough once Crosshair had picked them off from a distance. They had ten minutes before their watch was replaced and the alarm was sounded. In that time, he had to track you down or they ran the risk of being captured.

He could smell the scent of the Princess’ soap, the one made of lavender picked right outside the castle. You were always up to your elbows in that soap to keep the princess and her clothes clean, rubbing your skin red and raw. Hunter closed his eyes for a moment, caught up in the memory. You asked him how he could possibly think you a refined lady when your hands were so rough. He’d simply splayed his fingers against yours, proving that his hands were just as calloused as yours from years training with a sword.

Even after days on the road, you couldn’t ditch that scent.

Hunter tied his hair back with his red strip of cloth to keep his vision unobstructed, “This way,” He crouched down in the shadows, leading his brothers towards where the scent was strongest.

Crosshair shook his head, but pulled another arrow from the quiver, “How does he do that?”

“The same way that you have elf-vision,” Echo snorted.

“Shh!” Wrecker hissed.

They were completely obscured from any other guards by the shadow of the castle. With the moon behind the castle, the only other light was the torchlight from the castle.

The large, circular stained glass that indicated a throne room or grand hall was darkened, but right above it was a window with a single flickering torch, that had to be the Count’s bedchamber.

Tech produced a coil of rope from his pack, and Wrecker tied it to Crosshair’s arrow. With a quiet “whoosh” the arrow embedded itself in the stone windowframe, and Wrecker pulled it taught.

Hunter took his sword’s scabbard and hooked it on the rope, testing his weight.

“Tech, Echo, you follow when I give the signal. Wrecker, Cross, you create a distraction, that should bring the guards out so we have a clear escape route.”

Wrecker nudged Crosshair, and Crosshair couldn’t hide the smirk that came at the mention of any damage to be done. If his aim was true (and it always was) they’d be able to just walk right out of the front gate.

Wrecker held the rope taught, and Hunter pushed off the arch, gliding along the rope to the window. He caught himself on the wall, and kept a firm hold on the rope until he found his balance on the windowsill. He pressed his back against the glass, hidden behind the thick curtain. Re-attaching his sword to his belt, he drew his trusty knife. Despite what he told Crosshair earlier, the idea of murdering the Count in his bed for whatever he’d done to you did sound quite satisfying.

He opened the window just a bit, enough for him to hear inside, but there was no snoring.

“Let go of me!”

His heart leaped. You were alive, and it took all his self-control not to barge into the room and scream your name.

“Orders are orders, ma’am. Count Dooku said we were to make sure you stayed here.”

“Good luck with that.”

Hunter heard you struggling and signaled to his brothers, he wasn’t going to be able to hold himself back much longer.

“Hey Roger,” one of the guards said to his companion, “What if we cut off one of her feet? Think she’d be able to run away then?”

You stopped struggling, and Hunter felt the blood drain from his face. Tech was only halfway across.

“Roger, I think that’s a great idea!”

You whimpered, as one of the guards held you still, and Hunter couldn’t take it anymore.He forced the window open, glass scattering across the stone floor as he threw his knife at the sword raised above your leg.

“What the-”

Roger didn’t have time to wonder what was happening as Hunter saw red, stabbing him in the stomach. He kicked the Roger holding you down in the face, crashing his head against the headboard with a crack.

Hunter landed in a crouch on the bed next to you, and quickly scanned the room for any more threats before he turned to you.

“Hunter?” you whispered with tears in your eyes, thinking this was all a dream brought on by the pain.

“My lady, are you alright?” He leaned over you, caressing your face with his hand.

“Better now,” You gulped, pressing your palm to his hand.

Hunter bent down, giving you a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. His arms wrapped around your body, pulling you closer to him. Definitely not a dream.

“Ah!” You gasped as his knee brushed against your ankle.

“What? Did they hurt you?” he snarled, reaching for your foot. You quickly pulled it under your shift to keep your ankles from view.

“I, uh, tripped while trying to escape.” You mumbled abashedly.

Hunter couldn’t help a chuckle as he pressed his forehead to yours, “That’s my lady.”

“Oh good, you found her,” you and Hunter both sat up, unaware that Tech had made it into the room, and was currently helping Echo off the windowsill.

The bell tolled in the distance and you jumped, clinging to Hunter’s cloak.

“That would be Crosshair and Wrecker’s distraction,” Echo assured you, “We should get out of here quickly.”

Hunter took off his own cloak and tied it around your shoulders, “Lean on me,” He urged, plucking his dagger from the wall and giving it to you. One of his arms wrapped securely around your waist, cradling you to his side as the other hand gripped his sword.

“Wait, wait,” You urged Hunter and his brothers, “We can’t leave yet.”

“We have to if we want to get out of her alive!” Echo insisted.

“But Dooku has a secret weapon!” You told them, “He’s going to use it against our army tomorrow!”

The brothers looked at each other in alarm, and then back to you.

“Where is it?” Tech asked.

You gulped. “He has something, something down in the dungeons.”

Hunter nodded, “Lead the way, milady.”

Lady Luck (Prequel)

#HEY I WROTE SOMETHING #lizart writes #sergeant hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #lizart speaks #tbb x reader #tbb hunter #tbb hunter x reader #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch hunter x reader #medieval au #fantasy au

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ohblackdiamond · 7 months

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little rock 'n' roll (sexswap paul, nc-17)

Always painful to lose those last precious vestiges of a body. Marbas waited until the sounds stopped and then idly rolled him fully on his back, just to check-- nothing amiss. Physically, the man was gone. Not ten minutes to get rid of twenty-five years.

Prequel to "little t&a," detailing what Paul was up to during the first days of the sexswap curse, prior to Gene showing up at his house. Weird, psychosexual.

Sexswap fic. Complete.

Notes: This was in the works for awhile after “little t&a,” mostly as something to play around with for my own amusement when I was struggling with other fics. I didn’t really intend to post it initially but received some kind feedback, so I eventually spliced what I had together. This is, basically, the prequel to “little t&a,” and chronicles what Paul was doing the days prior to Gene showing up to his house.

“little rock ’n’ roll”

A bit over a month left before the new tour kicked off. Paul was more than ready for it. He hadn’t had a really good lay since the little chick from CBGB a week or two before. It was hard to summon up the will to chase girls down when he knew that on the road, they’d give in without him having to lift a finger or even say a word. At home, it was just too much effort for too little payoff.

At home, he’d get too self-involved, too, a great recipe for depression and disaster. Hilsen had given him various antidepressants and benzos off and on, but the side effects were all just impossible, so he wasn’t consistent with them. This one caused nausea. That one caused dry mouth and sometimes hives. And every single one was inadvisable with alcohol.

He knew Gene would think less of him if he knew that half the reason Paul rarely partook in the drug scene was his myriad prescriptions, instead of just his ear. He didn’t really care.

He finished off half his dinner (take out from a restaurant a couple miles away), then drew a bath. It was important, allegedly, to stay engaged, to stave off gloomy feelings, so he started on a mental to-do list as he soaked in the tub. He needed to re-dye his hair a little closer to the tour. He’d get Bobby for that, if Bobby wasn’t too coked out for the job. There’d probably be a few promotional photoshoots beforehand that they’d need Bobby for, too. He needed to send Hilsen a finalized (to a point) tour schedule, just so he’d have an idea on when to be on call for him. Not that he called Hilsen constantly or anything, just… just every few days. And he didn’t really have to, but he wanted to call up Bill about KISS’ rider, too, to prevent any bitching from Peter once the tour got underway.

There. All that might keep him occupied for awhile, though it wouldn’t fill out weeks. Once the tour rehearsals were underway, that would kill the rest of his free time. He sunk his head down into the water, trying to zone out, only to raise it back up at a slight, odd feeling of pain.

Huh. His nipples were weirdly sore. Even obscured by the water, they looked vaguely puffy. Paul poked at one, getting another twinge of soreness, and sat up in the tub to get a better look. They were definitely slightly swollen. Weird. Not one of his normal complaints at all-- not a gut issue or a mental one. But it was so minor that he felt like calling up a doctor would be overkill. He got out of the tub, dried off and headed to bed, trying to think no more of it.

The first slight alterations had already begun by the time the demon entered his bedroom. Marbas was there only to speed things along to their inevitable conclusion, catalyzing the curse with a touch of one bloodstained finger to the sleeping man’s mouth. His lips closed around the finger in his sleep, tongue latching on and suckling away the blood, taking it into himself and sealing his fate.

The changes went from negligible to obvious from there, before Marbas even pulled away. In fact, the man’s body was conforming almost too easily to the magic being wrought on him. Usually, for a curse this drastic, there’d be more resistance, despite all of Marbas’ usual precautions. Marbas didn’t expect him to awaken during the transformation, but a struggle wouldn’t have been out of place as his body warped and reshaped itself. The man was just letting it happen, letting himself gradually be erased.

Marbas wasn’t interfering too much, allowing the curse itself to do most of the work for him. The girl’s offering, that smear of her blood– freely given, and freely taken– imbued with Marbas’ own power, was softening up the man’s facial features, his chest. It was like watching someone underwater. His five o’clock shadow disappeared entirely and the skin beneath reworked itself; almost blurred for vague moments before reshaping into a smaller chin and a less distinct jawline. He lost a few inches of height, shoulders and torso almost caving in on themselves, body diminishing substantially. He hadn’t been naturally lanky to begin with, and the woman he was becoming was too well-built to be scrawny. Not overweight at all, but not curvaceous, and certainly not delicate. A healthy, if somewhat ordinary frame so far, though his breasts were continuing to swell well after his hips and ass had stopped. Most of his copious body hair had vanished, except for a thin trail pointing down from around his navel. That trail was starting to spill down into a patch of dark curls at his groin. He decided to leave that alone.

The man shifted, made a sharp little cry. Smaller, still long-fingered hands scrambled blindly, then curled around his bent knees. Trembling all the way down to his toes. He was coiling into himself, tossing and turning helplessly as the transformation neared its completion. Always painful to lose those last precious vestiges of a body. Marbas waited until the sounds stopped and then idly rolled him fully on his back, just to check-- nothing amiss. Physically, the man was gone. Not ten minutes to get rid of twenty-five years.

His head lolled, curly, dark hair slipping down. For a moment, Marbas thought there’d been a mistake after all-- the man was missing most of his ear-- but then, looking at it, he judged the deformity to be much like the scars and moles, something that had been there awhile. Interesting, and not worth resolving. Marbas could have reshaped and refined him endlessly, but given no direction from the girl on how she wanted him to look, he was content to leave the man as he was, more or less as he would have been if born female.

He’d sleep for a long time yet. Transformations were too exhausting for mortals to endure otherwise. Marbas left the room, not curious enough to wait on the man to discover what had happened to him.

–

(mama, stan hit me!)

(she wouldn’t let me play with it!)

(she’s a doll! you can’t play with her!)

He shoved both chubby hands into the pockets of his overalls. Julia’s still-red cheek proved her claim. He had hit her for snatching back the doll. But he hadn’t thought she would care. Julia was a big girl. Six years old. She went to school now and she didn’t want to play with him at all anymore. And the doll was just lying in the middle of the living room untouched,with its big green eyes and long blonde hair and fancy blue ruffled dress. It had shoes and stockings-- he had taken the shoes off, but not the stockings, before Julia had grabbed the doll back from him.

(i wanna play with it! you weren’t playing with it!)

(boys don’t play with dolls!)

He reached for the doll again anyway, gripping the hem of its dress. He heard the faint sound of ripping fabric. But the dress hadn’t ripped. He felt something very odd, very funny, tingling and hot, pulling and twisting. He was yanking at the straps of his overalls, trying to tug them down-- it was just so hot-- only the overalls weren’t overalls at all anymore. Just a dress. The doll’s dress, the cuffed sleeves like manacles on his arms, the ruffles itching against his neck, it was all so strange, so stifling, the heat in his body almost unbearable--

He jerked awake only briefly before falling asleep again.

Paul didn’t usually oversleep much, thanks to all the years of being on the road. They’d leave the hotels way before the ten a.m. checkout, each of them slogging out of their shared rooms, suitcases in hand, clambering to the lobby and then to what passed for their tour bus. Up until recently, that was how it had been-- now, at least, he didn’t have to carry his own suitcase. But it was midmorning before he managed to shake off the last vestiges of sleep and sort of open his eyes, turning his head to check the time.

10:40. Pretty bad. He made a mumbling sound. Really, he was starting to feel pretty sick. Or, rather, he felt like he was getting over an illness. His whole body felt weirdly drained. He reached for the phone on the nightstand-- eyes shooting wide open at the sight of his arm.

It wasn’t right. It was too small, too thin. There was a bit of muscle, but the shape and size was completely wrong. It wasn’t his arm, even as he flexed the too-small fingers and bent the elbow back and forth. His wrist looked tiny. His skin felt funny. His breaths were catching in his throat, both hands suddenly shaking as he threw off the covers entirely, and stared, horrified, at the rest of himself.

It wasn’t just his arm that was wrong. It was his whole body. Every inch of it.

His chest-- he had actual breasts like a chick would have. They were large and heavy. Absolutely no hair on them at all. Stomach mostly bare, even. His torso didn’t have nearly its usual blockiness. His hips looked strange, jutting distinctly-- even his legs looked far more than subtly wrong, and between his legs…

No. No way. It wasn’t that there was nothing there. Just nothing he was remotely familiar with. Not from this perspective. A shift, spreading his legs, made it obvious. He didn’t have a cock anymore. He was a girl now. Every single bit of his body veered straight towards that single, inexorable fact.

He hadn’t taken anything, so he must’ve still been asleep. That weird dream about the doll had just morphed into another dream, that was all. A dream where he was suddenly a chick. That was all. Wasn’t it? Paul remembered the bit about pinching yourself to wake up from a dream, and tried it, pinching the skin on his wrist. All it did was confirm that it was very much attached. He tried again, this time biting several of his fingers in turn, right between the knuckles, a bad habit from childhood. Nothing. And all that moving around only meant he caught a glimpse of himself in the vanity mirror over on the other side of his bedroom. He flinched at the sight, at first, only stealing occasional, horrified glances before forcing himself to sit up properly on the bed and look at his own reflection.

He didn’t want to get any closer to the mirror, to really inspect himself. But even peering over from those few feet away, he could tell he was a little bit pretty. But only a little. He had gotten picky enough that he would have no more than glanced at a girl that looked like… like he did now. He had the same mop of dark brown curls as always. He had the same big eyes and full lips. He could still sort of recognize aspects of his face, even with most of his features (particularly, irksomely, his chin) smaller or softer. It was the coldest of comforts.

He ran his fingers down his face, the unfamiliar feel of an utterly smooth chin and jaw making his stomach churn. Down his neck, down those slimmer arms, catching sight of the rose tattoo on his shoulder. Still there. Down finally to his breasts, drawing back at his own brief touch. He didn’t want to feel past that; just looking at himself, hell, just pressing his thighs together, the dull, strangely empty pressure there, was frightening enough.

He cried for what felt like an hour. Just sobbed himself back to sleep like a little kid.

When he woke back up, body no different at all, he stayed in bed until he got hungry. Then he grabbed a bathrobe, half-stumbling to the kitchen. His center of gravity was badly off. His chest was throwing him off the worst. Each movement felt like his whole body was encased in a glove that didn’t quite fit properly. That drained feeling he’d had since he first woke up wasn’t going away at all. Nothing felt right. He felt-- he was kind of clumsy. Nothing was comfortable. Hell, even his bathrobe didn’t fit correctly anymore on him, the sleeves too long, the shoulders too broad. The ends of the belt drooped nearly to his knees.

He made himself two cheese sandwiches, followed up with a glass of water. Eating helped more than he’d expected. He was perversely glad that his appetite didn’t seem enormously different.

He’d have to do something. He’d have to figure out what the hell had happened to him. Well, he knew what the hell had happened to him, but--

Think. He needed to think. Where had he gone over the last couple of days? Had he gone anywhere? He’d gotten take-out lately, a bad habit from the road. He’d slept with… oh, four or five girls since the end of the tour, in scattered hotels rather than in his house. He didn’t really like bringing girls home; it felt invasive, and it made the girls think they actually had an in with him. He hadn’t spent the night with any of those chicks, either. Then he’d… where else had he gone? God, he couldn’t remember.

He let out what would’ve been a much lower grunt under normal circumstances, then stopped himself, caught a little off-guard from the pitch. He swallowed, morbidly curious despite himself. What did he really sound like right now? It took another breath before he was willing to test a word out.

“Fuck.” God, it was obnoxiously high. He’d always thought his real voice was too high as it was, and had tried sometimes to lower it for interviews, but this was ten times worse. At least to his own ear, it seemed like he was on the verge of squeaking. “Fuck it. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it…”

Could he recognize it? Was it still his voice, the way it was still, at least to some degree, his face? The way his tattoo was still on his shoulder? Two words weren’t really enough to tell.

“She sells seashells by the seashore. Seashore. Sea-shore.” No good. The sentence was a bit too obvious for his tongue to trip over as readily, even as shaken-up as he was. He’d be better off picking words. “This. Distinct. Whistle.”

The lisp was still there. Faint while he was concentrating on the words, trying to move his tongue the right way, but present all the same. Paul took a breath, then shoved a hand through the matted curls on the right side of his face, only drawing back when he felt the familiar, awful remnant of his right ear. That settled it for certain. On some level, he had his own body, with all its failings and imperfections. Just rearranged. Tugged into a new shape. One he didn’t want to stay in. Paul closed his eyes. His throat felt tight as he tried to decide what to do next. There had to be something. What had happened to him couldn’t possibly be permanent.

He thought about it for awhile, but it was several hours before he managed to eke out the nerve to do anything at all about it. His palms were sweating when he finally reached for the phone, calling up Aucoin Management. Not Bill’s personal number-- he couldn’t face Bill now, any better than he could face any of the guys. Fuck, Bill might in some ways be worse to deal with right now than even Gene. He’d always felt like he was Bill’s favorite, the way Peter was clearly Sean’s. To picture Bill even getting an inkling of what had happened to him, or worse, thinking he was crazy-- he’d never be able to handle it.

“Hi, I’m Mr. Stanley’s secretary.”

Bill’s secretary, Linda West, sounded like she was smiling, even over the phone.

“He has a secretary now?”

Paul choked out something like a giggle.

“He, uh, wanted me to get some books on the occult sent over.”

“What kind?”

“Oh, ones on magic and summoning spirits.” Paul’s knowledge of the occult only went about as far as Dark Shadows, a couple Night Gallery episodes and seeing an interview with Anton LeVay on T.V. as a teenager. He knew some kids in high school that dabbled in magic and Ouija boards, that kind of thing--back then, it was really in. He’d had his palm read a couple times, and even now, he checked his horoscope pretty regularly, especially on tour. He’d always figured there was something to it, probably, but it wasn’t something he’d wanted to get involved in. Now he was involved in it. “Could you get a spellbook, maybe?”

“A spellbook?”

“He’s trying to do some research. Look, just--get it, okay? Have it expedited over to his house. A couple books. It’s really important.”

“I think this is a little unusual for Mr. Stanley.”

“I do, too.” A nervous laugh. “Would… would you like me to, uh, have him authorize--”

“No, that won’t be necessary. We’ll have some books sent tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

He hung up the phone, exhaling hard. Amazing that it had actually worked. There. He’d do his research, find out what could be done about it, and, well, go from there. They still had a little over a month before the new tour started. Whatever happened to him might even wear off before the books even got to his door. Yeah. Yeah.

The next morning, he was still no different physically. The only thing that had started to fade a bit was that sickly, sapped feeling. He was moving around a little better, too; he didn’t feel like he was quite as off-balance, though his strides still weren’t completely smooth. Somehow, he was adjusting to whatever new female baseline he occupied now. That was terrifying in itself.

He put on the bathrobe again. Then he dug in his drawers for underwear, deciding it probably wasn’t that hygienic to be up and about without it. The thought of trying to wear briefs in his current state was depressing, so he put on one of the few pairs of boxers he owned instead, trying not to think too much of what they used to contain. It was hard not to when he had to tighten the drawstrings so much just to keep them from falling off.

The books were at his doorstep by noon, and he spent the next four hours reading them, stopping only to eat his leftovers from two days before.. He’d ended up with an assortment of what he realized was the real stuff. Translated grimoires. Paul was fairly indifferent even to Judaism, and a little antagonistic towards the fading remnants of the Jesus freaks, but on the same token, he didn’t feel great looking at all those weird sigils and pentagrams. Knowing, or figuring, anyway, that something in these books had to have been responsible for his current form made him queasy. It didn’t help that most of the demons in the book seemed relegated to alchemy, discovering secrets, and, weirdly, battlefields.

The Secret Lore of Magic had an index. He turned it to “transformations” and started flipping through the references.

“Like the previous spirit, Ose is able to transform people into whatever form they will. He causes delusions and insanity if required. Those who have been changed by him may not know it, and continue to behave as they normally do, in spite of their altered appearance.”

Huh. Well, it probably wasn’t Ose, then. He definitely knew what had happened to him.

“Zepar… a strong Duke, he can change people into any shape they desire. He can make a woman love any man, at the magician’s command.”

Terrifying. Hopefully Gene never got hold of this book. He reached for the next one, The Lesser Key of Solomon, which, when he opened it up, had a subtitle: Goetia: The Book of Evil Spirits. Paul swallowed thickly. This one was even worse, with its explicit instructions on exactly how to invoke and cast away dozens of demons.

His mother would kill him for owning a book like that, much less reading it. Then again, his mother probably wouldn’t recognize him right now. The thought made his heart drop suddenly to his stomach, and he shoved the book off the table to the floor.

Only for it to open by itself a second later, right to one short entry.

“The fifth Spirit is Marbas. He is a Great President, and appeareth at first in the form of a Great Lion, but afterwards, at the request of the Master, he putteth on Human Shape. He answereth truly of things Hidden or Secret. He causeth Diseases and cureth them. Again, he giveth great Wisdom and Knowledge in Mechanical Arts; and can change men into other shapes.”

Just a paragraph. Just a paragraph, but it was enough that his palms started to sweat.

He read up in the other books about Marbas, but didn’t get much more information. He reread the summoning ritual, but it still made him too nervous to even think about attempting. What would he even do, if he summoned him? He didn’t need to contend with the demon, who probably hadn’t done this to him just for kicks. He needed to figure out who had made the demon transform him, but that had its own problems. Nobody would benefit from Paul being a woman, nobody. He had enemies, sure– every band they’d opened for probably had a bone to pick with him and the rest of KISS– but he couldn’t think of a single person willing, and crazy enough, to inflict this on him.

He kept mulling it over anyway. The guys in Blue Oyster Cult were pretty weird and geeky (Gene had sort of liked them), but they weren’t malicious and as far as Paul knew, they didn’t actually practice black magic. He didn’t even know the guys in Black Sabbath. Alice Cooper? He didn’t know Alice, either, but he’d always been pretty sure his schtick was just a schtick. Paul pursed his lips. Had to be somebody. Maybe one of Neil Bogart’s rivals was jealous– no, that made no sense at all– Paul jerked a bit in his chair when he heard the phone ring. He had already gotten up and reached for it by the time he remembered not to answer it. Three rings. Four. Five.

His answering machine was in his bedroom. He padded off to check, hearing his own recorded voice just before the caller started up.

“Hey, this is Paul Stanley. If you’ll leave me your name and number, I’ll be reaching out as soon as possible. Thanks.”

“Hey, Paul. This is Peter.” There was a short pause. “I just wanted to say hello. I haven’t seen you much since the tour. Call me back when you can.”

Peter. Paul groaned. It seemed as if that one phone call started an avalanche. Six calls, from everyone from Bill to Hilsen to Bill’s secretary again, among others, in three hours. Eventually he couldn’t stand it anymore, either hearing the messages or hearing the rings. He had to get out of there, had to escape the reminders that he wasn’t himself right now, that people were already reaching out to him, wondering about him.

He didn’t get far. Just downstairs, where he didn’t have a phone installed. But there were still plenty of reminders there. KISS’ gold albums. More tour junk, albeit mostly in boxes. He tried to push that out of his mind, focus on his album collection instead, mostly bought in bulk after KISS had hit it big. Every record he’d ever wanted, and more than he had time to play.

He had time now. He had, officially, been stuck like this for over twenty-four hours. He swallowed and started looking through his collection. His latest on-again off-again girlfriend (now off, with no hope of reconciliation if this continued) had given him an old Four Tops record he didn’t feel like playing. He also had one of Cher’s albums, and, for whatever reason, Olivia Newton-John’s latest effort, although girl singers, on the whole, never had appealed to him much. No, right now he wanted something rough, something with an edge to it. He settled for the Stones’ “Exile on Main Street,” plunking down on the couch to the in-out weaving of Richards and Taylor and Jagger’s craggy, agitated vocals.

(i only get my rocks off while i’m sleeping)

(only get my rocks off while i’m sleeping)

Paul shifted on the couch. More lyrics. Mick’s girls, at least in songs, were always giving him problems. He never seemed willing to bare whatever was left of his heart for them, with the possible exception of “Angie.” Mostly he and Keith wrote about one-night-stands. The old fuck-me suck-mes that Paul was so prone to himself. Only theirs were better. Grittier. Paul always felt like there was something that, as a writer, he could only imitate, and never really reach.

Maybe this forced perspective might give him some ideas. His nose wrinkled at the thought. Mick couldn’t even be appealing talking about one of the things he’d always been curious about with girls.

(i can’t seem to stay in step, ’cause she come every time that she pirouettes on me)

He knew they could do it. Come more than once in a row. It wasn’t a girlie magazine myth-- he’d seen it happen. He’d done it to about a dozen groupies that he knew of, and at least one girlfriend. He ought to be able to do it to himself. He pursed his lips, shifting from his side to his back, stretched across the length of the couch as the next track played, untying his bathrobe. He hadn’t really even looked down there any more than he’d had to earlier, but he reached down, beneath the boxers, cupping his pussy with his hand for a few seconds before letting a finger delve inside. Almost instantly, he could feel himself tighten up, way too much, strange and sore, like he’d gone in too far, even though he’d barely gone in at all. Curiously, he wasn’t even wet. He tried again, meeting the same conclusion, and finally just stopped, shifting and readjusting his position on the couch, spreading his legs wide, knees bent, one resting against the couch, the other dangling towards the floor.

He pushed the boxers down further, too, and, nervously, leaned forward for a better look as he prodded around with his fingers. He at least found his clit, nestled, tiny and useless, between his folds. Touching it wasn’t helping; it was too sensitive. Nothing about this whole experience was anything like masturbating with a dick, or anything like his experiences fingering actual women.

Maybe he needed to use his imagination a bit to ease himself in, although that wasn’t typical for him. He didn’t usually have to start off with a fantasy. He could let his mind wander as long as the mechanics were there. But already, he could tell that wasn’t going to work now. He was just too dry.

Maybe something was wrong with him. Stuck in a body that couldn’t even orgasm. Another part of the curse. He flinched, trying to concentrate. A fantasy, okay. Paul would usually pull out a mental composite of a Playboy playmate, wavy blonde hair, green or blue eyes, with heavy, heaving breasts and a tiny waist. It was hard to get as excited over that picture now that too much of it mirrored himself. He couldn’t even imagine properly fucking her while he was shoving a finger inside his pussy.

Okay. Okay. Maybe something a little off his usual preferences. Paul had fooled around with guys a bit, primarily Ace and Peter and the occasional gay bar denizen. He felt weird fantasizing about either of them, though. Ace would probably laugh at him right now, and Peter, well, he just didn't fit the bill. Maybe… maybe someone he made up. He shut his eyes, going at himself a little easier, sketching out the features in his head. Tall, masculine. Not like the pretty boys Bill was so fond of, nothing effete or weak. Swarthy complexion, dark eyes. Hell, he didn’t even have to be handsome, just have that reassuring presence, that feeling of security–

His breath hitched as he realized who he’d started to conjure up, his hand stilling to a stop. He shoved his boxers back up, retied his robe, and headed for the bathroom, washing his hands, trying to avoid looking at his own face in the mirror, the flush in his cheeks. He had to get hold of himself a little better. Had to.

By the third day the phone had started ringing almost constantly. He was starting to get nervous, really nervous, about everything. If this was permanent. How he’d explain himself if it was. What would happen to the band. Just thinking about all that crap was enough to make him want to cry or vomit.

He’d taken to napping during the day, half-hoping he’d wake up as his normal self, and half-hoping for solace, only to find he couldn’t escape there, either. He’d started having weird dreams. His sister and the doll again, only now the dream would just keep going. He’d be in the doll’s dress. He was nearly Julia’s size, despite the two years between them. Julia was sitting beside him, there in her neat blouse and skirt. She had a school satchel, too, and brown patent leather school shoes. They made a little clacking sound on the linoleum when she’d come home.

(you want to play?)

(you’re gonna play with me?)

(you don’t play with me anymore)

Julia looked offended, but she nodded.

(you’re my sister)

(no i’m not)

(yes you are)

(i’m not)

(then why’re you wearing that?)

(i don’t know)

(don’t you want to play?)

He did. Enough that he scooted up closer.

(what are we going to play?)

He never found out. Time swirled forward strangely. Julia yelling at him. He’d goaded her into it. He picked at her sometimes. It was easy. Julia was doing worse in school than he was when she even bothered to show up to class. Julia was embarrassing the whole family with all her crap. Running around with not just hippies, but freaks, smoking dope-- he’d only tried it once himself-- sleeping around. It made him feel better to push her buttons. Like less of a failure. Nothing had turned out right for him, either. He was just as much an outcast at his fancy art school as he’d been in his regular public school. He’d thought he could escape himself, be new, and instead he was still some half-deaf, fat kid that couldn’t get anyone’s attention, good or bad, that was poorer than anyone else going to that damn school, that had a sister who was nuts, that–

(shut up!)

(you’re just like me anyway! you bitch, you’re fucked up the same way!)

(i know why you see that shrink! i know all about that!)

(no you don’t! you don’t, you don’t!)

But she did. Paul was certain she did. Forward just slightly. He was in the backseat of a ’63 Chevy with a girl. He had three of his classes with her. They’d never talked too much, but he felt warm around her, wanted to take her out, if she’d go out with him. She had a boyfriend, but that didn’t really matter. Sometimes they just fooled around anyway. He got a bit of a thrill out of that, even if she wouldn’t ever go close to all the way, a thrill and a stab of guilt. She was on his lap, nearly-bare thighs pressed soft against his jeans, her skirt’s hem just a crumpled whisper of fabric.

(we need to stop this, it’s not right)

God, he was dying. His jeans were so damn constraining; she was on his lap and here she was worried about cheating when he was the one taking her scraps. He groaned, trying to think of a line, like those old movies that’d come on during the weekends.

(of course it’s not right, baby)

(i don’t mean him.)

(it’s sick)

(this is really sick)

Forward, forward. Julia in her second trimester. Hadn’t even seen the guy in months, of course. More shame. She was rarely around, but his parents were praying that would change once the baby came. They were hoping Julia would just sign her parental rights over. That was how bad things had gotten. Paul fumed whenever he thought about it. He was probably going to have to forfeit his room for the baby. Money was going to be tight. He might not even get anything from his parents to help foot college next September. His father pulled him aside before dinner one evening.

(don’t you dare put our family through this)

(don’t you ever get pregnant)

Paul stared at him stupidly. He was already taller than his father. Had a mustache and the start of mutton chops at seventeen.

(what are you talking about?)

(i’m not, i can’t--)

He woke with a start, the afternoon sun peeking through the blinds, shivering, and the same. Mechanically, he got up, washed his face, made a sandwich. His new routine was nearly his old routine, off-tour, only now he didn’t have the stage and the grandeur to look forward to. No mass of screaming fans. No pretty girls in his bed. His whole world yanked out from under him, all the hopes he’d obsessed over since he first saw the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. Every ring of the phone and every unplayed message made it clear. He was out. As long as he had this body, he was out entirely.

He heard a car pull up. He had no intentions of answering it, not at first, but he peered out through the kitchen blinds. It looked like Peter’s car, and then, suddenly, he realized it was Peter’s car. His pulse started to speed, just a little, and despite himself, he crossed over to the living room, aiming to get a better look from the open windows there. Peter got out of the car and headed up the walkway, towards the front porch.

He’d come alone. What had he come for? What did he want? He had called, sure, but he hadn’t sounded urgent. Was he pissed off at him? Had something happened with Bill or Ace or, hell, even one of the roadies?

Would he tell a random girl?

In the end, his own curiosity and loneliness got the better of him. When Peter rang the bell, Paul opened the door.

“Hey.”

“Hello.” Peter looked mild enough, for Peter. Only a little perturbed. He was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and three or four cross necklaces. Typical Peter. His lip curled a little as he surveyed Paul, there in just his bathrobe. Peter had no idea he’d seen Paul in far less at least a hundred times on tour. “Is Paul here?”

“No.”

“He let you stay here without him?” Peter frowned. “That ain’t like him.”

“He’s not here, Pete.” Oh, shit. Peter raised an eyebrow. Paul’s heart felt like it caught somewhere in his throat as Peter’s eyes searched his face, sizing him up yet again. He could feel his face flush, and he had to shove his hands in his bathrobe pockets to keep their trembling from being noticeable.

“Have I seen you before?”

“No! No. He’s not here. Go away!” Louder than he’d meant it. More scared. Paul bit his lip, watching as Peter stiffened up but didn’t turn to leave. Totally undeterred.

“Hey, c’mon, do you know when he’ll be back?”

“I-I don’t know. I’ll tell him to call. Okay?”

“Okay. Have him call. Jesus, I’m not gonna hurt you.” Peter looked like he was considering something. “Tell him it’s not urgent, okay, kid?”

“Okay.”

“Tell him to get you your own bathrobe, too. He could do better than that shit these days.”

It was awhile before he could calm down from seeing Peter. In the end he managed by writing up a grocery list, deciding he’d have a neighborhood kid pick up the stuff for him later.

The next day, driven by boredom as much as anything else, he opted to take a drive. He had to steel himself up for it, digging through his wardrobe. The colorful ladies’ blouses he wore felt too jaunty and flippant. In his real body, they were glam, a little subversive. Now they just wouldn’t do at all.

He pushed aside pair after pair of jeans– he could tell without even trying them on that they were now too wide at the waist, and definitely too long– until, at the back of his closet, he found the dress from his birthday, just a couple months back. Black with red flowers. It was long-sleeved, sure, and would still be baggy, but that didn’t matter. It would work. He pulled it on grimly, then dug around until he found the matching black pumps, stuffing the toes with tissue paper. Thank God he’d done the drag party. It kept him from being stuck wearing something he actually liked. From there he grabbed his wallet and keys, heading out the door, not really caring where he went, as long as he could escape for just a little while.

He ended up driving to Peaches. The record store wasn’t the distraction he’d hoped it would be. He’d tried not to look at the Casablanca promo display posters, feeling sick at the sight of himself and the other guys in the new costumes, painted there against a backdrop of half-naked girls. “KISS - LOVE GUN” in bright red letters above them, and then, below, “THE ONLY ALBUM TO PUT ON YOUR REVOLVER.”

The album was due to release at the end of June, one week before the start of the tour. “Christine Sixteen,” Gene’s song, was supposed to be the lead single. Another suck-me-fuck-me song– Gene had wrote it to make fun of him– only he didn’t have anything to suck right now. His throat felt like it was full of acid as he mindlessly thumbed his way through the new releases. The Eagles had put out a new album, but he’d never liked them. 10cc, too. Gregg Allman, per Gene, purportedly had a solo album coming out this month, but it wasn’t in stock yet. He couldn’t focus anyway. Eventually, he found himself wandering to the cut-out bin, knocking into a pimple-faced boy on accident.

“Sorry.”

The kid was staring at him. For the barest moment, Paul forgot that he wasn’t in the right body; he thought the kid recognized him, and was about to try and brush him off.

“Something wrong?”

The kid was staring at him, all right. The kid was staring at his tits. Paul inhaled, rolled his eyes, and turned away, deciding not to bother with a response. They’d done all those bra-burnings, what, ten years ago, hadn’t they? What did his lack of a brassiere matter anymore, as long as he was covered up? He glanced down for about the first time since he’d put on the dress, belatedly realizing how obvious the outline of his nipples was through the thin fabric. Damn. Well, whatever. It wasn’t like he planned to go out at night or pull anything stupid.

Not long after, he drove home from Peaches without a single record, still thinking. If what had happened to him wouldn’t wear off on his own, and he wasn’t willing to use black magic himself, was there a way he could pay someone else to fix him? Get his body back? But where would he even begin there? All that seemed apt to greet him were the same round of suspects who might have screwed him up in the first place.

But then there was Gene.

It was a long shot. A serious, serious long shot. It felt pretty desperate, but Paul was pretty desperate. Gene had studied religion in college, and had once planned to become a rabbi. He had been vaguely fascinating to Paul, as one of only a handful of Jewish guys he’d ever known that was actually devout.

Was being the operative word. Gene still kept kosher, but Paul was pretty sure everything else about his upbringing had been surrendered. But maybe he knew something. Some Jewish mysticism… it wasn’t that far-fetched, was it? A purifying ritual, maybe?

He kicked off the tissue-stuffed shoes just inside the front door and yanked off the dress, leaving it there on the floor, putting the bathrobe back on like a security blanket. Purifying rituals. Yeah. Maybe. It was better than doing nothing. Gene knew a lot, and even if he didn’t know anything that could solve his plight, he’d do his dead-level best to find someone who did. He had to. Both as a friend and as a fellow quarter-sharer in the behemoth of KISS.

He sat down at the rolltop desk at what could’ve been his office, if he stayed in his house for more than a few weeks out of any given year, tugged open a drawer full of cards, invitations, and paperwork. Dug around some more, until he found a book of stamps and a fat stack of postcards. Some he’d written and never bothered to send, but most he’d just bought as souvenirs, silly mementos from when he couldn’t really afford much past a keychain when they’d traveled, but burned through Bill’s credit cards anyway. A blank Buckingham Palace postcard from their first European tour. He pulled out a pen and began to write.

“Gene, do you know anything about curses?

“Write me back soon. Paul.”

He stuck the postcard in the mailbox. Just sending it off-- just reaching out, no matter how understated-- felt really good. Gene might even get it today. Tomorrow, definitely. He felt confident that Gene would notice it, even. Gene would have been counting on some of those dirty letters from fans to tide him over during the dry spell. He’d be sifting through his own mail right now.

Gene would help him. He’d write him back, hopefully (Paul was terrified he’d call instead, or worse, show up), figure out exactly what he needed to fix things, and then, well, then he’d be back to normal. No more hiding out and living in bathrobes. No more dealing with a body he didn’t recognize. Back to himself, just in time for the tour. With any luck, no one else would even know what had happened. With any luck at all.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #gene simmons x paul stanley

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silentprincessandsweethibiscus · 6 months

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This weeks fic almost didn't get done, so its a lot shorter than i would have liked, but here is my entry for fsff, pumpkin spice Sometimes, all you need is a good conversation.

The front door slammed open, and Red strode in, an air of displeasure rolling of the fae in waves. “I never want to hear the words pumpkin spiced latte ever again.”Vio looked down at the two cups in their hands with an exaggerated frown. “So then, I’m guessing you don’t want this.”Red rolled their eyes and held out a hand, making a gimmie motion with it as he dropped her bag on the table with the other. “Shut the fuck up and give me my caffeine, Vi.”

“Here, here, don’t take my head off.” Vio handed one of the cups over with a laugh, holding their own to their chest as Red took a sip of his.

There were a few moments of pause as she enjoyed the latte, before it responded. “Mmm, pumpkiny goodness.” Looking at the familiar logo on the cups for the first time, he frowned. “Hey, Vivi?”

“Hmm?” Vio looked up from their own cup, still just holding it absentmindedly. “Yeah Red?”

“Who made this?”

There was a pause, as Vio debated on how to answer. “My absolute favorite barista, why.”“Because if you tell me you ordered in to have me make it before I left I might start reevaluating the last century and a half.” Red shifted, one hand going to rest on their hip while he gave her partner an exaggerated pout.

“Good thing I wasn’t going to say that.” Red raised an eyebrow at them. “Alright, fine. But in my defense, I though you had already clocked out.”

Red scrunched his face further, leveling them with a glare that anyone who didn’t know her might fold under. Luckily for Vio, they did know it well, and instead just responded with a half hearted smile, until Red finally beamed back. “Yeah, that’s fair. They held onto me for almost a whole extra half an hour, since Blue got stuck in traffic.”

“Blue?” Vio looked up at the name, surprise written all over their face.

“Yea, Blue.” Red raised an eyebrow at them. “I know you’ve heard me talk about him before? She’s the cute afternoon manager that always takes over for me, and complains about her partners ganging up to prank him?”

“Blue, the werewolf?” Vio could not believe the coincidence, grilling their partner to be sure it was the same person they had met this morning. “With the blonde pigtails, dip dyed black tips that make them look like paintbrushes.”

“Alright, now I know somethings up. because I never told you that. But yes, Blue the werewolf.” Red responded with a laugh. “Oh and the dye is new. I think one of her partners did it like, last night.”Vio nodded in agreement, before continuing on with their point. “Biology is one of his partners.”

“No fucking way!” Red’s excited grin was infections, but Vio wasn’t done just yet.

“Yeah.” They put their coffee down. “And you will never in a million years guess who the other one is.”

“Who?” Red clutched their own drink closer, excitement and confusion both clear on his face.Vio paused, wanting, but unsure of how, to explain who Red’s crushes’ boyfriend was. After a moment, they decided to just rip the band-aid off. “Green.”

“Green.” Red tilted her head. “As in, as in, Green?”

“Yeah.” Vio’s answer was more of a sigh, then an actual word.

“No fucking way!” Red’s giddy excitement had been replaced with something much more steady. “Vio! That’s awesome!” Vio’s response was a dry chuckle, that had Red frowning. “That is a good thing, right.”

“Yeah, yeah, its a good thing, Cherry.” They finally took a sip of their own drink, making a face and putting it down immediately after.

“Buuuuut?” Red pressed. He knew his partner well, if it just left it be, they would go into their study and ignore whatever part of this was bothering them. “Something about its still eating you.”

“Nothing new.” Vio offered Red a morose smile. “I guess seeing the ghost of the fiance you accidentally killed is bound to drag out some bad memories, is all.”

The smile Red gave back was equally somber, as she put her own drink down and moved to pull Vio into a hug. They leaned into it, wrapping their arms around Red’s lower back, to avoid his wings. The two of them stayed like that for a few moments, before Red whispered. “What did Green say about it?”

Vio’s laugh sounded of unshed tears. “He looked like he didn’t even realize it had been me who did it, but he said it wasn’t my fault.”

“He’s right.” They kissed the top of Vio’s head. “You never should have been left alone right after turning. None of that was your fault.”

“You and I both know that’s not entirely true.” Vio pulled back just enough to look up at Red. “I’m the dumb ass who decided it was a good idea to go chase down a vampire a week before my wedding.”

Red chortled at that. “Yeah, well, that may have not been the best idea, but what happened after you were bit is on the vampire who did it.”

“Yeah. Still not sure why they even let me live at all.” Vio added with a shrug.

“I dunno,” Red smiled at them, “But I’m really glad they did.”

“Yeah, me too.” Vio frowned again, clearly thinking. “Does ‘till death do we part’ still count if we’re both already dead?”

Red raised an eyebrow at the question, amused half grin on his face. “You know, I’m not sure. Maybe we should look into it.”

Vio gave her a goofy smile back. “Yea, I think we should.”

#four swords #fsff23 #red #vio #my writing #incorrect myths #i am honestly just happy i got this one done ngl

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darklydeliciousdesires · 1 year

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Beyond the Blood Tie - Chapter Five.

Another update to see us into the weekend, besties. We have a new character to introduce, and a few little revelations, too. Enjoy! :)

Previous Chapters - One Two, Part One Part Two Three Four

Words - 5,414

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

Edie's POV

Ahhh, shit. You know when you’re so tired, you don’t notice that you didn’t shut the curtains all the way together the night before, and then you wake up to a beam of light hitting you right in the eyes? Welcome to my morning, everyone.

The alarm goes off shortly after, prompting my agitated grumble. I don't like leaving my pit after only five hours of sleep, but I do have good reason to. I'm going to Vic's for breakfast, to help him enjoy his first day of a long-deserved vacation period from work. He isn't actually going away anywhere; he says the only thing that is calling him is the hammock in his back yard. I haven't seen him for two weeks because our shift patterns have clashed (he works with his brother at the twenty-four-hour grocery store they own) so I'm looking forward to catching up with him.

Eventually sliding out of bed and then falling over where I left my clothes when I got in, I snort laugh at my own ridiculousness, rub a newly carpet burned knee, getting back up again and taking my laundry to put in the wash. I treated myself to a new machine recently, after the one Aileen kindly gave me eight years ago finally gave up. Her husband Mike is one of these guys who enter all those competitions you never think you're going to win, and wins them. He won the new washer dryer just six months after winning a Kawasaki motorbike he and Aileen gave to their eldest son as a twenty fifth birthday gift. Some people have all the luck. Well, I guess I benefitted from their generosity, so I have little cause for complaint.

After putting my clothes in with a few towels and other jeans awaiting the wash, I then go and take care of washing myself. I'm a low maintenance girl, I don't wear makeup unless I'm out socially, and I let my hair dry naturally almost always since it has a nice natural wave to it. I'm still in love with lilac, even if the dead guy I’m punishing continually pokes at me over it. It would seem someone else isn't keen on it either, when he sees me roughly half an hour later.

"Dear god, what did you do to your hair?" Vic exclaims, after swinging open the screen door to me on the porch.

"I fancied a change, I dunno. I never went through that dye your hair crazy colours phase as a teenager.” Heading up the step, I pause to kiss his cheek, continuing into his lovely, rustic home.

"Then why the hell did you start now?" he teases with amusement, giving my damp tresses a little tug as I walk into the kitchen, the smell of bacon, sausages and pancakes becoming stronger with every step, until I'm sitting before the array of goodies at the table, pouring coffee from the pot for us both while Vic fetches the syrup from the microwave. Just as I'm putting the pot down again on its stand, my eyes are distracted by the images on the television. I didn't get chance to turn on the TV and check out the news before I left.

"What the actual fuck? Woah!" I exclaim as I see the images being streamed live from a gas station up in flames, Vic pausing to listen to the news caster before taking a seat opposite me.

"I guess the protesters finally decided to take action. How this kind of behaviour will help though, well I don't know.” Because of course our ties to the East (and their fuel) were well and truly severed over a hundred years ago, the USA has had to use their own stocks of gasoline since vehicles began to be imported again (all Japanese cars, one of the only manufactures left after the disaster) and whereas we all know we've got enough fuel, the USAC are whacking up the costs so much that people just cannot afford it.

You'd be honestly surprised at the amount of people who use alternative transport, like bikes, or in more rural areas people even use horses instead of having to pay for gas. The prices of it are the reason alone why I don't drive, preferring to either walk or use the bus. Cabs are pricey too, again because of the gasoline.

Okay, I think I need to put the brakes on here and back up to explain a few terms you're about to hear me and Vic discussing. The USAC stands for the United States Authority Coalition, and that is this day and ages' version of a government. It was all formed many years ago by the men and women who became the leaders and figureheads of their towns (or rather settlements) after the disaster, needing to form some kind of unity and routine in law from state to state.

As the title of the organisation suggests, it is run in coalition. Also, we no longer have a police force, but what is known as the Enforcement Officiating Unit, with Enforcement Officers (or E.O's as they're more commonly known as) instead of police officers. They're fully armed and very efficient at their jobs, and usually great people who are very un-corrupt. That differs a lot from how law enforcement used to be, so I'm told.

"They're ridiculous, to just set it on fire and waste the fuel like that! The USAC will just put up the prices even more now. Oh lord, is that footage of another one? Jesus!" I exclaim, after the coverage switches to a scene over the other side of town to where another gas station has gone up in flames. I just hope no one was seriously hurt, I really do.

"You're right, they will if people keep on setting the stations alight. I haven't checked the national news yet, so I don't know if the protestors are doing the same in other states.” He grabs the remote to change stations to CNN, where we find that gas stations in California, Washington, Virginia and Georgia have also been subjected to arson attacks.

As we eat our breakfast, watching the news unfolding as Enforcement Officers arrive to the scenes en masse to control the unrest, we witness it all becoming a hell of a lot worse. The arson attacks lead to protestors fighting with the E.O's, rubber bullets being fired left and right, enforcement dogs barking at the end of their leashes, burning debris being hurled into the road and endangering people trying to pass the area safely, mounted E.O's falling off their startled horses and being dragged up the street. It is, without a doubt, fucking mayhem out there right now.

"Good golly! Someone's going to be busy over the next few weeks!" Vic exclaims, nudging my leg with his soft slipper covered foot, shaking his head at the images on the screen.

"I was just thinking that! I will be, you're right, which means we're probably going to have to take in two per chamber. Great, that's all I need, a human sack of crap and the vampire to deal with," I mutter into my pancakes.

"Oh, you got a vampire in right now? Ooooh, I don't envy you! What's he like?" Vic questions curiously, spiking a sausage with his fork and using it to mop up some maple syrup.

"He's an asshole," I begin while chewing through a mouthful of bacon. He laughs immediately, probably more at the disgruntled look on my face more than anything. "Seriously, he can't just take the punishment. He yaks on and fucking on at me, trying to bring me down or figure me out, but that's not all. The first night I was in there with him, he tricked me and I ended up getting attacked." I then finish, watching Vic's eyes widen.

"He attacked you? Son of a bitch!" he exclaims angrily. "But you look alright, I can't see any scars on you or anything."

"The vampire we have overseeing his punishment gave me a few drops of her blood to heal me. That's where it was, all along here. He nearly tore a chunk of me away with him, it took three silver throwing stars to the back flung by Ahmed to get him to let go," I further explain.

"Well, I hope you gave him hell for it," Vic states, sipping his coffee.

"I went back in there and chopped both of his arms off," I reply casually, making him burst into hysterics.

"That's my girl," he praises fondly, shaking his head as he laughs. "How fast did they grow back, by the way? I don't know much about these vamps; they creep me out too much to even want to learn anything about 'em!"

"They're about half grown back now. It'll take time because we're not letting him rest properly or giving him what he requires in blood either, in an effort to keep him under control. I haven't noticed him getting much weaker in the week he's been with us for now, though. He's trying to play mind games with me, and he's winning. He can feel what I'm feeling, you see. When he attacked me, it wasn't to hurt me, it was to get his blood into me. Vampires can form blood ties with humans, which is something I've been reading up on since it happened.

“What happens is, that when their blood goes in your system and vice versa, they're able to pick up on your emotions, just like I can pick up on some of his, flashes of his memories, too. According to what I've read, the more blood in the system, the stronger the bond. He only bled into the wound he inflicted on my shoulder a little though, so it isn't that bad," I explain for him.

"Well, he sounds like he's all rainbows and bunny rabbits," he begins sarcastically and somewhat darkly. "Won't he get further punishment for doing that to you, attacking you for such gain as this blood tie?"

"Yeah, he did. Me chopping his arms off. No, seriously though, there's nothing anyone can do now he's done it. It'll last for a while, apparently, and then it'll begin to fade after time unless the blood is topped up, which it definitely won’t be. I just have to deal with him playing with my head for the next seven weeks, which I'm not looking forward to. I'm a week in, well eight days to be exact and already, I just can't wait to see the back of him," I grumble sourly. I really cannot fucking stand that vampire.

"Why'd you let him get to you though, letting him play with your head? If you just ignored him, no matter what he felt, you wouldn't be dignifying him with a response to anything nasty he has to say to you. I assume that's what he's doing, being spiteful?" Spiteful. Yep, that’s Angel, alright. He is spite personified.

"See I tried doing that, but he's too smart for it to work. Also, some of the things he tells me are so interesting that I find myself drawn in, and it's hard to stop that. And yeah, he's spiteful. He rips it out of me over everything he can pick at. I’m an idiot, my tits are too small, my hair looks stupid,” I begin.

"I agree with him about the hair. Ouch, little tyke!" he interrupts me with, receiving a foot to his knee under the table for his comment over my hair.

"I could continue with the insults, but I'm not going to bother. It's him picking up on shit that I really don't like," I voice, while reaching for my coffee.

"I know I always taught you to never be a quitter, but if this is really bothering you then why not just switch with another punisher or something?" he suggests, giving me a concerned look.

"Because of what you always taught me, that quitting is for losers and I'm no loser. Also, doing that shows him that he's won, that I can't handle his taunting and I am not having that. No one does that shit to Edie Bailey and wins, no one. I just have to stop myself from finding the things he says interesting, because he's working me out so much more than I even realise, and he's dropping things that I think he's worked out will interest me. Like I say, all mind games. Vampires are famed for it, so I've heard," I reply strongly, determined that I will not let him get the better of me.

"Well, you stick to your guns, and keep me informed over how it's going. Man, is it a beautiful day out there. I think I'm going to get out and cut the lawn, and then move a few of those shrubs over to the shade as they're not doing well over in the sunnier part," he says, changing the subject to that of his beloved back yard. He really puts in the effort, and as a result it's incredibly beautiful.

"Do you want a hand?" I offer, getting up and taking his empty plate with mine over to the sink, running water into the plugged basin when I get there.

"You, you who hates gardening and leaves the grass until it's almost as tall as she is before she goes out to mow it?" he snorts, laughing with much amusement. It's at this point I have to proudly pull my phone from my pocket and show him the pictures of how my garden currently looks. "Oh wow, who'd you pay to do all that?" he adds when I show him the pictures of the cut grass and the newly dug flower beds around the perimeter of my yard.

"I'm proud to announce that this was all my own effort. I realised that after finishing my decorating project I was left with a lack of anything to do, and you know I like to keep busy, so I thought fuck it, no more excuses, I'm doing the yard work! And that's just what I did," I tell him proudly, returning my cell to my pocket with a smile.

"In that case then, there's an extra pair of gardening gloves in the shed, you go find them while I clear up in here. You don't have to do the dishes, go on, go." I’m shooed away from the sink, Vic grabbing the dishcloth and waving it at me. I do just that, heading through to the back door, scratching his lovely old dog Sadie on the head as I pass her, lying in her usual spot across the back porch.

I have a really nice rest of the morning with Vic, helping him move the shrubs and also planting a few of the trays of flowers he has waiting and ready, even being given the ones he has no room for to plant in my own bare beds. On my way home, I take a bus to the local hardware store and plant nursery, buying myself some more bits and pieces that I have to take home in a cab, to the tune of thirty dollars for a ten-minute journey. Ouch, looks like the gasoline crisis is much worse than I'd envisaged. Envisaged, my word of the day and there we go, I just used it.

I then spend an hour in my own garden getting everything planted, remembering what Vic said to me about not watering them when the sun is at its hottest, as the water will heat up and scorch the plants, so make a mental note to go back out there this evening with the hose pipe and give them a good dousing when the ball of fire in the sky has set. After fixing myself a huge sandwich and a bowl of fruit for lunch, I then settle down on the couch and have myself a bit of a nap, setting my cell alarm to go off at 6pm, so I have plenty of time to do chores and get ready for work.

Just as my eyes are blinking shut, I get one of those strange hallucinations I've been having, one of those flashes of memory being played through my head because of the blood of the vampire they belong to being in my body. The memory I see as ever is through his eyes, of a beautiful woman with a pretty tattoo across her throat smiling at him, kissing his shoulder, reaching to run her hand over the head of the sweet little baby he holds on his lap. It’s gone almost as quickly as it came.

I wonder if they were his family, when he was human? Probably. Actually, I don't even care, if I'm honest. I'm more bothered about getting in a few more hours of sleep before I have to go back to work and be taunted by him all over again.

Angel's POV

"No way, no fucking way! I ain't going in there with him, that's a fucking vampire, fuck off! No, no, no, no! I don't even belong here, those fucking E.O cunts started on me!" Those are the screams that disturb me from my rest, my state of switched off, which is all I'm able to achieve. I haven't slept properly in a week because of these damn chains around my ankles and throat, and now I have to suffer a problem with overcrowding here at the Correctional Department, because of wide scale rioting over gasoline prices or something. I didn't pick up much of the talk from outside of this chamber I've been hanging in for just over a week, since I've been resting as best I can between punishments. I feel weak and tired almost permanently, and now I have to share my quiet space with this noisy fucking human.

"He's bound in silver so he can't even move, let alone get to you. You should have thought about all this last night when you were torching a gas station and beating down female E.O's, shouldn't you? Dumb bastard,” Ahmed, the gigantic Arab tells the man as he hauls him in and then shackles him to the ceiling and floor a few feet down from where I’m standing.

"Wow, brave man attacking a female. What, the male E.O's too scary for you, pussy boy? Humans like you nauseate me," I spit coldly, without actually looking at him.

"And that's about the only thing to come out of your mouth in the last week that I agree with." Ahmed states, while pointing a finger at me, before turning and leaving the chamber.

"A vampire lecturing me about morals towards women, hah!" the man (and I use that term loosely) next to me exclaims, while I turn my head all I can to eye him.

"Even I draw the line at striking a female. You want to show that you're top dog? Find the biggest guy you can and beat the crap out of him. Don't pick on a woman thinking just because they've got tits, you'll win. You're about to find that out in painful detail, though," I smirk, before shutting myself down again and not listening to anything else he has to say while I prepare for Edie's arrival. I could feel the sunset a few hours ago (we have a built-in sense for sunrise and sunset) so there's only another couple to wait before she gets here, and I'll be in worse pain than I am all of the time. Now, I suppose you're thinking I'm quite the hypocrite for what I just said to the human, but let me explain.

You're probably thinking how I could have those kinds of morals when just last week, I attacked Edie. I didn't attack her to hurt her, I attacked her to bleed into her, and that's it. I would have done it to any punisher I'd have had, male or female. So, as I was saying, I never hit women when I was alive and I'm not about to start now I'm dead. Sure, I adhere to far fewer morals than I did when I was human, because being dead has made me have little to no conscience, but not striking women is something that stuck with me.

It's a coward's pursuit, men beating women specifically because they're women. It fails to impress. I know I expressed a desire to strangle my punisher when I first came in, but hey, the bitch had just chopped my arms off. I was annoyed. Mentally unravelling her will suit me fine, though. I have to find some way to keep myself amused and make her time in here as unpleasant as possible. I'm not taking this lying down. Chained up maybe, but lying down? No. I won't verbally submit unless I'm forced to by liquid silver.

I'm only being unpleasant to her because she's torturing me, she and the rest of the humans here have me in a position I don't want to be in. Otherwise, I'm pretty much indifferent to her. She doesn't much interest me.

Alright, fine. I’m lying my fangs off.

When I tell her she's ugly and trashy, it's to dent her and nothing more. She's very attractive to me, she has beautiful blue eyes, muscular arms, a nice ass, and I know I'd enjoy fucking her. God damn, right now I’d piledrive her right through this steel floor, I’m so fucking horny. I don’t like going without sex, it makes me cranky. There's her anger, too. I really like it. It arouses me, and I like the fact that she fights back verbally against me, even though she can't win.

She has tremendous spirit, but I still don't like her all that much. Mainly because she's beating me senseless five nights out of seven, obviously. Still though, I'd like to haul her off to bed and fuck her for about a week. What pisses me off is the knowledge that I can't. I could seduce her, absolutely no problem. I've done it to vampire women who've hated me in the past, and I know that even through her curiosity, Edie hates me for definite.

I just can't have sex with a human full stop. I have a slight problem with it, and have had that problem manifest itself a grand total of fifty-three times now. Quite simply, if you're a human and have sex with me, you won't survive it. I can't control myself at the point of orgasm, suffering a complete loss of control, and whoever I'm with gets drained dry. This is why I don't have sex with humans any longer, and if I slip up and do, it’s always with the false belief that 'this time, I will control myself’ before I bring them to my bed. But still, they never leave it alive, and I’m left with a corpse to bury before the dawn.

Despite what you might think, I’ve always felt a little bad for them. Vampires can still feel guilt, but more than that, I just feel pissed off for myself that I can't enjoy living flesh. One good thing about being in here is not having to listen to whichever human EZ brings home with him, screaming her lungs out while he performs the sexual equivalent of bludgeoning upon them. He does it just to piss me off half the time, the bastard. I still miss that bastard's presence, of course I do, he’s my brother.

I miss Ursula the most, though. I miss picking a period in time, a specific year or even month and asking what she was doing at that very point. I've learned an awful lot from just sitting and listening to her talk about times throughout the thousand years plus she's walked this earth. As a human, I wasn’t the most intelligent of people really. That shit had changed drastically in my death.

So yeah, I suppose this is why I'm so hard on Edie, other than the fact she's putting me through massive amounts of pain. She doesn't interest me to talk to, and I want to fuck her and I can't. There you go. I can feel my mood getting lower as the hours pass now, a week with only half the blood I should have had making me feel like shit. Yet another reason behind my vile mood, I'm hungry and tired. I'm not overly friendly, but I'm not usually this angry. I'm merely bad tempered some of the time.

As I've said before, I don't mind humans all that much, and in my line of work I have to be people friendly to a degree. Some assume just because vampires are dead that we need no money. In a way that is true, but you will find a large population of us who actually do have jobs. My present career differs greatly from the one I had while I was alive. I wouldn't want that again now even if I could have it. Being an outlaw without the MC, nah. Brotherhood was part of the reason I joined in the first place, that sense of belonging. I haven’t even ridden a motorcycle since before I was turned. No point, with how fast I move.

My current job is something where I can put my artistic side to use. I've always been talented with art and drawing, something that Ursula brought out in me more (she is a talented artist and then some, the portraits she draws look like they're photographs) until I became so good that I decided I needed to do something with it, so I did. I am one of the three owners and operators of the all vampire run tattoo shop, After Dark. Yeah, it’s a cheesy name, but it fits, since we obviously don’t open during daylight hours.

It's actually a thriving shop if you're willing to only have your appointment between the hours of sunset and sunrise, mainly because as vampires we're much quicker than humans in the application of tattoos. This is what makes us popular, as well as the fact that the designs by me, Eric and Salvatore (Sal to his friends) are the best in the whole of Las Vegas. Our skills cannot be beaten, hence why we've a waiting list that stretches into June next year. Even with me being away for two months and having to cancel all my appointments, it won't dent the business much. I'm good enough to wait for.

Ahhh, I smell a woman coming my way, a very specific one, too. Edie is here. I can detect her scent as soon as she walks into the building, even from down here. I know where all the humans are when they're here at any given time, because I've picked up on their scents.

"Well, what do we have here then? According to your arrest sheet, you're a man who likes to pick on female E.O's, including stabbing one in her left breast with a broken bottle, and throwing another into a pile of burning debris. Oh, I'm going to have so much fun with you," she chuckles, after walking in and approaching the human, his rap sheet in her hand.

"If you think I can be intimidated by some little bitch with pastel purple hair and no tits, then you've got another thing coming," the human replies with a snort, spitting on the floor.

"Funny, that. He said more or less the same to me when he came in, when he had both arms still,” she replies, gesturing to me with a pointed finger. Aha, that was pretty clever, I'll give her that.

He’s defiant in the face of her assertion. "Well, I'm not him.”

"No, you're not. You're several rungs below him in the food chain, in fact. If I have no problems putting him in his place, you don't pose any issues for me. Now, shut your mouth. Actually, you've no need to. I'll shut it for you.” Recoiling her fist, she swings hard, punching him straight in the jaw, her right first following the left before the left follows again and so on, until the chamber is filled with the sound of her raining blows upon his face.

"I'd have loved to have gotten my hands on you out there in the riots, I'd have torn you to bits in five seconds flat, bitch," he taunts her with as soon as she stops punching him.

"You really think so, huh? Okay, I'll let you keep on thinking that." She changes up her attack tactics to kicking, spinning off one foot to throw the other straight into the side of his ribcage. His beatdown continues while he carries on taunting her, using anything he can to try and piss her off, with none of it working. He's truly pathetic, but it’s as I hear his words and taunts that I suddenly I’m given something to think about. I have lowered myself in the insults I have personally thrown at Edie. Hearing them all handed back to her through the mouth and words of a human, and such a lesser human to myself, it's made me see that in handing her the same insults, I am lowering myself to his level. Pond scum level. Fuck. Ursula would be ashamed, and that is what smacks me the hardest.

I know what she'd say, I can hear her voice in my head. 'Angel, we do not lower ourselves in our retort to petty insults. Unless you can say something of significant cleverness with that mouth, it is best you keep it shut. Be dignified in your spite, my child.' That's exactly what she'd say to me, I know it. Messing with her head over her intellect, or lack of it, and getting her to say far more than she wants to me at times are all I should resort to. I know Ursula would tell me to just take my punishment without even acknowledging the human at all, that as a vampire I must find that aloofness to them and the situation. I struggle with it, though, that part of my nature is yet to mature, even though I turned a hundred this year.

I think I've got a little better, so much in the fact I can at least tolerate a human without wanting to kill them if they annoy or piss me off (for the most part) even if I can't control that impulse when having sex with them. This is why I don't do that any longer. Fuck, I'd do anything to fuck someone right now. Not that I'd be much good. I'm surprised I have a libido at all, I feel so weak, and lack of blood means I couldn't even get hard. We physically can’t, unless we’re fed.

The constant touching of silver to my skin is enough to drain me of my strength, Ursula's blood that I drank from her wrist before I was brought here now all worn off. Vampires seldom drink of each other, but when we do this is the only way, a creator giving their offspring blood if they need it. Any other dead blood will kill us. That was what made me that extra touch malevolent and powerful when I first arrived. It is also why I'm stronger than most vampires my age (EZ for example) because I was made with such ancient blood.

Still though, that strength fades from me with each day that passes. I have to endure sharing space in this chamber with many more humans, who all get on my last nerve, and of course, I also have to endure more pain from Edie, loathing her for every single ounce she inflicts upon me with such gusto.

I was wrong when I said she wasn't built for this job, for she's very enduring with her punishment. She doesn't tire, and with each time she inflicts pain upon me or a human that comes here and passes on again, her tenacity grows. She shows me two things in the first three weeks I'm here. The first is that she's much stronger than I even realised, and the second is as that while her strength remains constant, mine continues to weaken.

#angel reyes #angel reyes x ofc #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes smut #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes fic #vampire!angel reyes #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic

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terrainofheartfelt · 2 years

Note

Blair + Serena prompt Colours

Blairena + Colours

Blair fidgets in her seat, trying not to let her anxiety show.

“Relax,” Serena says over her shoulder, “it’s gonna look amazing.”

Blair chews on her lip, unconvinced. “Maybe if I could just peek for a second –”

“Nope,” Serena cuts her off, cheerful but firm, and continues on with her work, painting the dye into Blair’s hair.

Blair slumps back with a sigh, her eyes still regrettably trained on the bathroom tile of their hotel room.

It had seemed like a great idea at the start. After her divorce was finalized and Serena had ended yet another engagement to a handsome someone Blair can’t even remember the name of, they’d both been desperate to just…move. To be somewhere else.

So, they packed their bags, met at the ticket counter at JFK, and bought first class seats to the first place that struck their fancy.

Serena had met her sporting her latest post-breakup cut and color: shoulder length shag with a riot of bubblegum pink and electric blue highlights, and it only took Blair two mile-high cocktails to declare her jealousy, and one club soda for Serena to offer to do her hair too as soon as possible.

And so, here she is, at the mercy of her best friend. Who, admittedly, has a great eye for both art and cosmetics, even though any project Serena takes involving either one comes with a huge amount of mess.

And Serena, knowing Blair’s reticence to let go of control, sat her down in this luxury bathroom in Ibiza, turned her away from any reflective surface, and wouldn’t even let her look at the color Serena was planning to apply to her hair.

It was all very distressing. Less distressing than the life she just left behind, but still.

But Serena knows her better than anyone, knows all her tricks, and so refuses to bend, and because it’s Serena, Blair lets her get away with it, and bears the wait through the bleaching, then the actual dyeing, and waiting for the dye to set, and the rinse and the drying, and the styling, until finally, finally, Serena sets down all her beauty tools and claps her hands.

“Okay,” she chirps, so bubbly she’s brimming over, Blair loves her when she’s excited like this—well, Blair always loves her—”close your eyes.”

“S, noooo,” she whines, “I have waited long enough, I am going to –”

She stops talking, because she’s finally turned around, and can see her reflection in the mirror.

Now, mixed in with her natural chestnut brown, is a clever cascade of purple highlights, deep and vibrant, but not too bright that it’s battling her coloring. Rather, it complements it, adds a whimsical, free, softening edge.

Mesmerized, she runs her fingers through the waves Serena made with her curling iron, watching the new color catch in the light.

It looks nothing like her, and yet, it is.

“Do you like it?” Serena asks anxiously, looking in her eyes through the mirror, twisting her hands in front of her. “I thought royal purple was the right touch.”

“Yeah,” Blair breathes. “S, I – I love it.”

Serena smiles wide, so bright that Blair thinks if they weren’t looking at each other via the glass it would turn her to stone.

Serena’s hands guide her into standing, and turn Blair around to fully face the mirror, rather than look over her shoulder. Shere arranges Blair’s hair around her shoulders, setting it into place, working with a casual kind of intimacy that only comes from knowing someone for decades, for knowing her more than her own self.

Once satisfied, Serena smoothes her hands down Blair’s arms, and leans down to prop her chin on Blair’s shoulder.

“Why, Miss Waldorf,” she says, playfully leaning on the title, “you look hot.”

Blair meets her eye through the glass, smiling, and somehow knows that it won’t turn her to stone. She’s never felt more vital.

One word prompt

#ty for sending! 💜#blairena #*prompts #damn now I wanna get highlights

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foxymoxynoona · 2 years

Note

I promise last one; I'll stop spamming you.

Because I miss Areum and want her to be nice to Namjoon:

"I like that about you." 🥺

🎉

(banner & line by @awrkive)

Story: after The Lowlander Characters: Namjoon & Areum Word Count: 3423 CW: references to sex & cum, some language, otherwise just pretty fluffy

Areum spread her hands down her shirt before realizing it was no use. The fabric was drenched and stuck to her skin, and only the mat of her long hair shielded her nipples from the transparency of it because she’d stupidly left her vest behind. She’d wanted to wear this new light blue embroidered blouse even though Ama said it was a dumb thing to wear on a hike. She’d wanted to look pretty for Namjoon.

Now she decidedly did not. The elaborate Orlesian hairstyle Mishka had helped her paste together had washed out; her pin-straight hair had looked for any excuse to collapse anyway. Her new skirt clung to her legs and the dye hadn’t been set well so red bled down her ankles like she’d started her period. Probably the skin of her chest and shoulders, carefully buffed and lotioned before she dressed that morning, was blue. Blue tits. Fantastic.

“It wasn’t supposed to rain,” Namjoon grumbled for the nth time as he squatted by the pile of sticks he was trying to light. There wasn’t much in the cave that was dry, but it was dryer than they were. This was the third cave after the first two had been occupied by beasties not interested in vacating for a pair of ratty Avvar. Namjoon had clearly been ready to fight a bear if he had to for the third cave and Areum was beyond relieved it hadn’t come to that. She truly believed he could do it, but she doubted her own ability to clean him up properly afterwards, and she had no interest in helping him haul a bear carcass home. If he couldn’t defeat it in hand-to-hand, he’d rig up some trap for it that would win them the dry space, she was sure of it.

But the cave was empty, and Namjoon succeeded in lighting a small fire that was more smoke than flame.

“Here, sit there. I’ll fan the smoke out,” he insisted, pointing as he stood and fanned the smoke with a book. A book he had brought in his satchel, because they were going to compare some drawings in a cavern that Namjoon and his father had found when he was a boy to those in a book Jungkook and Mishka had sent home from their travels. Jungkook had recognized the drawings and thought Namjoon might be interested.

He was, very much so, but had also made it sound like going to see them could be a romantic thing. Truthfully Areum wasn’t that interested in the cave drawings, or who had done them, or what they meant. The past was the past, it was the present that interested her, namely her present with Namjoon. But she loved the excited glint in his eye when he talked to her about these things, even if she didn’t care about the things themselves, so of course she had agreed when he asked her to come along on a nice little day trip. Ama had packed them the food, with a look in her eye like she thought Namjoon might ask Areum to wed him.

Areum did not think that was the purpose of this trip. She didn’t think they were anywhere near that. Namjoon’s words were pretty but not always in sync with his actions and often Areum suspected he stayed with her only as long as his fondness for her born from a lifetime knowing each other outweighed his interest in any other women around. He did not seem to notice other women much, no matter how blatantly and aggressively they noticed him. Perhaps Areum should be glad of that, as a form of security, that his head was usually in the clouds these days, his nose in a book.

“Is your book ruined?” she asked as she sat where he pointed.

“Uh….” He looked down at the water stained cover and tried to flip through a few pages that stuck together. He cringed and went back to flapping the smoke awake as it started to reach for her. “I’m not going to think about that right now.”

“I’m sorry. Didn’t you check if it was supposed to rain?”

She hadn’t meant it as a criticism –or maybe only a slight one. It was expected you would talk to the Augur before you took a girl on a daytrip, to ask if the gods had sent signs of rain. She hadn’t checked herself because she expected he would.

Which was foolish, because Namjoon’s mind was so big that he missed the obvious things sometimes. She knew that. How many times had she gone to get him because he’d missed their agreed upon meeting, only to find him lost in conversation with an elder as he tried to piece together a detail of a history he couldn’t quite remember which was suddenly very important to him? How many times had she eagerly watched from the sidelines as he sparred with the other men, whacking with an ax that used all his impressive strength to swing, only for him to completely forget to defend himself at all and get a blunted blade tapping him right in the back of his ribs? How many times had she pointed out something lovely in the market she would cherish as a gift, only for him a month later to hand her something completely different –a rock supposedly imbued with Elven magic to cause good dreams, or a plant from the north that sang in the rain (and drove the neighbors insane so that it disappeared one morning), or a Chasind talisman that allegedly could detect poison. As if Areum had a flock of enemies constantly threatening to poison her! And all she’d wanted was a pretty little yellow-stone bangle… not even an expensive one! Since, you know, Namjoon’s ability to barter was reduced because of his forgetfulness, and he accepted very little coin for his pivotal role in the setting up of Yoongi’s new rule. I’m still a skald just in training, he’d say, as if he didn’t have the biggest, sharpest mind with the best memory of them all… just a little blunted for the daily mundane stuff.

“This is like the smoke when I tried to make you that…” he trailed off with a shake of his head, as if realizing he didn’t want to remind her of a failure. The cow ribs were supposed to be special for her birthday, a slice of meat he’d earned on a scouting trip that had taken him away over her birthday even though she’d asked him to stay. He’d been apologetic, and wanted to do something special, but he didn’t know how to cook! And instead of asking for her help he’d tried on his own and smoked himself and his father out of their home for several days. They were inedible.

“You were lucky you didn’t burn your house down,” she snorted.

“I was lucky you didn’t leave me,” he countered. The smoke was winning. Areum coughed and waved her hand in her face. Namjoon sighed, “Come sit over here. It’s not as warm but the smoke isn’t as bad.”

“Why would I leave you for burning meat? It was your own meat to burn.” He wasn’t entirely wrong in the fear though. At the time, she had thought to herself how can I be with a man who is so thoughtless? He’s stubborn! He’s wasteful! He can’t even grill meat! What sort of meatless future can I have?

“You were very angry with me,” he shrugged. He looked hurt. That downcast to his eyes as he took her abandoned seat, but a little closer to where she sat now. He was even wetter than she was; he’d been the one holding a leaf over her in a pathetic and fruitless attempt to keep her dry.

“But not about the meat,” she said, though it had taken her a while to understand it herself. “I was mad that you left for my birthday when I… when I asked you to stay. Jungkook did that to Karmen too,” she quickly added. “I know it was sentimental but it would have been my first birthday to celebrate with you– You daft men are always so oblivious to what women want–”

“I was here for the next one. I’ll be here for all of them now.”

The point settled her instantly as she agreed, “I know.” She had noticed that. She didn’t know until now that it had been intentional, but she had noticed and appreciated it. She hadn’t even had to ask.

“I know my gifts are never exactly what you want but… at least I’m here. For whatever that counts for.”

Her face eased further into a scowl now as she demanded, “Why are you being so cranky? Have I complained about your odd gifts?”

“No…”

“I’m not even complaining about the rain right now even though you should have talked to the Augur before you brought me out here!”

He looked sadder and nodded, “I know. I… forgot.”

“You forget a lot of things about me,” she said. “And about us, even though you remember hundreds of years of our dates and histories and stories–”

“I’m a skald. That’s my responsibility, Areum. I have to pack everything about our people into my mind–”

“So that you can’t leave some space for me?”

“I do leave space for you! I remember your birthday, and the dreams you tell me about in the morning, and the girls who’ve said nasty things to you that hurt your feelings, and the boys who led you on before me. I know which songs you like the most when the singers perform and all the words to them even though I can’t sing them well for you. I am always thinking of you, always, but it doesn’t mean I always know the right thing to say or do to make you happy.”

Areum had not expected this outburst from him. The words tumbled forth, falling into the fire because he wouldn’t look at her, lifting on the smoke and dancing around the ceiling where they hung in a loud silence because Areum didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry I forgot to ask about rain,” he mumbled, and picked up a stick to drag through the dirt. Like a little boy. Big body, big brain, but soft inside. Areum forgot sometimes and let herself be too hard when she brushed against him. She wasn’t proud of it. She knew she struck against him too hard, like a flintstone to steel. It was just the way she was! But he wasn’t steel, he was the warm wood of a tall tree sheltering her on a warm summer afternoon. He wasn’t fire the way the loud bratty warrior men were, and he’d struggled when that was the role he was supposed to fill. This was a much better life for him as skald and counsel of the Thane and she was honored to be with him for it. Truly. He might not be perfect but the truth was she really still thought he was the best man in the Hold and worth the occasional hassle. And too it left her feeling needed because someone had to make sure he and his father were fed and focused. It would certainly keep her busy if he ever asked her to move in with him.

If he ever.

“I should have checked too,” she said, scooting closer under the pretense of being cold. “I know you forget things like that.”

“Ah, that’s not a good reason–”

“Aren’t you my man?” she argued. “I’m your woman, aren’t I? It means we figure things out together.”

“I’m your man, it means I’m supposed to take care of you.” He could never keep a straight face when she said that, I’m your woman, as if he was the one who couldn’t actually believe it had happened after she’d pined after him for her whole life until she was old enough she could convince him to see her as a woman. He smiled now, despite the serious look to his eyes.

“You do.”

“Not well,” he sighed. “I wanted today to be special. Memorable.”

“Well… it is.”

He laughed at that and she did too. She leaned against his arm a little more boldly.

“I know I get carried away. I look too high, too far, and I forget about what’s already here. I work so hard packing other people’s words into my brain that I forget to speak my own.”

“I like that about you, Namjoon. All of it. The odd way your mind works. The odd way you go through life. Maybe not the way you cook,” she admitted with a laugh, earning a self-conscious grin. She slipped her hand around his arm and pressed her face solidly against his shoulder. “You are the only person like you in the world.”

“I’m not that special, Areum.”

“I think you are.” It always left her raw and a little nauseated to say things like this. It didn’t come naturally to her either. Jokes and barbs and teasing were her natural language. She didn’t receive things well either, even though she demanded that sort of thing in theory. It had been an easy excuse to turn her nose up at the boys when she was younger and they proved so incapable of delivering on that anyway. Namjoon said it in his own way, with his gestures and words, and it turned out that was better than anything she’d dreamed of.

“Ah, I’m really not,” he grumbled and unhooked his arm so he could slide it around her and pull her close. He was a bear of a man; she wasn’t that small but he made her feel so, and secure and safe when he wrapped his arms around her. He pressed his face to her hair and she felt the kiss. “But I really love you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. He’d been her man for two years now and he’d said it before. But it wasn’t often, not for either of them, and she wondered if that was a mistake, if they needed to just buck up and get better at saying it, because it felt like her whole body warmed now hearing him say it. It dried the ends of her hair, she was sure of it.

“Do you?” she asked, grinning up at him with a teasing smile, momentarily incapable of thinking of a better response. Her fears that she was just the tagalong, the familiar, his friend’s little sister, warred now with the knowledge that Namjoon would not say it if it wasn't true. Ever. Words were serious to him.

“Damn, I’m not doing any good if you don’t know it’s true,” he sighed.

“You are,” she insisted.

“I thought it would be special today because I could tell you the story of the cave drawings –it’s a love story from Tevene mythology,” he told her. “We didn’t know that. I know you don’t care about cave drawings–”

“I do!”

He gave her a crooked grin and laughed, “You don’t. But you go along and I thought this one might be more interesting because it’s a love story and afterwards I could uh, kiss you and tell you I love you and…” He was scratching the back of his head like he did when he got nervous. “We could have sex in the cave.”

“Namjoon!” she laughed. Maybe for the briefest second there she had thought he was going to say talk about knotted years because her mother had planted the idea, but she was right that it wasn’t on his mind. And, truth be told, she wasn’t quite ready for that either. She just wanted to be sure of his love, that was all. Maybe think about moving in together soon… but there was also the matter of Jimin and Marcus suggesting she could go to Orlais with them… would Namjoon want to go too?

A question for another time. For now she laughed and pinched his ear,

“You’re filthy!”

“No! I just… want you. And I mean today is the day you said… that you seduced me for the first time.” He blurted it out and gave her a look like he expected her to challenge him.

Areum laughed. She laughed hard and kicked her legs because he remembered the day in that brain of his next to all those big important days the Hold had ever had. She tackled him to the ground, demanding, “You shithead! You think I seduced you?!”

“You definitely seduced me.”

“Ya, how long do you think I was trying to seduce you before it finally worked?” she cried, sliding over him so they could pretend she was holding him down.

He chuckled, “Long enough I thought you were just my friend’s little sister with a crush and would move on.”

Sitting on his stomach now, wet skirt tangled around her thighs, she scoffed, “You aren’t the kind of man a girl moves on from.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it. I tried. You were so dense for so long!”

He laughed. His face was so handsome like that, the way his cheeks balled up and his lips stretched across his teeth and the corners of his eyes creased.

“But it didn’t work,” she said, a little more softly. “Because I love you too. I wanted you, and I like to get what I want.”

“I’ve noticed that about you.”

“So now, why don’t you tell me the story anyway, and then you can kiss me and tell me you love me, and then maybe we can have sex in this cave. It’ll warm us up anyway; I don’t think that fire’s going to last. I won’t even complain that we don’t have a proper pallet, you can just fuck me on the bare ground.”

He slid her into his lap as he sat up, eyebrows raised, “Yeah? You want to hear the story? I can show you the picture in the book… ah, wait, you just mean to hurry it up,” he suggested. He laughed at himself, “I get carried away.”

“I like that about you. So get carried away about the story, and then get carried away fucking me. Yeah?”

“Yeah. All right, let me see if I can peel the book open, I think the middle pages are still dry…” He didn’t push her off, just reached for the book. “See, the author of the book never came down here but someone else did and gave travel notes about their journey here –ages ago, long before even Antonius…” He continued to talk with her perched in his lap like that, unbothered by their wet clothes, her messy hair, her red legs and blue tits.

In the moment he paused to catch a breath, she murmured, “I really love you too, Joon. I always have and I believe I always will.”

“Yeah, you’re stubborn.”

“So are you. And independent.”

“Think about moving in with me,” he said, surprising her. There was no transition and his tone didn’t change at all. He just said it.

She tilted her head, externally calm despite the way her heart pounded in her chest as she asked carefully, “You want me to?”

“Yeah. It would make my life better so uh, think about it.”

“So I can take care of you every day?” she teased.

“So every day can be an adventure,” he corrected. “Before we even get out of bed.”

“Are you offering to make me cum every morning? Is that what you mean?” She batted her eyelashes at him. He had gotten to be very, very good at that.

“If those are your terms, all right. I meant it to be sweet but sex is sweet too.”

Only Namjoon would say something like that and actually mean something sentimental by it. He really was like no man in the world.

“Hm. I’ll think about it.”

She knew what her answer would be. She suspected he could see it on her face because he smiled too and draped his arm around her back, and kissed her temple, and continued to tell his story as she curled up happily against his shoulder. She was going to seduce him so good as soon as his story was over, on this the anniversary of her first success. Which he remembered, even though she had not.

#namjoon ff #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fluff #bts fantasy au #namjoon established relationship #legends of the red lions #lowlander

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thecandywrites · 2 years

Text

Anastaschia- High Priestess of Luna Chapter 2

Ok, top left corner- is our big Papa Bear- Sir Broman McGee, who is a knight through and through. Because our Stasi needs one hell of a father to make up for the piece of shit that sired her. And Selene needs a man who will prove that not all men are abject garbage.

Chapter 2

For two weeks your mother and yourself fled on foot, stopping only to rest a short while during the day, in safe spaces where you were hidden by the underbrush and fallen trees around you so you would be hidden from any other who would be in the forest as the animals themselves seemed to branch off and find new homes in the new parts of the forest, far away from the hunters from the army. You ate wild berries and other wild edible foods when you found them, washed in the creeks and rivers as you crossed them. You only stole what you could quickly grab from the gardens at night of the first four villages along the way to keep yourselves from growing too hungry when all the food you both had packed had run out.

But the music Luna played when you saw the first four villages was bad- foreboding music and it was a sign that Luna had seen the village and knew that it was no place for either of you to call home, or that the coming army would come to ravage this village also.

You crossed your father’s homeland’s border undetected but still gave the first two villages you found past it a wide berth because many who had fled the army before from the other villages had also come there. They had refugee camps that many of the village’s men could use as their own brothel in exchange for food and clothing. And Luna knew that you and your mother would be victims of rape if you stayed in them.

But at the third village inside the border, the music was happy and peaceful. There was a castle of stones that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. And the village around it was as large as all the other villages you had crossed so far combined and your mother said it was so big it should be considered a city. Cities were good, they were large and should have merchants who visited regularly and that the people of the city shouldn’t bat an eye or think twice about seeing an unfamiliar face and it would be easier to blend in- in it.

“We made it Mama! We’re home!” You cheered excitedly when you saw it at the edge of the woods.

“We might be. But first, we must get cleaned up and get ready to approach it. I will need you to help me talk to them. For they will know a version of your father’s language. So you will be able to speak to them best. I will need you to speak for me. Luna says that she will translate their words for us to understand and she will help you find the right words to speak so we can communicate accurately. Once we get cleaned up, we will go to the castle. We will ask if they have room in the city for another dyer. We will show them our best work and show them the book we have made that shows what colors we do in order to show them what we can do. If they say yes- then we will find a place to stay. If they say no- then Luna will show us another place to call home and we can sell the extra bottles of dye concentrate to the city’s dyers to at least get enough money to buy more food for our journey to the next place Luna could take us to.” Your mother instructed you before she brought you to a creek and washed both of you and your clothes in the creek. She braided your hair in a special pretty braid before she braided her own hair in a similar way.

Once your clothes were dry, she got you both dressed and put your cloaks away and bravely, the two of you walked into the village, through one of the main gates since there was a wall around the castle and a smaller wall around most of the city with some settlements being outside the outer wall belonging to farmers so they had easy access to pasture. The castle walls had a gate in each direction and roads coming to and from it and another wall around the city itself through many gates, on many roads, all of them guarded. Many others were coming in and leaving as the guards looked at you and your mother curiously as you walked into the city but were not stopped and questioned.

Once inside the outer gate, you were happy when you saw all manner of people here. You saw not just humans but merchants that were Elf, Orc, Rakshasi, Gnoll, Dwarf, Troll and many more you couldn’t know. Your father’s village had been a human only village but even there, your mother and yourself stood out. So here, you didn’t feel like you stood out that much anymore. But while you saw many kinds of humans, none were quite like you. Some had the fair skin you did, but not the dark hair. Or others had the black hair but not the pale skin. And none had the same eyes that looked like the full moon. But with such variety, surely your eyes wouldn’t be something that others would be disgusted or weary of.

However, most of the people stopped to stare at you but once you gave them a friendly smile, they returned it easily enough. Even the non humans stopped and stared in surprised awe at you and your mother, dressed in clothes that were styled like something that they couldn’t quite put a finger on exactly where they had seen such styles. But very few had ever seen the kind of material your clothes were made of.

You finally made it to the outerwall of the castle to the gate that had it’s drawbridge down and other merchants and business owners were passing on it without any kind of problem or interference, usually with just a look and a nod.

“Halt! What business do you have here?” One of the guards questioned you as your mother and yourself tried to cross the drawbridge that covered a moat.

You looked anxiously at your mother for help for her to tell you what to do but all your mother did in response was to look pointedly from him to you to answer him. But all you saw was his weapons pointed at you- you panicked and became fearful since you suddenly stopped hearing anything from Luna. No words, no music, nothing.

“Um, we… we..” You stuttered and stammered nervously as the soldiers moved their weapons closer to you with a wicked smirk to see you so visibly scared before you finally heard Luna’s voice-

“My child, a savior and protector, is coming to help you.” Luna whispered in your head as you looked past them to see a slightly older man, he had hair and a beard as red and orange as fire itself. He was very tall, and very big, his chest was like a barrel that your father would drink wine and ale from at the taverns. But upon hearing the soldier’s inquiry curiously turned his head and came over to investigate. He had his hair cut short, with bits of gray starting to streak in his hair and large bushy beard. He looked even meaner than the guards that were threatening you. He practically towered over them, most of their heads only came up to his shoulders. He was in full plate armor with a thick layer of chainmail under it on his body with his helmet on a loop on his waist, but upon seeing you, he blinked in surprise then looked at the others and his face set into a hard glare as he came over to you and to the other guards.

“What in the seven hells is wrong with you?! That is a young innocent child! Have you no sense?! Why would you put your sword in her face like that?! What threat could they possibly pose?!” He barked at them before they stopped and quickly put their weapons away and straightened up a nd tried to apologize.

But he was already furious with them and he yelled at them some more- in more words you didn’t know or understand but his tone and the way the guards reacted showed that they were just as scared of him as you had been of their weapons, if not more so. Even their knees began to buckle and shake, causing with bits of armor they were wearing- causing it to clatter as they shook like a leaf and cowered towards him and under his scruitiny.

Then he started dishing out punishments, which Luna translated for you- which was to cart away the human manure from the privies in the castle for weeks. And if they tried to argue or beg or plead for mercy or leniency, he either gave them worse jobs for longer or simply told them to do it for the next several months. He was obviously their superior and he was taking their treatment of you- a stranger to himself but a child nonetheless- as a personal insult and an insult to the honor and pride of their city and their castle guard code of honor and the honor of the Lord and Lady and threatened to report their behavior to the Lord and Lady and have them removed from their post and their wages stripped and given to the poor. And did so- so loudly that every guard within earshot and even the ones on top of the wall overlooking the gate could hear and quietly snickered their laughter at the expense of the offenders and insisted that they too would bear witness to back this overseer’s claims.

“I’m very sorry about their rude behavior. What can I do for you Miss?” He asked you after he got done yelling at them. But his words and tone towards you was completely different. It was soft, gentle and even kind. He even put on a friendly and inviting and pleasant expression to help you not be so afraid of him as you had to crane your head all the way to look up at him before he took a knee so he would be more or less eye level with you to help himself not look so intimidating to you.

“Here he is my child. He is your protector and savior, you can trust him. Talk to him. He will help you.” Luna encouraged you before she helped you find the right words to say to him.

“We, my mother and I, we..um…my father dead, father’s father and mother all dead, family all dead. War…war burned our village down. We..we got out, we ran um, before-um, before army could hurt me, force me to lay in soldier’s tent and before they make mother do the same. We..travel here, we spent all money trying to get here. We have nothing except what we were able to grab before we leave. We ask..we came to ask, King and Queen of castle- to change cloth.” You stuttered as you gestured to show the words you were having difficulty saying in his version of your father’s native tongue of Flannish. Then you picked up your own clothes and held it tightly in your fists.

“We change color of cloth, for more money, for food and for…for house.” You managed to say in the same accent he was speaking in- of the dialect of Flannish he spoke as you prayed that Luna helped you to say the right words in the right way but his face showed that he understood what you were saying and was nodding in understanding.

“Ok. We will ask. I’m sure there is enough room for you here.” He reassured you with the same surprising kindness and gentleness.

“Let them through, they are refugees. They have a trade, they only wish to ask the Lord and Lady if they may practice their trade here. You shouldn’t have stopped them.” He insisted before the guards nodded and moved aside so you could pass. The overseer gestured for you to go in before you grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it before you put it to your forehead.

“Thank you for listening and understanding despite.. different words.” You thanked him earnestly as his smile was so soft and tender since such an action was practically melting him from the inside out.

“You’re welcome, come, I will take you to them myself.” He insisted as he didn’t want to let your little hand go, he was adamant he was going to get you into the Lord and Lady’s court as soon as possible because the man had nieces and nephews your age and all he could think of is if the same thing had befallen them, he would hope that they would be given the same kindness and courtesy.

“What’s your name?” He asked as you smiled and continued to hold his hand with one hand and hold your mother’s hand with your other hand. You didn’t want to let go of the one person who Luna told you was your protector and savior. She told you that he was a good man with a good heart. Who may not be handsome in face, but was handsome in personality. And who would never hurt you or harm you or your mother, and that he was trustworthy and dependable as you reached up as high as your little arm could go to keep ahold of his hand since he was so tall, but you could still hold it comfortably, even though your own little hand seemed to be swallowed up by his own hand. But he held your hand with a surprising amount of gentleness yet firm enough to keep you close and keep you safe.

“My name?” You tried to repeat back to him with the same accent as he nodded.

“Anastaschia. My father called me Annie, my mother calls me Stasi for short. I prefer Stasi though.” You answered.

“Oh wow. That’s quite the name Stasi. What’s your mother’s name?” He asked.

“Seleneeschia. But she can go by Selene for short though.” You answered.

“Oh wow, ok then. Very pretty names.” He praised as he knew he would butcher if he even tried to say such pretty names as that, even as foreign to him as they were.

“Your name?” You asked him as he led you through the castle with just a wave of his hand, meant that none of you got stopped and could keep on walking.

“I’m Sir Broman McGee, I’m a knight for Lord and Lady Bathes, Captain of the Castle Guard.” He answered before you tried a couple times to pronounce his name correctly back at him before you finally got it right.

“Perfect, that’s how you say it.” He praised before he got to the Great Hall of Castle Gronloe and spoke to the doorman of who he had with them and why you were here, even if he had to make the petition himself.

“Ok, I’m gonna go ahead and introduce you to the Lord and Lady of the Castle, their names are Lord and Lady Bathes and then when they call you- you come and stand next to me ok?” Broman offered.

“Ok.” You nodded before you reluctantly let go of his hand so he could approach the Lord and Lady as they sat on their special high and carved chairs with a series of things laid out on the table between the two chairs.

“Captain McGee, what petition do you have?” Lord Bathes requested curiously because Captain McGee had never really made any kind of petition at their court before, even as decorated as a knight and champion as he was, so for them, they were curious to see what it would be.

“Two refugees have come to Hestra. A widow and her daughter, by the names of- what I can pronounce- Selene and Stasi. They are fleeing a war that burned their village to the ground. They are dyers by trade. They wish to take up residence and practice their trade here.” Broman explained.

“But we already have dyers.” Lady Bathes frowned before an elven woman, who was standing tall and could see over the crowd that was in the hall- could see you and your mother, and in particular- saw what you were wearing. Her eyes got wide in excitement because it had been a very long time since she saw such splendid fabric. So she bent over and whispered to Lady Bathes.

“My Lady- you will want these dyers in Hestra. Just see for yourself what they might be capable of.” She suggested.

“Very well, have them come forward.” The Lord decided as he motioned and Broman looked back to your mother and beckoned you both over before you bravely took your mother’s hand and stepped forward before those in the hall seemed to part for you.

You and your mother walked up to them and the light streaming into the windows came in at just the right angle to make the moon muga silk of your clothes shine, glimmer and gleam with gold in the tan and almost a shimmer of an ivory pearl too of the fabric. It even had hidden patterns in the fabric that the Lord and Lady both gasped to see it before your mother and yourself bowed respectfully as even Broman was in awe to see your clothes for what they really were.

Especially since he had been previously too preoccupied at seeing your precious face and think you were just darling and adorable. And when he found that you were fatherless- he had instantly wanted to adopt you. Because his fatherly instincts in himself had been awakened and kicked into gear the moment he saw you. As if you were his child borne to him and he got to see you for the first time out of the womb after waiting his whole life to meet you. And even if the Lord and Lady were disinterested, he would find a way to help you stay in Hestra. If only to look after you to protect you from any and all others because the thought of any other causing you or your almost distractingly beautiful mother harm was outright abhorrent to him.

“What is that cloth that they are wearing?” Lady Bathes asked her other women of the court as they stared at it too.

“Oh my gods, that’s beautiful fabric with even prettier maids wearing it.” Lord Bathes praised which earned a quick but almost undetected by everyone else except you, when you saw it and at once realized the true intention of Lord Bathe's flattering words. But you could not offer offense. But instead pretended that you didn't see it and put on a pleasant smile nonetheless.

“How is such fabric even made? It's like pearls and strands if gold are woven into the fabric in a brocade.” Lady Bathes asked the others.

“I have no idea. It’s a closely guarded secret among most weavers. But I think it has to have a very special thread.” Her ladies answered

“My mother- she calls this cloth- moon muga silk. It comes from worms that turn into butterflies.” You tried to answer them.

“Ah, it’s silk. From caterpillars. And in the world of silk- muga is the rarest with moon muga being the most sublime because the fabric practically glows with light, as you can see. It’s famous in the great cities, and comes from the spice countries. From what I understand, the muga moths are only in the wild, not like mulberry silk moths that have been domesticated. It’s notoriously hard to work with, and that color is it’s natural color but obviously it’s been woven into brocade. It’s also very hard to dye but when one can dye muga silk. They can dye anything. Even dragon silk.” The elven lady supplied.

“So, this is what my mother and I can do.” You began before your mother handed you her book that she used little swatches of fabrics of every color in the rainbow and beyond.

"May I show you?” You asked as you held the book out to them.

“Yes please, come child.” They warmly invited before you put the book down on the small table between them and turned the pages, telling them the names you knew for the colors as they gently corrected you about what the “proper” names of those colors were in their language. And each color came with swatches of what that color looked like on various kinds of fabrics. And how long it took to dye each color. And how hard it was to get certain shades of certain colors and therefore which colors were the most costly because of ingredients and labor involved as the Lord and Lady had never seen such a huge array of hues. Because the dyers here could only do a small fraction of this and the dyes themselves had to be redone every year. But you said that your colors stayed true no matter how many times they would be washed because your process permanently fixed the color to the fabric. And that the fixer to get the color to stay was half the cost of the dying fees and half of the dying time because it was a very special blend. But once a fabric was dyed and fixed into that color, then, as long as they didn’t use bleach on the fabric- it would stay that way, even in direct sunlight. Especially the reds since the reds always faded in the sun quickest. But that the reds your mother and yourself made- never did.

“If you provide cloth, we provide color.” You finished.

“My Lady, these are clearly master dyers. To let them go to any other city will be Hestra’s loss.” Lady Bathes' other ladies of her court urged her as even Lord Bathes’ men did the same.

“So what do you need?” Lord Bathes asked you.

“My mother and I need a home. And a place to grow our plants that we get these colors from but some of the plants are toxic, so the garden must be protected so others can not accidentally poison others. And a space, probably away from others, because the smell of work is bad. But the cloth needs to be washed, so a home with lots of water. And to be able to charge a fair price for our hard work because things to dye are expensive to buy and make. But we need to not pay too much in rent so we have money for food for ourselves. Please.” You requested.

“Oh that can be arranged. We have the perfect place for you. Captain McGee, if you would be so kind as to take them to the house that the old leather worker- Landy Brollins used to have before he died. It should be cleaned out by now and there shouldn’t be too many neighbors in that neighborhood. And if they need more space, they can expand if they need to. When you have settled, come back and let us know you are ready to work, and once you have dyed our fabrics first to our liking, you shall get a seal to sell your trade in all of Hestra and become part of the dyer guild. By all means, charge the people of Hestra a fair price for your trade. And your rent shall be according to your profits because of your high expenses.” Lord Bathes decided.

“Hand?” You asked him as you reached out your hand to him before he curiously gave you his hand as you kissed the back of it and put your forehead to it.

“Thank you for listening and understanding. Blessings be to you.” You thanked him.

“Oh you sweet angel. Of course.” He offered before you did the same to Lady Bathes which she thought was particularly darling and it quickly endeared you to both of them.

“Gift?” You offered before you got into your pack and pulled out a special dual chromatic and iridescent scarf that was folded in such a way that it concealed it was actually two scarves.

“Oh thank you.” They both said as they reached for it before you shook your head no but with a smile and a giggle.

“Hands.” You said as you used the scarf to tie around their hands, to join their hands together before you put the corner of each scarf in their fingertips.

“Pull.” You said as you gestured for your hands to pull apart before they did and gasped and were delighted that when they did, they each had a scarf which caused everyone to laugh as each of them appreciated the iridescence of their scarves that you had given them.

“Very cleaver. Just work on speaking properly and you’ll be just fine.” Lady Bathes praised.

“Thank you.” You bowed to them before you took the book back and Broman himself proudly walked you both out of the court to take you to your new home.

“Hold hand?” You asked him hopefully.

"Stasi, he may be married with children. His family would not like seeing you hold his hand like that." Your mother cautioned you but Broman had already gladly offered you his hand that you happily held as followed where he led to- as he walked you out of the Lord’s court.

"Do you have family- get jealous of me holding your hand?" You asked him.

"Oh no. I'm not married and don't have any children. The only family I have is parents and siblings and their families. Otherwise I don't have a family of my own. No one will get upset or jealous if you hold my hand." Broman reassured you which made your happy smile brighten.

"He doesn't have a wife or children of his own. He says he's a bachelor." You repeated to your mother in Alqua.

"Well then he might be a frequent visitor of the whorehouse because men have sexual needs that need to be filled, if not by a wife, then a mistress or a whore." Your mother insisted.

"My child, he doesn't visit whorehouses or have a mistress. Do not embarrass him by asking. He has never married because others look at his appearance and assume his appearance matches his personality. Which isn't true. He is a good man with a good heart. He will make a good father figure to you if you let him. But your mother has already had too many bad experiences with the bastard that sired you. Give it time Anastaschia, let Broman prove what kind of man he is to your mother and to you. But do not judge him on his looks but by his actions. He already has a protective fatherly instinct towards you, let him act on those instincts." Luna spoke to you in your mind.

"Luna says he does not. Because others unfairly judge his face and assume his personality matches his face. Luna has read his heart and judged it good, honorable and trustworthy. He will not harm us. Let his actions speak for what kind of man he is." You insisted to her as she smiled at how brightly your eyes glowed with Luna's spirit as you talked to her but the light was invisible or seemed to vanish to anyone else looking on.

"If Luna says such things to you, then they are true. But your father hurt me in many ways, not just my body but in my heart and mind and those will be very slow to heal and before they do, it will be hard to see any other man and not think he is like your father." Your mother insisted before Luna spoke again to you.

"Luna says that you will heal here. And that never again will you ever be hurt that way by another." You professed.

"Yes, she has said the same things to me too. But you must talk to Broman. He is getting nervous and worried we are talking about him." You mother encouraged you before you turned to Broman.

"Broman, why no wife? No family? My mother says a man as good as you should have a very wonderful wife with many children. So it is confusing her as to why you don’t have such things? Are there not enough women that are good women to match the good man you are?” You asked him as he laughed and grew bashful.

“How do you know I’m good?” He asked.

“You help me. You help my mother. You do not look at us and see pretty thing to break, but see pretty things that need protection and you protect me from others. You good man.” You insisted.

“Well, I’m not perfect. But I try. But I believe no one should hurt a child. Especially one who just lost her father and grandparents and her home. You have lost too much for being so young. So since your father is not alive to protect you, if you will let me, I’ll try to do my best to protect you. You deserve that much at least.” He offered.

“So why question if you are good? You prove you are good by what you do.” You put to him.

“Thank you.” He thanked you as he walked you out of the castle.

“Now, first things first, have you eaten yet today?” He asked before you shook your head no.

“No food in two days. No food in the forest. Only water from the stream coming here.” You answered.

“Well then you are definitely overdue for a good meal, come I’ll buy you and your mother food to eat.” He insisted before he brought you to a tavern and bought one of everything they had on the menu as you both finally got to gorge yourselves as you both ate all that you could while Broman ate some food too.

“How did I do Mama?” You asked her in Alqua as you were eating.

“Very good, Luna helped you talk to them very well. Hopefully the house is a good one.” She answered as Broman simply smiled fondly at how beautiful your mother tongue was in comparison. It sounded so elegant compared to his own. But he eyed that totem you were wearing and wondered which deity it belonged to because it wasn’t anything he recognized.

When you all had eaten what you could, he ordered for more food to be put into a special pot to take with you to your new home for another meal later as he carried it all for you on his hip while his other hand was in yours as he walked you through Hestra to your new home.

It took a bit to walk to get there but the house was even bigger and nicer than your first home and even had a second floor to it that was a loft that would be perfect for any number of things that had a white plaster on it's walls with faded paintings on them.

“Oh wow!” You gasped when you walked into the house and looked around the house that was stone and mortar but still needed to be furnished before your mother found the vats for chemicals in the courtyard where the tanner kept the skins so that was nice that it had vats for dyes, they just needed to be dumped from the rain water that had collected in them since they were dumped and left alone last. And it even had a space next to the house where the ground wasn’t poisoned from all the chemicals from working the leather, but instead was almost vividly green where animals had been slaughtered there to gain their hides and the blood had nourished the ground.

“Well, it needs a bit of work but will this be ok? There is another house that is smaller but has more furnishings that is across the street.” He offered.

“No, house good!” You called up from the loft as you poked your head out from around the banister.

“That banister should probably get replaced though.” Broman noted with a gulp as he watched it wiggle from your weight against it.

“Stasi ask him about the money here.” Your mother beckoned you before you eagerly came down the staircase that was built into the wall of the house.

“Can you show me -money, what each piece of money is? How much money is value?” You asked as you tried to mimic his version of Flannish.

“Oh, yeah, of course.” He invited before he grabbed his coin purse and dumped it out on the counter that was built into the wall of the kitchen area and went over each of the coins and what they were worth. You wrote it down in your father’s language that the letters looked familiar to Broman, but your pronunciation of them was different but at least you had something to go off of. Then you repeated what he said to your mother as you picked up each coin and told her what their equivalent was back in your father’s village since the coins were slightly different than what you were used to because you had crossed a border from one kingdom to another. Your mother nodded in understanding before she picked up the coins and put them back into the purse to give it back to him.

“No, no, keep it.” Broman gently refused as he held up his hands and shook them side to side to dissuade her from giving it back to him.

“But, it’s-much- big value- money. It’s your money. You bought food for us. That is more than enough.” You insisted as you took the coin purse from your mother to give to him, hoping he would take it from you instead of her.

“It’s a gift.” He insisted before you turned to your mother and repeated that to see her looking at Broman wearily.

“Ask him what he wants in return for this ‘gift’. I doubt it’s really ‘free’.” Your mother urged.

“What…what things do you want for this gift?” You asked carefully as your big bright eyes started to look at him with the same weariness your mother had in hers.

“Nothing.” Broman insisted.

“What services is he wanting then?” Your mother asked.

“Like bedroom services?” You asked her with a grimace and your shoulders dropped when she nodded.

“Do you want…soldier camp?” You asked with a grimace and Broman’s eyes got wide with mortification.

“No! No. No. I want a shirt dyed. Will you dye a shirt?” Broman asked finding a compromise before your face relaxed with relief.

“No, he just wants a shirt dyed.” You answered your mother before she offered him the book.

“Pick a color. Any color, for such big payment, you can have any color you want.” You encouraged him before you gave the coin purse back to your mother and went over the book with him before he picked a color and agreed that when you had moved in and settled, that he would drop it off for you to dye it, which pleased both your mother and you as you already had your first customer and already had that dye in a concentrate.

“Also, if you will go to the temple that is across from the castle- they have a collection for orphans and widows, to help you make this house your home.” Broman suggested.

“Is there a temple for Luna here?” You asked him as you held up your talisman before he shook his head no.

“No, we only have two temples. The main one is to Dhanos, there is another one for all the other gods though. But I don’t think there is a shrine to Luna there. But even the traveling merchants worship at the Dhanos’ temple, it helps them fit in and get more business. But the other, smaller temple does not have anything for widows and orphans.” Broman explained before you repeated that to your mother.

“We will be here for a long time, you will grow up here Stasi and I will grow old here. It would be better to do all we can to fit in here Stasi. Luna will understand if we have to go into Dhanos’ temple here. We will do what we did back in our old home, worship the main god of the village in public, and worship Luna in private, for we do not want persecution out of ignorance. But we can still go to the other temple if you do not like the one for Dhanos. He is a god of the sun and the harvest. Luna is the goddess of the night and water. There should be balance. This is not Masar Alquimar, the city of Luna. This is Hestra, which Dhanos has claimed as one of his own.” Your mother calmly replied.

“So why didn’t we go to Masar Alquimar?” You asked her.

“Because it may not be safe to return there yet. Some wars take years and decades. Some take nights and weeks, maybe months. Masar Alquimar is many months of a journey to get there, we never would have been able to make it there with what we had and it still may not be safe to return there yet. The bastard’s village was small, I would think it would only take hours to claim it. Masar Alquimar is at least ten times the size of Hestra, to besiege it, would take years and decades, maybe even a century Stasi. You said it yourself this morning- that we are home. So if we are going to make this place our home, we need to settle down and take up the customs here in addition to our own, especially in public. It will be best if we do what we can to fit in here and try to make friends for our business to thrive and if going to Dhanos’ temple is what we must do to survive here, then we will, if only to do good business, and give lipservice and pay respect where we need to. Luna knows that we have given our hearts and minds to her and that is all she wants from us right now.” Your mother reasoned with you.

"My child. I swear to you, I will bring you to my city Masar Alquimar when it is time. I will show you the way to me when it is time for you to come to my city and see it for yourself and you will see my glorious city and my wonderful temple in due time. But for now make this house your home. I've talked to Dhanos. He will be a good god to you until it is time for you to come to me." Luna vowed to you which was a big relief and reassurance for you to hear.

“What day do you go to- temple to worship Dhanos?” You asked Broman as you found you spoke his language better the more of it you heard him and the others speak it.

“On Sunday at the stroke of the second bell.” He answered.

“We will be there.” Your mother encouraged you to say.

“My mother says that we will be there.” You told Broman.

“Excellent. And when you do, I’ll make sure to introduce you to the priests who will help you more.” Broman offered.

“And once you settle, you should go to school so you can learn to read and write and speak better here to help you adjust to living here and you’ll learn the language here faster than your mother might so she may be counting on you to be her translator for her.” He insisted.

“How much is school?” You asked.

“It’s free in Hestra.” He answered because he already decided that he would be paying for it and extra lessons for you.

“But won’t the kids make fun of me for being different? I don’t want to go if they will be mean to me or if the teacher will ignore me like they did at home.” You frowned.

“Other kids were mean to you? What would they say?” He asked you with a concerned frown.

“They make fun of my eyes. Saying I have ghost eyes. And that to look at me is as scary as looking at a ghost or a demon.” You answered with a sad pout.

“That will not happen here. There are many kinds of people. And your eyes are beautiful. No one will make fun of you. And if they do, tell me and I’ll make them apologize and they will never do it again.” He insisted.

“You should go on Monday, after we go to Temple on Sunday.” Your mother insisted before you repeated that to Broman who nodded in agreement to that.

“The school will be happy to have you. The school has many very good teachers. They will help you and be very nice to you.” He encouraged you.

“Thank you.” You nodded after you told your mother that news as she nodded in understanding.

“If you two need anything else, let me know. I live in the castle. So just go to the Castle Guard and ask for me. And I’ll do all I can to help.” He offered.

“Hunt tomorrow Broman. The army we are running from, will pass by, but not come here because of the border. But the army will push all animals here. Hunt tomorrow. You will kill many things. You hunt -yes?” You urged him since Luna told you that to tell him.

“We pass by many animals fleeing when we flee but not bring anything to hunt them with. So they live to flee here also.” You added as a way to explain how you knew that.

“Ok. And when I do, I will bring what I kill here. I have plenty of food at home. But you just moved here, you will need it more than I do.” He insisted.

“How much money do you want for your kills?” You asked him.

“Nothing. Your full belly is all the payment I want.” He insisted as he pet his own belly for emphasis and gestured to your own belly too. You were overwhelmed with gratitude and hugged him.

“Thank you.” You thanked him as he looked to your mother for permission to make sure it was ok for him to hug you back and her gentle, serene smile and nod was all that he needed before he did as his fatherly instincts kicked into their highest gear and his need to care for you and protect you was the strongest instinct he had ever felt before in his life.

“Thank you Sir Broman.” You offered.

“For you Stasi- just call me Broman. I will see you tomorrow with those kills ok?” He offered.

“Ok.” You agreed before he reluctantly left to let you and your mother get settled.

#Anastaschia- High Priestess of Luna #Anastaschia- High Priestess of Luna Chapter 2 #this will be a monster romance eventually I promise

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